Even Drukan stood as Velen joined the banquet. Almost as one, the guests dipped their heads or bowed in respect. There was something about the draenei that spoke of an inner peace and knowledge that most could only dream of attaining. Small wonder, since Velen was not only leader of his people but a priest as well.
The draenei raised the crystalline head of a long, purple staff in Malfurion’s and Tyrande’s direction. Both the large crystal and the smaller one at the bottom of the staff briefly shimmered brighter. “Hail to you, Archdruid and High Priestess! Forgive this intrusion. . . .”
“The presence of the Prophet is never an intrusion,” Tyrande returned as solemnly, speaking to the others as well as their new guest, “and Velen himself is ever welcome here as a friend to all. We are all grateful for the aid he and the draenei gave us during the recent conflict with the demons of the Burning Legion.”
The priest bowed his head. “It is we the draenei who must thank the Alliance for taking us in, and even more so for standing against the foulness of the Burning Legion! Do not think so little of that! Never had there been a world that could stave off the demons not merely once, but more!”
Tyrande once more acknowledged this for all in attendance, but insisted more personally to the Prophet, “The final victory might not have been ours if not for you and your people, Velen. None here will deny that, either.”
“I am honored that you think so, but know that we will always be indebted to Azeroth. Thus, I come to promise you now that the draenei will do all we can to help the various lands of the Alliance in whatever capacity we may best.”
There was startled rumbling from the attendees, the night elves included. Malfurion leaned forward. “Your people are not returning to Outland? We just assumed . . .”
Velen smiled as if well aware that he would be faced with this very question. “Some have been sent back to revitalize our civilization there, but the rest of us will remain here on Azeroth for so long as we are needed.”
The high priestess looked around at the others. “I think that I speak for all of us when I say that this is a noble gesture for which we can only express again our own gratitude.”
Most of the other representatives of the Alliance murmured their agreement. The Dark Irons were the only ones to look not entirely satisfied with this revelation. Velen looked pleased at this overall acceptance.
“Please, join us, revered one,” Tyrande added, immediately signaling the servers to add a seat next to Malfurion and her. The two made certain that none of the other representatives would be deprived of space for this unexpected addition.
“I would be happy to join all my friends here. A little water is all I need.”
Despite that insistence, Tyrande had some food and wine also brought. Some slight surprise at the announcement aside, the draenei was a welcome guest.
The banquet settled down. The mood lightened. Tyrande exchanged a hopeful look with Malfurion.
From their right, just beyond Velen, Kurdran let out a hearty laugh at something the draenei said, drawing the night elves’ attention. The Prophet looked mildly amused at the effect his words had had on the dwarf. Kurdran turned to tell one of his countrymen something in regard to what he had heard from Velen—and paused to warily eye a party approaching. At the same time, the musicians, evidently also noting the newcomers, paused.
Genn Greymane had arrived at last.
The king of Gilneas was flanked by four of his people, three men and one woman. Eadrik was one of the escort, and he at present listened to something that Genn whispered.
As before, the Gilneans looked like any other humans, though Genn’s escort obviously consisted of seasoned fighters. If not for his confident stride and bearing, Genn might have simply been one more member of the band; he wore little ornamentation marking his regal status. The most evident sign of his rank was the Gilnean crest embossed on his shirt just over the heart, which Genn absently touched as he entered the gathering. The downfall of his kingdom had very much humbled the once-haughty monarch.
If there was anything to distinguish the Gilneans from most other humans, it was a wariness in their gazes as they neared. It was not a look of distrust but rather of defiance. Yet, defiance not against anyone in particular but at the world in general.
As they reached the center of the banquet, Genn raised his hand shoulder high. The other Gilneans stopped. The king took a half a dozen steps more, then halted in front of the night elves.
“My apologies. The delay was unavoidable.” His eyes fixed on Velen. “You must be Prophet Velen. I’ve heard much of you. I wasn’t aware you’d be here. I am Genn Greymane.”
The Prophet bowed his head. “Greetings, King of Gilneas. I am also familiar with you.”
Tyrande and Malfurion rose, the former declaring, “Welcome, Genn Greymane! Please take your place with us!”
“Before I do, I must say something to all here.”
His announcement spurred glances of curiosity and concern among the other leaders and emissaries. Malfurion fought off a frown.
“Please speak, Genn,” the archdruid finally encouraged. “We will be glad to listen.”
Malfurion’s declaration quieted the others, though some, especially the Dark Irons, still watched with wariness and concern.
The king nodded. “I’ll make this short. I made some terrible decisions years ago. I abandoned the Alliance for what I thought was the right course for my people. That proved to be a sorry mistake.” He cleared his throat. “What I’m saying is that I thank you all for giving us this second chance.”
With that, Genn bowed to the other guests, then led his party where they were to be seated. Rather than prolong what had clearly been an awkward moment for the human, Tyrande immediately signaled for the musicians to begin anew. She also made certain that the Gilneans were quickly fed and that the other guests had more drink and food brought to them.
The meal progressed. Personal conversations began to develop and a serious note crept into some aspects of the scene. Kurdran had shifted over to Tervosh to speak about something that caused the archmage to frown but nod. Across from them, Drukan watched with narrowed eyes, then returned to his food. A moment later, though, he rose and, to their surprise, went to speak privately with the high tinker.
“Do you think these conversations are a sign of hope or fragmentation?” Malfurion quietly asked his mate, his serene face belying his concern.
“Each of their lands is trying to recover, as even we are. They are no doubt attempting to see what they might be able to gain from others. In a sense, that might bring them together . . . but only if they do not feel that they have to sacrifice too much in turn.”
“Which means that you think these conversations are both.”
Tyrande touched his hand. “Yes, my love, unfortunately I do.” She smiled slightly. “But at least they are talking, and that is something to work on—”
He noticed her look past him. “What is it?”
“There are two Sentinels seeking our attention.”
The archdruid casually turned in that direction. Seeking their attention was an understatement; clearly only the fact that so many officials from the Alliance were gathered here prevented the pair from racing toward its leaders. The two had purposely kept where the vast majority of the banquet could not see them. Both gripped their weapons, frequently looking over their shoulders at something behind them.
“Stormwind, perhaps?” he asked.
The high priestess rose. “If so, from their stances, it cannot be good news.”
He surveyed their guests, then muttered, “I am coming with you.”
She made no move to stop him. Velen looked up at her as she stepped away, nodding as if to show that if they needed his support—whatever the matter—he would give it.