Last Resort

by Tempest (sniperct)

Summary:

The war has not gone well for anyone. The Alliance has three months left before collapse. The Horde is not much better off. With neither victory or death as options, Sylvanas proposes an alternative. A treaty, to ease tensions and open borders, with a political hostage to ensure that both sides stay in line. A marriage with many political implications and Sylvanas would only accept one person. Jaina Proudmoore.

And Jaina Proudmoore made for the perfect hostage. If the Alliance moves wrong, Jaina dies. The Horde attacks, and Jaina reduces Orgrimmar to a wisp of a memory in the minds of children.

Of course, no one expected Sylvanas and Jaina to be anything more than uneasy partners with each other, least of all Sylvanas and Jaina...

Notes:

• For mylordshesacactus.

This wouldn't be possible without a lot of discussion and plotting with mylordshescactus and she is a gift, give her all the love and read her amazing fics.

Chapter 1: Year One - The Proposal

***Prologue***

The sea was calming to Jaina. She’d grown up on it and spent most of her life in proximity to water; while Jaina had left Kul Tiras for a time, it had never really left her blood.

But this was the wrong coast, and the wrong sea. It was too warm, too dry, and the ships in the harbor were all wrong.

Jaina stood on the docks outside Orgrimmar, watching peons unload crates from Zandalar. A Tauren nodded at her as he passed, his Darkspear companion eyeing her warily. She gave them both a faux smile and reflected on her situation.There was some irony in her being the fulcrum upon which peace balanced. She’d wanted it for so long, only to have it flung in her face again and again until all she’d had left to offer was raw, bitter anger.

A year ago, she’d been ready to obliterate the Horde. Today, she was the only thing standing between the mutually assured destruction of both sides. She was, in fact, that mutually assured destruction. As if reacting to her mood, storm clouds darkened on the horizon and she saw a flash of lightning.

“Thinking of stowing away?”

The familiar voice grated on her, and Jaina barely glanced in Nathanos’s direction. “I believe I was told I had the full run of Orgrimmar. Is this not part of Orgrimmar?”

“On a technicality,” Nathanos allowed.

“And if I wished to visit Thunder Bluff? Silvermoon? Suramar?”

He regarded her, face unreadable as he let her question hang in the air. Just when she was considering hitting him with her staff, he answered. “As agreed upon, all the lands of the Horde are open to you and you may, on occasion, visit with family and friends elsewhere.”

Except there’d be a time limit on the latter, but it was the price Jaina had been forced to pay for that allowance. So she nodded, and looked past him, towards the fortifications of the city. Her throat tightened and her mouth went dry. “It’s time, isn’t it.”

Nathanos inclined his head towards her, and Jaina couldn’t tell what he was feeling or thinking. But she didn’t really care. She looked down at herself, at the navy blue and white of her mother’s wedding dress. A dress she’d once thought she’d wear for someone else. That was another irony, though one she refused to reflect on.

Lifting her hand, she gestured for Nathanos to step closer as arcane energy swirled around her. If she was going through with this, she was going to make an entrance.

***Three Months Earlier***

The war hadn’t gone well, for anyone. There was little left of either the Horde or Alliance fleets; the powers of Kul Tiras and Zandalar had all but wiped each other out. Half of Boralus was rubble and Zuldazar wasn’t in much better condition.

And the casualty reports… the casualty reports gave Anduin nightmares. Despite progress made in Ashenvale by the Kaldorei, the bulk of the Alliance army had gotten held back in the Barrens. The Horde’s main force remained camped in the Redridge Mountains. If their supply lines were as badly disrupted as the Alliance’s, Anduin was certain they were in an equal amount of trouble.

It came down to Azerite. Both sides had it, and the effects and consequences had been devastating. For every loss the Horde suffered, the Alliance suffered in turn. Reports told him that the rising death toll was becoming unsustainable. They needed peace, while there was still a Horde and Alliance to talk terms with each other.

Not for the first time, Anduin asked himself what his father would have done. Somehow, he was certain Varian could have averted war entirely. Varian Wrynn had better control over the Alliance. The other leaders respected him. Even Sylvanas had respected him.

And now, Anduin was sure they were on the verge of annihilation.

Bootsteps brought his focus back to the here and now, and he lifted his head to see a Kaldorei approaching. She had purple hair tied back into twin tails, multi-colored threads braided in her bangs and he recognized the seals of Stormwind and the Bronze Dragonflight on her fingers. More painfully,a commendation he remembered as one that Bolvar Fordragon had used to give out was positioned beneath a nightsaber patch on her shoulder. He gave the champion a smile. “Yukale, what is it?”

She shifted on her feet, then rubbed the back of her neck and held out a sealed letter before realizing she’d forgotten something and bowed her head to him. “You’re not going to believe this, but the Horde wants to talk peace.”

Not quite believing his ears, Anduin took the letter and stared at the seal, stamped with the symbol of the Horde. “You’re sure?”

Yukale smiled hopefully. “Positive.”

He knew there was probably more to the story of just how the Rogue had been given the letter, but he’d learned a long time ago that sometimes it was better to not know. He broke the seal, rolling open the missive and scanning it. And then he read it again.

Anduin lifted his head, meeting Yukale’s eyes, “I need you to summon the leaders of the Alliance. And we’re going to need to figure out a neutral location.”

“I’ll get right on that. And I think I have an idea for a location.” Yukale’s grin broadened as she flipped a coin to Anduin.

Looking it over, he glanced at her again, “What’s this?”

“A little gift I lifted from the Dark Lady’s pocket,” she replied, before jogging out of the hall as the King’s laughter rang at her back.

******

An old ship was not exactly the place that Sylvanas had envisioned for these talks. She didn’t even want the talks, but she was as aware as Anduin that if the fighting went on for much longer, there wouldn’t be a Horde to lead.

A position she’d never asked for, but now that she was here, she’d do damn near anything to keep her Horde intact no matter how some might disagree with her methods.

“Well, this is charming.” She strode across the deck, addressing the Kaldorei leaning against the ship’s mast as she chatted with one of Sylvanas’s Forsaken champions.

Sylvanas had no illusion about the rogue’s loyalties and where they might lay, but Yukale was one of the few of Azeroth’s heroes who’d spent more time with her blade in the backs of the mutual enemies of the Horde and Alliance than in the backs of the Horde.

Ahn’Qiraj, Northrend, Deathwing, Garrosh, the Legion. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, wondering if the Kaldorei ever considered turning those dangerous looking blades on her.

Yukale would die in an instant, but Sylvanas would have respected the effort.

The Windwhistle used to be a pirate ship. It still smelled of rum and the half-dozen crew were loitering around as the ship sat peacefully between the Banshee’s Wail and a large Kul Tiran ship that seemed vaguely familiar.

Either of the warships could obliterate the Windwhistle without breaking a sweat, so it was little more than a symbolic barrier. But Sylvanas had learned to appreciate the power of symbols. She gestured for the Forsaken to join her as one of the traitorous Ren’dorei joined Yukale, leaning up on her toes to kiss her.

Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas walked across the deck, her Forsaken at her side. “You trust her, Tyra?”

Tyra turned her faintly glowing gaze to the elves. ”As much as yeh could trust any o’them, my lady. But fer this? I think we gotta worry more ‘bout the Alliance than her.”

Tyra Cole was one of Sylvanas’s more fanatical champions, taking pleasure in collecting trophies from the dead. Usually, the warrior wore a belt that dangled with ears. It was surprisingly absent. Sylvanas supposed that was a sign that her order to not antagonize the Alliance was being obeyed.

She wanted to save the antagonizing for herself.

Fingering a knitted sleeve under her armor, Tyra glanced at her, then across the water to the Alliance ship. Sylvanas could make out a boat rowing towards them. Finally.

“May I ask yer sommat, my lady?”

“Of course,” Sylvanas replied, keeping her eyes on that boat.

“This is a ruse, ain’t it? Lure ‘em in an’ then smash ‘em for good, aye?”

She shifted her gaze to Tyra, “No. I am afraid this is no ruse. There is no longer a path to victory. If we wish the Horde to survive, to prosper, this is the only way.”

For now.

Tyra frowned, then nodded and saluted Sylvanas. She joined the rest of Sylvanas’s honor guard, standing next to an Orc and his Sin’dorei mate. She couldn’t quite remember their names, but could sense the Sin’dorei was pregnant. Again. Those two bred like rabbits, and she snorted. They probably didn’t know yet.

Near the wheelhouse, she spotted a dark-skinned human woman. Like Yukale, she wore a nightsaber patch on her shoulder armor. Interesting. She had a casual demeanor, but it was obvious to Sylvanas she was keeping as sharp a watch on her as her guard was on them.

As she watched, a stormcrow landed on the railing next to her. The woman reached up, scritching her fingers along the bird’s neck in a familiar fashion and making it preen. Despite the sweet scene, Sylvanas had the distinct impression the druid was glaring at her.

Her orc shifted, his fingers clenching around the hilt of his axe as he leaned against the railing. Sylvanas idly wondered if he’d attack the druid; or herself. The Dark Lady was more than aware of the discontent within her ranks. This was as much a loyalty test for them as it was an attempt to broker some sort of peace.

The rowboat reached the rope ladder. Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back as everyone else on board tensed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Yukale nervously play with something on her belt while her mate stared down the Sin’dorei as she approached Sylvanas. Leaning over, she listened as the woman spoke.

“Besides the two rogues, the druid and the paladin, there is a hunter in the crow’s nest. They call themselves the Nightsaber Vanguard.”

That didn’t count anyone below decks or the crew, but Sylvanas didn’t consider the crew a threat. The five in this Vanguard and Anduin. Herself, her warriors and priest. And Nathanos of course, in hiding. Even odds, should this all go south.

She went over her contingencies one last time in her head as King Anduin Wrynn climbed on board, Jaina Proudmoore not far behind him.

Damn, that explained why the ship was familiar. The odds were no longer in her favor. She should have brought those warlocks.

Sylvanas favored them with a smile. “I see you’ve left the dog at home. Wise decision. We don’t need him urinating everywhere.”

They could discuss further details with the other leaders of their factions later, but for this first meeting it would be just them. If they wanted peace to happen at all with in the next decade, getting all the faction leaders together for a conference this early would be hellishly difficult and likely to end in someone losing an eye.

Proudmoore was an unpleasant surprise. The boy certainly had a habit of giving her unpleasant surprises.

A table had been set up in the center of the deck with two chairs. Sylvanas approached her side, pulling the chair out and sitting without waiting for anyone else. She leaned on the back legs, propping her feet up on the table. She fixed Anduin with a look as he sat across from her.

“Well?”

Anduin lifted his hand, like he was going to pinch the bridge of his nose but stopped himself. Instead, he leaned forward on the table and said evenly, “You’re the one that offered the olive branch, Warchief.”

“Then let us cut to the chase, High King. Lord Admiral.” Sylvanas waved her hand, one eye on Jaina as she spoke.

“My spies tell me the Alliance has three months until you run out of resources. Your subjects are starving, your cities and farmlands lay in ruin. You cannot fish, as the fish cannot be found.” She pulled her feet off the table, and straightened. “I am sure that your spies have shared a similar story about the Horde. And they would be speaking the truth.”

Jaina’s eyes were on her, but Sylvanas refused to acknowledge her. She was here to talk to Anduin, and no one else. Making Jaina angry was only a bonus.

The mage took a step forward. Instantly, armor clanked behind Sylvanas and fabric rustled. She held up her hand and the movement stopped; after a tense moment, she heard the almost imperceptible sound of a bowstring relaxing above her.

“You’re right, on all counts,” Anduin said, and Sylvanas felt something that an idle part of her remembered was relief.

“Separate, we will both die. Together, we may have a chance to survive.” She locked eyes with the young King, Anduin too inexperienced to hide his shock. “I’ve gone through every calculation I can think of. So let me assure you that this is, quite literally, the last resort if my Horde is to survive.”

There were alternatives, and they hung over the table as she watched Anduin consider them as she had just a few weeks ago. The Alliance shattered; the Horde no more. Each race and each people going their separate ways or with limited ties. Half the races on both sides of the war were hanging on by a thread. Anduin could no more let the Kaldorei or Draenei go it alone in their current state than she could the Darkspear or Sin’dorei.

“You’re suggesting an alliance?” The disgust was plain in Jaina’s voice, her face twisted up in revulsion.

For the first time, Sylvanas met her eyes. She couldn’t blame her. They were much too alike in certain ways, and the Horde had done unthinkable things to the Alliance in general and Jaina in particular. In a way, Jaina was the perfect example of the type of person within the Alliance that would be most difficult--and most absolutely necessary--to convince.

But the Alliance was not without clean hands. The war had shown them capable of the same level of brutality of which they accused the Horde. Sylvanas’s eyes slid from Jaina’s pretty, if tired, face, back to Anduin. “Something more than an alliance but less than annexation or absorption. Open borders, free trade, troops standing down.”

“Not everyone within the Alliance will agree with that,” Anduin pointed out, lifting his hand to stop Jaina from speaking. “Nor everyone within the Horde. Our respective leaderships will be… skeptical.”

But Anduin was interested, the desperation in his eyes that Sylvanas kept hidden deep within herself. She could use that. “That is one thing we will need to discuss. What will be necessary to convince the others to sign on. What to do with our Azerite weapons.”

“And the Blight?” Jaina’s knuckles were white as she clenched them.

Sylvanas didn’t look at Jaina. Instead, she looked past her, to where the Alliance champions stood. The Blight was a powerful bargaining chip, and one she would not give up easily. But let them know it was an option? She could do that. “And what to do with the Blight.”

Early on, once she realized the scale of the danger the Horde faced, she’d weighed the risks of just Blighting everyone and raising them. It could make things easier.

It could also make her too many enemies to be viable, though she’d always yearn to turn Stormwind into the new Forsaken capital. But even dreams must die.

“There are certain--”

“Laws, yes, I know,” Sylvanas interrupted. “And I have a solution to that. One which would ensure that neither side could act against the other without consequence.”

Anduin narrowed his eyes. “What are you suggesting?”

Smiling, Sylvanas showed them her fangs. “There’s going to be a wedding, little lion.”

Looking like he hadn’t quite believed what he’d heard, Anduin asked, “A wedding? With who?”

“Myself.” There was a lingering moment where Sylvanas didn’t respond. Slowly mounting horror grew on Anduin’s face as he naturally assumed it would be him.

Sylvanas’s eyes flicked to Jaina for a moment. Long enough for Jaina to notice, and no one else. “And I’m sure we’ll find a suitable volunteer.”

Chapter 2: Negotiations

Notes:

I reached one of my writing goals and it's a holiday in the US, so have this chapter a few days early!

Anduin and Sylvanas had left with a laundry list of terms to discuss with their respective leadership, and an agreement to meet formally in Dalaran. So many of the Horde and Alliance leadership in one city...it set Jaina’s teeth on edge.

Jaina’s ship and Windwhistle had returned to Stormwind, and Anduin had once again called together the leadership of the Alliance. After hours in the war room, the only thing they’d all agreed on was that while they couldn’t trust the Warchief, they couldn't keep the war going, either. Even Genn had conceded that fact, something which grated on her.

So here they were, to discuss some kind of alliance with the Horde, by means of marriage. And the worst part of it was that Jaina could actually see the benefits to it. For all her anger at the Horde, so much blood had been spilled that even Jaina was sick of it. Perhaps she always had been and it had just been buried beneath the rage and heartbreak.

Dalaran was nothing like the city Jaina remembered from her childhood and the time before the Third War. Like herself, war and time had changed it into something almost unrecognizable. Old scars had been covered up, and the thrum of magic filled her senses.

She could hear the gossip as she walked towards the citadel.

One woman, a Draenei death knight, walked past, speaking to her companion in a deadpan voice. “I should volunteer. I’m dead. Sylvanas is dead. We're a match made in heaven.”

If heaven was a frozen hellish pit of scourge and destruction, Jaina thought. She fought the shudder that ran down her spine.

The entrance to the citadel was flanked by Champions from both sides. Jaina recognized most of them. She even gave the Horde a curt nod as she passed.

Jaina did have to play nice.

The Council of Six had set aside a conference room for the discussion and reinforced it with dozens of magical wards, some of which Jaina herself had invented. Even knowing the intricate details of some of them, they would prove challenging for her to bypass without a brute-force display of power. There were few enough people on Azeroth with the raw power to break them besides herself. Kalec probably. Khadgar…

Neither her ex nor the older Archmage was present, and she didn’t know how she felt about that. Perhaps Khadgar really had left them to destroy themselves. She felt an ache underneath the anger.

There was a seat at each end of the long table, one with the sigil of the Forsaken and the other of Stormwind. There were chairs for Orgrimmar, Thunder Bluff, Silvermoon, Suramar, and all the nations of the Alliance, as well.

Anduin was already seated, flanked by Genn and Tyrande. She spied Velen nearby, speaking in a low voice with Moira Thaurissan and Muradin Bronzebeard. She assumed Falstad Wildhammer was nearby, the final part of the Council of Three Hammers. Mekkatorque was in his chair.

At the opposite end of the room and table, the leaders of the Horde took up similar positions. Only Gallywix was seated.

Alleria was leaning against another wall, her sister Vereesa next to her. For the first time since she’d come back to Dalaran, Jaina relaxed. Smiling, she approached them and gave Vereesa a hug. “Why do I feel like this isn’t going to go the way anyone has planned?”

“This is the first time since the early days of the Legion War that we’ve all been in one place,” Vereesa said. “We almost had a stabbing that time.”

Leaving her arm around Vereesa, Jaina shook her head, “With the wards here, the best we can expect would be fisticuffs.”

Her eyes scanned the room. Sylvanas was leaning against the opposite wall, arms folded. Her eyes were directed at them and Jaina shrugged off a feeling of foreboding. Of course she’d be staring at her sisters. Not knowing why, Jaina squeezed her arm around Vereesa. “So what’s the talk around the city?”

“Speculation about the nature of the talks. Somehow word that a political marriage was a topic of discussion leaked. Some people are saying it’s basically going to be like taking a hostage.”

Frowning, Jaina couldn’t disagree with that. She looked around the room again, wondering if anyone here had Sylvanas’s eye as her best candidate. Anduin was out, Jaina would never allow that. Genn was a possibility, though both him and Sylvanas would sooner kill themselves than spend more than a minute alone in a room together. They’d probably just kill each other. Maybe that would be for the best.

“There’s a betting pool,” Alleria said. She’d kept her eyes on her sister the entire time. “I heard one of the champions talking about it.”

Against her better judgement, Jaina asked. “Who are the popular picks?”

“Shandris Feathermoon. Anduin.” Her eyes flicked to Jaina. “You.”

Vereesa laughed. “My money is on Feathermoon. Anduin will never happen, there’d be a succession crisis if he left Stormwind. And I think Jaina would sooner kiss a Dreadlord.”

Damn right, Jaina thought, as Vereesa smiled at her.

The room fell silent as someone entered. Thrall. Go’el. Jaina felt something inside of her seize up, and she let go of Vereesa to fold her arms over her chest. She’d almost forgotten he’d been chosen to act as mediatery. A cruel, broken part of her thought he didn’t deserve that honor. So much of what had happened since he’d stepped down as Warchief could be laid at his feet for his poor judgement.

Another part of her, the softer part that still yearned for simpler times, reminded her that he would be the first to agree with her.

Sylvanas didn’t sit, instead leaning on the back of the chair and staring down Anduin as Go’el took a seat in the center.

He looked at Anduin and then Sylvanas. “Let us begin.”

The marriage idea didn’t come up immediately. Borders, first. Resources. Farmland. Fishing rights. Who was willing to give up what in exchange for something else. Tyrande would not budge on Ashenvale, though the Horde didn’t push too hard on that point. Sylvanas insisted she reclaim the Undercity and Genn had to be physically restrained by Tess, his bellow at Sylvanas’s nerve echoing around the chamber.

And then Gallywix offered the goblin-devastated land of Azshara to the highest bidder.

“What of the Blight?” Genn snarled. “As long as that exists, there can be no peace.”

Sylvanas’s almost immediate response took Jaina by surprise. It was as though Sylvanas had been ready for that all along. “I’ll destroy the Blight, if you dismantle the Vindicaar.”

That devolved into tense shouting, until Velen held his hands out and offered to dismantle the Vindicaar’s main weapon and split the pieces between the various members of both the Horde and Alliance. Time was then spent discussing weapon reduction efforts and how the Horde and Alliance might observe the others’ process.

Jaina’s hands remained clenched as Go’el tried to navigate the situation. There were actually some good ideas but it wasn’t clear to her how any of this would work long term, and that hardened part of her balked at the compromises. On most things, she didn’t bother to offer input. Kul Tiras’s fleet was in shambles, the nation still recovering from wars fought both within and without. They were in a poor position to dictate anything to other Alliance factions, let alone the Horde. It wounded her pride to think of that.

Yet, eventually, her own voice rang out. “None of this will work. In another few years we’ll all be trying to kill each other again. The Horde will come up with something worse than the Blight, and the Alliance will discover something to counter it. There needs to be a failsafe.”

All eyes turned to her, and the corners of Sylvanas’s lips twitched. In a voice like honey, she said, “I was just about to get to that, my dear.”

Jaina held Sylvanas’s gaze. “Then get to it.”

Leaning her hip against the table, Sylvanas returned her attention to the Alliance side. “As I mentioned to the cub, I propose a union. One that would ensure that if the Alliance were to move against the Horde, there would be consequences. At the same time, were the Horde to move against the Alliance, there would be consequences as well. As long as this union is secure, we would all find it best to sit down for a chat, before we get swords and spells involved.”

Someone barked out a laugh. Alleria.

“A marriage of convenience,” Anduin said, giving Alleria a silencing look.

Genn emitted a low growl. “A hostage.”

Thank you, Genn.

“Both,” Jaina said out loud, and Sylvanas turned her head and favored her with a sly smile.

Clearing her throat, Tyrande interjected. “But how does your hostage ensure that you will not move against the Alliance?”

Sylvanas was silent for a moment, choosing her words carefully or perhaps just for dramatic weight.

“Because, if we break our word, she can destroy Orgrimmar in an instant.”

“No!” Jaina snapped, barely giving Sylvanas the chance to finish her sentence. She stared at her with wide eyed anger, a vein popping in her forehead. “That’s not an option!”

The eyes of everyone in the conference room fell on Jaina and it was so silent after her outburst that she could hear a pin drop. From where she stood, she couldn’t see the reactions of Sylvanas’s sisters, though she could feel rage simmering in both of them without needing to look. Like most of the participants, Anduin looked shocked. Tyrande looked unsurprised; with the power of hindsight Jaina realized she shouldn’t have been surprised either. Mostly, she was glad her mother was not present.

Her nostrils flared as she exhaled, and she took a few calming breaths as Sylvanas straightened and approached her with purpose. She looked at the Warchief, magic crackling along her skin as she contained her temper. Someone shifted to her left--Vereesa. Shadows writhed under Alleria’s skin, and Jaina held her arms as if to hold them both back. All eyes were on her, and she refused to show weakness by allowing anyone to back her up.

Sylvanas noticed the energy, ignoring her sisters and tilting her head as she gave Jaina another one of those smiles. “You could kill us all, Lady Proudmoore, and send Dalaran crashing to the ground below. You would not even need a Focusing Iris to do it. Imagine, if you will. I order an attack on Ironforge. You could stand upon the center outcropping and reduce Orgrimmar to rubble. And yet…”

She was close, too close now, but Jaina didn’t dare flinch away as Sylvanas continued. “Say the Alliance sinks my ships, and I find their reasonings suspect. I could snuff you out. What would that do to your vaunted alliance unity? All those tangled webs you’ve woven since you founded Theramore?”

Eyes narrowing, Jaina leaned forward, almost playing chicken with Sylvanas. She spelled it out for the entire room. “I would be your hostage. And Orgrimmar, or any other Horde City I choose, would be my hostage.”

Jaina dropped her arms to her sides, almost conceding defeat. It was a good plan and she hated that it was a good plan.

“Clever girl.” Sylvanas slipped something into the palm of Jaina’s hand, and stepped away. Jaina closed her fist around it, watching as Sylvanas approached the table and leaned on it, her silvery-white hair falling over her shoulders.

Anduin looked like he was wondering why anyone but Jaina and Sylvanas even needed to be here. Jaina couldn’t blame him. Sylvanas had played this masterfully, even if she was giving up more than she probably wanted to in the process.

Opening her fist, Jaina looked down at what Sylvanas had given her. It was a ring, elvish make though she could sense no power within it. Deciding that it would be a problem for future-her to puzzle through, Jaina slipped it into one of her pouches and approached the table, her anger cooling. “Considering the alternatives, I accept, on condition that I have approval on every page of this damned agreement.”

“Jaina, you don’t have to do this,” Anduin said. Murmurs of agreement came from other leaders of the Alliance, as well as Baine. Jaina glanced at the Tauren, appreciating that. Go’el rested his hands on the table in front of him, watching her. There was sadness in his eyes.

She stared him down, stubborn enough to go through with this on that count alone. Spite could be a good motivator but her chest ached anyway.

“This is not a good war,” Baine said, interrupting the silence. “And it hasn’t been for a long time. We need this peace, all of us. But is it what you want? It wouldn’t be right, to do this under duress. And to be frank, having you living in Orgrimmar is an unpleasant thought.”

It would be under duress no matter who it was. Jaina folded her arms, considering. Damn Sylvanas. Who was the clever girl again? “The Alliance will be without me as a weapon, and I’ll be where Sylvanas can keep an eye on me.”

“Jaina is the leader of Kul Tiras,” Genn said, rage thinly veiled in his eyes and making his voice tight. Anduin must have convinced him of the necessity of doing something or else he would not be here. “What about Tandred instead?”

Sylvanas scoffed. “That would be like offering up Vereesa in my stead. There is no leverage in holding the spare.”

Alleria grabbed Vereesa’s arm, though her other hand went to a bow that wasn’t there.

There was a very real chance of violence and Jaina found herself in the unexpected position of having to stop it. She weighed the odds of quickly decapitating the Horde then and there. Jaina would have to strike either Sylvanas, or the rest of the Horde, leaving her vulnerable to whichever she didn’t attack. If she did eliminate the rest of the Horde, that left Sylvanas as uncontested ruler. Not that she wasn’t already for the most part. And she liked Baine, and even Thalyssra.

Eliminating Sylvanas would be the best bet then, but there was a high likelihood she’d get a spear in the back and no guarantee she’d kill Sylvanas to make the sacrifice worth it.

Fine, she could be an adult. “Thank you, Baine. But I’m the only one who can. The Proudmoore line can continue through my brother and niece. Tandred and his husband will make fine rulers in my stead and my mother has run the country for years without my help.”

She took a deep breath, the realization hitting hard.

“I’m… not needed.”

Saying that hurt; and she knew on some level that if she hadn’t said it, Sylvanas would have.

Jaina swept her gaze across her friends, then leveled it onto Sylvanas. “Under no circumstances will I be used as a weapon against the Alliance. Or any innocent people.”

Sylvanas gestured Jaina toward what was supposed to be the Kul Tiras seat. She waited until Jaina had sat, then turned to Go’el. “Now. Where were we?”

“Warchief,” Lor'themar said, his hands clasped behind his back. “What is the strategic value in holding hostage a woman who can simply teleport at will?”

“I have already written up terms governing that.” Sylvanas gestured to some of the papers she’d brought with her. “But to summarize; if Jaina were to leave Horde territory outside of prearranged visits, it would place her people in jeopardy.”

“Elaborate,” Jaina ordered through her teeth.

Sylvanas spoke with the same tone one would use for discussing the plan for dinner. “I would give her some time to reconsider, of course. In case there is an … extenuating circumstance. I feel generous, so twenty minutes. If twenty minutes pass and she does not return or contact myself or Baine to explain, then the full fury of the Horde will be unleashed upon the Alliance and the war would resume.”

“Twenty minutes is more than enough time for her to pass intelligence to the Alliance.” Lor'themar wasn’t keen on letting this go.

“Under normal circumstances, or those prearranged visits,” Sylvanas replied, eyes on Lor'themar’s. “She would have an escort.”

“She’s powerful enough that normal wards do nothing to prevent her teleporting out. Or teleporting others in. If she leaves, we should strike.”

Jaina dug her nails into her palms, having the distinct impression this was a scripted conversation. “And my word is not enough?”

Lor'themar shook his head. “No.”

“I will need time alone on occasion. When that happens, I assure you I’ll remain within Horde territory,” Jaina said. A quick visit to Baine or getting some air in Azshara, anything to escape Orgrimmar and Sylvanas for a few hours. Because otherwise she’d be trapped, and she didn’t know how she’d survive that long term.

Sylvanas waved her hand. “Thirty seconds. Thirty seconds to return or explain yourself. Otherwise, if you are to teleport at all outside the range of Orgrimmar, you must inform any of the Horde leaders present, or any number of those I will provide the names for later.”

That was no time at all. “And if someone were to take me against my will and prevent me from communicating?”

“Then you should hope that does not happen. Though if someone were able to take you unwillingly, we would all be in trouble.”

******

Nothing would be settled until the bureaucrats had gone through every word with a fine-toothed comb, and Anduin felt like there were needles in his eyes. This wasn’t the kind of peace he’d expected, and it went far beyond trading lands and changing borders. As long as Jaina remained safe and with the Horde, the nations of both factions could function as a loose confederation. No restrictions on trade, Kaldorei as sovereign as the Tauren, even if both ultimately reported to the Alliance and Horde respectfully.

Baine was arguing some fine point with Gallywix and Mekkatorque and Anduin suppressed a yawn, leaning back and rubbing at a sore spot on his back. He looked at Sylvanas, and Jaina, who were eyeing each other warily. Maybe they were having second thoughts. There was still time; nothing had been signed yet.

Another thought had been niggling at the back of his mind and now that he had a moment to reflect on it, he wondered how to possibly bring it up. But it was something that, well, should be brought up.

(Un)Luckily for him, Gallywix spoke first. “So how are ya gonna handle, ya know...consummating the marriage?”

Jaina choked on her water and started coughing, Vereesa reaching over and slapping her on her back to try to help. Heat rose in Anduin’s face as Moira doubled over in laughter. Behind him, he heard Genn choking on air.

“What?” Gallywix asked. “I’m serious!”

Sylvanas turned her head slowly in his direction, a glare on her face that Anduin never wanted to see aimed at him. “That is not within the scope of these negotiations.”

“Bilgewater law states that--”

“I don’t care.”

“If you’re gonna get married ya gotta do it right,” he insisted, leaning back in his chair and playing with the orb on his cane. “But could ya imagine how much we could mark up the tickets to that event.”

“I think that,” Anduin started, then cut himself off. Was he actually agreeing with the Goblin? Not really, but he had to phrase it right. “I think that this does… or should. That is to say…”

And now everyone was looking at him. Sylvanas’s glare was indeed the thing of nightmares, but Jaina’s expression was truly terrifying. Anduin coughed. “Heirs. Succession. How should that be handled?”

And would the existence of such an heir one day make the Horde and Alliance cease to exist as separate entities?

“Unnecessary, little boy, as my position is not hereditary,” Sylvanas replied flatly, expression cooling. “And also … impossible for a variety of reasons.”

Tyrande spoke up, thoughtfully. “There are potions, magical relics. It is not an insurmountable obstacle were it necessary.”

Anduin wanted to sink into the floor, and Jaina… Jaina had tears in her eyes from her coughing fit and was red faced with anger.

She glared at Tyrande with an expression that all but screamed you of all people are supposed to be on my side.

Jaina and Tyrande were both owed the most blood by Sylvanas’s Horde, Anduin reasoned. Theramore. Teldrassil. But the war had left scars across the whole of Azeroth and every member of the Alliance could make the same claim. The bleeding had to stop somewhere. That was why they were here.

Maybe it was naive of him to think a literal union on top of the political one could somehow help bridge the gap. He wondered if that had been what Tyrande was thinking, too.

“Why don’t we take a break,” Go’el said, unable to stop a long-suffering sigh. “And come back in an hour to finalize the first draft.”

Jaina stood, her chair screeching on the floor as she stormed out of the conference room.

For reasons known only to herself, Sylvanas got up and followed.

******

Dalaran was in motion, the Council of Six having voted to return it to its original location after so many years. It would not be a quick trip, and all Sylvanas could see were clouds and the ocean. How Dalaran was to be treated was a matter of debate in the negotiations, but the Archmages had chosen neutrality. Sylvanas understood that it had not been a unanimous vote.

She spotted the Lord Admiral standing at the edge of the city far from the Violet Citadel, watching the ocean pass serenely far below. On silent feet, Sylvanas approached her. “We will share quarters.”

Her voice startled Jaina, and Sylvanas grabbed her shoulder before she plunged off the city.

“We will share quarters,” she repeated once the mage was no longer in danger of plummeting to her death. “Let them assume what they wish. I have no need to sleep, but it would keep up appearances.”

Sylvanas didn’t feel emotion the same way Jaina did, or her sisters. She barely remembered anything past rage and grief and regret. But she respected some people. Tolerated others. Even her sisters. Maybe especially her sisters. An ache that was far more than simply grief or regret formed in her still heart, and as always, she ignored it. If she didn’t ignore it, she’d have to admit her heart was less dead than she wanted it to be.

And the only way Sylvanas had survived this long without succumbing to madness had been to keep her emotions dead and buried.

She grasped Jaina’s chin between thumb and forefinger and forced her to look at her. “Is that acceptable?”

Jaina’s nostrils flared, her eyes shooting daggers. She reached up and pried Sylvanas’s fingers from her skin. “That’s fine.”

“You’re beautiful when you’re angry, Lady Proudmoore.” The confusion on Jaina’s face gave Sylvanas endless amusement. She let a predatory smile cross her lips. “Are you going to give me my hand back?”

Dropping her hand like it was a plagued rat, Jaina turned away again, folding her arms. “Just because we’re going to do this, doesn’t mean we’re going to be friends. Or that we have to pretend to like each other.”

 

“If you give into this hatred, this venture is already doomed.” Sylvanas turned to go, but Jaina’s hand closed around her elbow. She stopped, and turned her head towards her.

“Funny thing, you of all people talking about letting go of hatred.” Jaina’s hand tightened. “You were never going to accept anyone but me. Not just for my power. Why?”

“I deserve the very best.” Sylvanas pulled her arm free, walking away. She allowed herself a smile when, after a moment, Jaina fell in step besides her.

“I’m flattered, really.”

“When I was a child in Silvermoon,” Sylvanas said, eyes on the citadel as she kept her pace slow. “I had certain expectations of my wedding.”

“I think that’s not uncommon,” Jaina replied. If she had had her own, she didn’t offer them.

Sylvanas knew which screw she could turn on that subject, if she chose, but Arthas was as sore a subject for her as Jaina. So in that, at least, they would forever be at an impasse. Using him to hurt one would hurt them both. Shaking her head at the irony, Sylvanas continued. “I knew four things for certain. I would wear the armor of my people, polished to shine. I would marry a woman and she would be my equal in nearly every way. There would be flowers in my hair.”

She sneered at the third thing. Such a childish want. Something naive, a weakness that could only be exploited. Sylvanas was surprised at herself for even uttering it.

“And the fourth?” Jaina asked.

“Do you still have that ring or did you throw it into the sea?” She came to a stop, shadowed by one of the spires high over head. Her eyes glowed, giving the vague impression that they were bleeding. Her voice was suddenly hard. “Put it on.”

It didn’t really answer Jaina’s question, though Sylvanas suspected she was trying to make guesses. She narrowed her eyes, then fished it out of her pouch and slipped it onto her finger. Sylvanas could almost feel Jaina attempting to ascertain if there was a tracking spell on it.

It would be in vain; that would not be how Sylvanas would track her. And they both knew Sylvanas would track her.

She looked at the ring on Jaina’s finger, letting an old memory dance at the edge of her consciousness. Regret and sadness reached her eyes, and she turned back towards the citadel before Jaina could say anything about it.

Chapter 3: Consummation

The wedding was a meaningless technicality intended solely to put a spin on handing Jaina over as a political hostage. She was glad most of them admitted that instead of hiding behind flowery language, because if no one else had, she would have.

Jaina had always been too busy studying to give much thought to her future wedding. She might have entertained the idea a little bit, with Arthas, but her desires had been simple. Her mother’s dress, her father walking her down the aisle, Arthas resplendent in his armor.

But her father was lost beneath the waves and Arthas was.... so all she had was the dress. It had always surprised her that her mother hadn’t gotten married in her naval uniform, but the dress wasn’t too much different in coloring or design.

Most in the Horde didn’t really do weddings, not the same way that humans or the Sin’dorei did. Handfastings, other similar ceremonies. Many that were present looked uncomfortable. Jaina took some satisfaction in how many people on both sides jumped when she teleported in.

The last person she expected to see waited to walk her down the aisle. Go’el would not have been her first choice. Not now. Not after everything that had happened between them. Water stung her eyes as she slipped her arm through his.

“Jaina...”

“Don’t.” This was hard enough as it was, she didn’t need to dig through layers of her emotions surrounding Thrall and everything that he represented for her.

A hundred yards away, her jailor waited, and the urge to bolt got stronger the closer she got to Sylvanas. But Jaina was no coward, and she’d faced worse things in her life. She could weather this storm as she had all the others.

At Go’el’s urging, there was no separation of Horde and Alliance. Races from both factions sat with each other on either side of the long rug that had been laid out. She spied her mother and her brother, but couldn’t bring herself to meet their eyes. Anduin and Velen, Baine and all the others had their own positions of honor.

And at the end, Sylvanas.

Sylvanas wore new armor and it was resplendent. While there were hints of her elvish heritage in some of the elegant designs, the colors and shape were entirely Forsaken. The armor of her people, indeed.

There was something missing, though. And since Jaina was supposed be an equal in this, as laughable a concept as that was considering the circumstances, she lifted her hand and cast a spell. Jaina could feel everyone present tense as they tried to figure out if she meant to attack.

Flowers grew into Sylvanas’s hair. Flowers of ice and flowers of pure arcane energy that glimmered and waved. Jaina had not forgotten Sylvanas’s confession in Dalaran. When Sylvanas realized what she’d done, the expression on her face shifted. First to some emotion that passed so fleetingly that Jaina might have missed it if she hadn’t been looking, and then to unrestrained fury.

Good. Let her be angry; that would make two of them.

Fiddling with Sylvanas’s ring with her thumb, Jaina took the spot next to the Warchief and had to resist the urge to wrap her hand around her father’s pendant. Sylvanas put her hand over Jaina’s arm, her nails digging sharply into her skin. Magic crackled through Jaina and the hand on her arm twitched. To her credit Sylvanas didn’t grimace at the pain. To Jaina’s credit, she didn’t give Sylvanas the satisfaction either.

A marriage was supposed to be a covenant and a promise, the betrothed each offering vows to protect and cherish the other. To the young woman who’d once spent most of her time in her studies or reading books, it was a magical, romantic thing, filled with emotion and good cheer.

This was not that kind of marriage.

There were no vows. No covenant beyond that which had already bound them by a hundred pages of carefully written treaty, with the basic framework repeated by the presiding priest, Alonsus Faol. The Undead was the only neutral priest both could agree upon.

It wasn’t even sealed by a kiss, a fact which left Jaina conflicted. The thought of kissing Sylvanas should have made her sick to her stomach, but at least it would have made it feel more like a wedding. A real one. The one she was never going to have now; her marriage to Sylvanas was less a wedding and more like transferring custody of a prisoner. She didn’t allow herself time to think about it, or to mourn what she couldn’t have.

With the deed done, she made a beeline for the wine so she could drink herself into oblivion. Maybe she could get drunk enough to blast everyone to bits. It seemed reasonable; if everyone was dead, no one could kill each other.

Though this part wasn’t so bad, Jaina thought. While hesitant at first, the attendees had relaxed once no one pulled out any weapons. She heard laughter, and saw the rogue Yukale chatting with the Forsaken warrior who had accompanied Sylvanas to that meeting on the Windwhistle. Yukale hugged her, and Jaina blinked once, before knocking back her second glass at the bizarre sight of a Kaldorei and Forsaken being friends. Or perhaps they were old friends reuniting.

With the wine fortifying her, Jaina continued to look around. There were other similar scenes, as groups of Horde and Alliance cautiously approached each other and mingled. Some peons were setting up a dance floor.

There was supposed to be dancing. With some amount of dread Jaina turned back to the feast to get another glass of wine.

They had avoided a kiss, but Jaina knew they couldn’t avoid at least one dance.

“Jaina.”

Her stomach tightened, and she turned around to face her mother. Jaina wanted to throw her arms around her. One of the most powerful people here and all she really wanted was her mother’s comfort. Jaina should probably be more ashamed of that than she was. But she forced a smile on her face. “Mother.”

“I’m…”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry,” Jaina said, letting herself step closer as she put her hand on her mother’s arm. “This is a wedding, not a wake.”

“You certainly look like someone died,” Katherine replied, a tight smile on her face.

“Another glass of wine and I’ll be light as a feather.” Jaina lifted it to her lips but her mother stopped her.

“Try to keep your wits about you. We all know how dangerous this is, and will be for a long time. It will take more than one party for tensions to ease and the cycle of hatred to end.”

That cycle was one that Jaina knew intimately and had done a few go-arounds with herself. But she had to concede that her mother was right, even if hearing those words from her mouth was just a little infuriating. “Do you think there’s a chance?”

Katherine’s smile bore just the hint of genuineness. “With you, yes.”

Jaina searched her mother’s eyes. Maybe, someday, when the anger faded and she could actually look Sylvanas in the face without wanting to kill her. But that someday would not be today, or any day soon.

“After you have your bridal dance,” Katherine said. “I’d like to dance with you. The way your father would have.”

Neither of them were willing to say that Daelin Proudmoore would never have allowed this wedding, let alone come to it. But it was a nice sentiment and Jaina was willing to accept it for what it was.

“I guess I shouldn’t drink so much, if there’s going to be a line for me on the dance floor.” It would be longer than Sylvanas’s, she knew, and she made a mental note to make a point of dancing with Sylvanas’s sisters more than once.

It was the little things that mattered.

******

Sylvanas decided that whoever had chosen this song for her dance with Jaina would be hung on a spear for the buzzards to feed upon. It had been slow, and intimate, and long. A traditional song from Lordaeron...so perhaps on second thought it might have irritated members of the Alliance, which immediately changed her opinion of it. Spite was always reason enough.

Jaina’s face was flushed from wine, her hand too warm against Sylvanas’s neck. Burning, in fact, though she felt no trace of the magic that Jaina had used earlier in their subtle little catfight. It was her natural body heat, contrasting the chill of Sylvanas’s magically preserved body and frozen heart.

Contrary to what others assumed and Sylvanas preferred to maintain the image of, she did feel things. Negative emotions were strongest but positive emotions could sometimes break through the dull emptiness. She was fond of Nathanos, certain of her Dark Rangers, and Tyra. It had been that way in life too, hard for others besides her sisters to break through the shell that surrounded Sylvanas Windrunner. But not insurmountable.

And she’d never tell Jaina, but she’d begun to enjoy the dance once she decided it was worth spiting Anduin over. Even with so many years since her last dance, Sylvanas remembered the steps. She was also conscious of appearances and the need to keep them up. Few people thought this was anything other than what it was, but maintaining a semblance of niceties was required.

So she leaned in while she spun Jaina around and whispered in her ear. “I hope you are aware that we need to set the example.”

Jaina didn’t stiffen or otherwise physically react beyond an initial intake of breath. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“We both need to be more than just here, my wife.”

That made Jaina stiffen. As if forcing the words out of her throat, she replied, “We never did discuss names.”

That had been omitted on purpose. Sylvanas had no desire to shed her own, and she had decided the fight over it with Jaina would have only caused delays they could ill afford. “As I said, setting an example. I leave it up to you. Proudmoore, or Windrunner, it matters not.”

Lowering her head enough to meet Sylvanas’s eyes, Jaina said nothing. Her lips were drawn into a thin line and the flush on her cheeks had started to fade as she sobered up. Sylvanas felt something she knew well: regret.

The only thing she was unsure of was what exactly that regret was for.

******

As she’d predicted and hoped, Jaina’s dance with Vereesa had made Sylvanas stare at her the whole time. And she’d seemed irritated, like it somehow got under her skin. Which was ridiculous. This was a political marriage at best; Jaina doubted Sylvanas was even capable of that kind of jealousy.

But the thing that she hadn’t predicted was the dance with Sylvanas herself being almost pleasant. Maybe, actually...all right, so it had been pleasant. Which meant up was down black was white and there was something very wrong with the world.

Or it could have been the wine and Jaina’s general decision to say to hell with it. She had to get through this day and this night, and many many more days and nights. She was going to enjoy the party being thrown for her at least a little bit. If nothing else, she could pretend everything was all right. Set that example, as Sylvanas had insisted. Jaina made note that Sylvanas danced with no one else.

She had her dance with her mother. Her dances with Anduin and Vereesa. An awkward dance with Go’el and a much less so dance with Genn.

She twirled a few Champions around too, particularly enjoying the way Yukale’s violet hair came loose as they danced. They went back a long way. All the way to Hyjal and the days when the Horde and Alliance had bled together for a single goal, and through the early days of Theramore. Jaina swallowed a pang in her chest as she missed Pained. Her Kaldorei bodyguard and sometimes-lover would have had a lot to say about this situation. None of it positive.

But it was really the most fun she’d had since the manabomb. She resolved that, no matter what happened in the years to come, she’d remember this part of this day fondly.

She spun Yukale into the arms of her lover and found herself facing Sylvanas again.

******

Almost breathless, Jaina said, “Hi.”

“Enjoying yourself?” Sylvanas pulled Jaina against her as a song of her choosing played.

Jaina tilted her head, seeming to listen to the music as she tried to recognize it. “I was.”

“I’m claiming one more dance with you before we … retire to our chambers.”

Jaina smiled, the wine loosening her lips. “You know, I’ve always wondered…”

“Do not finish that question,” Sylvanas warned, leading Jaina through the steps of a dance she’d once planned to share with someone else.

Jaina’s smile turned cutting and she leaned against her. As before, her touch burned against Sylvanas’s skin, and now her breath was hot in her ear. “Won’t you satisfy your wife’s curiosity?”

Drunk or playing a game, or both. With so many eyes on them, Sylvanas wouldn’t play along, even if her fingers dug into Jaina’s back. “Did you enjoy dancing with my sister?”

“Jealous?” Jaina couldn’t have missed the fact that Vereesa was the only person Sylvanas singled out, and Sylvanas bit back a curse. That had been stupid of her. Her fingers dug deep enough into Jaina’s back to make the woman grunt. Almost triumphantly, Jaina murmured, “I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Good. Sylvanas could work with this. While she needed Jaina to cooperate, she also wanted a Jaina who was herself and not some simpering damsel. There was something about the inherent danger in baiting this woman that appealed to her, and Sylvanas could believe that Jaina felt the same.

Her other hand came to rest on Jaina’s as the song came to an end, and she felt the impression of the rings there. The one she’d given her in Dalaran and the one placed on her finger today. Sylvanas wore a match of only the latter.

She stared at her, Jaina staring back. With a sweep of her cloak, she pulled Jaina by their joined hands, away from the reception. A thousand eyes followed them.

Let them assume what they wished.

The Warchief’s quarters were not actually in the Hold. Or rather, Sylvanas had had them moved upon coming to Orgrimmar permanently. It was up treacherous steps carved from the stone, with only one way in save for a carefully protected escape route. From the outside, the windows were barely noticeable and the door was almost invisible. From here, she had a good view of the city gates and the hold, but a measure of privacy and a sense of her own self.

Sylvanas derived amusement from the expression on Jaina’s face when she stepped inside. “This is your new home. What do you think?”

The chambers were more like a suite. Five rooms carved out of the rock, plus the entrance hall. Sylvanas had decorated them as suiting her taste. Dark colors, blacks and purples; but there was a hint of a deep, dark green in some of the tapestries that hung from the stone walls.

“Opulent,” Jaina managed. She seemed surprised, and Sylvanas mused it was probably because she’d expected something more Orcish for a Warchief’s quarters.

“Your things have already been delivered, though if there is anything else you wish or need, I’ll have an assistant assigned to you.” Sylvanas slipped her cloak off, folding it and placing it on a chair. She started to unclasp her armor.

“Do you ever actually come here?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas paused, glancing at Jaina as she weighed how much to reveal. “Yes. While I have my places for escape, this is my home. Or as close to a home that can exist.”

The armor clanked to the floor, leaving Sylvanas in a black tunic and tights that Nathanos had once told her were practically painted on. She heard another one of those intakes of breath from Jaina, and filed that away for later. “Do you want a tour?”

Jaina remained tense, despite (or because of) Sylvanas’s monotone. She waited a moment, and then nodded.

There was a living room with a hearth and seating area and another room that Sylvanas had turned into a library. She nodded towards the shelves and cushy chair. “Closest thing you’ll find to a proper library on Kalimdor besides Dire Maul.”

Darnassus had once had a decently sized library. Neither woman brought that up.

The remaining three rooms were a small kitchen, an empty room with a training dummy and some weapons, and a bedroom with a large bed. Sylvanas noted Jaina’s curiosity at the kitchen, and the way she scanned the bedroom. Four people could easily get lost in that bed.

There was a mirror, an armoire and assorted other furniture, as well as a desk against one wall. “This is … mostly for you. I have no need to sleep.”

“But you enjoy reading,” Jaina pointed out. “A private place to train. The kitchen is surprising, but I’ll bet that you used to enjoy meal preparation. The desk shows use. You’ve decorated this place.” She reached behind herself to try to undo the dress, and Sylvanas sighed before stepping over to help. “It’s sentimental.”

Sylvanas’s fingers froze, and she seriously considered leaving Jaina to fend for her damned self. That they had to keep appearances made her finish what she’d started. And she had started this. The compact, as they’d chosen to call it, had been her idea. Her last resort.

Jaina had been wrong. While true, they didn’t have to get along, they still had to pretend to. And it would be easier if they didn’t have to pretend.

Knowing she’d never hear the end of it if she ripped Jaina’s mother’s dress, Sylvanas carefully pulled it down Jaina’s shoulders and let it fall to the ground.

Where Sylvanas’s skin had been magically rendered flawless save for a single scar where Arthas had pierced her, Jaina bore the scars of her lifetime. A subtle burn on her left hip, sword and other scars on her back, a puncture wound just below her left buttocks. But she was still beautiful. Sylvanas’s jaw tightened, and she strode past her to retrieve a robe that was laying on the bed. “You should rest.”

“And you’ll leave your wife alone in her wedding bed?” Jaina’s voice was a challenge, even as she shrugged into the robe and pulled it closed.

Anger welled up inside Sylvanas. She felt like she was being mocked or scolded, and she hadn’t forgotten the stunt with the flowers. Flowers that were still in her hair, and the reminder enraged her.

Jaina needed to be reminded of exactly what she was. Shadows swirled around her and she was in front of Jaina in an instant, grasping her by the throat and pushing her against the edge of the bed. Though Jaina had an inch or two on her, Sylvanas seemed to fill the room and tower over her in this moment.

“Never forget,” Sylvanas said, the words thin and echoing. “That you are my prisoner. That you live or you die by my command and that only luck and the word of your so-called friends is between you and an arrow in your throat.”

Magic flashed between them, energy lifting Sylvanas off of the ground and throwing her into the mirror. Shattered glass cut into the skin of her back, black blood oozing from the sudden wounds. She pulled herself to her feet, power crackling in her head and making her movements slow, very aware that she was lucky to not be smeared across the bedroom walls.

Jaina stood at the foot of the bed, robe open and fluttering around her body as energy rippled around her, her eyes the color of the sea in a storm.

Sylvanas felt something she’d forgotten existed. Desire.

“Touch me like that again,” Jaina said, voice the kind of cold rage that would turn a normal person’s blood to ice. “And Orgrimmar will be barely more than a hazy memory in the minds of children.”

Ripping her shirt off and tossing it aside, Sylvanas tried to reach behind her and pull out some of the mirror shards. She stared at her reflection in one, then made a disgusted sound and threw it onto the remains of her shirt. This had not been her plan for the night and there were cracks inside of her that had been exposed.

Sylvanas did not like feeling exposed.

The energy around Jaina had dissipated, though she stood ready, eyeing Sylvanas with wariness. Her voice was sharp. “I will not be manhandled or attacked. Do you understand, Sylvanas?”

The irony of the hostage making demands was not lost on either of them. Topless and bleeding, Sylvanas approached Jaina, then walked past her and into a lavatory that had lain hidden in the corner.

She leaned on the basin, weighing the costs and benefits of seeing one of the healers.

“I’m no healer, but I can help.”

Lifting her head, Sylvanas stared at Jaina in the reflection of the mirror. Interesting. And not entirely unwelcome.

“Perhaps I crossed a line. Perhaps we should talk like civilized people,” she said, keeping her voice even and her shoulders straight. She’d already shown Jaina enough weakness to last the next six months.

Tomorrow would be the new status quo. But tonight?

“And perhaps you can help while we talk.”

“Get in the tub,” Jaina ordered.

To her own surprise, Sylvanas obeyed.

Chapter 4: Home is Where the Hearth Is

Everything ached. Jaina’s head pounded, her throat was sore and her body twinged whenever she moved too quickly. Too much to drink, too much dancing, and then whatever that had been between her and Sylvanas. And then she’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, her nerves and stomach roiling.

But as exhausted as she was, Jaina was used to not sleeping well; it was her normal state of being. At least they’d survived their first night together without killing each other, though the odds hadn’t looked too good there for a few moments.

Pushing Sylvanas like that had been stupid, Jaina knew that. Jaina also knew that wouldn’t be the last time she’d do so, nor did she think it would be the last time Sylvanas would find some way to embarrass or humiliate her. But if she touched her again, in any way that Jaina objected to, she’d make good on her threat. And then some.

Crawling out of bed, Jaina had the faintest memory of smooth, cold skin pressed against her back sometime during the night. Standing next to the bed and surveying the room, Jaina rubbed her head and decided she’d just been imagining things.

The wedding dress still lay crumpled on the floor, and Sylvanas had not bothered to do anything about the mirror or her armor yet. Jaina scowled, then cast a spell to put the mirror back together and tossed the armor into a corner; she wasn’t going to pick up after Sylvanas.

Her mother’s dress, however, she took care of by hand, folding it up so it could be cleaned. Katherine Proudmoore wouldn’t leave the city just yet, and Jaina wanted to make sure she took the dress with her.

After dressing, Jaina went into the kitchen to make herself a small breakfast and something to take care of her hangover. It was an old family recipe, and it almost always worked. Fortunately, she was able to make do with the spare ingredients in the kitchen. Jaina assumed Sylvanas had ‘forgotten’ to stock it for her on purpose.

She nearly dropped her hangover cure when she walked into the main area and realized she wasn’t alone.

Sitting in a chair was the Forsaken Warrior from both the Windwhistle and the reception. A dazzling array of lights formed patterns in front of her. Jaina waited while she solved the puzzle box, then cleared her throat. “Where’s Sylvanas?”

And what was this warrior doing here?

“The Dark Lady had an early meetin’ with some Alliance reps ta discuss lumber rights,” the warrior said, picking up her puzzle box and deactivating it. “Told me ta take yer to her when yer got up. An’ ta show yer the city later.”

“My personal jailer, I take it?”

“Bodyguard.”

“I fail to see the difference.”

She shrugged. “I do as the Dark Lady commands, aye?”

Jaina held up her finger, drinking from her glass until her hangover cure was completely gone. Then she dropped her hand, absently rubbing her ‘engagement’ ring with her thumb. “What’s your name?”

“Tyra Cole.”

The name sounded familiar, and Jaina wondered if she’d met a Cole at some point, or even this particular Cole in life. Most Forsaken had come from Lordaeron. It was possible.

Choosing to not make things awkward, she put the glass on a table and nodded towards the door. “Grommash Hold?”

“Aye.” Tyra got up, her armor creaking. She retrieved a large sword from where it leaned against the wall, sheathed it across her back, and led Jaina out into Orgrimmar.

The wedding had been held in that gap between summer and winter that Durotar liked to pretend was fall, so it was less warm than she expected. She wondered how she hadn’t noticed the chill at the wedding; but she had been just a little preoccupied, and then wine and activity might have warmed her further. Or maybe it had just been a warmer day. It was still morning and the sun was just peeking up over the valley, so it hadn’t had the chance to warm up from the night.

Jaina wondered if it ever snowed here. The city bordered Azshara to the north, after all, and it did on occasion snow in that ancient land.

Navigating the steps was going to get old, she realized. A lift system or even just a zipline would be a welcome addition but Jaina wasn’t about to ask for either just yet. To do so would make her appear weak, and Jaina had to avoid looking weak as much as possible. If it meant spending the rest of her life burying her feelings, so be it.

Grommash Hold was an eyesore, a reminder of who had built it and what he’d done. Jaina missed the old hold. That Garrosh had moved the seat of Horde power from the Valley of Wisdom to the Valley of Strength had been telling and a clear delineation between Thrall’s Horde and the current one.

She doubted that Sylvanas had ever considered moving it back. Sylvanas was clever and intelligent, but the symbolism of Wisdom over Strength was either lost to her or something she’d calculated as contrary to her goals. Jaina had no way of knowing which it was, and filed the thought away for later.

The entrance to the hold required going around an elevator. Jaina remembered the machinations Garrosh had planned beneath Orgrimmar and surmised it had been a quick way down for him. Up was probably the old Warchief’s quarters. What might Sylvanas do with those if she wasn’t using them?

Jaina gripped her staff tightly as she stepped into the hold proper. Sylvanas was reclined on the throne, leaning back with one leg thrown over the right armrest. Tyrande Whisperwind and a single sentinel were left to stand. Unsure of where to stand herself, Jaina took an awkward position on Sylvanas’s left, half way between her and Tyrande.

Giving Tyrande a nod and reassuring smile, Jaina leaned on her staff. She felt Sylvanas’s eyes on her for a brief moment before she continued addressing Tyrande, still sitting as though she were bored and Tyrande was beneath her.

Jaina knew a power play when she saw it. Tyrande and Malfurion, individually, were among the few people Sylvanas couldn’t beat in a fair fight. But far be it for Sylvanas to act like it; and she’d never face either of them as a pair or in a fair fight. Just like she wouldn’t face Jaina in a fair fight. Jaina felt generous enough to not consider Sylvanas a coward for it. Sylvanas was a survivor.

But so was Jaina.

“The Horde needs lumber,” Sylvanas said. “Ashenvale remains the only easily accessible source.”

“Except you have ceded your claim to it, after you’ve already severely depleted the trees.” Tyrande sounded like she wanted to use harsher words, but was restraining herself. Jaina would have preferred that Tyrande be unrestrained. “There will not be a forest left. Allow us to harvest it for you and trade. That way we can replant that which is taken, and rotate the areas lumbered as one would rotate through farm fields.”

It was reasonable, and yet Jaina thought Sylvanas wasn’t going to make it that easy. It almost felt like a test. Still, she spoke before she could think better of it. “The Horde needs lumber, but Tyrande is right; Horde foresting techniques are not sustainable and have not been for years.”

She turned her gaze to Sylvanas, finding the Warchief watching her with something approaching interest. “I propose a middle ground. Replant the areas already depleted, and harvest a designated area agreed upon by both, then rotate to the replanted areas, and back again, and harvest the trees together, Kaldorei and Horde lumberers. That way, Tyrande’s people retain their sovereign lands, the Horde still gets wood and learns new techniques, and the forest doesn’t suffer for it.”

“And what, pray tell, would the Horde give up for this?” Sylvanas swung her leg off of the throne, and leaned forward.

“Ore,” Tyrande suggested. “A small amount from your mines. We could have our advisers discuss the details.”

There was a pregnant moment and Jaina almost held her breath, wondering if the ore request was a bridge too far. But it was a good deal for both sides.

Sylvanas finally spoke. “Agreed. Let our people discuss the details and we will meet again for final approval.”

Smiling, Tyrande inclined her head, though Jaina could feel her hatred for Sylvanas break through the facade momentarily. That wasn’t what affected her, though. It was the brief look of pity Tyrande gave Jaina before she left.

Dismissing Tyra and the others in the room, Sylvanas pointed to the floor in front of her, voice hard and commanding. “Come here.”

Stomach roiling with self-loathing, Jaina approached the throne. She refused to kneel, and Sylvanas didn’t ask her to. “Is this where you give me a spanking?”

“I wish to make clear two things,” Sylvanas replied, ignoring Jaina’s comment. “First, when we are in public, in the presence of either Horde or Alliance, you are never to contradict me. Take me aside, alone, if you wish to do so, and I may even encourage that. But if you go against me in public the punishment will be swift and severe.”

The situation with her stomach only got worse, but Jaina asked, “And the second thing?”

“Your place is at my side.” Sylvanas gestured to her left. “But I suppose you chose a fair enough position without having had the chance to hear my wishes.”

Faint praise and Sylvanas was being alarmingly accommodating, but it was better than nothing. Jaina supposed she’d never get a seat of her own and she didn’t want one.

“Anything else?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas ran her eyes over Jaina, the inspection drawing unwilling heat to Jaina’s face. “We need to do something about your wardrobe. Just a little too much blue.”

“I’m a mage,” Jaina snapped.

“A Horde mage now, my dear wife.”

Tyrande’s pity had been echoed in the eyes of all of Jaina’s friends and family last night. Pity. Horde mage. Sharing a bedroom with Sylvanas Windrunner. Their fight last night. And now paraded about like a trophy wife. Sylvanas had listened to her, unexpectedly allowed her suggestion in the midst of a trade negotiation; but that was the last thing Jaina could focus on right now.

Without waiting to be dismissed, Jaina turned to find something to empty her stomach into.

“Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas’s voice made her stop. Her shoulders ached from how stiff they became.

“What?” Jaina didn’t turn around, her hands closing into fists as she counted backwards from ten, both to reel in her temper and try to calm her stomach before she emptied it on the floor of the hold.

“Do you have a hearthstone?” Sylvanas was right behind her, her breath tickling the back of her neck.

She swallowed bile as it rose up. “Why?”

Hearthstones were rare outside of a few chosen Champions, and deeply emotional to those that possessed them. Jaina had once gifted one to Anduin when he’d been younger, set to Theramore. It was to allow him to get away from his father and tend to his own thoughts should he need it. They were rare enough that Jaina knew Sylvanas hadn’t just assumed she had one. She didn’t need it, after all. Damn her spy network.

Stepping around to block Jaina’s path to the exit, Sylvanas held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

“You realize that I can portal anywhere I wish to, right? I accept that I have to have a shadow but--”

“As laid out in the compact--”

“I know!”

“As laid out in the compact,” Sylvanas repeated coldly. “You may travel within the confines of Orgrimmar and the surrounding environs. You may, with an escort and proper notification of myself or a designated member of the Horde, travel to other Horde cities and territories. You are explicitly barred from Alliance territories outside of official, pre-arranged visits. Do you understand?”

Jaina’s voice became low and dangerous. “ As laid out in the compact, I can leave, when I wish to and unless you have a damn good reason to countermand my travel. I’m not going to spend ten minutes arguing with Tyra, Nathanos or some guard if I want to visit Thunder Bluff or … or Zuldazar for some reason, so I expect you toit’s best you make sure they all know that they’re messengers only.”

Sylvanas was silent a moment, then inclined her head once in acceptance and held out an open palm. There was something almost cruel in the way Sylvanas stared, hand outstretched expectantly. Her eyes dipped to the anchor pendant that hung around her neck, as if offering Jaina a choice.

So it was meant to be a symbolic gesture. Without the limits of the compact, Jaina’s skill and power with portals allowed her to travel anywhere she wished. What was one hearthstone that could only take her to a single location compared to that?

Sylvanas waited, and Jaina had the feeling if she hesitated much longer she’d take the pendant too.

She pulled it out, the stone small and cold in her palm. The soft glow reminded her of home. She didn’t bother to hide the tears as she shoved it into Sylvanas’s hand and then pushed past her, hard enough to make her shoulder hurt from the impact.

Pain was better than feeling anything else right now.

 

******

Sylvanas had never expected that Jaina would ever actually bother to use her hearthstone. It was, more or less, intended to remind her of just where she belonged. There were political implications to the Warchief’s wife carrying a hearthstone set to anywhere but Orgrimmar.

It was eerily quiet. Sylvanas stood near the center of a crater, tendrils of purple energy drifting in the air. Even now, so many years after the event, the skies above Theramore looked like someone had clawed gashes in reality; and through the lacerations, Sylvanas saw stars. If she stared too long, they almost seemed to stare back.

Rolling the stone around in her hand, Sylvanas looked at it. Most people would ask why Jaina would keep such a thing. A quick way back to a shattered city and a shattered life and a reminder of a pain that cut so deep no one else could fathom it.

Not Sylvanas.

No, Sylvanas understood exactly what this meant. While she didn’t need some physical heirloom to remind her, she still felt that same kind of torment every hour of every day of her existence.

A pain to remind her of the day everything changed and everything she’d fought so hard to protect had been lost. Her people, her city, the life she’d once led. How naive she’d been, how confident in her own abilities and the hope of victory. How much she’d taken for granted.

Sylvanas never took anything for granted, now. She closed her fist around the stone, wondering what it would be like to feel that sense of hope in the face of hopelessness again. But she came up with nothing but a pitch blackness in the bottom of her soul.

Of course, the next question was if she’d have dropped the manabomb on Theramore herself.

Sylvanas wouldn’t have pushed the same war the same way that Garrosh did, and she would have saved the weapon for either a much more valuable target or to hold in reserve as a bargaining chip or doomsday device. And she’d learned valuable lessons both from the war with the Kaldorei and the Alliance war that followed.

Still, yes, a year ago. Now? Well, she’d have left it in Stormwind while Jaina resided in Orgrimmar as extra insurance. Two manabombs for the price of one, considering Jaina was effectively that level of destructive.

Something to consider, actually. She couldn’t get her hands on the Focusing Iris, but perhaps her engineers could come up with another weapon she could use as a bargaining chip in the future. Sylvanas trusted the Alliance about as far as she could throw Jaina’s boat. She did not intend to stop considering ways to give the Horde, and herself, an advantage.

Slipping Jaina’s stone into her pocket, she took out her own. An easy way back to Orgrimmar, and one she wouldn’t have taken this potentially dangerous trip without.

Two years ago, it would have taken her home to the Undercity. Ten years before that, it would have taken her to Silvermoon. Jaina was a sentimental fool, and Sylvanas should just destroy her stone--she would be doing the girl a favor. Or she could simply have another mage reassign it to Grommash Hold; colder, but perhaps less viscerally cruel, than forcing Jaina to do so herself, and it was more than time she accepted her new reality.

Feeling the weight of Jaina’s stone in her pocket, Sylvanas returned to Orgrimmar.

Chapter 5: Keep Moving

Notes:

Have this one a little early ;)

Day after day, night after night, Jaina felt her nerves fraying. It didn’t help that her sleep was so often interrupted by bad dreams and nightmares. Most of them faded as soon as she woke up sweating or screaming, but a few lingered. Jaina was used to this; the last time she’d slept through the night had been before Theramore.

Sylvanas was never there. While Jaina saw her sometimes in their quarters, she never hung around in the evenings past the opportunity to wish her good night. Jaina couldn’t tell if Sylvanas was being serious or if she was somehow mocking her, and she didn’t know which was worse.

She developed a routine: make an appearance in Grommash Hold in the morning or when she was summoned, and otherwise memorize Orgrimmar. Jaina wasn’t sure what she’d do after that, but it was a start. She had a hard enough time reminding herself that she wasn’t powerless, because it certainly felt like it.

There were several locations she discovered that made for good hiding spots and yet somehow, invariably, Tyra would find her. It was frustrating when she just wanted a few minutes to breathe without eyes constantly on her.

By the end of the first week she was able to figure out the farthest she could go into Durotar without raising any alarms. It was harder for Tyra to find her there, and she spent a good hour curled into a ball behind a boulder. Jaina didn’t cry, but she felt better when the only thing around her was stillness.

If given a choice, she’d prefer Thunder Bluff. Orgrimmar had its own sort of beauty if one really tried to look, but Thunder Bluff felt more welcoming and had a much better view from the triple-mesa than most spots in Orgrimmar. She arranged a weekly lunch with Baine, which Nathanos derisively called a ‘tea party.’

Sylvanas had watched the exchange with a bored expression on her face, though Jaina could have sworn there’d been the ghost of a smile on Sylvanas’s lips after Jaina had told Nathanos exactly where he could stick a teapot.

That had been several days ago. This afternoon Jaina perched on a convenient rock, out of the flow of traffic within the Valley of Honor. Most gave her a wide berth and her so-called bodyguard kept herself busy fishing in the water nearby. Tyra had once been a rogue, or so she claimed, which probably explained how a warrior could be so damn sneaky. But she was making no attempt to hide her presence today.

“If you’re so bored, you could go somewhere else,” Jaina suggested. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Shrugging, the Forsaken baited her hook. “The Dark Lady commands and I obey.”

