![](http://cobalt-company.wdfiles.com/local--resized-images/writing:2025-01-07-remembrance-day/style="margin:/medium.jpg) |
| Details |
| Author: | Alli |
| Summary: | Many people of the Alliance gathered in Stormwind for Remembrance Day of Year 29, after the Cataclysm and before the defeat of Deathwing. Tensions are high and not all things go as planned! ~10k words. |
| Rating: | T for Teen |
On the morning of Remembrance Day, the city of Stormwind is a sea of people, with flags and streamers waving in the air, children dressed as their favorite heroes of old, and food and mead flowing with laughter. Remembrance Day is part memorial and part celebration, and the people of Stormwind are taking the chance to celebrate where they can.
The Stormwind harbor, as well, is a vast forest of ship masts. The port is full of hulls in every color, shape, and size. Remembrance Day always brings a host of pilgrims to honor and celebrate humanity's heroes. Humans and other allied races disembark and begin to make their way into the city.
As more people join, the growing throng slowly moves toward the Valley of Heroes, heading for the statues of the great champions of humanity that line the entrance to Stormwind City. The stage for the Honor Ceremony has been set up in the shadow of these impressive leaders, and today they will be acknowledged with respect and thanks for their great deeds.
Within Stormwind Keep, a great number of nobles, politicians and other delegates are gathered. The milling crowd includes members of the House of Nobles and more minor nobility, their families and friends, and even well-behaved members of trusted mercenary outfits, such as Cobalt Company. Jaina Proudmoore stands near the throne, a member of the honor delegation as the leader of Theramore Isle, as well as Genn Greymane as the king of Gilneas, and Archbishop Benedictus for the Church of the Holy Light.
The great hall of Stormwind Keep is indeed large, but the perfumed mass of dignitaries more than fills the space and chokes the air. The rainbow of luminaries stretched through the grand archway and out of sight. The assembled audience is waiting for the arrival of King Wrynn and Prince Anduin, enjoying their view of the center of Stormwind's power and the famous Lion Seat, the great filigreed throne of the Wrynn kings.
—
Elohad Ference is arriving a wee bit late, possibly something toddler related. His hurried pace toward the Keep halts as he spots a young human boy, around five, dressed as Turalyon, who is chasing a slightly older human girl, dressed as Alleria Windrunner, in circles and figure eights around various obstacles.
"You have to kiss me!!" the boy proclaims. "I'm Turalyon!!"
Elohad stops the boy with a firm hand on his shoulder. The boy looks up, up, up… and his irked expression quickly changes to one of dismay. Either he recognizes Elohad, or simply recognizes his mien of Extreme Authority.
"If a girl is running away," Elo says firmly, "a hero stops chasing her. If she comes back, it's a game, and you're allowed to play. If not, you leave her alone. Do you understand?"
The boy gulps and nods. Elohad gives him a squeeze on the shoulder and then hurries on his way, joining the perfumed crowd in the Keep.
—
Making his way up the steps before the fountain statue of Varian Wrynn, Atley cuts an imposing figure in fine brown pants with subtle golden embroidery, a matching vest, and boots. A striking blue undershirt peeks out from beneath his layers, mirroring the sturdy, dark blue baby carrier hanging empty on his chest, with a small brown leather backpack around his shoulders. On his hip, a dagger glows faintly in its scabbard.
Beside him, a large toddler clings tightly to his outstretched, gloved finger. Karson is chubby, yes, but the word that best describes him is solid—thick-limbed, broad-headed, and determined. His father has to slouch and tilt awkwardly to maintain their connection as the boy climbs.
Karson tackles each step with slow determination, half-scrambling, half-yanking himself upward. His tailored booties and matching gloves are already scuffed from the effort, though his oversized wool jacket and the dark brown curls escaping from under his loose, oversized cap keep him snug against the chill, even with his pink button nose. The Stormwind Lion, emblazoned in blue and gold across his shirt, puffs proudly with each small giggle he lets out.
Occasionally, he pauses in his climb, distracted by the bustling passersby. Bright blue eyes rove upward with awe, taking in their faces, the glint of finery, the vibrant banners. He glances regularly at his father, seeking a reassuring nod or look, before breaking into a grin and getting back to work.
Atley seems to have all the time in the world for the climb. He grunts at the occasional greeting, his gaze lingering warily on the crowded keep ahead, packed with nobility and all manner of bureaucrats. The noise and press of bodies grows with every step, and though his jaw tightens, he never rushes Karson. He simply adjusts his stance, his gloved hand steadying the boy’s progress. Karson giggles again, and for a fleeting moment, the weariness in Atley’s face softens.
“Aye.” he says to the youth.
—
Lord Kieran Lysander stands with his good hand on his wife's shoulder. Royal Librarian Lady Renna Lysander, seated in her wheelchair, looks pale and tired, but she is present.
Two of their children move through the crowd towards them. Theris Lysander is dressed in a well-tailored black suit, and his runeblade is both sheathed and peace-tied on his back. He keeps his eyes lowered. The blue glow is barely visible in them. On his arm is his sister, Lady Alaisa, who is steadily guiding him towards their parents.
Lord Devon Tennerow is in the bustling crowd in the keep, a blond woman in her middle years on his arm. Some might recognize her as the Lady Montall, widowed at the Wrathgate, who has quietly become Lady Tennerow some months back.
Lord Leric Tennerow is there as well, his face still a little windchapped from recent combat. His curly hair has grown to near shoulder-length, and, as he is not here in an official capacity, he is not in dress uniform. Instead, his blue and gold clothing is somewhat reminiscent of the quel'dorei, likely the influence of his fiancee Kalindra Azuredown, who is attending with him.
Kalindra stands at attention beside her fiancé with her hands neatly behind her back. She has her hair done up in a traditional headdress of her house and is dressed in a fine blue and silver doublet and matching velvet leggings. She has long black boots and gloves that are partially obscured by a long, close fitting blue coat that reaches down to her ankles giving the appearance of her wearing a dress without sacrificing practicality.
Captain Jo Sparkwire looks very small amidst the crowd of humans, and would be easy to overlook. She is in her nicest purple mage robe, and stands proudly in representation of Cobalt Company, even if she might be invisible from the perspective of the throne.
Lady Merelda Veyne stands with her parents, Lord Theo and Lady Zura Veyne, near the edge of the crowd. She seems to be paying more attention to the support structures in the Keep than to the other nobles.
