there was no more reason to stay near Darnassus, and doing so only deepened the shame of the worgen’s rejection, at least in his eyes.
Varian’s disappearance after the hunt had come as a great blow to the Gilnean king. After the obvious bond that had developed, the other monarch’s abrupt behavior had eradicated Genn’s last hope that the worgen would be accepted by the Alliance. With that hope gone, Genn’s choice had been clear.
Eadrik was nowhere to be found, but otherwise the rest of his aides had the situation well in hand. Another day or two and there would be nothing left to mark the encampment’s former occupants.
The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. Someone was behind him.
As with many worgen, Genn more often than not remained in his lupine form. He felt stronger, younger that way. When human, the king felt the aches of age.
But being worgen now meant that the one behind him had failed if his attempt had been to sneak up on Genn. Moving with the swiftness and grace of the worgen shape, he turned to meet the potential threat with claws and teeth.
But instead of doing battle, Genn found himself standing in utter bewilderment.
“Varian Wrynn?”
Varian could not blame his counterpart for being so stunned. The lord of Stormwind himself felt like an absolute fool, or at least someone who certainly did not know his own mind.
Although on the one hand the hunt had served to do as Malfurion had surely desired, it had also revealed to Varian the utter inconsistencies of many of his own beliefs and prejudices. Suddenly overwhelmed, Varian had chosen the one recourse he felt open to him at that moment: he had retreated in the face of the worgen’s honor of him—an honor he felt he did not deserve—and had plunged deeper into the forest, his destination not even known to him.
With Anduin gone, Varian had felt no desire to return to Darnassus. His quarters, while built with the night elves’ love of nature in mind, had still been part of a city, part of his life as a king, not as a man. The vibrancy of the forest, with its abundance of life, of freedom, had given him some respite, but had not eased his confused mind as much as he had hoped. Instead, Varian had discovered too late that the quiet and calm around him only better served to bring into focus all his misjudgments and prejudices.
He had lost all track of time, night coming and day returning without his caring. With day had come the knowledge that Varian could not simply abandon everything for the purity of the forest. For his love for his son, for his people, and for his hopes for redemption, Varian had come to a decision. It had to do much with the realization that there were others who had struggled hard with the darker side of their nature, perhaps even in a way that he never had.
The worgen.
And so, after returning to his quarters to quell the growing anxieties of his retinue—and finding that Malfurion had already assured them that their ruler was merely “indisposed”—he had sought out Genn Greymane once more.
“You left,” the Gilnean monarch said with some condemnation in his tone. “We honored you and you simply left. I sought word of you from Darnassus, but the archdruid only said not to worry, that you needed time to yourself.”
The wisdom of the night elf continued to amaze Varian. “He was right. I had much to consider . . . and when I was done considering all of it, I knew that I had to find you and your people again.”
“You want something of us? What? We’ve nothing. No land, no gold. You have everything. Everything.”
“Not everything. I need your help, Genn.”
The other king stared without understanding. Considering their previous encounters, Varian could not blame him.
“How can I possibly help you?” the worgen muttered.
“I know something about the worgen curse and the—ferocity—of it . . . but you and yours control that urge, not give in to it.”
“Ah!” Genn not only nodded in understanding but even showed some sympathy rather than disdain. “I always wondered how anyone could survive what you did and stay intact inside. . . .”
“I didn’t.” Varian felt uncomfortable even speaking of it. “Tell me what you did.”
“It’s not as simple as that, my friend. You have to be willing to look deep within yourself, find your balance. . . .”
“I’ll fight a