“If the Dark Lady commanded you to jump in the ocean, would you do it?”

“She’d have a reason for it, aye?” Tyra cast her line and Jaina dropped the subject.

Her eyes fell to a line of ears dangling from Tyra’s belt and she wrinkled her nose. Barbaric. Jaina refused to think who those ears might have once belonged to so as not to make herself sick.

So she looked somewhere else, watching a blacksmith work at an anvil. The Orc’s powerful muscles rippled as she swung her hammer, sweat beading on her brow and biceps.

She lifted her shirt to wipe at her face, exposing chiseled abs, and Jaina stared for far too long before she glanced away, face heating up.

In that direction, a Sin’dorei woman sunned herself as if she was unconcerned with the dangers of Tyra’s fishing hook catching her or the fact she was practically naked and being served a drink by a succubus. Was that really necessary? Jaina didn’t know if she was jealous of the elf’s freedom (and golden skin) or just that lonely.

The blacksmith was handing over a set of delicate steel bars--levers, maybe, tools or bridle bits--to a lanky Troll girl in dusty leathers. Jaina watched the muscles move under the orc’s tight shirt and decided she was just that lonely.

“Oh.” The realization struck her, hard: Jaina was never going to know another person’s touch again. Not intimately. She’d had a few lovers after Arthas, but most of those had been before the manabomb.

Jaina was married to the Warchief. Her being unfaithful would have devastating political consequences. Even if she was the kind of person willing to seek out an affair there were few people willing to cross Sylvanas Windrunner; Jaina could probably find a lover willing to do so out of spite, but she wouldn’t risk someone else’s life for it.

Sylvanas was the only option, which meant Jaina had no options at all. She didn’t even know if it were possible; and even if it were, that was a line she wasn’t willing to cross. The marriage wasn’t real and Sylvanas’s hands were soaked in blood.

Let everyone assume all they wanted about what went on in the Warchief’s private quarters. Jaina would never give them the satisfaction of being right--even if it meant no one would ever be touching her again.

******

If asked, Sylvanas would say that she no longer felt tiredness or weariness. It was a lie, of course. Even if her stamina and strength was beyond that of mortals, she’d eventually require rest. And she hadn’t rested since well before the wedding.

Today she could feel an ache in her bones and a heaviness in her mind that she only felt when other people were being particularly grating. And today’s aggravation had made her question her decision to keep Gallywix alive.

She was still questioning that decision as she started ascending the steps to her quarters, though she put it out of her mind as she got closer. According to Tyra, Jaina had spent most of the day in the Valley of Honor people-watching, with a detour through the Drag later in the afternoon. Tyra had also had a comment about beefy orcs and pretty elves, and Sylvanas would need to have a word about that. Jaina was hers; and if looking extended to touching, there would be consequences.

Sylvanas just didn’t trust Jaina entirely. Too many times already she’d bent rules or pushed hard, trying to find weaknesses and loopholes. It was exactly what Sylvanas would have done--and that was exactly why trust would be withheld.

For now, if not forever.

Inside, Sylvanas moved through the hallway to the bedroom, spotting no sign of her wife. Her wedding armor still lay in the corner where Jaina had left it, and she let her cape drop to the floor followed by the rest of her armor. Leaving it there, she walked into the common area in only her pants and a thin, short top.

Alone was good right now. Sylvanas had already shown too much vulnerability around Jaina. To maintain her power, she must be seen as strong and ruthless, without any physical flaws. Sylvanas couldn’t become tired. She could fight until her body fell apart, but she’d never show it.

Sitting on the couch, Sylvanas leaned back into the cushions, her head falling over the back as she closed her eyes. She actually missed sleep, but she knew if she ever did sleep, somehow, she’d be haunted by nightmares.

Thinking of nightmares made her think of Jaina, and she wondered what really plagued the mage at night. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out Jaina’s hearthstone, holding it up to the light. Was it just the memory of Theramore, or was it something more? Did Arthas haunt Jaina’s sleep the same way he haunted the black depths of Sylvanas’s mind?

Hatred of Arthas had fueled her for years, and she’d struggled to find that same level of rage for anything else. A night like tonight, and Sylvanas almost thought the endless darkness would be better than the emptiness inside her chest.

Shuddering, she shook the thought off. No. There was nothing anyone could do to her that would make her long for that empty blackness. Against her will, the memory surfaced. Cold. Hopelessness. Her spirit had been whole for the first time since Arthas and still she'd suffered. Claws had torn at her, terrors in the darkness and Sylvanas could not scream for she had no mouth.

It was her future, this endless void of untold agony. Sylvanas had fled from it to the warm arms of the Valkyr and she could not deny, even to herself, that all of her actions since had been to spare herself that anguish.

Was that the fate of all the Forsaken, or just those who'd been directly tortured by Frostmourne?

Sylvanas lost track of the time and of herself for so long that she was startled when the door opened. By the time Jaina had walked into the room, Sylvanas had made sure the hearthstone was safely stored away and had shaken off whatever had affected her.

Jaina’s eyes fell to the exposed skin of Sylvanas’s stomach and the way her top threatened to ride up even higher, and Sylvanas quirked an eyebrow. “Find something you like?”

Coughing, Jaina disappeared. Sylvanas chuckled, sliding gracefully to her feet to follow her. In the bedroom, she studied Jaina’s bare back as she undressed, her fingers itching slightly in memory of removing the wedding dress. It was a curious feeling, and Sylvanas set it aside to be ignored.

“Would you prefer the grotesque muscles of an orc? The warm skin of one of the Sin’dorei?” She stepped in against Jaina’s back, hands on her arms as the woman stiffened.

“Whatever Tyra told you, she’s exaggerating.” Jaina’s voice was tight, cracking at the end. “I’m perfectly aware that taking a lover will never be an option.”

“Perhaps I could take you to Goldshire if you so desperately need to be fucked.” Letting go of Jaina, Sylvanas peeled her clothing off as she stepped towards the bathroom. She turned towards her, allowing Jaina the full view and keeping her tone carefully mundane. “Or you could join me in the bath.”

Sylvanas turned away again. She’d barely taken a step before a burning hand gripped her shoulder.

Jaina's voice was controlled and far too close to Sylvanas's left ear as the heat of Jaina’s skin burned into Sylvanas’s back. "For someone who spends so much time acting like a heartless bitch, you're really desperate to touch me."

Sylvanas clenched her hands into fists as the rustling of fabric accompanied an itch on her skin when Jaina teleported away.

******

Outside of the city, Jaina felt less like she was suffocating. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that did little to remove the image that was still emblazoned on her mind or the burning in her skin where Sylvanas had been touching her. This had been different than the last time. The last time there’d been blood and anger and the very real possibility of breaking the compact the very first night.

Jaina tried not to think of the fact that she almost craved being touched again, instead marveling that the cuts on Sylvanas’s back had completely disappeared.

The air was crisp and a little chilly. Jaina pulled her nightrobe closer around her body as she found herself near some of the pig farms, the gates of Orgrimmar a shadowy silhouette behind her. She felt so tired, so drained, the stress threatening to push her to the edge of a breakdown. Part of her wanted to give up. In the distance she heard the sound of music. Weeks since the wedding and some celebrations were still ongoing. She supposed it was the same in Stormwind, though a dark, angry part of her hoped that they wore black in Boralus.

At least it was silent out here, except for the snoring of a nearby pig and the repetitive sound of hoofbeats and a quiet voice.

Unable to help herself, Jaina approached the sound of that voice. Near the road leading towards the Barrens, a Troll walked in a small circle, guiding a roan mule. Jaina recognized her from the Valley, earlier in the day. She’d been picking up tack rather than engineering parts then, most likely.

“Tha’s it, beauty. Keep movin’ now, steady on.” The mule stopped, digging her hooves into the red dirt and trying to pull her head around toward her stomach until the troll put enough steady pressure to get her moving again. “Wha’d I jus’ say? Pick it up there, Millet. Easy lovely. It’s not pain that’ll kill you ‘less you let it, beautiful girl.”

Trying to make sense of the scene, Jaina leaned on a rickety wooden fence. “Is she okay?”

“Colic.”

Colic? Jaina had never known mules could get colic.

Reading her surprise, the troll gave a short grunt. “All dis excitement,” she murmured, running a hand over the mule’s neck as it tried to kick at its stomach. “Mules don’ colic easy but she’s a shy li’l thing, you know? An’ dis nonsense, all th’ noise an’ crowds, spendin’ too much time cooped up in a stall, city rations too rich...ah, beauty. My fault. Na-ah. Stay on yer feet girl.”

She had vague, distant memories of helping the innkeeper in Theramore with her daughter. Her heart clenched at the memory of Janene. She’d refused to leave with the rest of the people they’d evacuated before the attack and had perished along with everyone else. The baby had been given to Janene’s brother to raise.

“I know a spell that might help,” Jaina said, watching as the troll and her mule circled in her direction. At least, it had helped the baby feel more at ease.

The troll squinted at her, then replied, “Na.”

To Jaina’s surprise, she found the rope thrust into her hands. “What--”

“Keep her movin’,” the troll said, hopping over the fence.

“But--”

“Movin’, so she don’t go down. Walk inna circle, if ya can figure it out.” Without waiting for Jaina to reply, she jogged off towards the city.

Jaina looked down at the rope, then sighed and climbed over the fence, her robe snagging for a brief moment.

She rubbed her hand along the mule’s snout, wondering if the troll even knew who she was, or who she was married to. Jaina was so far the only permanent human resident in the city, though that might change as the months wore on.

She tried to imagine Orcs walking freely through Stormwind and to her surprise she could barely feel any revulsion at the thought. Maybe she was just too tired for it. Maybe part of her already believed in the sham. Maybe she was still thinking about that damn blacksmith.

Better her than Sylvanas, anyway.

Tugging on the rope, Jaina got the mule reluctantly moving. “I know it hurts, but you can’t lie down right now. You can’t.”

She understood the animal’s reluctance. How much easier it would be to give in to the pain, to just… curl up and die. Jaina pursed her lips, as the mule stopped again and this time refused to budge. “Come on. I’m stubborn too. This is a fight you’re not going to win.”

Still, the mule stood there, then started to get down on her knees.

Shit.

“You have to keep moving. You have to walk through the night if you want it to get better,” Jaina said, feeling stupid for talking to a mule like it would somehow understand her. Stroking the beast’s neck, Jaina managed to get the mule standing again. “That’s right. Don’t give in, don’t lie down. If you do, you’ll never get back up. Do you really want to die that way?”

She could read the pain in the mule’s dark eyes, and she produced a muffin in a swirl of the arcane. Sometimes you just had to resort to bribery. “I doubt you’re hungry right now, but I’ve got more of these where they came from if you just make it through this. It was Millet, right?”

Jaina spoke calmly, evenly, weaving reassurance into her voice like a spell. It seemed to work; at least, the mule got to moving again. She gave a relieved sigh. Jaina hadn’t been sure how she could have talked Sylvanas into letting her access her accounts to buy some troll a new mule. And a new mule could never soothe the ache of losing one of your animals, anyway.

Thinking about it, she realized she needed to talk to her about the accounts. Just not tonight. She’d seen far too much of Sylvanas tonight.

She lost track of the time, moving the mule in a slow, endless circle. Occasionally, Millet would nibble at the muffin in Jaina’s hand. Just a little bit, and hopefully a sign she was feeling better. She made for a good listener, at least, as Jaina poured out her frustrations and fears to the animal.

It wasn’t until much later, after the troll had returned with a short, gruff apology for taking so long, after Jaina had left a basket of mana muffins for both master and mule and returned to the city, that Jaina’s own words to the mule really sank in.

You have to keep moving. You have to walk through the night if you want it to get better.

Chapter 6: Homecoming

Five months to the day after the wedding, Jaina asked to visit her mother, Dalaran, and then Anduin. She was allowed the privilege, and she wanted to take advantage of it. She missed her mother. She missed her friends.

Things remained in flux between her and Sylvanas. They circled each other like territorial worgs whenever they were forced to interact behind closed doors but for the most part went out of their way to avoid each other, which went a long way towards Jaina’s ability to maintain the airs of congeniality when in public. Both of them knew that keeping Jaina happy, or at least appearing to do so, was as important to the plan working as anything else. Sylvanas had even graciously allowed Jaina select duties to perform.

It amounted, in many ways, to busy work--but Jaina enjoyed it. The Horde’s paperwork was atrocious. Disorganized and with a filing system that could only have been developed by Goblins. She eventually discovered the problem; an Elvish system that had been adapted by the Goblins and then somehow made into the ultimate in inefficiency. The idea of Orcs doing paperwork had been absurd at best, so at least she had an explanation.

It took her three weeks to sort and a fourth to teach Sylvanas’s aides how to use it, but productivity tripled.

She’d also expanded the size of Sylvanas’s library by nearly double and proposed a public one, which Sylvanas had agreed to after careful consideration.

So it was in this light that Jaina had finally asked for a visit. She stood with her hands behind her back, posture relaxed as Sylvanas eyed her. Jaina hoped that making this request after everyone else had left the Hold might make Sylvanas a little more accomodating. She was willing to negotiate and figured that starting big might get her more than she expected. It was a useful tactic.

“Boralus, Dalaran and Stormwind?” Sylvanas stood from the throne, eyeing Jaina with her usual bored expression.

It was an act, Jaina had learned. There were many facets to Sylvanas, many masks she wore, and Jaina had quietly filed away all her observations for some future use she wasn’t yet sure of.

What Sylvanas was thinking now was how much rope she could give Jaina before Jaina hung herself, and how much she could give her without appearing weak to others. The Alliance. The other Horde leaders. Nathanos, who Jaina knew was somewhere nearby, lurking.

“It’s been a long time since I was in Dalaran,” Jaina pointed out. “And I’d like to visit my mother and allow my people to see that I’m okay. It would do good for Stormwind to see I’m unharmed too.”

And by Stormwind, she meant Anduin, Genn and Tyrande for the most part. Both the Gilneans and Kaldorei had effectively moved into Stormwind and it was not lost on Jaina that they shared a common hatred in Sylvanas.

It would take years for Ashenvale to return to being a home for the Night Elves--and even then, the remains of Teldrassil would be a constant reminder of what had happened. Jaina remembered talk of planting a new World Tree somewhere in the Eastern Kingdoms.

“Not Stormwind,” Sylvanas replied. “Not yet. But a few days with your mother, and a day in Dalaran. King Wrynn and anyone else may travel to either place if they wish to see you.”

That had gone well, surprisingly. Jaina pressed her luck. “Four in Kul Tiras, one in Dalaran.”

The corners of Sylvanas’s lips twitched. “Carefully chosen words. Kul Tiras, instead of Boralus. Thinking of sightseeing?”

“I’d like to catch up with an old friend in Drustvar, among others.”

Sylvanas regarded her, then nodded. “Very well. Three days in Kul Tiras and one in Dalaran. If this goes well, then we can discuss longer visits. And I will know if you share any of my secrets.”

“I haven’t seen anything worth reporting. And I won’t tell you any of theirs, either.” Something told Jaina she’d never get more than a week, two if Sylvanas was in a good mood. But a legitimate escape and vacation would be wonderful and she refused to act like a spy. Unless she caught Sylvanas doing something to break her side of the compact, then Jaina wasn’t going to breathe a word. If Sylvanas did break the compact, all bets were off.

“I expected no less.” Sylvanas chuckled, then continued. “Tyra will accompany you. And you may choose one of the Alliance champions as well, I don’t care who.”

Damn.

Seeming to note Jaina’s irritation, Sylvanas said, “If you’d spent less time trying to dodge her and risking the compact in the process, perhaps I’d allow something different.”

Jaina didn’t bother trying to explain; she knew Sylvanas understood why she’d tested her boundaries and that Sylvanas didn’t care. Mostly, she knew Sylvanas was right, and that upset her more than anything. “I’ll send missives. Is next week all right?”

Nodding, Sylvanas returned to the throne and Jaina felt like she’d been dismissed.

But when she turned to leave, she was stopped by Sylvanas’s voice. “Jaina?”

No Lady or Lord Admiral or wife. Just her name, evenly spoken. Jaina didn’t know why, but it made heat rush to her face so she didn’t turn around. “Yes?”

There was a long moment of silence, before Sylvanas murmured, “Nevermind.”

******

“Clever, but risky.”

Nathanos’s voice interrupted Sylvanas’s thoughts in the wake of Jaina’s exit. She leaned her elbow on the side of the throne and rested her chin on her fist. “Nothing we do is without risk.”

“Yes, but Proudmoore is a crafty woman. She disabled half the wards in Orgrimmar just to see if she could. You should have executed her, immediately.”

Sylvanas waved her hand. “She strengthened them as she did so. Her work was… invaluable to Orgrimmar’s safety.”

“Simply an excuse, there’s no telling what sort of traps she’s laid in our defenses.” Nathanos’s dismissive tone rankled Sylvanas, and she fixed him with a steady glare. He held up his hands. “I mean to say that she takes advantage of our generosity. Four days is too much, too soon.”

Traps had been a definite possibility, but Sylvanas’s own mages had found nothing to indicate that Jaina had done such a thing. If anything they’d been amazed by the skill and power with which Jaina had brought down Orgrimmar’s magical defenses and then brought them back up, stronger than ever.

Sylvanas knew that Jaina was playing some kind of game and she was suspicious as to her motivations, but she took any advantage she could. “Nathanos, should she choose, she can turn us all to arcane dust, wards or no wards. You act as though she gave no warning.”

“Orgrimmar was defenseless.” Nathanos clasped his hands behind his back. “Why are we letting her run around the city as though she owns it? She could be turning the people against you. Would it not be better for her to stay in the Hold, where we can keep her on her leash? I have the most lovely chain collar prepared, just for her.”

“She took the wards down in stages. Do you really think Jaina Proudmoore is that stupid?” Sylvanas stared at Nathanos until he inclined his head and conceded the point. As for the chain collar, she said nothing of it as she continued. “She spends enough time among the people of Orgrimmar to no longer see them as monsters, which is exactly what I wanted.”

“She sees you as a monster.”

“I am one.” Sylvanas settled back into the throne, reclining in her usual manner. “It’s not too soon for her to visit her family. Especially when the Alliance was so accommodating as to insist on visitation rights without my even having to bring it up. They played into my hands so beautifully that I doubt even the old wolf realizes they were swindled.”

“And how does it serve your plan, Dark Lady?”

Nathanos was fishing for information, even if he’d probably already guessed it. Sylvanas might consider him her closest ally and friend, but she kept much to herself. “It makes me look generous. Allow her these moments of freedom and strengthen her bond with our enemies. That bond is what keeps Anduin’s dog from turning a bark into a bite. It keeps Kul Tiras from our shores and the Kaldorei in their forests instead of seeking revenge.”

“Really? One woman wields that much influence among our enemies?”

“Our new allies. Try to keep up.” Sylvanas stood. “My consort is closest to Anduin. He, of course, would want to move immediately to protect and avenge her. The cub might profess for peace but he is his father's son. It's the rest of the Alliance where the strain will show. She has had much less contact with Ironforge or the Dark Iron. The Draenei may also be unwilling to resume bloodshed over a single woman. The old dog, of course, will jump at any opportunity to rabidly attack. My sisters, as well. To say nothing of how quickly Kul Tiras would sail its fleet to our shores."

Sylvanas stopped in front of Nathanos. "The Kaldorei are the wild card. Revenge? Or are they, too, too bloodied to stomach further war. Now the Alliance is split between those who want war and those who would choose peace. Allowing her to strengthen the right bonds, in the right places, will make the Alliance strain under its own weight. The threat of her death could cause even more tension among them than the reality."

Nathanos nodded. “If they forget Jaina exists, or the reasons she means anything to them, she’d no longer be a useful hostage. And it reminds the Alliance of what they stand to lose while applying pressure to them.”

“The Alliance self-regulates to keep themselves in line, meaning less effort on our part,” Sylvanas finished. “Even if they eventually realize this, what of it? They’ll be no more likely to abandon her to her fate. That is why I expect her to do her part, in this. She won’t want the privilege revoked.”

“I don’t trust this give and take, or that we’re at the mercy of that moody bitch.”

Sylvanas’s voice took on a dangerous edge. “Only I am allowed to belittle my wife, Nathanos.”

She couldn’t have her advisors speaking out against her wife. Insulting Lady Jaina had certain implications and Sylvanas couldn’t allow it. It would mean that Sylvanas lacked control over her people, and that would present a specific image to the world at large that was counterproductive to that which she needed to project for the good of the Horde. Word spreading that the Warchief’s consort was not respected would undermine them both as surely as Jaina fucking someone behind her back would. That thought enraged her for the briefest of moments.

“Apologies, Lady.” Nathanos scowled, his eyes searching Sylvanas’s face. “But she could betray us in a heartbeat.”

“And send the world back to war. It’s been five months. While she’s still determining her boundaries, she has not tried to escape. She has not attacked anyone and she has not second-guessed me in front of others.” Jaina had earned the benefit of the doubt, if not Sylvanas’s full trust. “However, as you well know, I never trust anyone entirely.”

Not even Nathanos.

And especially not Jaina Proudmoore.

******

Home.

It was a strange feeling, home. Boralus smelled the same and sounded the same. Gulls cried overhead, men and women sang shanties as their ships pulled into the harbor, and the creak of wood and sail brought Jaina back to days long ago.

But it wasn’t home any longer, and Jaina couldn’t even blame Sylvanas for that. Being gone again, for months, had reminded her that Kul Tiras had not been home since she’d left for Dalaran as a child. Certainly not since she’d sailed for Kalimdor, and for a moment Jaina wondered where home truly was. The missing weight in her pocket never felt so heavy, the whispers of the widows and orphans of Theramore rising to her ears. She pushed them aside so she could focus on the now.

Kul Tiras might be home no longer, but it was still in her blood and her blood sang as she walked through the city.

“Shoo.” Tyra swatted as a gull swooped past. “Hate these fuckin’ things. Always tryin’ to eat chunks outta me.”

Jaina said nothing, her smile impossible to contain even at the reminder of her terms. Three days in Kul Tiras. She intended to make the most of it, spending tomorrow with childhood friend Lucille Waycrest, but today and the day after Lucille were to be spent with her mother and brother.

And perhaps not a little relaxing and taking in the sea air.

“Lady Proudmoore!” A voice intruded into her thoughts, and she stopped short of running into the speaker.

Yukale inclined her head at Jaina, before giving her a wide smile and tight hug. To Jaina’s relief, Yukale made no comment when she held onto the hug longer than necessary.

The rogue and her girlfriend had been among those who’d helped Jaina and her mother make amends with each other, mostly by standing there ominously staring at Katherine Proudmoore until she’d done something. Just another in a long list of things Yukale had done to make Jaina consider her a friend. It didn’t hurt that she tended to lean towards the cheerful and pleasant edge of the spectrum. Whatever pains occasionally escaped her eyes she kept to herself.

Too much bad had happened in the world for anyone to escape knowing what pain and grief felt like. Jaina smiled at her, feeling her worries ebb away. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until later. How’s Unariel?”

“I was down here on business anyway.” Yukale assured her. “And your mother wanted to make sure you safely made it to the Keep.” Her expression changed, her smile brighter. “If I know Una, she’s busy fleecing a pack of sailors for every coin they have.”

“We can leave her to her work.” Jaina smiled, and rolled her eyes. She felt touched at her mother’s concern. “Well, with you and my shadow here, I’m sure I’ll make it unscathed.”

Yukale’s eyes fell to the trophies hanging from Tyra’s belt and her expression hardened slightly. She nodded once at her, then turned to lead Jaina through the city. Jaina supposed whatever goodwill they had shared at the wedding had evaporated, but then, Kaldorei ears were hard to miss.

They got a mixture of looks as they walked, but there was less pity than Jaina had feared. Respect, joy, and sadness lined the faces of her people.

Tyra seemed to get the bulk of the angry looks but she shrugged them off easily. Jaina almost envied Tyra that ability, but she couldn’t be upset about it. Tyra had been appointed the personal guard of the Warchief’s consort and there were few honors that could surpass that for a member of the Horde, and especially one of the Forsaken.

As much jailer and spy, Tyra took the guard part seriously as well. Despite the disgusting trophy habit, it was almost cute; Jaina didn’t exactly need defending, but she was used to having guards.

Jaina greeted her mother with a hug, though she stopped herself from letting it linger too long this time. Yukale might understand that she just really needed the contact, but her mother might misinterpret it as a cry for help.

“Are you all right, Jaina?” Katherine asked, stepping back to give her a look over. If her voice was even, her eyes betrayed doubt.

Jaina sighed. “I’m fine. It’s not like they’re torturing me, mother.”

“We’ve heard stories.”

“Have you now?” Jaina folded her arms. “These I have to hear.”

“I hear she keeps you locked up in a tower at night, and that you’re growing out your hair so you can climb down it and escape.” A man’s voice drew her attention to the right, her brother approaching her with wide arms.

Laughing, Jaina returned the hug warmly. “As long as I don’t go porting off to Stormwind or Ironforge, Sylvanas doesn’t really care where I go.” Or when, unless she needed her at her side in the Hold. A nuance, so Jaina didn’t feel the need to bring it up.

She even held her wrists up to show them unmarked. Nathanos might want her in chains, but Sylvanas thus far ignored him.

“That one’s mine,” Tyra said, pride in her raspy voice.

“What?” Yukale asked.

“That story, that one is mine.” Tyra grinned as they all stared at her.

Jaina slowly dragged her hand down her face. “Explain.”

“Yer spies are everywhere, we’ve got a game ta see how far they’ll get afore someone realizes it ain’t real. Yer fell for mine!” Tyra’s cackle echoed off the cobblestones of the Keep’s yard and she seemed to be relishing the attention.

Katherine pursed her lips in a manner that reminded Jaina of herself. Dear gods, that’s a disturbing thought. She shook off the brief moment of existential panic as her mother spoke again. “Dare I ask what other tall tales you people have spread about my daughter?”

Tyra responded with a grin. “Wouldn’t yeh like to know. There’s this one involvin’ ice an--”

“Let’s all go inside,” Yukale interrupted, elbowing Tyra in her decaying ribs.

Jaina gave her a thankful look. “Yes. I think that’s for the best.” She turned to Tyra. “I’m going to speak to my mother. Alone.”

“Dark Lady said to be nearby. I’ll stand down the hall.”

Sighing, Jaina nodded, wondering if Sylvanas had asked Tyra to eavesdrop or if she was actually going to trust her.

She looked back to Yukale. “Go rescue your Ren’dorei before she manages to draw the ire of half the sailors in the fleet. I’d like you two to join us for dinner.”

Yukale tossed off a playful salute. “Oh, she’s just going to love that.”

Jaina guessed that Unariel Morningstar and formal settings did not always mix well.

After Yukale left and Tyra found a place to watch the sea down the hall, Jaina joined her mother in the Lord Admiral’s suite. She sagged against the door to the suite, looking around at the familiar and yet somehow foreign sight. “Everything is a damned ordeal these days.”

“Everything was always an ordeal in our family,” Katherine remarked, not unkindly. “Come sit. I need you to tell me everything you can.”

Giving her mother a look, Jaina settled into one of the stiff backed chairs she’d always hated as a child. It usually meant she was in trouble, or that she was waiting to get ready for some function which was, honestly, almost as bad as being in trouble. “I’m fine, mother. That wasn’t for show, I really am unharmed. It’s been a rough adjustment, but I didn’t expect it not to be.”

“You’re a prisoner.” Katherine opened a bottle and poured a glass of port for each of them.

“I’m the Warchief’s consort,” Jaina replied, rubbing the bridge of her nose. It supposedly came with some level of authority but she had yet to see how far she could push it. It wasn’t that she was afraid, but that she felt … unsteady. Like she didn’t know where to put her feet; it was easier to stand aboard a ship in a storm. Let that be another problem for future-her.

Katherine scoffed derisively. “That’s somehow worse.”

“Contrary to rumor,” Jaina said, “We’ve barely touched each other outside of formal function. And she’s not… unpleasant to talk to.”

Or look at.

Just admitting that to herself was enough to make Jaina knock her entire glass back and grab the bottle to refill. “Tell me what’s going on here. At home. Nothing secret, but I want to know about the people, get the pulse of the nation.”

While she’d be sure to get the opinions of others, such as Yukale, and Anduin, Jaina listened carefully to her mother. According to Katherine, the people of Kul Tiras were accepting the arrangement with something less than polite approval.

They could, Jaina realized, be a problem sometime in the future. They’d just gotten her back, just accepted her again, only for her to be snatched away by the vile, evil Horde.

How many sailors lay beneath the waves as a result of the Horde? This Horde. Sylvanas’s Horde. Jaina felt a chill up her spine. If something happened on the Alliance side, Kul Tiras was as likely to be involved as Genn Greymane or the Kaldorei. Or a dissident in the Alliance’s 7th Legion. There were, in fact, an alarming number of vectors for the compact to be broken outside of her control.

Did Sylvanas have similar concerns among her own people? Orcs unable to let go of the past, Forsaken who felt hounded?

She needed to talk to Anduin in Dalaran, and set aside some time with Yukale or another Champion. Later.

Later.

“Jaina?”

“Actually, I really just want to spend part of today and the day after tomorrow in the city.” Let the people see her, and know she was okay. Quell any possible unrest. She met her mother’s eyes. “Peace must be maintained, or this entire experiment will be a failure.”

“You sound more like your old self,” Katherine said, and Jaina didn’t know which hurt more; that she might be right, or that it wasn’t clear if her mother approved.

Some wounds took time to heal, if they ever truly did.

Dinner was uneventful, but by the time Jaina retired for the night she was looking forward to bed. And yet sleep eluded her; the bed felt wrong. Too soft in the wrong places and something else missing that she couldn’t place.

She got up, striding to the little desk to dash off a message, then teleported it to Sylvanas. Let her chew over that.

******

Jaina forgot about that the next day, rising early for the ride to Drustvar and the estate that Lucille was still rebuilding.

Lucille was taller than she expected, but it was good to see an old friend, and one who had absolutely no expectations of her.

“What is Orgrimmar like?”

Jaina leaned back in a chair, eyes moving from the view of workers repairing the gates, to Lucille’s face. “It’s been cold. The wedding was at the beginning of fall and we’re in winter now.”

Lucille nodded, sipping some wine. She gave Jaina’s shadow standing guard a few yards away a wary look. “Has it snowed? Can it snow?”

Jaina held up a finger. “It snowed one night a few weeks ago. A light dusting that was gone by mid morning. According to some of the people I spoke to, there has been heavier snow before. It’s just very rare.”

Orgrimmar and the northern part of Durotar had looked pretty with the snow on the red stone and sand, and standing in the early morning watching it fall had been the first time Jaina had felt at peace in Orgrimmar.

Sylvanas had found her, somehow, but said nothing. Just kept her hand at the small of Jaina’s back. She’d thus far refused to contemplate what it could have meant.

“Maybe I’ll make it snow for them.” Jaina flashed her friend a smile.

“I’d pay to see the look on everyone’s faces if you did that.”

“The borders are open, technically. If you wanted to play tourist.” And truthfully, Jaina would like for Lucille to visit. And Yukale and Vereesa and so many others, though she thought it might be a lot harder to get Vereesa in. She didn’t know how Sylvanas would react to her, so that might require secrecy.

“Once I’ve got some things settled here, I might do that.”

Jaina sighed, heavily enough that her shoulders sagged. “Tell me something, Lucille. As an outside observer. Do you think this is going to end up working, or am I just delaying the inevitable enough for the Horde to rebuild its strength?”

“Yes.”

“To what?”

Lucille smiled. “All of it.”

“How very helpful.” Jaina lifted her glass in a toast.

She spent so much time drinking and chatting with Lucille that she chose to stay the night, returning to Boralus early the next morning. The city was quiet, even the sounds of the sea subdued in the early morning light, and no one greeted her as she entered the Keep except for the guards. One called out to her. “Lord Admiral, you have a visitor. He’s waiting in the meeting room.”

Nodding, Jaina chose not to correct her; she was still the people’s Lord Admiral, even if her mother had reclaimed the title. It was nice to hear, in fact. It made her square her shoulders and stiffen her spine, a feeling she’d needed.

With Tyra trailing along, she headed to the meeting room. When she saw who was waiting, she turned to her shadow. “May I have a few minutes alone with him?”

Shrugging, Tyra took a spot at the door, and Jaina decided that was the best she could ask for. She approached Anduin Wrynn and smiled brightly as he turned to greet her. Before she could get a word off, he hugged her. It was warm and familiar and Jaina stood there a moment, dumbfounded, before wrapping her arms around him. It brought her back to her study in her tower, to the prince who was not yet a king and it took all her considerable willpower to keep her tears for all that had been lost to both of them in check.

He hadn’t hugged her since before his father had died. Since before Theramore even. In a lot of ways he’d replaced Tandred for her; the brother she’d adopted for the brother she’d left behind. She and Tandred still hadn’t been able to fully make amends, though they were friendly with each other.

“Why is everyone trying to hug me?” She asked, voice thick and choked.

“It’s good healing,” Anduin said, gesturing at two chairs. “Sit, Jaina. And talk to me. The way you used to make me talk to you.”

When Jaina hadn’t been looking, Anduin had grown up. She smiled, grateful and proud, and took a seat.

******

Leaving Kul Tiras was harder than even Jaina had expected it to be. Her mother wasn’t the kind of person to cling, but she hovered a little too close as Jaina packed, like some kind of maternal gyrocopter.

Jaina was leaving with a lot more than she’d come with. Gifts, keepsakes, clothing. All of it she teleported directly to her bedroom in Orgrimmar, before hugging her mother and making promises to write.

Returning to Dalaran didn’t quite feel like home, either. Like Kul Tiras, it had been a bridge she’d burned by her actions. Jaina had no shame or regret over expelling the Horde from the city following the theft of the Divine Bell, but she did regret leaving after the Legion invasion had started. Going on a one-woman demon slaying rampage around the world as the Champions of Azeroth pushed back the core of the Legion’s forces on the Broken Isles didn’t seem to make up for that.

Shaking off the feeling that she could have been or should have been more useful, Jaina stepped into the city, flanked by a Kaldorei and a Forsaken. At least here, Tyra felt more like a proper bodyguard than a spy or jailer.

Yukale turned to Tyra. “Can I get a few minutes alone with Jaina? Please?”

Tyra narrowed her eyes at her, the nodded. “Five minutes. No more.”

She stepped away, heading towards one of the armor shops.

Yukale looped her arm through Jaina’s and half guided half dragged her to a quiet corner.

“How do you and Tyra know each other?” Jaina asked, curiosity finally too much to bear.

“We met during the Third War, on Hyjal.” Yukale opened her pack and started rifling through it. “When she was still alive. She was the first human I befriended, but she returned to Lordaeron after the battle was over to free her land from the Scourge.”

Jaina frowned. Tyra would had returned to a Lordaeron that was overrun by the Scourge. She must have died, been raised by the Scourge and then later freed by Sylvanas. “That explains why her name is familiar. I probably saw it on some paperwork when we sailed to Kalimdor. That was … a hopeless battle she returned to. I’m sorry.”

“It’s… hard, being on opposite sides. We’ve done things to each other and those we care about in the course of war and circumstances that aren’t easily forgiven.” Yukale straightened, a small rectangular box in her hand as she absently hummed some tune Jaina couldn’t place.

“Have you?” Jaina looked down at the box, curiously. “Forgiven each other.”

“For the most part. Your whole situation has helped.” Yukale held the box out. “This is a device of my own invention, based on some old goblin tech. You can talk to anyone with a similar box tuned to the right frequency.”

For a moment, Jaina felt something like hope blossom in her chest at Yukale’s words. Her situation had helped bring two people on opposite sides of the war together. That was something, wasn’t it? She shook herself and gave Yukale a dubious look. “Goblin tech?”

Yukale clarified, “The newer models no longer explode at random.”

Jaina laughed, a good hearty one that came up from her belly. She leaned her hand on Yukale’s shoulder. “I understand what you’re trying to do, but I’m going to have to decline this gift.”

Yukale’s violet eyebrows furrowed. “It’s just in case you need to talk. Or have someone to listen to you, when you need privacy. Or to vent. Or...”

“I know. But Sylvanas might not see it that way. She might see it as a way to pass secrets, and I can’t even blame her for that. I know you’ve spent years trying to bring both sides together, but ultimately, you’re still Alliance.”

“So are you.” But as Yukale slipped the box back into her pack, Jaina wondered just how much longer she could make that claim.

Chapter 7: Fraying Threads

Jaina returned to Orgrimmar right on time. A little early, to Sylvanas’s surprise; she’d expected Jaina to toe the line. Nathanos looked like he’d sucked on a lemon when Jaina walked into Grommash Hold, unhurried and relaxed. She even gave him a pleasant smile, before focusing on Sylvanas. Nathanos’s lemon somehow got even more sour.

“Honey, I’m home.”

“Nathanos, leave us.” Sylvanas said, not bothering to get up from the throne or even look at him. She was reclined again, both legs thrown over the armrest as she studied Jaina.

Nathanos bowed, backing away from Sylvanas and then departing from the Hold.

Once again surprising her, Jaina took her usual spot at Sylvanas’s left, though she still faced her. Was this a game? Was she trying to lull Sylvanas into complacency? “Enjoy your vacation?”

“Very much.”

Tyra had reported exactly what Sylvanas had expected and hoped for: Jaina had kept her word. The only real surprise had been Anduin’s appearance in Boralus. They’d talked personal matters, and she had elected to not push Tyra as to details. If there’d been something of import Tyra would have volunteered the information unprompted, and Sylvanas was trying to give Jaina some modicum of privacy.

“Good. Come closer.”

Frowning, Jaina took a few more steps, until she was close enough that Sylvanas could have taken her arm and pulled her into her lap if she’d chosen to. “What do you want?”

“Tell me about your trip,” she responded, quirking her left eyebrow as she rested her cheek on her fist. Sylvanas noted the way Jaina’s shoulders tightened and her eyes studied her face as she tried to determine what Sylvanas was up to.

Oh, she’d actually missed this, this taunting of Jaina (and perhaps Jaina herself). She gave into the urge to yank Jaina down into her lap. Jaina grabbed onto the back of the throne over Sylvanas’s left shoulder with one hand, her other landing on Sylvanas’s right breast.

“I hate you,” Jaina muttered irritably.

“I know.”

Jaina’s hand lingered there a moment too long, before she realized where it was and pulled it away. Her expression shifted between embarrassment, anger, and back again, something that Sylvanas found most adorable.

“I was concerned,” she drawled. “‘The bed is so big and lonely, I wish you were here?’.”

Jaina rolled her eyes at the mention of her midnight status report. “That is not what I said. Let me go.”

Sylvanas quirked an eyebrow again, holding up empty hands that had released Jaina the moment gravity took over, giving her all the opportunity in the world to escape. And she did, after another moment, only to hold her hand out to Sylvanas.

What game was she playing?

“I don’t want to talk here,” Jaina said.

Sylvanas took her hand, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. She barely had time to blink before they were teleported into their quarters.

She narrowed her eyes. “How?”

Jaina stepped past Sylvanas, heading for the bedroom. “When I was improving the wards, I made sure that I, and only I, can teleport between the Hold and here. I can attune another mage as well, if you wish.”

Sylvanas followed her into the bedroom as Jaina removed her cloak and hung it up on a hook above where Sylvanas’s wedding armor still lay. “You are lucky I’m in a good mood, wife. Next time, tell me when you do something like that.”

“I meant to, but I got distracted in all the preparation.”

The bedroom was a little more crowded than Sylvanas was used to as she realized that Jaina had somehow portaled a small army’s worth of clothing and personal effects in from Kul Tiras. She looked back at Jaina, who’d pulled out a simple tunic and trousers to change into. She seemed… happy.

It was an emotion Sylvanas was unfamiliar with, and it made her uncomfortable.

“What’s this?” Jaina put her clothing down and picked up a dress that had been laid on the bed. It was a deep maroon, with silver highlights. Less modest than what Jaina typically wore these days, the low-cut design would expose her sides from hips to shoulders. It had been altered to fit Jaina’s body, and Jaina turned to Sylvanas with her eyebrows raised.

“A gift,” Sylvanas said, expression neutral. “I did mention the need to expand your wardrobe. Remember?”

Jaina frowned, then folded it carefully and set it back on the bed. She started to strip out of her travel clothing. “Is it your command I wear it?”

“Not unless you wish to.” Sylvanas replied, watching her undress. “But I would like you to go shopping soon. You need more color.”

Jaina seemed to remember their conversation from months ago. “More Horde colors you mean.”

Sylvanas felt her lips twitch and she inclined her head, never tearing her eyes from Jaina. “Clever girl.”

Jaina turned towards her, hand on cocked hip. “Did you miss me that much?”

“Of course not.” Sylvanas made a show of rolling her eyes, then turned her back on Jaina and left the bedroom. Her own behaviour perplexed and irritated her, so much so that she left the suite and quietly made her way to Orgrimmar’s training area.

Turning some target dummies into kindling was exactly what she needed right now.

It did nothing to remove the image of Jaina standing there naked from her mind, or the lingering feeling of a ghostly hand on her chest.

******

The next six weeks passed without incident, though Jaina was certain that Nathanos had made it his life’s mission to catch her in some breach of the compact and she was seriously considering conjuring a teapot and hitting him with it.

Or worse.

Sylvanas rarely said anything about his behavior, and Jaina quickly realized that she was the one that needed to deal with it. Sylvanas wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stand up for her, so she had to stand up for herself.

Though Sylvanas had laughed, loudly and pleasantly, when Jaina told Nathanos that he was acting like Genn Greymane. Nathanos had looked so offended.

Jaina chose to ignore the feeling that laugh invoked in her, leaving the Hold and making her way down to the Drag. She liked the Drag almost as much as she liked the Valley of Honor. It was almost always in shadow thanks to the cliffs and fabric coverings, so it tended to bustle with people.

On her way to one of the tailoring shops, she passed a stall with a goblin merchant. The goblin was familiar to her but she kept her gaze firmly ahead, not breaking her stride or acknowledging that she’d seen him. Jaina Proudmoore would not be responsible for outing one of Stormwind’s best spies.

One of the newer shops was operated by an odd couple; an elegant Shal’dorei woman and an orc who looked almost exactly like Jaina’s favorite blacksmith, only with longer hair pulled back into a single braid.

The latter nodded once at her, barely taking her attention from arranging a display of fine fabric. Dainty work for someone who could probably snap both Jaina and the Shal’dorei in half.

At the same time.

Since the Orc was busy, Jaina turned her attention to the Shal’dorei. “Good morning. I’d like to commission some clothing.”

The Shal’dorei looked her over. “You need it.”

“Dahling..” A female voice from behind and below Jaina made her turn around. A goblin stood behind her, wearing fashionable glasses and what looked like the latest rage in Dalaran. “Why are ya talking to them? They’re so behind the times. Come, come and allow Enda to make ya fab!” She waved her hands. “Beyond fab!”

Scoffing, the Shal’dorei retorted. “Do not listen to that trash.”

“Trash? Trash?” Enda put her hand to her chest. “The only garbage around here is that ensemble Kasa tried to pass off at the last fashion convention.”

Kasa stood suddenly, her muscles straining as her mate held her back. Jaina stepped between them and the goblin before things could escalate any further. “Stop this! It’s just clothing for gods’ sake.”

“Just clothing?” The Shal’dorei looked like Jaina had insulted her mother. “This is a lifestyle. I don’t want your business. Leave me.”

“Good.” Enda took Jaina’s hand and tugged her towards her shop. “You don’t want anything from them. Trust me.”

As Jaina was pulled into Enda’s shop, she heard Tyra talking to the Nightborne. “Yeh got anything like an elbow cozy?”

Enda’s shop was small, with neatly lined displays of fabric and off-the-shelf clothing. She fingered the sleeve of one dress, until Enda slapped her hand. “No! No, for you, Lady Proudmoore, I’ll have to start from scratch.”

“Ow,” Jaina muttered, shaking feeling back into her fingers as the goblin prodded her away from the racks.

She peered at Jaina, walking around her and tutting softly. “Yeah, yeah… the Warchief got the measurements right…”

“Wait, you’re the one who altered that dress?”

“Of course, dahling.” Enda hopped up onto a table so she could get a better look at the rest of Jaina. “Real busty, aren’t ya. Not too shabby in the back either.”

She cleared her throat, affecting her previous tone as she pulled out a sketchpad. “We can work with this. You are the consort of the Warchief, the wife of the Banshee Queen, the bridge between Horde and Alliance." Enda's eyes flashed as she considered the potential. "A revolution in fashion! Horde styles in Kul Tiran colors. Tauren styles in the color of the Kaldorei. Blends taking elements of both! But no capes." Enda swept her hand dramatically. “Never capes!”

Jaina opened her mouth to speak, only to have the sketchpad waved in her face.

Enda raised her voice, "You! You'll be my canvas, my life's work, my masterpiece! I can see it now, I'll be ri--the talk of the fashion world!"

“I don’t know what you’re--”

“Out, out!” Enda hopped down, pushing Jaina towards the exit. “I must get to work! Come back tomorrow for your first fitting!” There was a momentary pause, and then the goblin added, “Dahlin.”

The door slammed behind Jaina and she turned to stare incredulously at it.

“What the hell just happened?”

******

What ‘just happened’ turned out to be an almost entirely new wardrobe. Jaina still didn’t know where that first dress had come from, but Enda was as skilled as she was unconventional, and she was fast. Unfortunately, it meant most of the clothing Jaina had portaled to Orgrimmar was mothballed or returned to Kul Tiras.

Enda crafted everything she promised, and then some. Jaina spent most of the following weeks in and out of Enda’s shop for fitting after fitting. It wasn’t the worst use of her time; Enda’s assistant was a thick-set, chatty troll with a broken left tusk and an ear for gossip so she was both entertained and informed.

Today, Xu'shunun shuffled around Jaina while Enda adjusted the fabric of a robe that Enda claimed would amplify her defensive capabilities. Jaina believed it; she could feel the spellthread woven throughout. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she liked the way it hung off of her hips. While the dress Sylvanas had given her had been more Elvish in design, Enda had taken a Kul Tiran pattern, stripped it to its bare essentials and then done something entirely new and Horde-like to it.

“It would be a crime to cut blue and silver from your wardrobe,” Enda said. “Not with your beautiful eyes. But dahlin, how has no one thought to put you in pale gold yet, to match that striking blonde streak?”

And that was the direction that Enda went next. Bold reds and pale golds for highlights.

Despite herself, Jaina liked it, especially as it lacked the iron spikes from the the Orc Collection Enda had created as the previous week’s design. Jaina loathed spikes, but had put up with it and prayed she’d never have occasion to wear it. Mostly it reminded her of an incident about a month after the wedding.

A pair of Orcs had spit on her. Before she could summon up frostbolts, Sylvanas had swept in. Retribution had been swift; forty lashes for each, delivered by Sylvanas’s hand. The Warchief had not held back, and Jaina was not ashamed to admit that she’d felt a great deal of satisfaction at the time.

“So I was sayin’ I said, I don’t tink dat dis is such a good idea, ju know?” Xu’shunun made Jaina lift her arm up for Enda. “An’ he said back ‘I don’t see why we gotta listen to dat Banshee bitch no more.’ So I told him dat Banshee is da Warchief and you gotta listen to the warchief, but ju know, he isn’t wrong.”

Jaina couldn’t stop herself from snorting, and the troll grinned at her.

“Ju be closest den anyone, what ya tinking?”

“That he’s definitely not wrong,” Jaina said, laughing.

Xu threw his head back, laughing as well. “Jus’ cuz she da Warchief don’ mean we gotta agree with everyting. Dis ain’t like it was with Garrosh. Now dat, dat was real bad. People be disappearin’ if dey so much as breathed wrong.”

Sylvanas was many things, but Garrosh was not one of them. A shadow fell over Jaina. “She’s not Garrosh. But that’s not a very high bar, either; Sylvanas has done some unforgivable things as Warchief. And she can be a horrendous bitch at times.”

Enda had an expression on her face best described as ‘It’s true. You shouldn’t say it, but it’s true.’

Lowering her arm and moving to the other, Xu chuckled. “She bought us peace, wit ju.”

Jaina frowned. Xu had a point, but she found herself asking, “Is she popular? Am I popular?”

“You’re growing on us, dahlin,” Enda assured her, stepping back and adjusting her glasses as she regarded Jaina. “People weren’t too happy with the Warchief by the end of the war.”

“But tings, dey be turnin’ around,” Xu said. “Da Warchief, she damn scary. And so are ju. But… For da first time since Thrall stepped down, it feels like we don’t gotta fight jus to survive.”

He shrugged, then at Enda’s direction helped Jaina out of the dress. “So I don’t know. What do ju tink?”

“I’m not sure it matters what I think. Sylvanas and I have our disagreements, but there are things we agree on as well. The same as any…” And Jaina almost winced before she caught herself. “Couple. But I’m not the Warchief.”

“True dat. Her word be law.”

Thanking Enda, Jaina changed into her regular garb. This was from Enda’s Warchief collection, a low cut dress in purple and black, with bared shoulders and arms.

Tyra fell into step behind her as she walked through the Drag, back towards Grommash Hold. Sylvanas was inside, meeting with Baine and Lor’themar. Jaina took her usual spot at Sylvanas’s left (And one day, she really should ask why her left), smiling at Baine.

Sylvanas leaned in, speaking so low and dangerous that only Jaina could hear. “I wish to speak with you. Alone.”

She barely paid attention to the rest of the meeting, trying to figure out why Sylvanas wanted to see her alone, and why there’d been an undercurrent of anger to her tone. Jaina couldn’t think of anything she’d done to warrant a reaction, and by the time they retired for the night she was fully prepared to argue Sylvanas to death. And possibly blast her.

“Remind me of who you are.” Sylvanas’s armor clattered to the floor, and she stepped out of it. She usually left it by the door and Jaina refused to pick it up, just as she refused to pick up the wedding armor in the bedroom.

“Pardon?”

“Who are you.” Sylvanas leveled a gaze at her, her eyes such a deep red in the darkness of the hallway that they were the only thing Jaina could see on her face.

“Jaina Proudmoore.”

This time, Sylvanas hissed. “No. Who are you.”

Jaina drew herself up to her full height, staring angrily at Sylvanas, voice like silk over steel. “Lady Jaina Proudmoore. Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras. Archmage of the Kirin Tor, Ruler of Theramore. Consort to the Warchief of the Horde.”

Sylvanas had moved closer. Despite the fact that their height difference was imperceptible, she still seemed to tower. “And as my consort, do you somehow think it appropriate to gossip with the citizens about my position?”

“I was just being friendly,” Jaina countered, furrowing her brow.

“We show a unified front. That was the first rule I gave you,” Sylvanas said. “We don’t air our disagreements to tailors.”

There was no way that Tyra could have been fast enough to report that, and Jaina doubted Sylvanas had been spying. Nathanos, or one of Sylvanas’s many other spies. Anger welled up in Jaina. “It’s bad enough I’m shadowed day and night, you don’t have to have Dark Rangers tailing me too!”

“Clearly I do.”

Narrowing her eyes, Jaina said, “Xu and Enda have the right to their opinion.”

“Of course they do,” Sylvanas replied. She lifted her hand and cupped Jaina’s face. “Your friends are safe. I’m not Garrosh.”

Feeling like she’d been physically slapped, Jaina stood there as Sylvanas dropped her hand and walked past her. She worked her jaw, trying to make sense of the situation. Was Sylvanas actually … hurt? Or was she more worried about Jaina’s actions accidentally undermining her position. In retrospect, she could see what she’d done. Jaina had a hard time remembering it, but she was supposed to be Sylvanas’s equal, and sometimes she was even treated like it.

She found Sylvanas settling into the bathtub, and she couldn’t not look. “Sylvanas?”

Sylvanas looked at her.

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Sylvanas inclined her head at Jaina. “Would you care to join me?”

Jaina fled so quickly she nearly tripped over her own feet.

Notes:

Trouble in paradise!

Chapter 8: Sanctuary

Darkness lashed out, gripping Sylvanas by the throat and dragging her down into the abyss. She clawed at the tendril and with a nerve-shattering shriek, she broke free. Sylvanas burst to the surface, where a storm raged. She turned towards land and saw--

Sylvanas opened her eyes. One of her aides was droning on about some ridiculous issue over trade with the Alliance. She was supposed to have people that dealt with such minutiae. She felt Jaina’s eyes on her, but no one else seemed to notice her momentary lapse.

Refusing to give Jaina the satisfaction of an answer, Sylvanas stood. “What, exactly, are you suggesting I do with--” She glanced at Jaina, who mouthed ‘import processing’ at her. “Import processing? Come up with a plan and execute it. That is your job, and I suggest you do it if you wish to still have it tomorrow.”

She knocked the orc by the shoulder as she passed him and walked to the elevator. Before she could activate it, Jaina had joined her. The mage said nothing, which was fortunate for her. Sylvanas was in no mood for clever talk; or any talk whatsoever.

She’d been terse around Jaina since her traitorous conversation in the tailor’s shop. But Sylvanas had kept her word; there was no point in punishing the co-conspirators. If anything, doing so would backfire, both with Jaina and with the populace.

Besides, not only would Sylvanas agree with being called a horrendous bitch, she didn’t particularly care what people thought about her as long as they followed orders and didn’t commit actual treason.

The old Warchief’s residence was on a floor above the main throne room. The elevator lifted up into a defensible corridor and wide, steep stairs led to a wide open loft. Sylvanas had ripped down all the walls, setting up several hardened archery targets along the curve of the north wall. On the west wall was a fully-stocked bar, and across from the bar were comfortable couches. Sylvanas headed towards a set of spiral stairs behind the targets.

“Does drink even affect you?” Jaina asked, stopping at the bar and pulling out a bottle of brandy with a red label. She looked so startled when she saw the label she nearly dropped it.

“In great quantities.” Sylvanas approached her and took the extremely rare bottle from her hands, putting it back. It was impossible to get now; Arthas had made sure of that. “Many things about me ‘still work,’ as you so crudely put it. Just slower.”

“Saving that for a special occasion?” Jaina asked, looking forlornly at the bottle. A blush crept across her face.

Instead of answering, Sylvanas handed Jaina a bottle of Darkmoon Special Reserve, then turned and walked up the stairs. She expected Jaina to follow regardless of her clear desire for privacy, and was unsurprised when she did.

This third floor of Grommash Hold used to be Garrosh’s actual bedroom. Nothing of what had been before remained; Vol’jin had ripped out any trace of the despot for himself and then Sylvanas had converted it into a sitting room of sorts. It was a memory of another life. A sanctuary.

Candles lit the room, making shadows dance on the walls. The furniture was elvish in make, much more comfortable than Forsaken decor; but like everything Sylvanas owned, it was dark and gloomy. It suited her.

She expected a smart comment from Jaina, but her wife instead located two glasses and filled them. Sylvanas had barely sat before she was given one. Looking at the glass, then at Jaina, she fought the twitch of a smile and mostly succeeded. She was still supposed to be angry. “Bribery will get you nowhere.”

Sighing, Jaina moved to sit across from Sylvanas.

“No. Not there. Here.” Sylvanas gestured to the cushion next to her as she got comfortable, leaning back and crossing her left leg over her right knee.

“I can’t sit where I want in my own home?”

“Technically, this isn’t your home.”

“I’m the Warchief’s consort, and this is the Warchief’s sanctuary,” Jaina countered.

Sylvanas regarded her a moment, then gestured. “Sit where you wish then.”

Smirking, Jaina sat next to Sylvanas. “Was that so hard?”

“Like pulling teeth,” Sylvanas drawled.

“So are you done sulking and giving me the cold shoulder?” Jaina took a sip of her drink and closed her eyes as she savored it.

Sylvanas watched as Jaina’s tongue flicked out to catch a stray drop on her lips and then tore her gaze away from the enticing sight. “I do not sulk.”

“I acknowledged where I went wrong, and it’s been weeks.”

Looking at Jaina again, Sylvanas allowed herself to smile. “Have you missed me, my dear?”

“Of course not.” The lie was blatant and even Jaina didn’t pretend otherwise, but she continued. “Are you going to talk about what happened earlier?”

Here, where not even Nathanos was allowed to tread, Sylvanas let her shoulders sag. She leaned her head back against the cushion. “Other than our bedroom, this is the one place that none are allowed. Not my rangers, not even Nathanos.”

“Sylvanas.”

Sylvanas closed her eyes. “I find this place to be more comfortable even than the residency. A place where I can feel most myself.”

She hoped Garrosh was turning over in his grave at the very notion. Opening one eye, she saw Jaina leaning in towards her, concern etched on her face. It was… alluring, and that was one weakness she’d not allow Jaina access to.

And yet, despite herself, she ran her fingers along the side of Jaina’s left cheek and across her temple, wondering what it would feel like to take her hair out of that braid.

“You’re avoiding the question,” Jaina said. “And you’re being weird about it and that’s alarming.”

“When was the last time you slept?”

Jaina snapped, though it was not as harsh as it could have been. “Don’t change the subject.”

Sylvanas twirled a blonde strand in her fingers. “Must I order you to take a nap? What do I have to do to get you to rest?”

That heat returned to Jaina’s face as one of Sylvanas’s fingers stroked along her jawline. Her chin. She rubbed her thumb across Jaina’s lower lip and felt, rather than heard, the intake of breath. The contact burned her, but she would not relent.

“I get rest.” Jaina sounded strained, her voice light as her lips moved against Sylvanas’s thumb.

“Six hours in three chunks doesn’t count.” Sylvanas smiled to herself. Taking advantage of how touch-starved Jaina was allowed her to keep the subject off of herself and her lapse earlier. And it was just a little fun.

“How do you -- you check on me?”

“Of course I check on you, Lady Proudmoore. Your wellbeing is an investment.” Sylvanas realized she was talking more to Jaina’s lips than the rest of her face and immediately corrected her mistake.

She didn’t move her hand, though. No, she wanted to see how long Jaina tolerated it. Nothing more.

“Sometimes I think you’re in bed with me.” Jaina said. “Is that you checking on me?”

“I don’t need sleep.”

“Right.” It was obvious Jaina didn’t believe her, but Sylvanas would neither confirm or deny these allegations that she might, horror of horrors, occasionally need rest in her own bed. She derived far too much amusement from this.

Sylvanas lazily moved her fingers over Jaina’s lips. Jaina’s eyes flashed. She reflexively attempted to lick her lips and instead flicked her tongue against one of Sylvanas’s fingers.

It was a small one, but a jolt went through her. Sylvanas uncrossed her legs, rolling her hips slightly as she recrossed them in the other direction.

Accepting Jaina’s action as a challenge, Sylvanas ran her finger along the inside of Jaina’s lower lip, studying her as a flush went across her skin and her pupils dilated.

Jaina swallowed, just hard enough to entice as her tongue flicked against Sylvanas’s fingertip again. Then she pulled away and shakily poured herself another drink.

Victory for the Forsaken.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Jaina said, turning towards her and stopping half way as if she couldn’t decide how close she wanted to be.

“Am I ever ‘all right?’” Sylvanas raised her eyebrow, and sipped at the drink, shifting on the couch again. Surprisingly, she actually felt the burn down her throat. Jaina must be having more of an effect on her than she’d thought.

“That wasn’t normal. We both know this. Tell me what’s going on.” Jaina was finding her voice again.

Sylvanas could just detect the scent of her arousal and was actually a little impressed that Jaina’s voice was that steady right now. But despite her distractions, Jaina was persistent. Perhaps Sylvanas had been too obviously reluctant to speak. “When we speak alone like this. Here, or the bedroom, it doesn’t matter. When we are alone, nothing goes past us. Do you understand? What I say. What you say. These conversations are in strict confidence until permission is given otherwise.”

“I understand,” Jaina replied, and something in her eyes told Sylvanas she understood it was reciprocal. Whether or not she’d take her up on that implied offer was up to Jaina.

Sylvanas weighed saying anything, but she supposed trust should go both ways. She took a moment to collect herself. “It was strange. I’m not prone to daydreams or visions. But this felt very much like the latter.”

Jaina tilted her head. “What did you see?”

“The ocean in a storm, and the Void. I … returned to myself before I could see anything else.”

Jaina frowned and Sylvanas wanted to stroke her lips again. “I think we should do some discreet inquiries. See if any adventurers have heard of any problems that related to the Void or Old Gods.”

“Besides half of Kul Tiras and Zandalar?” Sylvanas asked, amused.

“New problems,” Jaina corrected herself.

******

Sylvanas was fucking with her. Jaina was certain of that. The problem was that she couldn’t help her own reactions and part of her enjoyed the game. Wanted it, even. And she could have stopped it at any time and yet she hadn’t.

Maybe it had just been so long since she’d felt an intimate touch that even Sylvanas managed to ignite fire in her skin.

Jaina had needed a bath to feel clean again. An icy one.

She didn’t bring it up, instead losing herself in the day to day work that Sylvanas gave her. And she took on more work, whatever she could, whenever she could. There was the public library to set up, and some kind of festival to prepare for. That had been interesting. She’d managed to win a ribbon for pig wrestling, though she still hadn’t the faintest clue how that had happened.

She’d hung it up in the living room, much to Sylvanas’s apparent dismay--but she couldn’t help but think that Sylvanas liked it. She hadn’t even chided her for engaging in activities below her station.

Drinks in the Sanctuary had become almost a regular thing. Jaina couldn’t be sure if that was the ‘real’ Sylvanas she saw on those nights, or just another mask she wore to protect herself. In that sanctuary, Sylvanas always seemed so tired, like she let her control slip and couldn’t even summon up the anger that usually fueled her.

“Jaina?”

Jaina was startled from her thoughts by Baine’s voice. She lifted her head and gave him a smile. “Sorry. I got a little lost in thought there.”

Baine… Baine was complicated, but in a different way than Sylvanas. She’d blamed him along with everyone else for Theramore, though it was obvious now that he could have done nothing to stop it, any more than she could have. Or even Rhonin could have.

When had she come to that conclusion? Had she realized it before the marriage, or after? The irony would never be lost on her. She’d gone from trying to dismantle the Horde to … this.

“Anything I can help with?” Baine asked.

Jaina shook her head. “It’s nothing, really.” Sylvanas didn’t see Baine as a threat, so he was one of the few people she could truly meet with alone, and with no fear of the conversation making it back to Sylvanas. Still, the contents of their private conversations remained private, and weren’t always about business. Jaina was not going to breach that trust that had so tenuously been formed. “Just… a little amazed at everything. It’s been nearly a year. I’m still alive, the Horde is doing much better and by all accounts so is the Alliance...”

“Compared to total annihilation,” Baine said.

“Am I actually more optimistic than you?” Jaina asked, grinning.

“No, no, I’m optimistic. I wasn’t sure at first, but I think you’ve somehow tempered her. And you seem healthy.” His heavy brows furrowed. “You would tell me. If she hurts you?”

The idea of anyone tempering Sylvanas was laughable at best, but Jaina had managed to get to a point where she was listened to, so perhaps there was merit in that. “She hasn’t hurt me, Baine. Infuriated me on occasion, but not hurt me. She wouldn’t want Kul Tiras sailing on Orgrimmar, to say nothing of how Genn might respond. I have more freedom, too, than at first.”

Certain rules must still be followed, and the Compact was clear on what else Jaina could do; but more than once she’d asked Sylvanas for a few minutes away from everyone, and had been granted it. Jaina had a place she went, far, far away. A place she could scream or cry or laugh or just sit there for five minutes and contemplate existence with no responsibilities and no eyes on her. Even in her bedroom she felt eyes on her.

The only place in Orgrimmar she didn’t was Sylvanas’s sanctuary.

Nathanos was never happy about it, but he could stuff a potato up his ass for all Jaina cared. She avoided talking to him almost religiously because if she didn’t, the odds of Sylvanas being minus one Blightcaller went up dramatically.

“Anduin worries about you. We all do.”

Jaina was unsurprised that Baine had resumed communication with Anduin. Sylvanas undoubtedly knew, but Jaina wasn’t going to bring it up unless asked. She didn’t see the harm, not with the Horde and Alliance attempting cooperation. Building friendships across faction lines was, in fact, one of the points of this. So Jaina was willing to encourage it. At least, it might help spread some of the pressure of everyone getting along past just her. “Anduin is another little brother to me. I always got along with him better than Tandred. Of course he worries. You tell him that I’m fine and…”

“Happy?”

“Content.” Happiness had eluded Jaina since she’d turned her back on Arthas. She couldn’t begin to say what it felt like.

Baine nodded. “Very well. But he asked me to ask you to write, if you could.”

Jaina smiled. Maybe that felt kind of like happiness, that thought. “I will. I should write mother, too.”

She didn’t need permission to write her friends, though she expected Sylvanas’ spies to inspect her letters carefully. Jaina would have done the same if their roles were reversed.

After they finished chatting, Jaina and Baine sat and watched the sun set, before she bid her farewells and returned to Orgrimmar. There was a stack of papers waiting for her on the bedroom desk; and while that could have waited until morning, she set to work with a relish anyway.

At some point, Jaina must have passed out, because she woke up in bed with the blanket tucked around her. She pushed herself up onto an elbow, looking around, blearily. It was still dark, the lone window in the bedroom letting moonlight filter in.

Twin red orbs burned by the desk and she realized Sylvanas was sitting there. Groggily, she asked, “Are you working in the dark?”

“I can see just fine, go back to sleep.”

Jaina sat up entirely, but then Sylvanas was there, pushing her back down and pulling the blanket back up. “Sleep, Jaina. I won’t have you working yourself to death, they’d blame me for it.”

Jaina snorted a laugh, but let herself be pushed down. She really was tired, and it suddenly felt as though the past ten years had finally caught up to her. That was the only reason she could think of when she heard herself ask, “Please stay.”

Sylvanas didn’t answer, only stepping away from the bed. Jaina sighed, closing her eyes. She’d just about drifted back off again when she felt the blanket move, the other side of the bed dip down. Cold skin and soft breasts pressed into her back, Sylvanas’s arm sliding across her hip and fingers touching her stomach.

The feeling was welcome despite her best efforts to the contrary, and Jaina wondered how much longer she could pretend that she didn’t need this. But she didn’t dare call attention to it as Sylvanas’s skin warmed to match hers. This would just be one of those things they didn’t talk about.

“Next time,” Jaina murmured, as sleep started to reclaim her. “I’m the big spoon.”

Lips curved against her shoulder. “Agreed.”

Chapter 9: The Song of Kul Tiras

A year ago today, Jaina had traded her freedom for the security of the entire world.

There’d been celebrations to mark this first anniversary. Most of them had been organized by vendors and shopkeeps, giving the city a festive atmosphere. There were even games set up at various points in each Valley.

Jaina had made a passable effort at appearing to enjoy herself and even won a prize, but much as she tried not to dwell she’d still spent most of the day lost in thought.

The party showed no signs of stopping as the sun began to set, and Jaina eventually ducked into the canyon shadows to breathe; surely there was somewhere in the city where she could be mostly alone for just a few minutes. So Jaina wandered for a time, keeping to herself and watching everyone enjoy themselves. There were fireworks planned for later--Jaina couldn’t remember if that had been her idea or Sylvanas’s--and hunting restrictions, put in place to prevent a populace under hard rationing from wiping out the wild boar population of Durotar entirely, had been lifted for a handful of carefully chosen hunters. The promise of the display and the smell of roasting meat began to make people drift towards the fairgrounds, set up just outside the main gates.

She found herself in the Valley of Honor, near the pond that Tyra was so fond of fishing in. There weren’t too many people around, now. Most were in the Valley of Strength or the fairgrounds. Jaina didn’t mind this. It gave her time to think, and reflect, even if that had been what she’d been doing all day.

Voices brought her out of herself, drawing her attention to a motley assortment of people sitting on a craggy outcropping on the north face of the canyon. Jaina couldn’t tell how they’d gotten there, but they seemed relaxed, sharing laughter with each other. The group was made up of just about every race in the Horde and included a human, Vulpera, and a Draenei.

Jaina tilted her head, watching them curiously and grateful for something to focus on. She smiled as they started to play. She recognized the song; not the tune or the lyrics exactly, but as the kind of old foresheet shanty that was universal among sailors no matter where they hailed from. She closed her eyes, humming along as her smile settled into her soul.

They finished, an Orc laughing lowly. Jaina opened her eyes again. The Draenei was fiddling with a wooden flute, kicking lazily at a troll trying to assist her; after a moment the Vulpera glanced up at Jaina’s alcove, grinned in surprise, and waved at her. Jaina waved back with a smile and placed a finger on her lips. She didn’t want to intrude. Their little group was an odd sight, but perhaps it shouldn’t have been. Independent (mostly pirate) crews had long ago shed the concept of faction divisions. Orcs and humans worked the mainsail together, elves and gnomes scaled the rigging and as evidenced by this little gathering, they sang together too.

The songs wove together into a humble tapestry. Some were sad, others bawdy. There was the hilarious Ballad of Two Tail Willey that Jaina couldn’t help but laugh at; and, scandalously, sing along with.