Siamus Fallon, in his blue and gold naval dress uniform, is already waiting within the Keep; he stands off to one side of the great hall’s entrance from the hallway, at the colonnaded perimeter of the room. With him, in identical uniform, are Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth and Admiral Catherine Rogers. The three of them stand in a small, confidential circle, their heads bent together, and Admiral Rogers appears to be arguing a point; her gaze shifts intently between the other two, and her hands make sharp, decisive movements as she speaks. Siamus has his arms crossed over his chest, leaning slightly toward her, wearing an abstracted frown.
With the room now full to crowding, however, the usual jockeying for position has begun. One heavyset nobleman steps backward from his own conversation partners and nearly into the trio. Siamus looks up sharply and puts a warding arm out to stop the man before he backs directly into the Grand Admiral. The man glances over his shoulder, scowling, and shifts to one side.
“I think, Admiral Rogers, that we can finish this conversation later,” says Jes-Tereth, raising her voice above the increasing clamor. “Perhaps someplace where we can actually hear one another.”
Admiral Rogers looks around them and smiles ruefully, then turns to give Siamus a good-natured, narrow-eyed look. “Sure, give Fallon more time to put together a counterargument.”
Siamus laughs at her. “As if I’ve ever needed time to prepare an argument.”
Jes-Tereth smiles at them both. “Later, then, both of you. Enjoy the festivities.”
The trio disperses, and Siamus begins to weave his way around the edge of the room, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.
Count Lester Amerith, another early arrival, has already claimed a spot two steps aside from the exact center of the room. He is alone. Despite the welcome issued to Cobalt Company, Almeiria is conspicuously absent. He wears his usual grey and black suit, and the tip of his cane rests lightly on the floor in front of him. It does not seem like he is looking at or for anything in particular, but then, you never know, with this man.
Lady Gardenia Aspenwood stands with her father, Count Simon Marchand. Her daughter has been left at home, but young Arnie is old enough to understand the meaning of the occasion, and he is present, holding his mother's hand and trying not to fidget with his suit.
Dara Tennerow arrives hand-in-hand with Sophiette Valonforth. She's dressed in a stylish light green dress that flatters her figure, and — uncharacteristically — seems a little nervous to be among all these people. Dara has not made many social appearances in recent months, and her hair may give the reason why. Her long, dark curls are gone, and instead she has short hair that is just reaching bob length. Curiously, Sophiette's golden hair is of a similar length.
Sophiette drinks in the scene with wide-eyed wonder — an expression mirrored by her younger brother and squire, Hugo. Fortunately, their mother, Lady Valonforth, is present to rein Hugo in. All three Valonforths are clad in the black and steel-blue colors of their house, Sophiette favoring black leggings, and a doublet striped in black and blue with gold trim.
Johann Ebek is posted near the entrance of the room, wearing an especially formal set of armor denoting him as a member of the Stormwind Royal Guard. Today he is guarding the dignitaries. His gaze is stern and watchful, and he carries the air of a man always ready to act; after all, if a dragon appears in the throne room, it wouldn't be the first time.
Sil Silentstep is dressed up in a dark burgundy suit, his hair neatly combed. He stands quietly near the edge of the crowd.
The Duchess Esprit, Lady Fallon of Stormwind, is as early as her husband, having taken time to make several rounds already greeting dignitaries and rulers, making her way through the nobility of brief conversations to touch in, particularly those who she has not spoken to in some small while of the past month or so, having been temporarily busy with the business of birthing two sons seventeen days ago. She doesn't look, today, like a new mother; evidence of the lingering softness of a pregnancy has been strapped away with the heavy use of stays to give her a rigidly defined bodice, cosmetics hide any sign of exhaustion, and her demeanor hides the rest.
She is unassailable, this Duchess, and she is dressed for the occasion in a resplendent gown of blue and gold, white touches of white on the ends of her sleeves, the embroidery both lovely and themed: upon the skirt dress there appears most clearly a lion of Stormwind, but also in suggestion, a kraken with many arms, and an anchor, both supporting the lion in the center. On her bodice is an embroidered L, a symbol of Lordaeron. Avrenne remembers and represents them all, the lost of the Alliance that touch her life. Her hair is up in golden waves, capped by a band of pearls, and an enormous star sapphire pendant rests on the creamy expanse of her chest.
At the moment, she stands next to the Duchess Clara Aspenwood, dressed in a blue gown that flatters the older woman, and is most especially appropriate for the occasion without drawing any undue attention to herself. The two women wear similar expressions, with Avrenne's composure, and Clara's neutrality. Next to his wife is Lord William Aspenwood, watching the proceedings with a merry twinkle to his eye, although he leans more heavily on his cane than he used to, and some grief has etched itself permanently onto his brow, so that even in smiling, he seems graver than he ever was.
In the crowd gathering around Cobalt Company is Colson Aspenwood, with his husband, dressed in not his usual armor, but a polite suit of blue and gold made by his sister, wearing the near exact same expression as his mother, as he waits patiently for the ceremony, content to make small talk to those who approach him and Mordecai.
One group of nobles and delegates surround a large bear of a man with an unhappy and rather reddish face. Lord Aldous Lescovar, son of the traitor Gregor Lescovar, is clearly brooding about nearly everything, and it seems to be infecting others in the room. The nobles have been drinking enough to loosen their tongues, and anyone nearby can hear King Wrynn's name come up over and over in that knot of nobles, often spit from the mouth like bitter poison.
Avrenne's conversation with Clara comes to an end, some satisfaction in the Lordaeron Duchess' face, and she does not need to look for Siamus — it's simply an exacting turn of her head, her eyes immediately to him, as if she knew all along precisely where he was already. She makes her way through the room towards him, parting people like she was seven feet tall, through pure presence.
Siamus spots his wife only a moment later and smiles across the crowd at her. He begins to weave his own way through to meet her when the caustic voices nearby catch his attention. He slows to look toward Lescovar and his cronies, and his smile vanishes at once.
Atley suddenly arrives next to Siamus holding Karson, the oversized toddler. “Vice Admiral Fallon,” he growls familiarly, giving a polite bow of respect to lady Avrenne as she draws near, if she makes it in time. “My lady.”
Atley grunts. Karson sputters, now equipped with a well worn hippogryph plushie. He stuffs it into his mouth with a small squeal. “Could I trouble you to hold the little one for a moment? I’ve to make a greeting to Lord Alduous Lescovar.” Atley has his eyes set on the man in question, and may be giving off a more than faint resemblance to a blood hound on the scent.
Siamus turns, startled, and is successfully diverted from his Lescovar Death Stare by the presence of a small child. "Atley!" he says, delighted. "Is it young Karson? I'd be privileged. Don't hit the man again; there are guards about." He reaches to take the boy.
