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(A/N: It's my birthday today!)
Antonidas was delighted to see his favorite male apprentice—well, technically he was his only male apprentice, but you get the idea.
After the battle against Arthas had concluded, Alastor made sure his companions were alright. Together, they entered Dalaran to meet with Antonidas and the rest of the ruling Archmagi.
A day later, Varian and the rest of the southern allied army also arrived and set up a temporary encampment around Dalaran.
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Right now, all the high-ranking leaders were gathered in a secured and warded chamber within Dalaran.
"Kel'Thuzad will be made a priority target for elimination, and recent investigations have ensured that we have rid Dalaran of any of his sympathizers," Antonidas said as he sat at the head of the table.
"That's good, but before we proceed—Master, what are your thoughts on how we should move forward?"
"Alastor, about that… since you and your allies have joined us here in Dalaran, it can be said that you have now entered the northern frontlines."
"I'll be blunt, my student. I believe it would be best if I, Jaina, and Rhonin—along with a large contingent from our mage corps—join your coalition for the eventual rendezvous with the northern forces under Alonsus Faol's leadership."
Varian frowned slightly as he heard this.
"Pardon me, Lord Antonidas. I, for one, have no objection to you joining our southern allied army—in fact, I would find it very helpful. However, there are three matters I wish to address that were brought to me by my brother here."
Not only Antonidas, but the other leaders also looked at Alastor curiously. Alastor nodded to Varian as he got up and continued from where Varian left off.
"First of all, what is the current status of Dalaran? Can it take to the skies anytime soon?"
"Second, what is the status of Kul Tiras, Gnomeregan, and Quel'Thalas?"
"Third, what is to be done with Gilneas, especially considering they did not send support during Arthas's attack on Dalaran and have since suspended all correspondence?"
Antonidas sighed as he massaged his forehead.
"Sadly, Dalaran will not be taking to the skies anytime soon. The flight arrays and magic circles have been severely damaged—if not outright destroyed—due to Kel'Thuzad and Deathwing, not to mention the crash."
"Kul Tiras is still in the fight. They have driven off all attacks against them in their territory and their fleets are the primary reason why marine Beastkin and daemons have not disrupted our sea lanes or launched assaults through them."
"Daelin Proudmoore has assured us that the seas are under his control."
"As for Gnomeregan, High Tinker Gelbin Mekkatorque—through the use of one of his inventions—enabled his forces and allied troops to flank the enemy forces attacking Stromgarde, effectively reopening supply routes from that region."
"All in all, the situation behind the frontlines has been largely stabilized with the defeat of enemy forces attacking the allied kingdoms to the south. We can now once again focus our full attention on the north."
Jaina visibly relaxed, pride swelling in her chest at her father's accomplishments. She wasn't alone—smiles and satisfied expressions appeared across the faces of many in the room at the good news.
But that moment of relief was short-lived as Antonidas continued, his tone turning grim.
"Quel'Thalas… has refused to offer any aid."
"WHAT!?" Kurdan Wildhammer slammed his fist onto the table in rage and disbelief.
The others in the room frowned, while Alleria froze before looking away. A part of her wasn't surprised, but that didn't make it any less uncomfortable.
She was startled, however, when she felt a hand intertwine with hers. Turning slightly, she saw Alastor seated beside her, offering a reassuring smile. On his other side, Jaina gave her a supportive look as well.
The gesture comforted her. She returned a small smile and gently squeezed Alastor's hand before refocusing on the discussion.
"Ever since the war began, we have received aid from nearly every kingdom in one form or another—but Quel'Thalas has remained silent."
"Both Alonsus and I have attempted to contact Silvermoon to understand the situation and request their assistance against the Scourge and the daemonic forces. However, the reply we received…"
Antonidas hesitated for a brief moment before continuing.
"Anasterian Sunstrider made it clear that the High Elves will prioritize the defense of Quel'Thalas and Silvermoon. No aid will be sent to the allied armies."
Instantly almost everyone in the room was enraged at worst displeased at best.
"That bastard! What about the blood debt and oath of loyalty he swore to Emperor Thoradin after the end of the ancient wars? If not for humanity's help, his people would still be harassed by Beastkin, Black Iron dwarves, and Orks!"
Varian was livid. To him, this was nothing short of betrayal—repayment denied for a debt owed to humanity's first and one of it's greatest rulers.
Neither he nor the others believed for a second that the High Elven king was truly incapable of sending aid, especially given the scale of the crisis. Other kingdoms, despite facing similar threats, had still answered the call.