Tyra joined them, which was curious. The warrior seemed to know them. Except for Yukale, Jaina couldn’t think of a time she’d seen Tyra with anyone who might be considered a friend. She spoke to them for a moment before they started playing a tune from Lordaeron, and Tyra spun around, singing in her raspy voice.

Untamed 'n darkness 'n Shadow fall
lost ta shinin' light
Answering the Siren's call
What once was wrong made right

Under shining moon footsteps fall
The sky eternal night
Across great seas the homeland calls
The land is scarred in blight

Shoulders squared and standin' tall
Blue sky as far as sight
Grey gulls cry out their call
For there are wrongs to make right

The song trailed off, and Tyra stopped singing, though she spoke the next as a poem.

Brought ta darkness broken
shattered light
a soft voice spoken

Spear raised tall
sword glint of steel
broken, but I shall not fall.

She met Jaina’s eyes, and Jaina realized that Tyra was crying bloody tears.

The warrior looked away, hefting her sword onto her shoulder. She didn’t look back at Jaina as she walked towards the Drag, and Jaina did not try to follow her. Some pains were not meant to be shared.

Jaina stayed around for a few more songs, and was about to leave when the Orc glanced at her, then plucked a few notes from her strings.

She might as well have pushed her hand into Jaina’s chest and squeezed her heart.

A tall, thin human woman with obsidian skin and bright brown eyes started to sing in a clear, deep voice. It was a wistful melody, a hopeful one, a song for the sight of port in the distance and the promise of a waiting lover’s arms.

Far from home I’ve gone
to distant shore
cross wave and briny deep
to the song of Kul Tiras

Far from home beneath the dawn
to come and lay once more
in the endless sleep
to the song of Kul Tiras

It had been sung in Kul Tiras for as long as Jaina could remember. It had been sung in Kul Tiras for as long as Kul Tiras had existed. It was homecoming, for the men and women of the sea. It was a promise that they would find land again.

She hadn’t expected to hear that song again in her lifetime, let alone here. Tears stung at Jaina’s eyes, her back ramrod straight and her hands shaking at her sides.

In my chest
beats my heart
more than any lass
the song of Kul Tiras

Home I’m blessed
ne’er long apart
For nothing can surpass
the song of Kul Tiras

Regret and loneliness welled up inside her. Her mouth formed the words but she couldn’t make a sound. She couldn’t even turn away, even as the tears spilled over, a hollow feeling in her chest.

And once she started crying, she couldn’t stop. It wasn’t their fault, she knew. They couldn’t have known how homesick she was.

Jaina hadn’t known how homesick she was.

But it was a kind gesture, they had meant it to be kind. So she wiped her eyes until they dried, and went to thank them for giving her something she hadn’t known she’d needed.

She didn’t linger long, half out of fear they’d figure out another song to break her heart with. But she chose to walk, hoping the time it took to get home would help her settle her thoughts.

Realizing that she’d started thinking of the Warchief’s residence as home nearly made her start crying again. She ascended the dangerous stairs and let herself in, praying Sylvanas hadn’t retired early. Or that she wouldn’t retire at all. There was no light within, save that of a few candles that cast a warm, gentle glow.

“That is not the expression I’d hoped for, on this, our first anniversary.”

Sylvanas’s amused tone did nothing to curb the turmoil in Jaina’s heart. She scowled, opening her mouth to say something before she decided it just wasn’t worth it.

She turned, spying Sylvanas standing in front of the unlit hearth. Jaina felt a chill run down her spine for no other reason than that Sylvanas seemed to look right through her, leaving her feeling raw and exposed.

Not a hard task, considering the tumult of her emotions right now. Jaina didn’t bother to try to hide it. “It’s been a day.”

“So I’ve heard.” Sylvanas approached her. “I have something for you. A gift.”

Sylvanas’s hand touched her face, thumb brushing her lip before she took her chin between two fingers and stared into her eyes. They were so close that their breath mingled, and Jaina had the sudden epiphany that Sylvanas breathed. Or at least had the approximation of breath. Cold and faint, but there. How?

And how had she never noticed that before? The question distracted her from the jolt that ran through her body at the contact and an almost sickening urge to close the distance.

“...A gift?” She managed, after far too much of a delay.

“That’s what they do on wedding anniversaries. Or so I’ve been told.” Sylvanas stepped away and Jaina’s head swam like her wife’s hand had been the only thing keeping her upright.

“They do a lot of things on wedding anniversaries,” Jaina pointed out, before she blanched in horror at herself. She sighed, rubbing at her eyes as that raw empty feeling returned, the sound of music echoing in her mind. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“Why should you?” Sylvanas replied, simply, waiting for Jaina to follow her.

Jaina hung her cloak on a hook near the door, and then followed her. “It doesn’t really seem fair. Not that anything about this is fair.”

“Don’t worry about gifts. But before I reveal yours, I have something else to give you.” Sylvanas stopped, turning to Jaina as she held out a hearthstone.

Jaina’s heart leapt into her throat as she stared at it, recognizing her own runes. Anger warred with relief and won; she could only imagine it had been reset to Orgrimmar, and the desecration on top of everything else was too much to bear. As Sylvanas dropped it into her palm, she had every intention of turning the stone to ash.

The moment it touched her hand, she knew, and she froze. An achingly familiar buzzing tingled on her skin.

Home, it hummed to her. Theramore, the one place that had been more home to her than any other. Dalaran, Kul Tiras, they were home too, but Theramore had been where her heart had beat the strongest and where her heart had died.

She blinked tears from her eyes, but more fell. Her hand shook as she closed her fingers around the hearthstone, Sylvanas’s ring glinting next to the wedding band.

Sylvanas touched the ring with one finger, her other hand brushing at the tears on Jaina’s cheek.

Jaina hated herself for this show of weakness. But she was tired, so, so tired, her emotions raw and unbalanced and she held home in her hand. “Thank you,” she rasped, and felt like she was breaking.

******

It was Jaina’s idea to have any kind of celebration at all; it had been a full year since the end of the war and the start of a shaky peace. While there’d been plenty of disputes, they’d all been resolved without anything more than the occasional fistfight.

Sylvanas had reluctantly agreed, as long as someone else did most of the planning; she’d have preferred no celebration at all while pretending that she and Jaina would celebrate privately. Perhaps they could share a drink, at most.

Because much to Sylvanas’s displeasure, she’d started enjoying Jaina’s company. Even the anger. Especially the anger. It reminded Sylvanas of the anger that fueled herself.

She knew that this had been much harder on Jaina than on anyone else--missteps and mistakes and a yawning abyss within her that Sylvanas could not leave unaddressed. She’d decided, a few weeks earlier, that she’d return the hearthstone that night. Sylvanas had carried it on her person the entire year, and thought Jaina had earned enough trust for that; and perhaps deserved whatever small comfort it offered her.

The other gift had been prepared, signed and sealed a few days before, and Sylvanas also carried that on her person as she sat through mundane matters of state and the continued insistence of certain advisers that she be needed for every little thing.

Fantasizing about their heads on pikes over the gates only got her so far, and she dismissed everyone early in the day, telling them to enjoy themselves. It left her blissfully alone as she walked to the elevator and took it up. Sylvanas didn’t retire to the sitting room, instead standing in the middle of the archery range and relishing the silence. She moved to a window, opening the shutter and peering out through the glass.

People were already celebrating. She watched as a large Tauren toppled over under the weight of too much drink, only to be caught by a Pandaran and Worgen.

Damn, but she was never going to get used to that. Her fingers twitched as she imagined putting an arrow through that Worgen’s eye.

Of course, that would ruin everything she’d done and Sylvanas was not going to sabotage herself. She’d had a hard enough time over the last year trying to set an example by playing nice with the Alliance. Her eyes flicked towards the gates and she finally, reluctantly, put to bed the fantasy of Genn’s head on a specific pike.

Watching a few moments longer, Sylvanas realized that clearly her damned anniversary was going to have to end up a state holiday. It was close to Hallow’s End, but not so close as to interfere with those traditions. Sylvanas sighed, putting the thought to the back of her mind.

She made her singular appearance, sharing a dance with a silent Jaina, then retreated back to the Hold, in no mood to celebrate.

It was curiosity and boredom that brought her back out. She’d almost said something when she saw Jaina watching the sailors play their songs but chose instead to hide in the shadows. One of the songs was one she hadn’t heard in years, a Quel’dorei dirge that made her actually feel an emotion.

Her hand went to a necklace that she still wore, though she’d sooner face the Void than let her sisters know about it.

The Sin’dorei’s voice was rough, but that only made the song all the more poignant as the last somber note rang out.

“Elor bindel felallan morin'aminor.” Sleep forever in quiet serenity.

Sylvanas swallowed, jaw tight. She’d sung that dirge herself once long ago, as Ranger-General Lireesa Windrunner burned atop a pyre next to the Rangers who’d fallen along with her.

Her predecessor.

Her mother.

She pulled out the necklace, rubbing her thumb over the sapphire as a happier song played. It felt wrong, after the dirge, and it made her irrationally angry to be longing for a time that could never come again.

The light folk melody shifted, the lute plucking more softly, and Sylvanas’s head snapped up when she heard a gasp from Jaina.

This song she didn’t know, but Jaina clearly did, and it cut through her much more deeply than the dirge had Sylvanas. Pain rippled through Jaina so strongly that Sylvanas could almost see it wisping around her like smoke.

She watched for a moment longer, before something made her slip away into the shadows. Some weaknesses were meant to remain hidden.

The residence was quiet as she lit a few candles for light, and finally picked up the armor from her wedding. Conceding that Jaina had won that particular battle, she turned the breastplate over in her hand, before taking it to the training room to put on a display dummy.

Jaina returned not long after. She looked...as expected, and Sylvanas studied her as they spoke. The set of her jaw, the anger and confusion in her eyes when she beheld the hearthstone. Jaina’s tears burned on Sylvanas’s skin, giving her the strangest desire to taste them.

Her eyes fell to the ring, and she touched it, stirring long-buried memories, hopes and dreams. Ignoring Jaina’s half-whispered thanks, she took her hand to look more closely.

“Of the three daughters of Lireesa Windrunner, I was the one to follow in her footsteps when she fell. Alleria took her bow; I took her position. And her ring.”

She made a show of sounding bored, as if this were just another story and not something that resonated to her core with sadness and regret.

“There was a ranger who served under her and died in the same attack. I had thought, some day, to give her this ring.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Jaina asked.

“Most who would know of it are dead,” Sylvanas said, darkly. “Even my sisters have forgotten her. So that is my secret to you. I hope you’ll share one with me eventually.”

“Two.” Jaina said. Whether her eyes watered from earlier, or some kind of sympathy, Sylvanas couldn’t tell; but if it was pity, she was liable to get violent.

“Two?”

“I owe you two secrets,” she said, and flowers formed from ice in Sylvanas’s hair.

Sylvanas dropped Jaina’s hand, anger flaring up from deep inside her. “Smart-ass bitch. Don’t think I forgot that.”

“I was trying to be nice!” Jaina took her hand again, and this time Sylvanas was the recipient of a hand on her face.

They glowered at each other, Sylvanas feeling the conflict down to her bones. An angry Jaina was an attractive one. Something about the way her eyes flashed and the heat that rose to her face when Sylvanas was too close, as if she couldn’t tell how she was supposed to be feeling when they were together. But it woke that desire that Sylvanas had thought was long dead, even if all it was useful for was toying with her wife.

There’d already been too much emotion today for Sylvanas to handle, but she made sure Jaina was the first one to break eye contact.

Mollified somewhat by the victory, Sylvanas reached up and pulled Jaina’s braid aside, dragging her fingernails along the slope of Jaina’s shoulder, to her neck and then her ear.

Jaina opened her mouth to say something, but after a long moment once again came up silent.

Humans had such pouty lips, and Sylvanas was amused by how easily she could confuse Jaina with something as simple as a thumb on her mouth. Letting go of her hand, Sylvanas pulled her fingers through Jaina’s hair, and started to, very slowly, undo that damn braid. Jaina’s eyes fluttered closed.

She moved her hand to Jaina’s cheek, then under her chin. Jaina’s lips parted as she tilted her head, just enough that Sylvanas knew she missed the contact.

Damn her, but she missed it too.

She turned Jaina around before those lips could tempt her, and continued to undo the braid. Occasionally, she’d let her fingers trail ice over Jaina’s shoulders and neck, or around to her throat. The latter brought out noticeable reactions in Jaina, though the mage struggled to hide them even as she tilted her head back against Sylvanas, eyes closed.

Sylvanas stared at her lips, fingers twitching in Jaina’s hair as that temptation rose again. She focused a little too closely on the way they parted when her finger brushed Jaina’s ear.

Jaina softened against her, caught herself, then started to pull away. Sylvanas barked out a laugh. “Hold still, I’m almost done.”

Jaina looked simultaneously relieved and disappointed. Sylvanas let a smirk cross her face as she freed Jaina’s hair. She ran her left hand through the loose strands, feeling a shiver at the pleasurable sensation. Her other hand caressed Jaina’s face again, her lips. Sylvanas wanted to know what they would look like wrapped around her fingers. Her hand tightened in silver-white hair, and Jaina shuddered against her.

She realized she could do anything she wanted right now, and Jaina would let her. Jaina, who burned her when they touched, who wore her mother’s ring, who hated her with every fiber of her being. Sylvanas pulled Jaina’s hair back, leaning forward so that her lips almost brushed Jaina’s ear, and then almost brushed her neck.

Sylvanas could own her. Control her. Make her beg to come undone...and she was forced to admit she wanted that. What to do about that want was another matter entirely, and one on which Sylvanas found herself conflicted.

Jaina turned in her arms and they stood there like that, Sylvanas’s hands in Jaina’s hair and on her shoulder, Jaina’s ragged breath like fire on Sylvanas’s face. Jaina’s heart was pounding so loud Sylvanas could hear it.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Sylvanas murmured, letting go of her. ”You’re not in your right mind.”

Jaina stepped back, chest heaving, and Sylvanas’s eyes dropped against her will. Jaina’s response was breathless. “Neither are you, Lady Windrunner.”

She’d also sounded annoyed. Good. The fog was clearing.

Sylvanas flicked an envelope at her. “Your actual wedding present.”

Catching it, Jaina broke the seal and scanned the letter. She blinked twice, then looked at Sylvanas. “Really?”

“Truly.” Sylvanas kept her voice even. “The week after Hallow’s End, you are to lead a diplomatic envoy to Stormwind for a two-week conference. I expect you to handle yourself with your usual dignity and as a representative of the Horde.”

Jaina grinned, her shoulders relaxing as the shadows lifted from her eyes. It was quick, too quick and unexpected, but she wrapped her arms around Sylvanas and brushed her lips against her cheek, before letting go and turning toward the bathroom. Sylvanas was left standing in shock as she heard bathwater start to run, wondering if Jaina even realized what she’d done.

“...Do you want company?” Sylvanas asked, trying to regain her footing.

She was gifted with a rude gesture as Jaina closed the door, and all was as it should be.

Notes:

Thus ends Year One

Chapter 10: Year 2 - Equilibrium

YEAR TWO

Jaina had been in the wrong headspace to enjoy the holidays the previous year, but thanks to this new equilibrium she shared with Sylvanas, she felt more willing to celebrate. Equilibrium was a good word for it. Though they danced around certain subjects (or rather, outright ignored them), Jaina found herself experiencing the impossible; she could be civil around Sylvanas. Even enjoy talking to her.

They weren’t often alone, together or not. They each had their own shadows; Jaina had Tyra and any number of hidden shadows she sometimes saw out of the corner of her eye, and Sylvanas had Nathanos and her rangers. But in the Warchief’s quarters or Sylvanas’s sanctuary, when they were truly alone, it was as though the expectations and weight drained from Sylvanas’s shoulders.

Sylvanas was showing her something almost like a vulnerable side, even spending the occasional night next to Jaina in bed. Jaina didn’t quite trust it; but if it was some sort of masterful plan to get her to lower her guard, it was a masterful plan that was working.

That would explain how Sylvanas had managed to get close enough in the sitting room to start undoing Jaina’s braid. Jaina had the impression that Sylvanas had been looking for this opportunity since their anniversary.

Voice a little rough, Jaina said, “I guess there’s still some elf in you.”

“Elves do not have some unusual draw to hair.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “How did you know that was what I was thinking, and if it’s not true why was it the first thing your mind went to?”

Sylvanas’s fingers tangled in her hair, tugging lightly. Jaina felt her toes curl, but refused to react.

“Your suggestion today,” Sylvanas said. “Do you think it will work?”

“Do I think that we can find where the fish have migrated by using the ancient techniques of my people? Of course.”

Sylvanas tugged at Jaina’s hair again and Jaina’s eyelids fluttered. She bit her lip.

“Fishing has always been one of the primary sources of food for Orgrimmar, and the Horde in general.” Sylvanas finished bringing Jaina’s hair down and started to brush it with her fingers.

Jaina thought up another dig about Sylvanas and her hair, but rather than indulge in it she suggested, “I didn’t want to bring it up in front of the others, but I think we should also summon a champion.”

“Whatever for?”

“Fishing has been sparse for over a year. The Naga have been quiet for longer. There’s probably a link, and who better than a champion to discover it?”

“Let's make it a contest,” Sylvanas said.

Jaina started to turn around, but Sylvanas’ grip on her hair prevented it. Fine, she’d just indulge Sylvanas in this strange hair-pulling thing she was obsessing over. “What kind of contest?”

“We each assign a champion. One Alliance, one Horde. Whoever’s champion discovers something worthy first wins.”

“What’s the wager?”

Jaina could hear Sylvanas’s smile as she spoke. “If I win, you will exchange three entire sentences with Nathanos, without threatening or insulting him.”

“Okay. When the Alliance champion finds it first, you have to do the same thing.”

“Speak to Nathanos?”

In a smug voice, Jaina said. “Greymane. Three full sentences. No insults. No threats. In the kindest voice you can manage without sounding like you’re mocking him.”

Sylvanas sounded pained. “You’re a cruel woman, Lady Proudmoore.”

This time, Jaina turned fast enough to escape Sylvanas’s grip. Her hair whipped around her face, making her appear disheveled. “So do we have a bet?”

It took a full minute, but Sylvanas finally sighed and nodded. “We have a bet.”

Sylvanas’s eyes remained on Jaina for another moment, and Jaina knew better than to look away. She quirked her eyebrow. “What's so interesting?”

“What happens if your magic fails you?”

Sometimes, Sylvanas could be so cryptic that Jaina wanted to throw things at her. “What?”

Sylvanas spoke slowly, as if she were taking to a child, in a way that Jaina knew was intended to make her angry. “If your magic were disabled, can you defend yourself?”

Jaina narrowed her eyes, but didn’t rise to the bait. “I carry a dagger, I’ve used swords, and my staff packs a wallop.”

Standing, Sylvanas swept past Jaina. She didn’t say a thing, but Jaina knew an order to follow when she saw one. She rolled her eyes, trailing Sylvanas down the spiral stairs and to the archery range.

By the time she’d caught up with her, Sylvanas had already shed her outer layer of armor, leaving her in trousers and tight tank top.

Jaina paused on the last stair, watching the way Sylvanas’s back flexed under that top. She blinked and shook herself out of it. “Personal sparring lesson from the Warchief herself?”

“Perks of being my consort,” Sylvanas said, facing Jaina with a cocky smile. She jerked her chin at her. “Remove your robe, I don’t want you tripping in your skirts.”

“Shouldn’t I be able to defend myself in what I usually wear?”

Sylvanas just stared at her, until Jaina rolled her eyes and unlaced her robes. They were white with red and gold trim, and like about one fourth of what Enda had made, required a great deal of effort to remove.

So much so that Sylvanas snorted in frustration, crossed to Jaina, and ripped them off of her.

“I liked that one!” Jaina looked at her in shock, though it was so ridiculous that it was difficult not to laugh.

“Your tailor friend can fix it and make it easier to remove in the process,” Sylvanas snapped.

Jaina straightened, kicking the remains of the robe to the side and standing there, hands on her hips. All she was wearing now was a slip and a pair of knickers and she stared at Sylvanas, daring her to do or say something because clearly the Warchief hadn’t thought that part through.

Sylvanas closed her mouth after too long with it hanging open. “There’s a tunic upstairs. Put it on.”

Her eyes followed Jaina up the stairs until she was out of view. Jaina leaned against a wall, feeling flushed and embarrassed. Damn that woman.

She found a stash of clothing in a drawer under one of the tables. There was a black tunic and, even better, trousers. Both were made for Sylvanas and so too tight and hugged her in ways she hoped would prove distracting, but it was better than sparring with Sylvanas nearly nude. At least, that’s what Jaina told herself.

Returning to the archery range, Jaina folded her arms as she felt Sylvanas staring at her again. The last time anyone had tried to teach her something like this had been… Arthas. “So what’s the first lesson?”

“Give no quarter, take no quarter,” Sylvanas said. She moved so quickly that Jaina could barely track her movements and get her arms up in a block. The impact jarred her, the world spinning suddenly as Sylvanas flung her across the room. She landed on her back, a brief flash of pain lancing through her body.

Jaina rolled to her feet, Sylvanas scoffing as she approached her. “You’re standing wrong.”

And then Jaina found herself on the ground again, Sylvanas looming over her. Sylvanas stepped back. Even if she’d offered a hand, Jaina would have just slapped it away. “Then how do I stand?”

Sylvanas was inside her personal boundary, positioning Jaina’s feet and arms. “Like this. Harder to move you.”

She was ready when Sylvanas tried to flip her again, managing to avoid that and even break her grip. She felt a flush of pride at Sylvanas’s praising expression, then quashed the feeling.

“Push me back to the bar,” Sylvanas said. “And I’ll give you a reward.”

It was genuinely difficult to keep her magic at bay. It wanted out. It wanted to escape her, to be used and manipulated to defeat this woman in front of her. Jaina spent nearly as much effort concentrating on holding that back as she did on trying to hit Sylvanas with her fist.

Give no quarter, take no quarter.

She managed to land a single hit on Sylvanas before tackling her to the ground and pinning her down. The tips of her ears just touched the solid wood of the bar.

Jaina tightened her legs around Sylvanas’s waist when she tried to flip her off, leaning the weight of her torso down onto where her forearm was pressed into Sylvanas’s shoulder. She leaned down until their foreheads were touching and her voice was unexpectedly husky. “So what do I win?”

They were veiled by Jaina’s hair, a dark red glow on Jaina’s face from Sylvanas’s eyes. Sylvanas wet her lips. “I have business in Dalaran tomorrow. Join me.”

The fact she’d finally gotten Sylvanas out of sorts was prize enough, but Jaina wasn’t about to turn down such an offer. “Thank you.”

The air was knocked from her lungs as Sylvanas suddenly kicked her off, sending her flying across the room. She groaned, not moving from where she landed until a sudden thought ripped through her like a wildfire. She sat up, eyes blazing. “Did you let me win?!”

Sylvanas retrieved her armor and started to put it back on. “I suppose you’ll never know.”

Frowning, Jaina got up and grabbed her robe. “You know, I spent most of my time trying not to turn you into dream dust. If I didn’t have to worry about that...”

“I know,” Sylvanas started for the elevator. “Your control was admirable.” She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. “Next time, I won’t be the one on her back.”

A threat? A promise? Jaina didn’t know if what she felt was fear, or something else.

******

It was a good day to parade her wife around Dalaran. Several Alliance leaders were present in the city for reasons unrelated to Sylvanas’s visit, and she did enjoy showing off.

At Sylvanas’s insistence, Jaina wore blue and black, a robe that clasped at her neck and left the only bare skin that of her face and hands. It was fetching in its own way, leaving much to the imagination. Sylvanas wanted to show her consort off without actually showing her off… this time. Perhaps the modesty of the design might help quell some of the more lurid rumors still lingering in public gossip.

To Sylvanas’s surprise and eternal consternation, Jaina had worn her hair down.

They approached the Violet Citadel, Jaina’s arm through her own, walking with all the awareness of people who knew eyes were on them. Sylvanas idly imagined the expressions they’d wear were she ever to indulge in that idea of a collar around Jaina’s neck. It would almost be worth the resulting war, and definitely worth the stroke it would give Greymane.

“Once we’ve finished with this business,” Sylvanas said, “You’re free to spend the day here. I’ll even take Tyra home with me.”

“You still haven’t told me what this business is,” Jaina said, though she seemed to perk up at Sylvanas’s words.

“If I told you what it was, you’d explode.” Sylvanas looked at her, trying to not show her amusement. “But it is something that is good for the Horde.”

She could see the thoughts racing in Jaina’s mind, running through various scenarios each more infuriating than the last. She put her hand over the one Jaina had on her arm before smoke could start coming out of the mage’s ears. “And the Alliance.”

That seemed to calm her, and they made their way up to the citadel.

“Hello, my friends!” Khadgar turned from where he’d been conversing with Modera, approaching Jaina and Sylvanas.

Jaina’s look of shock quickly passed, replaced by a tense smile. “Khadgar. It’s been too long.”

She shot a look at Sylvanas as if to say, How is this supposed to anger me?

Sylvanas quirked her eyebrow. You’ll see.

“How are you?” Khadgar asked. His unspoken question to Jaina was so transparent that Sylvanas nearly rolled her eyes.

“I’m well.” Jaina said, relaxing slightly, her posture telegraphing that yes, she was in fact well.

This pleased Sylvanas. She inclined her head to him. “Are the preparations complete?”

“We’re ready any time.”

“Ready for what?” Jaina asked cautiously.

Khadgar blinked, looking at her, then at Sylvanas. “She doesn’t know?”

Jaina’s voice grew icy. “What don’t I know?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Sylvanas said flatly. She watched Jaina carefully. “The Kirin Tor has agreed to alternate Dalaran’s position between Horde and Alliance territories, changing it every eight months.”

Ah. There it was.

Jaina pulled away from her, anger and hurt reflected in her eyes and on her face. “I’m part of the Kirin Tor! The Compact doesn’t change that!”

“Jaina.” Khadgar held his hands out to her. “It’s a good idea. A show of unity, of compromise. It passed five to one.”

“I know it’s a good idea.” Jaina threw her hands up, shooting a glare at Sylvanas that would have cowed lesser beings. While there was still anger in her stance, the hurt won out in her voice. “I just would have liked to have been a part of it.”

Archmage Modera folded her arms, moving subtly to Jaina’s left side with a disapproving frown. So she was the lone dissenter. Sylvanas approached Jaina, taking her arm. “Come along, my dear. I think you might approve of the first location of this new agreement.”

Not at all mollified, Jaina yanked her arm away, and strode from the Citadel. Sylvanas let her go, then turned back to the other mages.

“Spouses. You know how it is.”

******

“That insufferable self assured bitch!” Jaina mumbled, storming into the library in the Hall of the Guardian. It was one of the few places she could go in this city where she might calm down enough to be functional.

The anger dissipated quickly; it was a brilliant idea. Dalaran was supposed to be neutral, so why should it stay in Alliance territory all the time? It was better to bring it to both sides, and allow easier access to everyone.

Jaina was aware of the irony.

The hurt remained, however, and she didn’t know if it was because the Kirin Tor had gone behind her back, or because Sylvanas had let them. It was probably a little of both. Sylvanas had to know how important the Kirin Tor was to her. And the Kirin Tor had been so much of her life. She’d grown up in Dalaran…

She wrapped her arms around herself, sitting on a bench under some shelves and wondered if she’d burned that bridge. Maybe she had. Her actions in the purge and when they’d readmitted the Horde could have turned a lot of people against her. She still had supporters, like Modera, but she’d been so filled with hate...

Unfolding her arms, she looked down at the palms of her hands and tried to remember what that hate felt like. There was an empty well where that feeling had once been and Jaina couldn’t tell if that was better or worse. Maybe she should stop being friendly to people in Orgrimmar. She knew people. She liked them. Damn her, but she’d made friends.

Could she kill them? Wipe them out with a snap of her fingers now that she’d learned their names and their faces? Met their families and even shared meals?

Was that why Sylvanas encouraged her trips into the city? To make it harder for her to react should the truce break?

Something moved and she lifted her head to watch the most curious sight of a little human girl floating through the air in a bubble. She spun upside down, flailing her arms and giggling as she bounced off a shelf.

“I really need to cut back on my drinking,” Jaina commented.

“I’m so sorry.” A woman rushed over, plucking the toddler out of the air. She was a raven-haired human in a navy colored robe and seemed harried even if her appearance was impeccable. “She just started doing that yesterday. I’m at my wits end.”

“At least this way you’ll know she won’t get hurt.”

The woman stared blankly at her a moment, before recognition dawned. She gave her a quick bow of her head. “Lady Proudmoore. What brings you to my library?”

“Your library?” Jaina felt her hurt and irritation fade into amusement. The woman seemed to be twelve or fifteen years her junior. No older than twenty-six anyway. The thought made her feel old.

“Well, you know what I mean.”

“I do, and call me Jaina,” Jaina laughed. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Lissibeth, this is Annabelle.” She bounced the bubbled baby in her arms.

There was a crashing sound in the distance, and Lissibeth thrust the baby into Jaina’s arms. “Please watch her a moment!”

Before Jaina could protest, Lissibeth blinked down the hall and turned right. She held Annabelle at arm’s length and decided she’d much rather watch a colicy mule. Slowly, she brought her in closer. She didn’t usually like being alone with children, though she could tolerate them just fine. When they were older.

Say… teenager. Get past the messy stage to the intellectually interesting stage.

The child reached for Jaina’s necklace and there was a pop of energy that arced between her stubby fingers.

“Oh hell, now that’s interesting.”

The bubble of energy thrummed and flickered. Jaina tested a hypothesis and very carefully let go of the girl. She floated in front of her, slowly spinning, flailing her chubby arms and giggling. Jaina moved her hands to either side, making her bounce between them. “You’re going to be very powerful one day, little one. Your mother might need help training you.”

Jaina’s eyes tightened as the direction of her thoughts brought her back to her first -- and last -- apprentice.

“Though I suppose it’s rude to snatch an apprentice from her own mother.” She caught Annabelle again, feeling a dangerous amount of energy surging through her. She held the toddler against her chest, hand splayed across her back, and held her other hand aloft, fingers spread. The arcane pulsed through from the child to her outstretched hand, sparking and arcing harmlessly in the air.

The hum in the child faded down to a much more normal level.

“That was brilliant!”

She looked up to see Lissibeth approaching. “I’m sorry if I overstepped.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” She gingerly took her child back. “You’ll have to show me that again. I should be able to pick it up with a closer look.”

Jaina smiled. “I don’t mind. Would you like to visit me in Orgrimmar sometime?”

Lissibeth cradled the girl, smiling tiredly at Jaina. “I think I’d like that.”

Nodding and feeling somehow more centered, Jaina gave the mother and child another smile, then took her leave. On the way out she passed a young Draenei at a table, fifteen books floating around her as she wrote furiously on some paper. She stole a glance, both eyebrows raising. “I think you’re onto something, but try a more varied chord progression. I look forward to reading that when you’re done.”

The Draenei looked up, but Jaina was already making her way to the exit. She could feel the hum of Dalaran as the mages of the Council prepared to move the city to another continent. If she closed her eyes, she could attune herself to the magic. It took the entire Council of Six to do it; she suspected Kalec and Khadgar could manage with just a third in a pinch, but it would be incredibly dangerous.

Jaina jogged towards a wall, climbing up some stairs so she could see where they arrived. Violet energy washed across the city, and then like the wink of an eye, they vanished from the Eastern Kingdoms.

When the eye opened, the sky was orange gradients leading to purple. To the north lay the forests of Ashenvale. Far to the south lay the Crossroads.

Dalaran now sat on the border between the Barrens and Ashenvale. Between the Alliance and the Horde.

The hurt was still there, but the anger had faded until only regret remained. Jaina didn’t know how long she stood there before she felt a presence. Kalec and Khadgar stood behind her, and she turned to face her old friends. Maybe it was time to stop isolating herself.

“Can I buy you both a drink? I’d like to catch up.”

Chapter 11: Ashes

Notes:

A very special Halloween chapter! Happy Hallow's End!

***Long Ago***

Music drifted to Sylvanas's ears, a pleasant tune that almost always made her smile. She didn't often come to these festivals, preferring to train or go on patrol. Someone had to, after all, and Sylvanas was never as much at home as she was in the woods and forests, where she could feel life all around her. She was so attuned to the wilds that she sometimes preferred them to the company of people.

But today she'd come to the festival. Today she'd arrived with bells on, as the humans liked to say, and for a very specific purpose. But then, Sylvanas had always been a woman of purpose. And she watched her purpose talking with her mother.

Feydori Sundreamer was tall, taller than Lireesa Windrunner but not quite as tall as Sylvanas. She wore a light sundress, blue to compliment her dark hair, woven through with silver thread in leaf-like patterns. The skirt rustled around her knees in a soft breeze, and Sylvanas forgot how to breathe when she looked in her direction and smiled.

She wasn’t used to this, the music and dancing and people in dresses. She felt naked in hers and could only imagine that Feydori felt the same. They belonged to the woods.

Someone touched her elbow and she jumped.

“Perhaps you should close your mouth and go talk to her.”

Alleria stepped into Sylvanas’s vision, holding the hand of a silver-haired child. Sylvanas ignored her older sister, instead reaching over and rustling Vereesa’s hair. “You look lovely, little one.”

“We’re going dancing,” Vereesa declared.

“First, we’re going to help Sylvanas with a problem,” Alleria declared, eyes sparkling.

“What sort of problem?”

“The problem where she’s not dancing with Feydori.”

“Alleria--”

Vereesa let go of her hand and rushed towards Feydori, shouting. “Feydori! Sylvanas wants to dance with you!”

“I’m killing you later,” Sylvanas growled. Alleria’s laughter made her face heat up, which only made her angrier.

Someone took her hands and she turned her glare from Alleria to -- Feydori. Her gaze immediately softened as she allowed herself to be led away by her friend.

“So you wish for a dance?” The heat of Feydori’s hands left pleasant burns when they rested on her hips.

Sylvanas gave her a smile. “To start.”

She was rewarded with a flush from Feydori, and slid her arms around her. It didn’t really matter what the bards played; her focus was on her fellow ranger. She swayed with her, taking them on a lazy loop towards a grove of trees.

“Did I tell you I got a promotion?” Feydori pressed her body in against Sylvanas, speaking softly as they were nose to nose.

“So I heard.” Pride swelled through Sylvanas’s heart; except perhaps herself there was no finer archer among their people.

“And here I was hoping to be the one to tell you.”

They’d sway-danced right into the grove, disappearing from the view of the others in the festival. Feydori pulled away and Sylvanas felt her absence keenly even though she still held her hand. She studied the way sunlight filtered through the trees to dance on Feydori’s face. “You look beautiful when you’re happy.”

“I’m not beautiful any other time?” Feydori laughed, letting go of Sylvanas and spinning around.

“Oh, you’re always beautiful, Fey,” Sylvanas assured her. “Even if I’m not used to seeing you dressed up.”

“You should see yourself.” Fey spun closer, and Sylvanas captured her in her arms. She leaned her head on Sylvanas’s shoulder, and added, “So, we’ve danced. What’s next?”

Sylvanas pinned her against a tree, her knee slipping between Feydori’s legs and her lips pressing against the other woman’s with a need that surprised even herself.

Strong fingers tangled in her hair and Sylvanas allowed herself to let go of her senses.

***Now***

It was the third year after the Undercity had been rendered uninhabitable, and it would be many more yet before anyone could reclaim it. Sylvanas had been treating the shifting demographics of Orgrimmar as a sort of trial run; Lordaeron would be the Forsaken’s again, but they might just have to share it with the living.

She lifted her eyes from Jaina’s left hand, turning her gaze to all that were assembled. Her consort had skipped the ceremony last year, and Sylvanas hadn’t asked her to come this time; yet she had of her own free will. Perhaps she was curious to see what differences there were between Horde and Alliance customs.

It almost made Sylvanas feel something. She absently rested her hand on the tall Wickerman that had been built in front of Orgrimmar. This was an ancient ritual that both Lordaeron and Gilneas had shared; she felt great pleasure at how Genn must feel about the way she’d co-opted it for her people. It was, after all, the day they’d freed themselves from the Lich King. Greymane might burn his Wickerman, but it couldn’t compare to the sense of freedom and independence that Sylvanas felt when she ignited that fire.

She'd changed her speech only twice in all the years she'd given it. First, after they'd retreated from the Undercity, to inspire her people and give them fresh hope. And the second time was for today.

Sylvanas raised her voice so that she could be heard by all, and was surprised when Jaina’s subtle magic amplified her voice further. "Citizens of the Horde, heed my call! We have, each of us, suffered unspeakable tragedies. Our homes razed and burned, families and friends cut down. Some of us have even been denied the sweet release of death. Now we burn this wickerman as a symbol. A symbol of victory over old enemies and hope in a new dawn. We paint our faces with the ash to send a message to all who would oppose us, to those who would see us as monsters and demons. We are not monsters! We are not the boogeymen who scare children but something far worse! We are Forsaken!"

Her people, her charge and reason for existence raised their voices and their weapons.

A bitter smile crossed Sylvanas’s face."We are Sin'dorei!"

There was a brief murmur of surprise before Elf voices joined in.

“We are Orc! We are Troll! Tauren! Shal’dorei! Pandaran! Goblin!” Sylvanas continued through each of the races of the Horde, voices joining her as they were called out, until they all shouted as one reverberating roar.

“We are the Horde!”

Before Sylvanas could reach for the torch, Jaina lifted her hand, a small, dim flame forming in her palm. She waved and ignited the Wickerman. Sylvanas kept her face neutral, feeling something that wasn’t quite amusement, but wasn’t anger either. Jaina could still surprise her.

As the flames ran up the straw and wood, she held her hand out for Jaina. Jaina took it, and Sylvanas watched the fire reflected in her eyes. She stood unmoving as the Wickerman burned, fingers laced with Jaina’s as ash fell slowly onto them like smoldering snow, the only light from the bonfire and a few torches scattered around.

Jaina stepped forward, scooping some ash from the ground and turning to Sylvanas. She stroked her fingers across Sylvanas’s eyes, and then each of her cheeks. The passage of her fingers burned; Sylvanas couldn’t tell if that was the ash or just Jaina’s natural heat.

She did the same to Jaina, thumb lingering after drawing a single line down the center of her lips. Jaina looked hauntingly beautiful, her cheeks smudged and dark grey ash around her eyes and on her lips.

They then stood in silent vigil as her people jostled forward to complete the ritual. Some marked the faces of their mates and their friends. Others marked their own. A few did nothing. An Orc smeared her entire bare chest with both hands, her face ghoulishly painted with the soot. Tyra took up a vigil to Jaina’s right, slightly behind her. Her own face was absent of ash save for a single streak on her left cheek.

It was the same every year, for her. A single streak, same spot without fail. Jaina looked at her curiously and Sylvanas leaned in, voice low. “If she wishes to explain, she will tell you. We each have our reasons. Some paint themselves as ghouls to frighten or protect. Others carry marks for those they’ve lost, or to remind themselves of who they once were. It can be very complicated and personal.”

A troll cartwheeled past them, and Sylvanas sighed.

“And sometimes they’re just idiots.”

Jaina’s eyes flicked to Sylvanas’s cheeks, expression chagrined. Sylvanas felt herself smile, though it came across as a dark smirk.

“I have no particular custom of my own for this.” She took in Jaina’s face. “Not until now.”

******

Anduin leaned his chin on his fist, watching Genn as he all but wore a groove into the ground. The older man had been pacing for the better part of twenty minutes, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor. Anduin sniggered.

“Did you just laugh at me?”

Anduin shook his head and pointed at a Worgen rogue who was flipping through some papers. She snapped her head up, indignation in every inch of her bristling fur, and he shrugged apologetically at her with a sheepish grin.

Genn snorted, but he stopped his infernal pacing. “I’m just concerned.”

“We all are.” Anduin held up a hand, and turned back to the rogue. “Talet. The Horde ship should be arriving soon. Could you please escort their envoys to the Keep?”

Talet flicked her ears in acknowledgement, cast a wary look at Genn, then beat a hasty retreat before the king framed her for anything else.

“Really Anduin? Blaming the champions?” Genn folded his arms, some amusement edging into his voice.

Grinning at him, Anduin leaned back on the throne. “Maybe you should settle down. Your nervous energy is giving my nervous energy nervous energy.”

“The banshee is up to something,” Genn insisted. But he always insisted Sylvanas was up to something; suspicion was his natural state of being. It wasn’t as if Anduin was without his concerns, but there came a point where vigilance turned into jumping at shadows.

“She’s up to diplomacy. How terrifying.” Anduin grinned at Genn’s expression.

“You should be terrified.” Genn fixed him with a look. “Our spies report everything is quiet in Orgrimmar, and has been for some time.”

It was always a bit concerning when Sylvanas went quiet. But they’d learned the hard way not to read too far into silence. It was never good to trust any of their intel when the Horde was chatty, either; not without a lot of second guessing. “What do they say about Jaina?”

Genn scowled, then spat out begrudgingly. “Nothing. She’s taken on… duties.”

Anduin waited patiently as Genn moved his jaw like he was chewing on the words, then prompted, “What sort of duties?”

“Paperwork. She’s managed to turn the Horde’s paperwork into something resembling neat and tidy.”

“Jaina always enjoyed that kind of thing,” Anduin pointed out, feeling a spark of excitement. It felt good to know that she was finding an outlet. “You’re acting like we’ve lost a tactical advantage.”

“We have, your majesty.”

Anduin burst out laughing. “A filing system gave us a tactical advantage?!”

Genn huffed in displeasure and Anduin started laughing again. “Orgrimmar has a public library now, thanks to Lady Proudmoore. And she participated on Hallow’s End, lighting the Wickerman.”

“These are good things, Genn.” Anduin wiped a stray tear from his eye. They were good things, he truly believed that. “And it sets my mind at ease. I know you were suspicious about her letters, but the tone matches what our spies have passed on. Jaina is okay.” He got to his feet. “Now, let’s greet our guests and get on with the business of this trade agreement.”

The old wolf nodded, then looked down the ramp leading to the throne room and his eyes about bugged out. Anduin followed his gaze and straightened as Jaina Proudmoore led the Horde envoys towards him. That was unexpected, and Anduin found himself completely unprepared for the sight of her. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, bangs hanging loose and making her seem younger somehow with the way they framed her face. More surprising was the colors of her robes. They were red, with gold running down her neckline. Was Jaina the Horde envoy?

She looked determined, though when she caught him staring at her a glint appeared in her eyes.

Sensing that formality was required here, he found his voice. “Lady Proudmoore! This is a surprise.”

Jaina grinned at him, inclining her head to the both of them. “King Wrynn. King Greymane.”

He put his hand on Genn’s shoulder before the man combusted. Genn growled under his breath. “What is she doing here? This is unacceptable. If she is here, how can she keep Sylvanas honest?”

Hearing him, Jaina quirked her left eyebrow. “You forget I can teleport there in an instant, should the Warchief choose to break her side of the Compact while I’m here. But she won’t do that, any more than you would risk breaking it yourselves. Everything is fine, Genn. I promise, both as your friend and as an envoy of the Horde.”

Anduin felt like his stomach was going to drop into his knees. Jaina spoke for the Horde so casually, and for a brief, horrible moment he envisioned Jaina strapped to a chair while Sylvanas tortured her and broke her mind. He shook the image from his mind. If Jaina was in a state like that, he’d know. Instinctively, he’d know.

Genn sneered but Anduin held up his hand before things went in an uncomfortable direction. “Well then, let's get the preliminaries out of the way and then I’ll have someone show you to where you’ll be staying for the duration of this conference.”

******

It was strange, Anduin thought. How they were all here talking and yet every person in the room had buckets of blood on their hands from battles that had occurred barely 16 months ago. Some of them had probably faced him; he remembered the face of every person he’d killed, and wondered if someone who’d loved them was at this conference.

It was a guilt that kept him up most nights. Over leading the Alliance into war, over the death and misery that they’d suffered, that he’d inflicted on others.

When he was very small, his father missing and assumed dead, Bolvar Fordragon had taken him aside one night.

A wise and just king never seeks out war, Bolvar had told him. But he must always be ready for the day it comes.

Even Bolvar had assumed that war was inevitable, be it from the Horde or another outside source. And he’d been right, for the most part. Anduin had strived to make his father understand those words; often, he wondered if that was what had gotten him killed.

At least he could genuinely say that Sylvanas had been the one to bring the last war to him.

His eyes fell on Jaina. Their greatest hope and their greatest fear. He remembered the time, when he was still in that lanky, awkward stage of his life, when Jaina had been everything he’d wanted to be. Kind. Just. Peaceful yet unyielding in the face of danger.

Her change had broken his heart, so to see her like this, deftly walking both sides through the trade negotiations, was a salve on his heart. He was glad he’d come to observe today.

“She looks well.”

Anduin turned his head slightly as Velen leaned in beside him. “I’m glad. Her letters have been brief, and I couldn’t tell if she wasn’t allowed to say much or just unsure how much she could get away with. But she does look like she’s in her element. Even Genn has relaxed.”

Velen turned his eyes to where Genn was standing stiffly, shoulders tense. “About as relaxed as he ever gets.”

Managing to keep his face straight, Anduin regarded his mentor. He’d had a long line of them, starting with Bolvar, but Velen was so ancient and wise that it was intimidating. Even Tyrande and Malfurion were half Velen’s age. He sometimes felt like a baby in comparison. “How are your people faring? We haven’t had much chance to speak of late.”

“They are well. We have spent so long in the shadow of war that I was grateful for this peace. We need to remember what that was like. We need to remember how to stand down.”

That was a lesson the whole of Azeroth needed to learn. Anduin leaned his elbow on an armrest. “Have you heard from Tyrande and Malfurion?”

Velen inclined his head in a short nod. “Malfurion is still working with Magni, communing with nature to heal the damage we have wrought on our world. Tyrande has taken the seed that the Herald of Aviana discovered sprouting within Teldrassil and intends to plant it somewhere in the Eastern Kingdoms with the aid of the Ancients and the Cenarion Circle.”

“Do you know where?”

Velen looked at Genn again, and Anduin sighed heavily.

“Gilneas is not among the lands barred to the Kaldorei for such purposes in the compact,” Velen pointed out, a smile growing on his face. “Even Windrunner would have to concede that she was outplayed in that.”

A World Tree in Gilneas, Anduin thought. It was almost as strange a thought as the rumors he’d heard of Tyrande reaching out to the Shal’dorei. “I pray she at least gives the Horde a five minute warning before planting the thing, even if she technically doesn’t have to.” He paused, then turned more fully to Velen. “Herald of Aviana?”

“A Kaldorei druid with a particular affinity for Aviana,” Velen explained. He pointed his chin towards a dark-skinned champion standing at attention nearby. “Her mate.”

Aviana was some kind of guardian or wild god. Anduin remembered something about her having a relation to both harpies and ravens.

He nodded as he studied the woman Velen had pointed out. “I remember. They were on board the Windwhistle where we first discussed the idea of the compact. Yukale’s sister. It’s sometimes really difficult to keep track of our champions.”

“It’s a good thing that I’ve developed a very good memory over the years,” Velen said, his eyes twinkling. “A few hundred champions is relatively easy compared to the names of every single Draenei.”

Which would be a lot easier than attempting that feat even with Stormwind alone, Anduin thought. He didn’t want to sour the mood, so he kept that thought to himself.

******

By the time the discussion had adjourned for the night, Jaina was hungry and tired, but she felt content. She’d forgotten what this had felt like; planning, preparing, moving the cogs of diplomacy. It seemed like that part of her hadn’t entirely been lost.

Anduin approached Jaina. “Care to join me for dinner, Lady Proudmoore?”

She looked at him, feeling oddly content despite the sudden rumble in her stomach. “I think I’d like that.”

It had been a hard few days. Worthwhile and productive, but she’d barely had time to enjoy anything about the city except sneaking out to her favorite little hole-in-the-wall for a hearty meal on the second day.

She took Anduin’s offered arm. “I’m hoping to have a little extra time now that we’ve negotiated the schedule and meals.”

Anduin started. “I’m sorry, that’s as far as you’ve gotten?”

Jaina laughed. “I was just seeing if you’ve been paying attention.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind,” he admitted. “And my representatives can handle most of it without me.”

She could guess at a few things that had plagued Anduin’s mind, though she was also inclined to tease him and spend at least an hour with a friend where they discussed nothing of consequence. She offered, “Girl troubles?”

Anduin blanched at that, shooting Jaina a look that spoke volumes.

Jaina raised her eyebrows, before saying in a sing-song voice, “Boy troubles?”

He coughed, sounding flustered. “I, uh…”

Jaina’s smile widened. “Just make sure you follow your heart.” She shifted her voice into a fair approximation of Tyrande. “And do not worry about heirs, it is not an insurmountable problem.” Laughter burst from Anduin, his shoulders relaxing. Jaina squeezed his arm under her hand. “I would be very happy if you married for love, Anduin.”

She’d given up that hope for herself long before Sylvanas.

“There is no one yet.” Anduin glanced at her, shaking his head. “But I’ll try to keep that advice in mind.” He nudged her with his elbow and turned her comments around on her. “What about you? Have you uh...marital...uhm.”

Jaina narrowed her eyes. “Anduin, if you’re asking what I think you’re asking, you stop it right now.”

She looked around, then sighed. They seemed to be alone--but if it got back to Sylvanas, it got back to Sylvanas. She’d suspected for some time that Tyra wasn’t her only shadow. Sylvanas herself might not follow her personally, but every once in awhile she could feel a thrumming of similar energy, as if someone had tripped a string of dark magic nearby. She felt nothing of the sort right now. And if Tyra were nearby, she was being discreet.

“That’s not what I-- I just mean--” Anduin sagged, then laughed softly. “I’m no good at small talk.”

“Asking about someone’s sex life isn’t small talk.”

“Case in point, that’s not what I was asking.” He blinked, then looked at her. “Wait, are you?!”

“Oh gods.” Jaina let go of Anduin’s arm, trying not to think about strong fingers in her hair or the peaks of Sylvanas’s breasts at her back. “That’s never happening. I’ve resigned myself to a celibate life.”

“How are you feeling? Are you well.” Anduin tapped his chest. “Is she … “

“She’s not beating me, if that’s your concern.”

“I trust our spies to have noticed that much, but there are other ways to hurt a person. Manipulate them.”

Jaina took Anduin’s hands, squeezing them. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m safe and I’m in my right mind. I know it’s hard to believe, but the Horde can in fact act as allies in keeping the peace. Even Sylvanas. I… I think I needed the reminder myself, to be entirely honest.”

She could tell that Anduin wantedto be convinced, so she squeezed his hands again. Then she spotted something in the gardens and let go, forgetting her hunger and rushing over to investigate.

Anduin followed her, peering around her shoulder. He smiled. “Do you want one?”

Jaina’s eyes lit up. “Sylvanas is going to hate this. So yes. I do.”

Chapter 12: Rendevous

“What is that...thing?” Sylvanas stood in the doorway to the bedroom, watching as Jaina hung up her cloak. A furry black head with ears far too large for the face peeked out over Jaina’s shoulder and mewled.

Jaina turned towards her, smiling serenely. “His name is Varian. He’s returned to life just to vex you.”

Sylvanas took a moment to process that. Jaina had left to help with a trade agreement and had returned with a fuzzy little beast? She snorted. “Tell me you didn’t trade away anything of value for that disgusting creature.”

“He was a gift.” Jaina said. Sylvanas stared in abject horror at the absurd picture as Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Consort to the Warchief of the Horde, Archmage of the Kirin Tor, member of the Council of Tirisfal, Formerly Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, Formerly Leader of the Kirin Tor, Dalaran and the Council of Six, Former Ruler of Theramore and once apprenticed to the great mage Antonidas, lifted the kitten up and nuzzled her nose into the soft, furry belly.

Her face hurt, and she realized she was grinning. Sylvanas forced her face into a neutral expression before Jaina could notice. “I am not taking care of it.”

“No one asked you to.” Jaina set the kitten on the floor so it could start exploring the bedroom. She’d already put a collar on the creature, though it was a bit too large at the moment. A blood-red collar. Horde red. Somehow, Jaina was mocking her.

“What will you do when you cannot be here? He is very young.”

“I already have two volunteers and I’ll pay them both,” Jaina assured her. “No duties will be interrupted…” she trailed off, rounding on Sylvanas and walking over to her, hands on her hips. “And excuse me. I have every right to choose a familiar. Or a damn pet, for that matter. You’re not my mother and I don’t have to explain myself to you in personal matters.”

“I am very glad I’m not your mother.” Amusement laced Sylvanas’s tone and she openly admired Jaina’s fire. “It would make this marriage awkward.”

Her smile returned as Jaina’s eye twitched. Jaina poked her in the chest. “Are you teasing me?”

Sylvanas lifted her hand, brushing the back of her knuckles along Jaina’s cheek. “Perish the thought.”

The contact made Jaina’s skin flush and her glare was half-hearted at best. “So would you like to know how it went, or can that wait until morning?”

Jaina was in a very good mood, so it must have gone well. Time away might have helped, though the thought left a sour taste in her mouth and a feeling she refused to consider. “Tomorrow is fine.”

Smile returning, Jaina stepped out of Sylvanas’s reach. “I got you something, but you have to wait until Winter’s Veil.”

Folding her arms and leaning against the wall, Sylvanas watched her as she prepared for bed. She didn’t respond, simply observed. Jaina stripped out of her traveling robes, setting them on a chair before pulling a night shirt on. She looked at Sylvanas with a knowing smile and said, “Come help me out of my braid.”

And so Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde, Banshee Queen of the Forsaken, sat on the bed behind Jaina Proudmoore and reached for her hair. She felt Jaina lean against her, and gave a sensual tug to evoke the response she’d come to enjoy perhaps a little too much. “Discuss business tomorrow. What did you do for fun, besides adopt helpless animals?”

“There’s this little place I love to eat at, I must have gone there three times,” Jaina said.

The living and their need to eat. Sylvanas had forgotten what food tasted like. Everything she’d once enjoyed had become like sawdust and salt. She frowned, then leaned in and flicked her tongue at Jaina’s earlobe, making the other woman shudder.

“I uh…” Jaina wet her lips, and Sylvanas could hear her heart racing. “Jumped off of a gunship.”

Sylvanas’s fingers stilled in Jaina’s hair. “You what?”

“You know Yukale, right?”

“She still owes me for the coppers she stole.”

“Right. She’s developing this sport.”

“A sport that involves jumping out of airships.” Sylvanas resumed her work in Jaina’s hair. She could have been done already, but she was in no hurry.

“And deploying parachute cloaks. She’s also got a variant involving flexible cords but I wasn’t ready to try that one.”

“That Kaldorei is either insane or has a death wish. Death comes for us all, eventually. Odd that one so vibrant would seek its embrace sooner.” Sylvanas pulled Jaina a little closer, one arm sliding around her waist.

“I think the appropriate term is adrenaline junkie.” Jaina leaned her head back against Sylvana’s shoulder. “There are worse things to be addicted to.”

Sylvanas rubbed her tongue against the top of her mouth. “I’ve never been addicted to anything in life, or death.”

Jaina smiled as Sylvanas combed her fingers through her hair. “Mm. I’m sure you haven’t.”

Somewhere near the entrance to the bathroom, Varian mewled. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “That thing is not sleeping in the bed.”

Tilting her head so that she could look at Sylvanas without moving from her shoulder, Jaina responded, “That’s not up to you.”

Sylvanas could feel Jaina’s too-hot breath on her face and tried not to reflect on the fact that she’d missed this. Missed Jaina. She sighed, overly dramatic, and relented. “As you wish. This is your home too.”

Jaina kissed her cheek, and as she got up to get the kitten, Sylvanas felt something like a crack inside her chest.

***

Like Hallow’s End, Jaina hadn’t celebrated Winter’s Veil last year. Why should she have? She had just been bonded in a marriage of political convenience to a woman she hated, and had been in no mood to give anything more than a token appearance near the tree for the public.

But this year was different. Hate had softened into … something else … and Jaina had found a number of friendships in the city, and a purpose with her growing duties as Sylvanas trusted her more and more.

She contributed to the decorations, assisting a few other mages with floating lanterns and colorful lights--as well as a twist of her own for the actual day that would surprise just about everyone, or so she hoped. She didn’t stop to think of the absurdity of it all because it was no longer absurd. It was the new normal, and she was...increasingly at peace with it.

An orc spit at her feet, glaring at her as he passed, and Jaina clenched her fist. Maybe not entirely at peace; bad blood couldn’t cool after a single year and that wasn’t the first time she’d been spat on. She could make an example of him (Sylvanas would have) but she was in too good a mood to let one sour orc ruin it. So Jaina called out with overdone cheer. “Happy feast!”

Tyra looked at his back, then at Jaina. “Yeh just gonna let that go?”

“Any other time of year, I wouldn’t.”

“Lemme take care of it.”

Jaina considered that. “Would it improve your holiday cheer? You’ve been grumpy.”

Tyra nodded.

Sighing, Jaina said. “Okay. Just don’t kill him.”

“Promise I’ll only remove a few tusks.” Tyra laughed, then chased after the orc, calling out, “Hey you! I gotta present for yeh from the Warchief!”

They disappeared around the corner and Jaina heard a loud cracking sound and the orc crying out in pain. All things considered, it was a mild punishment compared to previous incidents; Sylvanas suffered no disrespect for her wife.

Tyra returned, carrying a tooth and a tusk. It should have sickened her, but it didn’t, though she didn’t feel the same degree of satisfaction as she had previous times. She shook her head when Tyra offered up the trophies. “Uh, thank you, but keep them. Consider it my present to you for Winter’s Veil.”

“Really?” Tyra all but beamed at her, and bowed deeply. “Thank yeh, Lady.”

Tyra tucked the trophies into one of her pouches, then rocked on her heels as she regarded her Lady’s lady. Jaina eyed her. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“There’s something.” Jaina had been around Tyra long enough to start figuring out her tells. Maybe someday she’d tell her side of her story with Yukale.

“Yeh haven’t been what I expected,” she said, after a long moment mulling over her words.

Jaina made sure Tyra had her full attention. “What did you expect?”

“Fire an’ fury and a lot more throwing things.”

She frowned, rubbing her arm. “Would it make you feel better if I was all of that, just mostly in private? If I let that out in public I risk breaking the compact. If the compact breaks, we go back to war and a lot of people die. People on both sides that I’ve come to tolerate, and maybe like. A little. I don’t want to see the Alliance collapse any more than you want to see the Horde fall.”

“Are yeh still angry, sometimes?”

Jaina glanced around, then looked back at Tyra and nodded. “Anger is a normal emotion, Tyra. But for a long time it was all I felt. Anger and rage and an agony in my heart. Even before the compact, I found ways to deal with it, to find some calm and maybe a middle ground. But sometimes, I still feel it. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t.”

Tyra shuffled on her feet, then asked. “Do you hate her?”

“Who? Sylvanas?”

“Aye.”

Thinking this wasn’t entirely about Jaina and her relationship with her wife, she answered cautiously. “When you’re in a circumstance as delicate and intimate as this one, emotions can become … blurred. I don’t have an answer for you, even one I could say in private. It’s complicated.”

Did she still hate Sylvanas? Sometimes. But it wasn’t an all consuming thing like it had been even a few months ago. Jaina couldn’t even say when things had shifted. “Do you hate her?”

“Of course not, she’s the Dark Lady. She saved me.” Tyra’s voice was passionate.

“No, I mean Yukale.”

Back stiffening, Tyra narrowed her eyes at Jaina. “I don’ like what yeh gettin’ at, my lady.”

Setting aside the sudden shift from just ‘lady’ to ‘my lady,’ Jaina persisted. “It just feels like there’s something a little personal to your line of questioning. Like you’re trying to ask me if it’s possible to overcome hating someone you want to care about.”

Tyra looked away, hands balling into fists and then relaxing. “We met durin’ the Third War. When I was still alive. We fought back to back against the Burnin’ Legion, an’ then got real drunk together after it was all over. But… Lordaeron was still overrun. I had t’go back.” She gestured down at herself as if to explain what happened after that.

“It was your home.”

“Aye.” She shifted on her feet. “While I was out adventurin’, relearnin’ the parts of me that had been lost while I was Scourge, I made a friend. An’... maybe I started to remember other things. Like what friendship an’ love were.”

She touched her cheek, where Jaina remembered Tyra had marked herself with ash. “Zanda was a… calmin’ influence on me. Always boppin’ me on the noggin when I’d get on my bullshit. Always backin’ me up in my crusade to find a way to live again, though I think she was a little sad at that. I think she just wanted me to accept who I was..”

Gently, Jaina took Tyra by the elbow and guided her out of sight of the general public.

Tyra barely seemed to notice. “We were up north a ways. I can’t even remember why. Ran into Yuka on accident. She was fleein’ her crazy ass mother.”

A thousand questions sprung into Jaina’s mind, but she just nodded at Tyra to encourage her to continue.

“I was already in a bad way. Tried to... Take my own sword to myself. Zanda and Yuka both tried to stop me. That damn troll ended up with the blade in her chest instead.” Tyra closed her eyes, and forced air out of her decayed lungs. “So I blamed Yukale for it, for a long time. But the compact, it’s helped some. An’ sometimes I like ta think Zanda’s spirit still whispers to me.”

“Is she saying anything right now?”

A confident smile returned to Tyra’s face. “That yeh an’ the Dark Lady make a really hot couple. An’ somethin’ else but I can’t tell yeh that just yet.”

Jaina grimaced, then laughed. “I’m sorry I asked.”

“Yeh won’t tell anyone about this, will yeh? I’ve got a reputation to maintain.”

She gave Tyra a quick, kind of awkward hug. “Your secret is safe with me and any of Sylvanas’s spies that might be nearby.”

Tyra snorted, eyes shifty. “It’s just that...yeh right. Yeh can’t let it consume yeh because yeh end up missin’ out on things. There’s so much I wish I’d done an’ said with Zanda and Yukale. So now… now I got a chance with one of ‘em. I’ll be grateful to both of my ladies forever for that.”

An old sadness welled up inside Jaina, though it didn’t hurt as much as it had before. “No, thank you for sharing and reminding me of things like that. I needed to hear that.”

“Ever been in love?” Tyra started to walk back the way they’d come.

A haunted look crossed Jaina’s face as she followed. “I don’t think I can even remember what love is.”

***

There weren’t many people that could sneak into Orgrimmar undetected at night, and Jaina knew all six of them. She peered out the window, before closing the shutters and smiling at Vereesa. “It’s so good to see you. Did you have much trouble getting in?”

Vereesa shook her head and gave Jaina a teasing smile. “This isn’t the first time I’ve snuck in.”

“I’ll be angry about that later, I’m really sick of being spied on by everyone.” Sylvanas’s spies and Alliance spies were a given.

“Aside from the usual spies, we occasionally send Yukale or Unariel in to check on you,” Vereesa admitted. “Just to observe.”

Jaina frowned, folding her arms. They would be two of the others. “I appreciate it, but I’d like you to put a stop to that. I don’t want them getting hurt because of me and it’s hard enough pretending SI:7’s operative is who they say they are.”

Renzik the goblin would probably get roughed up and expelled if he was lucky. Having spies in each others’ cities was to be expected; Jaina had thus far taken a stand with both Anduin and Sylvanas that spies should be exchanged, not killed. But that hadn’t been tested yet and Jaina would like to avoid testing it if at all possible.

“Jaina…” Vereesa approached her, hesitating before giving her a hug. “We just want to make sure you’re safe.”

“I am safe.” She wished that maybe, just once, someone would actually believeher.

Jaina slid her arms around Vereesa and rested her chin on the top of her head. Until just now, Jaina hadn’t realized how much she needed and craved this kind of contact. It was a depressing revelation and put more context into the kitten that was snoozing on top of one of Sylvanas’s discarded cloaks.

She pulled away from Vereesa before it could get awkward or inappropriate, barely noticing how Vereesa’s touch lingered or the way she almost leaned in her direction.

Vereesa sighed, moving to the north wall and leaning against it. “Okay, I’ll pass your request on to the King, but your mother might be a touch harder. That was her idea.”

“I don’t know how I feel about my mother spying on me,” Jaina remarked. She found two glasses and the bottle she’d set aside for this meeting.

“Appreciative for a start?”

Jaina laughed at that. “Forgive me if I’m just a little wary. Our relationship is mending. Forgiveness does not mean forgetting.”

It still stung to think about it, even years later. Learning how reviled she was, and then to have her own mother reject her and allow her to be sent to that horrible place. Jaina remained convinced she’d deserved it. Deserved to suffer the reminder of her choices and to be punished for them. Mostly to herself, she murmured, “I wonder what price I’ll pay for agreeing to this...”

“I’m sorry?”

Shaking her head, Jaina spoke louder. “Nothing, Vereesa. Would you like a drink?”

Vereesa shook her head. “Thank you, but I’d like to keep my wits about me while I’m here.”

The way Vereesa said ‘while I’m here’ stung Jaina unexpectedly. “I wish you could visit openly. Then you could allow yourself to relax.”

Vereesa gave a mirthless smile. “She might not kill me on sight, but I don’t like my chances.”

Jaina turned to focus on pouring herself a drink in order to hide her wince. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, necessarily. But I’ve been thinking… Do you really not believe, given time, that you and your sisters could come to some kind of…accord? You’re family.”

“We don’t exactly get along these days.” Sadness crept into Vereesa’s voice. “What did she say when you brought it up?”

“I didn’t.” Jaina looked at Vereesa like she was out of her mind. “I just told her I was working on a … project. I figured she’d say no and it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission anyway. It’s not like we’re trading secrets.” She waggled the bottle. “One drink. I’ll only fill it a little bit.”

“So more like a shot.” Vereesa ran her hands through her hair, then nodded. “I could use a shot right now.”

She took a seat on one of the lounges, absently scritching Varian behind the ears as Jaina handed her the glass, which had been filled about one quarter of the way up.

Jaina sat next to her, leaning against against the back of the couch and resting her arm along it behind Vereesa’s head. “How have you been? Are the twins well?”

Vereesa leaned back as well, letting her head lay on Jaina’s arm as she closed her eyes. “Busy. They keep asking about you, wanting to know if you’re okay. They also have a thousand questions about Orgrimmar and the Horde.”

“Do they, now? What do they want to know?” Jaina leaned closer; she liked the twins and they were that age where children were actually tolerable. They had to be thirteen now, at least.

“Everything.” Vereesa scrunched up her nose and Jaina had to stop herself from playing with her hair.

“Everything is a tall order, but maybe I can get some of that into a letter for them.” Even if their generation might never fully forget the blood that had been spilled, maybe they could start with the next. She could read the same conflict in Vereesa’s eyes that she felt herself; Vereesa hated the Horde even more than Jaina. They’d cost her her husband, and now one of her dearest friends was in bed with them, so to speak.

“Thank you.” Vereesa gave her a smile, before her eyes fell to Jaina’s drink hand. Her expression changed.

“Vereesa?” Jaina watched her with concern, and this time she did toy with her hair. She thought it was a calming sort of friendly contact and suddenly understood why Sylvanas was so obsessed with her own.

“That was mother’s. I couldn’t believe that…” Vereesa shivered when Jaina’s finger brushed the leading edge of her ear and her voice caught. “Can’t believe that Sylvanas still had it. I thought it lost when Windrunner Spire was overrun. She must have retrieved it after...”

Jaina pursed her lips, looking down at her fingers as Vereesa trailed off. The ring glinted there, a silver band with a small, raised stone engraved with the crest of the house of Windrunner. She usually forgot it was there, at this point; and she wasn’t inclined to share Sylvanas’s secret wants, even with her sister. Nor was she inclined to remove it, for some reason she couldn’t explain. “Tell me about her? Your mother. You’ve never spoken of her to me.”

Vereesa stroked the ring, then slowly trailed her fingers across Jaina’s hand. She knocked back her drink, then got to her feet. “We should… do dinner sometime. Next time you visit Dalaran.”

“It’s a deal.” Jaina said. She stared at her a moment, then took Vereesa’s offered hand and kissed her cheek. “I wish you could stay longer.”

“It’s probably for the best I don’t,” Vereesa said, turning her head away as some pink colored her face. It took her another few seconds to peel herself away from Jaina.

As she paused to scritch Varian again an arrow passed her cheek, sinking deeply into the wall behind her head.

Vereesa froze as the kitten tumbled onto the floor, scampering in a panic to the relative safety of under the couch. Eyes wide, she took in the sight of Sylvanas in the hallway, cold fury in her eyes.

Blood dribbled down Vereesa’s face as she edged between her sister and Jaina.

Sylvanas almost sounded bored. “What a surprise to find you here, my dear, sweet sister. Are you my consort’s little project?”

Chapter 13: Broken Trust

Cold fury ran through Sylvanas as she took in the scene, drawing another arrow and aiming it towards Vereesa’s heart. She let her taunt hang in the air.

“Sylvanas--”

“Silence, wife.” Sylvanas gripped her bow tighter, eyes not leaving her sister’s face. “Get out of my city, sweet sister. The fact that spilling your blood would upset Lady Proudmoore is the only reason you are still alive.”

