Stand as One
The reverence given to him by the night elves was very different from that given by his own people. As in, he was given none at all.
Anduin couldn't deny that he felt some unease at that, as he rode through the encampment in the early hours of the night. He didn't fear for his life, and even if he did, his armour would mitigate the worst of what the night elves might throw at him. Still, he was here with an entourage of knights numbering a dozen. Around him were thousands of kaldorei warriors, all of which were eager to reclaim Teldrassil, and none of which were eager to see the high king of the Alliance. He who'd let their homeland burn, and he who had refused to divert forces from the east. So for that, he couldn't blame them. Especially not when Genn had led the worgen into battle alongside their night elf comrades.
Still, he rode, bearing the dignity that was expected of his station, along with the humility that he knew the situation demanded. So far, it was working. The night elves mulling about the camp gave him a few glances – some in surprise, some in distrust, some in a feign of interest before returning to their bows and blades. Still, they got on with it. It was war. Another war in Azeroth's long, blood-stained history. Chances were he'd see his father in the hereafter before he knew peace.
And what would I say to you father? Anduin thought as he led his knights to the command tent. That peace was nothing more than an ideal – something to strive for, even if it can never be achieved? He dismounted, as did the knights behind him. Or was I simply the greater fool?
He couldn't help but wonder what his father would have done in this situation, whether he would have diverted more Alliance forces to Kalimdor than he had. Still, he couldn't indulge in those questions. Not now at least. Instead, he removed his helm and approached the tent's entrance, noticing the pair of Sentinels standing guard with their spears. Both of them were clad in armour, both of them were easily a head taller than he was, both of their eyes shone the colour of silver, and behind their helms, he could see their eyes look down at him in every sense of the word.
"I am here to see Priestess Tyrande."
The Sentinels said nothing.
"She's expecting me."
The Sentinels said nothing.
"I did send word ahead. I assume she received it."
The Sentinels said nothing.
"Or she didn't, and I have come here in error, my arrival unannounced due to incompetence that no doubt comes down to me. With that in mind, would it not be for the best if Lady Tyrande berates me in person?"
The Sentinels said nothing, but they did glance at each other. What was going behind their helms, Anduin could only guess, but nevertheless, they withdrew their spears, allowing him entrance to the command tent.
"My thanks." Anduin walked forward and nodded at Sir Errol. The knight nodded in turn – they'd wait outside. If they were going to get a tongue lashing from Elune's chosen, best it be the king who received it before his people.
That was the way of the world, Anduin supposed. Those down the ladder took the blows of blades, the rulers took the blows of words. Not a perfect situation, but then, when had the world ever been perfect? When had the universe – he doubted that the Burning Legion had cared what the rulers of worlds had to say before they granted them the same fate as the peoples they ruled. Still, he reminded himself, this wasn't the Burning Legion. This was a war between the Alliance and Horde – at least the fourth by his reckoning, but he figured numbers were meaningless at this point. Least when it came to counting the numbers of war. Numbers of soldiers however? He, and everyone else in this room knew their value. That was why, as he walked in, he could see a map spread over a table, replete with figurines representing the Alliance and Horde forces.
"Lady Tyrande."
Overlooking which was the high priestess of Elune. Tyrande Whisperwind. Ruler of her people, spouse of the druid Malfurion Stormrage, and of age greater than he could comprehend. From the table, looking up at him with silver eyes, he could feel the weight behind all of those titles.
"King Anduin."
As well as the venom behind her words.
"I sent forewarning of my arrival," Anduin said. "I hoped that you'd received it."
Tyrande got up and began walking over to a smaller table in the corner, by which was a crystal beaker filled with a purple liquid and a variety of crystal glasses.
"If you didn't receive my letter, I assure you that-"
"I read it," Tyrande murmured. She began pouring the liquid into one of the glasses. "I knew you were coming."
"Oh." Anduin watched as she began pouring the liquid into a second glass. "Then, I must say I'm surprised-"
"I read it, I just didn't say I particularly cared." Tyrande walked over to Anduin with a glass in each hand. She extended out one to him.
"My lady?"
"Drink, Anduin. I owe you that much."
"Oh." He took the glass. "Thank you." He rose the glass to his lips, but before he could drink it, Tyrande splashed the contents of her own glass in his face.
"And I owe you that as well." For the briefest of moments, a smile appeared on her lips before she took Anduin's glass and drank from it herself, before returning both to the table.
"Charming," Anduin murmured.
"I knew you were coming Young Wolf. I also knew that you were bringing some of your knights as a token gesture to reassure us that the peoples of the Eastern Kingdoms have not forgotten the plight of the kaldorei." Tyrande put both of the glasses down. "Tell me – is it the thirteen you promised?"
