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Time ticked away as Alastor blankly stared at his father's unmoving form upon the throne.
Even with his massively superhuman mind, he could not fully process the fact in front of him.
His father, the man who he saw as a role model and inspiration was dead.
Despite his best efforts — despite the sheer power of his Holy Light — Alastor had only been able to destroy the corruption within Llane's body and protect his soul.
But Llane already stood upon death's door.
His body and mind had been ravaged by the Grandfather's curse. His remaining lifespan had been little more than a dying ember.
For all intents and purposes, King Llane had been closer to a corpse barely clinging to motion than to an injured man awaiting healing.
If Alastor had arrived a day earlier… perhaps there might have been a chance to save him.
Perhaps.
Now, that possibility existed only as a cruel what if.
From behind Alastor footsteps echoed softly.
Anduin approached and rested a steady hand upon Alastor's shoulder.
"It's time to go, lad…"
His voice carried exhaustion… and grief.
He gently pulled Alastor to his feet and led him toward the massive doors of the throne room.
Alastor did not resist.
But his eyes remained distant — unfocused — as though reality itself had not yet reached him.
Just before the doors closed behind them, Anduin glanced back at the still figure upon the throne.
Until we meet again, old friend.
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When Anduin and Alastor stepped outside the chamber, silence awaited them.
Varian already knew.
He had been given time — however brief — to begin coming to terms with it, alongside Bolvar and Gavinrad.
Even so, seeing Alastor his normally optimistic little brother, so empty unsettled him more than his own grief.
Before Varian could step forward and offer comfort of his own, Alleria moved first.
She said nothing.
She simply met Alastor's gaze — then pulled him into a firm, steady embrace.
No platitudes.
No hollow comfort.
She understood that what he needed now was not "I understand" or "It will get better."
He needed something solid.
Something real.
He needed to feel-to know that he still had loved ones close at hand.
And it worked — even if only slightly.
Alastor inhaled sharply, his breath trembling as he slowly wrapped his arms around her in return. Subtle shudders ran through his body — small, controlled, but unmistakable.
"I'm here… Always," she whispered so softly that only he could hear — despite the presence of multiple individuals with superhuman constitutions.
"…Thank you, Ria…"
The faint reply earned a small smile from the elven ranger.
Varian allowed himself a tired smile as well.
It hurt to see his brother like this.
But at least he had support aside from himself available, as Varian decided to let his future Sister-in-law take care of him for the moment.
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Behind Varian, Bolvar hesitated before leaning closer and speaking in a low tone.
"My lord… should we also inform the Prince about… the Queen?"
Gavinrad stiffened at once.
"Bolvar!" he hissed quietly. "The Prince has just endured tragedy! and you wish to burden him further!?"
Varian silenced them both with a firm look before guiding them a short distance away to another Chamber..
"My lords," he said evenly, "I understand both of your positions. But now is not the time for disagreement."
Bolvar bowed his head respectfully, though his tone remained resolute.
"My King, I stand by what I said. Allowing Prince Alastor to recover somewhat, only to spring this upon him later, would be far crueler. He is stronger than you think. And….....just like you he deserves to see his mother's state."
Varian nearly flinched at the word.
King.
He had always known this day would come.
He had never imagined it would come like this.
Yet Bolvar was right.
Hope, followed by another crushing blow, would be far more cruel.
"Let me do it."
The voice surprised them both.
Gavinrad stepped forward, his expression grim.
"I am Gavinrad the Dire. I am supposed to be the strongest Paladin in the Kingdom aside from the Saints. And yet I failed to save the King and uphold my duty!"
His jaw tightened.
He had served the Wrynn family long before taking his vows as a Paladin. He admired them deeply — saw in them an example of what rulers should truly be like.
He had even once served as one of Prince Alastor's personal guards during his journey and time at Dalaran.
And yet…....when it mattered most, he'd been powerless.
Frederick had vouched for him that the curse afflicting the King was beyond anything they had previously encountered — vile and ancient in a way far beyond the records of daemon encounters.
No one blamed him.
But it didn't mean Gavinrad didn't blame himself.
"If penance begins with delivering this news to Prince Alastor… then I will accept that duty."
Varian studied him for a long moment before nodding.
"Very well. I entrust this to you, Sir Gavinrad."
Suddenly—
The castle trembled.
The entire city seemed to shudder, as though struck by a distant but powerful impact.
Everyone's eyes widened.
This was no natural quake.
Varian's commlink on his vambrace beeped sharply. He activated it at once.
"Your Majesty! You must return to the front lines immediately! There has been a development!"
Varian's grief transformed into hardened resolve.
"I'm on my way."
He deactivated the device and turned briskly.
"Duke Bolvar, with me. Sir Gavinrad, assist here in any way possible."
Orders given, motion returned to the hall.
Stormwind had no time to mourn at least not now.
The time of mourning would come but for now blood would be spilt and war would be waged.
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Krasus and the other's sudden arrival had forced the attacking army into temporary retreat.
But that reprieve had been brief.
Now the enemy army surged forward once more, attacking with the same relentless ferocity as before.
