The moment the dozen or so resurrected Wardens stood tall once more, their eyes, no longer vacant but blazing with life, fixed upon Maiev and her remaining sisters, a palpable wave of emotion washed over Galen. Dozens of fiery gazes, gratitude mixed with awe, locked onto him. After all, these very sisters had been cold, lifeless corpses just the day before. A silent testament to Galen's extraordinary power.
A hushed reverence filled the cave. Maiev, with a curt gesture, directed the Wardens to stand guard outside, leaving only herself and Galen within the dimly lit space.
"Galen," Maiev began, her voice tinged with astonishment, "I had no inkling that your Druidic path had ascended to such breathtaking heights! Is this the fruit of your ten-thousand-year sojourn in the Emerald Dream? I doubt even Malfurion could restore a dozen souls to life in the blink of an eye!"
Malfurion probably could, Galen mused internally, but his expertise lies elsewhere. As a Druid of unparalleled versatility, Malfurion's mastery leaned towards guardianship and the delicate balance of nature, with healing being a significant, yet perhaps secondary, aspect of his formidable abilities.
"Merely a touch of insight," Galen replied with characteristic understatement. "And it wasn't solely Druidic magic. I incorporated a... certain flair." He saw no need for false modesty.
"Regardless," Maiev stated, her gaze unwavering, "thank you for your invaluable assistance. This favor will not be forgotten." She turned, a renewed urgency in her stride, as if the need to confront Tyrande burned within her.
"Hold a moment, Maiev." Galen's voice, calm yet firm, halted her. "I am aware of your desire for answers from Tyrande."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "But I fear it will be... fruitless. Utterly futile. Tyrande possesses a sharp intellect, a silver tongue capable of twisting any narrative to her advantage. And her prestige within the empire is such that they will likely cast no blame upon her. You, Maiev, will be left to swallow your righteous anger." The memory of Tyrande's dismissive pronouncements – "You are not qualified to judge me; I act with the greater good in mind" – still rankled Galen. Ten thousand years had forged Tyrande into a shrewd and capable politician, a far cry from the naive priestess he had once known.
Maiev froze, her grip tightening on the Wheel of Judgment, the sharp edges biting into her gloved hand. "So," she stated, her tone hardening, "you are also aiding her!" Her accusation hung heavy in the air.
"No, Maiev," Galen countered, his gaze direct and unwavering. "I am aiding you."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a more intimate level. "You must understand, the Wardens have faded into the periphery of the people's awareness. Even your main stronghold now lies in the distant Broken Isles. Aside from the scattered communities in Val'sharah who still hold a memory of your vigilance, how many truly remember the sacrifices you and your sisters have made?"
He continued, his words gaining intensity, "And now, with Archimonde bearing down upon the World Tree, with a formidable enemy at our doorstep, with lives being extinguished on the front lines daily, who, Maiev, truly cares about the deaths of a mere dozen of your sisters? Only you."
"What precisely are you implying, Galen?" Maiev's voice was sharp, cutting through the air.
"I do not concur with Tyrande's leadership of our people," Galen stated plainly. "In my estimation, many of her methods are short-sighted, even petty. The people's morale, despite our long history, has stagnated under her guidance." He allowed a hint of his personal frustration to color his tone, recalling the condescending attitudes of some narrow-minded Night Elves in Kalimdor towards the burgeoning port of Galenport After all, he thought wryly, this Night Elf guise is just a well-crafted facade. My loyalties still lie with humanity.
Galen's unexpected candor piqued Maiev's interest. The ancient adage – the enemy of my enemy is my friend – resonated within her. Galen's actions had earned a measure of her respect, laying the groundwork for a potential alliance.
Within the secluded confines of the Staghelm family's stone cave, a clandestine conspiracy began to take root.
Three days passed. Tyrande returned to Mount Hyjal, but Maiev remained conspicuously silent, a deceptive calm masking the simmering resentment within.
Meanwhile, the allied forces from the Eastern Kingdoms arrived by sea, converging upon Galen's territory in the Golden Plains. This time, the contingent was substantial. Alongside the stalwart warriors of Stromgarde, came the disciplined legions of Stormwind, spared from the immediate threat of the Scourge, the seasoned mariners of Kul Tiras, the fierce gryphon riders of Wildhammer, the grim warriors of Blackrock, and the ingenious engineers of the Gnomes. Though the High Elves could not commit a full legion, Thranduil led a contingent of skilled Blood Elf mages, their arcane power a valuable addition. Even the Red Dragonflight, who had established the Scarlet Refuge in North Pass, sent a small delegation led by Valastrasz, the tireless dragon Galen had previously encountered.
The impending Battle of Mount Hyjal was no ordinary skirmish. It was a fight for the very survival of Azeroth, a conflict that transcended the petty squabbles of the Orcish Horde or the undead Scourge. This was a battle for the lifeblood of the planet, a battle for honor. Victory would catapult the human-led Alliance of the Eastern Kingdoms onto the grand stage of Azeroth, their influence extending far beyond their own borders. Currently, Stromgarde, now under the Thorbe family's leadership, held the reins of the Alliance, its development diligently fostered by Galen.
The Alliance's formidable army met the stoic Tauren of Mulgore at the Crusader Fortress in the Golden Plains. Joining their ranks were the Crusader's Kalimdorite vassals: the Quilboar and the cDarkspear Trolls. A staggering two hundred thousand troops marched into the Night Elves' territory through the northern valley of Ashenvale!
To be frank, this immense host far exceeded the Night Elves' expectations, shattering their preconceived notions of the Alliance's commitment. The Night Elves, numbering in the tens of millions, could field an army of roughly three hundred thousand. Though every soldier was an elite warrior, honed by centuries of training, the prospect of deploying their entire force to defend Mount Hyjal was logistically impossible. The vast territories of Winterspring, Darkshore, Ashenvale, Felwood, Feralas, and Silithus demanded substantial garrisons. Silithus, in particular, held a threat comparable to Archimonde himself, with the ancient gods and the Qiraji sealed within the Ruins of Ahn'Qiraj in the south.
Ultimately, it was the combined assurances of the Red Dragonflight's representative within the Alliance and the uninvited presence of Ancagalon, representing the ancient power of the Blue Dragonflight, that swayed the Night Elves, granting the massive Alliance army entry into their once-closed lands. This marked a watershed moment, the first time the reclusive Night Elf territories had willingly welcomed the armies of foreign races.
Malfurion, having just awakened from his slumber in Ashenvale, encountered Tyrande and Illidan, returning from their fateful journey to the Broken Isles, on his way back to the sacred slopes of Mount Hyjal.
"It feels as though an eternity has passed. I have languished in darkness for far too long, my dear brother!" The bitterness in Illidan's tone was sharp, a poisoned barb that struck Malfurion's heart. Illidan's past transgressions were grievous. Had it not been for Malfurion and Tyrande's intervention, the people would have executed him without hesitation. Malfurion recalled that even then, the couple's authority was not absolute, and Illidan's wounding of Jarod Shadowsong had been a deep scar on the nascent leadership. If that hothead hadn't exiled himself, Malfurion thought with a sigh, where would Tyrande and I be now? This troublesome brother had consistently courted disaster, his very name a near-taboo within to the night elves.
"Illidan!" Malfurion's voice, though weary, held a firm edge. "All of this... is entirely your own doing!