It was tempting to actually shoot her. Nowhere vital of course, that would have repercussions she just didn’t want to deal with. But her kneecap or maybe her shoulder? Certainly.

Sylvanas often wished she could raise her sisters into undeath alongside her. The urge had returned with a vengeance just now, but the political implications made it an unwise decision. Maybe a plan for another day.

Vereesa looked like she was going to say something, a flash in her eyes that might be anger or fear or probably a little of both. But Jaina pushed Vereesa behind her, unfurling her arms wide as if inviting Sylvanas to shoot her instead.

The cold fury turned to hot rage and Sylvanas very nearly loosed her arrow. She grit her teeth, then lowered her bow, eyes blazing and voice deadly calm. “Do you understand the seriousness of what you’ve just done?”

The tenuous trust that had started to form between them strained like a frayed rope drawn taut and threatening to snap. Vereesa remained unmoving even as Jaina lowered her arms. “It wasn’t as though I left Orgrimmar. I didn’t even teleport and we discussed nothing classified to either the Horde or the Alliance.”

“I do not care if you meet with my sister. I don’t even care if you meet with Wrynn’s overgrown puppy. I care that you went behind my back to do it.” Sylvanas moved her eyes back to Vereesa. “Get her out of here. Now. Or sister or no I will have her head on my walls.”

“I did nothing wrong,” Jaina insisted. Her attempts to calm the situation only made Sylvanas angrier. She let the rage flow through her as Jaina called up a portal.

Jaina murmured a quiet assurance to Vereesa before she literally shoved the protesting elf through it.

Sylvanas almost growled the words once the portal faded. “Nothing wrong? You lied to me.”

“I was trying to respect Vereesa’s privacy.”

“You are my wife. My consort. A representative of the Horde.” How many times did Sylvanas have to remind Jaina of that before it got through her thick skull? Did she have to tattoo it to her forehead? “You lied. To the Warchief of the Horde, you lied to cover up meeting an Alliance representative, alone.”

“Fine.” Jaina folded her arms, lifting her chin defiantly. “I shouldn’t have lied.”

“That is not an apology.” Sylvanas approached Jaina, grabbing her by the shoulder and shoving her against the wall.

“I did nothing wrong! But I shouldn’t have lied about it.” It was like pulling teeth to get Jaina to admit to it, but she finally unbent her pride enough to say through tight lips, “I agree that lying was inappropriate. It won’t happen again.”

That was nowhere near good enough, but it was better. Sylvanas was almost willing to concede that much. Almost.

And then, because she apparently just couldn’t help it, Jaina said, “... Wait a moment. You’re jealous.”

Vindictiveness rose in Sylvanas. If this was the game Jaina wanted to play, Sylvanas was going to twist the knife. Hurt for hurt, pain for pain. “I’m curious. Has little Vereesa given up yet, or does hope spring eternal?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh. You didn’t know?” Sylvanas’s voice was like hardened honey. “She has this adorably vain hope that you’ll realize she’s in love with you one of these days. She’s so very desperate for you to warm her bed.”

Jaina’s expression was one of confusion as she absorbed Sylvanas’s words. “That’s not possible. She’s never… “

This was better. Feeling much more in control of herself, Sylvanas stepped back, enjoying the stark realization in Jaina’s eyes and letting it soothe her. The truth could hurt, and she let a bit of her anger slip through into her voice again.

“I assumed she’d gotten her taste years ago. That makes me feel better. You weren’t unfaithful, you were just committing treason.” Jaina’s nostrils flared, and Sylvanas cut her off before she could speak again. “If anything like this is ever repeated, you’ll never leave Grommash Hold again. Trust, Lady Proudmoore, is like life. It can be lost at the slightest provocation.”

And then, because she was just that kind of petty, Sylvanas purred and reached out, running cool fingers under Jaina’s chin.

“Nathanos is right. You would look lovely collared and chained at my feet.”

Sylvanas could predict what happened next. Jaina’s magic flaring, Sylvanas reacting with all her power as their bedroom was destroyed and the fight took to the streets of Orgrimmar. And she was ready for that, ready and willing for them to beat each other bloody--so she wasn’t prepared for Jaina to grab her by the back of the head, jerking her in and stopping just before their lips touched.

There were no contingencies for this. Sylvanas actually took a step back, Jaina following her and pressing the advantage. She expected the pain of Jaina’s forehead breaking her nose, or a knee to her stomach, but it never came. Jaina almost snarled, yet her lips still looked warm and inviting, almost burning Sylvanas from the heat even without the contact. Desire flared through her, the same as their wedding night a year ago; Sylvanas pushed Jaina back, pinning her against the wall, biting her lip as that unfamiliar feeling confused and exhilarated her. Her desire was colored by anger and she bit Jaina’s lip again, harder, a demand, tasting blood in her mouth.

And then Jaina slipped under her arms and away. Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvanas could see Jaina’s flushed face, her lip swollen and bleeding. She felt that desire only grow, drowning out her anger. Sylvanas almost revelled in feeling something that wasn’t--

Jaina’s words hit her like a bucket of cold water. “I should have fucked your sister.”

Sylvanas’s voice was calm as she replied, despite her fingers digging deep gashes into the stone wall. “Shall I call her back?”

“Why, so you can watch?”

Crushing the chunk of stone still in her hand as she turned, Sylvanas replied coolly, “Get out.”

“And if I went home?”

Fixing her with a glare, Sylvanas didn’t have to threaten to turn Kul Tiras to ash; the threat was writ on her face. “Get out.”

Jaina stared at her a moment, then turned on her heel and marched to the door and out into the Orgrimmar night.

Sylvanas stormed over to shut the door, then stepped outside as she noticed a light powder of snow on the ground. Looking up, Sylvanas saw more falling from beautiful, glimmering runes scattered throughout the city. It was just after midnight; they must have activated the moment it technically became Winter’s Veil, and they must have been in place for weeks to achieve that level of coordination. It was a display of power, careful preparation, and whimsy that could only be the work of one mage in Orgrimmar.

Holding her hand out, she couldn’t even feel it as it landed on her skin and got caught in her hair. Sylvanas stood there, crushed bits of stone still cutting into her fist. Touching her chest with her previously outstretched hand, she rubbed it, unable or unwilling to understand why it hurt.

******

Though the snow fell all day, it never got thicker than an inch, and the temperature never dropped below the norm for Orgrimmar this time of year. Jaina had wanted to give Orgrimmar a silly treat without giving people hypothermia or interfering with mobility in the city.

Happy Winter’s Veil.

Tyra had provided her a healing potion for her lip, and Jaina had taken it. While she was angry enough to leave her lip swollen and bloody, she’d already damaged relations enough; there was no need to make things worse.

After wandering for hours, Jaina noticed that what she’d suspected proved to be true; the Dark Rangers indeed followed her, and had spontaneously stopped hiding the fact that they were doing it.

She had a bitter laugh at that, thinking that ignorance really was bliss. While most of her watchdogs kept to high perches or ‘random’ passes in the street, one in particular appeared to have been assigned to be her direct shadow. Perhaps she always had been.

While Tyra preferred to be on Jaina’s left behind her, this Ranger walked on her right. She said nothing, simply moved into position and proved to be impossible to shake, never going more than thirty yards from her. It was roughly the same distance Tyra usually kept.

Anger made magic crackle along her arms and in her eyes. Jaina folded her arms, pausing in the Valley of Honor. “Tyra, why don’t you go fishing. I’m going to stay nearby in my usual spot.”

Tyra shrugged, then glanced at the Dark Ranger. “She ain’t goin’ go nowhere.”

“I’ll make sure of that.” The Ranger’s voice was softer and higher pitched than Jaina expected. She wondered how old she’d been when she’d died.

Jaina frowned, then teleported to her favorite people watching spot. She watched as the Ranger jumped gracefully to a rooftop and then stepped through the shadows to arrive at Jaina’s side. Her expression darkened as the Ranger sat next to her. “Could I at least have a little space?”

“My Queen is displeased,” was the only answer she got, and Jaina dug her fingers into her robe.

“What’s your name, then?”

“Kalira.”

That was something. Jaina’s eyes flitted in the direction of Grommash Hold, even if it wasn’t visible from here. “Windrunner can shove her displeasure where Nathanos’s teacup resides.”

“She’s not the one that committed treason by inviting an Alliance spy into her home.”

“A spy!?” Jaina stared at Kalira in disbelief. “Vereesa is not a spy. She was here as my friend.”

Kalira held up a finger. “Secrecy.” A second finger. “Cover of night.” A third finger. “No witnesses.” She gave Jaina an almost smug smile. “Explicit intent to gather information without the Queen’s knowledge.”

Jaina pinched the bridge of her nose, then turned her attention back to the Valley. There was a small party of goblins playing a dice game near the water and Tyra put her fishing rod down to join them.

Kalira leaned back on two arms, stretching her legs out in front of her. Her eyes fell to a faint bruise on Jaina’s lip. “For someone who is supposed to be very smart, you don’t always think through your actions. You’re impulsive.”

“The Dark Lady is displeased,” Jaina said, mockingly. She made note that Kalira didn’t call her Warchief. There were some among the Forsaken devout that preferred to think of her as their Queen and Lady. If Jaina wasn’t so upset, she’d almost respect it.

The Ranger shot her a sharp look. “Was it worth it?”

“Was it worth what?”

Kalira simply reached over and tugged loose a thread in Jaina’s robe. She dropped it into Jaina’s lap, and turned her gaze to the dice game below.

******

By mid-afternoon, Jaina had finished wallowing in her own misery, returning to the Valley of Strength in time to watch an Orc dressed as Greatfather Winter handing out presents to a line of children that stretched on as far as she could see. She stopped at that, and found herself smiling; even if she hadn’t recognized him under the beard, she would have recognized the attractive Sin’dorei dressed up as his helper. It was kind of adorable.

The champions had both been on the Windwhistle at the initial meeting and she’d seen them frequently in the Hold meeting Sylvanas for one matter or another, as champions were wont to do. Jaina had been striving to learn the names of every Horde champion she could, much like she knew most of the Alliance Champions.

Galnir and Minuial. She knew they had two children and a reputation for being handsy with each other in inappropriate places. Jaina’s smile faded, as it usually did when she considered the state of her own love and sex life. Something that she’d managed to make immeasurably worse. She twisted the thread in her hand around her finger, eyes lifting to movement at a window above the hold. Sylvanas looked down at her, then closed the shutter pointedly.

“Really?” Jaina almost threw her hands up, but didn’t want to draw attention to herself. “That petty … “

Burying her feelings, Jaina approached the ‘Greatfather’ and gave him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Is there anything I can help with, o’ Greatfather Winter?”

Galnir grunted, then gave her a toothy grin. “Snowball fight.”

“Snowball fight?” Jaina tilted her head, and this time the smile did reach her eyes. She waved her hand and the snow in the Valley of Strength started coming down a little harder and as cold as snow should be. A snowball formed in her other hand and she looked directly at Kalira as volleys of snowballs between children (and one at Galnir from his mate) began to fly.

An alarmed look crossed Kalira’s face just before Jaina’s snowball knocked her onto her rear end.

******

By the end of the night, Jaina’s robes were soaked through from the snow, but she’d managed to make everyone think that everything was okay. Everyone but herself, at least. Even after she’d had dozens of children dogpiling her and had been lifted and thrown by Greatfather Winter into a snowbank, her good cheer was only skin deep. She could feel Sylvanas watching her, could feel the anger and disapproval and something else that all but oozed from the woman’s eyes. When Jaina looked, she couldn’t see her, but she knew she was watching.

She trudged up the stairs with her shadows in tow, letting herself in. Sylvanas wasn’t in, and something told Jaina she wouldn’t see her wife in their quarters for some time.

Kalira followed her in, shaking snow out of her cloak and hanging it up, before sitting in a chair to pull off her snowcovered boots. Jaina stared at her a moment, then sighed and removed her own cloak. “How long.”

“Until my lady says differently,” Kalira said, looking up as she set her boots neatly aside.

Jaina pointed at the couch, then stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door behind her. It was loud enough to rattle the frame, and Jaina hoped Sylvanas could hear it from her sanctuary.

Sliding down the door, she pulled her legs up and wrapped her arms around them. Jaina felt so tired, so worn out, and she welcomed the chill that seemed to go straight to her bones. Pressing her face into her knees, she wondered if she got sick and died, if Sylvanas would allow her a much needed eternal rest; and if not, would that be considered a breach of the compact.

A small head butted against her hand. She stroked Varian’s ears, then pulled him into her arms for several long minutes until the kitten squirmed and she let him go.

Rubbing fresh tears from her eyes, she forced herself to undress and then forced herself into a warm bath. She could hear Kalira settling into the living area, and gripped the edge of the tub until her knuckles turned white.

How dare Sylvanas? How dare she treat her like this? Like some untrustworthy pariah over a single action? Jaina had made a mistake. A serious one, but her actions hadn’t been out of malice or hatred; something that said a lot about how far she’d come.

Jaina touched her lip, the thing she’d tried very hard to ignore all day. She couldn’t say what had sparked it. She couldn’t even say what she’d been planning to do. Her actions were as inscrutable to herself as they likely were to Sylvanas.

But no, she didn’t regret it, and she especially didn’t regret twisting the knife the way she had. Sylvanas deserved that for assuming the worst so easily.

And Sylvanas deserved a lot more than that. Anger flaring, Jaina rose from the tub, in such a righteous hurry that she barely remembered to wrap a towel around herself before teleporting to Grommash Hold. Sylvanas was alone in the sanctuary, laying on one of the couches and reading a document. Jaina’s presence registered, and then Jaina’s state of undress registered.

Something sparked in Sylvanas’s eyes, before she returned to her document. “I know you’re desperate, Lady Proudmoore. The Goldshire offer still stands.”

Jaina ripped the paper from Sylvanas’s hand. “Look. At. Me.”

As if granting Jaina a great favor, Sylvanas turned her head towards her and ran her eyes up Jaina’s body. “Where should I start?”

“At my face.” Jaina closed her towel tighter and fumed when Sylvanas tilted her head back and laughed.

“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re dripping wet and wearing a towel.”

Jaina lashed out, but Sylvanas caught her wrist before the slap could connect. She stood, pushing Jaina back until her arm was at a painful angle as she pressed her against the wall. Jaina grimaced, the pain drawing her attention from how her towel fell from her body.

“If you’re done with your tantrum,” Sylvanas whispered, lips brushing Jaina’s ear. “You should return to our quarters until you’re ready to talk like a fucking adult. While wearing clothing. I hear that helps.”

“If I was acting like a child,” Jaina gasped. “That would have been a frost bolt.” She turned her head away from Sylvanas’s mouth, trying to remember why she was here. “I made a mistake, Sylvanas. That’s no reason to treat me like a leper gnome.”

Sylvanas’s hand rested on her hip, burning like a cold fire as it moved up her side. When Sylvanas said nothing, Jaina continued in a tight voice, focusing on her anger and wounded pride.

“I won’t be treated like a prisoner because you had a fit of insecurity over a puppy crush that was never acted on. Can you honestly say you would be this upset if I’d spent an evening talking to Anduin?”

“This has nothing to do with fidelity, you stupid woman.” Sylvanas’s hand stopped, but her nails dug into Jaina’s ribs.

Jaina squeezed her eyes shut. “Your hand begs to differ. I always suspected you were territorial.”

“Your actions reflect on me,” Sylvanas hissed, canines flashing in the candlelight. “You lied to me, with intent and purpose. You betrayed the Horde. You have placed me in the position of concealing that betrayal, because I cannot risk the peace by allowing you to face the legal consequences of your actions. And you did this for what? Girl talk? This time, your intentions were pure. What of next time? How can I trust that there won’t be a next time?”

Throat bobbing, Jaina forced herself to look into Sylvanas’s eyes. She should have been terrified of what she saw there, but instead her emotions were a complex jumble of sadness, want, anger, and pity.

Acting the adult, Jaina bit back her initial response. She let the energy thrum in the air around them, let it sink into Sylvanas that she was just as angry and hurt and holding back in how much she could do, just like Sylvanas was obviously holding back her own power. But it was a reminder that despite appearances to the contrary, Jaina held more power than Sylvanas.

And then she spoke, voice even. She refused to apologize, but she could admit, just a little, that Sylvanas was not entirely wrong. “It won’t happen again."

Sylvanas glared, and she stayed too-close for just a moment longer before she stepped away. Jaina was unprepared for the sudden loss of support and nearly fell to her knees. She steadied herself.

“Go home, Lady Proudmoore. And if you would be so kind as to confine yourself there, I’ll consider it a gesture of good faith.”

“Until when?” Jaina asked, but Sylvanas had already left the sitting room. Jaina picked up the towel, looking down at it. No matter what Sylvanas had said, this had been far more personal than she’d let on.

Notes:

Switching to Tuesday updates for the rest of the year!

Chapter 14: The Space Between Us

****Thirty-nine Years Ago****

Sylvanas could feel the ring cutting into the palm of her hand from how tightly she clutched it. The pain gave her renewed focus, and she forced her hand to relax. She opened it, staring down at the ring--now bloodied from where it had pierced her skin.

She had more important things to worry about, troll incursions among the most prevalent. Reflecting on a broken heart was not something she had time for. Sylvanas didn’t dwell on such matters. Besides, she had a patrol to start.

“It is a good match,” Feydori said, and Sylvanas closed her fist again before she turned around, face neutral.

Fey was still in her dress. Her hair was pulled up into a bun with wispy tendrils falling around her face. Her hair seemed to glitter from some kind of sparkly magic or enchantment and she’d painted her eyes a dark shade of green to match the forest colors of her dress. She had flowers in her hair and was quite possibly the most beautiful woman that Sylvanas had ever seen. It somehow made the injustice of it all much worse.

“Better than a Windrunner?” Sylvanas asked, coolly. To her everlasting delight, Fey stiffened, throat tensing.

“We already discussed this.”

“Did we?” Sylvanas stalked towards her, the ring biting into her hand again. She came to a stop a few inches from the other Ranger and gods she still wanted her. Sylvanas could feel her body heat, taste her skin, hear her groans breathless in her ears. Feydori was so close and yet out of reach. “What exactly was it we discussed, Fey?”

Frowning, Fey started to answer, “We--”

Mocking and cruel, Sylvanas interrupted her. “‘Sylvanas, how are we to concentrate on our patrols if we’re so wrapped up in each other?’ And I believed you.” She reached up, pulling a flower delicately from Fey’s hair. “The worst part was, you sounded like your mother.”

“Your mother blessed my wedding.”

“Only because she wanted me to marry a magistrate instead.” Sylvanas spoke as though such a thing were beneath her. And it was. She would only ever marry someone who was her equal, and only another Ranger or warrior could come close. But right now, the one she wanted was standing in front of her. Only the one she wanted had chosen someone else, a fact that pained Sylvanas for a dozen different reasons.

Fey should have worn that dress for Sylvanas. No one else. She wasn’t ready to let go of her and she wasn’t sure if she ever would be. It made her bitter and angry, this personal failing, that Feydori could somehow find someone else better than her; and it was easier to focus on that than the raw chasm inside her heart. She’d loved her. She always would.

“It would be easier to have someone to leave behind and watch the kids if they weren’t in combat with you,” Fey said, though her expression soured when Sylvanas didn’t laugh with her.

“Yes, such a lovely delight. Children.” Sylvanas’s expression darkened. “Was that it, then? You wanted children?” Feydori looked away and Sylvanas grabbed her chin and forced her to look at her. “I shouldn’t be learning this now.”

“You’ve never seemed the type to want any. The last time the subject came up you openly sneered at the idea.”

“That was from my father. Did you ask?”

“Do you?”

Sylvanas frowned, then shrugged. “For you, I would have been willing to try.”

“A child deserves more than ‘willing to try,’ Sylvanas. And it wasn’t just that. You’re so focused on your duty to our people that you forget I exist. You’re my best friend and you’re going on patrol on my wedding day.” Fey retrieved the flower from Sylvanas’s hand and placed it into her hair. “And I’m not that much better. We don’t balance as well as we used to.”

“Are you in love?”

Fey didn’t look away, instead locking eyes with Sylvanas and murmuring, “Yes.”

Clenching her jaw, Sylvanas inclined her head, every instinct screaming at her to find some way to fix what could not be fixed. “Be happy then. I’ll be back later tonight.”

“I’ll save some wine for you.”

Sylvanas turned away from her, retrieving her bow from where she’d left it leaning against a tree. She didn’t return that night, nor for many more nights after.

***Now***

The New Year came and went without incident, and the only time over the following weeks that Jaina said more than three words to Sylvanas was when she was required to attend a meeting. It was painful, keeping up appearances. Even touching Sylvanas when it was appropriate to do so grated on her. And it chafed to remain in the Hold or the quarters, but she kept her word, mostly to prove a point.

But eventually that got to be too much. Without waiting to be ungrounded, Jaina left her quarters on the first morning of the Lunar Festival, her shadows falling into step behind her like they always had. Instead of walking into the hold, she crossed the Valley of Strength and turned towards the Drag.

“My lady--” Kalira started.

“I want some street vendor food, and I’m going to have some street vendor food,” Jaina replied, tersely.

“Do you even realize the position you’ve put the Dark Lady in?”

Ignoring Kalira, she turned to the vendor, a taller than average Goblin, and held up four fingers and some coins. “Four sausages on a stick.”

The goblin pulled out four sticks, jabbed them into sausages and then thrust the whole thing into some kind of frying contraption that Jaina feared might explode any second. It took about a minute before they were done, and the goblin held them out, wiggling his eyebrows. “Four long schlongs just for you, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina took two, then looked at Tyra and Kalira expectantly. “For you.”

Tyra started laughing, taking one of the sausages from the gobin. “Not usually my thing but I’ll try anythin’ once.”

The goblin guffawed, then grinned as Kalira took the stick from him almost daintily, staring at the greasy mess as though it were an abomination upon the very earth.

Jaina took a bite out of one of hers, staring at Kalira with a smile until the Dark Ranger took a reluctant bite. Kalira grimaced, chewing slowly, her face contorting through the five stages of grief before she finally swallowed.

The undead elf looked green, and Jaina felt a perverse delight. “Perfect! Come along.”

Then she marched straight for Grommash Hold, finishing off her meal and holding the second sausage, untouched.

“Oh gods, I think I’m going to vomit,” Kalira murmured. “Can I vomit? What foul magic is this?”

Tyra grabbed her by the arm. “Come on, I think she’s gonna give the Dark Lady her sausage.” She doubled over laughing again, slapping Kalira on the back and making her turn even greener.

Kalira gasped for breath she didn’t need. “Quickly, I think she means to poison the Warchief!”

Jaina glanced behind her, grinning devilishly at them both. “Are you coming or not?”

And then she disappeared into the hold, leaving her shadows to catch up. She maneuvered around the elevator, peering into the throne room to check if Sylvanas was there. She was--and even better, she wasn’t alone.

Sylvanas was speaking with several members of the Horde leadership, and she looked up when Jaina swept in. She gave Kalira a questioning look when the Dark Ranger stumbled in after her but Jaina drew her attention by stepping up to Sylvanas and thrusting her sausage in her face. In the most sugary voice she could manage, Jaina said. “I brought you breakfast. Sweetheart.”

Behind her, Jaina could hear the other leaders shuffling about uncomfortably, but she had all her focus on Sylvanas, eyes flashing a challenge at her. A challenge Sylvanas couldn’t very well back down from in front of half the Horde leadership. She reached for the stick, only for Jaina to tilt her head and tap the sausage against her lips. “No no, allow me.”

Jaina waited while Sylvanas considered her options. A large grin spread across her face as Sylvanas took a bite and chewed slowly and surely, then swallowed. In a voice so even that it sent a chill down everyone’s spines, Sylvanas said. “That is… very good. Thank you.”

Then, to rub it in, Jaina turned towards the assembled Horde as Sylvanas took another reluctant bite. She smiled at them. “That will be all, thank you.”

She’d never seen a Tauren, Goblin and Troll flee the Hold so fast. It was almost like they expected some kind of violence.

“Leave us,” Sylvanas said, eyes moving to Jaina’s shadows and the few others still in the hold. She took another bite as she glared at Jaina. As soon as they were alone she smacked the remains of the sausage away. “Do you want me to tie you down somewhere?”

Jaina wiped her fingers on Sylvanas’s cloak before stepping back from the throne. “I’m not a child to be grounded, Windrunner. I go where I please and when I please, as long as I stay within the confines of our compact. I gave you a few weeks to soothe your ego, are you happy?”

“Do not test me. I will ban you from--”

“Please,” Jaina said, giving Sylvanas a mocking curtsy. She straightened, holding Sylvanas’s gaze as she lifted her chin in defiance. “Try.”

That was the sword that Jaina held across Sylvanas’s neck: she could not actually stop Jaina if she chose to leave. She could not stop Jaina from going just about anywhere she pleased. If so inclined, Jaina could destroy her, here and now, and they both knew it. And, apparently, she could humiliate her wife just as easily. Sylvanas stepped down from the dais, moving until she was chest to chest with Jaina. “You are playing a dangerous game, Lady Proudmoore.”

“What will you do to hold me?” Jaina asked. She took Sylvanas’s wrist, bringing her hand to her throat. “Fit me for a pretty collar? That chain you seemed so fond of? Don’t insult me with empty threats.”

“A very dangerous game,” Sylvanas repeated, closing her fingers around Jaina’s throat, a flare of anger in her eyes. Jaina met it with cold disdain, and twisted Sylvanas’s wrist until she let go of her. She stepped away.

“I’m going for a walk. Your pets can come if they want, I don’t really care.”

With another mocking curtsy, Jaina turned, and walked away with her head held high. Neither Tyra nor Kalira joined her for the rest of the day and she didn’t spot a single Dark Ranger.

********

The humiliation rankled Sylvanas and lingered far longer than the taste of that foul sausage. She knew that Jaina would expect some kind of punishment or retaliation, so Sylvanas did nothing.

And it proved to be far better revenge. She watched as Jaina’s confidence wavered, the aside glances as she waited for Sylvanas to do something. Each day, Sylvanas simply greeted her as she always did, making sure that Jaina caught some kind of promise in her eyes. A promise of retribution that would never come.

Jaina was not a woman used to being ignored, and that on top of the subtle threat appeared to drive her crazy. She may have stretched her muscles but Sylvanas made sure that Jaina’s paranoia was not without reason, as she doubled the number of Rangers in Orgrimmar.

Sylvanas couldn’t predict what steps Jaina might take next, so she wanted to make absolutely sure that she was made aware of anything the mage did. She was no longer willing to give any benefit of the doubt that Jaina failed to understand the implications of her behavior. Not when she had exploited the compact’s largest, glaring weakness so efficiently.

Jaina Proudmoore had just proven that she could commit treason with impunity. That she knew this. That she was willing to flaunt it. Unless Jaina’s actions risked a consequence more disastrous than an all-out war of attrition against a unified Alliance, Sylvanas had no recourse but to choke down her pride and keep the violation under wraps lest the warhawks hear of it; as of now, technically, the compact could be considered dead, and there were powerful factions only waiting for an excuse. Even should she decide to retaliate, her options short of assassination were limited. And the assassin capable of killing a paranoid Jaina Proudmoore would be rare indeed...

So she kept it quiet and kept it in, patience fraying and paranoia growing; but hopefully Jaina would be a nervous wreck too before Sylvanas exploded.

“That will be all.” She waved her hand, dismissing the trio of orcs in front of her and not really paying much mind to whatever it was they’d been saying about mounted traffic regulation. In actuality she hated this part of being Warchief. Sylvanas loathed holding court, loathed the day to day activity--she vastly preferred planning and field work. To think, she’d been considering giving her consort a longer leash; Jaina actually enjoyed this nonsense.

Tyra lingered, after everyone had left. “Dark Lady?”

Feeling like the curse of death should not include headaches, she replied, “Yes?”

The warrior’s armor jangled as she shifted on her feet. “Can I speak freely?”

Well that was interesting, and Sylvanas looked in her direction. “Proceed.”

“Have yeh an’ Lady Proudmoore considered… an’ I know this is a tall order but ... yeh know. Talkin’ it out?”

“My dear Tyra, are you suggesting that my consort and I talk to each other like adults?”

Grinning, Tyra nodded enthusiastically. “It’s jus’ yeh were kinda startin’ to get along. A little bit. An’ it’s better for yeh both when yeh do.”

“You mean it’s better for you and the Horde,” Sylvanas remarked, eyes narrowing.

“... well that too. The entire city is kinda on edge. Everyone is holdin’ their breath an’ waitin’ for the spark that ignites the bonfires of war.”

“You’re fond of her,” Sylvanas stated, realizing that Jaina had somehow ingratiated herself in Orgrimmar. That had been the original plan, to prey upon the human’s weakness with close ties. And yet, what if they sided with Jaina, over her, their Warchief?

Sylvanas could count on one hand the number of times in recent months that she’d had to lash someone for disrespecting her consort, and thus her. It was a number that had dropped from the early days.

Tyra just shrugged. “She listens when I talk. She’s… a friend.”

Eyes moving from Tyra to the general direction of the exit to the Hold, Sylvanas considered that. “She has probably begun working Kalira, too…But is it genuine, or is she manipulating us all?”

Tyra stiffened as Sylvanas stood, staring up at her as she loomed over her. “I think she don’t even know she’s doin’ it.”

“Do you remember much of before you heard my voice?” Sylvanas pushed aside some of Tyra’s stringy hair.

“Jus’ a little. Pain, mostly. Cold. Never really went away, but it’s worth it to serve you.”

“Were I to order you to drive your sword into Lady Proudmoore’s back, you’d do it?”

“Without question.” Tyra tilted her head.

Sylvanas studied her a moment longer, then asked, “Is that all?”

“Actually there’s… somethin’ else.” Tyra cleared her throat, a raspy, sandy sound.

“What is it?”

Movement drew her attention above as Kalira seemed to emerge from the shadows and drop to the ground in front of Sylvanas. She remained on one knee, until Sylvanas touched her chin and urged her to stand. Kalira started to unroll a tube. “Some artists have been taking liberties, my Queen.”

Taking the parchment from Kalira, Sylvanas stared hard at it, fury flaring in her eyes. Then she rolled it back up and spoke with the kind of calm that preceded a storm. “Are there any other copies?”

Kalira shook her head. “I put his stall to the torch.”

“And the artist?”

Tyra simply opened a pouch on her hip. “I took his hands.”

“Very good.” Sylvanas stuck the tube under her arm and put a hand on each of their shoulders. “This is never to be discussed again. Understand? Jaina Proudmoore can never know of this.”

They both nodded.

“Good. Take the rest of the day off. Where is my consort?”

“She told me she was going to meet with Bloodhoof in Thunder Bluff,” Kalira said.

Tyra moved to her side, almost too close to Kalira for Sylvanas’s comfort. “I don’t think she’ll be back for several hours.”

Frustration made its way to Sylvanas’s face, and she left the Hold without another word. Once she reached the western cliffs she took the steps two at a time, and let herself into her quarters. Once the door closed behind her, she unrolled the parchment again.

Jaina Proudmoore was posed nude among ice-encrusted shackles, chained and collared in a lewd position with her assets greatly exaggerated. Growling, Sylvanas crumbled it up and held it over a candle until it caught flame. Once it was burned to ash, she started towards the training room to work out her frustrations on an unfortunate target dummy, wishing Tyra had taken more than the artist’s hands. Something intimate and considerably more thematically appropriate, for starters.

The only problem with her plan was the way magic itched at her skin as she realized Jaina was home, throwing frostbolts at one of the dummies.

Chapter 15: Catharsis

Sylvanas stood in the doorway, and Jaina glanced at her. Her presence made her next frostbolt a little more powerful than intended; Jaina had been on edge for some time now and she had been trying to work out her aggression and anger in a healthy manner.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in Thunder Bluff?”

“Baine had something come up that needed his attention, and wandering around Thunder Bluff unaccompanied was not an option.” The dummy spun around as another of her bolts hit it.

“You understand of course that I will be confirming this. If you’d like to change your story, I suggest you do so now.”

Jaina’s dummy burst into white-hot flames in lieu of an answer.

“Pathetic.” Sylvanas chose the other dummy, picking up a practice bow.

“Would you rather I destroy part of Orgrimmar?” Jaina asked, before jerking her chin at the bow in Sylvanas’s hand. It was far less powerful than her normal weapon and Jaina knew she was just trying to avoid putting a hole in the wall or pulverizing the dummy. Still, she mocked. “And what is that, a child’s toy?”

“I forgot about your complete lack of self-control.” Sylvanas picked an arrow up, then flicked her wrist and put it through the eye marking on the dummy. She took another, nocking it. “I am practicing aim, not power.”

“At fifteen yards?” Jaina snorted. “Such is the vaunted skill of Sylvanas Windrunner.”

The bow in Sylvanas’s hand snapped, and she tossed it aside in disgust. “I had hoped you’d be in a mature enough mood to talk, but I’m clearly mistaken. I am going elsewhere.”

Jaina let her active spell dissipate, turning towards Sylvanas and squinting at her. She wasn’t sure what Sylvanas would want to talk about; they hadn’t exactly been on speaking terms lately. But she was suddenly curious enough to make an offer, and drew up a portal. “After you.”

Sylvanas raised her eyebrow, before a grim smile formed on her face. She stepped into the portal, and Jaina grabbed her staff, quickly following.

Lightning crackled in the sky and wind ripped at Jaina’s cloak. There were Kaldorei ruins all around them, plenty of places to use as cover or obstacles and she could hear the ocean down a cliff to the east. She spun her staff. “How did you know I wouldn’t portal you into the Molten Core? Or worse, Genn’s bedroom?”

“You are a cruel woman, Lady Proudmoore, but not that cruel.” Sylvanas unslung Deathwhisper and shot a blast of dark energy into a fallen pillar, obliterating it.

Jaina smirked, a blast of fire destroying the pillar next to it. “You wanted to talk, so talk.”

She watched Sylvanas go through a complex series of trick shots, then replicated it with a combination of fireballs and frost bolts that she could easily cast in her sleep, even managing to ricochet a shot off of a ruined wall and into another. If Sylvanas wasn’t going to go full power, then she certainly wasn’t going to. It was much more fun to discreetly mock and mimic the Warchief then try to outdo her today.

Sylvanas said nothing about that display and made no comment in response to Jaina’s demand. Locking eyes with her, Sylvanas drew another arrow, charging it with dark energy. Jaina tensed as the arrow was drawn back, the ground rumbling behind her as Sylvanas’s eyes drifted to Jaina’s left and then back to Jaina.

Jaina dove to the left as Sylvanas let the arrow fly, inky blackness trailing in its wake. It struck a sea giant in the chest with a resounding blast of air and magic, sending it crashing down the cliff to the ocean below.

“That’s still not talking,” Jaina pointed out. Her magic crackled as all Sylvanas did was smirk at her. She scowled. “Gods, you’re frustrating.”

She flung a spell at the base of a ruined tower, obliterating a murloc that had the unfortunate timing to wander between Jaina and her target.

Sylvanas chuckled. “A murloc seems below your skills.”

“Would you prefer I take a shot at you?”

“You’d never land it.”

Jaina balled up her fists, counting to ten before speaking as calmly as she could manage. “I will not be baited. If you’re so eager to talk, maybe you should start.”

It was driving her a little mad, this game Sylvanas was playing. Jaina had been on edge for weeks waiting for the other shoe; now that it was poised to drop, she just wanted it over and done with. And there was Sylvanas, silent and deadly as she continued to reduce rubble to… more rubble.

Jaina watched her a moment, then stalked over, grabbing Sylvanas by the shoulder. Before she could say anything, Sylvanas had grabbed her arm and flipped her hard onto her back, pressing the heel of her boot onto Jaina’s throat.

The anger in Sylvanas’s eyes was welcome. It was better than the silent calmness that had preceded this moment. She grasped at Sylvanas’s ankle and hissed. “Do it, snap my neck. I know it’s what you want.”

“You are delusional. Say it.” Sylvanas pressed harder, an uncomfortably pleasurable pain shifting to just painful, and Jaina gasped.

“I don’t--”

“Say it.”

Jaina dug her fingers into Sylvanas’s leg, calling up her magic until her hands were hot enough to burn. Sylvanas bared her teeth, but the cold pressure never wavered. It was a pointed statement--we can stay like this all night--and when shoving her off failed again, Jaina gave in.

“I was wrong,” she rasped, and the pressure released. She sat up and rubbed her throat, Sylvanas still towering over her. “I was wrong to go behind your back.”

Stepping back, Sylvanas undid the buckles on her gauntlets, shedding them to the side. Her pauldrons, boots and chestplate soon followed. Only when Jaina pulled herself to her feet did she speak. “The entire compact is predicated on trust. How can I trust you now?”

“I promise--”

“If you think I can take you at your word again, you really are delusional.” Sylvanas propped her bow against an outcropping, then removed her cloak, and two thin daggers. “I can’t be sure that you won’t do this again. Worse, I have no way of knowing this was the first time you’ve met with someone in secret.”

“Now who’s the delusional one?” Jaina studied Sylvanas, then removed the dagger she kept in her boot and stuck it into the ground next to her staff. “I’m followed everywhere. I can’t breathe, Windrunner. I’m so stifled that I can’t breathe!”

“What a poetic excuse for treason.”

“People need their secrets! Their privacy, their friends!” It was suffocating her. Even here, away from everything, Jaina felt as though a great boulder were resting on her chest. “One thing, I just wanted the one thing…”

“We are not people.” Sylvanas said, voice low and dangerous. “We are figures. We are pillars and statues and we tower over the masses who cower at the potential that lays beneath our skin. We are not allowed the luxury of breathing.”

Jaina could feel herself start to shake. She wanted to scream at Sylvanas, or worse. "Easy enough for you to say."

Sylvanas held her arms up in the traditional gesture to start a duel. “No weapons. No powers. Just you and me.”

“What’s the point?” Jaina asked. Whatever Sylvanas might think, she was not actually delusional enough to believe a handful of training sessions would let her match Sylvanas Windrunner in hand-to-hand combat.

Sneering, Sylvanas replied, “Maybe there is no point. Or maybe the only way through this is each other. Does it matter? Your poorly buried anger has done enough damage in Orgrimmar. I’m offering you a chance to leave it here, with impunity. In the unlikely event you actually land a strike, of course--”

Jaina was moving before she even registered what she was doing. Her left hook went wide, and Sylvanas slammed an elbow into her face.

She stumbled back, reeling and tasting blood. Enraged, she jabbed Sylvanas in the ribs; unable to dodge a retaliatory swing she threw an arm up to shield her temple. The blow still struck hard enough to rattle her teeth; blinking away stars, she grabbed the Warchief’s outstretched arm and snapped an open palm into the elbow, resulting in an audible crack.

Sylvanas grappled for her; Jaina slammed her thick-heeled boots down her shin, crushing her foot and distracting Sylvanas enough for Jaina’s palm to impact her nose. Sylvanas stumbled back; Jaina, in a fit of vindictiveness, hooked a foot around the back of her knee. Sylvanas knew how to fall, barely landing on her back before rolling to her feet again. Black blood oozed slowly down her face, a dark mimicry to the red that ran down Jaina’s.

All she could see was red, an anger that burned through her blood and made it easy to ignore the pain in her face. Voice breaking, Jaina screamed. “Come on!”

Her voice echoed, and then Sylvanas moved so quickly that she barely saw her coming. Fingers tugged hard in her hair and a knee rammed into her chest, knocking the air from her lungs. The knee hit her again, and then she managed to grab it before the third blow. Jaina twisted hard and sent them both tumbling down a section of shattered marble roof. She cracked her head off the base of a broken pillar, retaliating for the pain by throwing a blind knee in the general direction of Sylvanas’ stomach.

They hit the ground hard, the impact jarring Jaina’s shoulder, but she managed to land on top of Sylvanas. Acting on instinct Jaina grabbed the Warchief’s bad arm and braced to block the strike that had to be coming--then stopped.

She stared down at her, every breath like agony as blood dripped onto Sylvanas’s face, mixing with the black ooze. There was no satisfaction on Sylvanas’s face. She just seemed tired. Weary. Like Jaina’s actions of late hadn’t just wounded the Warchief but somehow driven a knife straight through to the woman who wore the mantle. And that, more than anything, extinguished the anger.

Sitting up, Jaina wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand. Her ribs screamed in protest as she rolled off of Sylvanas and half-sat, half-laid next to her.

She reached out, pulling Sylvanas up too and then sagging against her. “Just because we’re these pillars doesn’t mean we don’t make...errors in judgement.”

Sylvanas was silent a moment. Her left arm hung limply at her side and she favored her right knee as she shifted her position. She looked at Jaina. “Our mistakes are amplified by the degree of our power and positions.”

“I’m aware of that.” Jaina snorted, then groaned as her face objected. “I’m just not used to being scrutinized in how I handle my friends.”

She screamed when Sylvanas straightened her nose unprompted, cursing her vividly. Sylvanas just chuckled. “Who knew the great Lord Admiral could be so naive. I don’t actually believe that she was there to spy. But it does not matter what I believe. She was there, alone with you. An uninvited representative of the Alliance in my quarters. What do you think would have happened if Nathanos had caught you?”

“We wouldn’t be having this conversation, because he’d be trying to put my head on a pike.” Jaina’s voice was muffled as she covered her nose with her hand. “Wait. He doesn’t know?”

Sylvanas shook her head, and very carefully got to her feet. “What assurances can you give me?”

Jaina looked up at her, then down at the rings on her finger. She stood cautiously, then pressed the Windrunner crest against the anchor around her neck. “I swear on these that I will not intentionally deceive you again.”

She caught Sylvanas when her knee buckled, and slung her right arm over her shoulders. Truth be told, they needed to support each other if they had any hope of getting anywhere. Sylvanas just accepted it the way a cat might accept being picked up, hanging limply off of Jaina.

“Sylvanas?”

“Clever woman." Sylvanas looked between the necklace and the ring. Windrunner and Proudmoore. She took Jaina’s hand, running her finger over the ring.

“You let me win.” Jaina started to call up a portal, swallowing hard.

Sylvanas smirked, the expression ghoulish with the red and black blood on her face. “I was feeling generous.”

“.... Let's go home.”

*******

Anduin was woken from a pleasant dream by the sound of knocking at his door. He sat up, illuminating his room with light from his hand as he called out, “Come in.”

A page peered her head in, flushing slightly as she realized the king’s state of undress. “Lord Shaw wishes to speak with you, your majesty. He says its urgent.”

Anduin nodded. “Thank you, tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”

She bowed, then closed the door behind her as Anduin pulled back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed his face. “Think positively. If it was truly an emergency, Genn would have come through the window.”

Ten minutes later, dressed and armed with a conveniently pre-brewed mug of coffee, Anduin arrived in the war room. The only one present besides Shaw was a tall human woman with red hair. She appeared to be a warrior, sporting a red bandana, her matching armor battleworn, two massive claymores strapped to her back. There were scars on her impressive biceps and her hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail.

She looked familiar and Anduin searched his memory to find her name and where she’d been assigned. “Cenengel, wasn’t it?”

She nodded, giving him a grin and a bow.

“What’s the word from Stromgarde?”

“The walls are strong and the people stronger, your majesty.” She said.

He nodded. Among the many projects that had spun out of the Compact, restoring Stromgarde as a joint effort was among the most risky. A place for both Horde and Alliance citizens that was jointly administered. “And the collaboration with the Horde?”

Cenengel wrinkled her nose. “Do you want my honest opinion.”

“Yes.”

She sighed. “I expected the whole thing to be a disaster. But except for a few stubborn mules it’s been working out.”

“Are you sure you’re not one of those stubborn mules,” Shaw asked, raising his eyebrows.

“Not any more.”

Anduin laughed, and inclined his head. “I’ll let you go, Shaw and I have something to discuss. Thank you for the update.”

Cenengel bowed, and then quickly exited the war room. Anduin watched her go, then turned to his chief of intelligence. “You said it was urgent, but clearly not so urgent that I couldn’t chat with our Champion.”

“She’s our chief liaison to Stromgarde, I thought you’d appreciate the update. She brought another plan to my attention, but I’ll brief you on that later.”

“I do.” Anduin leaned on the war table, looking at Shaw and waiting for him to explain, staring at the markings on the map. An anchor sat in Orgrimmar, and he hoped this had nothing to do with Jaina.

“As I briefed you last time, the situation has been tense in Orgrimmar. An argument between Jaina and Windrunner; over Vereesa’s visit. But two nights ago, one of my spies saw a healer enter the Warchief’s quarters.”

What exactly had happened between them to make this argument last so long? Vereesa hadn’t seen enough to provide any real information and his own personal source hadn’t reported to him yet. Anduin’s heart sank into his stomach. “That could mean anything, Shaw.”

“A Sin’dorei priest; a powerful one at that.” Shaw continued.

His hands clenched at the table as his imagination ran wild. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. “Watch, don’t act. And whatever you do, make sure this does not reach the ears of King Greymane--or especially Lord Admiral Katherine Proudmoore. I’ll not have either of them go ballistic without some kind of proof that Jaina is being mistreated.”

“What other explanation could there be?”

“Training injury? Any number of things.” It sounded weak to his ears, and he knew it. Anduin sighed, heavily. “She told Vereesa she was fine. She told me she was fine. We have to trust her, Shaw. If she wasn’t fine, Orgrimmar would be gone.”

The old spy regarded his king. “And if she isn’t fine and unable to act?”

Anduin’s blood chilled. “Then Stromgarde will only be the first to fall apart.”

He straightened, turning back to Shaw as a shadow passed through his mind. Whispers and doubts threatened to drown him, and he did his best to banish them. “Get some rest, Mathias.”

Mathias Shaw nodded. Once he was gone, Anduin turned to the war table and stared at it. The Joint Administration of Stromgarde. The rapidly growing tree off the coast of Gilneas. Orgrimmar. Stormwind. Each of these and more had never been more at risk.

All those people--and he might have to weigh them against a single woman’s suffering. Burying his face in his hands, he only hoped Jaina could forgive him.

******

Even after hours of healing and a week of recovery, Jaina’s ribs were still sore. Her nose and face were better, at least, if one were to look on the bright side.

Things with Sylvanas weren’t back to the way they had been before, but they were … better. They talked, Sylvanas was home more, and Jaina felt comfortable being in the same room as Sylvanas again, most of the time. But while that tension had eased it was still there, like some kind of charged current between them that buzzed at the back of Jaina’s mind and made her entirely too aware of everything. And she hadn’t yet dared to venture into Sylvanas’s sanctuary.

A day or two in Kul Tiras might make her feel better, and she resolved to ask Sylvanas that night if she could go. But for now, she was wandering the Drag with no particular destination in mind, being trailed discreetly by her two ‘favorite’ shadows.

“Lady Jaina.”

A voice made her turn around, and she smiled when she saw who it was. Minuial had been the priest who’d healed them after their little tit-a-tat, and had tersely scolded them both the entire time, which had been somewhat amusing considering her stature and slenderness.

Jaina supposed even Sylvanas hadn’t been in the mood to find fault with Minual’s tone; or at least she had no desire to punish a woman practically bursting with child.

“Minual. It’s good to see you. I wanted to thank you again.”

Minuial rolled her eyes, shifting one child on her hip as another spun in circles around her. “It’s fine. I'm used to being called to heal people who do not know how to take care of themselves. I married one.”

Jaina smiled, remembering Minuial’s rant about her own husband for about twenty minutes of the healing. “I’m feeling fine, thanks for asking.”

“Good.” Laughing, she handed the younger child to Jaina. He looked up at Jaina; like his older sister his skin was green and his nose large and flat, though his frame was slender and his ears much longer than a typical orc. The girl, barely five years of age, already had piercings, one in her lip and another on her left ear.

As always, when presented with children, Jaina felt distinctly uncomfortable, though the girl at least was old enough that Jaina didn’t mind so much. She looked at Minuial in alarm. “Uhm.”

“Please keep an eye on them, my husband senses are tingling.” Minuial winked one golden eye and then waddled with alarming speed towards the Valley of Honor, leaving Jaina alone with a toddler and a five-year-old.

She looked around, wide-eyed, as if someone might be able to save her. Her shadows seemed to have mysteriously disappeared. “Why does this keep happening to me?”

The girl started to run in circles around her, the boy grabbing at her hair and chewing on the end of the braid.

They were two bundles of sheer chaos and Jaina realized that this was some kind of revenge on Minuial’s part, though she really couldn’t blame her for wanting a break.

She spotted a familiar troll leading a mule train towards the gates and tried to catch her gaze. Surely there was some pity to be had for the woman who’d helped with Millet?

Ihz took one look at her and the girl that was now spinning like a gyrocoptor, called her dog to a sharper heel, and urged her beasts on faster.

Jaina sputtered. “Really?!” She held the boy up, squinting at him. “Do I have some kind of matronly air, is that it? Is that why people hand me their mules and children?”

The boy blubbered something, straining to get ahold of her braid again. While she was distracted by that, the girl suddenly took off like a rocket and Jaina was barely able to keep up with her, grabbing her by the back of her shirt. “Oh no you don’t! Minuial would have my hide if I lost you.”

Any non-orc who married an orc had to have a spine of steel and Jaina wasn’t in the mood to cross this one, no matter how angelic she might appear. “What’s your name?”

“Alami,” she said, lifting her chin proudly. She pointed at her brother. “Khalmir.”

“At least I won’t have to call you ‘hey you,’” Jaina mused, giving up on saving her braid from Khalmir. She would just have to suffer this until their mother returned and despite her complaints, she didn’t mind at all.

Alami seemed to be vibrating with nervous energy, and it gave Jaina an idea. She tugged with her magic, creating an invisible leash of arcane energy that she then looped around Alami’s waist. It would keep the girl within a few meters of Jaina while giving her plenty of room to run around and hopefully exhaust herself. Had she really wanted children of her own, once? Jaina didn’t think she’d have the energy for it now.

She moved into the shade of the drag proper, musing as she watched Alami run and play. Two worlds, brought together in her blood. A bond not born of malice or hate, but of love. She doubted it could be easy for them, even now.

Her heart ached. Though she no longer had desire for children of her own, these two chaotic creatures symbolized that thing she couldn’t have. And when she saw Minuial on Galnir’s arm, that was driven home. As different as they were, as separate as the world of Orcs and Sin’dorei actually were, they looked so happy.

Spotting them, Alami darted in their direction and Jaina let the magical leash fade. Alami jumped and was caught by Galnir, who lifted her onto his shoulders with a boisterous laugh.

Jaina approached them, grateful to hand Khalmir over over to his mother. “You have to tell me your secret about how you can keep up with them.”

“We’re always tired,” Galnir said. Minuial elbowed him, and he added. “And thanks.”

“Just give me more warning next time,” Jaina replied. She let Minuial’s bright smile soothe her, and watched as the family turned to go. But they’d only gone a few yards before Alami made her father put her down, and she ran back to Jaina.

Jaina knelt in front of her. “What is it?”

She pulled something out of her shirt and held it out. It was a little doll made of steel wire and canvas cloth, with a crooked nose made from a button and eyes from some kind of stone. “Protect.”

“You want me to protect her?”

Alami shook her head. “No. Protect you.”

Jaina’s vision blurred, and when she blinked them dry, Alami had already rejoined her family. Standing, Jaina looked down at the doll before she started to walk home.

Chapter 16: Blurring Lines

“Tell me again,” Sylvanas said, closing her eyes and waving her hand like she was wafting a particularly pleasant scent to her nostrils. “I want to savor this.”

“Malfurion Stormrage is unwell,” Nathanos said, a glint of amusement in his eyes despite the evenness of his voice.

Sylvanas fixed him with a pleased smile, feeling something akin to giddiness. “He never did recover from the War of the Thorns, did he. This is almost better than if that traitor had finished him off.”

“My sources tell me that the tree burning nearly drove him mad for a time.”

For a druid as powerful as Malfurion, it seemed likely that he would have been deeply affected by Teldrassil burning. There’d once been a time when Sylvanas had been that in tune with nature as well. Now, of course, she’d lost her green thumb, to have it replaced with one of death and decay. Absently, she looked at her hand, and wished for Jaina to return from Kul Tiras.

She missed nothing of Jaina, of course. It had simply been a calculated risk agreeing to this visit, and she worried the former Lord Admiral might try to spite her by flaunting the Compact. Again.

“Dark Lady?”

“Keep me apprised of that situation. I’ll be sure to send proper condolences when we’re finally rid of that man.” Just because they were now allies didn’t mean she had to like him. He was in all ways her direct opposite, and an irritating reminder of what she’d lost. She’d rather share table with Greymane.

At least Greymane was easily provoked and thus endlessly amusing.

“Would you like to send some now?” Nathanos asked, a sly smile on his face. “Perhaps we could ask Thalyssra to deliver the missive. I understand the two of them have been attempting to mend fences.”

“Now now, Nathanos, let us not be crass. We’ll do so when it’s appropriate. However, I am always happy to provoke Whisperwind when there’s a good reason to.” As long as there were no threats of the Shal’dorei leaving the Horde, Sylvanas would encourage tighter bonds, especially as it would help form more cracks in the Alliance for her to pry apart should it ever prove necessary.

She shifted on the throne, restless with unspent energy. She had in fact been fidgeting all day, though the one person who’d brought attention to it had nearly lost his head.

“She’s late.” Nathanos glared in the direction of the Hold’s entrance pointedly. “If she returns, you should punish her, or worse.”

“She has an hour before the sun sets,” Sylvanas replied lazily. “And she was told ‘by the end of the day.’ Technically, that would be midnight.” Her eyes flicked to her champion, amusement glinting in them. “Perhaps if you were so concerned you could have suggested sundown.”

Nathanos sneered. “She likes pushing you to your limits. She’s a traitor, Warchief. She always has been and she always will be and it’s only a matter of time before she proves it. The question is how much damage she does before you realize that.”

Sylvanas lifted her hand to her nose, remembering the fight. If he knew just how right he was, she would never hear the end of it.

She fixed him with an icy look, her eyes growing darker and redder.It was a bizarre thing, this urge to actually give Jaina that chance and Nathanos’s loaded statements weren’t helping. Her tone was dark, though her words were light. “Nathanos, you declare Lady Proudmoore a traitor if she so much as sneezes.”

“I am merely suggesting that we be cautious where that -- where Proudmoore is concerned.” He bowed his head, though Sylvanas caught something like concern and defiance in the way his jaw tensed.

She got to her feet and approached him, tilting his chin so that he was forced to meet her gaze. Nathanos was toeing a line with his statements about Proudmoore’s trustworthiness, a fact she wasn’t going to forget. Her voice was even, like the edge of a sharpened blade.

“You serve me well, Nathanos. You protect me and you protect the Horde in turn. But Jaina Proudmoore is my consort, and as much as the two of you might wish otherwise, she is Horde. I told you once before; no one may belittle my wife but myself. This is the last time I will say it. When you disrespect her, you disrespect me. Do not test me, old friend, or I might not hold her back the next time you provoke her.”

He said nothing as Sylvanas let go of his face. She regarded him a moment longer, then turned only her head towards the entrance to the hold. “Ah. There she is.”

Something strange and unwelcome rippled through her. Perhaps, just a little bit, she was happy to see Jaina. Dismissing it simply as satisfaction that Jaina had kept to her word, Sylvanas left Nathanos, ignoring his response as she walked out of the hold. Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back as Jaina slowly walked up the ramp towards her. Jaina looked up at her, raising her eyebrows. “What?”

Sylvanas fought back a smile. It wouldn’t do to let Jaina know she was in a good mood. It might go to her head and that was the last thing she needed. “You’re on time.”

Jaina absently grasped her necklace, thumb rubbing along the silver finish. “I’m firmly aware of the value of my word and how easily it can become worthless.”

Fingers on one hand twitching, Sylvanas inclined her head. “Allow me to escort you home.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Jaina narrowed her eyes,then looked around as if expecting some sort of trap. “Are you well? You’re being oddly pleasant.”

Jaina’s confusion and discomfort only made Sylvanas more amused. The only way this day could have been better was if Nathanos had told her Malfurion had died. An idle fantasy at this point, but Sylvanas pondered the implications of that and how she could sway it in her favor. Would prying at a fracture between the Kaldorei and the rest of the Alliance break the compact? Tyrande was certainly more pleasant to look at than just about any of the other leaders of both factions.

“I am just happy to see you,” she said cryptically, brushing past Jaina and not looking to see if she followed.

******

Sylvanas’s welcome had been disconcerting and perplexing, but Jaina chalked it up to Sylvanas trying to unnerve her. It wouldn’t be the first time the Warchief had said or done something to push her buttons. Jaina refused to let it get to her; she had every intention of settling in from her trip and maybe seeing how long she could go before Sylvanas insisted on taking her hair out of its braid.

Jaina had worn it that way specifically for this experiment. If Sylvanas wanted to press her buttons, she had to expect Jaina to push some back. As long as it kept Sylvanas mollified why should she care that her wife had some kind of hair fetish?

Varian was sleeping on her pillow, which was adorable and so she had to disturb him by picking him up. Sylvanas let out a disgusted noise when Jaina cooed at the kitten. “You’ve grown! I’ve only been gone a few days!”

Sylvanas scoffed again and Jaina snickered into Varian’s fur.

She left her bag in the bedroom with Varian clinging to her shoulder, feeling Sylvanas shadowing her as she moved through the quarters and into the kitchen. While Jaina had been used to being served (and could conjure her own meals besides), she enjoyed preparing meals for herself sometimes, too. And it was far too late to bother someone when a simple snack would do. She rolled her eyes at Sylvanas. “If you’re going to loom there, you can help me.”

“Excuse me?”

“Hand me that knife.” Jaina fidgeted, rubbing the tips of her fingers along the counter as she waited, shoulders tense.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, then picked up the knife and handed it to Jaina.

Jaina looked at the knife, not really meeting Sylvanas’s eyes as she tried to fill the awkward silence. “You know, we’ve been married almost three years now. I’ve never asked, but can you still eat?”

Looking taken aback, Sylvanas replied, “Yes.”

“Do you need to eat?”

Sylvanas shrugged, pursing her lips. “It is complicated. Most food lacks taste.”

Jaina sliced into a loaf of bread, the kitten’s soft purr in her ear soothing. “I mean, do you require sustenance? Fuel for your body? Or are the rumors true and you drink blood and feast upon the souls of children?”

She was rewarded with the faint hint of a smile on Sylvanas’s face as Sylvanas replied. “Unfortunately, nothing quite so morbid. When I cannot naturally regenerate my energies, a tasteless meal will suffice.”

“Hmm.” Jaina pointed to the counter next to her. “Come here, I’m going to teach you how to make a sandwich.”

“To think, a noblewoman like yourself, enjoying herself in the kitchen.”

Ignoring Sylvanas’s mockery, Jaina grabbed her hand and pulled her to the counter, barely taking any breaths as she spoke, “I’ll have you know my family and my people pride themselves on survival and self-sufficiency. Everyone learns basic cooking skills, everyone learns how to sew and repair clothing in the field and especially at sea. And cooking is fun. I don’t do it nearly often enough, but then, I think I’m only a passable chef-- Sylvanas, it’s a bread knife not a dagger, you’re holding it wrong.”

Sylvanas adjusted her grip on it as Jaina showed her. “Striders and Rangers knew how to prepare meals.”

“Yes, but making a meal in the wilderness is a lot different than preparing one at home.” Jaina made an almost delighted sound as she realized, “You always relied on servants, didn’t you.”

Not allowing Jaina the satisfaction of a response, Sylvanas instead slapped some meat between two slices of bread and held it up. “A sandwich.”

“That’s not how..... Give me that.” Jaina took the offending thing away from Sylvanas, took it apart, and prepared it properly. Only after she’d handed it back did she notice the smirk on Sylvanas’s face. Jaina laughed and poked her shoulder. “You bitch!”

Sylvanas’s low, rumbly chuckle sent a jolt through Jaina, heating her face as she set Varian on the floor with a quick meal of his own, grabbed her plate and made a beeline for the living area, where it was safe. She pretended to ignore her wife as she curled up on the single reclining chair and pulled out the latest book she’d been reading.

Sitting across from her, Sylvanas took a bite from the sandwich. She ate slowly, brow furrowed. Jaina watched her out of the corner of her eyes, consumed with curiosity and highly amused at the great Sylvanas Windrunner eating a sandwich with something like insecurity. “How is it?”

Eyes focused on her fingers rather than Jaina, Sylvanas said, “It was satisfactory, for tasting like sawdust.”

But she licked her fingers clean, and Jaina felt her stomach tighten at the sight. She certainly couldn’t read with Sylvanas doing that. She barely noticed the cat had finished eating, though she noticed when he used his claws to climb up her leg to her lap.

Sylvanas got up after another moment, moving behind Jaina’s chair. As slim fingers threaded through her hair, Jaina’s eyes flicked to the clock; it had taken about forty-five minutes.

It could almost have felt...nice, except that the idea of enjoying anything Sylvanas did to her still made her a tad queasy. So, rather than give her the satisfaction, Jaina feigned an irritated sigh, turned her page with exaggerated indifference, and listened to Varian’s soft purring as she settled in to read

***Thirty-Three Years Ago***

Sylvanas flexed her fingers, and smiled. They were without pain today, and she’d regained the full movement of her hand. A skirmish a few months ago had left her badly injured, but now, at last, she could return to the duty that she loved so much. The defense of her people; her homeland.

She had a patrol scheduled tomorrow and looked forward to it; sitting around doing nothing had been driving her crazy. The healers had been very clear on what could happen if she didn’t follow their directions, however, and the thought of losing some use of her hand had been worrisome enough to keep her mostly in line.

Fortunately she’d had some help, even if that help was a mischief-maker entirely too much like her mother Feydori.

Fey… Sylvanas still couldn’t look at her without feeling some heartache, or at her daughter without another sort of pain. And yet she would not give either of them up for anything. Friendship or love, Sylvanas would keep Fey in her heart for as long as she lived. Even if she might still hope, on occasion, that when Fey was done with mourning her spouse that she might look her way again.

Which was selfish and vicious and exactly why Sylvanas would never voice the thought out loud. But waiting… Sylvanas was good at waiting.

She heard the movement before the horns of the Ranger General rang out. Sylvanas stepped out into the street, cloak billowing behind her as she walked towards the inner walls.

A blur ran past her and her hand snapped out, grabbing the girl by the back of the neck. “Child, how does the Heir to the House of Sundreamer act?”

Looking abashed, the dark-haired girl replied, “Like a lady?”

Sylvanas tilted her head, one eyebrow raised.

The girl tried again. “Like a warrior? No, a lady and a warrior.”

“Very good.” She let go of her, the exhausting girl having to jog to keep up with Sylvanas’s long strides.

They arrived at the gate, and Sylvanas signaled the guards to let them pass. She could see her mother’s patrol gathering together for their briefing. Putting her hand on the top of the girl’s head she guided her through until they reached Lireesa and Feydori.

She exchanged a pleasant nod with her mother as Feydori’s eyes darted between her own child and Sylvanas. “Auditioning?”

Sylvanas smiled back at Feydori. “And if I was?”

Fey got a twinkle in her eye that had been missing in recent months. She held her hand out until Sylvanas clasped it. “Keep an eye on her, will you?”

Quashing a faint surge of hope, Sylvanas nodded. “I will watch her as if she were my own.” Her hand tightened on Fey’s. She added just in case, just so that they could both be clear. “No matter what you need me to be for you, I’ll be here.”

She got a squeeze back, and Fey nodded once. “When I return...We should...”

The order to mount up sounded, and she gave Sylvanas an apologetic look for being unable to finish voicing her thoughts, before kneeling to give her child a quick kiss on the cheek. “Try not to drive Sylvanas too crazy. We need her to defend Silvermoon. She’s our best line of defense and as long as she lives our people will never fall. Listen to her as you would listen to me.”

Fey gave Sylvanas a quick glance and a smile, and Sylvanas folded her arms as the Rangers prepared to depart. She turned her attention to her mother as Lireesa led the Rangers into the forest, feeling a strange sense of foreboding as they disappeared from view. She shook the feeling off, then looked down at the girl standing next to her. “I’ve got duty on the walls tonight. Would you like to join me?”

“Maybe I can see mother from there,” she decided, and smiled up at Sylvanas.

“I am certain we will upon their return,” Sylvanas promised, smiling back at her. “And if you’re very good, you may join me on patrol tomorrow. We should be back with plenty of time to spare before your mother returns to yell at me.”

Chapter 17: Proportional Response

It was nigh impossible for Jaina to keep a straight face as Sylvanas met with the other Horde leaders, a purring kitten in her lap. Varian was about five months old now, fast approaching the size of an adult and, apparently, capable of making the jump up to the Warchief’s throne. It would still be easy enough for Sylvanas to move him, and yet she didn’t.

As if feeling her eyes on her, Sylvanas looked back at Jaina without turning her head, almost challenging her to say something.

Judging from the nervous reactions of everyone who came in today, Jaina suspected that Sylvanas was enjoying unnerving people and so she said nothing about it. Instead, she listened as matters relating to food rations and an impending strike among the Bilgewater workforce were discussed.

Someone had gotten it in their heads to form a workers’ union. Jaina didn’t bother to hide her approval of the idea.

Sylvanas ran her hand down the cat’s back as she said, “I would suggest reminding Gallywix that when I request his presence, he should come himself instead of sending a representative. Trade Princes can easily be replaced. Though should he be… challenged… I would not be able to take sides in an internal Bilgewater matter.”

The goblin straightened, nodding her head once before replying. “I’ll be very happy to deliver that message for ya, Warchief. ”

There was a glint in her eyes, and Jaina tilted her head as the goblin stepped back, murmuring so only Sylvanas could hear. “Trade Princess Harlene Quixie has a nice ring to it.”

Sylvanas’s lips quirked, and she didn’t look in Jaina’s direction as she spoke up. “If there is no other pressing business?”

Baine shook his head. “We’ve covered everything, Warchief.”

“Very well.” Apparently disinclined to stand, Sylvanas nodded her head.

Jaina cleared her throat. “We’ll convene again as usual in a month’s time, barring emergencies. Would you gentlemen, and lady, like a portal?”

Harlene shook her head. “I’ve got a ride waitin’, doll face, but thanks.” She winked, then strode out of the Hold as Jaina summoned up portals to Thunder Bluff and Silvermoon. Granted, both Baine and Lor’themar had other means of travel, but Jaina liked to keep in practice.

Besides, she took a certain amount of satisfaction in the way Lor’themar edged warily through that portal. Baine shook his head, then inclined it in their direction. “Warchief. Lady Proudmoore. Varian.”

Jaina fought back a giggle as the Tauren grinned at her just as he portalled away. She kept her very best straight face on as Rokhan bowed and mimicked Baine’s words before he walked out.

Nathanos stepped out from his corner looking somewhat less than amused. Varian lifted his head and hissed at him. Sylvanas rubbed his ears as a reward and chuckled. “Well that was fruitful.”

“Gallywix will not roll over easily,” Nathanos noted. He refused to acknowledge the kitten, no matter how hard Jaina had tried to force him to lately.

“No, he won’t,” Jaina agreed. “And while it’s true that Sylvanas cannot weigh in for or against him, I myself am quite popular with a number of merchants.”

“A few well placed pieces of gossip…” Nathanos looked like he’d eaten something foul as he tried to think of some argument against the idea. Jaina knew that this being her suggestion grated on him. “It would be a very effective tool in raising the prospects of Gallywix being unfit and Quixie being better suited to guide the Bilgewater in this new world order.”

Jaina knew that he had a hard enough time with her being useful and she couldn’t help but twist the knife. “Thank you, Nathanos. High praise indeed. I’ll get on it when I see Enda tomorrow for a fitting.”

Nathanos just seethed in silence.

“I think I’ll take a walk,” Jaina decided. She smirked at Nathanos, then at Sylvanas, before walking out of the Hold and leaving Varian purring in her wife’s lap. She stopped outside, and counted until Tyra appeared at her left. “Took you longer that time. Where’s Kalira?”

Tyra shuffled one foot, then shrugged. “Warchief has her doin’ somethin’ else today. So it’s just us.”

Starting to walk, Jaina smiled mischievously. “Why Tyra, you sound disappointed.”

“No I don’t.”

“Mmhmm.” Jaina shook her head in amusement and started for the Drag. After a minute, she changed her mind; an expedition was being planned for some uncharted lands near the Maelstrom, and she wanted to check on how far along the preparations had gotten.

She exited through the main gates, taking the road that led to the sea. Supplies lined either side of the road. Knowing that the plan was for fifteen soldiers, four specialists and a champion, she estimated they had enough to last them a month.

Spying a familiar face, Jaina walked over and stroked the nose of Millet the mule. Five more fuzzy noses pressed forward hopefully, the rest of the train snuffling at Jaina’s pockets in search of treats--save for one dark brown jenny that pinned her ears back suspiciously and visibly measured the distance between her teeth and Jaina’s arm. Jaina ignored her in favor of rubbing her knuckles between Millet’s eyes. “Well hello there. Are you going on an adventure or just making a delivery for the expedition?”