Varian formally assumed command of the defense, directing troops with sharp precision. It helped that Anduin and Bolvar now stood with him to help as well.
Bolvar acted as Varian's second-in-command — a role originally meant for Anduin. But the Knight-Champion had respectfully declined, choosing instead to lead from the very front lines.
Anduin carried immense fury within him after the death of his best friend and liege and the memory of Llane's condition before his deaths only intensified it further.
Grief needed an outlet.
And fortunately for him — though most unfortunate for the Beastkin and Daemons — there was no shortage of enemies.
He carved through them mercilessly showing all who looked at him WHY he was given the name Lion of Azeroth.
Bloodletters, Plaguebearers, Daemonettes and Horros fell in halves. Beastkin regardless of the type were split apart by his blade. There was no restraint in him now.
Only wrath.
Aside from Anduin who was leaving behind a veritable trail of death, It also helped that they had an unexpected ally whose presence proved invaluable.
Krasus had once more taken on his dragon form, sweeping over the battlefield and unleashing torrents of flame that turned entire formations to ash.
The soldiers of Stormwind did not yet know their king was dead.
With Krasus in the skies and Anduin fighting at the forefront, morale remained high — almost defiant.
Varian intended to use that momentum.
If they could break this wave decisively, he might shatter the siege entirely with a decisive counterattack.
But the good news ended there.
"LOOK OUT!"
Soldiers atop a neighboring watchtower screamed the warning before leaping from their posts.
A heartbeat later, the reason became clear.
The shattered remains of a Brass Scorpion came hurtling through the air — and smashed into the tower, obliterating it in an explosion of metal and stone.
Every soldier who witnessed it froze in shock.
What kind of artillery could throw a daemon engine like that?
Unfortunately—
It was not artillery.
Anduin had just finished cleaving apart a cluster of Bloodletters when he saw him.
His eyes widened in disbelief.
"By the bloody Aspects… HOW THE HELL IS HE HERE!?"
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Grimgor stood amidst the carnage, a savage grin splitting his blood-smeared face as he admired his handiwork.
Around him stood more than a hundred Black Orc bodyguards — hulking, heavily armored brutes radiating violence.
And beside them—
Gul'dan.
The warlock did not look pleased.
If anything, he looked furious.
His task in the south had been simple — at least in theory.
Keep Alastor occupied.
Pin him down at the south while allowing Malak's forces to dismantle other points of resistance.
In practice, it had been anything but simple.
First of all, Alastor had already gone and cleared out the Beastkin at Stranglethorn Vale they were intending to use in the war in the south, lowering the amount of "assets" they could currently use and before he even left for Fort Clover where he caused other set of problems.
Alastor had gone and also made a viable suppressant for the Plague, they were using to gain Undead before Arthas's return.
Turn after turn even when he wasn't there Alastor was causing no significant amount of problems for their side!
Gul'dan knew the Chaos Gods had a particular "interest" in the human demigod.
The ideal outcome would have been Alastor's capture.
But that had proven nearly impossible.
The next best outcome? His death.
What cosmic consequence that might trigger, Gul'dan did not know.
Nor did he particularly care.
But even that had proven infuriatingly difficult.
He had instigated and unleashed Grimgor upon the Savage Lands and the wider continent once again to bog him down and hopefully kill him — and Gul'dan knew from experience just how monstrously powerful the Black Ork warlord was.
It should have been enough. Heck it should have been more than enough!
Yet Alastor had repeatedly fought Grimgor toe-to-toe in the Savage Lands each time he attacked with his own army of Orks.
Such actions had ended up firing up the morale of the human resistance in the Savage Land that Gul'dan knew taking the Fort would be much harder especially since Grimgor and most of the Black Orks were not there.
And then that blasted dragon had arrived at Fort Clover and spirited Alastor away to Stormwind, throwing every carefully arranged contingency into chaos.
How had everything gone to shit so quickly!?
In the end, Gul'dan had been forced into bargaining with a Greater Daemon — a Lord of Change — to secure the Warp access necessary for a long-range teleportation ritual.
There was enough Warp energy saturating the world now to make such a spell feasible.
But the price—
The price had been steep.
The so-called "ally" had deliberately taken half the souls Gul'dan had painstakingly amassed.
Out of spite.
Despite their supposed shared allegiance.
(Gul'dan used the word ally very loosely.)
So yes.
He was livid.
And so he had brought Grimgor — along with most of his Black Ork guard — directly to Stormwind's doorstep.
Because no matter his irritation, the truth remained:
At this moment, Grimgor was one of the best "weapons" available to kill Alastor.
Gul'dan no longer cared about subtle manipulation.
No longer cared about layered schemes or manoeuvring to grant himself more power and pawns.
Today, He would raze this city.
And he would kill the Primarch.
Both.
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"My orders are clear, Anduin. You're not going to face Grimgor!"
Varian's voice was firm through the commlink as he spoke to Anduin.
Earlier, Anduin and Alleria had briefed him on some things that had occurred at Fort Clover — which included the details about Grimgor Ironhide.
Varian knew Anduin was immensely powerful.