Avrenne's brows raise, as she gives Dane a proper nod, coming to stand next to her husband, her hands folded in a clasp in front of her. "Sir Atley, what a delight to see you again. Remember well." Speaking of remembering people, she adds, "I trust your wife is well."
“I’ll be gentle,” Atley says to Siamus with a grunt. Karson blows another distracted raspberry before he stuffs the hippogryph into his mouth. He doubletakes Siamus’ bicorne, be it on head or in hand, and reaches out towards it, making grabby hands.
Siamus tips his head obligingly and removes his hat one-handed to perch it on the toddler's head. "A navy man already. I thought ye had a particularly clever look about ye," he tells Karson seriously. "I'll introduce ye to the Lady Ery sometime soo—" He turns his head to look sharply toward Lescovar's voice.
Lescovar, over with his cronies, makes some kind of slurred, angry pronouncement. It is probably intelligible to those close by, because they seem to approve.
Kalindra observes the bustle surrounding Lescovar and leans over to Leric to make a small joke in Thalassian, "It's a comfort to know that there is at least one person here with fewer friends than I."
Leric murmurs back in Common, "Or perhaps more enemies. I hope we have none."
Atley glances over at Lescovar again before he turns back to Avrenne. “She’s well, my lady. She sends her best regards. You look radiant.” He scoffs with amusement at Siamus and cranes his head in a nod. “P’raps. With good fortune he may outgrow it.” To both Fallons, Atley inclines his head. “Please forgive me a moment.”
With that, he turns towards Lescovar and his group, marching straight into the center. His pace is deliberate, but not necessarily one that prefaces a surprise punch to the face, fortunately.
Siamus says quietly from the side of mouth to Avrenne, "Pray he doesn't hit the man again. Though it would add to the general festivity, in fairness."
Sil catches sight of Dane, and sidles over towards the Lescovar group, probably to offer support if needed.
Baron Lescovar looks up at the approach, peering at Sir Dane Atley. His face looks angry and flushed, but all he says is the traditional greeting, "Remember Well."
“Remember Well indeed, my lord. I warrant we’ll have no issue with that.” Atley looks Lescovar in the eye and calmly cinches his thumbs in his belt. “Stormwind has a long memory. It’s been some time since we’ve met. We’ve both come quite a long way.”
"Aye, that we have," the baron says, clearly trying to find the insult in the words.
Meanwhile, Karson squeals from within the hat and reaches up chubby hands to adjust it. He pushes it up just enough to grin open mouthed at Siamus from underneath it.
"Mm," Avrenne says, watching the proceedings with those dark eyes noting everything. She stays where she is, with Siamus, but she looks ready to intervene with diplomacy if needed, on either side, to keep a neutral peace.
“Exciting times,” Atley growls flatly. He shifts his gaze from Lescovar to the posse. “Many great changes in the House. New additions. Strong additions. Lord Ference, Lord Fallon among them. War veterans.”
"War veterans," Lescovar sneers. "The same war that has cost us all…"
Noticing the sudden friction, Jaina Proudmoore hastily steps down from the throne and approaches Atley, Lescovar and his supporters, the smile on her face looking more than a little forced.
"Remember well." Jaina bows to them all, using the traditional greeting for the holiday.
"Remember well, Jaina Proudmoore." The baron glances to his allies, then back at her, eyeing her up and down with a bit of a leer. He seems unable to make up his mind if the sorceress's approach is a sign of support or danger. His voice slurs a little with drink as he adds, "What brings you so far across the sea?"
Jaina narrows her eyes at him. "Just like you, I come to pay my respects to the heroes of old, but also to seek a wise plan for the new dangers that ail the Alliance today."
Atley turns from Lescovar to Jaina, and inclines his head, giving a brief, “My lady,” without otherwise interrupting her entrance.
Siamus's smile vanishes at once, his expression an impassive mask. His gaze rests on Jaina a moment, flicks to Lescovar and back again.
Karson drops the hat, blinding himself in the cavernous interior as he waves the plushie around, yawping mutedly.
Avrenne was already unsmiling, but now she unclasps her hands to set one of them onto Siamus' arm. Is it to restrain him from action, or is it to steady herself, or simply a show of support? Unclear from the gesture, but her hand is warmer than it should be, Jaina's words carrying enough to be heard, and so maybe there is another reason Avrenne touching is Siamus, to restrain the Duchess' anger.
Elohad, who's been warmly greeting randoms, has also been keeping Atley and Lescovar well in his peripheral vision. He is, however, perhaps deliberately on the opposite side of the room from Lescovar, so cannot hear what is being said.
The baron gestures at his compatriots with a somewhat wobbly sweep of his hand. "Indeed, these new dangers hurt us all—rich and poor, merchants and rabble alike. How did it come to this, wizard? Who shall we blame?"
Jaina keeps her face straight, unreadable. After a careful pause, she speaks. "Alliance leadership has faced many challenges of late. Yes, errors in judgment have been made, and many lessons learned. But we have also achieved great victories."
An old and sinewy noble pushes his way forward, shaking his silver head in frustration. "It's like he was saying to the knight here! We are tired of Alliance wars depleting our gold and our blood. Reckless adventuring and personal vendettas only undermine our chances for peace and prosperity!"
Siamus bounces Karson absently, but his full focus is now held magnetically to the conversation between Jaina and Lescovar's cronies. He takes a half-step toward them in grim silence. (Ain't nobody badmouth Alliance wars in Siamus Fallon's presence.)
Sil frowns but makes no move to join the group. Was that an insult to Cobalt Company?
Johann keeps an eye on the group, but does not seem likely to step in unless ordered, or violence occurs.
From what can be heard of Elohad's conversations, he seems to be sticking mostly to topics about his recent theatrical endeavors.
Atley grunts, eyeing Jaina. He takes to deadpanning the most recent of Lescovar’s speaking companions, before he shifts his gaze back to Lescovar himself. “I understand that it may be difficult for those with little, or no, experience to know the true nature of war and understand its costs, while steep, can often be necessary.”
Avrenne takes the step with Siamus, and then continues forward with intent. If she is gritting her teeth at being seen as rising in support of Jaina Proudmoore, it doesn't show. Instead, her voice is clear and cool, as calm as a cold winter's day.
"Peace and prosperity is a shared goal I am sure we can all agree would be best, but one cannot have it simply by wishing for it," she says to the older noble. "As Sir Atley says, such times are bought, often at high cost when there are those who are determined to wage war against us. One cannot bargain with the Scourge, any more than one can reason with a mad dragon aspect. We must all recognize the need for defense, and understand that sometimes the only clear course to avoid higher loss, is to turn to offense."
