Wolfheart

29 To Forge a Future

Under the guidance of General Shandris, new and better-situated outposts were quickly arranged along the eastern edge of the territory under Sentinel protection. A much more tempered Denea was given command of one of these, and Su’ura Swiftarrow, while still battlemaster for Warsong Gulch, was promoted to replace the late, honored Haldrissa. A commission was also offered to Illiyana Moonblaze, but she preferred no higher rank, as it would mean more responsibility—and less independence.

The Horde had shored up its defenses beyond the river, but the Alliance had reclaimed Silverwing and quickly rebuilt it. The Sentinel outpost had been made the staging ground for supplying the Alliance’s counterattack. Tyrande blessed the restored Silverwing in the name of Elune before she and Shandris returned out of necessity to Darnassus.

They did not return alone.

“It is a wonder we were able to call them all back,” Malfurion commented as they watched the other representatives of the Alliance gathering for a new summit. “I commend you, my love.”

“Do not commend me. With the Horde still active in Ashenvale, it is more necessary than ever that we all come together. Garrosh will not sit long. He bides his time: that is all.”

“It still took much to get them to come. I know that they had already agreed to send troops to Ashenvale, but we both understand that there is more involved if we hope to keep the Horde in check for more than a short time.” He hugged her. “As I said, you are to be commended.”

She accepted his hug, only after that explaining, “But it was not I who truly convinced them . . . it was Varian.”

“Varian?”

Before she could say more, both noticed a figure standing quietly in the shadows to their side. When he realized that they saw him, he finally stepped forward. It was Jarod, his wounds recently healed by the Sisters of Elune. However, despite now being in excellent condition again, the expression on his face was akin to a man who had just learned that he was to die.

“High Priestess, forgive me . . . if you can.”

“I will not forgive you for calling me high priestess, Jarod Shadowsong . . . I am Tyrande to you. As for what I think you are apologizing for, do not.” Her own expression saddened. “I am more at fault here than anyone. Poor Maiev! I should have seen how the madness was slowly consuming her! I am only grateful that you and my husband were able to prevent further catastrophe!”

“But she escaped.”

“And no one holds that against you, Jarod,” Malfurion interjected. “Especially us.”

He stood straighter. “Nevertheless, I swear to both of you that I will find her. She must be brought to justice and it must be by me.”

“Just be careful that you do not begin to follow the same path of obsession your sister did,” Malfurion cautioned.

“I understand what you say. I will be careful in that regard, but I will not shirk from my duty.”

The high priestess acquiesced. “No one can deny you that right, and you have proven your abilities, Jarod . . . which brings me to my first point. Not all of the Watchers were surely aware of Maiev’s plot, and from among those proven innocent I intend to have a new leader appointed. However, the Watchers will play a different role than what we need from you, Jarod.”

“Me? I do not understand.”

“Once, you ably commanded warriors—and even demigods—in battle for us. With my husband’s agreement, I would have you lead a new security force, one designed to deal with troubles . . . such as Maiev.”

“I am honored . . . and will gratefully accept.”

“Shalasyr would be very proud of you, Jarod,” the high priestess added.

He tried to reply, but could not find his voice. Shalasyr’s face filled his thoughts, and, for a moment, Jarod forgot that Tyrande and Malfurion stood before him.

“I . . . like to think so,” he finally answered. “I can only hope so. She was so much more full of life than me. She should have been the one to live on.”

“The choice is not ours. How we honor those who have passed on with the way we continue our lives is.”

“You sound like Shalasyr.”

The high priestess put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “In regards to Maiev, Shandris will assist you in choosing from among the Sentinels some possible candidates for your new force.”

“I thank all three of you.”

“We will talk more after this.”

“I will not let you down.” Jarod bowed, then quickly stepped away.

As Tyrande and Malfurion headed toward the summit, Malfurion leaned close and whispered, “Sending him to Shandris? What are you doing?”

“Thinking of the future . . . ,” she replied with a thoughtful smile, “and when the time is more appropriate for them.”

He held back any further comment as they entered among the representatives. Malfurion noted the swiftness with which the last emissaries sat and knew that it could only mean that Varian Wrynn had arrived.

Sure enough, Tyrande surreptitiously touched his hand. He glanced her way and in doing so found Varian striding to his place among the others as if he were not the one who had succeeded in bringing them together again. The king of Stormwind sat down, then looked to Malfurion.

The archdruid took his cue. Stepping forth, he raised his staff. Silence filled the gathering.