But he also knew that the last time Anduin faced the Black Ork warlord, he'd been nearly killed and left in a temporary coma.
"Varian! You know I can't stand down!" Anduin shot back. "Aside from Alastor, I'm the strongest one here. And Alastor isn't here right now. Someone has to intercept Grimgor before he starts tearing through our lines personally!"
Varian frowned, his mind racing.
Plan after plan collapsed the moment he considered the monstrous strength described to him. Anduin and Alleria had not exaggerated — nothing they had tried had kept Grimgor down for long.
For the first time since taking command, Varian felt something close to helplessness creeping in.
Then—
"My Lord!"
Varian turned sharply as a knight rushed toward him.
"This better be important, Sir. We are not exactly at leisure!"
"My Lord, it's the Prince — he… he…"
The knight pointed downward toward the main gate.
Varian followed his gesture.
His eyes widened.
Alastor — in his Primarch form — strode toward the main gate, clad in his signature grey and black Knight power armor. From this distance, Varian could not see his expression.
But he could see the weapon in his brother's hands.
A massive two-handed thunder hammer.
What is he doing!?
Panic surged through Varian. He moved toward the edge of the watchtower, fully intending to leap down and physically stop him—
—but Alleria appeared beside him and caught his arm.
"Don't."
"Alleria! What do you mean don't!? Can't you see what he's doing?!"
Varian gave Alleria an incredulous look, his father was already dead and his mother was also in a tragic state, he refused to lose his brother!
"Varian… Gavinrad already took us to see the Queen."
Her tone was soft.
Sad.
That only convinced Varian further that Alastor was not in the right state of mind after seeing their mother's condition.
"Then let me go. He's not thinking clearly!"
Alleria shook her head.
"I know," she said quietly. "And that's precisely why he needs this more than you think."
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-Flashback-
After Varian, Anduin, Bolvar, and most of the Royal Guard returned to the outer defenses, Gavinrad had approached Alleria and Alastor and led them toward Queen Taria's current chambers.
At the mention of his mother, Alastor seemed to get a second wind. From Gavinrad's words, His mother was alive.
They entered the innermost section of Stormwind Castle — the most fortified and heavily guarded area.
Alastor paused in surprise when he noticed something unusual outside the chamber.
Alongside Royal Guards stood-Elves?
It only took a moment for Alastor to realize they were Night Elves considering their purple skin and similarity to the High Elves.
They wore what appeared to be a variation of High Elven Farstrider attire — light armor designed for mobility without sacrificing protection. One glance was enough to tell they were highly trained.
Alleria was equally surprised. Night Elf Sentinels in humanity's capital city were not a common sight.
Under normal circumstances, Alastor would have questioned why night elves were in his family's castle.
But not now, for now he only wished to see his mother.
He entered the chamber without hesitation followed by Alleria while Gavinrad stayed outside.
And very quickly.....Alastor began to wonder if he was perhaps in some sort of nightmare.
Queen Taria lay peacefully upon a large King sized bed. Her breathing was even. Her complexion healthy.
At first glance, she appeared merely asleep.
But the medical equipment and attending personnel told another story.
And then there was the lone female Night Elf standing vigil inside.
Alastor extended his metaphysical senses.
What he felt made his stomach drop.
His mother's spirit was dormant which seeing the equipment and other clues led to only one irrefutable fact.
Queen Taria was in a coma.
Once again, Alastor felt the strength leave his body.
With unsteady steps, he approached the bed — then fell to his knees beside it. He gently took her hand, holding it tightly, as if anchoring himself.
At least she's still here.
He repeated the thought over and over, hoping she would wake, scold him for worrying, smile at him in that warm, easy-going way she always had.
Alleria placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder before stepping toward the Night Elf.
This one did not wear Sentinel armor. Instead, she was clad in flowing white dress and a hooded cloak that failed to fully conceal the ethereal aura radiating from her.
From her attire and presence alone, Alleria deduced this was no ordinary figure.
The Night Elf inclined her head in greeting.
"Well met, my fellow kin."
Alleria returned the gesture with a slight bow.
Though Night Elves and High Elves followed different cultures and traditions, they remained of the same ancient people.
"Greetings to you as well. I have heard of your deeds, Alleria Windrunner. Tales of your exploits have reached even the islands of Kalimdor."
(Author's Note: For those who don't remember In this setting, Kalimdor is not a single continent, but a vast archipelago inhabited by the Night Elves.)
"You honor me," Alleria replied politely. "May I know to whom I speak — and why your people are here, given your customary distance from other nations?"
In response, the Night Elf lowered her hood.
Her skin was the deep violet common to her kind. Long aqua-green hair flowed over her shoulders, and her eyes glowed with soft blue light.
Her white dress accentuated her body's great curves and her athletic build, she had ample "assets" in both the chest and posterior and a thin waist as well.
Even amongst Elves who were known for their beauty and grace this was a woman of extraordinary beauty that would cause even the most stoic of men to be dumbstruck.
"I am Tyrande Whisperwind," she said calmly.
"And I am here to offer aid… and answers."
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