Atley looks around at each of them for a moment, except for Jaina. “Far be it from me to denigrate any of your great services or wisdoms applied to our fair kingdom, of course. One need not be a war veteran to be of service to the kingdom.” His tone sounds firm, but genuine. However, now, Atleys’ gaze locks back on Lescovar, expression stern and controlled. “I’m certain you learned a great deal under the tutelage of your noble father, for example.” A beat. “Light rest him.”
"Light rest him, though his death does not rest well with me," the baron growls, though he doesn't seem to be leveling any kind of accusation at anyone in particular. "I learned all I know about managing an estate from my father, and King Varian has no head for money. And yes, we should be focusing on the dragon, as Lady Fallon says, and not wasting money on…"
Jaina puts up her hand gently to calm the mood. "Many have voiced similar concerns. We must all agree the war against the Scourge was necessary, but I agree we shouldn't seek out war where there could be peace. For example, the ill-directed aggression toward the Horde. I, for one, believe good allies are hard to come by these days, even as our enemies seem to multiply without end."
The baron puts his meaty hand on her shoulder. "I think we have an orc lover here, boys." The ensuing laughter smells of stale mead. The baron leans in close, too close, his breath hot and mocking. "Or maybe your tastes run more toward reeking tauren?"
"Ill-directed aggression?" Siamus can't help himself. "The Forsaken plague-bombed Hillsbrad! The orcs are on the shores of Tol Barad right now, and in the forests of Ashenvale. Ill-directed…?" He cuts off to glare icily at Lescovar.
Atley grimaces with disgust at Jaina’s wording, literally turning on her during the exchange. However, once the hand touches her shoulder, he immediately tries to shove it off and step between her and the baron. “You forget yourself, my lord,” he growls, a deep, controlled baritone.
Siamus steps forward, his steady glare on Lescovar silent support for Atley's words. Siamus, you are holding a toddler.
Elohad seems to temporarily lose track of what his interlocutor is saying as his head turns visibly toward the tension between Jaina and the others.
"The defense of our people is not ever a waste of money," Avrenne says, her own tone so cold that some might feel strangely nostalgic for the balmy glaciers of Northrend in comparison. "The direction of aggression has been at the Alliance, as the Admiral says. Surely no one here would argue for the Horde to be allowed to take Alliance lives." Surely. "We are all here united, and we remember well those who have been lost." Her words are Diplomatic, and seemingly for Peace and Unity here. If there is another meaning, another remembering going on, it is shrouded behind a veil of composure.
Alli (Anareline) — 1/7/2025 3:52 PM
"Fine, fine, I went too far," the baron says, but he's still leering at Jaina over Dane's shoulder unpleasantly. "But listen to me, Lady Proudmoore. We know you and the king are close. We need you to reason with him. Make King Wrynn listen to his nobles; get him to find peace where we can and make sure that damn dragon is taken care of before there isn't a city left for us to trade with. I don't care about the Horde, I care about the dragon."
Jaina murmurs a thanks to Sir Atley, and looks over at the Fallons helplessly. Her peacemaking plans are just falling to pieces all around her.
"I understand all of your concerns. I share many of them," Jaina tries again, looking around at… all of the concerns.
"Then do your duty, and use your influence. No one profits from mindless war. The king's current plans are—" Baron Lescovar snaps.
"Are what?" comes a deep voice behind the baron. King Wrynn is standing in the doorway.
Atley turns to the sound of the voice, bushy brows raised faintly, and kneels.
Elo immediately turns his full attention toward the king (though from much farther away).
Avrenne is a well trained diplomat, at the sound of the king, she dips automatically into an appropriate curtsey for her station.
Clara does the same. It takes William an extra beat to bow, distracted by some thought or conversation.
Colson's bow, although not so easily noticed from their positions some space apart, is exactly in time with his mother's.
Sil, unnoticed by the side of the room, kneels.
Siamus straightens away from Lescovar immediately to face the king and bow. He is holding a toddler in a naval officer's bicorne. The bow is a little more awkward than usual.
Kalindra relaxes, hoping the king's presence eases the tension. She follows suit with the others and kneels.
Atley waits until appropriate to smartly rise and move to relieve the Vice Admiral of child. “Thank you, Siamus,” he growls lowly.
Sensing tension, Karson has just started to mewl, observing tension on surrounding adult faces. Now, in Atley’s hat, sans bicorne, he is bouncing lightly.
Cressidha, currently standing next to her brother, curtsies.
The murmur of Lescovar’s supporters fades as Varian strolls towards the knot of nobles. "Please, Baron Lescovar, enlighten us all. Tell us all what my plans will bring." Varian's stare is like a bolt of lightning, burying itself between the baron's eyes. Lescovar steps back in unconscious submission.
"My apologies, Highness." The baron bows. "We were merely having a lively debate.”
Atley’s look darkens with amusement. His lips even resemble a smirk of vindication. He still continues to bounce Karson, but fortunately, Karson’s too distracted wringing out his hippogryph stuffie.
Varian walks up to the baron and only stops once he is well within the noble's personal space. Nose to nose, the king speaks quietly, but his growl comes through loud and clear.
"While you were a whelp in your family's fetid den, I was leading Stormwind's armies to triumph." Varian's eyes flash across the room to the others, daring any face to challenge him. "I have led us across the sea, to the cold climes of Northrend, to the unholy depths of the Undercity—victory after victory, and yet many of you still doubt."
Cressidha's face goes blank at the mention of the Undercity - and the fact that the king considers that a victory.
Colson sets a hand gently to touch Cressidha's, his face a rigid mask of extreme neutrality.
Atley raises his head an inch higher. No challenging here.
Siamus' dark gaze is fixed on his King, an almost exultant pride in his expression. He cuts a contemptuous look at Lescovar. You are getting Told, sir.
Elohad stands silent and attentive to the king's words, his posture telegraphing respect, but he does not approach any closer.
Varian looks across the faces. "So why did you come here today? To waste my time? To demand I hear your petty complaints about my efforts to protect this world? To protect you?!"
Neither Lescovar nor any of his supporters dares to answer that one.
Karson turns away from the yelling, burying his chubby face in the crook of his father’s neck. Atley simultaneously scans the crowd while gently clasping a hand on the back of Karson’s head before he takes to rubbing the toddler’s back.
