The past was not something Galen liked to dwell on.
In the early days of his training, Galen had received patient and meticulous instruction from both Amor and his father, Thoras. But that nurturing approach vanished once they saw how quickly Galen progressed. Upon reaching master warrior status, their attitude shifted entirely.
"Real combat is the fastest path to mastery!" they declared. And from then on, they began sparring with Galen regularly, pulling no punches. Though they held back their strength to match Galen's level, their decades of experience left him bruised and battered after every bout.
Clearly, this tough-love training style wasn't something Galen invented. It was hereditary. So if Varian or Hogger wanted someone to blame for their own grueling regimen, they'd need to take it up with the Trollbane ancestors—not Galen.
Despite the harshness, Galen could see that Varian and his cousin Vareen were not broken by the training. Their bodies ached, but they pressed on with determination.
And, thanks to Galen's intervention, Varian's fate was already diverging from the tragic path of the original timeline. In that grim future, both of Varian's parents had perished during the orc invasion, and even his cousin Lothar—still alive and standing beside him now—had died in battle. Alone except for Anduin Lothar, Varian had become a hardened survivor.
But this time, Queen Taria was alive and praying in Minas Tirith's cathedral each day. King Llane and Lothar were alive as well, currently on a diplomatic mission to Lordaeron. Without the weight of grief pressing on him, Varian bore far less emotional burden.
Before leaving, Galen presented Varian with a replica of the legendary sword Shalamayne and gifted the Kingdom Guardian Sword to Vareen. After offering a few encouraging words, he departed the training camp.
A month prior—when Llane and Lothar were still stranded at sea—their plea for aid had already reached King Terenas. The Lordaeron king had quickly summoned the other monarchs and high lords to convene in his capital. With time enough for the message to spread even without mass teleportation, preparations for the summit were well underway.
The Stromgarde delegation had not yet departed. Thanks to Gandalf's portals, they could leave closer to the deadline.
Thus, Galen and Gandalf journeyed to Stromgarde to meet with Thoras and begin their trip together. Durin, the Mountain King, also joined them—at Galen's behest. He would represent the Dark Iron dwarves of the Thorium Brotherhood in the upcoming alliance summit.
Durin was, at that moment, in Searing Gorge selecting his best blacksmiths. Years of effort had brought the Dark Iron Mountain Guard under his sway, and his stature within the Thorium Brotherhood had soared. Now a legendary figure, he stood on the cusp of leading his people into a new era. Some even whispered that the current leader was considering stepping down to let Durin take the helm.
Galen had plans of his own—he aimed to consolidate the Dark Iron dwarves under the Thorium Brotherhood's banner and secure them a place within the Alliance. The notion of appearing modest while secretly commanding great power brought a smirk to his face.
Via a pre-established teleportation point, Gandalf transported them directly to Brill, a bustling town just ten miles from Lordaeron's royal city.
Years earlier, Galen's logistics officer, Hammon, had quietly acquired land on Brill's outskirts. A dedicated base farmer had worked the fields ever since, establishing the site as a personal teleportation hub for Galen and Gandalf. Similar arrangements had been made in Hillsbrad, Alterac, Tarren Mill, and Ambermill—each a node in Galen's growing logistical web.
Thoras emerged from the farmer's cottage, gazed at the thriving town of Brill, and beyond it to the spires of Lordaeron's capital. Then he turned to Galen with a look that sent a chill down his spine.
What? What did I do wrong now? Galen thought, feigning innocence.
Surely planting a teleportation anchor was just good strategy. Everyone wards their high ground. It's just standard practice!
Galen handed over Thoras's warhorse without protest. Thoras accepted it with a quiet sigh. The boy had grown stronger—and more secretive. No longer could he be pummeled into obedience under the guise of training.
With a tug on the reins, Thoras mounted up and led the way south.
In the days of the Arathor Empire, cities like Dalaran, Alterac, and Gilneas had risen—each with a unique strength. Lordaeron, however, claimed its place through faith and prosperity. Its fertile lands and holy sites attracted nobles and pilgrims alike, earning it the title of the greatest human kingdom. The northern continent itself bore its name.
Where Stormwind's walls were grand and Stromgarde's rough-hewn, Lordaeron's capital was refined, elegant, and no less magnificent.
But Galen was not easily impressed. In another life, he had wandered the ruined halls of Lordaeron and snapped photos from atop the Menethil throne. He knew better than to be dazzled by temporary glory.
Only resilience could endure the march of history.
The same held true for Stromgarde.
Yet in the end, only Stormwind had been restored.
At the state guesthouse, Thoras brought Galen to meet King Llane and Anduin Lothar.
But it was Lothar in particular whom Thoras wished to see.
To the Trollbane family, descendants of Emperor Thoradin were more than noble—they were sacred. For decades after Stromgarde's independence, the Trollbanes had ruled without a crown, bearing the title of Grand Duke rather than king.
Galen had no such reverence, but he knew his father well. If Lothar ever wished to reclaim Stromgarde, Thoras would likely surrender his crown and fight at his side without hesitation.
For the Trollbanes, the throne was never the goal. What mattered was the legacy of Arathor and the rebirth of Stromgarde's glory.
No other human had surpassed the feats of Thoradin. And the Trollbanes? They had simply rebuilt upon his foundation.