“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.