Avrenne sets her hand back onto Siamus' arm, her chin lifted, satisfaction and support of Stormwind's king evident in her expression. She is enjoying the dressing down and her composure does not hide it all. There is a flicker at the mention of Undercity, her eyes flicking to Jaina for one brief, cold moment, and then it is gone, hidden back away.
Clara's neutral expression cannot actually go any higher neutral than it already is, but she watches the king. William's lips press tightly together, no sign of merriment now, and there's a tension in him that suggests he's waiting for violence to break out, and he does not want it to.
Fear of violence may not be unreasonable here. The fire of the Ghost Wolf burns in Varian's eyes now, an ember-hot glow that stands fearless in the night, holding back the shadows. "Or did you come to see Lo'Gosh yourself? To behold up close the one who wages war with a relish equal to his enemies?!"
Some of the nobles begin to carefully back away, but Varian isn’t finished. "Some say I am no better than those we fight! That I am the monster. Well, if so, then I am the monster you need! I am the one ferocious enough to strike fear in the very heart of darkness! The one who has the courage to do whatever it takes to protect humanity from the abyss!"
Elohad frowns slightly. It might be a frown of thought. Or it might be another kind of frown.
Avrenne smiles, a small one, but it's there, and so too is a notable lack of horror or fear over this pure anger and aggression. Anyone looking closely might even note that the Lady Fallon leans a little closer, her eyes fixed on the king.
Varian whips his gaze across the audience and then freezes when he sees a familiar figure standing quietly by the throne. It’s prince Anduin Wrynn, now thirteen, a horrified look on his face. The young priest must have wandered in at some point during the King’s rant. Anduin slowly backs away, then turns and flees from the room.
As Varian watches Anduin go, the anger in his face drains like water from a broken dam, leaving only emptiness behind. Varian sits down on his throne and motions wearily for everyone to leave.
“Thank you for coming, everyone,” Archbishop Benedictus says with a smile, trying to salvage the situation, “Please make your way to the Valley of Heroes. His Highness will meet you there soon.”
Atley’s chest swells with support as Varian continues, until Anduin is spotted. He blinks at the youth, and then Karson starts to cry. Atley works his jaw for a moment, still patting the toddler, gaze fixed on a spot on the ground. He looks back to the king on his throne, to where Anduin had been standing, and then Karson’s trembling head, before he turns and marches out.
Siamus' gaze follows Varian to the throne. He turns back to give Lescovar a contemptuous up-and-down look, ignoring Jaina, and then glances down at his wife on his arm. "Shall we?"
Avrenne's smile vanishes as the Archbishop takes control of the situation, and she turns her face upwards to Siamus, back to her composure. "Lead on, Admiral," she tells him. "Sir Atley. Lady Jaina." She doesn't acknowledge Lescovar or any of his cronies at all — notably so, a cut indirect as if he has ceased to exist.
Lescovar sniffs in Siamus's general direction, and turns back to his friends.
Jaina looks like she's a kid who just accidentally broke a lamp. She sighs and heads out of the Keep.
Colson tracks her movement with his eyes, a tension relaxing as she leaves away from aggressive nobles. He relaxes even further when Mordecai returns to his side.
Mordecai, standing near the Archbishop, smiles softly. "Remember Well," he says, his voice pitched to carry. "Please exit in an orderly fashion, those closest to the doors first." Softer, he says, "Light be with you, Archbishop," and moves to rejoin his husband.
Kalindra looks to Devon, ready to follow whatever course of action he takes. She's not here to make a statement unless that statement is her presence as a knight of Stormwind.
Devon moves over to Leric and Kalindra, and his wife steps over to join them. "Well, that was more eventful than the usual reception. We stand with the King, naturally. I'm with the honor delegation, but I trust you will escort the Lady Tennerow safely."
"Of course, my lord." Kalindra offers Lady Tennerow an arm.
Elohad gazes wistfully in the direction that Anduin fled, and hesitates before finally following the direction of the crowd.
Sil slips out of the Keep, relieved that this reception didn't end up with any invasions.
Atley is off to the side of the entrance, tugging Karson’s wool cap back on to the unnerved toddler. Atley waggles the hippogryph before his watery blue eyes and snotty nose.
Alaisa takes the handles of her mother's wheelchair. "Excuse me, clear a path," she says, fighting against the crush to the exit.
In the Valley of Heroes
A kaleidoscope of people surrounds the great statues along the bridge over the Valley of Heroes. The crowd cheers the wizard's magic fireworks with wild abandon as the explosions reverberate back and forth between the walls of the city and into the moat below. Tailors, blacksmiths, cooks, vendors, and soldiers alike stand shoulder to shoulder across the bridge and as far down the road to Goldshire as the eye can see. Everyone is having a wonderful time, caught up in the spectacle.
But onstage, a contingent of the Honor Delegation is not as enthusiastic. King Wrynn is nowhere to be found! Jaina and Mathias Shaw give each other worried glances as Field Marshal Stonebridge stands at the podium waving to the crowd. It was to be the field marshal's great honor to introduce King Wrynn today for his speech. But as the fireworks display comes to a close, the king of Stormwind is still nowhere in sight.
On Stage
Elohad looks tense but dignified at his place among the other House members, his gaze wandering over the crowd in an alert, almost vigilant manner.
Devon flashes a nervous smile towards Elohad, and says, "King Wrynn has never been entirely predictable for these things. I'm sure he'll show up."
Siamus, who has taken his place with Devon and Elohad — and as far away from Lescovar as possible — says, "Aye," confidently. And then checks his pocketwatch, less discreetly than he could have.
Elohad responds to Devon, very quietly, "In some moods, a man's absence may be less controversial than his presence."
Count Simon Marchand stands next to Duchess Clara Aspenwood, his expression grave. He knows how to smile, but it hasn't been happening much lately.
Lord Kieran Lysander ascends to the stage last, his jaw tight. The fireworks have made him twitchy rather than celebratory. His eyes track several people in the crowd: there is his wife and his daughter, there are the sources of the fireworks, there is the Death Knight wearing the face of his son.
Siamus snaps his watch shut and looks around. It's fine, he is famous for his patience.
Field marshal Stonebridge turns and growls, "Blast it! Where is he?" Many of the nobles shrug. Stonebridge gives a glancing smile to the audience, then huddles with the delegates and heads of state. In a quiet voice, she asks, “What do we do? Move forward without him? Wait, and hope he turns up?”
Count Amerith looks perhaps mildly amused by this turn of events. But also when doesn't he? He does not offer any suggestions, opting to see the direction the script moves on its own.
Clara is a patient statue waiting for the king, her expression unchanged from the usual. She could wait there forever, it would seem.
