Anduin got off the tram. His procession had deeply flushed skin, each and every single one of them, and they were reeking of great sex but at least their clothes were as untainted and undamaged as Jaina had promised. They were soon greeted by some sort of herald and then guided through the city. Not that Anduin needed the guide, he had been in Ironforge often enough to know himself around the underground city, but what was courtesy he shouldn't deny.
Out of the Deeprun Tram they first entered Tinker Town, the district granted to the smallest member race of the Alliance, the gnomes, by their friends the dwarves. They had completely remodelled the aesthetic to suit their own technocratic needs. Mekkatorque, High Tinker of Gnomeregan, was nowhere to be seen.
'Most likely part of the actual gathering,' Anduin thought as they were guided north, past the massive Hall of Explorers, an institution of long-standing importance, then south from there to the heart of the city: the Great Forge. Rather than torches alone, it was the vast amount of molten rock and metal that lit up the massive cavern at the core of Ironforge. The district was a large, uneven circle, with a massive bridge crossing straight from one end to another, a bridge they now crossed.
Smelting apparatuses, the size of houses, were all around them, pouring the liquid iron into large containers from where hundreds of dwarven smiths then continued to refine it with hammer and anvil. Even with Anduin's royal visit, the forges couldn't stop, the war effort was too important. Swords, armour, ship plating, nails, horseshoes, it all had to be made in rough quantities.
There was one anvil that went untouched, however, at the centre of the centre, bearing the sigil of Ironforge, a hammer with a circular emblem of fire over the handle. The aptly called Great Anvil required stairs for dwarves to walk up to its girthy surface and was a place too powerful to smith simple mass weaponry on. This was, after all, the anvil the bane of the undead, the Ashbringer, had been forged on.
More than a few smiths looked up from their work for long enough to give Anduin an enthusiastic "HAIL!" before going back to their work. Being a smith was one of the most honourable occupations one could have in dwarven culture, but it also came with long and exhausting hours. If the High King had to warrant a guess, each and every single one of the dwarves around spent his off day in Stormwind.
The symphony of hammers striking hot iron grew quieter as they stepped away but never quite left. Even as they entered the throne room, the so called High Seat, of Ironforge, the bell-like sounds still rang after them. The High Seat was largely empty, safe for a single, rather large, stone plateau with three thrones upon it, one for each present representative.
Falstad Wildhammer was on the throne to Anduin's right, a dwarf with typical red hair and a bushy beard, sitting on his throne in crimson plate armour with a Warhammer in arms reach. To the left was Muradin Bronzebeard, brother to the recently reborn Magni, and representative of the Ironforge dwarves. He also wore full plate armour, one clearly inspired from his years spent in the frozen tundra of Northrend.
In the middle was Moira Thaurissan, daughter of Magni and widow of emperor Thaurissan. Anduin immediately had doubts about making her part of his harem. There were women that became only more beautiful after they had a child. Moira, however, seemed intent on eating until no new man wanted to touch her. Her black satin dress was a waste over a body such as corpulent as hers, as those were curves nobody wanted to see in detail. She had a double chin, the kind of expression that made it seem like she was constantly constipated and the attitude that she was about to let him know.
"Ah, the 'High King' is finally 'ere," and she did let him know. "Lad, was it not just a few days ago that ye were stuck in this city and had to be saved by yer father?"
Maiev growled clutching her glaive and raising it up, pointing the serrated blade at the female dwarf. Immediately the guards, loyal to their purpose, of Ironforge tensed up. The Warden paid them no mind, certain she could slaughter them all on her own. "You WILL respect your High King!"
"What is a High King to an empress?" Moira spewed back and then looked dismissively at her nails, ignoring her fellow councilmen when they threw in comments meant to reign her in. Ever since she had stopped a troll invasion with her dark iron's, the redhaired woman had been able to concentrate most of the council's power on her. Dangerous, considering the comment just now. Either she wanted to supplant Anduin as leader of the Alliance or she was considering seceding. The High King could have neither. "Go on then," she waved off, "have your little meeting with this perverted boy."
"The Ironforge dwarves heavily apologize for her demeanour," Muradin grumbled a sentence Falstad soon echoed. "It is good to finally see ye again, lad, how is my brother?"
"When I sent him off, he was as energized as ever," Anduin answered, having sent Brann off on whatever adventure he wanted to indulge in again. Something about wanting to double-check something at the Shrine of Storms in Kul'Tiras. "I tried to convince him to at least visit with me, but..."
"Don't ye worry," Muradin waved off, "I know that lil'bogger, he'll come stumbling in drunk after some new discovery and gnaw me ear off with his boasting. I'll see him soon enough."
Anduin chuckled, that did indeed sound like Brann. At his side, Maiev finally took her weapon down, not without some more curses, however, "To insult Elune's chosen master of mine like this, an affront to decency thicker than demonblood." If Aclysia took offense to that, she didn't let it show.
"Anyway, we have some important topics to address," Anduin stated, wanting to start on the whole diplomatic front about the continued relationship between the two cities.
"We have nothing to address," Moira immediately forced herself back in the conversation. "As you can see, Mekkatorque isn't here. Our people share an ancient bond, a contract of mutual fate, and so we cannot hold any negotiations without him here."
"...What she says..." Muradin hesitatingly added, "...is true... the gnomes and us, we have an agreement since forever ago. We share the same mountains and we shall share the same fate, such said our ancestors." To a dwarf, few things were more holy than the promises of their ancestors.
"I see... where is he then?" Anduin asked, a break was not ultimately a bad thing for him, since it seemed he had to reconsider his plans.
"Where he always busies himself, in Gnomeregan, trying to get his infested city free," Moira stated and yawned, rising from her throne. "Now then, I have actual things to do, rather than sit on this ineffective government a foolish, foreign king forced on us."
Anduin felt a flare of anger at the mention of his father in such a disrespectful matter. Nevertheless, he smiled and wished her a goodbye. "I will see to it that Mekkatorque returns here in no time," the High King promised. That made Moira stop in her tracks for a moment.
"Ye're going out to fetch him?" she asked with an eyebrow raised, her sweaty forehead glistening.
"I will see to it that his situation is solved and allows him to return," he answered in a courteous way. Something was going on inside Moira's head and Anduin could guess what she wanted. Deciding to give her an easy in for his own benefit, he added, "I would be thankful if you could lend me some support in the matter. An advisor of yours, perhaps?"