"What the hell do you expect from those bloody knife-ears!" Magni bellowed, slamming his mug of ale onto the table with a scowl.
"Every one of those damn elves is an arrogant little wretch who thinks they're better than everyone else. When cornered, they shamelessly beg for help—but otherwise act as if they're above it, right up until disaster strikes."
Alastor gave an awkward cough.
Magni's eyes widened as he glanced at Alleria, then at Tyrande—who was staring at him with a blank look of superiority.
He coughed again, trying to mask his embarrassment. "Well, uh… most of them, I mean. I suppose some are alright…"
"It's alright, Lord Magni," Alleria said calmly, waving off any need for apology. "I am well aware of my people's flaws. In fact, it was one of the reasons I left my homeland to travel the world—aside from some personal matters."
"Ahem… the point I'm trying to make is that this isn't surprising, considering just how much Maker-damned pride they have—most of all Anasterian, who'd never forgotten that it was a human king, not his vaunted people, who stood as saviors in their darkest hour!."
"And honestly?"
"WHO NEEDS THEM!?"
"We already have one of the greatest gatherings of strength from multiple kingdoms. And once we link up with the northern alliance forces, we;ll witness the greatest concentration of mortal might in history that will shake the very foundations of Azeroth!"
"Not only that—"
Magni gestured to everyone present with a proud grin.
"Who among us here is not a hero? A champion of their people?"
"From the savage lands of the south to the Fenris Isles, no matter what we've faced, we've shattered every wall and obstacle in our path with the strength of our own hands and the force of our convictions!"
"And now we stand here—ready and eager—To cast down the monsters, the abominations, and the wretched filth that dare defile our world and threaten our people!"
Magni's passionate speech seemed to dispel the unease in the chamber, replacing it with a rising sense of pride and unity.
"And let us not forget those who lit the torch—the ones who made this great gathering possible!"
Magni raised his mug of ale and drained it in a single gulp, some of it spilling into his thick beard before he slammed the mug down onto the table.
"To the brave men and women of Stormwind!"
Voices rose across the chamber in agreement—nods, claps, and fists striking the table—as attention turned toward the Stormwind delegation.
Varian smiled, but then stood, raising a hand to address the room.
"I am deeply grateful for the recognition shown to my kingdom and its people. But while I agree that all of us have played a role in our victories…"
"I cannot, in good faith—as both a king and a brother—fail to acknowledge the one who has contributed the most to our war effort. One to whom I, and many others, owe more than we may ever repay."
"My brother—Alastor Wrynn."
"The true hero and savior of Stormwind, the man who led our people from the south to the north."
"The slayer of Grimgor Ironhide alongside countless other foes!"
"The leader whose command has allowed us to shatter our enemies time and again, like the rabid beasts they are!"
"To Alastor!"
"ALASTOR!""ALASTOR!""ALASTOR!""ALASTOR!""ALASTOR!""ALASTOR!"
The chamber erupted into thunderous cheers.
Voices from Stormwind, Ironforge, Aerie Peak, and even Dalaran joined in, all calling his name.
Alleria and Jaina smiled warmly, pride evident in their expressions as they looked at him—both clearly pleased to see him receiving the recognition they believed he deserved.
Others, like Tyrande, Aegwynn, and Krasus, remained more composed, yet even they could not deny the truth.
In the time they had followed Alastor, he had proven himself not only as a legendary warrior, a powerful mage, and a brilliant mind—
—but also as a wise and inspiring leader, one neither naïve nor weak.
In fact, they would wager that Alastor himself did not realize that, at some point, he had been unofficially elevated to the position of supreme authority within the southern allied army.
Despite the presence of kings and renowned leaders, there was little doubt that if Alastor gave an order, few—if any—would question it before carrying it out.
And the most remarkable part?
Those same kings and leaders were fully aware of this shift in authority—and yet felt no resistance to it.
They followed him not out of obligation, but by their own will.
Alastor, for his part, was caught off guard by the sudden shift of attention toward him. A faint embarrassment flickered across his face at the overwhelming praise.
But he was no longer the "boy" he once was.
He'd finally grown into a man accustomed to respect—tempered by responsibility—and accepted it with quiet grace.
"I am truly grateful for the acknowledgment you have all shown," he said, his voice steady.
"And I will continue to give everything I have to bring victory—and justice—for the crimes committed by our enemies."
Alastor received nods and looks of approval, but then Anduin seemed to recall something and frowned.
"We should return to what we were discussing—especially the final matter. What is to be done with Gilneas?"