General Marcus Jonathan, ever the tactician, has a compromise plan. "Field Marshal, I suggest you begin a delaying action. Feint and bluff. Hold the line, as it were, while we go look for the king."
Jaina and Mathias nod in agreement.
"I think I saw him with Anduin before I left - he's probably still in the Keep," General Jonathan says. "Maybe they're talking and lost track of time. I can go find him, and Stonebridge here can entertain the crowd."
The field marshal likes this new strategy even less. "General, I am a commander of the king's armies; I am not a circus performer. I have nothing prepared!"
"Just improvise. Distract them. Keep them entertained," General Jonathan suggests.
Stonebridge gives in with a sigh. Muttering under her breath, she turns to the fickle throng. "Damn blasted gnome and pony shows…"
In the Crowd
Jo is having a great time in the crowd, with considerable appreciation for the fireworks. She can be heard murmuring, "Ooh, how did they do that one?" from time to time.
Atley’s towering form waits vaguely near the Kurdran Wildhammer statue with Karson in the baby carrier.
Karson clumsily grips a soft biscuit between his muttoned hands. He alternates between taking messy bites and squealing with delight at the fireworks. Fortunately for him, Atley his own gloved hands pressed against Karson’s ears. He ignores the fireworks however, looking from the stage, to the crowd, as if expecting an intruder.
Avrenne is holding her position in the crowd, no obvious sign of impatience or concern for where the king might be, as she stands gazing at the assembled House of Nobles, her hands clasped lightly together in front of her, left over right with her wedding ring on clear display. On one side is a very, very tall young man in a dark blue suit with a maroon cravat edged with gold, and a pleasant gentlemanly air to him for the most part. Finley's eyes, however, are guarded, and he searches a little too obviously for evidence of the king, a hunching of his shoulders like a man who has a bad feeling about this absence.
To the other side is a woman in her mid-thirties, paying little attention to the drama of a late king, because her entire attention is absorbed by a ten-month-old in her very posh pram. Ery makes either appreciative or angry noises at the sounds and excitement — it's hard to tell the difference between the baby shrieks. Those standing nearby with a hat might find that for some reason the wind has kicked up, spontaneously, and their hats are blown clear off. Weird weather today, huh?
Somewhere, a certain reporter clutches his hat tightly to his head in despair.
Alaisa makes eye contact with Shaw on stage and raises a brow as if waiting for nonverbal orders. Is she supposed to go look for the King?
Shaw makes eye contact with Alaisa, and then gives the slightest shake of his head. Not yet.
The First Speech
With a touch of nervousness, Field Marshal Stonebridge forces a smile that outshines even the gleaming patchwork of medals that adorns her armor, and she begins to regale the audience with one of her favorite topics—the fascinating history, and little-known nuisances, of steam-engine siege tactics.
Siamus leans forward, rapt.
She has at least one rapt audience member, as Avrenne listens with an attentive air, a light in her eyes from the unexpected delight.
Jo looks up with shining eyes. This is the best speech ever.
Lord Kieran gives the Field Marshal an approving nod. This is a good speech.
On stage, Devon clears his throat quietly. "Might we have Sir Ference speak to them? He does have considerably more experience than Stonebridge."
Still covering Karson’s ears, Atley mildly flicks his gaze towards the talk of steam engine tactics before he keeps looking around for the king.
Finley, on the other hand, looks like he's getting ready to hear that the king has disappeared — again — and they are about to be plunged into another entire regency era.
Colson frowns faintly, some concern now breaking through the neutrality.
Clara continues her impression of a statue.
Ery blows a raspberry.
Mordecai squeezes Colson's hand gently and looks around for the Archbishop. Maybe the church can be diplomatic again.
Soon, General Jonathan rushes back onto the stage, shaking his head frantically, still breathless from his search. "He's not in the Keep. I've checked everywhere. I couldn’t find Anduin either."
Jaina looks at Mathias and frowns. "This is not like him. Where else would he be? And where is the prince?"
Karson squeals at the visual overstimulation, still deafened by Dane’s gloved hands. Atley keeps his eyes on the stage, and they narrow as he watches the discourse.
Elohad, eavesdropping on General Jonathan, frowns.
Count Amerith's expression is politely neutral, but for once, his hazel eyes seem to have a spark of life in them. Missing Royalty? Interesting.
"So with the advent of the transversal Gnomeregan steam crank," the field marshal drones on, glancing over her shoulder, hoping against hope to see the king has finally arrived, "ah… with this amazing new cog-shaft interlink, the pressure-assisted siege engine could hurl projectiles in excess of fifty stones, even in the coldest climes of Icecrown." Field Marshal Stonebridge pauses, waiting for the crowd to be as impressed as she is at this fact.
Siamus applauds.
Jo claps happily.
Avrenne applauds, although not wildly. There is nothing the duchess does in public that could be described as wild. Still, there's a smile of approval granted to the field marshal. Well done.
Clara applauds politely, for the exactly appropriate amount of time and for the exactly appropriate loudness.
Her son Colson follows suit, to a potentially uncanny degree.
Neither Finley or Ery clap, but for different reasons. Finley, because he's using his height to advantage to search the crowd, and didn't even hear the speech. Ery because she didn't find the Field Marshal's delivery enthusiastic enough, or because she's a baby, one of those reasons.
There is some confused applause from the majority of the crowd who have a standard person's amount of interest in siege weaponry.
Baffled, Stonebridge turns back to the delegates helplessly. "Can someone else take over?"
Elohad straightens slightly, as though trying to become more visible, and humbly clears his throat.
Siamus stops applauding Stonebridge to clap a hand on Elohad's shoulder and nod at the Field Marshal.
Jaina seems to notice Elohad's throat clearing, and says, "Lord Ference, would you? Hopefully, you won't need to speak long. Just until the King arrives."
Shaw looks concerned. "Widen the search, General. I'll mobilize SI:7."
"I'll check the port," Jaina says as she blinks out with a flash of white light.
Jonathan frowns and begins to leave.
"General," Shaw says as he grabs Jonathan's arm, a look of deep concern in his eyes. "Be ready to sound the alarm. I fear something sinister is afoot."
As Shaw heads off-stage, he glances over the crowd and meets a certain Alaisa's gaze for the briefest moment. The message is clear. Yes, now.
Alaisa leans down to whisper to her mother, who nods. She vanishes into the crowd.
Atley’s look hardens on Shaw from afar. He slowly turns to look at the gates, a hand settling comfortably on the grip of his glowing vrykul blade. Karson widens his eyes as an ear is left exposed to the madness of the festivities.