Her mistress’s head popped up from a pile of crates. “Jus makin’ the delivery. Don’t you go givin’ your wife any damn ideas, Lady.”

From her tone, Jaina suspected Ihz had experience with trying to keep a seven-mule string healthy and sane in the hold of a ship and would be willing to do anything up to and possibly including arson to avoid repeating the ordeal. But she also knew if Ihz hung around for too long there was a good chance Sylvanas would task her with joining the expedition regardless; few were as skilled at managing a convoy as she was.

Jaina tapped her lips as Ihz clambered over a pile of water barrels to join them, trailing a dust-colored shepherd mutt that she idly slung an arm around as she settled on a crate. “Do you think I could commission you to take some machine parts and lumber orders up to Ashenvale, and bring back, say, furs from the hunters there?”

Ihz squinted, eyes darting from Jaina to the direction of the sea and back. She nodded slowly, as if afraid to attract attention by moving too fast. “Aye, Lady. Never too early to prepare for winter. Snowed last year, didn’t it mon?”

“Very good! I’ll have everything ready for you by tonight. It’s just a shame that you’ll have to miss the expedition’s departure.”

Ihz’s tusks glinted as she smiled. “Too bad about dat. Breakin’ poor Nettle’s heart, every Mulgore-bred working dog loves bein’ trapped in a closed space in th’ middle of the damn ocean. But if da Warchief’s consort insists...”

Winking at her, Jaina started down the road. Besides supplies for the expedition, there was a camp on the south side of the road where foodstuffs and weapons delivered by sea had been carefully stacked for delivery into Orgrimmar proper for the city guard. Jaina noted ten guards, and nodded at them as she passed. With fishing grounds becoming harder to find, prices had gone up across the board as demand rose. Dockworkers in particular were overextended, and the Bilgewater Goblins had been hit harder than most.

Considering the obscene luxury that Gallywix lived in compared to those workers, it was no wonder they’d organized; Jaina had seen several pieces of graffiti depicting a line of Goblins in front of a Gallywix turning on a spit.

Hopefully her efforts on behalf of Harlene would have enough of an effect to make change before they literally tried to eat the rich.

Even if Gallywix did deserve it.

A commotion behind her made her turn around in time to see a young orc carefully climbing out of the supply camp, a bag of fruit over his shoulder. He got about three feet before one of the guards caught him by the arm and jerked him off his feet.

Jaina had to marvel at the boy’s ability to sneak in, even if he hadn’t quite made it out.

He was thin and scrawny, and very real proof of the effect that rationing could have, especially on the poor. But he’d just tried to steal from the city guard while all of Orgrimmar was under strict rationing, and Jaina had a horrifying realization of what could happen to him.

The punishment for this kind of theft was twenty-five lashes.

The guard was holding the boy by the back of the shirt, looking somewhat uncomfortable and conflicted as Jaina approached. He glanced at her, then at the boy, almost pleading at her with his eyes.

In no way would Jaina allow this boy to be whipped. She started to order the guard to let him go when a cold chill ran down her spine.

“Whatever you are about to say, don’t.” Sylvanas appeared next to her, eyes focused on the boy. She turned her gaze to the guard. “Explain yourself.”

“This boy was in the supply camp. He was trying to steal a bag of apples.”

Sylvanas raised her eyebrow. “Are you telling me this boy made it past ten guards? How close did he come to escaping?”

The guard hesitated before he answered. “He made it past the perimeter by three or four feet. Nothing was lost.”

Jaina looked at Sylvanas, feeling a growing sense of unease. She couldn’t possibly be considering actually punishing the child, could she? Twenty-five lashes from an oxwhip--grown Tauren had died from less.

“Take the thief to the Valley of Strength and set up a whipping post. Stealing food from the guard cannot go unanswered.” Sylvanas turned, cloak fluttering behind her.

“Warchief,” Jaina said, rushing to catch up with her. She barely restrained herself from grabbing her arm and kept her face as impassive as possible. “He’s just a child.”

“Are you questioning my orders in public?”

“No, of course not. I just--”

“Then be silent.”

Jaina closed her mouth before she said something she regretted. She looked down at her hands; they were shaking, and it was becoming difficult to breathe.

Once inside the city, Sylvanas called out. “Would this boy’s mother step forward?”

A tall orc stepped out of the gathering crowd and Jaina’s eyes widened as she recognized the blacksmith that she‘d ogled more often than not. She swallowed a choking sound.

“Your son has been caught stealing from the Horde. The punishment for this crime is lashing.”

Sylvanas’s eyes moved to Jaina; a blood red that rooted her to the spot. Memories rose like bile in her throat, overwhelming her shock.

Jaina’s strained to give strength to her voice. "Consider mercy, Warchief.”

The Valley was ominously silent. Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back. “My consort has a soft heart; an affliction I do not share.”

You’ve just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas.

Jaina?

I'm sorry, Arthas. I can't watch you do this.

“Warchief,” Jaina repeated, voice shaking.

“Appropriate justice must be administered, my dear.”

There was something in Sylvanas’s voice that Jaina couldn’t quite catch as oppressive coldness ran through her veins.

You have always been naive, my daughter.

You don’t understand!

I understand more than you suspect, my dear. Perhaps in time, you will too.

Once more Jaina pled for mercy unheeded. Not again. Not again.

Just as she was about to offer herself in the boy’s place, Sylvanas spoke. “Five lashes may teach the mothers of Orgrimmar to control their spawn.”

Wordlessly and with her chin high, the blacksmith peeled off her shirt and took her place at the command board.

Jaina looked at Sylvanas in confusion, still feeling that wave of panic and the voices of the past in her ear. She couldn’t process what was happening; nothing made sense to her right now.

“As for the child. A six year old boy infiltrated a military camp staffed by elite guards, stole supplies, and nearly escaped undetected. Guard Captain, rogue trainees and their immediate families are entitled to an extra one-fourth ration, correct?”

The guard still holding the boy nodded, barely containing his relief. “Yes, Warchief.”

The mother looked back at them, pride on her face, and Sylvanas nodded once at her, then again at the guard.

He put the boy down, murmured something to him, then unhooked his whip as he approached the blacksmith.

No sound followed save five cracks of the whip. Neither the mother nor her son cried out, and Jaina refused to look away.

******

Sylvanas allowed Jaina to offer to get the blacksmith a healer, knowing the outcome. As expected, the offer was refused. The orc would wear those scars like badges of honor; they were a small price to pay for her son.

Jaina left the Valley, returning to their quarters. Sylvanas lingered a few minutes longer, issuing some additional orders about the training of the boy, before she followed her consort home.

Jaina was braced against the counter, staring down at a glass half filled with amber liquid in front of her. She turned to look up at Sylvanas, confusion and pale terror on her face.

Sylvanas ran her hand along Jaina’s cheek. “I never had any intention of having a child flayed alive. I may be a monster, but even I have standards. Besides. Whipping a six-year-old to death would accomplish nothing but riots in the streets.”

It wasn’t just the boy that was distressing Jaina; not with her clammy skin and the cold sweat on her brow, not with the violent trembling in her hands, there was something more there. But the mage was silent on the matter and Sylvanas weighed the benefits of pushing it versus letting Jaina come to speak on her own.

“You showed mercy,” Jaina said, finally.

“Do not sound so surprised.” Stepping away, Sylvanas took a swig from Jaina’s bottle before placing it back on the kitchen counter.

“Forgive me, since typically no one listens when I suggest it.”

The bitterness in Jaina’s voice was familiar to Sylvanas, like something she usually only acknowledged deep within herself. “You were about to say something when I gave the order for the mother. What was it?”

Jaina stared at her a long, hard moment, then leaned back against the counter. “I would have accepted the boy’s punishment in his place.”

Anger flared through Sylvanas, mixed with respect and even a little pride. “Jaina Proudmoore, daughter of the sea, submitting to the lash for an orc child.”

Lifting her chin, Jaina held Sylvanas’s gaze. “Yes.”

“You realize that by virtue of being my consort I’m the only one of high enough rank to wield that whip.”

“The thought had occurred to me, yes.”

“I can’t tell,” Sylvanas said. “If it would have been a brilliant tactical decision on your part, or a fatal error for all of us.”

Jaina’s face flashed through a variety of emotions before she sighed and acknowledged, “I also realized that taking the lash for the boy could have ignited the people of the city to support me. Your hand on the whip might have turned them against you. To be honest, I considered it a worthwhile risk.”

Irritated by the response, Sylvanas left the kitchen, the infernal cat trailing after her. She’d expected Jaina to have acted entirely out of selflessness without thinking of the consequences, but she should have known the mage would have been aware of them and not cared. Somehow, that was worse than being unaware.

She nudged the kitten away as she took her cloak back off the hook. “For the record, Jaina, I am glad you did not speak up fast enough.”

Jaina peered out of the kitchen door curiously.

Sylvanas closed the door, muttering, “You’ve enough scars as it is.”

******

Pained had lived a harsh life, always at the forefront of any battle. It had left her body scarred. Sometimes, on those rare nights when Pained warmed her bed, Jaina would trace those scars with her fingers or her mouth. Each told a story, and Jaina would never be able to hear each one. And that was okay.

“What are you looking at?” She propped herself up on an elbow, mirroring the Kaldorei’s position.

“What happened to you, my lady?” Pained’s eyes narrowed, her face twisting into disgust.

The look tore at Jaina’s heart. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“I died and you’re breaking bread with my murderers, laughing with them in the streets. Didn’t I mean anything to you?”

Part of Pained’s face shattered into fine purple shards when Jaina touched her, prompting Jaina to scream and scramble back, falling out of the bed.

She stood, no longer in bed in her tower, but standing in the ruins of Theramore. Ghosts surrounded her. Some pointed, others jeered. Murderer, they called her. Traitor.

Kinndy stepped out from between General Marcus Johnson and Janene. The gnome prodigy stared up at Jaina, fear in her eyes. Jaina swallowed, memories of her apprentice flooding her mind. She hadn’t asked for one, had been reluctant at first, but had come to enjoy mentoring the young woman. She reached for her and Kinndy blew away on the wind, forever out of reach.

“Is this why I sacrificed myself for you? So you could serve the Horde?”

Rhonin’s voice made Jaina choke back a sob. She turned to the Archmage, to Vereesa’s husband. “I’m keeping the peace, Rhonin.”

He shook his head at her. “Keep telling yourself that. I’m sure it will comfort you while you warm Windrunner’s bed.”

Jaina blinked away tears, finding herself standing on the Broken Shore. No, no, not this too. She stared at the broken shell of a man who had been King Varian Wrynn. “I’m so sorry. I should have been there. I could have gotten you all out.”

“Where were you, Jaina?”

“Legion forces had…” Jaina trailed off. What did it matter? She should have let the combined Alliance and Horde forces deal with that other beach. It would have been a simple matter for her to portal Varian and everyone else to safety.

“You left us. When we needed you the most, you left us.” He advanced on her, pointing a ghostly image of Shalamayne at her. “I died to cover our retreat, and then you just left.”

Jaina drew herself up. This, this was too far. In a thundering voice she shouted, “There were a hundred fronts all across Azeroth! I slayed thousands of demons to keep Alliance lands safe while Horde and Alliance bickered and the Champions fought back the Legion’s main force! Villages and cities burned and I protected them, Varian! I didn’t seek glory or praise, I just did what I had to do.”

Just like she had when she’d placed her hand on Sylvanas’s arm and agreed to be her wife.

Varian faded and Jaina stared into her father’s face. She wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand; after everything else she’d just witnessed, he was almost anti-climactic. “Get on with it, father.”

The familiar refrain of her nightmares and guilt spilled from his mouth. How she was Thrall’s whore, how she disgraced her family, her country and her entire race. It hurt, as it always did, but the ache was duller than it used to be. She’d put much of this behind her. The other wounds were fresher and lacked the salve of making amends with her mother and her people. Her subconscious should have ended with those if it truly wished to torment her.

Daelin Proudmoore could no longer haunt her. She smiled as he faded from view and said to no one in particular, “Besides, you’re behind the times. Shouldn’t it be Sylvanas’s whore now?”

Jaina’s eyes snapped open. Sweat coated her skin, soaking her nightdress thoroughly, her skin burning and her eyes raw and blood shot.

Hands stroked through her hair and she was pulled in against skin so cold that she gasped in shock.

Sylvanas said nothing, merely stretching out beside her like a silent, elf-sized ice pack. Jaina let herself be pulled in, the chill soothing her pounding heart only for her body to feel warm for entirely different reasons.

Wordlessly, Sylvanas trailed her fingers down Jaina’s cheek, across her neck, down to her throat then over to her bare shoulder and back again.

Gradually, Jaina started to calm and relax, until she felt comfortable enough to throw her arm around Sylvanas’s waist and draw her hips in until they were flush with Jaina’s. She felt Sylvanas go rigid for just a moment before resuming stroking her hair.

Burying her face into the crook of Sylvanas’s neck, Jaina noted that Sylvanas had warmed up to match her body heat, and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

Chapter 18: Abandoned Pretenses

***THREE YEARS AGO***

For nearly an hour Sylvanas stood with her Dark Rangers, watching the dust settle from the departure of her sisters and contemplating why she hadn’t slain them as she’d originally planned. A weakness? Sentimentality? Or just not yet the right time?

Realizing she didn’t have an answer for herself, she let out a breath that she hadn’t needed to take and stepped into the doorway of Windrunner Spire. “Stay here.”

Her family home had been ransacked, furniture and belongings flung everywhere. The Scourge had no need for looting; but they had a taste for destruction, and the first level had seen the brunt of it. That didn’t matter. Anything that might have once been important would be on other floors.

Ascending the stairs, Sylvanas looked into her mother’s room. A chest had been broken open and the dresser had tipped over, but it was otherwise as she remembered it. Anything of value had long ago been split between herself and her sisters, so she moved on.

Alleria’s room told a similar story, though Vereesa’s had been warded like Sylvanas’s, so was more intact. Sylvanas broke the ward and searched around, but found nothing that interested her. When she left the room, she hesitated; then restored the warding.

Her own room was one more level up, and here the scourge had never reached. Adventurers had tried though. Sylvanas could tell by the attempts to break through the wards, and then when that failed an effort to break through the wall.
She stepped past a dwarf skeleton holding a drill, and brought the wards down.

Stepping into her room was like stepping through time. Sylvanas clenched her fists, then slowly relaxed them as she approached a mirror. It hung on the wall near the window, the woman who stared back at her a dark mockery of the person she’d once been.

Growling, Sylvanas ripped the mirror down and threw it against the opposite wall, then punched her hand into the space where the mirror had been.

She pulled out a small box and opened it. Inside was a single ring. Her mother’s ring. The ring that had once been meant for Feydori Sundreamer, an (un)lifetime ago. Sylvanas slipped it into her pocket and walked over to an armoire, sliding it open. She rifled through the clothing, remembering each and every article, until she found a dress. Low cut, with slits up the sides save for the waist and shoulders. Something she’d once thought to wear for Fey.

So, like the ring, it was stupid, frivolous, and sentimental.

Slamming the armoire shut, Sylvanas called out, “Kalira.”

“Yes, mother?” The daughter of Feydori Sundreamer stepped into the room, boots crunching on the broken mirror. She regarded Sylvanas with both reverence and hate.

Sylvanas stared back at the Dark Ranger. Sentimentality was for fools. “Your mother is dead. Remember that.”

“Of course… dark lady.” Kalira bowed her head. She’d grown to look so much like Fey in life and still resembled her where it mattered in death.

Sylvanas gestured around her, pointing out the armoires and chest in particular. “See to it these things are stored in Silvermoon with the Sundreamer crest. I trust you to be discreet.”

“Still attached to the trappings of the past, mo--my lady?” Kalira opened the armoire, fingering the fabric of a dress that had once been Feydori’s. She turned her head, gaze boring into Sylvanas, anger and hatred eclipsing the reverence and love.

“Just do it, daughter,” Sylvanas commanded, the weight in her pocket dragging her down to places she’d rather not dwell upon. She left the room before Kalira Sundreamer could respond, ghosts whispering in her ears.

***Now***

The party for the second anniversary was larger than the one for the first. With the wheels of trade finally starting to turn Sylvanas had ordered rationing to be reduced, and kicked off the new policy with a new, yearly celebration. After all, one shouldn’t feast when the populace was starving.

Numerous tables had been set up with food laid out for anyone to sample. Bards and performers played at the outskirts, and two large areas had been cleared for dancing. Carnival games lined the area near the inn, and a Tauren woman was engaged in a tug of war with about a dozen children, who were valiantly trying to avoid being pulled into a pit of mud. It was almost cute, if Sylvanas could ever acknowledge that concept.

There was just a single hitch. She noted a steady stream of goblins; the Bilgewater workers had been engaged in strikes for weeks, and it seemed they were attending the party in shifts so as to always have people on the picket lines. Sylvanas had to give Harlene Quixie points for cleverness, nodding once at her when their eyes met.

She’d chosen something less warlike this time. While it would take a truly special occasion to get her back into a dress, Sylvanas wore tight black trousers, with kodohide boots dyed purple. Her tunic was of a sort that buttoned up, white, and she’d left the top four buttons undone. She’d finished it off with her favorite ranger cloak.

The dashing look turned heads, which for once she didn’t mind.

Sylvanas took a position where she could monitor the scene. She spied Tyra and Kalira in a corner, standing far too close for her taste. They were swaying. It was almost like they were dancing. The glass Sylvanas was holding cracked under the force of her grip and she set it on a wall, striding towards them to put a stop to whatever that was; but movement and a low murmuring among the crowd made her stop short.

She turned to see Jaina and what little air was usually kept trapped in her lungs expelled in a raspy breath.

Jaina wore the dress that Sylvanas had gifted her nearly two years before; a gift she’d all but forgotten about. It clung to her body like a lover’s caress, held in place by a thin belt. It was slit up the right side from hem all the way to just below her shoulder, and the other side was slit from the waist up. The neckline curved low, Jaina’s necklace glinting on her throat and pointing towards the space between her breasts.

Worse, her hair was down, falling past her shoulders and swaying across her bare back. Sylvanas had known how much skin would be exposed in that dress--for that reason alone she’d not expected Jaina to ever put it on. It had almost been a challenge.

A challenge that Jaina had not just risen to, but excelled at.

Sylvanas shouldn’t have expected any less. Her irritation at whatever flirtation Kalira and Tyra were engaged in faded, replaced by irritation at herself; she found it impossible to look away and the more other people stared at her consort, the greater her irritation grew.

She felt a strange vulnerability as Jaina stared back at her, eyes roaming. Like she’d been exposed, revealing a part of her she’d thought had rotted away long ago.

Only when Jaina started walking towards her did Sylvanas realize she’d been rooted to the spot. The confidence in Jaina’s eyes, the sly, teasing smirk on her pouty lips, the way torchlight gleamed on her skin and the breeze blew in her hair made it impossible to turn away.

Jaina Proudmoore had challenged her and she had no choice but to rise to the occasion. Her left hand went to Jaina’s hip, skin burning at her palm. The other ran up Jaina’s arm to her shoulder.

That teasing smirk turned into a sly smile, and the only thing giving Jaina away was the flush on her cheeks and the fact that Sylvanas could hear the thundering of her human heart. She moved her hand from shoulder to the side of Jaina’s neck, thumb rubbing across her throat to feel the rapid pulse fluttering there. Jaina swallowed, which Sylvanas could feel too.

“Shall we dance, consort?” Neither had spoken of Sylvanas’s presence when Jaina had nightmares--or what it might mean for them that it had happened more than once in recent weeks.

When had this woman gotten under her skin? It had started that first night and yet Jaina still tormented her, barely realizing she was doing it. Sylvanas latched onto that feeling, that hate, because it was better than the other things she was starting to feel. Fondness. Respect.

Need.

Jaina wet her lips, nodding before she started to move with Sylvanas. Sylvanas was keenly aware of not just the eyes on them, but also every inch of Jaina’s body against her own. She could feel the blood pumping through Jaina’s veins, an occasional irregular beat every time Sylvanas’ thumb dipped down to trace the seam of her thigh. Humans were so interesting that way; their hearts so necessary for life and yet so easily interrupted or overloaded.

“What are you staring at?” Jaina asked, lifting her eyes to Sylvanas’s and wincing when Sylvanas dug her nails into her hip.

“Interesting choice of dress.”

“You gave it to me,” Jaina replied, confidence in her tone and her eyes. “I thought that I should wear it. This is a special enough occasion, isn’t it?”

Jaina’s hand touched Sylvanas’s face, her thumb stroking one of her cheekbones. Sylvanas realized that she was no longer leading the dance; Jaina had taken over that role at some point.

Unable to stand it, Sylvanas spun Jaina around, using her sudden movement to reassert control of the situation.

Jaina inhaled deeply. Voice pointedly sweet, she asked, “What the hell is your problem, Warchief?”

“I lead,” Sylvanas replied, eyes locked onto Jaina’s lips.

“I thought you deserved a little taste of what it’s like to not be in control of something.” Jaina moved her hand from Sylvanas’s face, tracing it along her earlobe.

If Sylvanas had any doubts left that she could still feel in her state, they evaporated as a shiver ran through her. Her voice hitched. “I am always in control, Jaina.”

Jaina’s eyebrow raised, and Sylvanas realized that she’d played into Jaina’s game. She leaned in, flicking her tongue against Jaina’s ear, then pulled away. She ordered Jaina to follow her with her eyes, and the way she trailed her hand up Jaina’s bare side before stepping away and walking towards Grommash Hold.

She felt Jaina fall into step on her left, and paused at the entrance. Sylvanas fixed her gaze on Tyra, who’d miraculously put three feet between herself and Kalira. “No one is to bother us for the rest of the night. Understood?”

“Of course, Dark Lady.”

Sylvanas ignored the encouraging smile Jaina gave them, walking inside and waiting at the elevator. Up they went, and Jaina started towards the bar until Sylvanas caught her elbow. “No. I want you sober.”

“You’re acting like I have a problem.”

Sylvanas spun Jaina against the wall near the stairs to the sanctuary, pinning her to it with her body.

“Is there a problem, Warchief?” Jaina asked breezily, before tauntingly undoing one of the buttons on Sylvanas’s shirt.

“Quiet.”

Before Sylvanas could taste Jaina’s lips, the mage slipped out from beneath her and started up the stairs. It would be the first time in a long while that she’d entered the Sanctuary, which was telling all by itself.

Sylvanas composed herself, then followed. She paused at the top to take Jaina in as her consort all but glowed in the candlelight.

If she hadn’t already come to a decision, that would have made it for Sylvanas then and there. She approached, pressing her chest into Jaina’s back and letting her hands stroke bare skin. She was rewarded with a barely restrained moan.

“When was the last time you were touched?” Sylvanas’s fingers ran across Jaina’s rib cage, and she lifted her other hand to fondle Jaina’s hair.

Jaina panted the word. “Kalec.”

“Pity. That must have been some time ago.” Sometime around Theramore’s destruction, Sylvanas assumed, and quickly moved past that before Jaina could dwell on it. “Or have you always been so easy to play like an instrument?”

“What about you?” Jaina asked, tilting her head back against Sylvanas, eyes closed.

Sylvanas stared at her lips, but didn’t respond.

“...Nathanos?”

A loud, genuinely amused laugh exploded out of Sylvanas. “While I am quite fond of the man, it’s only ever happened in his dreams.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a virgin, Sylvanas.”

Amused, Sylvanas replied, “Virginity is a meaningless concept designed to reassure insignificant men of their own relevance. But no.” Sylvanas ran her hands achingly slowly down Jaina’s sides, letting them settle against her hips before her grip tightened possessively. She purred in Jaina’s ear. “I was well acquainted with pleasures of the flesh.”

Feydori’s face came unbidden to her just then, and she banished the memories to the past.

Jaina’s face had heated up, and she shuddered as she again leaned against Sylvanas.

Sylvanas took Jaina’s ear into her teeth, then bit lightly where Jaina’s neck and shoulder met as she slid her hand around to Jaina’s stomach. Jaina rested her hand over Sylvanas’s a moment, her grip tightening when Sylvanas, slowly and deliberately, reached up to pull the shoulder of her dress down.

 

******

As she felt Sylvanas push the cloth off of her shoulders, Jaina was certain she was going mad.

That was the only explanation for even putting the infernal dress on, let alone wearing it in public. But when she’d studied herself in the mirror, she had decided that she liked the effect. It wasn’t even that much more revealing than some robes she’d worn. Just in different areas than she was used to, and it had clearly had an effect on Sylvanas. She’d wanted to make an old fashioned entrance, and she had.

Jaina had felt a seismic shift in the air when Sylvanas had seen her and it felt like she’d barely blinked, her heart pounding and skipping a few beats as Sylvanas’s cold fingers touched her skin in that moment. And in this moment, too.

Jaina closed her eyes, fighting back a wispy groan and trying not to enjoy the feel of Sylvanas’s hands on her body.

In a vain attempt to ground herself she wondered how the party downstairs was progressing. She’d encouraged her shadows to go on ahead and they’d agreed readily, and she’d hid her smile when Tyra took Kalira’s hand.

As important as giving the people a reason to celebrate was, she’d kind of hoped they could, maybe, do something a little more private for their anniversary. Jaina had immediately chided herself at the thought; it wasn’t a normal marriage and having a private date with Sylvanas was a laughable thought at best. Though she had to ask herself if allowing Sylvanas to drag her up into the sanctuary qualified.

She barely remembered the dancing, only Sylvanas’s irritation at Jaina leading. She tried to focus on that as Sylvanas’s lips pressed into her shoulder. Gods, what was she doing? Jaina knew she should stop this, that this was a line she’d sworn never to cross but it felt so good to be touched. To be appreciated.

To her own shock she found herself wishing that she had let Sylvanas kiss her. Suddenly, she craved it, needed it. A tear burned down her cheek as the well of loneliness inside her gaped into a chasm.

She hadn’t felt comfortable coming up here in too many weeks to count. It had almost become a second home within Orgrimmar; she tried to let the scent of the candles soothe her, even as the dress crumpled at her feet with a soft swishing sound, leaving her completely exposed to Sylvanas.

Jaina couldn’t even use drink as an excuse for what Sylvanas’s touch did to her. It had been much too long since Kalec, and too long for the time before that. She missed intimacy, the sound of a lover’s laugh in her ear. The way Sylvanas laughed stoked something inside her.

Sylvanas’s hands were no longer cold, the contact with Jaina’s skin warming them. Jaina closed her eyes as those hands roamed down her arms, across her hips and stomach until one cupped her breast and the other rose up to her throat. Sylvanas squeezed both at once and Jaina hated the sound she made, and the pleased hum that Sylvanas gave in response.

More than that, she hated it when Sylvanas let go, her absence sudden and leaving her wanting, a feeling she tried vainly to resist.

Jaina turned around, her demand dying in her throat as Sylvanas unbuttoned her shirt, taking her time before she shrugged it off. A small, thin scar marked the line between her breasts. She was otherwise unblemished and Jaina felt a small surge of pity. Scars told stories, they were evidence of a life lived, and a physical scar was far better than a mental one. Jaina wouldn’t give up most of hers if she had the chance.

It wasn’t, technically, the first time Jaina had seen her naked, but this time was different.. Abandoning any pretenses, Jaina allowed herself to openly admire the woman she’d once --still?-- hated as Sylvanas’s trousers fell down her legs. They were kicked aside, and Sylvanas crooked her finger.

Coming to her in an instant, Jaina leaned in to kiss her, but Sylvanas tangled her fingers in her hair and pulled her head back. Jaina groaned, in protest or pleasure she wasn’t entirely sure herself. The tug on her hair grew almost painful as she felt Sylvanas’s mouth on her neck. Jaina’s fingers tightened convulsively on Sylvanas’ shoulders as sharp teeth scraped against her skin.

“Cold?” Sylvanas asked, tongue flicking at Jaina’s jugular as she pinched one of Jaina’s erect nipples.

“You are an ice cube,” Jaina gasped, a little proud of herself for forming a coherent sentence just then.

Sylvanas sank her teeth in and sucked hard enough to bruise. Lightning ran through Jaina and that last little part of her that wanted to fight this fled from her.

She knew her touch burned Sylvanas, and ran her hands across her torso as Sylvanas lifted her head. Trying to recover her breath, Jaina traced the scar on Sylvanas’s chest. This was a story she didn’t need to ask about. This was Arthas.

If she had tried to stop him at Stratholme, perhaps Sylvanas would never have suffered this fate.

Jaina leaned down, Sylvanas giving her some slack in her hair as she kissed the scar. When she lifted her head, there was something indecipherably sad and lost in Sylvanas’s eyes.

But the moment ended quickly. Sylvanas pulled Jaina’s head back again as she flicked a sharp nail against her nipple. Pain and pleasure rippled through her and she rolled her hips, needing friction that wasn’t there.

“Do you want this?” Sylvanas asked, before making a matching mark on the other side of Jaina’s neck.

It hurt, but in a way that left her aching for more. Jaina found herself nodding.

Sylvanas bit harder. “Say it.”

In a raspy voice, she heard her own answer. “Yes…”

She was suddenly free, and staggered back a few paces.

Sylvanas lifted Jaina’s chin, her own head angling slightly to the side as her eyes burned with defiant hunger and command. “On your knees.”

Chapter 19: In Service To The Queen

Notes:

I am not at all sorry about the title of this chapter.

Also notice the rating's bump so you've been warned ;)

Anduin rubbed his forehead as he watched Genn pace across the throne room. He would much rather be out in the city tonight; it had been decided if Orgrimmar was going to have a yearly party on the anniversary of the compact, then so would Stormwind.

And Anduin had been looking forward to sampling some of the street wares in disguise.

“Genn, I really will have someone dig you a pacing trench.”

“We haven’t heard word from our --”

“If our spies in Orgrimmar have anything to report, they will. I’m more concerned about Yukale’s mission.” Anduin got to his feet. “And since it’s unlikely that she’ll return tonight, we should try to enjoy ourselves.” He tossed Genn a cloak. “You do remember how to enjoy yourself, don’t you? When was the last time you took Mia dancing?”

Genn came up short, catching the cloak with one hand as he considered that. “... Far too long.”

“It’s settled then. Find your wife and take her dancing.” Anduin flung his cloak over his shoulders, adjusting it to hide his face. “There are plenty of places to take her tonight. I’ll see you later.”

He was gone before Genn could protest his order, slipping into the gardens and then scaling down towards the lake, where some of the festivities had been taking place. There was a wooden dance floor, lanterns and magical lights floating around, and he spied little rowboats with couples snuggled together.

It was a lovely picture, but first he found one of the food stalls, paying double the asking price for his absolute favorite stall food: a sausage on a stick.

There was just something about the meat and the grease and the spices that brought him back to happier points in his life. Bolvar used to sneak him some when the Darkmoon Faire rolled into the forest, and he and his father used to share some together in disguise, much like tonight.

He didn’t feel sad thinking about his father, for once. Oh, he missed him and mourned him, but he wasn’t sad. Maybe, just a little bit, with the wars behind him and a brighter future, he finally felt like the king he knew he was supposed to be.

Even if he was a king in disguise, walking through a crowd eating a greasy sausage.

Anduin chuckled at himself, and took a shortcut through some bushes towards the Dwarven district. He nearly tripped over a pale, white haired Kaldorei wrapped in a passionate embrace with a dark haired Ren’dorei. Both women were both very attractive and mostly nude and if he had inclinations in that direction it would have been difficult to look away.

They were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t notice him; but the Core Hound napping nearby certainly did.

That, at least, told him who this was. There weren’t many hunters who rode Core Hounds into battle, and Eilirria Starbreeze was apparently just as passionate off the battlefield as she was on it.

He held up his hands to appease the Core Hound and slowly backed away. The Hound huffed, one of its heads staring at him until he’d gone out of sight. He caught another couple starting in that direction and gently pointed them somewhere else to spare them the same embarrassment he’d just experienced.

Anduin made it to the Dwarven District without any further issues, and wondered if Jaina was feeling as lonely as he was tonight. It was true that it was lonely at the top, though he’d done his best to be friendly with the other rulers and the Alliance champions. But he could order any one of them to their deaths, and they would have to obey.

It put a clear line between Anduin King and Anduin Friend.

The complete lack of romantic prospects and the expectations of a High King’s Consort only made the feeling worse.

He wished he had a way to check on Jaina. Even if their spies had nothing to report, he’d always worry, and he’d feel better hearing her voice or seeing her. She used to have a mirror, enchanted for two-way communication; Anduin knew that Sylvanas would never allow that. He wouldn’t, in her place.

There was a mage seated at a table, her young daughter spinning through the air in a bubble of all things. Anduin watched as a Worgen rogue reached up and grabbed the toddler, pulling her close to his chest.

He studied the rest of the tables that had been set up; most dined with friends, there were people dancing with no particular rhythm as a boisterous Dwarf sang offkey and a gnome passed out beer goggles.

Anduin must have gotten too close to the dancers, because he was suddenly swept up into them, the strong arms of a shirtless Draenei Paladin spinning him around.

He decided then that he’d send a letter to Jaina on the morrow. Anduin grinned at the paladin. Tonight, for now, he wouldn’t be Anduin King or even Anduin Friend, but simply Anduin, out to have a good time.

******

None of this was necessary. The expense of celebrations, the cheer. It was almost as bad as the ridiculous holidays everyone celebrated.

Nathanos crouched from his perch high in Orgrimmar, keen eyes studying the scene below.

Lanterns and torches had been set up to provide lighting, a line of stalls along the eastern side of the Valley of Strength offering food and drink and other wares. People milled about eating or dancing. Most of the space between the bank and the inn had been set aside for dancing and other such shenanigans. Nathanos knew most of the rest of the city was in a similar state. Even the Drag had people.

Fireworks exploded overhead and he muttered a low curse about the fool who’d created those damn things.

The Dark Ranger and Warrior who typically shadowed Proudmoore had arrived early, without their charge. They’d left Jaina alone, and there were numerous things she could get up to alone. But none of the alarms he’d ordered set to notify him when and where she teleported went off.

He narrowed his eyes, studying them.

Tyra Cole was animated, talking with her hands, seeming to light up whenever she looked at the Ranger. Kalira listened intently, a loose smile playing at her lips. They were enraptured of each other when they should be on duty.

Nathanos smiled grimly. The Dark Lady wasn’t going to like that; he'd known both Kalira and her mother, and of Sylvanas’s accursed infatuation with the latter. Sylvanas had been the closest thing to a mother Kalira had known after the unfortunate demise of Feydori Sundreamer.

A tragic event, though not without its advantages; Sylvanas had risen to her mother’s position and Nathanos had benefited in turn, and Nathanos had dedicated both his life and death in service to Sylvanas.

Every action he took was for her protection, uplifting, or both. Everything he did was to that end, and not once had he regretted his actions, no matter how terrible.

But he’d let her deal with any who dared to touch a Sundreamer herself. Nathanos had his own concerns.

Namely: Jaina Fucking Proudmoore.

He’d disagreed with the plan from the outset. Sylvanas lowering herself to marry anyone had been hard enough to begin with, but Proudmoore had always been her first choice. There were no other realistic options, both from a perspective of her power and also politically; but Sylvanas had taken an odd personal interest.

We may not like it, Nathanos, but we’ve little choice. Besides, Jaina Proudmoore is my type.

If I am to suffer betrothing myself to another, should I not at least enjoy the suffering?

It was only a matter of time before this blew up in their faces. Nathanos expected Proudmoore to betray them at any moment. Her every action was towards that end, he was certain. The friends she made, the way she manipulated the people; he’d made sure a few had disappeared because they were too dangerous to keep loose and under the witch’s sway.

Orgrimmar, the Horde, and most importantly Sylvanas were in constant danger as long as Jaina Proudmoore walked free. If Nathanos didn’t have an arrow ready to penetrate her throat, one of his own spies was always watching.

They’d be ready, but what could he do if Proudmoore got through to Sylvanas? It had already started; Nathanos had only learned of the situation with Vereesa from his spies in the Alliance. It galled him.

Sylvanas hadn’t told him. She’d kept it a secret. Direct proof of Proudmoore’s treachery and he couldn’t even act on it. The war could have been sparked instantly and he’d been left impotent.

Nathanos frowned, outwardly calm despite the turmoil of his thoughts. He’d find a solution to this, for the sake of his Dark Lady. Free her from the shackles she’d voluntarily embraced and then burn the Alliance to the ground as she so fervently wished to do.

After all, he knew Sylvanas better than she knew herself. It had always been that way, and it would always be that way. Things would return to the way they should be. Nathanos had patience and time on his side, things that Proudmoore lacked. Time, patience, and a plan.

“Ranger Lord.”

Nathanos didn’t look away from his Lady. “Yes?”

Rankin Bass was one of Nathanos’s new Forsaken Rangers, and had proven to be every bit as good as Sylvanas’s. Better, in his opinion. The man was a good shot, despite half his face having rotted off. He nodded to Nathanos. “Three days ago, King Wrynn sent several champions on a special mission.”

Now that was interesting. Nathanos turned his head. “Do we know why or where?”

“Our spies took note of the Windwhistle setting sail. We had a druid trail the ship as far as he could before he had to turn back, but we’re reasonably certain that they were headed for the general vicinity of the Maelstrom.”

“That is not a coincidence,” Nathanos said. “Keep this knowledge to yourself. I will inform the Warchief personally.”

“Should we have the Wraith’s Shadow intercept?”

Nathanos shook his head. “No, I am not ready to reveal our secret just yet. As wonderful as it would be to be rid of a few of Wrynn’s favorite champions, we should find out what they have planned before destroying them. Have Captain Raze trail them.”

Saluting, Bass melted back into the shadows, and Nathanos returned his attention to the festivities below, nearly choking on his own tongue when Proudmoore appeared, playing dirty with that dress.

The Dark Lady would see through that transparent attempt to manipulate her, Nathanos was certain, using their dance as cover for the scathing conversation Jaina deserved.

Any other conclusion to her little display was unthinkable; except his Lady guided Proudmoore back into the hold, and not even Nathanos was so far in denial as to misunderstand why.

******

As Sylvanas’s demand echoed in the sitting room, Jaina’s expression hardened. She stared back with an indignation bordering on mutinous, chest rising and falling heavily. If Sylvanas wasn’t so intent on her eyes, she’d have admired that.

And then Jaina swallowed, slowly dropping to one knee, and then the other. She looked up at Sylvanas, nostrils flaring as desire apparently won out over anger.

Sylvanas reached out, stroking her fingers through Jaina’s hair. She raised her eyebrow, and Jaina took a breath before running her hands up the outside of Sylvanas’s legs. She stopped. “Your skin isn’t as cold as usual.”

“Silence. When I want to hear your lovely voice, I’ll tell you.”

Jaina snapped her mouth shut, and resumed her explorations. Her hands trailed fire across Sylvanas’s skin and she visibly fought back a groan when Sylvanas’s fingers dug into her scalp.

“Very good,” Sylvanas murmured, eyelids falling slightly as Jaina’s hands slid up to her stomach, stroking the contours of hard muscles. “You may just earn yourself a reward.”

Jaina huffed in response, nuzzling against Sylvanas’ flank as her hands stretched up and caressed her breasts. She almost touched the scar on Sylvanas’s chest again; but to Sylvanas’s relief, she passed over it.

The touch was good enough, but the sight of Jaina before her, obeying her every command, was what brought the moan to her lips. It wasn’t submission, not quite, not when there’d been a challenge in her eyes just now; but it was temporary obedience and it was delicious nonetheless. Jaina seized the momentary advantage, tongue flicking out at a spot that would once have been an artery on her thigh before drawing her hands back down to Sylvanas’s hips.

Sylvanas allowed it, holding Jaina’s head in place as Jaina nibbled at her thigh. Nerves that she’d long thought atrophied started flaring to life.

Giving Jaina a little slack, Sylvanas guided her head to her other thigh, shivering as Jaina’s breath tickled her pelvis in the process. “You like that.”

Jaina’s eyes flicked up to meet Sylvanas’s, but she knew better than to speak. Instead, she stroked her hands up the inside of Sylvanas's legs. Her left stopped at her chin before she slid it around to grope Sylvanas’s backside, and her right continued up. Her thumb brushed the connection between leg and pelvis, then she fanned her fingers across Sylvanas, following silky white hair.

A tremor struck Sylvanas when Jaina’s fingers found her, but she refused to show it, holding her expression carefully impassive as she stared down at Jaina. The mage’s heat was enough to consume her, but that didn’t mean she had to let her see.

But Jaina couldn’t disguise her body shuddering as she muffled a moan against Sylvanas’s thigh.

“Say it,” Sylvanas prompted.

“...You’re wet.” The ‘how’ was unvoiced.

 

"Does it please you, Lady Proudmoore? To know that your touch can bring this dead body of mine to life?”

Jaina swallowed and started to nod before she caught herself. “Yes.”

She could see the wheels turning in Jaina’s eyes as her mind tried to figure out that puzzle. Sylvanas tugged on her hair, snapping her out of it. “Did I tell you to stop?”

Narrowing her eyes, Jaina pushed a finger along Sylvanas’s outer folds then very pointedly flicked her thumb against her clit.

Sylvanas hissed out a reluctant groan and barely restrained her hips. She hadn’t felt that in so long that the emotions fluttering about inside her dead heart nearly made her end this.

The smirk on Jaina’s face helped her make up her mind. She tangled her fingers in Jaina’s hair tight enough to make the woman whimper in pain, then pushed her face between her legs. “You forget your place, Proudmoore. You are here to service me.”

Jaina’s tongue flicked out, the sensation sparking something within Sylvanas that she almost rejected. She pulled Jaina’s head back, locking eyes with her as Jaina panted. Sylvanas loosened her grip, then let go. “You want it.”

“Yes.” Jaina’s eyes flicked from Sylvanas’s face, down to the growing wetness between her legs, and back again. Her voice was husky. “I want it.”

Sylvanas allowed her smile to show. She could get used to hearing Jaina’s voice like that. But she said nothing, waiting for Jaina’s quick mind to guess her wish.

“Are you serious?” A cross expression appeared on Jaina’s face before she relented. “I want to taste you.”

Allowing her that much defiance, Sylvanas inclined her head. “If that’s your desire, my pet.”

Jaina gripped Sylvanas’s hips, pulling her closer as she kissed her thigh, then flicked her tongue at her clit once before focusing on seemingly everywhere but there. She nibbled and sucked at Sylvanas, one finger sinking deeply into her so suddenly that Sylvanas grasped her head with both hands. The come-hither motion Jaina made with that finger sent ripples of pleasure through Sylvanas as heat spread through her. Sylvanas tilted her head back, her low, ragged moan echoing in her ears.

She should have done this ages ago. Looking back down, she frowned as Jaina dropped her left hand between her own legs. Using her foot, she nudged Jaina’s hand away. “No.”

Shivering, Jaina redoubled her efforts, pushing Sylvanas’s legs wider so she could get more of her with her mouth. Sylvanas guided her with one hand, rocking her hips as long-forgotten pressure coiled in her belly, tensing and tensing. “My very… talented consort. Who could have ever guessed this was one of your better skills?”

Wrapping her lips around Sylvanas’s clit, Jaina sucked hard in defiance. Her hand started to pleasure herself again, and Sylvanas kicked it away, harder this time.

“I said no.” She tugged Jaina’s hair again, wanting to lock eyes with her. “Don’t you want to please me?”

Heat burned on Jaina’s cheeks but her eyes were glazed with need. She just nodded, and started to close her eyes as she worked to wind that spring inside Sylvanas even tighter.

“Look at me.” Sylvanas pulled Jaina’s head back until her eyes were open. “Do not take your eyes from mine.”

Jaina let out a shuddering breath as she leaned back in. She added a second finger, continuing to put her clever tongue to use as she dragged them in and out. The sustained eye contact proved to be too much for her; her rhythm faltered as red eyes burned into her, and she finally gave an unrestrained moan that vibrated through Sylvanas’ core.

Sylvanas found herself panting, rolling her hips against Jaina’s face. She didn’t need to breathe, but it was what her body remembered, the only way it knew to respond.

Jaina dragged the nails of her left hand roughly across Sylvanas’s skin, up her stomach to a breast and back down again, leaving marks in their wake.

Whether it was that, or the pressure inside her or the sudden rapid friction across her clit from Jaina’s teeth, but Sylvanas felt the orgasm pulse through her, like the spring at her center had suddenly snapped.

She didn’t cry out, but she gasped, holding Jaina tightly in place against her body as her vision shattered.

Sylvanas heard -- or felt -- a heartbeat. Once. Twice. A third time. Then it stopped and she returned to her senses. There was a rushing in her ears and her skin tingled.

Slowly, she let go of Jaina’s hair, and Jaina pulled back, coughing and taking in deep breaths. Sylvanas idly wondered how long she’d held Jaina’s head there.

She stepped away from Jaina, picking her cloak up with her foot and kicking it into the air to catch it. She needed to leave, now. Sylvanas felt unsure and a little emotional and she needed to escape.

Looking back, she saw Jaina still kneeling on the rug, staring at her with confusion, anger, and need. Sylvanas tilted her head.

“Sylvanas… please.”

“Since you begged so prettily, you may touch yourself.”

Jaina’s hand flew between her legs as she fell forward, catching herself with her other hand.

Sylvanas could hear the slick sounds of Jaina’s fingers working feverishly, Sylvanas’s name on her tongue. The scent of Jaina’s arousal could be tasted in the air and Sylvanas savored it. She watched Jaina a moment or two longer in genuine delight, before she turned to go.

“I hate you,” Jaina groaned.

A fond smile passed over Sylvanas’s lips as she descended the stairs. “I know.”

Notes:

Their third year together will begin, appropriately, on the New Year!

Chapter 20: Year Three - Expectations

 

Year Three

“It’s a good idea,” Anduin mused, staring up at the mammoth stone structure under construction. “But do you think it’s a little large?”

“My dear King Wrynn,” Sylvanas said, favoring him with an amused smile. “A raised road, serving as a dedicated route from Stormwind to Silvermoon by way of Ironforge and Stromgarde, is a brilliant idea. Much easier to facilitate trade all along the Eastern Kingdoms and to supplement trading vessels. And it can certainly allow for more traffic than your quaint little tram.”

“Ships and airships can carry more,” Anduin pointed out, unnerved by Sylvanas’s good mood. “But this would allow greater trade in general, especially for people who can’t afford that sort of luxury.”

He was mostly being contrary in Sylvanas’s presence; it had been a good idea. Anduin supposed it helped that it wasn’t Sylvanas’s idea either. It had come from Stromgarde.

He glanced at the map, the proposed route winding and curving through the continent with spokes sticking out to meet other roads to other towns. The largest led straight to Stromgarde, which was fitting. Anduin looked up to meet the eyes of the tall, muscular warrior who had first suggested a continent-spanning highway.

Cenengel grinned at him, though she kept a noticeably looming presence between Anduin and Sylvanas. Old habits died hard. “That’s what we thought too, your majesty.”

She jutted her chin at her Horde counterpart in Stromgarde, a wiry troll with an unusual third tusk on the left side of his face. “Kaevi and me realized early on if the Stromgarde experiment was going to work that there would eventually need to be more and easier ways to travel between kingdoms.”

“Yeah mon. Be a lot easier ta deal wit bandits with a well secure route.” Kaevi nodded. “Though it do seem a little big.”

Anduin watched another smirk form on Sylvanas’s face, and spoke before she could make any kind of wry comments. “It has to support a lot of travel, and its twin being built on Kalimdor is nearly as large.”

“True dat,” the troll agreed.

It still boggled Anduin’s mind to see Trolls and Humans working together in Stromgarde of all places. They made up the bulk of the population, followed by Forsaken, Orcs, and a small contingent of Worgen that had moved in recently.

But the animosity in that kingdom in particular against Trolls had once seemed insurmountable. Until it stopped being so. Just like the hatred between the Horde and Alliance as a whole. They still had a long way to go, but as Anduin considered it, he realized for the first time he was hopeful.

He turned to Sylvanas. “Let’s schedule an inspection on Kalimdor in two weeks, then we can check on the status here in six. We should be up to Ironforge by then.”

“Agreed.” Sylvanas inclined her head, smiling yet again as she departed with a flourish of her cloak.

Anduin watched her walk toward Jaina. The mage’s presence had been a pleasant surprise, but she hadn’t joined the discussion; after greeting Anduin with a smile and a friendly armclasp she’d wandered off to inspect the stonework. She was engaged enough by the engineering that she jumped when Sylvanas sidled up next to her. She gestured to the highway, face animated as she talked, explaining what she was looking at as Sylvanas watched her like the proverbial cat and canary. Whatever the Warchief’s response was, Jaina shrank into the high collar of her robe like a turtle, brushing her hair back behind her ear as color tinged her cheeks.

Jaina looked flustered, but Anduin remembered many times where Jaina had disguised her self-consciousness that way. Typically after catching herself twenty minutes into an explanation of multi-dimensional portal theory when Anduin’s eyes had started to glaze over. He missed when she got excited like that; seeing her waxing eloquent over an infrastructure project lightened his shoulders.

He almost missed Cenengel speaking to him. “Is it just me or is the Warchief in an exceptionally good mood?”

“It ain’t jus’ you, mon,” Kaevi replied, looking a little pale. “And it be a little terrifyin’.”

On that, Anduin agreed. He looked to the unusual friends. “Would either of you object to my paying a visit to Stromgarde next spring?”

Kaevi shook his head. “Dat be fine by me. I tink you like what you see.”

“It’s starting to feel like home again,” Cenengel admitted.

Anduin nodded and gestured for Cenengel to follow him. She fell into step next to him as he spoke. “I know you were very young when Stromgarde fell. I don’t think I was even born yet.”

She nodded. “My memories are vague. My father talked about it a lot when I was growing up.” Her expression darkened momentarily, and then she shook off whatever shadows had come over her. “So it was always home in my mind. And now it’s home in reality.”

“Is it at all what you expected?” There was a story there, but Anduin didn’t press. Fathers, after all, could be complicated.

“Yes and no.” Cenengel scratched at her chin. “I expected less Horde. But without their help, Stromgarde would still be in ruins right now.”

He regarded her out of the corner of his eye. “Any tensions?”

“Sometimes we have to break up a fight.” She nodded her head at him. “Started up a sort of brawler’s club, like certain places we’re not supposed to talk about in Orgrimmar and Stormwind.”

Anduin flashed her a grin. “I don’t at all know what you’re talking about.”

She grinned back, and flexed one of her arms. ”But it helps redirect aggression. Only had one person beat me so far.”

He eyed her, suspecting she could bench press his throne. Her swords probably weighed more than he did. Each. “I believe it.”

“That would be me.” A voice interrupted them, and Anduin smiled when he recognized Vereesa joining them.

“I let you win,” Cenengel said, good naturedly, looking at Vereesa with a surprisingly shy smile.

Anduin noted that, but let her keep her dignity. “What have you been doing in Stromgarde, Vereesa?”

“Jaina … thinks that I should try to mend fences with my sister…” Vereesa twirled her hand. “I thought assisting in Stromgarde would be a good place to start that would serve everyone’s interests. And I’ve made some new friends as a nice bonus.”

She playfully squeezed Cenengel’s bicep, then did so a second time while darting her eyes. Clearing her throat, she let go of the human and rested her hands behind her back in a way that reminded Anduin of Sylvanas.

He wisely decided not to point that out. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“I’m not banned from Orgrimmar like I expected to be, so maybe.”

“I’ll let you two get back to it,” Anduin said. “Keep up the reports and the good work. And good luck with your sister, Vereesa.”

As the women walked towards where Kaevi waited, Anduin turned his eyes back to that first section of the highway. He had a good feeling about this project.

But still, it did seem a little large.

******

“I’m tellin’ yeh, she got--”

“Shut up.”

“It’s just kinda unnervin’ the way she’s--”

“Quiet.”

Jaina glanced behind her at Tyra and Kalira, eyes flashing with genuine arcane energy. It shut them up, though as she turned her head away she caught Kalira swatting Tyra on the shoulder.

She didn’t want to know what they were talking about. If they were talking about what she thought they were talking about, then she’d have to admit to herself that it was what they were talking about. And Jaina wasn’t at all ready to go there.

As it was, she flipped the collar of her robe up a little higher to hide the bruising from Sylvanas’s teeth. She was going to have to think of a better solution, but one she could implement without arousing suspicion. Too many eyes on her to just pick up a healing potion. And she couldn’t send Kalira or Tyra; they’d ask too many questions.

Jaina felt Sylvanas’s eyes on her when she entered the Hold, her lips turned upward as her eyes briefly dropped to her neck. Jaina felt a shiver run down her spine.

“See,” Tyra whispered, only to be silenced by another smack.

“Hungry, dear?” Sylvanas said suddenly, the amusement in her eyes making Jaina want to sink into the floor. “I was thinking of taking a break. Join me.”

She stood and smoothly walked past Jaina. Jaina stood still, staring at the now empty throne and refusing to give Sylvanas the satisfaction of seeing her reaction...though it was probably too late for that.

Sylvanas paused behind her. “I’ve given some thought as to how you should be dealt with.”

“...yes, Lady?” Tyra asked cautiously.

“I approve.”

Jaina turned around in time to see Sylvanas stride out of the hold. Kalira somehow looked paler than normal, and Tyra’s mouth hung open.

Kalira’s head slowly swiveled until she was staring at Jaina. Jaina held up her hands. “What are you looking at me for?”

“What did yeh do to her?” Tyra asked, awe in her voice. “She’s been in a good mood for a week!”

“It’s alarming,” Kalira observed. She looked at Tyra. “She…approved.”

“It just means she sees that you two are good for each other,” Jaina said, a note of ‘it’s about time’ in her voice. “Like I do. And even if she is your Warchief, she doesn’t have to approve if you really want to be together.”

Kalira’s cheeks darkened slightly and Tyra said, “S’little more complicated than that.”

“She’s my--lady,” Kalira said, catching herself.

Jaina narrowed her eyes. "Well. Regardless, she approves. So I suggest you take advantage of that before she changes her mind.”

The pair shared a wide-eyed ‘she’s onto us’ glance as Jaina started past them. She called out behind her, “Since I’ll be supervised, why don’t you take the day off and … enjoy yourselves.”

She didn’t hear their response, though from the resounding sound of a hand on armor she suspected that whatever Tyra had said had earned her a swat.

Sylvanas, of course, was nowhere to be found. Jaina pulled aside a grunt. “Did you see which way the Warchief went?”

He nodded and pointed behind him. Jaina thanked him and jogged in that direction until she caught sight of Sylvanas’s cloak on the stairs leading up to the residency.

Jaina made sure she was already inside when Sylvanas opened the door, rewarded with the briefest expression of surprise on Sylvanas’s face. Amusement quickly replaced it.

“Eager, are we?”

“Curious,” Jaina countered.

“Such things are often linked,” Sylvanas pointed out, stepping past Jaina and seeming to make a point of brushing against her.

“Would you stop that?” Jaina snapped, turning so fast she lost her balance and had to catch herself on the wall.

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, watching her make a fool of herself. “I’m doing nothing.”

“You keep…” Jaina gestured vaguely towards Sylvanas.

Sylvanas tilted her head, then mimicked Jaina’s gesture.

“Don’t mock me.”

Closing the distance between them with two steps, Sylvanas rested her hand lightly on Jaina’s hip. Somehow, despite the fact she could barely feel it through her robe, it set fire to Jaina’s skin. Sylvanas purred. “Go on.”

“This. You keep doing this.” Jaina gave her an accusing look as her face heated up. “Teasing me. Taunting me. Acting like you’ve somehow earned the right to.”

“Are we still not friends?” Sylvanas tutted, leaning in close enough that Jaina felt the distressing urge to kiss her. “If there’s something you want, Jaina,” Sylvanas whispered, “perhaps you should ask for it.”

Sylvanas moved her head, lips brushing Jaina’s throat before she suddenly pulled away and walked into the kitchen like nothing had happened.

The only reason Jaina didn’t fall to the floor was the wall still propping her up.

******

The little dalliance between her champion and her daughter had clearly gone on for some time now; certainly longer than she’d realized. Sylvanas couldn’t articulate exactly why she’d allowed it, but it hadn’t interfered with their duties and she enjoyed making Tyra nervous every chance she could.

Tyra slipped out of an alley, straightening her hair and armor. Sylvanas approached, taking a relaxed stance behind her. It took several moments before Tyra realized she wasn’t alone, and Sylvanas smiled charmingly when Tyra turned around and somehow turned even more pallid.

“Dark Lady! Uh. What can I do yeh for?”

“Walk with me, Champion.” Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back and started to walk before Tyra could respond.

Tyra hurried to join her as she fixed a buckle on her armor. “Of course, Lady.”

“It is quite the honor I’ve bestowed upon you,” Sylvanas said, studying Tyra out of the corner of her eye. “Guardian to the most powerful mage in the land, and my very Consort.”

She’d made sure Tyra could hear the capital C in the word consort, and the warrior stiffened appropriately.

“It’s been an honor, aye. I’m proud t’serve yeh.” Tyra bowed her head, fingers twitching at her sides.

“I could assign you anywhere I wish. Would it still be an honor then?” Sylvanas turned her head, eyes drilling holes into Tyra.

“Aye, always. I exist an’ serve at yer command.”

“No hesitation. Good.” Sylvanas nodded once, then fell silent as they walked along one of the streets in Orgrimmar that led towards the Tauren area. Tyra grew more and more fidgety the longer they walked, and Sylvanas suppressed her smile.

“Lady?” Tyra asked, after several more minutes of fidgeting. Sylvanas stopped, turning towards Tyra.

“Speak freely.”

Tyra lifted her chin, a glint in her eyes. That was better, Sylvanas decided. The imposing, clever warrior she knew Tyra to be. Sycophants were fine, but she also liked her people to be willing to challenge her on occasion. When it was appropriate.

“I know yeh said yeh approve. Of Kalira an’ me. But if this means bein’ assigned to the ass end of nowhere then I’ll be okay with that. ‘Cause I ain’t givin’ her up.” Tyra folded her arms, giving a short nod to punctuate her words. “But I’d like it...if yeh really did. Y’know. Approve.”

“Let me be sure I understand you,” Sylvanas said, keeping her voice dangerous and low. “You intend to pursue Kalira? Even if it means an assignment to menial latrine duty at the farthest reaches of my empire?”

“Aye,” Tyra said. “I’d rather do without that last bit but....but is that okay. Can I?”

Sylvanas started laughing. Tyra backed up a step, and a Tauren leatherworker took a wide berth around them. As her laughter faded, she couldn’t help but smile at Tyra’s discomfort. Tyra’s eyes darted over her left shoulder as a familiar presence ghosted behind Sylvanas.

She chose her words very carefully. “Are you actually asking me if you can woo my daughter?”

“I ah.” Tyra’s eyes darted to the presence behind Sylvanas again, and her dusty lungs rasped as she sighed heavily and seemed to prepare herself. “I’m askin’ for your blessin’. Not your permission.”

Sylvanas’s smile widened ever so slightly as she heard the sharp breath behind her. “Just remember that I made you. I can un make you. And the agony you suffer would be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.”

Tyra just nodded.

Waving her hand carelessly, Sylvanas added, “Dismissed. Go. Woo.”

Glancing behind her once more, Tyra turned and bolted away.

A hand gripped Sylvanas’s left shoulder, turning her around. She was greeted by a shocked and exasperated Jaina. Sylvanas inclined her head. “Good morning, my wife.”

“Excuse me,” Jaina hissed quietly. “Daughter?”

“Adopted.” Sylvanas said, enjoying the way the vein on Jaina’s forehead throbbed. She could sense her heartbeat and heat as emotions warred in her eyes. Giving Jaina a little bit of bait, Sylvanas’s eyes dropped to Jaina’s ring.

Jaina followed her eyes, then swallowed noticeably. “I see. You could have told me. We’ve been married for a little over two years, I’d have liked to know I had a stepdaughter. She’d be the only… ”

“I didn’t feel it was relevant.”

“You’re my wife.”

Sylvanas lifted her fingers and stroked them down Jaina’s neck. “Such a high collar for this time of year. Are you so cold already?”

Jaina’s face flushed and she stepped away. “That’s none of your business.”

Smile growing, Sylvanas droned, “You’d think it would be my business.”

“Where do you get off--” Jaina winced and cursed. “You’re really enjoying this.”

“It’s been the highlight of my death.” Sylvanas looped an arm around Jaina’s waist as she forced her to walk along with her through Orgrimmar. The perfect picture of the perfect couple, and sure to set tongues wagging. Especially the Alliance visitors and spies. She even nodded to one as she passed. Sylvanas wasn’t sure if that person was a spy or just a merchant, but it didn’t matter.

Greymane would still find out. Sylvanas was almost tempted to kiss Jaina to prove the point, and for absolutely no other reason, but she refrained.

“So what game are we playing now?” Jaina asked.

“From your tone, I suspect you’ve already guessed.” She looked at her. “It’s been two years. I’ve grown tolerant of you. The rest of the world needs to think we’ve come to like each other.”

“Everything you do is so calculated,” Jaina observed. “Just once, I’d like to see you be spontaneous. Free.”

Sylvanas stiffened, but did not stop walking. Her fingers dug into Jaina’s side as her wife gave her a smug smile. “I am free.”

“Are you?” Jaina stepped in front of Sylvanas, looping her arms around her neck. “Are you really that free, Windrunner? Or are you trapped and held captive by expectation and regret?”

“Perhaps we both are.” Sylvanas leaned in until she could taste Jaina’s breath. It warmed her skin like the sun, and her lips were inviting. Sylvanas stopped, waiting expectantly. “Is that a worse fate than being wedded to me, I wonder.”

Jaina let go of her, stepping back, throat bobbing and face flushed. Sylvanas simply held her arm out and waited as Jaina composed herself. She waited as Jaina stared at her, too, and finally took her arm.

“Sometimes, I really hate you,” Jaina said.

“Only sometimes?” Sylvanas smiled. “My dear, I call that progress.”

Chapter 21: Coverup

"Dahlin! it has been too long. Sit, sit!”

Jaina smiled at Enda as she took a seat across from her, popping her collar a little to obscure the twin bruises that were growing more and more annoying to try to hide. She took an offered cup of tea. “How are you?”

“Marvelous. Kasa and her snooty wife have relocated to Suramar! Good riddance! I am expanding into their space with a new line of low cost fashion for men I am calling The Galnir Collection.”

Tea went up Jaina’s nose and she coughed. “Galnir?! Champion of the Horde, husband to Minuial, big broody musclebound Galnir?!”

“Of course, dahlin.” Enda looked at her like it was obvious. “He’s a delight and ya really should see him in a suit. Hubba hubba.” Enda coughed and cleared her throat. “I mean, he’s divine. His wife too, a literal angel!" She gestured at a dress on display. “Inspired that magnificent piece.”

Jaina turned to look at it. It was white with highlights of the faintest rose gold, laces looping around the arms. The top part was like a wrap and the skirt was asymmetrical with the left leg exposed up to the hip. “It’s beautiful.”

“I can fit one to ya, if ya’d like.” Enda looked at her knowingly, and Jaina rubbed her arm.

“You know what? Let’s do it.”

“Hell yea-- Wonderful!.” Enda rose to her feet, then circled around Jaina. “Ya know. There is something different about ya. I can’t quite place it.”

Jaina turned her torso a little, trying to keep Enda from noticing the bruises on her neck.

“No collars!” She shot her hands out, flipping Jaina’s collar down. “It’s out of style! … and what’s this.”

Enda poked the bruise and Jaina winced. “It’s nothing. Just...the cat. He decided I needed to be groomed.”

It wasn’t a total lie; Varian did have that habit and didn’t seem to realize that neither Jaina nor Sylvanas had fur. Though Jaina had been sworn to take to her grave the vision of Varian atop Sylvanas’s head, grooming her hair. The memory brought a smile to her lips.

“I see.” Enda narrowed her eyes, and adjusted her glasses. “Come. Come come come.”

She started walking towards the back of the shop and Jaina got up to follow. “Where’s Xu?”

“Xu, my dear, is in Stormwind.” Enda disappeared into the back, only to peek her head back out the door. “Walk faster! We don’t saunter!”

Jaina sped up and entered Enda’s living space. “What’s Xu doing in Stormwind?”

“Setting up shop of course.” Enda hopped up onto a table and pulled Jaina over. “Our first Alliance expansion! It’s marvelous!” She whipped out a brush and some make-up. “Just gimme a moment and we’ll cover these hickeys up.”

“It’s not a--”

“Do I look like some spring chicken to ya?” Enda asked.

Jaina closed her mouth and allowed Enda to apply the make-up. She wondered how many others had looked and said nothing. Or for that matter, what people assumed had happened. Tensely, she said. “Everything is fine.”

“Mm.” Enda took a step back and inspected her work. “I didn’t suggest otherwise, dahling.”

Flushing, Jaina turned her collar down, deciding she’d need a more permanent solution than cover-up, and that she really needed to take Sylvanas to task for marking her like that.

That this might have been the point was not something she was willing to entertain. “Thank you, Enda.”

“It won’t last all day, dahling. Just get yourself a healing potion and you’ll be fixed right up.”

“Yes, that will be easy to do without awkward questions.” Jaina put her hand over her neck then pulled it away before she could smudge the concealer. “Do you need to measure me again for that dress?”

Enda looked between her and the dress and rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “You’re here. Assume the position! We are going to make you angelic!”

It only took Enda a short time to measure her. Jaina’s measurements weren’t too different from the last time, a fact that brought some relief to her vain side. She left Enda with a promise to meet her for lunch the next day and returned to the Hold.

Operation Coverup lasted about as long as it took for Sylvanas to notice once Jaina took her usual position. She could feel Sylvanas’s eyes on her as she helped negotiate terms on behalf of an Alliance hog farmer hoping to partner with his Horde counterpart.

It was an easy task, and as soon as Sylvanas dismissed them, she was at Jaina’s side. Cold hands wrapped around Jaina’s throat, thumbs wiping away at the make-up. It was almost too gentle; Jaina felt her body responding when Sylvanas squeezed harder before letting go.

Sylvanas stepped back, rubbing the cover-up between her index and middle fingers. She looked at Jaina and smirked.

******

With Sylvanas determined to make her suffer, Jaina needed to find another way to deal with the immediate problem. She didn’t want to ask a healer, and the only one she’d willingly consider had accompanied her mate on a mission and was thus unreachable.

Just buying a healing potion sounded simple, but had a number of implications to not-so-casual observers that she didn’t want to deal with. Because then she’d have to think about it and thinking about it was embarrassing and a little horrifying.

But as she took a walk through the cool night outside the gates, Jaina had an idea.

Ihz’s mule train was set up near one of the pig farms again and Jaina slipped in, stepping over a sleeping raptor and giving Millet a friendly pat. The mule nuzzled at her hand and Jaina let herself have a few minutes just leaning against the beast, listening to her breathe. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

She spied what she needed in a pouch alongside an assortment of wool wraps, herbs, and other equine first-aid supplies, and pulled out the healing potion. Since Jaina wasn’t about to steal from her friend, she left two gold in its place, the coins clinking together softly as she slid them into the pouch.

Her misdeed done, she turned to go, and nearly ran into one of the others. It was a mare, dark brown and solidly built. Her ears turned away, and Jaina cooed softly. “I’m sorry. Hey, easy...”

She reached out to try to pet her.

“Barley! No!”

Only quick reflexes on Jaina’s part stopped her from losing a chunk of skin as the mule’s teeth snapped in the air where her arm had been. Jaina stumbled back and nearly landed on her butt.

Ihz rushed over, rubbing blearily at her eyes as she gripped Barley’s halter. The danger was probably past, but she still untied the mare and moved her to the far side of a dark grey gelding, carefully backing her off to keep heavy-looking rear hooves pointed away from the nearest human face.

Mule secured with a safe buffer, she turned to Jaina, crossing her arms. “Dat was stupid. You don’ put your weapon hand in front of an animal you don’ know, Lady. Barley’s a...mare.” There was a dry note that translated the word to a right bitch. “She’d’a taken your damn fingers off just to prove she could. Well done,” she added to her herd dog, who’d apparently noticed a suspicious stranger poking around the camp in the dead of night. Nettle’s tail wagged as she relaxed.

“I’m usually better with animals.” Jaina got to her feet and brushed herself down. When she looked up again, she saw that Ihz was studying her closely.

Pointing with her tusks, Ihz confirmed Jaina’s fears; her voice was entirely too soft to be directed at anyone who wasn’t a mule. “Dat consensual?”

Jaina’s hand snapped to her neck, the action betraying her as surely as the color on her face. “Yes.”

Ihz held her hands up warily, concern giving way to self-preservation the moment it was no longer needed. “Den you better tell me it was the Warchief. An’ if it wasn’t, Lady, lie.”

Oh gods. Jaina rustled her hand through her hair, suddenly looking as tired as she felt. “Yes! That’s half the problem.”

The troll stared at her a moment, then offered a single shoulder shrug and turned to fish through the pouch. She turned around, coins in her palm. “You coulda just asked.”