“We thank you for coming here and again being our guests,” he told them as Tyrande stood next to him. “With the events in Ashenvale, time has grown more precious, and so, if there is no objection, there is one among you who would speak and who, I believe, should be heard.” With one hand, he indicated Varian. “I present to all of you, King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. . . .”

The other rulers and representatives began to applaud, but Varian waved them to silence. He studied them all, then shook his head.

“You shouldn’t be applauding me. Not a man who is supposed to rule by reason but did so by rage instead.”

His self-condemnation brought concerned murmuring from his audience. Malfurion looked to Tyrande, who smiled in reassurance.

“An unreasoning, unfocused rage that brought calamity on me and all I held dear and served only to divide the Alliance”—Varian’s expression forbade anyone to deny what he said—“and for the latter, I apologize.”

It was no small thing for Varian to apologize for anything, and no one there thought him any weaker for it. The story of his actions in Ashenvale was already becoming legend despite his desiring otherwise.

“The Varian Wrynn who reigned with such rage is dead!” he declared. “But in dying, he learned that it wasn’t the rage that was at fault, only he! The fury, the anger, must have purpose! It must be the righteous anger of one defending his family, his home, and his friends! It must be the fury that keeps all he loves safe from those who would rip them from him. . . .”

“Hear, hear!” rumbled an enthusiastic Thargas Anvilmar. The other dwarves glanced in his direction, but out of what seemed more satisfaction with his response than annoyance.

“And now is the time to focus that fury!” the lord of Stormwind continued without pause. “Now is when we need the worgen most, not only for their own fury and fire, but to help guide all of us to safely and rightly unleash this side of us! This is our only way to defeat the Horde and, I will say it, perhaps even bring down the terrible black dragon Deathwing himself!”

Malfurion finally understood where Varian was heading and nodded. Tyrande leaned close and murmured, “You see? We had faith it would work out and it did.”

“You had faith. I am still learning.”

At that moment, the king of Stormwind slammed his fist down. “The Horde has tried once to take Ashenvale! They’ll try again! If we let them do so without a fight, we’ve already lost! They see Azeroth as a new world and, because of their relentless energy, they see themselves as the only ones appropriate to tame it! But we will match that energy and more, and we will fight the Horde and all other foes at every turn until the Alliance and Azeroth can finally claim that peace prevails!”

This statement brought more murmuring, this time angry. Yet, beneath that anger was a growing agreement, a joining of purpose among the factions. Archmage Tervosh nodded to Drukan, who bobbed his head in return. Gelbin and the gnomes muttered together, their gazes continuing to return to Varian with obvious admiration—a rare display by gnomes for someone who was a warrior, not an inventor. Everywhere, Varian’s words struck home, for the moment bringing together even all three dwarven clans.

Encouraged by their reactions, Varian thrust on. “Anger. Fury. You feel it now. This is what we need, if we’re to match the energy of the Horde! This . . . and something more. . . .”

Varian signaled to someone unseen near the entrance through which the representatives had again marched. A horn blared . . . and the anthem of Gilneas played.

Led again by Genn Greymane and fully transformed to their astonishing lupine shapes, the worgen reentered. They spread out as they reached the center, displaying their might for all to see.

Fist on his chest in a salute, the worgen leader stood directly before Varian. He gazed up at his counterpart and waited.

Varian did not look back but instead addressed the audience as a whole again. “When last we were here, the archdruid sought a vote on full membership of Gilneas and the worgen by acclamation! I call on you today to recast your vote! What say the rest of you?”

“Aye!” shouted Kurdran.

“Aye!” the other dwarven representatives yelled immediately after.

A stately female draenei rose. “I am Ishanah, high priestess of the Aldor, chosen to speak in place of the Prophet! The draenei cast a vote of aye!”

Theramore and the rest of the Alliance factions followed, each repeating their earlier votes. Malfurion hugged Tyrande with one arm as they watched the acclamation build. They made no attempt to take command of the summit; this was Varian’s gathering until he deemed otherwise.

The king surveyed the assembly, which watched him in anticipation.

“Stormwind votes aye!” Varian bellowed triumphantly. “Gilneas and the worgen are full members of the Alliance!”

The worgen let out howls of pleasure. From beyond the gathering, other howls arose from the direction of their encampment.

Only Genn Greymane did not howl. The worgen leader stood solemn before Varian. “You honor us!” the king of Gilneas declared. “But we also honor you, Varian Wrynn of Stormwind! We honor the champion of Ashenvale!”