The Second Speech
Elohad steps up to deliver his speech to the crowd. It seems, by the rhythm of his delivery, to be extemporaneous, but it's just a bit too well-structured to be so.
He speaks what he knows of each of the heroes represented by statues, mingling personal encounters with well known highlights of their heroic adventures. He seems to be aiming to entertain as well as educate, sprinkling in inoffensive, gentle little jokes here and there where appropriate.
Jo is delighted. First siege weaponry and then Elo! The best human speech day ever.
Somewhere in the crowd, a certain trio of guards circulate, mingling and greeting audience members on an individual level, showing no worry or tension at all, as though nothing is amiss. Everything's fine, no need to panic.
Hana weaves through the crowd as well, smiling and passing out snacks. "Free samples!" she announces to the people she comes across. "If you like them, come buy some!"
Johann quietly departs as the General does, to lend his own efforts to the search.
The crowd is drawn into the speech, laughing at the right times and cheering at the familiar heroics.
Siamus is getting less of Elo's speech than he would ordinarily like to, warily alert now to the movements of the guards in the audience below. His gaze keeps moving back to Avrenne and the children in the crowd.
Atley nods along absently. Yes, he knows that Thoras story. It’s awesome. Where’s the king, though? He keeps looking around, and instead of blocking Karson’s one ear, he’s now idly squeezing his leg. Karson is none the wiser, savoring his teething biscuit with his wrinkled knit cap.
Natalyah, in a dark brown dress with touches of blue and white of the Mourning Cloak butterfly, watches the stage with delight, for the moment still caught up in the revelry of the day, and not yet worried about any king's absence. She wasn't around for the first one, and doesn't seem to think anything might be amiss now. She laughs at Elo's jokes, a wicked sound that leaves an impish smile on her face. Her eyes periodically go to Lathrik, watching him in the crowd.
Kalindra makes sure to keep Lady Tennerow close at hand, but she otherwise remains calm. Any frustrations or worries she has regarding the situation go unvoiced.
Arnold "Arnie" Aspenwood seems far more interested in Elohad's speech than the one that came before it.
Avrenne keeps up the illusion of someone who is sure nothing is wrong, there is no need to panic, everyone should simply carry on and enjoy the day, but it is telling that she reaches over and picks Ery up out of her pram, holding the child now.
Finley leaves her side, weaving through the crowd to collect Isla, dressed in a pretty little yellow and blue gown. She comes away from the vendors reluctantly, clearly annoyed as Finley drags her back to where Avrenne stands, waiting. Avrenne speaks to Isla in a low voice, and the young girl's face goes pale, as she hugs her arms to herself, and now watches the stage and the crowd with wide eyes.
At the close of Elohad's speech, King Varian has still not arrived, and people in the crowd are beginning to realize something is very wrong. As the silence mounts, small snippets of anxious dissatisfaction reach the grandstands as the wall of voices from the crowd grow louder.
The Third Speech
A few nobles discuss, and then Lord Ridgewell turns to Archbishop Benedictus. "It’s time to accept that the king isn’t coming. We have decided the archbishop should speak in the king's stead."
Benedictus looks at Ridgewell and acquiesces ever so reluctantly. "Very well. It will be my great and humble honor to say a few words in tribute to this day."
The crowd murmurs with satisfaction as Archbishop Benedictus steps up to the podium. His reassuring presence seems to fill the emptiness of the valley, and the throng calms and quiets, waiting for a word from their spiritual leader. The archbishop pauses to take in the moment, then raises his hands. A cheer goes up, and Benedictus begins to speak.
Benedictus is in his element. The crowd cheers everything he says. He shoots an arm out to the masses, who are hanging on his every word. "As I stand before you, we face a terrible time. The world has torn its foundations asunder. Azeroth is even now being cleansed by divine fire, and we will long remember these days of trial as the crucible from which a new age was born!"
Jo frowns faintly, looking up at the Archbishop. Okay, Church and everything, but bring back Elo and Stonebridge please.
Siamus definitely did not vote for a speech about being cleansed by fire, and is staring blankly at Benedictus.
Atley looks to the Archbishop and slowly takes his hand off of his dagger, going back to deafening Karson. The toddler kicks his legs with excitement as the crowd roars, just before he’s deafened by dad.
Count Amerith thoughtfully strokes his mustache. Are we calling Deathwing's fire divine now? Interesting.
Mordecai looks at Colson with sudden alarm and squeezes his hand twice. "Something's wrong," he whispers.
The crowd cheers, and Benedictus smiles to himself, closing his eyes in satisfaction. Suddenly, the crowd cheers again, even more loudly than before. Benedictus opens his eyes in surprise. Another roar, louder than the last, and the archbishop turns to see what the multitude is cheering at.
The King Arrives!
Limping onto the stage, disheveled and covered in blood, come King Varian and Prince Anduin, barely holding each other up in their fatigue. As the realization of their dire state spreads, a concerned murmur arises, but Varian raises his hand in a gesture of reassurance, and the crowd grows silent.
Devon starts to rise in alarm, but then subsides at the King's raised hand.
Siamus, too, is halfway to his feet when the gesture arrests him.
Kalindra's free hand shoots into her pockets, hoping to find an item that might keep Lady Tennerow safe.
Lady Tennerow makes a sound of alarm at all the blood.
Count Amerith takes in the king and prince, then nods once in approval. Because they're bloody? Who knows, it's Lester. If he had wine, he would be smoothly sipping it.
Atley’s hand goes back to the dagger and he immediately looks from Varian and Anduin to his surroundings, prepared to fight even with Karson strapped to his chest. The toddler drops a biscuit as the crowd roars, pink little face contorting before he starts to cry.
Avrenne has gone very pale, enough so that someone might have a concern that she could faint, but she does not. She is steady on her feet, and she holds her daughter tightly, waiting for more information. It is, unfortunately, not her first event where a king has been violently attacked, but at least this one isn't dead.
Colson takes an involuntary step closer, his hands glowing with the Light, but he doesn't send out the heal. There are other healers, closer, and who have more right to the king and his son.
Elohad is pale and wide-eyed, his gaze fixed not on the king but on Anduin.
Benedictus is completely speechless as he bows and gives the stage to the king of Stormwind. Varian limps to the podium, with Anduin helping him stand tall in his weakness. Varian gives his son a pat on the shoulder and a nod of appreciation as Anduin moves back to be with Jaina and the rest of the Honor Delegation.
Siamus's strained gaze follows Anduin back to the Delegation and then snaps to Varian again. He is sitting poised and tense at his seat's edge, and when his gaze strays from the king it is to scan the stage's surroundings intently.