Jaina smiled sheepishly and shook her head. “Buy them all some apples.”

“You hear dat, Amaranth?” Ihz scritched behind the ears of a white mule. “Da Lady of Orgrimmar is buyin’ us a treat.”

“The… what?” Jaina approached cautiously, holding her hand out until it seemed to safe to touch this one. Amaranth was leaning into her mistress’ touch, but flicked huge ears forward in a cheerful manner when she felt Jaina’s hand on her neck.

“Dats what dey been callin’ you.” Ihz gave her a critical eye. “Never heard dat one? Since you always seem t’be around an’ making yourself useful.”

“I guess it is less of a mouthful than ‘consort of the Warchief,’” Jaina agreed, stroking Amaranth’s nose. She didn’t know how she felt about that, or what it might mean except maybe Nathanos developing an impossible ulcer which Jaina considered a net positive.

“Never a fan a’mouthfuls myself.” Ihz jerked her chin. “Go ahead, mon, drink up.”

Feeling somewhat abashed, Jaina knocked back the potion. “So...what would you have done if I’d said no, earlier?”

Ihz didn’t hesitate. “Whatever you needed.”

Jaina smiled at her. “Thank you.”

******

It seemed that Jaina had finally resorted to some kind of healing. It was a pity; Sylvanas had enjoyed watching her squirm, but it had always been a matter of how long Jaina would go before swallowing her pride and asking someone for help.

“Warchief.”

She tore her gaze from Jaina and looked at Nathanos. “How many were lost?”

“As with the others, the entire ship’s complement.” Nathanos gave Jaina a contemptuous look. “That marks the third ship this month.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Jaina asked, narrowing her eyes and leaning on her staff pointedly. “Because the Alliance has lost four. A fisher, two merchants, and a Man of War.”

Sylvanas held up her hand. “No one is accusing anyone.”

Jaina glared a moment longer at Nathanos, before she turned to Sylvanas. “I suggest that we implement convoys. Protection in numbers. Perhaps even a few joint convoys between Horde and Alliance vess--”

“You’re in no position to--”

“Nathanos,” Jaina snapped. “I am the Consort to the Warchief, the Lady of Orgrimmar and, oh yes, a Lord Admiral. Which of us has the sea in our blood again?”

Nathano’s tone grew low, dangerous, his eyes flaring. “You are not to decide Horde military matters. You are an interloper here. You don’t belong, and I don’t trust you.”

Boots clacking on the floor, Jaina approached Nathanos until they were chest to chest. “You will treat me with the respect I deserve.”

Nathanos lifted his chin. “I will respect you when you’ve earned it. You live at my Lady’s pleasure.”

Jaina’s eyes glowed a brilliant white light. “And you live at mine. I’m beginning to think that no one will miss you if I kill you. You have doubted me, treated me like an animal and questioned me in front of everyone. Nothing I do is good enough and I’m warning you, I won’t have it. Your opinion doesn’t matter, Blightcaller.”

She stepped away, walking to Sylvanas’s left side and putting her hand on the Warchief’s shoulder. “Only one person’s in the room does.”

“Put together the strategy for the convoys,” Sylvanas said, turning her head to look at Jaina. “And reach out to King Wrynn, I’d like to set up a meeting about this. Be it pirates or some other source, we cannot allow our fleets to be preyed upon.”

Turning back to Nathanos, she said. “Put your little birds to good use. See if we can’t discover a source for these sunken ships. And get me a report on our expedition. There’s been no word from them or that Alliance ship we all know tailed them.”

Nathanos simply nodded.

Sylvanas leaned her head against the back of the throne, studying Jaina beside her and allowing her and only her to see her eyes wander. It always unnerved Jaina, and Sylvanas enjoyed taking advantage of that. Keep her wife guessing and twisting in the wind. Perhaps someday she might actually talk to her about what happened a few days ago. But Sylvanas would not be the one to broach that subject.

Jaina looked at her quizzically. “What?”

Sylvanas glanced at her neck. “You remembered healing potions existed. Pity.”

Jaina clapped her hand over her neck, then dropped it back down. “Is that seriously all you’re going to say?”

“Yes.” Sylvanas leaned her chin on her hand, looking up at Jaina from the throne. “Is that a problem?”

“You’re infuriating sometimes.”

Sylvanas lifted her other hand. “If that’s your belief.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Jaina composed herself. She folded her arms. “This is unrelated to the convoys, but I’d like to take a day in Stormwind with one or both of my shadows.”

“That’s it?” Sylvanas felt a surge of curiosity rise in her. There hadn’t been anything scheduled and Anduin’s champions had yet to return from their little spy adventure that Nathanos had been so informative of.

“Just a day. There are a few things I’d like to pick up, including something for you,” Jaina replied. “And it’s Genn’s birthday.”

“Really.” Sylvanas sat up straight, eyes flashing with the possibilities. “You’ll have to give him my regards. I don’t have a present for the overgrown mongrel at all.”

“I’m… sure he’ll appreciate that.” Jaina grimaced.

“Collect Tyra and Kalira, and be back before midnight. I’ll supply you with an official missive for talks about this convoy idea, since you’ll already be there.” Sylvanas leaned back again, giving Jaina a dismissive gesture even as she studied her every movement, from the way her chest rose as she breathed to how she carried her shoulders after she turned and walked out of the Hold.

Some days, Jaina was her favorite subject to study.

“I’ll assign two rangers to tail her,” Nathanos said, stepping to her side.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “No.”

“You can’t possibly trust--”

“I can do whatever I want, Ranger.” Sylvanas rose to her feet, turning towards him and eyeing him. She could feel her anger rising, though she couldn’t place exactly why this bothered her--only that it extended beyond his public display with Jaina earlier. Extended, even, beyond Jaina. Nathanos’s implication that Kalira and Tyra were either incompetent or disloyal was personal. That she even felt that kind of attachment was something to ignore. “Cease this pointless game. It bores me. If Proudmoore betrays us, I’ll snap her neck myself. But she hasn’t, and I don’t think she will, not without a great pressure upon her. In the meantime this petty feud is a waste of your skills and energy.”

Nathanos scowled, jaw tight, but all he could do was incline his head.

She stepped close to him. “You are my friend. The only one I can possibly trust from the old days.”

“Kalira?”

“She hates me, half the time.” Sylvanas brushed past Nathanos, feeling him tense at the contact. She stopped, holding the position as it made him more and more uncomfortable. Good. Let him squirm. She was still angry.

“She did not choose this, my Lady.”

Rage gripped Sylvanas as she turned, grabbing Nathanos by the lapels and lifting him off of the ground. Tendrils of dark energy rippled across her skin, turning her eyes black save for the pinpoint of red at their center. Her voice echoed throughout the hold in a vengeful shriek. “No one chose this. Not her. Not you. Not I!”

Nathanos stared at her, expression impassive though not without a kernel of fear in his eyes. Sylvanas took solace in that and let him go. She stepped back, brushing her tunic clean of nonexistent dust.

He continued to stare at her, then dared to put his hand on her arm. “Proudmoore is getting to you.”

She looked at his hand until he removed it. Sylvanas returned to the throne, taking her seat and throwing one leg over an armrest. “Hardly. Just remember, Nathanos. Like everyone else, Lady Proudmoore is simply another arrow in my quiver.”

Nathanos remained silent, allowing Sylvanas the chance to brood, to regret the things that had been lost to her, to remember that feeling she’d reclaimed so briefly when Jaina’s hands had torched her skin.

The galling thing was that he was right, if a little off the mark.

Jaina reminded Sylvanas of what it was like to be alive, and that was the worst crime she could ever commit.

Chapter 22: Touch Starved

“So. What is this?” Sylvanas gestured at the strange device that Jaina had placed on her desk. It covered much of the surface, and every inch was a forest of knobs and dials with Thalassian letters written on them. There was paper slotted into the top and some kind of ribbon with ink.

“One of your presents.” Jaina leaned on the device with a smug smile on her face. “It’s a typographer.” She tapped her finger on one of the keys and a metal spine snapped forward, marking the paper with the letter. “Should make paperwork a little more efficient once I’m used to it.”

“So you bought yourself a present in order to help me?” Amusement filled Sylvanas’s voice as she eyed Jaina up and down.

“Well. Yes.” Jaina looked down at the device, then back at Sylvanas. “You should learn to use it too, you know.”

Sylvanas stared at her for a solid minute, then threw her head back and laughed. The very idea of her using that contraption was ludicrous. “No.”

Her reaction made Jaina visibly irritated, which only made it better. “Scared of a little technology, Warchief? It’s not goblin tech, it won’t explode.”

Dubiously, Sylvanas replied, “If Gnomes had anything to do with it any malfunctions could be catastrophic.”

“It’s not a shrink ray,” Jaina countered. She stepped up to Sylvanas. “Close your eyes and hold out your hands.”

Sylvanas folded her arms.

Jaina sighed, mimicking the movement. “Come on, humor me?” Jaina shifted from foot to foot, leaning in slightly and then straightening as she caught herself.

This was another game of Jaina's, one that Sylvanas didn’t typically like to play, but there was something earnest in her eyes. If she was going to do something drastic, Sylvanas reasoned that it would be with eyes open. She rolled her eyes, then closed them and held out her hand, indulging Jaina.

“Wow, you actu-- I mean…” Jaina pressed something cold and metal into Sylvanas’s hand, her touch lingering for several seconds before she slowly trailed her fingers along Sylvanas’s and let go. “Okay.”

Sylvanas opened her eyes with an exaggerated sigh, and peered down at the object in her hand. It was a gold pendant on a long chain, and it glittered when she held it up to look closer and let it twist in the candlelight.

“It’s elvish. Obviously. There was a stall at the market and they had a few nice things, but that one kind of called out to me. I know we’re not exactly friends, but I thought it would look nice on you.”

Red glinted off the gold as Sylvanas saw herself reflected. The pendant was a simple design; a barbed arrow with three fletchings, and an inscription in Thallassian along the shaft. She read it, then reread it and an invisible tear burned down her cheek before she dropped it into her other hand and closed her fist tightly around it.

Jaina looked like she was holding her breath, doubt creeping into her eyes, and Sylvanas found herself speaking. “It’s lovely.”

“You’re lying. You don’t like it.”

Sylvanas shook her head. “My feelings on the matter are complicated. I ... appreciate the thought.”

“Oh.” Jaina seemed to close up, folding her arms again and looking off to the side.

Touching Jaina’s chin, Sylvanas forced her to look up. “I know you can read the inscription. But do you truly understand what it means?”

“I thought I did,” Jaina replied, searching Sylvanas’s eyes. “But I suppose I don’t.”

“Get some rest.” Sylvanas let go of Jaina and brushed past her. “We’ll deal with Wrynn’s answer to my missive tomorrow.”

If Jaina had a response, Sylvanas didn’t hear it as she closed the door behind her and stared out into the night. Opening her hand, she looked at the pendant; black blood oozed out from where it had cut into her palm.

******

It was a relief to get to actual business in the morning. Sylvanas arrived early, settling into the throne as she waited for Jaina and the rest of her advisors to wake up. Jaina was usually the first to arrive, and as always she did not disappoint. She stepped into the Hold carrying a mug of coffee.

Jaina studied her as she took her position, and then her brow furrowed as her eyes dropped to the pendant dangling from Sylvanas’s neck then back to her face.

Sylvanas lifted a finger to her own lips before Jaina could question her on it. The others had arrived, led by Nathanos, who shot Jaina an annoyed look. That too had become familiar. Nathanos hated it when Jaina got here first.

She didn’t waste any time. “Wrynn is also intending on merchant convoys, and has agreed to a test run of Lady Proudmoore’s joint convoy. He has also suggested a joint operation to discover the source of these attacks and eliminate it.”

“Warchief, I don’t think that’s a wise idea,” Nathanos said. “What’s to stop the Alliance from turning their guns on our ships? Or use the chaos of combat to ‘accidentally’ sink one.”

“What’s to stop the Horde from doing the same,” Jaina snarled. She gave him hard look, then turned that look at Sylvanas.

“You both have a point,” Sylvanas allowed. “And while there is a risk of friendly fire, I believe that the idea has merit. These pirates, if that be what they are, believe us weak. The Horde will show them otherwise.”

This was one of the things Sylvanas enjoyed about her role. The logistics of warfare, the give and take between her advisors as they offered suggestions or argued over the details of King Wrynn’s suggestions. Lady Proudmoore in particular had suggestions stemming from her experience leading Kul Tiras.

After over an hour of discussion, however, Jaina came to some kind of decision. “Warchief, I can lead this. I’ve got a powerful ship. Give me three Horde and three Alliance warships and--”

“No.” Sylvanas lazily rubbed her thumb over her palm.

“Why not? I know my tactics, and I’m right in the middle of both of us. The Alliance will follow me, and the Horde will too under your orders.”

“You’re more valuable here,” Sylvanas pointed out. She was calm, and curious as to how far Jaina was willing to push this.

“I can catch these bastards, Warchief.” Jaina stared at her, expression neutral but eyes almost pleading.

Sylvanas regarded her for a moment. She could feel the eyes on her as everyone in the hold seemed to hold their breath. Eventually, she inclined her head. “I’ll consider it, but the fleet will be led by a commander agreed upon by both myself and King Wrynn. Whether or not that is you or if you will even accompany the task force has yet to be decided.”

Anger flared in Jaina’s eyes, and Nathanos made to speak, but Sylvanas held up her hand. “Everyone. Leave us.”

Sylvanas watched everyone file out, though she kept one eye on Jaina as she did so. Jaina was always so beautiful when she was angry.

Jaina took a few steadying breaths as she waited, visibly calming herself.

“Come here.” Sylvanas crooked her finger, smiling as Jaina obeyed. “I know you understand the complexities of this situation.”

“Is this the part where you scold me?” Jaina asked, stopping close enough for Sylvanas to touch if she wished.

And Sylvanas wished, hooking her finger into Jaina’s belt and tugging her closer. “I don’t think this is the hill either of us wishes to die upon. I believe you are more needed here, but I acknowledge there is...potential, in having you directly involved with the task force.”

“It would show the world you trust me,” Jaina pointed out. “That I am actually your equal.”

“And it would drive Greymane rabid trying to find some ulterior motive.”

“That’s half of your motivation, isn’t it.”

Sylvanas grinned. “At least.” She placed her hand over Jaina’s, stroking her thumb across Jaina’s knuckles.

Jaina half-heartedly tried to pull her hand away. Sylvanas lifted her eyes to Jaina’s and held her gaze.

******

Jaina stared hard at Sylvanas, conflict making her tense. The Warchief reclined against the armrest of the throne, looking up at her. Slowly, she ran her hand up Jaina’s arm until she could grasp her by the elbow, then pulled her down into her lap.

Unlike the last time, Jaina caught herself on something less embarrassing, gripping Sylvanas’s shoulder as she settled against her wife’s hip. She was so close she could smell a faint trace of some fragrance she couldn’t place. It was pleasant, and new, and Jaina caught herself slowly inhaling it.

Sylvanas was so close she could feel her skin drawing the heat from Jaina’s, and the air felt charged.

She traced the arrow on Sylvanas’s neck, wondering why she had worn it. Sylvanas’s reaction had hurt her; she hadn’t slept well, wondering what she’d done wrong now. “I just want to be useful.”

“Well. You have been.” Sylvanas stroked Jaina’s neck, then slid her fingers into her hair. When she started to roughly undo her braid, Jaina opened her mouth to protest and instead let out an embarrassing groan.

“I think you’d be upset if I kept it down,” she managed to say. Her annoyance and anger had faded as the mood shifted. “Taking away your ability to do it for me.”

“The question I have for you, Lady Proudmoore, is which of us enjoys this more?” Sylvanas slowly pulled Jaina’s head back until her throat was completely exposed to her.

Jaina’s breath quickened, and she licked her lips as she felt Sylvanas’s eyes on her. A shiver ran through her when Sylvanas drew her fingers along Jaina’s clavicle and then down to the valley between her breasts. “I hate--” the way “--you.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell.” Sylvanas flicked her tongue against Jaina’s neck, causing Jaina to squirm.

Briefly, Jaina was consumed with the need for Sylvanas to kiss her throat, bite at her and choke her. Sylvanas had tested all those things before and it took a moment before Jaina regained coherent thought. She ran her hand down Sylvanas’s arm then squeezed her wrist. “We’re in Grommash Hold.”

“That’s not a no.” Sylvanas took her hand from Jaina’s hair, stroking her neck and throat and then moving it lightly across the fabric of Jaina’s dress.

Jaina was so hypersensitive to Sylvanas's touch that the contact set fire to her skin. Every time Sylvanas moved her hand it jostled the fabric of her dress, rubbing it across her skin and against her nipples. Little jolts of pleasure made it difficult to think and Jaina quickly realized Sylvanas was doing that on purpose. Jaina put her arm around Sylvanas’s shoulders, bringing her hand up to stroke at her ear in a vain effort to gain some kind of control. “Oh, fuck you--”

Sylvanas removed Jaina’s arm from around her, turning her to face the throne room. One arm around her hips held her firmly in place, while Sylvanas’ free hand ran up her side to cup her breast. Too dazed to stop herself, Jaina arched her back, pressing herself into the firm touch. Sylvanas nipped at her ear and whispered coldly, “No. Not today.”

Jaina gasped, tilting her head back as Sylvanas ripped the laces on the front of her corset out. She stroked lazily along Jaina’s exposed skin, expertly pinching and stroking her nipples. Sylvanas leaned back in the throne, hiking Jaina’s skirts up with her other hand and allowing her fingers to linger on the heated skin of her inner thigh. The sensations were almost too much, and Jaina dug her fingers into the arm of the throne.

Chuckling, Sylvanas abandoned Jaina’s breast for the time being, drifting her hand to her shoulder, throat, and jaw. She murmured something Jaina couldn’t hear as her fingers caressed her lips. Jaina let her mouth fall open and Sylvanas slipped two fingers between her lips.

This was too easy, Jaina thought, she was making it too easy and yet with every action Sylvanas took Jaina only wanted more. She sucked on the digits, flicking her tongue between them. Nails dug into her thigh and she grinned, leaning forward slightly to guide Sylvanas’ fingers deeper.

“Such a good girl,” Sylvanas purred, eyes bright with desire and delight, knowing Jaina couldn’t respond just then and perhaps even knowing the way those words curled her toes from the sound she made.

Praying that no one would walk in, Jaina ran her tongue against Sylvanas’s fingers, sucking lightly and using her teeth in an effort to get another rise out of the Warchief. The only thing she succeeded in doing was making Sylvanas take her ear into her mouth and nibble along the shell.

Jaina groaned around the fingers in her mouth as Sylvanas licked her ear. Some vaguely coherent part of her mind observed that while Sylvanas started out cold, she always took on Jaina’s body heat until their temperatures were more in line. Mostly, she was grateful for the cooling effect Sylvanas had on her burning skin.

Fingers probed at her undergarments, so close that Jaina wriggled her hips trying to get them closer. She sighed in disappointment when Sylvanas withdrew her hand. A few heartbeats later, cold steel pressed into her thigh, a sharp edge scraping along her skin. Jaina froze, except for the rapid movement of her chest.

Sylvanas nudged Jaina’s head to the side, biting the area behind her jaw as the knife moved up Jaina’s thigh. She pulled her fingers from Jaina’s mouth and wiped them dry on the remains of her top. “Are you afraid?”

Only of you stopping. Jaina shook her head. “No.”

The tip of the knife edged under the leg band of Jaina’s underwear, and Sylvanas lifted it away from her skin. With a flick of her wrist, she sliced the fabric. The knife clattered to the floor and Sylvanas pushed the remains of Jaina’s underwear aside as she stroked two fingers against her outer folds. Jaina tilted her head back with a long, shuddery moan.

“I can feel how ready you are.” Sylvanas smiled against her skin, kissing from neck to shoulder and then biting as she stroked her fingers in a lazy circle between Jaina’s legs. “You liked the knife.”

Jaina squirmed, unwilling to beg but driven to the edge of madness by Sylvanas’s teasing. She spread her legs farther and hated herself for it, shifting to her right so she could look at Sylvanas’s face. She opened her mouth and a huffing sound came out.

Sylvanas looked back at her, eyes tiny intense points of red light. “Say it.”

“Damn you…” Jaina tried to rock her hips but Sylvanas held her tight against her.

Leaning in, Sylvanas licked along Jaina’s jaw. “What do you want, Lady Proudmoore?”

“You know damn well what I--” Sylvanas’s touch withdrew completely in a silent threat and Jaina rolled her head, jerking her hips again. “I want you to touch me, Sylvanas.”

A long, dexterous finger sank into Jaina and the only reason her voice didn’t echo through the hold was a well-timed hand over her mouth. It wasn’t enough but it was so much better than she’d fantasized. Sylvanas’s arm around her, finger inside her, thumb stroking lazily at her pelvis; it was all too much. Jaina couldn’t manage to stop the stray tear that ran down her cheek.

Sylvanas’s lips caught it, her tongue flicking it away. Before Jaina could say anything about that, she felt Sylvanas’s finger move. It was slow, deliberate, as if they had all the time in the world, and her thumb and other fingers explored wherever they could reach.

Jaina tangled her fingers in Sylvanas’s hair, begging with her eyes and finally, finally Sylvanas took pity on her. She thrust and curled her finger inside Jaina, finding a slightly rougher area and focusing there. Her thumb started to feather across Jaina’s clit and she clasped her hand over Jaina’s mouth again when Jaina couldn’t muffle herself. Her teeth found a spot just beneath her jaw on the right side, biting deep. She sucked, flicking her tongue at the growing bruise, and if Jaina were more coherent she’d wonder at Sylvanas’s habit of marking her.

It felt amazing. There were a hundred things wrong with this but Jaina couldn’t care. She was being touched, being used, her skin catching fire as Sylvanas added a second finger, and then a third. Jaina could let go like this and it was such a freeing feeling she almost wanted to cry.

“Shit,” Jaina hissed. She rolled her head back, exposing her neck to Sylvanas’s teeth. Sylvanas cupped her breast, kneading and squeezing, then caught her by the throat. Jaina gasped again, moving and rolling her hips until she was grinding on Sylvanas’s hand.

Jaina felt herself getting closer and closer to the cliff’s edge. “Oh gods, please…”

Those pinpoints of red in Sylvanas’s eyes sharpened, and Jaina kissed her. Sylvanas’s lips were cool, but not cold, and after a moment she kissed her back, groaning into Jaina’s mouth. Consumed by a desperate loneliness that she’d never given voice to, Jaina moved her mouth against Sylvanas’s, muffling another groan from her wife. Eliciting any reaction at all was a thrill and Jaina would not let Sylvanas escape; and Sylvanas would not back down from this new challenge.

Jaina gave a low keen, flicking her tongue against Sylvanas’s lip and then biting it as she fumbled at Sylvanas’s armor.

The hand at Jaina’s throat moved up, threading into her hair, and Sylvanas pumped her fingers. Jaina cried out, the sound lost in the kiss. Sylvanas’s tongue slipped into her mouth, exploring, and Jaina dutifully sucked on it.

Jaina was close, so close; but she wondered if Sylvanas would succumb to the thirst for power, or control. Jaina remembered the time in the Sanctuary. The way it had felt to bring Sylvanas to the edge and then push her over it.

She knew, instinctively, that Sylvanas had not been touched since her death and probably not for some time before that. The memory was suddenly a thrill for her, a thrill at holding that kind of power over a long-time enemy. And maybe that had been the reason that Sylvanas had left her to her own hand, asserting control rather than reveling in the power of making Jaina come.

If she pulled that trick again, Jaina thought she might finally go mad.

Jaina would have given almost anything in that moment for her release as the wave built and she felt Sylvanas start to still. She whimpered, tightening her fingers in Sylvanas’s hair and deepening the kiss as her desperation grew.

And then Sylvanas’s fingers dug deeper, her thumb stroking an almost tender circle across Jaina’s clit. Shuddering, Jaina muffled herself on Sylvanas’s mouth as her orgasm left her dazed. She lifted her head to catch her breath, only for Sylvanas to pull her back down and kiss her again hard enough to bruise, her fingers and thumb pushing Jaina towards a merciless second orgasm.

A low whine was the only coherent sound Jaina could make. Sylvanas stopped kissing her, though she didn’t move her lips from Jaina’s as she whispered huskily, “Did you really think I was finished with you?”

“Hnh?”

Sylvanas drew out a toe-curling third before she brought Jaina down with slow, gentle strokes and a kiss that was heartbreakingly tender.

The world spun, Jaina inhaling great gasps of air as Sylvanas lifted her fingers to her smirking mouth and sucked them clean. Jaina might have had a fourth, tiny little climax at the sight.

Her head fell onto Sylvanas’s shoulder and she closed her eyes. There was the strangest sound, once she tuned out the rush of her own pulse. A kind of pulsing, thrumming sound. Jaina closed her eyes, listening to it. It was faint, and growing fainter, but it wasn’t like a heartbeat.

It was Sylvanas. A magic kept her ‘alive’ as it were. A cold magic. Jaina put her hand over the center of Sylvanas’s chest, above the scar. Sylvanas wasn’t alive but this was the closest thing to a heartbeat she had.

Her skirts rustled as Sylvanas restored them. Jaina was in no mood to get up, let alone try to compose herself. But she lifted her head, hesitated, then pulled away before either of them could do something they’d regret.

As if what had just happened weren’t regretful enough.

Jaina tried to stand, using Sylvanas to keep herself from falling over until she was certain of her footing. Her underwear was ruined and she absently kicked it under the throne. Her corset was also past saving, but with some clever tying of the remaining laces Jaina made it functional. She looked at Sylvanas, who still reclined on the throne, hair tousled and a single buckle on her armor undone. If Jaina had had the energy she would have fallen on Sylvanas all over again at the sight.

Instead, she stumbled towards the entrance. She was disheveled, lips swollen and skin glistening with sweat, corset held together by magic, string and hope as she tried to smooth her hair with her fingers, failing utterly.

Jaina still couldn’t put to words the way Sylvanas tasted.

The sun was too bright outside, and she shielded her eyes. A muffled choking sound made her realize she wasn’t alone, and she turned to find Tyra and Kalira staring at her. After a moment Tyra wordlessly held out her hand, and a visibly shell-shocked Kalira dropped a pile of gold into the open palm.

Mind still not entirely there, Jaina blinked once and then asked, “What?”

Chapter 23: Anchor

***A lifetime ago***

 

The Trolls never knew what cut them down. Three targets and a single arrow, they were dead before the last troll hit the ground.

Windrunner dropped from her perch, walking confidently to the trolls and inspecting her work. Nathanos watched curiously as Sylvanas rolled each troll onto their back with her foot.

“I can hear your breathing, human.” She said, not looking his way. “Are you afraid?”

He stepped out from his cover, carefully slinging his bow over his shoulder. “Just a little annoyed you stole my kills.”

She glanced at him, and smiled, mirth glinting in her eyes. “Perhaps next time you should be quicker.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He stopped a few feet from her, leaning forward in a deep bow. “I am Nathanos Marris.”

“I’ve heard of you. I am Sylvanas Windrunner.” She faced him fully this time, and her beauty was breathtaking. Her cloak was forest green, her armor a deeper shade with splatters of Troll blood on her boots and across her breastplate. Her hair was like gold spun silk blowing in the breeze.

Nathanos was not much of a poet, but he was sure there were songs written about her eyes. “I’ve certainly heard of you.”

Her smile widened, and she gestured with her head to the south. “There is a Troll encampment a few miles away. I propose a contest while we clear it.”

“I hope you like losing, Lady Windrunner.”

She laughed, then leapt up a tree and disappeared in the branches above. If Nathanos hadn’t seen where she’d gone, he’d never have been able to track her through the leaves to the Troll camp.

Nathanos was proud enough to say that he was the best ranger humanity had to offer. But as Sylvanas danced through the enemy he knew he’d met his match.

She wasn’t the Ranger-General, but someday soon, she would be. Of that, Nathanos was certain. Sylvanas was magnificent; the best hunter and the best archer in the world. She deserved better than simply commanding Silvermoon’s defenses.

She should command everything.

He swore, then and there, he would do everything in his power to see her through to that end.

***Now***

Tandred had sailed Jaina’s ship at her request, and it lay at anchor off shore. Technically, the Tempest was their father’s, but she’d raised it from the sea and laid claim to it. It was hers now, until the day she died. Not even Sylvanas could take that away from her.

The last person Jaina needed to see right now was her mother. But there was Katherine’s flagship coming into port and Jaina realized that, naturally, she’d have to be one of the Alliance representatives for the joint naval task force. On instinct, she checked her robe, glad she’d worn something with more blues and greens than reds today.

She loved her mother, her relationship was good with her mother. Her mother absolutely could not find out that she’d fooled around with Sylvanas. She’d never hear the end of it; and worse than the personal embarrassment, if Katherine’s reactionary tendencies got the best of her it could spell disaster. At least Jaina didn’t have to worry about keeping a suspiciously high collar straight this time; with the cat so thoroughly out of the bag, there had been nothing to keep her from sending Tyra for a healing potion.

While she’d been trying to avoid thinking about the incident, her mind had other ideas. It kept turning the scene over and over again and coming to the same conclusion. She’d had sex with Sylvanas Windrunner and it had been the best sex of her life.

Banishing the thought and the breakdown that would surely follow, Jaina approached the docks as sailors tied Dreadnaught down and lowered the gangplank.

Her mother was flanked by Tess Greymane on her left and Alliance Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth on her right. Tess was a surprise; as commander of the Alliance Navy (and former Captain of Jaina’s Theramore fleet), Jes-Tereth was not.

Jaina inclined her head to the trio. “Welcome to Orgrimmar. We’ve set up a temporary war room to better plan these ventures. The Warchief is waiting for us in Grommash Hold.”

She smiled at her mother, only to be rewarded with a frown. Now that was painfully familiar.

Jaina swallowed as her mother studied her, and realized she knew. She had to fight the urge to bring her hand up to cover non-existent marks on her neck.

Worse, something like embarrassment colored Tess’s cheeks and even the Grand Admiral looked uncomfortable. The two women exchanged a look behind Katherine’s back.

Oh dear gods they know too.

Rather than let her panic overtake her, Jaina turned to lead them and their honor guard to the city. She spied Kalira perched atop one of the guard towers and the Dark Ranger gave her an almost sympathetic look.

That was another thing that Jaina had been putting off thinking about, but then how the hell did you approach the daughter you didn’t know you had?

The journey to Orgrimmar from the docks wasn’t as easy going as Jaina would have liked. Goblins lined the road, decrying their working conditions and carrying such signs as ‘Mor Pay Les Work,’ ’Harlene for Trade Princess’ and ‘Marry me Jaina.’

Jaina’s mother frowned as they passed them. “What’s going on?”

“The Bilgewater are currently engaged in a leadership dispute,” Jaina explained, as if a cloth Gallywix wasn’t being burned in effigy five feet away. “They feel exploited by Gallywix. They haven’t disrupted the Horde as a whole enough for the Warchief to step in, but we’re watching it closely. I don’t expect Gallywix to hang on much longer. He’s been holed up in his palace for three weeks now.”

“We?”

There was concern in Katherine’s voice. Jaina frowned. “Yes. We. You know as well as anyone the damage that a split among one of the members of the Alliance can do. It’s the same amongst the Horde.” She turned to add, “And Mother. If Alliance spies are trading in salacious rumors instead of information this significant, perhaps consider new ones.”

“And where do you stand?” Tess asked, face carefully neutral.

“Officially, it’s an internal Bilgewater dispute. Unofficially?” Jaina winked. “Harlene Quixie has some great ideas.”

Her mother said nothing, but she didn’t have to. Jaina could feel her eyes on her the rest of the way into Orgrimmar.

The guard took up positions outside the Hold once they reached it. Jaina nodded once at Sylvanas, who appeared to be quite comfortable on her throne, then raised her eyebrows and gave her a worried smile before she returned to a neutral expression and turned back towards her mother and clasped her hands behind her back. “Lord Admiral Katherine Proudmoore of Kul Tiras. Princess Tess Greymane of Gilneas, and Grand Admiral Jes-Tereth of the Alliance Navy.”

Sylvanas glanced at Tess and opened her mouth. Jaina snapped her fingers behind her back, sending a spark shooting up Sylvanas’s spine. Sylvanas blinked, glancing at Jaina with an amused expression, before addressing Katherine Proudmoore with all the swagger of someone who’d shagged her daughter and wanted her to know it. “Hello, mother. What a pleasant surprise.”

For a brief moment, Jaina was prepared for her mother to declare war on the Horde on the spot. She probably would have been at least half justified in doing so. But except for the tell-tale twitch above her left eye, Katherine merely ignored Sylvanas’s comment. “We’re told you have a war-room set up.”

“Indeed.” Sylvanas stood.

The faint sound of a bell and scuffling drew Jaina’s attention downward, to where Varian was playing with--

Sweeping Varian up into her arms, Jaina kicked her underwear back under the throne before anyone noticed.

Her mother had already turned to follow Sylvanas, but Tess was staring at her with a wide-eyed expression. Jaina paled slightly, then narrowed her eyes in a challenge.

Tess held up her hands, then fell into step next to Jaina.

“We never speak of that.” Jaina murmured. They reached the elevator, which had already whisked her mother, Sylvanas and the Admiral upstairs, along with a pair from Katherine’s honor guard. Jaina should be more worried than she was.

“On my life, and also because I’m pretty sure we lost one of Lorna’s in the Cathedral so I have no room to talk,” Tess promised, then gave Varian a pet. “Is his name really Varian?”

Jaina stared at her a moment, then cleared her throat. “Yes.”

“My father called it one of Windrunner’s tricks until Anduin told him he was there when you named him.”

“Tess, I love your father, but his paranoia is ridiculous. Where is he, anyway?”

“He’s just always worried about you.” She smiled fondly at Jaina. “And … let’s just say he stayed in Stormwind so he won’t throttle the Warchief.”

“Judging by how efficient the spies clearly are,” Jaina remarked dryly, “He should know I’m just fine.”

“Knowing and believing are two different things.”

She was about to ask about the rose in Tess’s hair when the elevator finally returned. Jaina was fully prepared for disaster when they arrived on the second floor, but to her surprise no one was more dead than usual.

They’d set up a war table in the center of the archery range. Sylvanas stood on one side, while Katherine and Jes-Tereth stood on the other. Jaina considered a bee-line to the liquor rack but decided she didn’t need even more disapproving looks from her mother.

Jaina gave Tess a smile, then took her place next to Sylvanas, dropping Varian onto the ground. He immediately rubbed up against Sylvanas’s legs, purring loud enough to be audible in the silence.

“I hate this cat,” Sylvanas said, yet made no move to kick him away.

Jaina rolled her eyes.

“Now that Lady Proudmoore and the king have joined us,” Sylvanas continued. “We can proceed.”

Katherine’s lips thinned out, her eyes locked on Jaina’s face for several seconds before she looked back at Sylvanas. “The Alliance agrees that we need to deal with this piracy problem. We propose a regular joint convoy between Stormwind and Orgrimmar, to be comprised of seven merchants from the Horde, and seven from the Alliance.”

Sylvanas regarded her a moment. “Forget what the boy has told you he wants. For the defense of this convoy, what do you propose?”

Katherine had a ready answer. “A Kul Tiran battleship, two Sin’dorei sloops, an Alliance frigate, and a Zandalari battleship. My ships have had some success in aiding the Kaldorei against pirates of late, so the crew would be seasoned.”

“That would be slow going and some of those ships are fast.” Jaina pointed out. It was a lot of ships to move at once, too, and she didn’t think the security made up for it. “What about two convoys, smaller? Three and four, the sloops and frigate for the faster ships, the battleships for the slower convoy.”

Jes-Tereth nodded. “Easier to manage, the fast convoy will have less power but speed on its side, the larger merchants can keep pace with the battleships.”

Nathanos seemingly materialized from the shadows. “Warchief, the Zandalari would never agree to this. And there’s no telling if we can trust the Alliance to not turn on us.”

“The Zandalari will agree to anything I tell them to agree to,” Sylvanas said. “I am the Warchief.” She returned her eyes to the war table. “I dare say this is one of the first tests of our compact.”

Nathanos snorted, and it took all of Jaina’s willpower not to end him then and there. Jaina looked to her mother. “What about the proposal to hunt down the source of these attacks?”

“King Wrynn believes it to be a good idea, above my objections,” Katherine replied.

“The old politics are outdated, mother.” Jaina folded her arms, lifting her head up slightly, daring anyone to say differently. “King Wrynn was always on the right side of history. It just took time for me to understand. I hope in time you understand too.”

About many things that Jaina left unsaid.

Jes-Tereth cleared her throat. “Each side should bring equal power to bear on the pirate threat. The Lord Admiral will command the Alliance task force. Of course, you will choose your own commander. The King is open to any ideas of the overall commander.”

“If I might offer a suggestion,” Nathanos said, eyes on Jaina. “Lady Jaina should command the Horde fleet in this endeavor. As Consort, she has the authority, and she has the experience at sea to make her a viable commander. Her ship would be a powerful asset.”

Jaina narrowed her eyes, not trusting Nathanos’s motivations for this sudden change of heart but having no desire to argue against it. “I agree, assuming the Warchief approves of the plan.”

“Jaina,” Katherine said. “You can’t lead Horde ships.”

“I am Consort to the Warchief and the Lady of Orgrimmar,” Jaina said firmly. She could feel Sylvanas’s eyes on her. “The authority is mine by right, Lord Admiral.”

Katherine’s eyes flashed. “Doing this could forfeit your positions within the Alliance.”

She didn’t think her mother actually meant it that way, but Jaina heard instead Lady Ashvane’s voice. Her blood ran cold, a rushing filling her veins, but she did not allow her feelings to color her voice. “I’m not taking up arms against the Alliance, Lord Admiral. This is a joint task force to hunt down pirates. I’ll ask you this once. Are you threatening me?”

“No, of course not.” Katherine sighed. “This whole situation is… unprecedented.”

“It is indeed,” Sylvanas said. “Let’s adjourn for the day. Dread Admiral Tattersail should be in port tomorrow and you can work out the details of the command structure for the task force.”

She picked Varian up and allowed him to find a perch on her shoulder as she passed Jaina. “I’ll be in the residency.”

“I’ll join you in a little while,”Jaina said. “I need to talk to Nathanos and my mother first.”

That brought pause to Sylvanas. “Try not to kill him.”

“I can’t make any promises.”

While Tess and Katherine conferred, Jaina stalked towards Nathanos, taking him by the elbow and pulling him out of earshot. “Hoping to get rid of me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t feign innocence. Conveniently getting me out of the city and into a dangerous situation where anything could happen to me?”

Nathanos quirked his eyebrow. “The sea is quite dangerous.”

“She is,” Jaina said, that same danger lurking in her smile. “But even if you manage to get me killed, that’s still not going to make Sylvanas want you in her bed.”

Expression darkening, Nathanos pulled his arm away.

“For the record.” She leaned in and whispered, “It was amazing.”

Jaina didn’t wait for his response. She turned on her heel and walked to her mother.

Katherine frowned at her, opening her mouth and then seeming to have second thoughts about what she wanted to say.

“If you’re going to lecture me,” Jaina said. “I’m pouring us a drink.”

******

Sylvanas heard Jaina before she even opened the door. There was a delay in the hallway as she presumably hung up her cloak before entering the living room and declaring, “My mother is going to drive me mad.”

“Mm,” Sylvanas acknowledged, not looking up from her task. Varian lay on his back in her lap, head and eyes following the movement of the fabric she dangled over him. Occasionally he’d try to bat at it and she’d jerk it out of his reach.

“She’s so… she hovers.” Jaina rubbed her shoulder, pacing in circles. “She asks questions she already knows the answers to just to see if she can catch me in a lie, which is still better than asking questions she thinks she knows the answers to and refusing to believe me when I say anything else. I swear I wonder if the words coming out of my mouth are the ones she hears at all. It’s like she doesn’t trust me to tell her the truth. And she has the absolute gall to imply that you -- Sylvanas, are you listening?”

“Your mother hovers and believes I ravished you against your will.” Sylvanas twirled Jaina’s underwear above Varian, lips quirking at the corners as he managed to catch hold of it with a claw. Chirping, the cat chewed on the frayed edge where Sylvanas’ knife had parted the fabric.

“Yes, exactly. If she would at least say it instead of all the awkward...I swear by now the entire Alliance--” Jaina swallowed heavily and sank down onto the other couch, leaning her head back and rubbing her temples. “I can never show my face in Stormwind again.”

“I’m sorry you had such a terrible day.”

“You sound heartbroken, yes.” Jaina lifted her head from the back of the couch and stared at her.

Sylvanas looked up from Varian and raised an eyebrow in challenge.

Jaina shook her head and laughed. “No one would ever believe me if I tried to describe the way you look right-- “

The laughter abruptly stopped as Jaina realized what Varian was playing with. She bolted to her feet, but Varian snatched the underwear from Sylvanas and dashed out of the room.

Jaina stared in the direction he’d gone with a forlorn expression on her face. “At least there’s no way my mother can find out about that now.”

“Bold words,” Sylvanas pointed out. “Such comments often lead to the outcome you wish to avoid.”

“Shut up, Sylvanas.”

Sylvanas leaned forward, grasping Jaina’s hand and pulling her down onto the cushions next to her. She stared at Jaina as a flush crept over her cheek. An uncomfortable warmth grew in her chest. She didn’t trust it. She couldn’t.

And yet, she stroked Jaina’s cheek. “Make me.”

Jaina’s eyes darted from Sylvanas’s to her lips; then she scooted closer, Sylvanas welcoming her into her arms as Jaina’s lips found hers.

That warm feeling got worse, and Sylvanas combated it by nipping Jaina’s lip before breaking the kiss. Jaina stared at her, breathless, licking her lip with a flick of her tongue. “You confuse the hell out of me sometimes.”

The feeling was entirely mutual, but Sylvanas kept that thought to herself. Instead, she teased. “You were magnificent today. I wanted to have you on the war table, then and there.“

Jaina lurched forward, pushing Sylvanas down against the couch and needily crushing their lips together. Sylvanas tangled her fingers in Jaina’s hair, dragged her nails down her back, and hooked a leg around Jaina. She abruptly flipped them around and they rolled off the couch, Jaina on her back and Sylvanas pinning her to the floor.

Jaina breathed deeply. “Not with my mother in town.”

“One would think that would be the best possible motivation.” Sylvanas dipped her head, trailing her tongue from Jaina’s collarbone, up her throat, and then along her jaw to her ear.

“You’re cheating…” Jaina’s eyes fluttered as she arched under Sylvanas.

With the things Sylvanas had observed of Jaina, she was only scratching the surface. She trailed her fingers across Jaina’s throat, just once, lightly enough to be a promise and felt Jaina shudder against her. “That would be cheating. What would your mother say if she knew how you enjoy my hands around your neck?”

One of Jaina’s fingers brushed the tip of Sylvanas’s ear and she barely held back the gasp the feeling evoked. “What would anyone think of how sensitive your ears are?”

Sylvanas straddled Jaina, sitting up and peering down at her. “We’re at an impasse.”

The world twisted around her and they landed on the war table in the Hold, scattering ship models in every direction. Jaina grinned up at her.

That warmth returned, making Sylvanas feel queasy and ill. The last time she’d felt like this...

Her thought was interrupted as Jaina grabbed her by the front of her tunic and pulled her back down.

Chapter 24: Wraith's Shadow

“Warchief.” Minuial bowed low, and Jaina gave the priest a friendly smile.

“Champion. I’ve another task for you and that brute of yours.”

Minuial raised her eyebrows, though to Jaina’s amusement she didn’t disagree with the assessment of her husband. “What is your command?”

“I’ve heard … rumors.” Sylvanas waved one of her hands. The movement almost dislodged the cat perched on her shoulder. “I want them confirmed, by any means necessary.”

The smile she gave Sylvanas sent a chill down Jaina’s spine. She sometimes felt that Minuial was more of an avenging angel. “That won’t be a problem. Where should we start?”

“Ratchet. See Nathanos before you depart, he will have additional information for you about these rumors.”

Jaina turned her eyes to Sylvanas as the Sin’dorei made her exit. Sylvanas glanced at her and lifted a finger to her lips.

Later then.

Jaina nodded, shifting on her feet. She didn’t want to be in the Hold today. Her ship was being outfitted for the mission, and she had a great deal to plan before they set sail.

Earlier, Dread Admiral Tattersail had nominated Jaina to lead the armada. Not even her mother had objected, a fact which left Jaina feeling uneasy.

She also had a personal matter to attend to, though she had to be careful of that. The last thing she wanted was to call Sylvanas’s attention to it and thus far her mother hadn’t mentioned it either. Jaina wasn’t sure if that actually hurt or not.

“Lady Proudmoore, you seem distracted.”

Her head snapped up at Sylvanas’s voice. “I’m just thinking about the mission.”

“Indulge me. Tell me the plan.”

Jaina took a breath and nodded. “As it stands now, the Tempest, Dreadnaught, Banshee’s Wail and Doomhammer’s Legacy will meet Dawnchaser en route to a rendezvous point with two additional Alliance ships. We will sail to the location of the last known attack and begin searching. There’s a small island chain near there that they could be hiding in, so it’s the best place to start.”

Sylvanas studied her for a moment, and Jaina wondered if she was searching for some flaw in the plan or something to denounce about it. A smaller, embarrassed side of her hoped Sylvanas would praise her for it.

But before Sylvanas could say anything, a lanky goblin rushed into the hold and nearly tripped over his own feet. He stopped in front of the Warchief, holding up a finger as he leaned his hand on his knee and caught his breath. Finally, he gasped out. “They’ve stormed Gallywix’s Pleasure Palace!”

“Who?” Jaina prompted.

“It’s that Harlene Quixie!” He punched his fist into his palm, horror growing on his face with every word. “She got everyone riled up, talkin’ nonsense about fair wages an’ universal healthcare. They’re going to redistribute the wealth!”

Jaina kept her expression neutral, though when she looked at Sylvanas she couldn’t help the delighted glint in her eyes.

Sylvanas waved her hand, dismissing him. “What terrible news. It’s such a pity that this is an internal Bilgewater matter and I cannot step in.”

“But…” The Goblin looked up at her, wide-eyed and droopy eared. “They’re...they’re gonna kill him!”

“A terrible pity,” Sylvanas repeated, eyes drilling into the messenger as if they all didn’t know that Sylvanas could legitimately step in at this point.

Jaina waited until they were alone. Understanding the need for the Horde to appear strong and united, she asked, “Do we need to step in?”

“Let us see how this plays out,” Sylvanas replied, settling back into the throne. “But I believe we’ll be meeting with the new leader of the Bilgewater soon enough.”

“Until then,” Jaina said, thinking this balancing act could be very dangerous for Sylvanas. “I’m going to head upstairs and triple check my plans.”

“Academics.” Snorting, Sylvanas waved her hand as if to shoo her away, attention already drifting to Varian, who’d gotten bored and was entertaining himself by batting at her long eyebrows like feather teasers. Jaina quickly walked to the elevator. She’d hoped to slip away quietly; but she turned to find Sylvanas watching her, and held her gaze until she was out of view.

Jaina ran her fingers along the war table as she passed it, then spotted something on the ground near the bar. She walked over and picked up a little ship, rolling it around in her hand.

Sylvanas had marked her, claimed her, used her until she’d come undone on that very table, just last night. Jaina’s hand started to shake and she grasped it with the other to stop the trembling.

She wasn’t really looking at the little ship any more. What was wrong with her? She’d willingly bedded Sylvanas Windrunner, and not just once. Jaina sank to her knees, leaning her shoulder against the bar.

She’d sold out. Submitted. Begged.

And the thing that upset her the most was she didn’t think she had to strength to stop it. Worse, she didn’t want to.

Blinking tears from her eyes, she looked at the little ship again. A long time ago, after she’d moved to Dalaran to train, she’d visited Boralus on her birthday. Her father had given her an intricately designed miniature of the Tempest.

It had been able to float, and with a little bit of magic Jaina had put wind to its sails. She’d had so much fun putting her tiny ship into storms and battles. It had eventually rested on top of a bookshelf in Theramore Tower.

Jaina could barely remember who that little girl had been; and yet sometimes it seemed like a child was the only person her mother saw. It had definitely been the only person her father had seen, especially near the end. How often had someone looked at her and dismissed her, seeing a youthful girl and not a woman?

Even her own friends had looked on her with pity, and it felt as though they no longer believed she was her own person.

The tears burned at her cheeks. What mess had her life become that Sylvanas was the one person she could count on to see her for who she was?

Was that it? Was that why she let herself become the Warchief’s plaything? Validation?

Jaina twirled her finger, tracing an icy pattern in the air in the shape of two numbers. Four and zero. It should be a significant milestone, but Jaina barely cared.

Happy birthday.

All it really meant was another year had passed. Nothing more, nothing less.

There was no one left to build her little ships, anyway.

******

Doubt. It was a feeling Sylvanas did not often experience. She was always sure of herself and she went into every situation confident in herself and those she chose to surround herself with.

And yet, she was experiencing doubt. At least, that was what she told herself she was feeling, when she thought about sending her wife on some mad mission to hunt down pirates.

As if either she or Jaina were without suspicion that there was more than simple piracy afoot.

Not doubt then. Worry.

It was a well known fact that a plan never survived contact with the enemy. Sylvanas was keenly aware of that from personal experience, just as she was aware of the dangers of sending her hostage into battle. If she lost Jaina, she lost her leverage. And lost at sea meant she’d be unable to enact her backup plan and raise her to remain at her side, as she had with Kalira.

An entirely selfless choice. For the good of the Horde.

Sylvanas watched as Varian chased a bug at the far end of the hold, leaning her chin on her hand as she brooded. Realizing he was being watched, he padded over, mewling conversationally before hopping into her lap.

She tolerated it, resting her hand on his back as he swatted at the arrow necklace. After the second attempt, Sylvanas dumped him off of her lap and yanked the necklace off. She dangled it in the air, watching the light reflect off of the gold as it spun slowly. The inscription burned into her retinas.

Warmth centered in her chest, and Sylvanas quickly squashed it with anger. “Foolish woman.”

Sylvanas had lost everything. Her home. Her people. Feydori. Her mother. Even her sisters were lost to her, so much so they might as well be dead too.

There was a certain kind of loneliness to being the Banshee Queen. Her people, her true people looked at her as their savior, all but worshipping her like a goddess. Even those closest to her regarded her with wide-eyed awe.

It kept her apart from them, and most of the time she preferred that distance.

The other members of the Horde did not trust her. Sylvanas accepted that, knowing that in time they would come to understand that her goals and theirs aligned and that she was more than capable of guiding the Horde through anything. The compact was proof of that.

Underneath the hatred and anger that had wafted off of Jaina like a mist had been a palpable loneliness. Sylvanas would have said it was pathetic, except she would have been calling herself pathetic, too. Behind all the political considerations had been the simple fact that, despite what either of them might wish, they were in many ways kindred spirits.

Someone cleared their throat, and Sylvanas focused on the figure in the Hold, behind the dangling pendant. Jaina looked at her with concern. “It’s almost time.”

Sylvanas stood, closing the distance between them in two strides. She held the pendant up. “The words say be true.”

Jaina searched her eyes. “I know. But I still don’t know what they mean to you.”

“Lift your hair,” Sylvanas ordered, and clasped the necklace around Jaina’s neck once she’d obeyed. She trailed her fingers down her throat and to where the pendant hung between her breasts, side to side with a silver anchor. “Bring this back, and perhaps I’ll reward you with an explanation.”

Face flushed, Jaina nodded, words seeming to fail her. She fell into step next to Sylvanas as they left the Hold, her knuckles brushing against Sylvanas’s hand once or twice as they walked.

“You’re nervous,” Sylvanas said, observing her from the corner of her eyes. “You needn’t be.”

“We may find nothing. Or if we do the battle may not go well. It’s not often Horde and Alliance fleets work together like this.”

“I have every confidence that you will emerge victorious, my Lady of Orgrimmar.” Sylvanas smiled to herself as she increased her pace. It was a stupid title, one that occasionally concerned her with its reminder of the way Jaina had somehow dug herself into the city like a tick. Yet it was strangely endearing.

“I should hate that title,” Jaina murmured.

“Do you?”

Jaina considered Sylvanas’s question for a moment. “No. I don’t. It feels like a gift.”

“You bear it proudly. I expect nothing less.” Sylvanas gestured, waiting for Jaina to lead them to the dock. Slowly; Sylvanas wanted to enjoy her presence.

The Tempest had been outfitted with new sails and a crew that Jaina had handpicked. Most were Alliance, but she’d made a point of integrating Horde sailors and gunners as well.

Sylvanas eyed the ship impassively. “Not going to fly it to its destination?”

“Next time,” Jaina promised, separating from Sylvanas to greet her mother and the commanders of the armada.

Sylvanas’s hand brushed her elbow, too fleeting to catch her but long enough to make Jaina turn to look at her.

“What is it?”

“My wife is going to sea. Am I not entitled to a farewell kiss?”

It wasn’t fair using Kul Tiran tradition against Jaina like this, but Sylvanas wasn’t one to play fair. Besides, the gossip would spread quickly and provide some amusement for her in the interim.

Jaina’s eyes narrowed fractionally, but she waited as Sylvanas approached. Sylvanas traced the back of her knuckles across Jaina’s cheek, then pulled her face in.

The kiss was not what she’d intended originally. It was too soft, too tender, and it lingered too long. When she pulled away, she saw confusion and pain in Jaina’s eyes and that warm, queasy feeling returned.

“Good luck.” Sylvanas’s voice was too rough, too thick and she hated it.

Jaina took her hand and squeezed it once. And then she turned with a flourish of her cloak and marched towards her ship.

******

Five days out from Orgrimmar and two days after picking up Defiant and Teledrassil’s Fury, the armada ran into a squall. It wasn’t the worst storm Jaina had ever seen, but she kept her eyes peeled; it would be the perfect weather for an ambush. Water lashed the deck, soaking her cloak and robe and almost freezing the fabric to her skin.

She’d tightened the formation into a diamond so as not to lose anyone as they passed through the storm. Dreadnaught took point, Defiant and Doomhammer’s Legacy fanned out to port, with the Banshee’s Wail taking the left point of the diamond. Dawnchaser was starboard and aft of the Dreadnaught, and Teledrassil’s Fury took the right point. Jaina had made a conscious effort to keep the Kaldorei ship as far away from the Forsaken vessel as possible.

Tyrande’s message in selecting that vessel had been pointed.

Tempest followed at the rear point of the diamond, where Jaina could keep an eye on the entire armada.

Despite her fears, they cleared the storm without incident, the sun breaking through the clouds as the morning ended. Jaina tilted her head up, closing her eyes and letting it warm her face as she inhaled the post-storm scent. She put her hand in her pocket, rubbing her thumb across the little doll Alami had given her. For luck.

“Admiral?”

Jaina opened her eyes, looking at the thin, scarred Kaldorei who she’d chosen to command her ship. “Captain Moonspray, flag the armada to resume formation. We’re coming up on the area the pirates were last known to have attacked. I want eyes on the water for debris.”

Moonspray nodded, hopping down the stairs and shouting orders as she went, midnight blue hair flowing behind her.

For the next several hours the armada followed what appeared to be a debris trail. A ship had been damaged, and that was really the only lead they had besides rumors and hearsay.

A distant shape on the horizon drew Jaina’s eye. She flicked open her spyglass and looked through it. It was a ship, the older style favored by merchants and pirates alike and still in use by Stormwind’s navy.

At this distance it was hard to tell who they were dealing with. The only thing Jaina could tell was that it had suffered significant damage. The hull was blackened in places, both masts splintered. The stern was low in the water.

Curiously, the crew had rigged up a white flag made from tatters of sail and painted a Kaldorei design onto it. “Captain, can you tell what that flag is?”

Captain Moonspray peered through her own glass, then lowered it, frowning. “It’s an ancient signal flag. We haven’t used it in centuries.”

Jaina felt a tension headache building. “Do you know what it means?”

“It means Danger: Keep Away.”

“So what you’re saying is that that ship is bait.”

“Yes, ma’am. They’re trying to warn us.”

Nodding, Jaina ordered. “Flag the rest of the armada. We can assume the Fury will have someone who’s been around long enough to remember, but flag them anyway for good measure. There’s no telling if that ship is rigged to explode or plagued, but I’m not springing this trap until we know what we’re in for.”

“Any other orders for the armada?”

Jaina grinned. “Order the Banshee’s Wail to approach but not get too close. Shouting distance. If they’re plagued, the crew is Forsaken.”

The Forsaken could be immune to plague and most poisons but were maybe not immune to things exploding. Still, they could take more of a pounding than any of the living crews. It was a cold calculation; Sylvanas would be proud.

As the ships adjusted position, Jaina looked through her spyglass again, trying to read the name on the wounded ship’s bow. Most of it had burned or blasted away, and even the figurehead was in bad shape.

She spotted someone, Kaldorei, jumping up onto the starboard railing near the stern, waving their arms at the approaching Forsaken ship.

Waving them away.

Cannonfire echoed across the water, the source obscured by the Forsaken ship. The Banshee’s Wail shuddered and creaked, tacking hard to starboard as thick black smoke billowed into the air. Jaina strained to see what had attacked, but there was nothing there. “Find me the target!”

Water erupted between the Dawnchaser and Doomhammer’s Legacy, and Jaina turned at the sound in time to witness a ship exploding out of the water at a forty-five degree angle. It splashed down between the two Horde vessels.

It was painted with black tar, water pouring out of holes all along the hull and dripping from the sails. A massive, pointed ram was positioned on the bow. Ports swiveled open to reveal thirty guns on the port side alone.

There was no way to fire on it without hitting Dawnchaser and Jaina watched in horror as fire shot from the cannons. The broadside ripped into both ships, shattering the masts on the Sin’dorei vessel and turning the wheelhouse into shrapnel. An explosion rippled through the ship as some of the shots found the magazine.

A flash of bright light blinded Jaina, thunder reverberating across the water. When her vision cleared, Dawnchaser was gone, replaced by a floating inferno.

This was no pirate. This was something else entirely. Jaina’s helmsman spun the wheel, trying to give the Tempest’s guns a clear shot at the target, but it quickly submerged.

Jaina took stock of the situation. The Wail and Legacy could still maneuver, but were vulnerable. Dawnchaser was … gone.

Water bubbled near Teledrassil’s Fury, and Jaina ran to the side of her ship. Her spell froze the water, but the attacker emerged on the other side of the Kaldorei ship. They were ready for it, ship-mounted glaive throwers flinging the heavy siege ammunition into the black hull. A mage high up in the crow’s nest flung flame down onto the black ship, the fire refused to catch.

The return broadside destroyed the Fury’s mast and splintered the deck. But instead of submerging, the strange ship sailed hard towards the approaching Dreadnaught.

Jaina didn’t need to finish her order before the Tempest swung around hard. If they were fast enough they could sandwich the pirate between the two Kul Tiran vessels.

“Give me full sail!” Jaina cast her spells, summoning up a frigid storm as she commanded a dozen water elementals to fold around the hull of her ship. The sails caught the magical wind and Tempest surged forward, hydroplaning on the backs of the elementals.

Defiant was responding to signals from the Dreadnaught, turning to face the black ship head on. The Alliance frigate had a massive chase cannon where a figurehead would normally go. The first shot splashed into the water on the starboard side of the advancing attacker, and the second tore a hole into the deck.

Spotting underwater movement too late, Jaina managed a few fireballs before a leviathan roared out of the water, tentacles wrapping around the Alliance frigate. Wood groaned in protest as it was crushed and torn asunder, and the Defiant was dragged down into the deeps.

Laughter echoed across the water. Jaina brought up her spyglass. A name had been scratched into the bow of their foe.

Wraith's Shadow.

Standing on the deck of the Wraith's Shadow was a tall man, dressed in a deep maroon coat. He wore a wide-brimmed hat and a half-mask over his face, the nose hooked like the beak of a carrion bird. He pointed at her, bellowing a challenge.

Jaina responded as the guns of the Tempest boomed. “Go to hell!”

The Dreadnaught fired a moment later, just as the Shadow’s’s broadside slammed into it. Jaina’s heart went into her throat as the foremast of the Dreadnaught collapsed onto the deck.

Fire might not have worked, but Jaina knew a few spells that could maybe help turn the tide. Her concentration was interrupted when the railing nearby shattered. Wood cut deeply into Jaina’s cheek, accompanied by a sharp pain in her side.

But she ignored both. To the south, something was swarming over Teledrassil’s Fury.

Naga.

The Kaldorei were holding their own, but Jaina didn’t know how much longer they could last. The ship wouldn’t stay afloat for much longer; and once in the water, the crew wouldn’t stand a chance against Naga.

She grabbed for Moonspray’s arm. “Order Legacy and the Wail to aid the Fury. Once the crew is rescued, they’re to retreat.”

“If that leviathan returns, we’re in for it. And I don’t think that ship will let them go either.”

The Wraith's Shadow had submerged again. Where it would attack was anyone’s guess; would it continue to attack the strongest ships, or pick off the damaged ones first?

“Your orders?”

“Have the guns ready. And captain? You’re really not going to like what I’m about to do.” Jaina’s eyes hardened and she twirled her hands in circles, arcane energy flowing from her. A bubble engulfed the Tempest.

Moonspray grabbed onto the nearest rope as the ship took a sharp dive into the water. “Times like this I’m glad you’re on our side.”

Smiling, Jaina propelled the ship on a localized current of water elementals. “When we find the Shadow, I’ll freeze it in place. Then we’re going to make sure it never surfaces again.”

Someone shouted as figures burst through the bubble and landed on deck. A Naga’s trident impaled an Orc sailor, flinging him overboard and into the waiting maws of a shark.

There was nothing Jaina could do; she had to concentrate on keeping Tempest going. She wasn’t even sure she had the energy to spare to freeze the Wraith's Shadow. But she’d have to try.

Turning the ship, Jaina closed her eyes, listening with her magic for the passage of something large through the water.

Drawing her sword, Moonspray called out. “We can’t let them get to the guns! Varja, on me! Protect the Admiral!”

A grey-skinned Draenei rushed past, wrapping a whip of lava around a Naga and yanking him into her waiting hammer, crushing his skull. Jaina tuned out the rest of the battle on the deck. She could hear the Wraith's Shadow moving through the water now, and it was close.

Jaina abruptly changed course, swinging the ship hard to port as the Wraith's Shadow shot towards the surface. The ram on the front of it pierced the side of Dreadnaught and the momentum split the battleship in half.

The Tempest burst out of the water next to the Wraith's Shadow as spears of ice locked the other ship in place.

Moonspray’s broadside was crippling.

Enraged at the sight of the remains of the Dreadnaught, Jaina sprinted across the deck and leapt over to the enemy ship. There seemed to be no other crew than the captain, and he was waiting for her. If she didn’t want him alive, she would have killed him where he stood.

Instead, she froze him to the deck. “You have a lot of crimes to answer for.”

He said nothing, simply staring at her from behind his mask. Cautiously, Jaina approached, and reached for the mask.

A shadowy tendril wrapped around her hand and yanked her off her feet. She skidded across the deck as the captain broke free. And then he started to change, a dark energy rippling through him, his laugh echoing in Jaina’s ears. In a raspy voice, he said. “There’s always a price. Are you prepared to pay it?”

Thick tendrils burst through the deck, cracking the wood and lashing at the masts. One crashed down towards the Tempest as another pierced the deck between her legs. Jaina rolled out of the way, running for her ship as the deck heaved beneath her feet. She called to the sea; as Jaina swung back to the Tempest, the two ships were pried apart by dozens of water elementals.

She released them, staring at the Wraith's Shadow as the tentacles crushed and twisted the ship, pulling it beneath the waves.

“The Naga have retreated.” Moonspray approached her cautiously. “Doomhammer’s Legacy is being scuttled and Teledrassil’s Fury won’t last much longer either. Banshee’s Wail is taking everyone on.”

Exhaling sharply, Jaina nodded, finding solace in her anger. “There will be others in the water from the Dreadnaught and Defiant. We’re not leaving until we’ve pulled every last survivor on board.”

The Banshee’s Wail slid up alongside Tempest. Jaina looked across at the other ship, where Nathanos and Tattersail stood. Nathanos looked irritated, an expression that only grew more sour when Jaina inclined her head and gave him a vicious smile.

Maybe next time, Blightcaller.

“Admiral.” Moonspray put her hand on Jaina’s side. Jaina looked down, seeing a piece of wood sticking out of her stomach.

Huh.

She grasped it and yanked it out, freezing the wound with her magic. Through gritted teeth, she ordered. “Get us moving, my mother and the others are in the water and there might still be Naga around!”

She prayed they were still alive. They’d lost enough people today.

Chapter 25: The L Word

***Thirty Years Ago***

“You cannot defeat me.” The boy pointed his practice sword at her.

Jaina laughed as she ducked behind a tree. She’d only been in Dalaran a few weeks, but had already learned a number of new spells; including a couple that she wasn’t technically supposed to know yet but had discovered while reading late at night.

She didn’t have a practice sword to properly duel this boy, but she could make one. It took a few moments while he taunted her; though an ice bolt made him yelp and dive for cover, giving her an extra minute to concentrate.

When she stepped out of cover, she held a sword of crackling arcane energy. It stuttered and sparked, but it would hold. She called out in a high voice. “Arthas! Come out and face me you jerk!”

Arthas popped out from behind a fountain, grinning at her as his blonde hair formed a mop on his head. “Ah, but it’s not proper to duel a girl!”

A tiny ball of flame appeared in Jaina’s hand and she flung it. Arthas’s cloak caught fire and he yelped, dropping to the ground to roll the flames out. While he was distracted, Jaina charged forward and jumped on him.

It wasn’t very lady like, but she was a mage first and a lady third. He kicked her off and hacked away at her arcane sword. It flickered with each hit, until it finally went out.

Arthas tried to pull his last strike but with nothing in the way to block or deflect it, the wooden sword smacked Jaina, leaving a red welt across her face. She cried out, curling up in a ball and holding her face.

“Jaina! I’m so sorry.” Arthas knelt next to her, hands hovering over her shoulders. “We should take you to a healer.”

Teary-eyed and sniffly, Jaina shook her head, sitting up. “You’ll get in trouble.”

“Let me see.” Arthas took her hand and gently pulled it away from her face. “When Calia finds out, I’m doomed. But that’s okay.”

Jaina watched him carefully, not caring that he was seeing her crying as he studied the damage he’d done. “Is it bad?”

Frowning, the boy held his hand over Jaina’s face. Golden light flashed in the space between them. Jaina felt the pain cool, and then disappear completely. He practically vibrated with excitement. “It worked!”

She closed her eyes, Arthas wiping her tears with his fingers. “Maybe I should have used a stick instead.”

“No, that was amazing. You made a sword out of arcane magic.” He beamed at her when she opened her eyes again. “One day, you’re going to change the world, Jaina.”

“You’re the prince,” Jaina pointed out. She let Arthas help her to her feet. “If anyone is going to change the world, it’ll be you.”

“How about I make you a deal.”

Jaina folded her arms. “What kind of deal?”

“We can both change the world together.”

A slow smile spread across her face as she studied his sloppy grin and that stupid mop of hair of his. Imperiously, she declared, “I accept your terms, Prince Arthas.”

He held his arm out in the sort of manner befitting his station. “Would you allow me to escort you back to the tower, Lord Admiral?”

Jaina continued to affect a formal tone. “Technically I hold the rank of Captain.”

Arthas stared at her. “Really?”

Jaina laughed and took his arm. “No! But I can order a bunch of sailors around back home if I wanted to.”

“I was just trying to imagine you on the deck of a ship, ordering everyone around.” He glanced at her.

“I think it’s a good look for me,” Jaina replied.

“Yeah. Me too.”

***Now***

Anduin hated Durotar. He hated deserts in general. They were always so hot, the dust rough and coarse, getting everywhere. But in light of what had happened with the armada he had decided it would be best to meet in Orgrimmar rather than inviting Sylvanas to Stormwind. It was easier in general for some of the crews, too. Some of them were still recovering from the ordeal.

“All right,” he said. “Tell us what happened.”

Two champions stood in front of Sylvanas and himself in Grommash hold; the leader of the Horde expedition to the uncharted islands, and the champion Anduin had tasked with keeping an eye on them, Yukale Ravenwing.

Yukale bowed her head to them, then glanced at the Sin’dorei warlock standing next to her. “I think you should start.”

“Naturally.” Lomea Shadowbinder had a way of speaking that emphasized certain words and yet her tone was often as dry as Tanaris. The Sin’dorei warlock looked between King and Warchief.

Warlocks always made Anduin nervous, and this one’s eyes were a shade of green that spoke to how attuned she was to Fel magics.

Sylvanas nodded once, and Lomea continued. “We established the beachhead, as ordered. Everything seemed to be going well but within a few weeks I started noticing unusual behaviour amongst my team. Hoping to avoid more workers going mad I decreased the maximum allowed time in the caves.”