Now both the worgen and the other assembled delegates cheered.

Malfurion finally left Tyrande to go to the lord of Stormwind. Varian gratefully let him take over, but first indicated that he had something to whisper to the archdruid.

“When we arrived, there was a missive brought by a draenei messenger from my son. He wanted to assure me that when he completed his own path with the Light, he would return to Stormwind. . . . ” Varian eyed Malfurion suspiciously. “Is this some doing of yours or the high priestess’s?”

“None whatsoever. This happy news is from Anduin himself, I assure you! I knew nothing about this until you now told me, and I can swear the same for Tyrande. She would not have kept such a thing from me, much less you. . . .”

The king exhaled. “Then that makes his promise all the more welcome!”

Varian continued to drink in the thought of his son’s return as the archdruid, after a congratulatory touch on the human’s shoulder, took over. However, if Varian thought his part at an end, he was sorely mistaken.

“Gilneas and the worgen are welcomed into the fold!” the night elf called. “And the worgen are welcome to a new, permanent home here with the night elf people!” The worgen howled their gratitude and the emissaries and their retinues added their applause again.

When things had settled down, Malfurion continued, “But we must also welcome the man who has brought us together again and who has also brought the future of the Alliance sharply into focus at last! Varian Wrynn, king of Stormwind!”

There was no cry of disagreement, not even from the Dark Iron dwarves. To a member, the Alliance factions called out the king of Stormwind’s name over and over.

Varian wanted nothing more than to step back, but instead it was as if his body responded in the reverse, for he found himself moving up next to the night elf.

The assembly continued to cry out, “Varian! Varian!” The subject of their acclaim shook his head in denial, but no one seemed to care about his opinion.

He did not see when Malfurion slipped away to Tyrande again. Varian stood staring back at those who thought of him as not only champion of Ashenvale, but also their very future. He stared at them . . . and knew that he could never be the Varian that he had been in times past. Never again would he be able to turn from his allies for the mistakes that they had made, not when Varian could at last see how theirs were so insignificant compared to his own.

“I will do what I can . . . ,” he whispered. “I swear I will . . . Anduin.”

And behind him, the archdruid and high priestess watched the events with more than a little satisfaction.

“You were right, Tyrande,” Malfurion commented. “This is potentially even more than I imagined. . . . He could very well guide the Alliance to new, fresh heights, just what it needs to compete with the Horde for this Azeroth we have all inherited from Deathwing’s madness. . . .”

“New, fresh heights,” she agreed. “Perhaps even . . . a new age?”

The archdruid frowned. “If the Horde can be defeated. And if Deathwing does not rise anew and unveil some even more heinous plot, as you and I both suspect the accursed dragon intends. . . .”

She touched his cheek in some concern. “You must find some gladness in today’s events. I thought you did.”

“I do . . . I do . . . I find—” The archdruid stopped, all thought of their discussion for the moment pushed aside. He stared at Varian Wrynn, who now had taken to heart the summit and spoke to the others of what they needed to do next in terms of Ashenvale and beyond.

At the same time, Varian Wrynn felt a presence surround him, a presence that stirred his confidence in his decision. He did not have to ask who that presence was. It could only be one being.

And from his position, Malfurion watched as, for the briefest of moments, the form of Goldrinn—Lo’Gosh—superimposed itself over Varian. Malfurion was no overimaginative sort; he knew that the vision he had seen was neither a product of his troubled mind nor a trick of his eyes.

The archdruid glanced at Tyrande.

“Yes,” she murmured. “You see true. Goldrinn chose well his champion. . . . They are of a kind. The wolf Ancient: it was said that in the early days of the world he used to howl his fury against the moons, against Elune. Perhaps, through this choice, he has redeemed himself in the eyes of Elune as well.” She studied the human. “Such a choice! Varian Wrynn truly has the spirit, the heart of the wolf . . . and all our hope for the future. . . .”

Seeing that—and hearing Tyrande’s words—Malfurion Stormrage felt a sudden weight lifted from his own soul. He was very aware that mortality would claim him at some point, perhaps even sooner than he prayed. Since that realization, the archdruid had not been able to shake his fear of the tremendous burden on those who would follow him . . . those who would not have him to help protect them.

But now Malfurion saw his great hubris. He should not have worried. It seemed as if Azeroth itself would find the ones who would next take up the banner, doing what they could to preserve their world and even perhaps finally forging a true, lasting peace.

And whoever they were, wherever they came from, Varian Wrynn, scion of the wolf Ancient, would be there to guide them.