The king pauses for just a moment, trying to smile through the pain. He points to the massive statues around them. "Hear me, people of Stormwind! Your king stands before you with his heart still beating, a drum that grows stronger each day as he sees the determination you have shown to rebuild from tragedy. Just as these statues still stand watch, so shall Stormwind, now and forever!"
Atley glares at Varian attentively, idly patting Karson on the back.
At the words from their king, standing strong despite obvious violence, the majority of the crowd bursts into cheers.
Kalindra remains tense. What is going on here?
Mordecai squeezes Colson's hand three times and begins to move towards the Archbishop.
In the crowd, Lathrik appears mildly irritated by the dramatic appearance and complete lack of an explanation.
Isla is one of the cheering people, looking relieved and very willing to believe that there was some incredible story that happened here, but that it is all okay now, and the king is fine, and the prince is fine, and everything is going to be fine.
Finley claps, but his expression is blank.
Avrenne merely holds onto Ery, her eyes fixed on Siamus like a steadying point.
Colson squeezes back twice, as he moves with Mordecai, his expression neutral, and his hands still brighter with the Light.
Varian continues, "We are gathered here on Remembrance Day to honor those heroes who have shown us the way, by the light of their lives and the glory of their deeds. Uther Lightbringer! Anduin Lothar!"
"Once again, we face a new and great threat." The king gestures to the damaged towers of the Valley of Honor. "Even now, we bear the fresh scars of evil forces bent upon our destruction." Varian raises his voice for all to hear. "But humanity is not so easily cowed! We stand in the breach and we hold the line! We will never be slaves to fear!"
Atley takes his hand off of the dagger and unclasps the Lion Horn of Stormwind from his belt. He continues to bounce Karson in his carrier, covering his ears, and does not raise The Horn yet, but keeps it at the ready.
As the crowd continues to cheer, Varian glances over at Jaina and Anduin. When he speaks again, his voice is softer and more paternal, something the people of Stormwind have never heard before. "On this day we must remember not only the good but also the bad, for it is through adversity and failure that we become our best! I myself have been… an absent king, chasing our enemies to the very heart of the underworld. I hold your safety as my highest responsibility, your good livelihood my first and only calling. For the truth is it is not the people who serve their king; it is the king who serves his people!"
Elo's expression very clearly reads OKAY BUT WHY ARE YOU BLEEDING.
"I have not always been the best leader… or father… or husband." Varian's eyes become glassy with memories. He turns and nods to his son. "A wise man once said, 'We each must grow in every direction, every day.' Well, I still have some growth left in my bones. And behind me, I see a city rising from disaster, with fresh hope and gleaming new spires!"
"Yes, today we honor the past, but only with our eyes firmly fixed on a brighter future! One that we will forge together, for ourselves, for our children, and for our children's children!" Varian looks across the crowd and sees so many young faces peering up at him—children who will soon lead their own quests, and who will, in their own special way, make the world a better place.
"Each generation is destined to achieve its great promise. To be sure, each will face a unique set of tests and adversities, and some will be certain that the end is near. But there is no truth to the tavern-told lie that the 'good old days' are forever behind us. No! Each day we are alive is a great day! And each generation finds its own way to become the greatest generation that has ever lived!"
Jo smiles up at the King. This is much better than his last speech.
Atley leans back to peer into Karson’s teary-eyed face. With the toddler reduced to whimpering, Atley sweeps some tears away and leans down to kiss his forehead before rubbing his beard across the toddler’s skin.
Mordecai bumps into the back of Lady Lysander's wheelchair. "Sorry," he whispers to her.
As the crowd cheers, the king steals a glance back at the Honor Delegation. Jaina is smiling and Anduin is applauding louder than anyone, his mother's silver locket dancing on its chain. The young man's face is full of pride, and something else: love. Varian smiles at his son, then turns to the crowd with a new assuredness.
"In the past, we have relied on strength and steel to forge our way. We protect what we can, destroy what we must. But that is not the only way. If we are to ever restore this world, then there must come a time when the leaders of Azeroth are no longer the warriors, but instead the healers! Those who mend instead of those who break. Only then can we truly cure our deep ills and achieve lasting peace."
Elo smiles warmly, nodding.
The crowd roars its approval from all directions. Varian Wrynn raises both hands to quiet the audience one last time, then gestures once again to the grand statues in the valley.
"Look above you! The heroes of old stand tall, and we honor and remember them well this day. But now look next to you! By your side, in this crowd, stand all the heroes of tomorrow! You… and you… and you. Each of you will play a part; each will make a difference; and in time, some will be honored on this day for deeds far greater than any we could possibly imagine!”
“So, people of Stormwind! Let us unite this day. Let us renew our promise to uphold and protect the Light, and together we will face down this dark new storm and stand firm against it—as humanity always has… and humanity always will!"
The crowd saves its greatest roars for the end. A chorus of "Long live King Varian! Long live King Varian!" rises into the sky with vigor and conviction. The cheers are unending, echoing deep into Elwynn Forest and faintly reaching even the distant peaks of the Redridge Mountains.
Elo joins in the chorus, but his demeanor is less a man swept up by a feeling than one attempting to help orchestrate the sweeping.
Avrenne joins in with the chorus of Long live King Varian, and her voice carries strongly through the crowd. If it is said with more fervency than some, it is perhaps due to the emotions of a woman who has already lost one king before through assassination, and is all too aware of Stormwind's own history of it. Dangerous job in Azeroth, being a monarch.
Isla bursts into emotional tears at the speech, clapping wildly and shouting with the crowd, swept up by the entire drama.
Mordecai nudges Colson and up-nods at the stage. He whispers a prayer for the health of Prince Anduin and his father underneath the applause.
Colson adds his own blessing of the Light to King Varian as the king comes at the end of the speech, as Colson keeps his own vows and promises to uphold and protect the Light, as well as his sovereign. The paladin healer seems more relieved when the wounds the heal than anything in the speech specifically.
Atley clasps poor Karson’s ear and presses the other against his chest again. He raises the Lion Horn and sounds out a low, persistent boom, adding to the cacophony of noise and celebration.
Siamus has risen to his feet to applaud the King. His expression is lit by that fierce, gleaming pride again.
Devon rises to his feet to applaud.
Kalindra joins in the applause but won't probably relax until there's some explanation for what just happened.
Lathrik seems to be waiting for just such an explanation, his brows raised in question. When it is not forthcoming, he returns to his mask and circuits through the crowd, making sure all is well and no one is getting overwhelmed by the noise or crowd.