At that, the mood in the chamber darkened, and several others frowned as well.
"Indeed. The fact that they failed to send aid to Dalaran during the recent attack—despite being closest to the Greymane Wall—is deeply concerning. It could even be interpreted as betrayal." Krasus stated, his tone measured but firm.
Antonidas shared the sentiment, still indignant over Gilneas's sudden silence—and what felt like outright abandonment.
Alastor glanced toward Rhonin with an inquisitive look, but the red-haired mage could only shrug. Even he had no answers.
Before anyone could continue, a knock echoed through the chamber.
"Come in," Antonidas called.
The doors opened, revealing a striking High Elf mage clad in Dalaran Archmage robes—robes that did little to conceal her voluptuous figure.
"Sathera?" Antonidas blinked in surprise at the unexpected appearance of his love—ahem—old friend!
Especially since she was currently amongst those of higher rank overseeing the city's defenses.
"Tony—! Antonidas, there's… a situation," Sathera corrected herself quickly, though not before several people in the room caught the slip.
A number of knowing looks were exchanged.
The two dwarven kings glanced at each other, then nodded subtly—seemingly arriving at the same unspoken conclusion: the great leader of Dalaran clearly had "interests" beyond magical research.
Not that they judged—if anything, it earned him a measure of respect. It was no easy feat to court an elf—especially one of prominence.
Though, to be fair, getting a dwarf and an elf into a room without insults flying within a minute was already a legendary achievement.
For someone like Antonidas—or Alastor—it only highlighted how much balls, effort, sheer will and even more balls were needed for such a courting.
Did they mention balls? Those were especially important.
Antonidas, meanwhile, felt the weight of the stares and inwardly bristled.
They have no right to judge me! I have a life outside of magic… besides, research was far more enjoyable when Sathera and I would—
"You were saying, Sathera!?" he interjected quickly, cutting off his own thoughts in a bid to redirect attention.
Thankfully for him, she did—though not in the way anyone expected.
"An entourage from Gilneas has arrived," she reported. "Led by Genn Greymane himself… He is requesting entry."
The atmosphere turned heavy in an instant.
Almost instinctively, eyes shifted toward Alastor. He frowned briefly, then gave a small nod.
Sathera inclined her head and exited. After a short wait, she returned—this time accompanied by several figures.
King Genn Greymane.
Crown Prince Liam Greymane.
Duke Darius Crowley.
And famous Alchemist Krennan Aranas of the Gilneas Science Guild.
"Good of you to finally join us—after everything has already transpired," Antonidas said. His tone was even, but the displeasure beneath it was unmistakable.
Anduin regarded them sternly.
"Lord Greymane, the allied forces deserve an explanation. Why were communications from Gilneas halted? And why was no aid sent to Dalaran during the attack?"
Genn's fists clenched, his expression shifting through frustration, guilt, and restraint—until Darius placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.
"Genn… we've spoken of this. They need to know."
"Father, please," Liam added, his voice earnest. "We can't keep going on like this—especially after what's happened."
At last, Genn exhaled heavily, his shoulders slumping slightly as he faced the gathered leaders.
"I can only ask for forgiveness for what you see as dishonor," he said, voice strained. "But… we had a reason. A reason we could not answer your call."
"And that reason is?" Alastor asked, his gaze sharp.
Genn met his eyes.
"This."
The single word hung in the air—confusing, until suddenly—
Genn began to change.
Gasps echoed through the chamber as his body shifted—muscles swelling, bones restructuring, his face elongating as coarse fur rapidly spread across his skin.
Liam and Darius followed suit, their forms twisting into towering, bipedal wolves.
In an instant, the room erupted into chaos.
Chairs scraped loudly as leaders shot to their feet. Weapons were drawn. Arcane energy flared to life in the hands of mages.
Three wolf-like figures stood where men once had.
"Is this reason enough?" Genn spoke again—his voice now deeper, rougher, edged with something primal. As if he had expected this very reaction.
"Beasts!" Kurdan growled, enchanted Axe at the ready.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Antonidas demanded, his staff blazing with arcane power. "Have you consorted with dark forces as well, Greymane!?"
Amid the rising tension, Alastor remained seated.
So did Tyrande and Aegwynn—though both watched the transformed Gilneans with wary frowns.
Alastor, however, looked… bewildered.
Yet even through the shock, one thought cut clearly through his mind:
This situation was far more complex than it first appeared.
And if they didn't calm things down quickly—
It could spiral into disaster.
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