Anduin glanced at Yukale. “What about you?”

“We set up in a cove on a nearby island. They knew we were there. Sometimes we’d wave at each other, or someone would try to stab someone, you know, the usual.” Yukale clasped her hands behind her back, rocking back and forth on her heels. “My people seemed fine, but some of the Horde coming out of those caves acted strangely. Erratically. Near the end they started attacking each other.”

Lomea nodded. “It got worse once we broke the seal and gained access to the chamber beyond. The energy within was indescribable. Most of the workers went mad within the hour and that is when the Naga attacked.”

“They were pinned between Naga coming in from the sea, and the corrupted workers rushing them from the caves,” Yukale said. “I moved the Windwhistle to rescue them.”

“We graciously accepted Alliance support,” Lomea clarified, expression neutral.

Yukale leaned in towards the King and Warchief and whispered. “Rescued.” She raised her voice to a normal level. “With Naga hot on our tails we set sail for Durotar. It was the closest friendly port.”

“Most of the Naga gave up the chase.” Lomea glanced down at her nails. “Those that did not quickly met their end.”

“There was burning,” Yukale translated. “So much burning. It smelled like fried fish for days, but with a pleasant fel aftertaste.”

“Thank you for that delightful image,” Sylvanas said, echoing Anduin’s thoughts. “What about the ship.”

“It was early in the morning. My sister was on day watch.” Yukale unclasped her hands and fidgeted with her glove. Anduin noted what looked like a small compartment in the wrist. “Wraith’s Shadow came out of the water like a breaching whale and she called out the alarm. I’d barely gotten out of bed when the first broadside hit us.”

“It was too far away for the hunters to reach.” Lomea conjured a green flame in her palm. “And it stubbornly refused to catch fire. I was able to summon an infernal to buy us enough time to escape.”

“But you didn’t get very far, did you,” Anduin prompted, looking at Yukale when she nodded. “They caught you and disabled you, but left you adrift.”

“Exactly, your majesty. And we knew we were bait for someone or something.”

Lomea snuffed her flame out. “Any signals we sent would be intercepted, or force the Shadow to destroy us. Ravenwing’s auntie had the brilliant idea to paint an ancient Kaldorei signal flag.”

“We figured there was no way that ship could understand what the flag meant and we kind of hoped it would be recognized by someone.”

Sylvanas was silent, and Anduin wondered what was going through her head. Based on the debriefing with Jaina, he was beginning to understand what they were dealing with. He didn’t want to think about it or what it entailed for the Alliance and the world at large, but he was understanding it.

“Is that all, Warchief?” Lomea asked. “I would like to see to my … people. Many are injured.”

“Girlfriend,” Yukale translated, smiling innocently.

“You would look lovely in green,” Lomea warned.

Sylvanas waved her hand in dismissal, and Anduin nodded for Yukale to leave as well. He turned to face his counterpart. “Naga. Dark energy in some kind of tomb. A corrupted sea-captain with an impossible ship.” Folding his arms, he asked. “Are you going to tell me what the hell you were doing on that island?”

“Let us wait for my wife.” Sylvanas tilted her head, flashing her teeth at him. “And I’ll tell you all about what I was up to.”

Anduin frowned, but didn’t flinch away or back down. “She doesn’t know? It was an island expedition to study magical artifacts, when she didn't say anything I just assumed her hands were tied.”

“You've been listening to gossip, little lion. I haven't even suggested it.” Her words hung in the air before she added casually, “Yet.”

“What do you…” When her smile got wider, Anduin shook his head. “You know what, I don’t want to know.”

“Would you like some tips? I understand Draenei can be a little vanilla.”

They weren’t having this conversation. Anduin shifted uncomfortably, putting a few more inches between himself and Sylvanas. She threw her head back and laughed and it was the most disturbing sound he’d ever heard.

******

Jaina approached the Hold deep in thought. She was unhappy with the way the battle at sea had gone. Too many ships lost and too many sailors with them. They’d fished maybe a dozen people out of the water from Dreadnaught, fighting Naga the whole way.

Defiant had gone down with all hands. Banshee’s Wail had sailed away with roughly a third of the combined crew of Teledrassil’s Fury and Doomhammer’s Legacy on board, as well as the Alliance and Horde champions from the Windwhistle.

Jaina had personally scuttled Yukale’s ship before getting underway; it had already begun to sink and she’d sped it along, sending the old lady to her eternal rest.

She spotted Yukale leaving the Hold with a familiar looking Sin’dorei and Jaina realized she’d seen the woman once before, sunning herself in the Valley of Honor. With that memory firmly on her mind, she couldn’t meet Lomea’s eyes, instead focusing on Yukale as she passed and praying the heat on her face wasn’t too obvious.

Anduin was leaning away from Sylvanas as Jaina strode into the Hold. He looked so uncomfortable and Sylvanas so smug that Jaina quickly put herself between them, pointedly taking Sylvanas’s arm and pushing her to give Anduin a bit more space. “Children, behave.”

Sylvanas rested her hand over Jaina’s, offering no objection to the manhandling. “So what happens if I’m disobedient?”

Jaina bit her lip to keep from making an vastly inappropriate comment. It looked like Anduin was trying not to choke and she didn’t want to make the situation worse for the poor man.

“How is mother?” Sylvanas asked.

“My mother is fine, thank you. She’ll be off her feet for a few weeks, but will make a full recovery.”

Smirking, Sylvanas removed her hand from Jaina’s and pressed it lightly against her side. “And your recovery?”

Jaina missed the contact, and then hissed when the pressure aggravated her wound. “I’ll be fine too.”

“A pretty scar for me,” Sylvanas decided, and Jaina thought she heard Anduin’s eyes roll.

She grabbed Sylvanas by the wrist and pulled the hand away. “Okay, fill me in on the situation.”

Anduin seemed relieved, and quickly brought Jaina up to speed. The additional context from Yukale and Lomea made Jaina uneasy, and a sense of disquiet settled over her. Finally, she asked, not sure she wanted to hear the answer. “Sylvanas, you need to tell us what that expedition was up to.”

“Very well.” Sylvanas started walking, Jaina still attached to her arm. “We will not speak of this here; there are already too many ears. Besides, we’ve never been proper hosts. We really should show King Wrynn our home.”

“We’ve never even shown my mother.” Jaina murmured.

“I know, I just like Anduin better,” Sylvanas replied.

“I’m right here,” Anduin pointed out.

Jaina glanced back at him with an apologetic shrug. Trying to control Sylvanas was like trying to control the sea. It wasn’t possible and attempts to do so only ended in disaster.

Or at least, Jaina had learned when and where to pick her battles, and this wasn’t one of them.

Varian bounded out of the bedroom as they stepped inside, purring his way around Jaina’s ankles and greeting Anduin with equal enthusiasm. Or, as Jaina suspected Sylvanas would characterize it fondly for years to come, making an admirable attempt at assassinating the King by tripping him back down the stairs.

It was obvious from Anduin’s expression that the residence was not at all what he’d expected. Jaina knew that Genn would grill him endlessly, and she didn’t really care; there was nothing to hide here and it was generally a well-kept living space, except for the scholarly clutter.

Homier than it had been at first. Many more books and shelves in nearly every room, of course. And more color. Not just the darks and purples that Sylvanas preferred, but blue and red, silver and gold, and a little bit of Kul Tiran green for highlights.

Anduin stared for a particularly long moment at a ribbon hanging on the wall, and it took a moment for Jaina to remember what that was.

When Anduin looked at her quizzically, she shrugged and smiled. “I’m the best pig wrestler in Orgrimmar.”

Dumbfounded, Anduin looked at the ribbon again, before following Jaina into the living area. He looked around, and then nodded. “Well. You definitely live here.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He gave her a smile. “Sextant on the table, books scattered on many surfaces and a couple floating around. Chalkboard hiding in the corner with formulas that are already giving me a headache. Papers everywhere.”

So perhaps it was more cluttered than she realized.

Sylvanas had an expression on her face that was almost indulgent, but it disappeared before Anduin could notice. For some reason, that made the heat rise to Jaina’s face a lot more quickly than Anduin knowing her too well. She cleared her throat. “Well, we’re out of earshot of everything.”

Pouring herself a completely unnecessary drink, Sylvanas studied both of them. “I know you will share this with the other leaders of the Alliance, as I will need to share it with my own counterparts. But some time ago a Champion of the Horde discovered a box.”

“I’m going to assume this isn’t a normal box,” Anduin prompted.

“Gold star for the king.” Sylvanas pulled a folded up piece of paper from one of her pouches. Opening it, she swept a table clean and smoothed the paper on the table. “It drove my poor champion mad. He claimed voices whispered to him of unspeakable horrors, and granted him terrible dreams of darkness and decay.”

Looking over Sylvanas’s shoulder, Jaina saw a drawing of the box. It was carved with geometric patterns and circles at the center of each side. “What was inside?”

“I don’t know. I can’t get it open.” Sylvanas stepped aside so Anduin could get a look as well.

“And how are you certain it hasn’t driven you mad?” He looked at Sylvanas.

Returning his gaze, Sylvanas merely smiled. “I married Lady Proudmoore, perhaps that is proof enough.”

Jaina scoffed. “Really?”

Anduin looked between them, then shook his head in disbelief. “Obviously you discovered something to link this box to those islands. We could have made it a joint operation.”

“We could have, but I was interested in seeing how quickly you would notice and what sort of force you’d send to harass my people.”

“I concede your point,” he replied.

“A box with whispers, a chamber that drives people mad, and a captain and ship corrupted by the Old Gods.” Saying the words out loud made ice form inside Jaina’s stomach. She inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. “We need information from that chamber.”

“Most of that expedition went insane or became corrupted,” Anduin pointed out. “It takes a strong will or immunity to resist that corruption.”

“Indeed.” Sylvanas rested her palm on the table, next to the paper. “Those that survived had strong enough wills to resist, but I would not risk them again so soon.”

“Forsaken.” Jaina stared at Sylvanas. “Forsaken, and Death Knights. Undead are immune to corruption by the Old Gods.”

Anduin nodded. “They can still be tempted, but they can’t be driven mad the same way as most. Worgen might have some immunity as well.”

Sylvanas grinned. “Greymane will not be happy.”

“So we return to those islands with an expedition of Forsaken scholars, Alliance Death Knights, and a few Worgen volunteers,” Jaina suggested. “And hope there is still something there to find.”

******

Sylvanas held the ship model in her hand as she stared at the war table. Silently, she closed her fist around it, squeezing until the model was crushed. “I understand there are cracks forming between Whisperwind and the rest of the Alliance.”

“Her pride was wounded by the implication that the Kaldorei need protection by Kul Tiras.” Nathanos stepped up next to her. “The loss of her unfortunately named ship did not help matters.”

Nodding, Sylvanas opened her hand and let the bits of wood drop to the table. “Speaking of that. Would you care to tell me how Captain Raze went rogue with my weapon?”

“I’ve been trying to find out, but he was lost when that leviathan claimed the ship.”

She turned cold eyes onto him. “The existence of that ship would have drawn the ire of the Alliance. I thought it a risk worth taking.”

“Raze must have made a bargain with the Naga and their masters,” Nathanos mused. “Prey upon both Horde and Alliance. At least now it can be attributed to someone else.”

“We were baited.” Sylvanas leaned on the war table, eyes almost entirely black. “We were baited, and we fell for it. Five ships lost, and we nearly lost my favorite too. What’s more, I could have lost you. I could have lost Jaina.”

There was also the matter of the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, but Katherine wasn’t very high on Sylvanas’s priority list.

Nathanos’s eyes narrowed, and he squared his shoulders. “It would take much more than that to eliminate either myself or your consort.”

“We both know you would have been pleased if she’d been killed.” Sylvanas straightened, running her fingers through her hair. “I am going to give you a list of names. Forsaken scholars, mages and warriors. A few Death Knight champions. You’re going to lead a new expedition to that island, where you will meet with Alliance forces. I want answers, Nathanos. And I want them now.”

He bowed deeply, then backed to the elevator. Sylvanas felt his eyes on her until the platform started to lower. She looked down at the table, then lifted her arms and smashed her fists into it, shattering it in half.

Sylvanas loathed not being in control, and the situation with Wraith’s Shadow and N’zoth was well beyond her control at the moment. Shoving the remains of the table out of the way, Sylvanas stalked to the elevator, and then out of the Hold once she was on the ground floor.

The boy had returned to Stormwind hours ago and she assumed that Jaina would be with her mother, so Sylvanas expected to be alone.

As soon as she stepped inside, she could hear Jaina’s heartbeat through the ground, and taste her breath on the air. She stood in the doorway, head tilted, listening. Quietly, she hung her cloak on the hook and removed her boots, then padded silently into the bedroom.

Jaina was laying in the bed, covers askew and doing little to hide the expanse of her skin. Sylvanas studied her, feeling her anger ebbing by the minute.

She slowly undressed, then pulled the covers aside and lay next to Jaina. Resting her hands over her stomach, Sylvanas stared at the ceiling, allowing the steadiness of Jaina’s life to slow her thoughts. Her plans were secure, the compact intact, Jaina safe.

Sylvanas turned her head towards Jaina, then rolled to face her. Cautiously, she stroked her hair, and trailed her fingers along her cheekbone and she loathed Jaina in that moment. Loathed her pretty face and her beautiful voice and intelligence and that stubborn fire that burned within her, making her feel that uncomfortable warmth. She kissed her lightly, then rolled to face away and stew.

The bed shifted underneath her, and she felt Jaina’s body against her back. Jaina’s right arm slid around her waist, her lips brushing against the spot where her spine met her neck. Her breasts were soft and inviting, scorching at her skin and Sylvanas suddenly wasn’t so sure anymore that what she was feeling was actually loathing.

“I’m okay,” Jaina murmured.

Sylvanas dug her fingers into the bed so deeply she dug out feathers.

Chapter 26: Personal Space

Notes:

Part of this chaptert was missing, during the Anduin section. This has been resolved, sorry!

***Many Years Ago***

Shades of red and orange danced across Sylvanas’s features as the pyre crackled and burned. Nathanos studied her from where he stood; a Ranger like the rest of them and yet forever apart for being human. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered so long as he had Lady Sylvanas’s favor, and the skill to back her confidence up.

And she would need him in the coming days. He frowned at the pyres, arranged in an arrow-like formation. Lireesa Windrunner was the point, her two seconds forming the rest of the head and a dozen more rangers the shaft. Each pyre held aloft the body of someone Sylvanas had called friend or family.

He looked again at Sylvanas. She stood rigidly still, her hand grasping the shoulder of the young elf next to her. Sundreamer’s child was holding up remarkably well, the only outward sign of her grief how close she stood to Sylvanas and how tightly she clasped her hand over the one on her shoulder.

Kalira could be a problem, but the competition was now gone. Nathanos focused on Feydori’s pyre. The woman had been holding Sylvanas back for years, by virtue of both emotion and position. It mattered no longer. Sylvana would be Ranger-General and Nathanos would be the sharpest arrow in her quiver. The way it was supposed to be.

Sylvanas stepped forward, guiding Kalira with her. Cast in the light of the flames she looked radiant as she took a breath and began to sing. The dirge was ancient and moving, bolstered by the pain and anger writ on Sylvanas’s face.

Another voice joined hers, high and sniffling. Sylvanas’s hand tightened on Kalira’s shoulder as they sang together. Just a child, she was allowed this display of emotion, but Nathanos could hear no break in Sylvanas’s voice, nor see the tears he knew she kept back.

After the last note faded, they stayed. After the bodies had been reduced to ash and ember, they stayed. Sylvanas and Kalira, and Nathanos ever vigilant.

The remaining mourners had departed hours ago. Sylvanas stared into the embers where her mother had been, her eyes flicking to other pyres on occasion. A specific pyre more often than the others, Nathanos noted.

“My ladies. It grows late and their ashes have returned to the forest.”

Sylvanas did not look at him. Instead, she approached her mother’s pyre. He stared slack-jawed as she dug her fingers into the ashes. They must have burned her, but she did not flinch, or make a sound. She rubbed the ash in her palm around with her thumb, then lifted her hand to her face and dragged her fingers, leaving trails of ash diagonally across her face, then smudged some of it around her eyes.

Kalira hesitated, then spread a streak of her mother’s ashes in a single line on her right cheek with two fingers. Then she walked slowly to Sylvanas, and did the same for her.

Kneeling in front of her, Sylvanas put her hands on Kalira’s shoulders. To Nathanos’s shock, tears streaked through the ash on Sylvanas’s face, glittering in the moonlight.

“Little one, have you kept up your lessons?”

“Yes.” Kalira nodded, blinking her eye as she let out a shaky breath.

“Can you be true?”

“I can strike true, Lady.”

Sylvanas smiled, a grim expression with the ash in the dim glow of the embers. “Call me Sylvanas.” Her eyes flicked to Feydori’s remains. “Or mother, if you wish. But can you be true?”

Kalira frowned. “There’s a difference?”

“There’s a great difference. To be true is to hold to your convictions. Listen to the advice of others, but never allow yourself to ignore your own instincts.”

“So be true to your heart,” Kalira said. “Mother used to say something like that.”

“Yes...”

“I can be true, mother.”

Sylvanas studied Kalira’s face, then smudged a line down the center of her forehead. She whispered, almost too low for Nathanos to hear. “I take you into my house, Kalira Sundreamer. From now until eternity.”

Standing, Sylvanas called out. “Nathanos, return to the city.”

“What of you, Ranger-General?”

She looked at him sharply, her eyes lost in the darkness of the ash and Nathanos felt something like fear trickle down his spine. “Tomorrow, Nathanos. Tomorrow I will be the Ranger-General of Silvermoon. Tonight I will be the monster the Forest Trolls speak of to frighten their children. Tonight, Kalira and I will avenge the fallen.”

“Allow me to accompany you, my ladies.” Nathanos bowed, hand pressed to his chest. “You are more than capable of this task, but it never hurts to have someone at your back.”

“You would be the first I’d ask to cover my back,” Sylvanas replied. “But this is something we must do alone.”

She turned away, and Nathanos watched as she and Kalira faded into the darkness of the forest like wraiths.

*** Now***

Once her mother was ready for travel, Jaina had personally seen her back to Kul Tiras with the other survivors from Dreadnaught. There was little else she could do but offer her condolences to the families of the lost; and the stack of letters on her desk had slowly grown over the following weeks until she’d had one for every lost sailor on those seven ships that had a family she could find.

The last of those had just been sent out, and Jaina took the opportunity for a stroll through the city. She hadn’t since before the battle at sea and felt disconnected from Orgrimmar.

That she felt that way, and felt the need to fix it, gnawed at her, but not as much as the observation that she was being watched. She was always being watched, but today it was so blatantly obvious that it was beginning to get on her nerves. She’d had a dozen people brush past her and even more ‘casually’ asking her how she was.

Jaina almost wished she’d ignored Sylvanas’s command to stay away from the Hold for the day. But the Warchief had been oddly insistent on it; not quite an order, but a heavily implied suggestion.

“Kalira, how many Alliance spies have you seen in the past ten minutes?” She asked, stopping at a stall and ordering a sausage-on-a-stick.

Kalira quirked her eyebrow. “Four. Including this vendor.”

“Interesting.” Jaina took the sausage from the suddenly nervous looking vendor, and continued to walk. “I’ve seen three times that many.”

“You can’t be serious.” Kalira followed Jaina, glancing back at the stand with a relieved look. No sausage for her this time. At least that had clearly been her hope before Tyra caught up with them and shoved one into her hand. She stared at her girlfriend like she was imagining tearing her limb from limb, and then, while still holding eye contact, smushed the meat against Tyra’s face.

Jaina watched the exchange with amused bemusement. “It’s not that bad.”

“I’m dead and it made me sick,” Kalira said.

It was a welcome bit of levity, and Jaina just shook her head as Tyra wiped off her face and licked her fingers clean. “You Forsaken and your weak constitutions.”

“I think someone killed and raised her stomach years ago,” Kalira muttered, drawing a raspy laugh from Tyra.

“Anyway, I’m serious.” Jaina spread her hands out in a vague motion. “They’re keeping a closer eye on me than you are. I appreciate their concern, but what I get up to in privacy is my business.”

“Ain’t sure the throne room is all that private, Lady.”

Jaina sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Thank you for pointing that out, Tyra.”

“Yeh welcome.”

“Can we please not talk about that?” Kalira asked, shuddering.

“What, that yeh mum has been havin’ Lady Proudmoore like--”

“I want a divorce.”

“We ain’t even married.”

The two continued to bicker behind Jaina and thankfully moved off the subject of her sex life. Jaina preferred not to think of it either. Like everything in her life, things happened, she placed them in a box, stacked the box on top of other boxes, shoved the whole thing somewhere dark and full of cobwebs with all the rest of the boxes and then locked the door behind her.

Just when Jaina thought that she might have escaped any further questioning by the Alliance, she was approached by a rather short Orc and his wolf pet.

If by ‘orc’ and ‘wolf’ one meant a gnome in an orc mask and a Worgen doing a poor impression of a hound. Jaina knew a Worgen rogue who’d perfected that trick; apparently it was harder than it looked.

Jaina just stared at the two of them. The Worgen shifted uncomfortably, looking around as he sat awkwardly on his haunches.

“Hulloo miss,” the Gnome said, in his best impression of a deep, tough voice. “I mean, Lewk tear Oogare!”

The Worgen cleared his throat, and then in a normal, dry voice said, “Bark.”

Through gritted teeth and with a wild look in her eyes, Jaina hissed, “I’m going to pretend this never happened, I suggest you both do the same. And put some pants on!”

She turned on her heel, storming away as she heard Tyra ask if she could pet the puppy, Kalira’s laughter echoing behind her.

The gall. If one more Alliance spy approached her, she would lose her mind.

Taking a deep breath, Jaina fiddled with the doll in her pocket. It helped calm her a little bit and she absently wondered who Minuial and Galnir had found to watch their children while they were investigating Sylvanas’s rumors. She hoped it was someone with a lot of energy and who was well-rested; that person was not Jaina.

But it made her wonder something, and she came to a stop, turning to face Kalira and Tyra. “This is obviously an open secret. But how did you end up adopted by Sylvanas?”

Kalira came to an abrupt stop, staring at her with eyes that were a slightly different shade of red from Sylvanas’s. “Why?”

“I’m just curious. I barely know anything about you, and then I discover I have a step-daughter.”Jaina kept her voice low; it wasn’t exactly a state secret, but it was still clearly a sensitive subject. She wondered if spies had ever reported it to Anduin. He had to have known by now, surely.

Thinking about it, she was pretty sure that Sylvanas so casually revealing it must have been calculated, knowing the information would get back to the Alliance one way or another.

“She was close to my mother,” Kalira said, no inflection in her voice. “My mother was killed before the Second War. I was barely old enough to join in the defense of Quel’Thelas during the Third. I was the first Dark Ranger she raised.”

Jaina kept her expression as carefully neutral as Kalira’s voice had been bland, but her mind was a whirlwind and her chest felt like ice had settled next to her heart. “Did you wish for that?”

“I was dead,” Kalira replied. “There was no way for her to ask.”

It was an evasive answer, but before Jaina could press her on it, she heard someone call her name. Turning around, she saw a familiar Kaldorei jogging towards her. Jaina felt her eye twitch as Yukale came to a stop in front of her. “You too?”

“What?” Yukale tilted her head, brushing a strand of violet hair out of her eyes.

“Look, I understand that King Wrynn is concerned, I would be too in his place, but this is getting ridiculous.” Jaina spun around, arms outstretched. “Now he’s sending Champions to check on me?”

“I’m just--”

“Three days,” Jaina declared. “Three days. Tell Anduin to make his people leave me alone for three days.”

“But--”

Jaina didn’t let Yukale finish her sentence.

****

Anduin sank back on his throne, rubbing both of his hands over his face. This was not how he expected this day to be going and it was, in fact, not even on his bingo card.

He dropped his hands to the arm rest and sighed tiredly as the woman in front of him dripped water on the floor. “And then she teleported you into Stormwind Harbor.”

Yukale nodded her head, twisting her finger in her right ear and then patting at her head to knock water out. “Yes. Well, about thirty feet above it. I surfaced and realized I wasn’t alone.”

She started to wring out her hair.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Anduin turned his head towards Mathias Shaw. “And how many of our spies are left in Orgrimmar?”

Shaw squinted one eye, clearly not happy. “One, your majesty. She left the Shiv alone.”

“That’s… actually a small relief,” Anduin admitted.

“I just wanted to say hello,” Yukale complained.

“We may have been keeping too close a tab on her of late. Perhaps we went a little overboard.” Anduin lifted his hand and pressed it to his face. How the hell was he going to tell Genn? For that matter, what could they do? It wasn’t Sylvanas who’d expelled most of the Alliance spies from Orgrimmar, and both she and Jaina were well within their rights to do so.

“You think?” Yukale snapped. Her eyes widened and she quickly added, “Sir.”

Letting out a snort, Anduin waved his hand. “Go dry off and get something warm to eat. There is something we need to discuss, but it can wait until later.”

She gave him a rigid salute and then quickly retreated.

“Ravenwing does have a point,” Mathias said, folding his arms and watching the rogue until she was gone.

“Yes. I can’t imagine how it would feel to have most of the planet gossiping about your sex life,” Anduin said, with full awareness that his own status was often a topic of discussion. But it had to be worse for Jaina; at least he knew the gossip was mostly speculation. He shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s been going through her head. Sylvanas has always been hard to read, but Jaina...Before Garrosh, she was always the one reaching out to people. Seeking out the best in them. Getting to know them.”

“You’re wondering if this arrangement with the Horde has made her form some sort of bond with Sylvanas.”

Anduin nodded. It was obvious that she’d developed friendships within Orgrimmar, which might tip the balance in Sylvanas’s favor. Becoming Sylvanas’s friend would only make that worse. “She could always be... making Sylvanas relax around her. To lower her defenses.”

From the look on Shaw’s face he believed that about as much a Anduin did. He couldn’t explain rumors, nor the fact that Jaina and Sylvanas hadn’t really tried to argue against those rumors. If anything the Warchief had practically revelled in them.

The sound of pounding feet cut off any response from the spymaster as Genn Greymane burst into the throne room in full Worgen form. He skidded on the water left behind by Yukale but managed to stay upright. “Your majesty!”

Sighing, Anduin wondered if his father had ever had days like this. “I’m already aware of the situation with our spies, Genn.”

He shook his head. “No. Anduin. It’s something much worse.”

****

Jaina’s vision was obscured by a blindfold, and she was forced to rely on her two shadows as they guided her to a destination. “Is this really necessary? This is embarrassing.”

“‘Fraid so,” Tyra said, keeping a tight grip on her elbow. “By the way, the Dark Lady was thrilled at what yeh did, Lady.”

“I’m not thrilled, but I’m not upset at myself either,” Jaina admitted. It had actually felt good. Not just the release of power, but the principle of the thing. As a bonus, it was also a warning to Sylvanas; she could easily dunk all her shadows in the water too, if she wished.

“She laughed for five minutes straight.” Kalira made Jaina stop, then pulled her onto a slightly raised platform.

Jaina suspected she was in Grommash Hold, just from the sounds and general way the air moved around her, and when the elevator started she knew she was right. “I wish I’d seen that.”

“Seen what?” Sylvanas answered her instead, and Jaina felt around, realizing Tyra and Kalira had sent her up alone.

“Your reaction to my stunt a little while ago.”

“Step forward.” The smile was evident in Sylvanas’s voice, and Jaina hesitated for only a split second before she took a few steps.

“Very good. Come closer.”

Unsure if she actually trusted Sylvanas or not, Jaina took another cautious step. Cold hands ran up her arms, and she felt Sylvanas move behind her before the blindfold was removed.

Jaina blinked as she adjusted to the light.

The indoor archery range was gone, replaced by a space that had been partitioned in three by half-walls. The largest space contained the bar and a large, circular couch, as well as a table for drinks. The next partition was on the east side of the room, containing a desk with one of Jaina’s typographers on it, a raised, tree-like platform with a cushion on which Varian was lounging imperiously, a number of filing cabinets, and assorted other odd and ends.

The last space was nearest the stairs, cluttered with bookshelves and a regular writing desk. A bright copper rail in the ceiling formed a semicircle around it; thick blue-velvet curtains were pushed back against the wall, but could be easily pulled around to close it off from the world. It wouldn’t hide the flash of teleportation or muffle unauthorized voices; but it would be a visual barrier. Privacy without secrecy.

And there remained a clear path to the Sanctuary.

“I’m… what?” Jaina struggled to take it all in, unable to process what she was seeing.

Sylvanas looped her right arm around Jaina’s waist, her other hand brushing through her hair. “You are my Consort, and you deserve a better space to work than part of our bedroom.”

“What about your archery practice?”

“An indoor archery range was always a bit excessive, and there’s a training room in the residency,” Sylvanas pointed out.

It registered that Sylvanas had done this for her. She thought she might have needed to sit down if Sylvanas wasn’t propping her up.

There was a place for her to do the mundane paperwork that she enjoyed and the Horde desperately needed her help with, and a separate space for her magical theorycrafting and … simply reading books. There was even a space to relax with a drink. “I don’t know what to say.”

“For your first task, our current tax code is due to expire in two years and needs to be reworked, and I have been informed in no uncertain terms that none of my clerks are paid enough to provide me with a coherent summary of the current legislation. I’d like you to review it. I made sure to keep the bar fully stocked; you’ll need it.”

“I am pretty sure that people being unable to read through Horde taxation law sober is how it got into that state to begin with.”

“I look forward to listening to you complain about it.”

She felt Sylvanas smile against her ear and excused the shiver that ran through her as excitement for her own space. And paperwork. Tax code wasn’t exactly sexy, but she’d spent years working on fairly nonessential administration. Easy, public record things with no room for interpretation. Even when she’d overhauled the filing system, she’d only had limited access to the files themselves. This would be something completely under her control and a level of trust that made her almost nervous.

“What, like we’d go home at night and you’d listen to me rant about property tax versus sales tax while getting ready for bed? That sounds awfully mundane.”

“I don’t mind listening to you when you’re excited about something, Jaina.” Sylvanas stepped away from her, walking towards the bar.

Jaina caught herself on the couch and sat down before she could lose her balance. She watched as Sylvanas poured them each a glass from that rare bottle she’d never let Jaina touch before. She felt a sudden lump in her throat, which only got worse as she looked around her new office and Sylvanas’s general demeanor sank in. Oh gods, don’t cry.

Gratefully, she took the drink from Sylvanas and sipped it. It was warm and smooth, instantly setting her at ease. “Oh, that’s good.”

Sylvanas sat next to her, leaning back on the couch and throwing her left arm over the back of it. Her eyes locked onto Jaina’s, and Jaina had to talk herself out of kissing her. Doing so felt like it would cross some kind of line, one that she’d drawn and steadfastly adhered to despite temptation to the contrary.

But she wanted to. And that scared her. Jaina broke the eye contact and took another, longer sip of her drink, Sylvanas twirling locks of her hair around her fingers.

“So you approve?”

Jaina swallowed, and nodded. “Yes. I do. Thank you.”

Sylvanas’s fingers slid down the side of Jaina’s neck, and she looked at her with an expression Jaina was beginning to learn the meaning of. “Very good. I would hate to have to burn this building to the ground and start anew.”

“That’s a little much, isn’t it?” Jaina laughed, knocking back the rest of her drink and praying it wouldn’t loosen her tongue too much. But she needed the fortification as Sylvanas leaned against her, lips exploring the side of her neck.

She should stop her. But she didn’t. Instead, she cupped Sylvanas’s face and turned it up. But before she could give into the terrifying desire to kiss her, someone emerged from the elevator.

“Warchief!” It was Galnir, returned early from his mission, and he came to an abrupt stop when he saw the compromising position they were in.

His wife emerged after him and spoke. “We have news. Naga have begun an offensive on a dozen coastal towns and fortresses and we’ve lost contact with our forces in Silithus.”

“Just the Horde?” Jaina asked, standing and adjusting her robe.

Galnir shook his head. “No. Booty Bay and Boralus have both gone silent, and there were reports of Naga all along the western coast of the Eastern Kingdoms.”

“Our spies in Feathermoon Stronghold and Whisperwind’s new sapling?”

“Also silent.”

Jaina turned back to Sylvanas, trying not to let her concern show.

Sylvanas stood slowly. “Lady Proudmoore, I want you to teleport the Horde Leadership to the Hold, and then send Tyra to Stormwind before you join us. We are convening a war council.”

Notes:

I have a small surprise announcement! This isn't the only 'bonus' chapter this month. In honor of Femslash February, Last Resort will also update every Friday this month!

Chapter 27: Plea

***Then***

Nathanos Marris did not fall in combat, though he did die with his bow in hand.

The plague took him, as it had so many others. He’d tried to respond to the horns, the call for aid, he’d tried to respond to his Lady.

But the darkness claimed him, the voice of the Lich King commanded him, and Nathanos knew little more than a ravenous hunger and flashes of panicked faces and anguished screams and the taste of flesh.

It might have been days, or months, or years. Time lost all meaning in this state. Whoever Nathanos had once been was stripped of meaning as he became one among a horde of many.

And then the Lich King’s voice went silent and he wandered lost and hungry, searching for something or someone. There was something out there, something so important to him that even mindless he sought it out. A distant memory, a voice, a feeling of belonging.

He heard it whispering in the dark. A woman speaking his name. The shackles on his mind cracked, and then shattered.

Nathanos saw, truly saw for the first time, as he laid eyes on his savior.

Sylvanas stood there, skin the color of ash, her hair white as snow and her eyes red like rage. She was virtually nude, what armor remained twisted and rent, but she stood proud, anger clinging to her like a second skin.

And she was not alone. On her left was a walking corpse. She’d been fair in life with hair dyed a shade of violet, her clothing in tatters, half a shield with the seal of Lordaeron on it dangling from her arm. There was something faintly broken in her eyes, as if she were in shock.

On Sylvana’s right was an elf the color of death, hands clenched into fists. She wore a shredded, blood stained cloak and was missing a boot. Her name floated to his mind and he remembered Kalira. Whatever Sylvanas had become, she’d found her daughter the same.

“There you are,” Sylvanas said, reaching her hand out to him. There was the faintest echo to her voice, and it ran over him like a lover’s caress. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He reached for her, then hesitated when he saw his hand. One finger was reduced to bone, the flesh rotted or chewed off. He held both his hands up for inspection, then touched his face. The skin there was also rotten, bone exposed along his jaw.

“What are we?” He grasped her hand.

Sylvanas pulled him to her group and he saw masses of people walking towards them. There must have been hundreds. Thousands.

Many walked unsteadily, but with determination; and when Sylvanas answered his question he heard it in his mind and into the depths of his soul.

We are not alone. We are Forsaken.

Nathanos knelt. All around him he heard people following suit, until only Kalira and the Lordaeron soldier remained standing.

Sylvanas looked around her, surprise crossing her features for the briefest of moments. It returned when Kalira slowly took a knee, and a moment later, so did the other.

“We follow and obey, Lady,” Nathanos said, voice like gravel as he looked in reverence upon his Queen. “Now and forever.”

As one, the Forsaken thundered their glorious assent.

“Arrows in my quiver,” Sylvanas whispered, torment in her eyes. “To pierce his heart.”

***now***

People often said the worst part of any battle was the waiting. Anduin would be inclined to disagree. He was a healer at heart, a peacemaker. The worst part of any battle was the dead and dying, those injured in body or mind or both.

But the waiting was unpleasant. It was the anxiety and anticipation of not knowing what was going to happen. Or even when.

The only certainty was that something was coming. Naga assaults had been just the start; Faceless and other minions of the Old Gods were sure to follow.

All Anduin could hope for was that the Alliance had been able to rebuild enough from the war with the Horde to be able to push back whatever came for them. And then keep pushing until they’d struck at the source of it all. It almost always became a task for Champions, and with both factions barely recovered, they might be the only choice.

Assuming there was anyone left to issue orders by the end of it.

The last update from Ironforge told him that the Dwarves had dug in, collapsing any known tunnels and sealing off the Deeprun Tram as potential attack vectors. Velen had evacuated most of the Exodar to the Vindicaar, and Mekkatorque had only sent a cryptic message about Gnomeregan being ready for anything. Their allies in Pandaria had reported all quiet and most of Alleria’s people were in Stormwind, though she’d left on what she called an important mission.

His armor felt heavy to him as he stepped out of the war room and into the throne room. “Any word from Tyrande?”

“Her last report said that they’d seen no further Naga attacks on Kaldrassil.” Genn waved a paper in Anduin’s direction. “She intends to keep most of her forces protecting the new World Tree and other Kaldorei strongholds, but has offered a small force of Sentinels and archers to be used at your discretion.”

Anduin rubbed his chin, thinking back to the war table. Stromgarde was vulnerable to a sea attack and its status as a cooperative venture made it a target, though scaling the walls and cliffs would prove difficult for Naga. “Have her send the archers to Stromgarde, and the sentinels here.”

“What about…” Genn grimaced. “the Horde?”

“Are you suggesting I ask Tyrande to send her people to defend Horde cities?” Anduin tilted his head, looking at Genn like he’d lost his mind.

“It was… her idea.” He held the missive out, and Anduin took it.

Scanning over it, Anduin’s eyebrows slowly raised as he did so. “In absence of any suggestion on my part, Tyrande will send her sentinels to the defense of Suramar. She considers it a good faith gesture in the interests of mending relations.” He shook his head. “Strange times we live in. I thought she hated the Shal’dorei.”

“As did I, but as much as I hate to admit it, it would be a good gesture.”

“I’ve already sent someone to Orgrimmar,” Anduin mused. He swiftly wrote a response, sealed it with his personal seal and gestured for a page. “Take the portal to Moonshadow and make sure this missive is directly delivered to Tyrande Whisperwind.” Maybe when all this was over he should pay a visit to Tyrande’s new city. He hadn’t seen it yet.

The page nodded and took off at a sprint. She dodged out of the way as she passed a group of people. Anduin felt Genn tense and then he saw why; it was the Sin’dorei warlock from the debriefing after the sea battle. She was accompanied by another Blood Elf warlock whose hair was as dark as Lomea’s was light and Anduin stared at the women, wondering if Sylvanas was just messing with him at this point.

One warlock was bad enough. Now he had to deal with two. At least they’d left their demons somewhere else.

There were maybe a half dozen other champions with them, and they stopped in the center of the throne room while the two warlocks approached him. “Welcome to Stormwind.”

“Thank you.” Lomea inclined her head to him, then gestured with her hand. “This is my fiance, Elyndris. We have been tasked with assisting in the defense of Stormwind.”

Anduin kept his surprise carefully locked behind a neutral expression. “A kind and welcome gesture. What forces do you bring to bear?”

“Myself,” Lomea answered, waving her hand.

Elyndris cleared her throat, and Lomea added. “And Elyndris, of course.”

The silence stretched on a few seconds, and Lomea rolled her eyes. “The other six champions you see before you, and a dozen more troops on board our ship.”

“I’ll leave their deployment up to you,” Anduin suggested. “But please speak with General Slaughter, as he will know where you would be needed most.”

“Knowing Stormwind’s weak points would be useful,” Lomea mused. “For the defense of course.”

Genn narrowed his eyes. “Slaughter will assist you. Now go.”

“As you wish.” Lomea tilted her head, fixing Genn with a sultry smile that only grew wider when he sneered back.

Anduin was preparing to step in between them when the ground rocked beneath his feet. A tendril ripped through the stone floor, impaling a guard and flinging her against the wall with a sickening crunch. Another crashed through the wall behind the throne as a low, unnerving howling sound filled the air, distant and faint.

Fel fire arced across the throne room and rippled across the void tendrils and the rest of the Horde champions launched a counter-attack on the tentacles.

Anduin felt pressure building in his head, as though something dark and terrifying were approaching. The ceiling collapsed, sending boulder sized pieces of masonry down towards him.

******

More than anything, Jaina wanted to go to Boralus. She wanted to make sure her mother and the place of her birth was safe. Dalaran remained positioned between Ashvale and the Barrens and was likely safe for the time being, less of a target than Orgrimmar or Stormwind. Boralus, however, was positioned closer to Naga territory, and there’d been enough darkness to worry Jaina about the safety of her people.

Taking out the largest fleets that still remained made Zandalar and Kul Tiras good targets of opportunity in any war. For naga, eliminating as much ship tonnage as possible would be a necessity.

She forced herself to be calm; panicking would do no one any good and she had to be at her best should she be needed. At least, as more than a taxi.

“First Arcanist? If you’re ready, I can teleport you home.”

Thalyssra nodded, eyes skimming over a missive. She folded it and slipped it into her pocket before approaching Jaina. “I am ready, thank you. You didn’t need to offer.”

“I mostly just need to do something,” Jaina admitted.

“Patience, Lady Proudmoore.” Thalyssra smiled at her. “There will be action, soon enough.”

Jaina watched as the portal whisked her away. Each leader sent to protect their homes, and yet here she was, stuck in Orgrimmar. Logically, she knew Boralus was well defended by some of the finest men and women in the world, but in her heart, she needed to be there. She’d abandoned them too many times already.

But even if Boralus wasn’t Alliance territory, she couldn’t leave Orgrimmar without Sylvanas’s leave. Not for something like this.

“If you would stop wearing a groove into the floor, I would appreciate it.”

Stopping, Jaina worried at her lip with her teeth, then wiped her hands on her robe. “So what now, Sylvanas?”

Sylvanas tilted her head, watching Jaina from the throne. “Now? We wait. For an attack. For word from other cities. Or for all of this to be nothing.”

“We both know it’s not nothing.”

“Of course. Though I suspect we’d both prefer to be wrong.” Sylvanas stood smoothly, gesturing for Jaina to follow her out of the Hold.

Defenses and barriers had been built throughout the Valley of Strength, and in each neighborhood. Choke points had been created, and Jaina knew that workers were even now building barricades outside the gates. Even with lessons learned when the city had been besieged, there was no guarantee the defenses would stand against what was likely coming.

“I sealed the underground entrances two days ago,” Jaina said quietly. “As you asked, there’s no way through them now. Not without enough force to destroy the city, which would make an exposed rear entrance irrelevant. I also buffed up the magical wards with a few new tricks, again.”

“Very good.” Sylvanas came to a stop once they’d made their way to the second level. From here, Jaina could see down into the Drag, where most shops had been boarded up, the people who had not volunteered for the last ditch defense safe in newly designed shelters. Despite being a target, Orgrimmar was still the most heavily fortified city the Horde had, so there was really no where else safe to evacuate to.

Jaina took a breath, squared her shoulders, and looked Sylvanas in the eye. But before she could open her mouth and speak, the Warchief put her finger on her lips.

“I know what it is you’re going to say. I know what you’re going to ask. And the answer is no.”

“Warchief,” Jaina hissed. She stepped closer, keeping her voice low, knowing that making a scene would only encourage Sylvanas to be less generous. “Kul Tiras needs me. I’ve done everything you’ve asked of me. Let me go to them. I don’t know if I could live with myself if...I’ve only barely managed to convince them that I was never their enemy. If I abandon them now, if something happens and I could have stopped it...”

“What of Stormwind?” Sylvanas asked. “What of Dalaran? Thunder Bluff? Orgrimmar? Zandalar? That sprout of Tyrande’s or even Pandaria? What makes Boralus more important than any of those? Answer me without making this personal.”

Jaina rubbed at her chest, scowling. “Boralus is of strategic importance.”

“So is Zuldazar,” Sylvanas pointed out.

“It would be a symbol of--”

“My human consort, abandoning Orgrimmar to the Old Gods in favor of a human city that spent a decade baying for her blood, because kinship ties are more important than her commitment to the Horde?” Sylvanas’ voice was caustic. “It would certainly be a symbol of something.”

“Sylvanas.” Jaina couldn’t answer Sylvanas’s question. This was personal, and not just because of her mother. It was a principle, something she was too emotional to put into words. It was strategically unsound, politically flawed, a diplomatic nightmare, and she didn’t care. She grabbed her arm, squeezing tight. “Let me protect my people.”

Sylvanas pried Jaina’s fingers off of her arm. “No.”

She stared at her, taking a step back as she desperately reached for the only option she had left. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Don’t you dare.”

Ignoring the warning in her voice, Jaina knelt in the dust at Sylvanas’s feet, head bowed in supplication. She caught Sylvanas’ hand, clutching it between her own as she pressed the knuckles to her lips, then her forehead, feeling for all the world like a lost child. Her voice broke. “Sylvanas, I’m begging you to let me go to Kul Tiras. Please.”

“On your feet!” Sylvanas grabbed Jaina by the chin, hard enough to hurt, hard enough for her nails to dig into her skin. She lifted her head up, forcing Jaina to stand for fear of losing it, and snarled, “Never grovel! You are better than that.”

She let go of Jaina’s face with a jerk of her hand, causing Jaina to stumble back. Jaina balled her hands up, breathing heavily and blinking tears from her eyes.

Sylvanas would not explain her reasoning, Jaina understood that now, seeing the answer in her eyes without having to rely on the words that would most certainly come next. The thing that broke Jaina's heart was the fact that she could guess those reasons. On another day, with another subject, Jaina might even agree with them. Boralus was simply not the Warchief’s to protect--and Jaina was the strongest weapon Sylvanas could deploy in defense of Orgrimmar. She couldn’t afford to make a decision that would weaken those defenses. As leader of the Horde, she didn’t have the right.

“Again. The answer is no.” Jaina said nothing, and Sylvanas swept her arms out, raising her voice until it boomed. “Citizens of the Horde! Darkness comes for us! But it always has. We have fought it back, time and time again. You are, all of you...” Sylvanas looked at Jaina as she spoke the next. “Arrows in my quiver. Some of you have faced gods. Dragons. Together, we crushed Arthas, beat back the Iron Horde, laid waste to the Burning Legion itself. We fought the Alliance to a bloody standstill.”

She held her arms out. “We are Horde and today will be no different!”

Dropping her hands to her sides, Sylvanas called out her orders. “Nathanos. Collect Kalira and two other Dark Rangers. And you.” She pointed at a Champion, a Mag’har Shaman with a long scar across her face. “You’re with us. Consort, I’ll have you open a portal once Nathanos returns.”

She turned, looking directly at Jaina. “The Lady of Orgrimmar will oversee the defense of this city. Her orders are my orders, from today until the day the Horde falls.”

Jaina stared at her, dumbfounded and emotionally raw. She almost didn’t want to understand what Sylvanas was doing, why she had to be the one coordinating Orgrimmar’s defenses; yet she did. Sylvanas was under no obligation to do anything but defend Orgrimmar.

But that didn’t explain why she was leaving.

Quietly, so that no one else could hear, she asked, “Where are you going? How can you ask me to abandon Kul Tiras when you’re going to abandon Orgrimmar?”

“I am not abandoning Orgrimmar, because you are here.” Sylvanas stepped close, trailing her fingers across Jaina’s left cheek. “And you are not abandoning Kul Tiras.”

She leaned in, and Jaina almost couldn’t feel the pressure of her lips. “Open a portal, Lady Proudmoore. To Boralus.”

Jaina stared at Sylvanas, throat bobbing as she hesitated. Then, before she could think better of it, she unclasped one of the chains around her neck, and fastened it around Sylvanas's.

The anchor hung over Sylvanas's chest, and she touched it. "...You've yet to return my arrow to me."

"Then, once this is all over and we’re out of danger, we'll trade," Jaina promised. It was all she could do, for now.

Chapter 28: Daughter of the Sea

Kalira shared a long look with Jaina, before her eyes snapped to Tyra. There was another look there, a softer one. And in some ways it was a warning; a warning for Tyra to stay safe, a warning that Kalira would not take it kindly should she return to find her lover had met the endless death.

And then Kalira stepped through, leading the rangers, and Sylvanas followed suit, her eyes sweeping to Jaina's, just once, and just for a heartbeat and a half, before she was gone.

Nathanos hung back and turned to Jaina, his voice threatening and darkness in his eyes. “If Orgrimmar falls and you still live, I will kill you, bitch, no matter what the Dark Lady wishes.”

Somehow, Jaina found the strength to keep her voice even. It wasn’t that Nathanos got to her; he never really could. It was knowing she couldn’t be there for Boralus, that she was left behind, that Sylvanas had gone in her stead. She didn’t know how to react to that, how to feel about that or even what she was feeling right now. Absently, as if Nathanos wasn’t worth her time, she replied, “If Orgrimmar falls, I will be dead, and you’ll finally be rid of me, Blightcaller.”

“It would almost be worth it.” The portal took him away and Jaina closed it with a little more vigor than necessary. She hoped he came out the other side in pieces. Only Sylvanas would miss him and Jaina felt a stab of… jealousy? No, that was impossible.

Jaina turned to see the people looking at her. Soldiers and citizens, heroes and champions, many of whom had become her friends. Galnir and Minuial stood with the soldiers, and Enda hadn’t left, nor had Xu. The blacksmith, Agna, who’d she’d come to know, stood nearby, armed and ready.

And Tyra of course was on her left, her armor clean and shining, her blade sharp.

The city seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for her to make the decision that could save or doom it. Jaina felt her power course through her, felt the strength and unity of the people around her and allowed that feeling to center her. She pushed Boralus and Stormwind to the back of her mind; her mother and Sylvanas and Anduin were too far away for her to help now.

Once, Jaina had been on the verge of destroying this city. Once, consumed by rage and grief and the madness of the arcane, she’d nearly drowned every last soul in Orgrimmar. It had taken two of the people she’d loved most to talk her down from that.

Today, she finally forgave them.

They say time heals all wounds. Only recently had Jaina started to believe that. When her mother had forgiven her and her people welcomed her at last. When, just the other day, children of the Horde had looked at her not with fear, but kindness. When, now, they stood before her waiting, viewing her not as the enemy but one of them. Their Warchief’s Consort.

Their Lady of Orgrimmar.

Outside the gates, death marched towards them. The very same fate that she knew so many others faced. But she was trapped here, trapped by her word and her unspoken promise, trapped by that look Sylvanas had given her just before she’d left. Jaina still didn’t know if she could trust her, but she had to.

And she knew how to prove herself worthy of trust in return.

“Not so long ago, we were enemies,” she said, amplifying her voice with magic. “But we aren’t so different. Not where it matters. Not in our hearts. We are allies. We are friends. We are family! I’ll be damned before I let them have this city! Are you with me?” The voices of Orgrimmar rose in a thundering cheer and Jaina turned to the defense.

She knew how the Horde fought, and she knew how the Alliance fought; but she thought that, maybe, they needed to do something different. There was no need to throw away lives in charges and attacks. No. Jaina decided that they needed to build a wall.

A living one.

Three hundred yards from the gate, she arranged a shield wall of warriors and paladins two deep, archers and gunners behind them. Healers were scattered throughout the line, along with numerous Champions of the Horde. She positioned Galnir near the center; despite her friendship with his mate, she knew she couldn’t put him anywhere but in the line of fire. To do so would dishonor them both.

Above, a Horde airship hovered, guns pointed in the direction of smoke that was now rising from Razor Hill. The enemy had chosen a more difficult path bred by arrogance, but it was one that would most allow anxiety and fear to build among the defenders. Still, Jaina was nervous leaving the East undefended and had deployed a small force at the port. They could serve as reinforcements if nothing came from that direction. There’d been no sign of Naga among the attackers to the south, and if Naga did join the fight it would be from the east.

Cannon and siege weapons had been set up on the walls of the city and high points around the shield wall. In the canyon leading to Orgrimmar, goblin sappers had been dispersed to set traps and harass the advancing enemy.

It wouldn’t be enough to stop them, but it might slow them down. And even then...

Jaina was considering her options when Tyra tugged on her arm and pointed towards the sea. An Alliance gunship thundered toward them at high speed. It slowed as it got closer, pivoting in the air to point its main gun towards the south. The Horde airship willingly made way, taking up a position across the ravine that would allow for maximum coverage between them. If the enemy breached the gate, the crossfire might just be devastating enough to buy Orgrimmar’s noncombatants time.

A welcome surprise. Jaina started smiling as soldiers poured out of the gunship, parachuting down to join the shield wall, healers, or archers. A dozen gyrocopters fanned out to create a wall in the air, a likely vain attempt to protect the two big ships.

One figure fell towards Jaina, deploying her parachute at the last possible second. Yukale hit the ground in a roll and bounced to her feet in front of her.

“Show off.” Jaina clasped her hand, laughing, “But I’m very happy to see you.”

The rogue grinned back at her. “King Wrynn lent me a gunship and my very own legion. And that was before Sylvanas sent a few champions of her own to help Stormwind. I got the message from him a few minutes ago.”

She did? Jaina hid her surprise and only nodded. “What of your Vanguard?”

“Most are in Stormwind, but I sent two to Boralus and two more to Thunder Bluff. I brought my Aunt Eilirria with me and a few other volunteer heroes.”

She spoke as though she and Eilirria could be considered a legion in and of themselves as she nodded towards a pale, moon-haired Kaldorei riding towards them on a core-hound. The hunter hopped down, and gave Jaina a respectful nod. Her bow seemed to sprout flowers and vines at random. “Where do you need us, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Yukale, you stay near myself and Tyra, and order the other champions with you to disperse as they see fit. Eilirria…” She trailed off, eyeing the core hound, then looking down the line. She pointed. “There. We’re weakest there, you and that Core Hound should be able to shore it up.”

The hunter nodded and climbed back onto her beast, riding towards the weak point in the line. Jaina took the opportunity to look back to the city. The bulk of the defenses were at the main gates, but there was always a chance something could attack through the North or West gates, where the defense was weakest.

They’d done what they could over the past several days. Jaina and a dozen other Horde mages had layered the Southfury with some truly nasty razorwire and proximity-triggered elemental summon spells; their druids had taken a worrying level of vicious joy in drawing up tangling vines and nursing nearly two hundred flesh-eating plants along the riverbed from seed to maturity in a manner of hours.

That would cause the city’s shipping some headaches when this was over and was probably already doing a number on the local ecosystem, but so would Orgrimmar being overrun by Old God abominations, so everyone was just going to have to deal with it.

The Northern gate itself was vulnerable, with nothing but the empty forests of Azshara for miles and the Bilgewater surrounded on all sides by water, too busy bracing themselves against the Naga they knew were coming to send any warning. But that entrance was a poor choice for an invading army, with the long narrow canyon approach bottlenecking any invaders. Orgrimmar had scouts well-hidden in the trees, sentries with colored flares on the North wall, and more razorwire interspersed with magical traps covering the first quarter mile of twisting canyon. If Razor Hill was a feint and the enemy approached from the North, they would, just barely, have time to reposition.

But mostly she was gambling on the C’thraxxi and Silithid to prefer the straight approach.

The ground rumbled as explosions went off in the canyon. There were a dozen more, and then they stopped, black smoke billowing in the sky much more closely than Jaina was comfortable with.

The first lines of the enemy host emerged. Faceless, C’thraxxi and thousands of silithid. They’d climbed from the sea near the Echo Islands and Jaina didn’t dare think about what could be swarming across both continents now. What could be attacking Stormwind. Thunder Bluff. Boralus.

She threw up a magical signal and every long range weapon they had opened fire. The heavy guns of the airships rang in her ears and echoed in her chest, the cannons and catapults throwing iron and burning pitch into the oncoming host.

Gunners with rifles were the next to fire as they came within range, followed shortly by so many arrows they blotted out the sun. Screeching and screaming rose from the enemy as storm clouds prevented the sun from returning.

And then as the army was forced into a narrow channel by barricades both natural and fortified, the mages, shaman and warlocks Jaina had hidden stepped out and unleashed their fury.

Someone, Galnir she thought, started beating his shield, and the rest of the line followed his lead. Like thunder, the sound rose up over the crackle of arcane and flame as the defenders of Orgrimmar shouted their challenge, Jaina’s voice right along with them.

”For the Horde!”

She lifted her hands, blasts of arcane shooting into the enemy mob. She raised barriers of ice to further narrow their approach and then twisted her hand, impaling them by the thousands on frozen spikes.

A pair of mages were back to back on a large boulder, throwing bolts of ice and fire into a number of Faceless that had surrounded them. Warlocks were being overwhelmed to Jaina’s left and she watched as another mage went down farther in.

Before Jaina could provide any of them an escape route, the host broke through the choke-point and spread out as they charged the line. There was a flash of golden light and the mages in the center of the host were pulled back to the line. Jaina saw Minuial pulling them bodily to safety and threw up a wall of ice to give them cover.

“Shield wall, hold!” Jaina shouted, her voice amplified by magic to boom across the line. “Champions advance!”

Champions of the Horde charged forward. On Jaina’s left, Yukale drew long, thin blades and disappeared in a puff of smoke, before appearing in the center of a group of faceless and silithid. She fought like a dancer, avoiding blows with grace and striking true with every attack.

Tyra charged on her right, leaping high and cleaving a creature in half as she came down. Over a hundred yards away she spied Eilirria atop her Core Hound, rampaging through Silithid and Faceless, loosing arrows faster than could be counted.

With her people too close for her to use the really dangerous spells, Jaina shot focused blasts to give the champions cover. A C’thraxxi broke through and slammed into the shield wall only to be quickly dispatched. Good. But she didn’t think it would be good enough for long.

“Hold the line!” Rolling her shoulders, Jaina formed swords in her hands of vibrating blue energy as the enemy host swarmed her. She spun around, alternately cutting the creatures down and using her swords to focus her ranged attacks into a small, deadly point. Something knocked her to the ground. Rolling to her feet, she snapped her swords towards the ground, elongating the blades until they became whips of crackling energy. Screaming, she lashed out, creating enough breathing space for her to risk a glance to see if the line was holding.

Tendrils of dark energy ripped through the ground and smashed into the shield wall, sending bodies flying. Another wrapped around the Alliance Gunship, crushing it like a tin can and flinging it into the city gates, smashing them into rubble.

The Horde airship didn’t fare much better, spiraling out of control into the Durotar desert as another tendril ripped into the defenders.

The familiar screams of the dying joined the battlecries and then something else. A rumbling, like thousands of feet scrambling across stone.

With the airships down, there was no more suppressing fire across the open plateau.

On the cliffs and walls above Orgrimmar, hundreds of Silithid stampeded and climbed, bypassing the defense completely. Mages and warlocks started raining fire down on them, but their efforts barely made a dent. High atop a tower on the gate stood a small figure. Enda cackled madly as she flung insanely large fireball after fireball into the surprise attackers.

Jaina pulled Tyra to her feet where she’d been knocked down. “Get some more people up there, now! They can’t get into the city!”

Jaina turned back to the battle and swept her arms out, sending a wall of energy into the host and pushing them back. She amplified her voice again. “Warriors of the Horde! Hold the line! I have an idea and I need to get something. Hold the line until I return!”

And before someone could think to stop her, she teleported to Dalaran.

Dalaran was, thus far, not under attack, though looking to the east, smoke was visible and cannon fire was like a distant storm.

She ran to the vault; if anyone tried to stop her she scarcely noticed as she came to the wards and ripped them apart through sheer force of will.

The Focusing Iris was still where Kalec had placed it. It was such a small thing, glowing ominously and bringing back terrible memories and the icy feeling of despair.

With this, Garrosh had destroyed Theramore. Garrosh had destroyed her. Her hopes and dreams, the life she’d built, her ability to reason and love and care.

And with this, Jaina had nearly destroyed Orgrimmar in revenge. It felt so long ago, and she felt like a different person now as she held it in her hand.

But with this magical relic, perhaps she could make amends. Save the Horde she’d once hated. And if she was honest with herself, she’d be damned if she lost another city.

The power of the Iris flowed through her, energy crackling around her eyes and making her blood catch fire. When she returned to the battle the portal alone unleashed so much raw power that she formed a crater in the midst of the enemy.

Standing and holding the iris aloft, Jaina’s voice rose on the wind as tendrils of void lashed at her barriers, swords and claws trying to break through.

She saw Yukale leap in, impaling a C'thraxxi through the back with her swords and riding it over silithid, forcing it to crush everything in its path. A Ren’dorei rogue she hadn’t even realized had accompanied the gunship seemed to materialize out of the shadows, daggers moving so quickly Jaina could only see a blur. Was that Unariel?

Forcing herself to ignore everything else around her, Jaina concentrated on her spell. The arrow around her neck glowed with the same energy that lit up her eyes and hands. The sea groaned and receded, the sky opening up with freezing rain.

Lightning struck a Faceless that got too close to her and she felt his presence before she saw him.

“Jaina,” said Go’el, two syllables that carried more regret and emotion to them than they had time for. They’d not spoken since the wedding.

“I need more time,” Jaina replied, the water on her face from more than just the pounding rain.

“We’ll do what we can.”

“Thank you.” At least, if this effort killed her, she might have at least parted on better terms with her old friend. She hoped she had a chance to settle things further with him. And with Sylvanas.

Go’el charged into the thick of things. His presence and Jaina’s spectacular return bolstered morale as Heroes of the Horde rushed in from all along the gate to repel the attack.

Jaina saw the colors of the Alliance among the Horde. Yukale’s legion and other Champions that had arrived with Thrall. In the distance, the Core Hound roared and she heard Galnir’s voice over it all, bellowing a battle dirge.

She realized that maybe Sylvanas and Anduin’s bid for peace had paid off, if they could all buy her the time she needed to weave her spell.

Jaina couldn’t let herself think about anything but this singular act. Not Stormwind. Not Boralus. Not her mother. Not Sylvanas.

Somehow over the course of the past years, something had happened between them. Something that Jaina was terrified of, that the person she’d been the last time she’d held the Focusing Iris would have loathed her for.

Yet, it was something that she wanted to explore. Reason enough to live, anyway, a rope to grasp for. Searching for something, anything to give herself more strength, Jaina started humming. Her cloak fluttered behind her, hair loose and whipping around her face, her voice rising like the tide.

Part of the line broke and the shield wall failed again. Galnir’s dirge was cut off. Jaina felt a pain spreading through her chest as sweat and rain soaked her thoroughly. Even with the Iris, she wasn’t sure she had the strength or the power. But then she felt it.

The sea headed her daughter’s call, surging and mounting until the wave became a mountain, casting the whole of Orgrimmar and northern Durotar in its shadow.

Jaina snapped her fingers as the wave fell, cresting over blood-stained sands and engulfing the enemy host. She ported Thrall and every living or undead Horde and Alliance fighter to Orgrimmar--and the wards triggered.

She had the space of a heartbeat to understand what had happened and know she’d sealed her own fate--she’d been so clever altering their defenses against magical attack and incursion, so careful to protect against possible corruption of allies; any mass teleportation of troops past the walls even by friendly mages would automatically raise the iron-hard arcane shield now covering the entire city. Even if she had the strength left to teleport herself it would take seconds she didn’t have to dismantle her own barrier. And that would mean destroying the dome even as her summoned wave crashed over the shield, burying Orgrimmar beneath it.

And Jaina’s cry was lost to the roaring wind as the wave washed her away.

Chapter 29: Windrunners

***SEVERAL YEARS AGO***

It looked bleak. Nathanos studied the war table, and when he looked up at Sylvanas he knew she’d reached the conclusion he had while he’d still been studying the situation.

“We’re going to lose this war.”

“Yes, we are.” Sylvanas leaned on the table, moving pieces around. Some options were better, others made the situation worse. Supplies were stretched beyond their limit, reinforcements and equipment in short supply; even Azerite had been exhausted. Orgrimmar was starving.

Nathanos picked up an Alliance flag, flipping it between his fingers as he spoke. “The Alliance does not fare well either. The campaign in Westfall burned most of the fields there.”

“That was not our intent,” Sylvanas murmured. “We needed those fields too.”

“We cannot surrender,” Nathanos declared. “And we cannot last long enough to wait for the Alliance to collapse first.”

“I have been thinking about this, Nathanos.” Sylvanas stepped away from the table, stepping around Nathanos on his right. “If our people are to survive, the Horde must survive. We are stronger together. We always have been.”

“I understand.” The survival of the Forsaken had always been Sylvanas’s priority. Her dedication to her people had been one of the things that had attracted Nathanos to her side, both in life and in death.

“I fear that you may not. And that others will not as well.” Sylvanas turned to face him. “Walk me through it, my friend. Start with the Alliance.”

“Riots, to start.” Nathanos studied his lady. “Orgrimmar. Stormwind. Everywhere. There’s a good chance Wrynn loses his head. The Alliance splinters. Whisperwind and Velen go their own way. Greymane’s fate is that of Wrynn’s but his people would follow the Kaldorei.” He paused, then corrected himself. “Most of his people; almost all of the Worgen but fewer humans. Others are fanatics, there will be a rift. Civil war among the Gilneans is unlikely but not impossible. The dwarf kingdoms will war amongst themselves. Dalaran remains neutral.”

Sylvanas gave Nathanos a shake of her head. “Close, but you forget one thing, Nathanos. The Exodar bathed in the ashes of Teldrassil and the screams of the dying carried across the sea. They will not soon forget, nor abandon each other.” She waited for Nathanos to nod his head in understanding, then asked. “And their newest allies?”

Nathanos considered it. “Kul Tiras would abandon the Alliance first. Their allegiance is the most tenuous of threads. The Ren’dorei and Lightforged are … at the whims of their leaders.”

“The Ren’dorei are tied to my sister, and therefore to Wrynn, and the Lightforged most closely to Velen.” Sylvanas pointed out.

“Regardless, the Alliance ceases to exist.”

“The outcome we wished for. Now walk me through the Horde.”

“Again, riots. Silvermoon is already dangerously close to that, and my spies in Suramar tell me of growing unrest, and multiple challenges to Thalyssra’s right to rule. There have been concerns that she chose the wrong side. Orgrimmar is obvious.” He gestured around them. “The people are hungry. And hungry people become desperate.”

“The bond between the Darkspear and the Orcs is strong, is it not?”

“The strongest of all the Horde, Warchief. And the Mag’har would likely join them.” Nathanos clasped his hands behind his back. “Whisperwind would court Baine. The Tauren and the Kaldorei have always been more alike than not. Where Thunder Bluff goes, Highmountain will follow. Zandalar will stand alone. Silvermoon may attempt to reconnect with their Quel’dorei brethren.”

He said nothing of the Pandaren on both sides. In his opinion they would all likely split in every direction, and many might seek solace and shelter on Pandaria itself.

“And that leaves us forsaken,” Sylvanas said. There was an angry, tense look on her face, her eyes reminding Nathanos of dripping blood. “Our people would be besieged on all sides. Many will blame them for my decisions. As new alliances are forged, the Forsaken will be ignored, cornered, swept aside. If the Horde falls.... I started this war to ensure the Horde survived. To ensure the Forsaken survive. It is inevitable that the Horde or Alliance will destroy the other, and we must ensure we are the ones left standing.”

She locked eyes with Nathanos, and continued. “We must consider the long game, Nathanos.”

“What is your long game?”

“We will broker peace.” At Nathanos’s expression, Sylvanas laughed. “Time. Time to rebuild. Time for those rifts in the Alliance to turn into cracks for us to pry apart. We will use peace, and the Alliance may very well fall without us firing another shot.”

Nathanos started at her, then closed his mouth for a moment before speaking. “What happens if peace works?”

She walked back to him, lifting her hand and touching his cheek. “I have considered that as well. The peace will be real. It must be or this will be for naught. It may not last, but if it does, that still serves our goals. The Horde survives.”

Without asking, Nathanos could see the peace treaty laid out before him. The only way for it to work would be not just for hostilities to cease, but for the barriers between the factions to come down. He doubted the people could set aside all their old hatreds, but there was potential. “For this plan to work, I suggest we exchange hostages. Important and popular figures. Should one side step out of line, their hostage dies.”

Patting his cheek, Sylvanas smiled. “I agree. But we will only need a single hostage.”

Nathanos shook his head. “You were right. I don’t understand.”

“I will marry Jaina Proudmoore,” Sylvanas stated. “And she will hold Orgrimmar hostage. But by living here, she will learn to love our people. And then, the Alliance will not have a hostage with which to bargain at all.”

****NOW****

The skies were dark, rain pouring from black clouds. It made Sylvanas vaguely uncomfortable; that sky looked familiar.

And Kul Tiras was already under attack. Naga had managed to commandeer a battleship and turned the guns on ships still in drydock while their mages flung fire into the city. It would have been more effective without the storm.

Sylvanas calmly took in the scene. “I’m sure that’s embarrassing. Daughter, take our Shaman and deal with that battleship.”

“The mages will be easy pickings,” Nathanos observed, hitting one between the eyes without aiming. “But they’re just testing the defenses. With the seagate closed these Naga would be overwhelmed eventually.”

“Then I suggest we end this quickly so we are prepared for the next assault.”

“Lady. Why did you leave Proudmoore in Orgrimmar?”

“I … suppose I trust her.” Sylvanas dropped down from the walls to the dock below, and casually strolled down it, putting arrows into Naga and occasionally drawing a blade to deal with one in a more personal manner. The two Rangers with them took up positions on opposite towers, picking Naga off one by one.

The captured Battleship burst into flame, and Sylvanas paused to watch a wolf jump off the ship, Kalira diving into the water after it. They surfaced, then began running across it towards Sylvanas as explosions rocked the Kul Tiran ship.