"No," Anduin murmured.
"No?" Tyrande asked.
"No," Anduin said, fighting the urge to squirm. "Sir Percival requested leave, for his wife was in labour. I gave him permission to return to Stormwind."
"Hmm. Well, all due blessings to the fruit of Sir Percival's loins," Tyrande said, not sounding (or looking) like she meant any of that. "So, as I command an army of thousands, seeking to break the lines of an army of thousands, I can take comfort in the knowledge that a dozen knights will make all the difference." She returned to look at the table, and the armies displayed upon it.
"Lady Tyrande-"
"Five-hundred."
"Excuse me?"
"Five-hundred. That is the number of bowmen I sent to aid you in retaking Lordaeron's capital." She looked up at him, her eyes blazing. "Even after Teldrassil fell, I still sent aid to the Eastern Kingdoms to retake a ruined city, capital of a kingdom that no longer exists."
"Tyrande, with respect, the value of the Capital City-"
"Is symbolic," Tyrande interrupted. "It removed the Banshee Queen from her seat of power, and gave hope to those still living who even now, call Lordaeron home. I am a priestess of Elune, Anduin, and have been so for longer than your kingdom has even existed. I know full well the importance of symbols, in both peace and war." She returned her gaze to the table, and began to walk around it. Anduin watched as she traced a finger against an orc figurine, its tip touching its spear. He could imagine the blood that was beneath her skin, ready to drench the figurine in a display of will.
"I sense there's more you want to say," Anduin said.
Tyrande said nothing. She just continued to walk around the table, looking at the armies displayed before her.
"Since I won't be staying in Kalimdor for long, you might as well say it now."
Tyrande murmured something in Darnassian. Words that he couldn't understand, but the emotions behind them transcended the language barrier – frustration. Contempt.
"Lady Tyrande?"
"Stand as one," she murmured.
"I'm sorry?"
She looked up at him (or down at him technically, the height difference still existed). "Stand as one," she repeated. "Your words I believe, at the Siege of Lordaeron. The rallying cry that many say turned the tide of battle."
"I don't follow?"
"Stand as one," she repeated. "The words which you said as you summoned the powers of the Light to resurrect your fellow warriors. Stand as one, and then, 'for the Alliance.' The cry upon which men, elves, and more charged into the breach."
"I…" Anduin cast his mind back. He might have said that. Maybe. Possibly. The battle itself was mostly a blur. It was what had transposed afterwards with Sylvanas that stuck out in his mind more. "I might have said that," he murmured.
"You deny it?"
"I deny nothing, only that I can't claim to remember specific words I might have said at a specific time."
"Indeed? Well, that explains it doesn't it?"
"Explains what?"
"Explains why you're here with a mere dozen knights and not an army." Tyrande made her way to the table in the corner and began pouring herself another glass of the purple wine. "Stand as one, for the Alliance. But of course, that only means standing as one when it suits your purposes."
"Tyrande, I haven't forgotten the plight of the kaldorei."
"I doubt you have. Still, you are here. An army, like the one I gave you, is not."
"With the battles in the south and the north…" Anduin paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Are you aware of the concept of tyranny of distance?"
Tyrande snorted, before taking a sip of the liquid and turning to face Anduin. "I am."
"Then you know-"
"I know that before your people met mine, the term applied to the alliance between Stormwind and Lordaeron after the so-called Second War; the distance between them was so great that it meant little in any practical terms." She took another sip. "I'm also aware that the term likewise describes the alliance between us now."
"Then you understand-"
"I understand that the truth is as clear now as it was over a decade ago. The kaldorei break fruit with the likes of humans, dwarves, and gnomes, because the world demands it. Because even while we might call the tauren friends, trolls, orcs, and undead will never share that fruit with us. I understand, as you no doubt do, that the night elves have always been on the periphery of the Alliance." She took a third and final sip before putting the empty glass down on the table. "That is the tyranny of distance, young wolf, when my high king is a boy who sits on a throne on the opposite side of the world."
"And the tyranny of Sylvanas?" Anduin murmured. "She sat on a similar throne, lording over southern Kalimdor as well."
"Oh, the Banshee Queen is a tyrant, I have no doubt," Tyrande said. "Still, she was chosen to be warchief by her people You were not – certainly not by mine. The only reason you sit upon the throne of Stormwind is that your father sat on it before you did, and his before him."
"Tyrande-"
"Which is why I have no more time for you," Tyrande said. "Either return with an army at your back, or don't return at all."
And with that, Anduin knew the conversation was over.