“Well, you are a fool.” Anduin turned to regard him, surprised by the words. “A fool to think for a moment that I would withdraw my support because you are helping the kaldorei. Do I want my kingdom back? My people to return to their homes? Of
course I do! Do I want it badly enough to allow innocent night elves to suffer, when they so generously have helped the Gilneans these last few years? When they mitigated the worgen curse, so we could hang on to ourselves and not get lost in madness? When they fed us, sheltered us, and offered us their home when we had
nothing?”
Genn made a dismissive noise, somewhere between a huff and a snarl. “No. I would never betray that kindness by turning my back on them now.
Sylvanas doesn’t understand that about the living. And she certainly doesn’t understand the Alliance. She is in for a rude awakening, and you can mark
my words.”
For a moment, Anduin simply stared in shock. Then, for the first time in what felt like aeons, he smiled with true pleasure. In the midst of all the bleakness, all the fear and apprehension and horror, here was something good and strong and true to hold on to. And Genn Greymane—he of the quick temper and sullen stubbornness, who had once turned away from the Alliance and lived behind a wall to indulge his own self-interest—he had gifted it to Anduin.