Before Sylvanas could compliment them on their efficiency, the dock shook under her feet, and then the wood splintered and broke. She flipped back, landing on a mooring as a sea giant burst through the dock where she’d been standing. An arrow struck it in the eye before she even realized she’d fired it. Sylvanas sounded bored. “They’ve got giants now.”

Movement drew her attention her left and she turned in time to see Vereesa standing there. Vereesa’s arrow cut a gash in Sylvanas’s cheek, and another giant collapsed into the water.

Sylvanas touched her face, then inspected the black blood on her finger tips. “I’ll assume we’re even, then. You’ve got quite a fetching scar now.”

“Oh, we’ll never be even,” Vereesa promised. She leapt up to a mooring of her own as Sylvanas drew another arrow.

Giants were throwing themselves at the walls, destroying the docks and everything in their path. The Naga had returned en masse, leaping up through the hole created by the giants and engaging the defenders in close quarters combat. She spied her Shaman fighting one with her own elementals.

“Up here!”

Sylvanas lifted her head. Alleria stood atop a wall, joined by Kalira and Nathanos. She narrowed her eyes, then jumped up, landing easily and turning back to the sea as the gates cracked and fell. These were the best archers in the world, and she was better than all of them combined. “Let me show you how it’s done, sisters.”

The wall rocked, and Alleria’s skin began to pulse in blue and purples. She grasped her head and screamed.

A shadowy tendril whipped out of the water, grabbing Sylvanas by the neck and tearing her off of the wall. She was pulled down into the water, where there was no light, and the sounds were muffled. Eyes watched her, claws tugged and slashed at her. But she was Sylvanas Windrunner and this was nothing compared to her rage.

She burst out of the water in smoke and fury, her banshee’s cry echoing across the waves. There was something large surging through the water, and a tangle of tentacles surfaced, mouth lined with massive teeth gnashing as a squid-like leviathan the size of the Valley of Strength launched itself onto Boralus.

It smashed and thrashed at the walls, shattering them like children’s blocks and began to move slowly through the city, dragging itself with its powerful tendrils.

There was something else. Something dark and foreboding that remained in the water, but when she stared down at the waves it retreated from her, as though it were afraid.

Rejoining her sisters, Sylvanas gave Alleria a condescending look. “Are you going to help, or scream helplessly the rest of the day?”

“I’m having a bad voice day,” Alleria said, rolling her eyes. “But if you’ve got an idea on how to deal with that thing, I’m listening.”

“We are Windrunners,” Sylvanas said. “By blood or by bond. Nothing can stand in our way.”

“There was a time that meant something.”

Vereesa put her hand on Alleria’s arm. “We need to fight that thing, not each other.”

To Sylvanas’s surprise, it was Kalira who answered. “Make it mean something again.”

All three turned to look at her. Kalira didn’t shrink back from her adoptive mother and ‘aunts.’ “Being a Windrunner meant something, before. Something I aspired to be. Not this mockery of life. You were protectors. Besides, we’re all here for the same reason.” She looked between them, and Sylvanas could predict her next words before they were spoken. “Am I so off the mark as to assume we’re all here because of Jaina Proudmoore? The world is bigger than whether or not we hate each other today. There was a time we understood that.”

“This is all very nice,” Nathanos interrupted. “But there’s a monster to slay.”

“Let us discuss this after the battle,” Sylvanas said. She stepped past Kalira, putting her hand on her head for just a brief moment before continuing, something she’d not done in too many years to think about.

The Leviathan was getting closer to the keep. Sylvanas charged forward, stepping through shadows until she appeared in the air over an eye the size of a table. The massive creature recoiled, one tree-sized appendage swiping at her. Sylvanas used it to propel herself higher, drawing another arrow. Black energy pulsed around the tip and she loosed it.

On the other side of the creature, Alleria appeared to shimmer in the shadows, each arrow turning into a volley that impacted the leviathan’s side and forcing it back towards Sylvanas. The sisters ping ponged the gigantic beast between them, as Vereesa landed on the stairs to the keep and unleashed her own hypocritical version of a shadowy arrow.

It gave Sylvanas an idea. “Alleria, let us join our little moon. I have a plan.”

“I hope it’s better than what we’ve been doing, Lady Moon.”

Alleria had onced dubbed her sisters lady and little moon, but Sylvanas had not been able to use either after Alleria had disappeared through the Dark Portal. Alleria’s stress on the nickname affected her more than she anticipated, but she ignored it.

With the beast momentarily distracted, she quickly laid out her idea. “We must combine our strengths. We, all of us, can tap into the shadow.” Her eyes flicked to Kalira for just a brief moment. “We are Windrunners, and that means something. Let’s save my wife’s city.”

“I can’t believe I’m working with you,” Alleria said.

The sisters fanned out into a V, Alleria on Sylvanas’s right and Vereesa on her left. Kalira chose the left, leaving Nathanos to take the right, behind and beside Alleria.

By blood and by bond, Sylvanas thought. Even if one bond was defending Orgrimmar.

Knocking one of her last arrows, Sylvanas drew it back. Shadowy energy oscillated in front of her. It grew weak, pulsing and vibrating in irrational patterns as Alleria’s void energy circled it. The power seemed hesitant at first, as if everything about Sylvanas was repugnant to it. Sylvanas couldn’t tell if that was Alleria, or the Void she’d become, but it didn’t matter. “Control it, sister. There is a time and a place to fear me. This is not it.”

Everything snapped into place suddenly, Sylvanas’s shadowy bolt twice in size and strength. The energy pulsed as she felt Vereesa lend her strength, and Kalira, and finally Nathanos.

“No. It is that thing that should be afraid. It and its masters.”

The arrow struck true, cleaving the Leviathan in half and shooting out across the sea to impact what remained of the seagate, obliterating it. The wake of its passing left a six meter wide gash in the ground from the steps of the Keep all the way to the docks. Water began to pour in, creating a shallow canal.

Vereesa wiped blood from her nose. “The Naga are retreating.”

“Cowards.” Alleria took a step forward, until she was even with Sylvanas.

Sylvanas nodded, as people started to gather around them. She supposed there was some amount of shock over what had happened. Not just her presence, but the entire assault. It would take weeks to clear off the remains of the leviathan; years for the city to rebuild.

And it would have been much worse without Sylvanas and her sisters. She glanced at Alleria. “Kalira is right. You both came here for Jaina.”

“So did you.”

She just shrugged, and spotted a bloodied and battle-weary woman approaching. “And speaking of, here comes her mother.”

“I don’t know what you thought you were doing here, but I’m glad you came.” Katherine said, apparently too proud to actually thank Sylvanas. “Where is my daughter?”

“Defending Orgrimmar,” Sylvanas replied, inclining her head. “If I might humbly request the services of a mage? I’d like to find out if I’ve a city left to return to.”

Katherine narrowed her eyes. “If something has happened to Jaina, the wrath of Kul Tiras--”

“Kul Tiras’s wrath is spent,” Sylvanas said, sweeping her arms wide at the devastation. “There would be nothing you could do. And contrary to popular opinion, I do actually have some concern about my wife’s well being. After all, I’d not intended to spend our anniversary this way.”

Either conceding the point about Kul Tiras’s strength, or seeing some truth to Sylvanas’s words, Katherine relented. “I’ll have a mage return you to Orgrimmar.”

She glanced around at her people, then looked at Sylvanas again. “On behalf of my people, I thank you and your sisters. This would have been much worse otherwise.”

Sylvanas inclined her head with a faint smile, and chose to let the conversation end with Katherine’s pride intact. She turned to her sisters. “Care to join me?”

Vereesa nodded too quickly, and Alleria followed suit.

“Very well.” Sylvanas looked around until she spotted her Shaman. “Champion. Tohkayu, was it not? I’d like you to remain behind and help out here. If the situation is not too dire in Orgrimmar, I will send you additional help.”

“As you wish, Warchief.”

An old, ragged battle-mage limped up, eyeing Sylvanas with suspicion. “One portal to Orgrimmar, Warchief.”

She gave him a too kind smile meant to unnerve him. To his credit, he summoned up the portal without wavering, and Sylvanas stepped through.

Her boots splashed in muddy water. The desert before Orgrimmar resembled a shallow, salty swamp. Debris was everywhere, including what remained of a Horde airship and Alliance gunship. There were other signs of battle; holes and craters blasted into the ground and a broken gyrocopter smashed against boulders.

She looked around, seeing no bodies and noting that even the pig farms had been washed away, then turned her attention to the city. Energy crackled on a dome that covered the entire city; an impressive effect even as it was clear from a glance that the dome had lost most of its strength. Her sisters arrived in time for it to flicker, and fade away.

Orgrimmar lived.

Sylvanas glanced back at Nathanos, then started jogging for the ruined gates, moving past soldiers that had come out to inspect the damage. One of them stopped and stared at her, wide eyed. He looked away when she stared back.

She found the Valley of Strength filled with people. Healers had set up a triage tent for the injured, and soldiers and civilians milled about, helping wherever they were directed. Alliance and Horde healers worked side by side on the most serious cases regardless of race or faction.

Sylvanas took it all in, clasping her hands behind her back as she watched her Horde at work. Something like pride swelled in her chest.

“Warchief.” Nathanos nodded towards the tent, where Tyra was setting Galnir’s arm while Minuial worked on another orc with much more grievous wounds.

She looked up when her Warchief approached, then said something to Galnir before hobbling over.

“Status, Champion.”

“Warchief! We’re still countin’ the wounded an’ dead, but the city stands. Jaina saved us all!”

“Where is she?” Vereesa asked, looking around and taking everything in.

Tyra flinched, the action almost imperceptive.

Sylvanas frowned, and repeated her sister’s question. “Where is my Consort?”

Again, Tyra didn’t answer immediately, seeming to be searching for words. Sylvanas’s eyes narrowed, and then flicked around to everything within view. The injured and dead, the troops, the civilians and the controlled chaos of the post battle scene. And yet, Jaina was not where she was supposed to be. Not where Sylvanas expected her to be; in the center of the chaos directing the efforts.

Ice settled in her chest, and she grabbed Tyra by the front of her armor and pulled her close. “Where. Is. Jaina?”

“Warch...Lady…” Tyra shook her head, again at a loss for words. Strained, she said, “She’s…she’s dead.”

Notes:

End Year Three

Chapter 30: Year 4: The Bitter Taste of Honor

***18 YEARS AGO***

It was amazing how quickly fortifications could appear when people were determined. The walls and barracks had been the first things built, in fact, but only now had the things that made a town a home been laid down. The inn. Homes. Businesses.

And the tower that would be her residence and study all at once.

Jaina ran her fingers along the wooden railing as she looked down the stairs and ramps to the floor far below. This wasn’t home yet, but it was a good start. She just needed to make it feel more comfortable, make it feel more like herself. Her things from Dalaran and… well, she doubted her mother would send her anything even if she asked. So Dalaran it would have to be.

She walked over to a bare shelf, pulling something out of her pocket. It was a small carved ship, something she often carried with her for luck when she was traveling. She’d survived the Plague and all that came after; as she stared at it, she wondered if the luck had run out after all that.

“It’s official.”

She turned at the gruff voice, and smiled at her Kaldorei bodyguard and friend. “I guess it is, Pained. Theramore is officially founded as a neutral port.”

“Patrols have nothing to report. We’ve a few VIPs from the Alliance in port and some adventurers have begun to trickle in. I recognize a few from Hyjal.”

Jaina nodded, looking around the room again. Except for a few books, the only decor was the little ship. “This feels a little bare boned, doesn’t it? It could use a personal touch.”

Pained shrugged, and offered Jaina a smile. “I’m sure you’ll make it a home, given time.”

Leaning back on the railing, Jaina became lost in thought. There was no going back to Kul Tiras. Not after what she’d done. Lordaeron was still unsafe. Stormwind was a place to visit and little more. Dalaran had been the closest thing to home she’d had for most of her life.

She’d led people to this continent, and she had a duty to them. To keep them safe, to give them the chance for happy, fulfilled lives. And maybe find some way to overcome her grief and the terrible memories of the war against the Scourge and the Legion. “Yes. I think you’re right. Maybe, someday, nowhere else will feel as much like home as Theramore.”

Pained studied her for a moment, and Jaina felt like her heart was being exposed. Then, sighing, as if it were a great imposition, Pained approached Jaina and put her hand on her shoulder. “Home isn’t the place you set your hearthstone to, Lady. Home is your people.”

“What would I do without you?” Jaina asked, putting her hand over Pained’s.

“You’d be dead.”

“You know what I mean.” She eyed the Kaldorei, wondering why she’d chosen to stay with her instead of returning to her people, but didn’t really have the heart to ask. Jaina had few enough friends at the moment and didn’t want to give Pained an excuse to leave her.

Probably not the healthiest feeling, but Jaina had never been known for having healthy feelings. She leaned in, wrapping her arms around Pained and resting her head on her shoulder.

After a moment’s hesitation, Pained returned the hug. “Maybe this assignment won’t be so bad.”

“So you do take payments in hugs,” Jaina murmured, teasingly. “Imagine what that would do to your reputation if it got out.”

“Remember what I said about your dying?”

Grinning, Jaina pulled away. “Come on. Let’s give Theramore her first proper inspection.”

“Please tell me I get to make sure everything is in line?”

“You just want to hit people who aren’t up to snuff.”

“....Maybe.”

****NOW****

Only a few minutes passed between the collapse of the keep and the Warlocks’ demons digging them out, but in that time the battle had shifted against Stormwind. There was chaos in the streets, fire spreading through the Dwarven district, and the docks had been obliterated by Naga and their sea giants.

Just about the only major building untouched was the Cathedral, and so that was where most of the civilians who hadn’t been taken to shelter were directed.

Ordering Genn to retake the docks, Anduin personally led the counter-attack, fighting creatures of shadow and Naga street by street and building by building until, many long hours later, the last of the attackers were routed.

Efforts immediately split between putting out the fires and search and rescue, Anduin again leading much of the latter. By the time he was able to sit down and rest his aching back, he was certain he’d worn his feet down to stumps.

He gestured at a passing Draenei mage, waving a sheet of paper at the Champion. “Velshada, come here. Are you able to travel?”

She rubbed the base of her horns like she was fighting a headache, but gave a weak thumbs-up in his direction. After a moment she actually glanced up and realized who was addressing her, and her eyes widened. “Gah! I--yeah. Yes! Your Majesty.”

“Good. I need to know how the rest of the Alliance fared and they need to know our status. Can you deliver this missive to Ironforge, Kaldrassil, and Boralus?”

She nodded hastily. “I can. I don’t suppose there’s time to...It’s just…” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “Talet’s wife was in Ironforge, sir.”

“I know.” And frankly, Anduin was loath to separate Velshada from her mentor, especially before sending her through an unsecured portal. But he couldn’t afford to pull a Worgen’s senses off search-and-rescue along the coast, either. “I’m afraid she’s needed where she is. We’re all waiting for word of loved ones right now.”

The mage nodded sharply. “I’ll get started on that then, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you. Return to Stormwind once you’re done, and pay attention to what you see. I want more than the official status, I also want your perspective.”

Velshada nodded again and took the status report from the King, then turned and whistled sharply.

A dusky nightsaber leapt down from the roof of a nearby building, springboarding off a pile of rubble and shifting into a white stag as it landed. The maneuver would have been flowing and impressive if the druid hadn’t immediately skidded out of control across the cobblestones as she lost the traction of a cat’s pawpads. Miraculously, the stag managed to brake before running down an unfazed Velshada. She pressed a casual kiss to the stag’s neck and hopped onto its back, and the druid surged forward. They disappeared through a portal to Ironforge just before they would have slammed into the wall.

Anduin shook his head in bemusement. “Champions. Daredevils, the lot of them.”

“Some of us are a little less crazy than others, your majesty.” A raven-haired mage bowed her head to him. Her robes looked as worn and haggard as he felt.

He remembered her and the Worgen male next to her digging through some rubble with him earlier and nodded at them in greeting.

Smiling tiredly, she continued. “We have a message from the Kirin Tor.”

Forcing himself to stand, Anduin considered the statement. It couldn’t have been too urgent if they’d helped with rescue efforts rather than try to deliver it first. “What is it?”

It was the Worgen who spoke first. “There was an attempt by cultists to bring Dalaran crashing to the ground.” He bared his teeth. “They suffered more damage than the city.”

“What Korvand means is that we took care of that threat. But something else happened just prior to the attack.” The mage flexed her fingers, then rubbed at a cut on her hand. “Jaina Proudmoore teleported in, ripped the magical wards to shreds and raided the vault. It was fascinating, really. Usually she’s all finesse, but I suppose she was in a hurry and had to rely on brute force. I could probably spend hours just studying--”

Korvand poked her in the shoulder. “Lissibeth, honey, focus.”

“Right! She stole the Focusing Iris.”

Anduin stared at her, then shook his head. “Jaina did what?”

“Oh, don’t worry, the Iris was recovered and returned to Dalaran. It’s pretty easy to track, considering the level of power it exudes.” Lissibeth’s expression darkened as she folded her arms across herself. “But that was all we could find.”

Anduin felt sick. “Please tell me Orgrimmar wasn’t--”

“Orgrimmar stands,” Korvand assured him, and Anduin remembered how to breathe.

This wasn’t a conversation for public ears, and he didn’t want to wait for Genn. He gestured for them to follow him. “Come with me somewhere private. I need you to tell me everything you know about what happened in Orgrimmar.”

There weren’t too many places left where Anduin felt comfortable talking about sensitive matters, but he led them to Trias’s cheese shop, and through a false door into the basement where Mathias Shaw had so often read him intelligence. No one in SI:7 was present, and it was the best place for top secret discussion until the Keep could be repaired.

He leaned against a table as Lissibeth sagged against Korvand, clearly as weary as he felt. He nudged a bowl of cheese towards them. “So what happened.”

“Once the cultist situation was mopped up, my husband and I portaled to Orgrimmar.” Lissibeth picked up a piece of cheese. “The barrier Proudmoore put up had failed by then. The people we spoke to told us that the battle had been intense.”

Korvand nodded. “Lady Proudmoore led the defense personally and fought on the front lines.”

“Do you know the status of Ravenwing’s legion?”

“The gunship crashed into the gates I think, but everything was too hectic to get a casualty list.” Korvand shrugged. “I think she was alive.”

Lissibeth spoke up, at once excited about the subject and yet somehow withdrawn at the same time. “The city was overwhelmed, that’s why she took the Focusing Iris. She supercharged her spells and called up a wave bigger than Orgrimmar! It must have been amazing to witness. I could feel it still, this could change our understanding of--”

Anduin held up his hands. It was a miracle they weren’t shaking. “Thank you. You… don’t need to finish. She shielded Orgrimmar and washed away the attackers. And now she’s missing, isn’t she.”

Abashed, Lissibeth replied. “Yes, sir.”

“Do you believe she’s dead?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Lissibeth shot Korvand a look. “Until there’s a body, she’s not dead.”

“No one could have survived that wave. Even most of the Horde are convinced she’s gone. They were practically planning her memorial while we were searching for the Iris.”

“You’ve never met her. I have. Jaina is powerful and kind, and more stubborn than you are on a bad day.” Lissibeth turned from her husband to look at Anduin imploringly. “You know her better than anyone, do you think she’d let a little dampness get the better of her?”

“No, Jaina is tougher than that.” But to summon that kind of power?

Anduin didn’t want to think about her dying. She was his friend, as close to living family as he had left.

But he was also the King of Stormwind, the High King of the Alliance, and as much as he wanted to cling to that hope for as long as there was a fraction of a chance, he couldn’t afford that luxury. Not when the fate of both the Alliance and Horde rested on what he and Sylvanas did next.

He tried to take solace in the Light, and kept his voice even. “Thank you. Try and get some rest before you return to Dalaran.”

“We’ll stick around a few days. There are going to be more people who need help.” Korvand’s rested his hand on Lissibeth’s back, gentle with his claws. “Dalaran can do without us for a little while.”

Lissibeth bowed and excused them, taking Korvand’s hand and quickly heading up the stairs.

Anduin lingered, allowing himself just a few minutes to be alone, a few minutes to feel the pain in his chest that was threatening to burst out of his eyes. Jaina couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be.

But if she was, then he wondered if the bridges she’d built would be enough to keep the Horde and Alliance from going right back to tearing out each other’s throats.

If it really was that easy, then the entire thing had been a fool’s endeavour all along.

Sliding down the wall, Anduin didn’t feel much like a king or an adult. He felt lost, and a little terrified; and if he was honest with himself that had been his default state of being since his father had died nearly six years ago.

Jaina had always been someone he’d looked up to. Watching her find some kind of peace within herself had made him happy for her, even as he’d remained somewhat concerned as to the status of her relationship with Sylvanas.

In a time like this, he would have turned to Jaina, for comfort and advice. He loved Genn like an uncle, but comfort and advice was not exactly his strong suit.

But Jaina was gone and the world stood once again on the precipice.

His vision became blurry. He just needed a moment. Just one more moment to mourn.

******

Sylvanas stood in Jaina’s office, slowly turning around and taking it all in as if it, somehow, could explain to her what exactly had happened and tell her where Jaina was. She barely felt Varian climb her legs and back until his weight became a warm comfort on her shoulders. Absently, she reached up to rub one of his ears.

“Do you understand, I wonder?”

She stopped herself before she continued. Before she admitted that Jaina was actually gone.

Varian purred in her ear, kneading his paws into her shoulder and snuggling close around her neck. As if he did know. Or at least understand that Sylvanas’s thoughts were a turmoil and her emotions not dull as they should be, but in sharp relief.

There was no body, she told herself. If there was no body, then Jaina could still be alive. Or captured. Of course, with the power at her disposal, capturing Jaina Proudmoore was no easy task; Sylvanas had needed a hundred and seven pages of treaty to do it herself, after all.

And yet to summon such a wave, pull off a mass precision teleportation, and shield Orgrimmar in the same instant, Jaina would have had to expend an enormous amount of power even accounting for the Focusing Iris. Enough to render her easily capturable.

Enough, frankly, to kill her even without drowning in the wave.

Varian mewled questioningly.

“I’d almost forgotten what this felt like.” This tightening in her chest, this feeling of being rudderless and adrift. The last thing Sylvanas had ever expected to feel again was this sense of loss that she refused to put words to.

Sylvanas Windrunner did not feel. Did not grieve.

“Mother.”

Slowly, she turned towards the elevator, barely noticing or caring if Kalira was alone or not. “What is it?”

“We’ve word from the other Horde capitals.”

“Well?” She snapped. “Get on with it.”

Kalira narrowed her eyes. “Thunder Bluff took significant casualties among their warriors, but remains standing. Suramar received timely aid from a group of Kaldorei sentinels and was relatively undamaged. The First Arcanist believes the attack there was meant to be a diversion of some kind and is attempting to ascertain if anything else happened while they were occupied with the defense.”

Suramar was home to numerous powerful relics and leylines; Thalyssra’s instincts were probably on point and Sylvanas filed the information away to think about later. “Silvermoon?”

“Untouched, but Naga made an attempt on the Sunwell. It was repelled, with losses.”

Sylvanas snorted. “We expected that.”

“Highmountain was also ignored.”

Lifting Varian off of her shoulders and holding him cradled in her arms as she rubbed his chin, Sylvanas asked, “What of the Alliance?”

“Boralus, you know. Stormwind took the largest attack in the Eastern Kingdoms and they are still trying to determine how bad it is. There’s no information from our sources in Ironforge or Gnomeregan yet, but Kaldrassil stands.”

“Pity. I do enjoy a good bonfire.” Sylvanas walked towards the elevator and stepped inside. “The Exodar?”

Kalira joined her. “It exploded.”

Sylvanas very slowly turned her head to Kalira. “The Exodar exploded?”

“Yes. Apparently they lured the invaders inside and then detonated the power core.”

“They’re going to be spending years cleaning that up.” Sylvanas was impressed. It was a bold tactic; they must have learned it from her. “We have our own messes to clear up, but I am sure that we can find some ways to --”

Sylvanas fell silent, her lips twitching downward and her eyes growing faint and small as she realized she was acting as she would were Jaina alive. And that Jaina had managed to influence her enough to actually consider helping the Alliance. Should she help? Would help even be welcome without Proudmoore acting as a buffer?

Or would it all fall apart without that tie that bound the Horde and Alliance?

She stepped out of the elevator and walked into the Hold proper, taking her seat on the throne and leaning back. Varian settled himself in her lap and she stroked her hand over his fur while absently toying with Jaina’s anchor.

Movement brought her focus back to the here and now, and she looked up to see Tyra, Kalira and Nathanos standing before her. She let go of the necklace. “Tyra, once we are sure that our own are taken care of, I want you to take a team to Stormwind and have King Wrynn send you where you are most needed to help.”

“Warchief,” Nathanos interrupted. “Proudmoore is dead and Stormwind burns. The Alliance has clearly taken more damage than we have. This is the perfect opportunity for us to strike and rid ourselves of them once and for all.”

Sylvanas shook her head. “No. Not yet.” She looked at her daughter. “Put a call out for Champions. Alliance, Horde, it matters not. We should put them to where they are best used.”

“Where would that be, mother?”

“Saving the world, of course.”

Notes:

Lets just say I'm really excited for next week and you should be too ;)

Chapter 31: A Place Between

”Time is like a river, Jaina. It has branches and tributaries, as each decision we make affects the future in ways we can never fully understand. Today, you may decide to take the left fork in the road, and never know what was on the right. However, you also chose the right fork. Somewhere in the vastness of reality there’s a Jaina Proudmoore who went right instead of left. An infinite number, in fact, as each decision compounds upon the last.”

“But is time not a circle, Antonidas? Since it can flow backwards as well as forward, which is something a river cannot naturally do. What happens if one were to go back and change their decision? Would that action even matter if, as you say, each decision creates a new branch for every outcome?”

“You just answered your own question. Imagine using the power of Nozdormu, and choosing to save someone who might have died. That simple act could very well set in motion the events that led to their death.”

“But there would be a time and place where they still lived.”

“There would be, regardless of what you do. The question I pose to you, then, is: would changing the reality you know accomplish anything for you, knowing that it is ultimately pointless?”

“We have witnessed champions stop the Infinite Dragonflight from altering our own history.”

“Did they? By the very nature of infinity, there are timelines where the champions did not succeed. Does that make their efforts fruitless?”

“Not to them.”

“Tell me then, if your efforts for peace were fruitless?”

“I don’t think I can envision a timeline where they weren’t.”

“And yet, the Alliance and Horde are now at peace.”

“In a round-about way, drowned in rivers of blood. I wish you’d heeded my warning. You would still be alive and perhaps things would not have gotten so dire to begin with.”

“I know, child, I know. Take solace in the fact that there is at least one world where, some day, you were the one teaching me.”

******

Jaina drifted on her back, floating through darkness on soft, gentle waves. She had the faintest recollection of talking to someone, but the memory was fuzzy, like it was being viewed through the bottom of a half-filled glass of wine.

She opened her eyes, once, to be blinded by soft light in shades of pink, purple and blue that reflected off of the water as it rippled around her. It was too bright, and she closed her eyes, letting herself drift off. She was tired. So, so tired.

Did anything Jaina do actually matter? She hadn’t been able to save Arthas or Antonidas. She’d lost Theramore. Her anger and rage may have led, in part, to the war that nearly destroyed both the Horde and Alliance.

She’d watched friends and family die over and over and over again, and now, finally, death had claimed her. It didn’t seem so bad, floating on this endless sea.

But questions haunted her. Had she saved Orgrimmar? What happened to the compact now? To the peace? Would her sacrifices, all of them, be enough to prevent war from breaking out again? She had given up so much to wed Sylvanas, to bind the factions together...and she couldn’t remember what provisions, if any, had been laid out in the event of her death outside of Sylvanas’s order.

******

”Okay, so if the mathematical equation is altered just so, we don’t actually know what the result could be. We should probably test this out in the marshes somewhere, away from the city.”

“Try following that thread though. Do the math with the changes, you can reliably predict what will happen and then it’s just a matter of testing out the hypothesis, Kinndy.”

“What about more creative solutions? Like music, or, I don’t know, summoning a tidal wave.”

“Still math. Music is timing, patterns. Music is … geometry. Making shapes with sound.”

“Sound waves right? Wouldn’t that be more like sailing? Or is music more predictable than the sea?”

“Everything is more predictable than the sea.”

“Why are you hugging me, Jaina?”

“I just miss you so much.”

******

Groaning, Jaina came to again and realized she was no longer drifting aimlessly and had washed up onto shore, stones and pebbles digging into her back. She opened her eyes again; the light had faded and it was now night. The stars that stretched on forever were unfamiliar to her, the distant lights of another place and another time.

But they were beautiful, flowing through the heavens like a river of light and Jaina wondered if she’d drifted on their currents to come to land here. Wherever here was.

She sat up, and saw that the shore led up to a forest. It was old, ancient, a living breathing thing that seemed to pulse with every breath she took. Climbing to unsteady feet, Jaina stumbled up the incline, catching herself on a tree before she could fall.

Eyes shone in the darkness. A predator’s eyes, and Jaina was too drained to summon up so much as a spark as a Nightsaber stepped into the moonlight. It stared at her a moment, then turned, looking back at her as if expecting her to follow.

Carefully, Jaina started to move. The Nightsaber seemed to be one with the earth, padding sleekly and silently in front of her, powerful muscles rippling under fur the color of midnight.

It was a beautiful creature, she thought, and then didn’t think of much else. They could have walked for hours or days, or maybe years, the only light that which filtered in through the canopy above.

Even through her boots, Jaina could feel the pulse of the forest. It was a strange, primal thing, different from the magics she wielded. She’d once heard the arcane described as a living thing, but that was a pale echo of the life she felt around her.

Jaina stumbled, falling to her knees in a meadow. She dug her fingers into the earth, trying to will the world to stop spinning.

Hadn’t Sylvanas once tapped into this? She’d been a Ranger, a wielder of nature magic, one with the forest. But Arthas had taken that from her, twisted and perverted her power into death and decay. It broke Jaina’s heart to think about what it must have felt like for Sylvanas to realize she could never feel this again.

She thought she heard voices, and when she looked up, she saw a Kaldorei woman. She wore a simple leather skirt and shirt made from scales, and was as pale as the moon with hair the color of spring leaves. She must have been the nightsaber, and she looked vaguely familiar. “I’m… I’m sorry, I feel like I know you but I can’t place your name.”

“That’s understandable, I’ve been dead for years and you’ve probably met plenty of adventurers since then.”

“What.” Jaina stated blandly, leaning back and blankly staring at the woman as her words sank in.

“Oh, you’re not dead, Ms. Proudmoore. Well, not entirely.” The druid sat down crosslegged in front of Jaina. “I’m Kiska Windwhistle.”

“Windwhistle?” Jaina tried to remember why that sounded so familiar, and remembered Yukale Ravenwing’s ship.

Where the compact had first been proposed. Where everything had changed. Everything.

“Oh. She named it for you. Her ship.”

Kiska smiled fondly. “Yukale does have a romantic streak a mile wide.”

“So if… I’m not dead and you are, where are we? Is this the Emerald Dream?”

Looking around, Kiska shrugged. “No, not really. Some place in between. Closer to death than life or I wouldn’t have been able to pull you to shore.”

“So you’re saying I’m almost dead.”

“You said that, not me,” Kiska replied, cheekily. Clearly, Jaina thought, Yukale had a type.

“Are there others, here? Like you.” Jaina frowned, “Or… like me.”

“A few.” Kiska leaned forward, “Like me now. And like I was before, when I was also on the razor’s edge between life and death.”

Definitely almost dead, Jaina thought. She knew she should be more alarmed by that, panicked even. But exhaustion kept her emotions at bay. “Are they just shy?”

“Maybe.” Kiska picked up Jaina’s hand, taking a close look at the rings there. “Though I know at least a couple of people who’d be really interested in that ring.”

“Lireesa Windrunner?” Jaina guessed.

“Mm. Her too.” Reaching up, Kiska took a lock of Jaina’s hair between two fingers. “You used to be blonde. Silver looks good on you.”

“Its a long story.”

“We’ve got time.”

“Do you only get news of the living world when people pass on?” Jaina latched onto something she was good at, something that comforted her: Knowledge and curiosity. “This is nothing like what anyone has predicted of the afterlife.”

“The afterlife, at least for those of us who avoided being fed to soul engines and the like, is whatever you wish it to be.”

Much of the Legion’s technology had been fed by souls. Jaina didn’t want to think about the countless beings across the universe who had been lost that way. It seemed such a cruel thing for innocents to not even have the peace of death.

Her mind again went to Sylvanas. What fate awaited her? Was it the same as Arthas? What became of a soul touched by Frostmourne, let alone devoured by it? It occurred to Jaina that Sylvanas had never spoken of it and she herself had always avoided asking about the oldest link between them.

Jaina sighed, and leaned back on her hands. There was a lot to catch Kiska up on, but it would do Jaina good too. Allow her to wrap her head around things, to see it through the perspective of someone who had little stake in the matter. But she had some questions first. “What made you notice? Do you commonly hang around seeing who washes up?”

Why not someone she knew much better than a woman she’d only met a few times, years and years ago?

“What makes you think I was the first person to notice?” Kiska asked, as if sensing the direction Jaina’s thoughts had gone. “You made quite the splash.”

Jaina opened her mouth to respond, then closed it again. She could recall voices. Familiar ones. Echoes of conversations and the weight of them in her chest.

“That’s what I thought. To actually answer your question though, you’re not wrong.” Kiska got to her feet, walking aimlessly about the meadow. “I don’t have any family left alive. Almost everyone that really mattered to me in life, I have with me in death. Except one. The second person I ever loved.”

Kiska stopped, and then looked at her. “Is she doing all right? Yukale. She had such a hard time after I died, she once even used the Caverns of Time to try to warn me.”

“Someone warned me of the dangers of that,” Jaina mused. “She’s alive. She seems happy. She’s … with someone.”

“Good. That’s all I want for her. I figure we can sort all that out eventually. Always knew we’d have to with my husband.” Kiska returned to Jaina and dropped back to the ground in front of her. “But seriously, you really don’t want to go messing with the Caverns.”

“Don’t plan to.”

“Ever thought about it?”

“Once or twice,” Jaina admitted. “But there’s no telling what could happen once you make a single change.”

“You might create a timeline where you’re a warmongering maniac!”

Jaina coughed. “Yes, that could be… a thing.”

At least, by the time Jaina told her story, there was no judgement in her eyes. She didn’t seem surprised at Teledrassil, though Jaina reasoned she probably had family there when the tree burned. It made her guilty to think about. Like she could have done something to stop it. Like she shouldn’t be married to the woman who caused it.

Despite that, Jaina felt immeasurably better. She hadn’t just given Kiska the bare facts of everything, but she’d admitted a few things that she hadn’t even been willing to acknowledge for herself. And the druid just listened, and nodded, and asked a question now and again but did not judge her. Not for her inability to save Theramore nor her actions after.

And not for…

Jaina wiped at her eyes and inhaled deeply. “And I knew the wave would kill me, but it was the only option I had.”

“If you linger much longer, it will.” Kiska lifted a hand to her own hair, fingers briefly shifting into the paws of a Nightsaber as she sliced off a lock. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Of course.”

Kiska put the lock into Jaina’s hand and closed her fingers over it. “Give this to Yukale. Tell her I’m at peace and the two years we had together were among the best of my life.”

“I will.” Something inside Jaina ached for them. Two years was barely any time at all for a human. For Kaldorei, who could measure their lives in centuries and millennia, two years might as well be two days.

“Are you ready to go home?

“I don’t think I can teleport,” Jaina said. “I’m so tired.”

“You have a hearthstone, don’t you? Isn’t it set to home?”

“Home was destroyed. It no longer exists.”

Kiska shook her head with a smile. “Nonsense. As long as you remember it, it still exists.”

Jaina slipped her hand into her pocket and closed her fist around the stone. Yes, Theramore might be gone, but she remembered it. Every stone and brick, every person who lived there, the sounds and smells of that sea.

Her lungs filled with water, her body became battered and sore and the pressure threatened to crush her. And then the magic enveloped her like a warm embrace and Jaina Proudmoore went home.

******

”It’s strange. A human wearing that ring.”

“It wasn’t by choice.”

“Maybe not then. Now?”

“It’s familiar. Like home.”

“Sylvanas is a hard woman to love.”

“I never said I loved her.”

“Then leave the ring behind.”

“Do you know what she did to your daughter?”

“Yes.”

“Would you still love her, knowing that?”

******

It felt like her bones were on fire as Jaina rolled onto her side and immediately emptied the contents of her stomach. She convulsed, holding her hand over her abdomen as she vomited up seawater until nothing remained.

For several minutes of dry heaves after she wished she was dead, but the pain finally subsided. She rolled onto her back and lay there, still kind of wishing she was dead.

The only reason she knew that she wasn’t dead was the pain that blossomed throughout her body every time she tried to move. She wasn’t sure if anything was broken, but it felt like she’d gone five rounds with an Ogre.

Jaina could remember a face, though the details were fading. She remembered conversations, though the words were absent. Patterns of stars danced across her eyes with constellations that didn’t exist.

When she opened her eyes, she was greeted by a ruined sky. Dull flashes of purple lightning and rips in the fabric of reality through one of which she could see that strange constellation.

The rift wavered, and the constellation was gone.

Rolling her head to the side, Jaina could see she lay at the center of the crater. Unbidden, laughter bubbled out of her, bitter and shrill and hysterical until her body was wracked with sobs. Her sobbing set off her pain and she curled up until unconsciousness claimed her.

Sunlight woke her. It was just starting to come up over the ocean and cast light down into the crater. Almost on instinct, Jaina dug her fingers into the magically altered dirt and started to drag herself up and out of the crater.

She reached the top in time to see the sunrise, passing out a few minutes later, right hand stretched out towards the sea.

A seagull woke her next. She turned onto her side, spitting out dirt, and watched the gull circle overhead. When had life started to return to Theramore? She watched it disappear through a rift and emerge from another one changed, the flight feathers trailing violet energy behind it.

“All right.” Her voice came out a raspy croak, throat scoured raw by salt. “I need to get back. Before someone starts a war.”

Willing herself to stand, Jaina managed five feet before she collapsed to her knees again. She was in less pain now, but her exhaustion was exhausted. A portal would be impossible, and when she tried to conjure a pastry nothing happened.

She needed food, and water, and to regain enough strength to portal back to Orgrimmar. It wasn’t just the best choice to return to, it was also the closest. She had to know that it survived, she had to return before Sylvanas lost her mind.

Something clacked and she blinked, trying to restore focus to bleary eyes. A little crab skittered towards her and she eyed it like her life depended on it. Maybe it did.

Grasping at a stone, Jaina leaned forward on her left hand, taking aim before flinging the stone at the crab. It arced wide, and Jaina swore the crab made a rude gesture as it calmly walked away.

“Get… back here… you little…” Jaina fell onto her face again and closed her eyes. A little rest. She just needed a little rest.

When next she woke, Jaina found herself staring into the stalks of a crab. She grabbed for it, and it snapped its claws onto her finger, making her yell and flail her hand. The motion flung the crab into the remains of a wall and it fell down and went still.

“Okay. I’m awake now.” Jaina crawled towards her future meal. Despite feeling ‘awake’ she knew if she passed out again without some kind of nourishment she might not wake up again. On the way there, she grabbed a few small pieces of dried driftwood.

Skittering drew her attention to a group of crabs that seemed to be following her. She frowned. “Look… I’m very sorry. But it’s...it’s either him or me and honestly? You’re next.”

Reaching the crab, Jaina propped herself against the wall and started arranging stones into a firepit. She tore off enough pieces of fabric to make tinder and hoped it would be enough to make a fire.

Pulling some flint out of a pouch on her belt, Jaina hesitated when she saw a lock of green hair. It seemed important, even if she couldn’t figure out why or how, so she put it back and then turned her attention to making a fire.

The crab was overcooked and her mouth almost too dry to swallow, but she devoured the meat greedily. She caught a second crab that got too close, and that one she cooked a little better. It wasn’t enough to restore any of her magic reserves, but she at least now had the strength to walk. Her body still protested every movement and the headache beginning to pound at her temples insisted sleeping again was the better idea; but with Theramore’s wells destroyed or inaccessible staying any longer was a death sentence. Besides--she had to get to Orgrimmar. She had to. The longer it took, the more anxious she got.

There wasn’t much left of the gate and wall that had once led into Theramore, and Jaina paused to look back at her city, feeling her throat clench as she fought back tears.

Home had saved her. It was easy enough to impose the way Theramore had once looked on top of the way it was now. She watched a guard on patrol, saw a child running towards the inn. Pained stepped out of the tower and lifted her hand in greeting, Kinndy at her side.

Jaina blinked and the image was gone.

Pulling out her hearthstone, Jaina stared down at it. It thrummed softly in her hand, bringing back a thousand memories. Kneeling by the side of the road, Jaina dug a hole with her hands and then placed the hearthstone at the bottom. She brushed her fingers along the surface once more, before pushing the dirt over it and patting it into place.

It had saved her life, but it was time to bury the past. Jaina touched the arrow dangling from her neck and then began to walk.

******

By the time Jaina emerged from the marshes and into the Barrens, she was about ready to fall over again. It had taken her most of the day, and there was still the trek through the barrens to the Crossroads where she hoped she could get some potions--and water, the one thought that wasn’t growing hazy and nebulous as she walked.

Her magic reserves were filling, but slowly. At this rate it would be days before she could even teleport ten yards in front of herself. She’d never felt this tired or worn out before, but then she’d never used her entire reserve of energy before, either.

Get to Crossroads. Regain enough strength to create a portal. Stop a war. Hug her wife.

Easy.

But. Water. WIthout water she wasn’t sure she’d make it to the Crossroads. Oh, there’d been a well she’d found, near the remains of an old house. Had that been Tabitha’s? She really couldn’t remember, only that she’d given it a few hours before dragging herself away. She had to move faster

It was about a mile into the Barrens that Jaina tripped over a root and took an undignified tumble down a hill. She came to a stop near a road, and wondered what god of luck she’d managed to cross because really. She took several moments to take deep breaths and push herself back up on shaking arms.

When she lifted her head, she found a large, lean blue raptor six inches from her face.

In the split second it took to understand the danger she was in and lament the bitter irony, the raptor screeched, bowled Jaina over onto her back, and--began to enthusiastically lick her face.

“Dog! Dog! Leave it! Hae-ai, get! What’d you even--get into out--oh, she better have a damn pulse...”

“Oh thank the gods.” Jaina pushed herself up to her knees and looked in the direction of the voice. There was a familiar looking Troll crouching next to her with a familiar train of mules being guarded by a sheepdog nearby, the wiggly raptor prancing eagerly at his mistress’ side and looking delighted with himself for his discovery.

It gave her enough incentive to stand; she shuffle-walked past Ihz and wrapped her arms around Millet’s neck, since of the two of them Millet would respond better to Jaina’s need for physical comfort.

“Good to see you too,” Ihz remarked. She walked over cautiously and gripped Jaina under the arm as she swayed. “I know some Forsaken who don’t look that much like a corpse. Are ya--don’t blink, Lady.” She paused, glancing between Jaina’s eyes and pinching the back of her arm.

“Ow!”

Ihz swore under her breath. “You need to sit down, last time I saw dat kinda dehydration--You know you’re concussed, aye? Lucky it’s been cold or you’d have heatstroke by now...forget drowning, miracle you didn’t die just getting here…”

Concussed? Well that explained her decision making process of late.

“I think I did for a little bit,” Jaina’s voice was muffled by Millet’s neck. “But maybe I was only mostly dead.”

Ihz gave her a dubious look. “Stories always get outta hand, everyone knows dat, but they all seem dead certain you sacrificed yourself to save Orgrimmar.” She rifled through Barley’s packs and emerged with a spare waterskin. “Drink, Lady. Slow an’ careful.”

“They’re not wrong.” Jaina turned to face her, still leaning against Millet as she realized if she let go she would actually fall over. Cool, clean water almost drove her anxiety from her mind, and she needed an irritable slap on the back of the hand to remember to slow down. After several minutes of careful sips, she finally managed to remember what she’d been saying. “I--I need to get back. Before… gods know what happens.”

Ihz’s lips almost twitched. “Well,” she allowed. “If you got back today you could have worse timing, if you tried real hard. Could be crashin’ someone else’s funeral.” Whatever Jaina’s expression did at that information, Ihz winced and gave an affected shrug. “I got an invite for some damn reason.”

Jaina stared blankly at her, then glanced around. “And yet you’re leading a mule train through the barrens.” That was...typical.

Ihz’s eyebrows twitched upward. “Lady, if ya be half the woman I think you are, you know someone’s gotta get on with the job. Survivors need water filters an’ bandages more than one more troll to watch an empty coffin burn.”

Ihz could be counted on for that, and Jaina nodded once; supplies would be critically needed after the attacks, and as she’d been sharply reminded over the past few days, any delay in a source of clean water could be deadly. As for the pyre, Mother wouldn’t be happy about that. She’d want to give Jaina a proper Kul Tiran burial at sea. Jaina herself was torn on the idea, but that was a problem to worry about later. Much, much later. “I just need…”

“To drink that damn water.”

Jaina took an obedient sip and gestured vaguely. “I barely had enough energy to make it this far. I can’t even make a flame. If you can get me to the Crossroads I should be able to get back to Orgrimmar, somehow. I don’t want you having to go too far out of your way.”

Once, she would have suggested Triumph Point, but that had been obliterated in the early days of the war and the Horde outpost built there abandoned as part of the compact in exchange for the Alliance vacating similar conquests.

Staring at her like she’d grown two heads, Izh shook her own. Then she walked over and unceremoniously picked Jaina up and put her on Millet’s back. “Rest. An’ I thought my mules were stubborn... Try an’ keep some field rations down while we move, see if ya can’t rally enough t’get out of my hair.”

“I love you too, Ihz.”

They traveled for about an hour, Jaina drifting in and out as her efforts in the marshes caught up to her. It was a little terrifying how badly she’d overexerted herself and the way her body kept wanting to crash. At one point she braced herself against Millet’s neck, ducking her head against a wave of lightheadedness, and her left hand drifted to press over the mule’s powerful shoulder. A faint blue glow flared to life against her fingers, reacting to what little magic she’d recovered--an old brand she didn’t recognize..

Magical brands were not unheard-of for expensive, high-bred prize stock; Quel’thalas chargers or Ironforge war gryphons. But there’d been only one city that used them routinely, after Jaina had banned heated iron. Jaina stared at it, then looked at Ihz’s back ahead of her as a few stray tears ran down her cheek. Suddenly, she loved Millet even more.

Finally, she tried to eat again, the spiced jerky difficult for her to chew in her current state. Ihz seemed to notice Jaina struggling. Picking up her bow, she drew an arrow and loosed it without dismounting, striking a scorpid through the eye.

Jaina sighed at the display and decided that none could ever know the harrowing tale of Jaina vs the Crabs. She’d never live it down.

The scorpid stew was bland and gentle on her empty stomach aside from having too much salt; intellectually Jaina knew that helped the body absorb fluids faster, but it was still agony after so long with the taste of the ocean in her mouth. It did prompt her to down a second waterskin, so maybe it served a dual purpose. It was still a lot tastier than her burnt crab, and she devoured it with the same gusto she had earlier, practically inhaling the food. She finished by draining the broth from her bowl, tipping her head and leaning back as she did so. When she finished, Ihz simply took the bowl, refilled it, and returned it. Jaina wiped the back of her mouth, then ate that too.

With a full belly Jaina almost felt human. She could use a nice bath, but this would have to do for now. Ihz rebuffed her offer to help clean up and pack her cooking supplies, so Jaina got to her feet, steadying herself on Millet. “How far to the Crossroads from here?”

Ihz wiggled her hand, briefly patting her scarred grey mount. “With just Thorn here, an’ you riding pillion, walk and a trot, without the train...could make it by morning. But we got nowhere to leave the string till the Crossroads anyway an’ I wouldn’t ditch the cargo even if it wasn’t relief supplies...could be another day, maybe two. Those be heavy packs. They’re not machines.”

Nodding, Jaina looked down at her hands, then lifted them. The air in front of her rippled, a small tear forming. She thought she saw a figure, but the portal collapsed on itself. “Damn it.”

“Steady on, Lady.” Ihz’s voice was gentle enough that if Jaina had been any less emotionally drained, she would have resented being spoken to like a spooked horse. “Easy. You’re helping no one that way.”

Jaina rubbed her chin, then looked back along the mule train. There had to be something here she could use and she felt like an idiot for not asking sooner. “Ihz, do you have any herbs in your shipment?”

Ihz tilted her head as though Jaina had asked a very stupid question. “Aye...Who wants to know?”

“I need some stranglekelp, kingsblood, and something to mix with. I’ll make sure you’re compensated.”

Wordlessly, Ihz tossed her a pouch.

Notes:

The very lovely Kiska courtesy a friend from the long ago vanilla wow days!

Chapter 32: Forbidden Words

The anchor weighed heavily in Sylvanas’s palm, cold like the heart that didn’t beat in her chest. Slowly, she rubbed her thumb across the silver finish, back and forth, back and forth.

It was dark, the candles and lanterns snuffed out when she’d swept through the residence like a whirlwind, throwing furniture and tipping over bookshelves, but even so she could sense the cat cautiously approaching her. Slowly, she held out her other hand for him to sniff. He did so, then licked her middle fingertip a few times before hopping up into her lap.

He pressed in against her stomach, his small body shaking. Slowly, surely, he calmed down and began to purr. Sylvanas rested her hand on his back, stroking idly in time to the motion her thumb resumed over Jaina’s pendent.

Even in death she couldn’t escape burying those close to her. It was something that would only get worse with time, and with only enough Valkyr left for one person…

Sylvanas wondered if she could choose just one sister, or if she would have to content herself with having them around in less than a whole state, assuming she didn’t discover another solution.

Damn Greymane. Damn that fleabitten mongrel for taking away the best solution she’d ever found for her people’s dilemma. With Eyir under her control she could have had her sisters at her side eternally. She wouldn’t have to worry about herself, about Nathanos or Kalira. The same ritual she’d gifted Nathanos his new body with could have been used for Tyra and indeed, the whole of the Forsaken. And at the relatively low cost of every human in Stormwind.

She could have had Jaina...

No, perhaps not. The course of history would have led to some other destination and the marriage might not have been necessary. Which would be … regrettable.

“Dark lady?”

Too lost in her own turmoil and rage, Sylvanas ignored the voice. She continued to stare at the anchor, fuming at everything from Greymane to both Wrynns to the way Jaina’s cheeks had dimpled when she’d smiled.

“Mother?”

Cursing, Sylvanas turned around and glared angrily through the darkness at Kalira. “What do you want?”

Kalira lit a candle, and in the dim flame Sylvanas could see that she was not alone. Standing behind her were Alleria and Vereesa.

“Why are they here?”

“Why do you think?” Alleria said, her eyes following Sylvanas’s movements as the Warchief stood, still cradling the cat. Alleria’s brow furrowed as she saw the dangling gem that had been exposed when Sylvanas had pulled the pendant out.

While her sister went on a face journey about Sylvanas still wearing the gem she’d gifted her so long, Sylvanas tucked it back under her tunic. In the face of the only family she had left, she snarled, “The memorial is not in here. Leave me. All of you.”

Vereesa exchanged a look with Alleria, then stepped forward, holding up her hands in an appeasing gesture. “Sylvanas, we’re here to talk.”

“Just two minutes and then you can return to brooding in the darkness,” Alleria added.

“You’re one to talk about darkness,” Kalira murmured, smiling when Alleria bristled.

Ah yes. Family was just so delightful. The pendant dug into Sylvanas’s hand as she gripped it tightly, and she used the pain to center herself. Varian scrambled up to her shoulder and curled around the back of her neck as she closed the distance between her and her sisters. Jaina had been trying to get them all to mend fences and so, on this day only, Sylvanas was willing to listen. “Two minutes, then.”

“None of us are the same as who we once were,” Vereesa said, looking between her sisters. “We have all been victims, we have all lost nearly everything.”

“Yes,” Sylvanas replied. Did they really want to play the who had it worst game? “You’re victims just like I am.”

“I lost all three of you,” Vereesa hissed. “I lost our people. My husband. And now Jaina. I have watched everything I loved fall apart.”

“You have your children,” Sylvanas pointed out, eyes flicking to Kalira just once. She couldn’t help but add, “And that woman you’ve been spending time with in Stromgarde. Interesting how she’s a redhead, just like Rhonin.”

“We’re closer than I’d like, you and I.” Alleria interrupted. She folded her arms, shifting on her heels and avoiding Sylvanas’s gaze. “The madness of the Void is my constant companion. I’m shadow more often than I’m not. Turalyon cannot even touch me any more without burning me, even if he wished to.”

Interesting. Her spies had not informed her of such a falling out. Sylvanas tilted her head and used her silence to encourage Alleria to keep talking.

Alleria finally met her eyes. “We’ve all lost our people, Sylvanas. We’ve all lost the people we loved, to death or otherwise, because of who we are and the circumstances that changed us.”

“Get to the point.” Sylvanas feigned boredom.

“We can’t be as we were before,” Vereesa said, visibly upset, either at the subject matter or Sylvanas’s comments earlier. “But I’d like to try to find out what we can be now.”

“For Jaina?” Sylvanas asked.

“For us.” Alleria dropped her hands to her side. “Just think about it. It can’t hurt.”

Vereesa looked around, as if noticing the destruction for the first time. She lifted her head, staring at Sylvanas as her sister turned to go.

“Are you coming?”

“Just give us a minute.”

Alleria nodded and strode out.

Kalira gave Sylvanas a questioning look, and Sylvanas inclined her head. Looking at Vereesa one more time, she followed her other aunt out and closed the door behind her.

Sylvanas pulled Varian off of her shoulder and dropped him onto the floor. “What now, favorite sister of mine?”

Looking again around her, Vereesa wet her lips. “You loved her.”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Sylvanas said, clasping the anchor back around her throat and ignoring the pointed look she received in return. “I do not love. Not you. Not her.” Varian weaved around her ankle and she added, “And not this cat.”

Vereesa didn’t look convinced. “Can I ask you a question? Just one, and then I’ll leave you to your temper tantrums.”

Sylvanas gestured in the direction of Vereesa’s everything. “Since I doubt you’ll take no for an answer, go ahead.”

“If they’d found Jaina’s body, what would you have done?”

It was not a question that Sylvanas had expected, nor one she was prepared to answer. She hadn’t even asked it of herself, afraid of what the answer could be and what that answer could mean. It was all a moot point, anyhow. She brushed past Vereesa, voice barely loud enough for her sister to hear. “I guess we’ll never know.”

Outside and down the stairs, Alleria and Kalira were still waiting in the late afternoon light. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, descending the steps and joining them. She grabbed Alleria by the arm and shoved her. “The funeral is not here either.”

Alleria recoiled, pain, fear and panic on her face. Only when she’d put twenty paces between them did she calm down. “Don’t touch me!”

Sylvanas stalked towards her. “And why is that? Can it be that you’re afraid of me?”

“I’m not afraid.”

“No. I can see that you’re not. What you are, sister, is angry. It is the thing we share most in common. Our anger. I am quite happy to see that you have embraced it.” She stopped just out of arm’s reach. “The thing that fears me still lies within you. Interesting how the Void fears death. How death is the one thing it cannot corrupt. Do you wish to know why, dear sister? Death is the one constant in this universe.”

Shadows flickered across Alleria’s face, her skin shifting and her eyes turning a rich shade of purple. “The only reason I came here was because of Vereesa. Because I promised her I’d try to get along with you. Because…. a part of me still loves you.”

She stepped into Sylvanas’s reach, grabbing her by the front of her shirt. Kalira started to move but Sylvanas held up her hand.

Alleria pulled out the sapphire, and let it dangle next to the anchor. “And this is proof that no matter what you say, no matter what you believe, you’re still the sister I left behind, just a little bit.”

Sylvanas wanted to rip the gem off and throw it in Alleria’s face, but something stilled her hand. The memory of the day Alleria gave it to her. The memory of how close they’d once been, the persistent and irritating desire to have them close once again. “It means nothing.”

“Keep lying to yourself.” Allera shook her head, then turned around and started to walk away. “But if you weren’t so sentimental, would Kalira be standing here today?”

Sylvanas’s bow was in her hand and an arrow drawn before Alleria finished her sentence. “Do not call me sentimental, Alleria.”

Alleria continued to walk, her back to Sylvanas and her bow, as if daring her to let it loose. Sylvanas tried to find that rage to fuel her, tried to think of one reason, just one to put an arrow into Alleria’s back.

But she lowered it, and looked at Kalira, shoulders slumped and expression tired. “Let’s go. It’s almost time to send off your stepmother.”

Kalira fell into step next to her as they walked towards the gates. She was silent, and Sylvanas found herself asking the question before she could stop herself. “You hated me, when I returned you to my side. Do you still feel the same?”

“Yes.” Kalira inclined her head towards Sylvanas. “I will always hate you for this existence. For violating me. For robbing me of the peace I’d felt in those final moments, for the agony that consumes my soul every single moment.”

“And yet, you are still here. You are not bound to me, Kalira. Your will is your own. Why?”

“Because I still love you.”

Sylvanas’s expression grew darker. Kalira hated her, and yet loved her enough to stay. Alleria and Vereesa hated her, and yet loved her enough to reach out. The only one that didn’t seem to hate her and she could always count on was Nathanos, and she had never loved him the same way he loved her.

The irony was not lost on her, and she ruminated over that as she approached where the pyre had been built. The Horde was getting antsy, she knew. Even waiting a whole day before holding a funeral was unusual. Unlike the Alliance, they moved forward and honored the legacy of the dead by not stopping the world to mourn. But three days, nearly four, was too fast for the Alliance. Even now she could feel their eyes on her, as though they questioned what the rush was. What she was hiding. To the Alliance, Jaina was missing and only presumed dead.

In the true spirit of compromise, they had honored Jaina’s determination for peacemaking with a solution that ensured absolutely everyone was unhappy.

The honor guard was exactly where they were supposed to be, Tyra standing stiffly at the front as Kalira joined her. Sylvanas scanned those gathered without moving her head. Go’el stood next to the covered figure that represented Jaina, hand resting where her head would have been and his head bowed. It gave Sylvanas pause, though she didn’t allow that pause to be noticed by anyone else.

Spying some of them in the crowd, Sylvanas made a mental note to give the Kaldorei who’d come to Orgrimmar’s aid a fitting reward. Nothing like the honors she would bestow upon the defenders of the Horde that day. But something. Jaina would have made her do so. Sylvanas felt a momentary flash of anger and dismissed the idea immediately--she wouldn’t be ruled by a dead woman.

King Wrynn stood with her sisters and several others of the Alliance as well as representatives from Dalaran. Khadgar and Kalecgos, Modera and a few others. She recognized the mage who’d retrieved the Focusing Iris, holding a child of all things.

Even Greymane had shown his grizzled face, positioned between Wrynn and the survivors from the Alliance legion who’d remained to help with rescue and recovery. Nathanos was probably losing his mind; even Sylvanas would have been a little concerned over security, if she actually cared about anything right now.

This time, she moved her head to scan the crowd, recognizing the champions and soldiers who were assembled. There were children too. She watched, curiously, as one half-orc girl approached the pyre and placed a doll on it. She looked up at Sylvanas and said, “The one I gave her didn’t protect her. But maybe this one can protect her in the afterlife.”

She bowed her head, and then returned to her mother’s side. Sylvanas nodded at Minuial, musing on that before the sound of bells drew her attention to the east.

Katherine Proudmoore marched towards them, accompanied by only her son. The woman’s eyes locked onto the necklace around Sylvanas’s neck, then back up to her face. Sylvanas could see the anger and grief that flashed through Katherine like a storm at sea. Such an expression had been beautiful and alluring on Jaina’s face.

On Katherine Proudmoore’s it lacked something. Respect.

After the situation with Wraith’s Shadow, Jaina had told Sylvanas of a peculiar custom among Kul Tirans, to describe ships lost at sea. The eerie, slightly morbid tradition had greatly appealed to Sylvanas.

So when the Lord Admiral took her position with the Alliance, Sylvanas raised her voice for all to hear. “Jaina Proudmoore is gone, but not forgotten.”

She protected our city with honor and grace. Sylvanas frowned and dismissed that thought. That was ridiculous and not … right. She hadn’t really put too much thought into this; she hadn’t wanted to and could barely remember most of the past few days as it was. Shaking her head, she finally spoke. “She fought like a warrior. She fought like the Horde! She cut the enemy down without fear or hesitation and when the end came she faced it as bravely as any of you.”

Her eyes met Katherine’s. “She called to the sea, and the sea claimed her. In the tradition of her homeland, she will be forever listed on the official Horde records as still on patrol.”

Katherine said nothing, but her lip quivered and eyes became watery. Sylvanas looked away from her, then picked up a torch. “And in Horde tradition, we will send her off with fire. Suiting, as Jaina so often burned like a flame.”

She turned, and stared into the crackling flame. There was more she could say. More she should say but she found herself oddly starved of words.

When she lit this torch, Jaina would be gone.

So she hesitated, and in the space of the heartbeat nearest to her, something else crackled, a swirling vortex of energy that twisted into life before the pyre. Sylvanas barely heard the sound of weapons being drawn all around and behind her as a figure appeared and then stumbled out of the portal.

She dropped the torch, catching a gaunt and half-dead Jaina in her arms. Sylvanas stared down at her in abject disbelief.

Jaina looked like she wanted to say something but instead pulled Sylvanas’s head down and kissed her.

Notes:

Nathanos Voice in the Distance: OH COME ON!

Chapter 33: Slow Dance

There were few cities that Katherine hated more than Orgrimmar and at this very moment she couldn't really remember which ones those were. Orgrimmar was the city that had taken her daughter away, twice. First into Windrunner's clutches and then again, washed away for some maddening reason. She still couldn't quite believe that Jaina had voluntarily fought and nearly died for the Horde.

The Horde had taken so much from Katherine. Her husband, her eldest son, and her daughter. And now, even though she had Jaina back, she ... did not.

Her emotions remained a whirlpool. Seeing Jaina again, alive, hurt but alive had alleviated the tight, bitter knot inside her chest. But kissing Sylvanas like that.

Her first action. Instinctual and desperate. Katherine didn’t know what to think, and nothing she could come up with was all that kind.

Sylvanas hadn't even allowed an Alliance healer to look at Jaina before whisking her away to gods knew where, a fact that grated on Katherine very nearly more than anything else. That manipulating bitch, pulling that bullshit with Jaina on patrol; she had to have researched, had to have known the effect that would have on Katherine and the rest of Kul Tiras. And it had indeed affected her, which only shook her more.

But while the Horde healer looked at Jaina, Katherine was left with little to do but wait. If nothing else it could be an opportunity to get the pulse of the city after the attack. She could learn as much from what people didn't say, as what they did. It was, surprisingly, not that much different from Boralus or Stormwind. Merchants hawked their wares and bargained with shoppers, and there were stalls that looked as though they'd been lifted straight from an Alliance town.

There was even a vendor selling sausages on sticks, and Katherine walked over to investigate. For reasons entirely unknown to Katherine, Jaina had a taste for the disgusting things.

"Ah! Lady Proudmoore! A looker just like your daughter!" The goblin running the stall flashed her a grin with white teeth. "Lookin' for some meat?"

"Ah... no thank you. I was just..."

"Proudmoore the younger loves goblin meat, sometimes she's shovin' four whole sausages into her mouth!" He seemed to ignore the expression on Katherine's face as she contemplated dragging him to her ship just to keelhaul him. "She's even got the Warchief into it! But don't tell anyone I said so, that's a state secret."

He produced one of the sausages, "Come on! It's on the house! Lady Jaina saved all our asses an' she an' her family get ta stuff their faces for life."

"Indeed, she did almost die for us." A young looking Forsaken man stepped up to the stall, holding up two fingers, one of which was completely missing skin and muscle. He adjusted a monocle over his left eye. "Though she would do anything for the Alliance as well. We see it every day."

Interesting. This might make it worth trying to eat one of these monstrosities, so Katherine took the offered meat stick. "Jaina has always had a big heart."

"And she exhibits it frequently, as the Lady of Orgrimmar."

"Among other things," The vendor muttered, leering in the direction of the Hold.

The Forsaken chuckled. "Well. She does get spirited up into the upper stories quite frequently." Bowing his head to Katherine, he paid for his food. "A pleasure meeting you, Lord Admiral."

"...The same," Katherine murmured.

******

Sylvanas had said nothing about the kiss upon her return, and Jaina hadn’t had the strength or desire to resist when Sylvanas picked her up and carried her back into Orgrimmar. She’d put up with Minuial scolding her and her friends and family parading through. Jaina could recall a few them; Anduin in particular, at her side, and even Go’el. She lost count of the people holding her hand, though her mother seemed to be hovering constantly.

She struggled to answer their questions, but she was losing the ability to even understand what was being said to her. With adrenaline no longer keeping her going the past several days were catching up to her all at once. She hadn’t slept since before the battle; losing consciousness after drowning probably didn’t count. And there were just so many of them...

As if through a fog, she heard Sylvanas speaking. “You need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving,” Katherine said, eyes still focused on Jaina. Jaina blinked slowly, staring up at her mother as her mind tried to remember why she was even here.

“Yes,” Sylvanas said, her eyes on Jaina and something not unlike concern etched into her features. “You are. All of you. Get out.”

Everyone, even Greymane, filtered out quickly, except her mother. Katherine stared down at her daughter, at the hand that Sylvanas put over Jaina’s, before she stood. “This isn’t over, Windrunner.”

“No, mother, I suspect not.” Sylvanas’s smile was the only thing Jaina could focus on as her mother turned on her heel and marched out.

Without the noise and crowding to keep her awake Jaina found herself fading fast. The last thing she could remember was Sylvanas depositing Varian on the bed and slipping in beside her. She curled into her wife’s arms as she drifted off, and was too miserable and exhausted to be self-conscious about it. She hurt, and Sylvanas was soft and cool against her aches. That was all there was to it.

She wasn’t alone when she woke up. Sylvanas was there, studying her and Jaina blinked tiredly. This didn’t make sense. Sylvanas didn’t care for anyone but herself. Even her caring for the Horde was more self-serving than not. But she was still here in bed with Jaina, looking calmly at her.

“Thank you,” Jaina said.

“Thank you? That’s what you choose to say to me?” Sylvanas sounded amused, and Jaina glowered at her.

“I mean. For still being here.”

“I was just making sure you lived through the night.” When Sylvanas slipped out of her arms and the bed, Jaina could feel her absence like a piece of herself was missing.

And that scared the hell out of her. Fighting back something like a panic attack, Jaina forced herself to reason that she was still feeling vulnerable after her ordeal. “I was only mostly dead.”

She started to sit up but Sylvanas was there, pushing her back down. “Rest.”

Sighing, Jaina glowered again, though her expression softened. “I also wanted to thank you for Kul Tiras. For helping there. It was not your place and yet you still went.”

“It was your place,” Sylvanas replied. “But you could not go, so I went in your stead.”

“Simple as that?”

Something flashed across Sylvana’s face. “Yes. I suppose.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to. Boralus is relatively intact, Orgrimmar was saved. We will all be licking our wounds for some time, but we survived.” Her eyes narrowed to bloody points as she stared hard at Jaina. “You survived.”

Had her presumed death really rattled Sylvanas this much? Jaina wanted to dig into that, apply pressure to this new weak point of Sylvanas’s; but if she did that, she’d have to analyze her own feelings. About the way Sylvanas looked at her. About her desperate need to get back to Orgrimmar. It had been for the Compact, she told herself. To prevent war.

It had nothing to do with Sylvanas.

“Yes… well. What are we going to do about that?”

Sylvanas’ lips twitched. “About your survival?”

“About retaliating.”

“Retaliate? Against whom?” Sylvanas raised one long eyebrow. “The Old Gods? Azshara? For the former we barely know where to start, and the latter is probably fortifying her positions as we speak. Thunder Bluff, Boralus and Stormwind all suffered significant damage and Ironforge is half buried. I’m told the Exodar exploded. To add insult to injury, Naga made away with numerous artifacts in Suramar, as well.”

“So you’re saying we’re in no position to strike back,” Jaina guessed, before blinking “The Exodar what?:

“Exploded, please keep up dear.” Sylvana’s lips twitched into a smile. “But not a retreat, not a capitulation.”

“Regrouping,” Jaina agreed, setting aside the Exodar thing for the moment and watching as Sylvanas stepped back. She bit her lip, then asked the Warchief of the Horde, “May I have some water?”

“Yes.” Sylvanas nodded once, and disappeared from the room. No mocking statements about conjuring with magic, not even a cruel ghost of a smile.

It made Jaina’s head spin and she laid her head back on the pillow, partly dislodging Varian, who’d been trying to sleep on her face all night.

“You look awful.”

Jaina opened her eyes at the sound of Vereesa’s voice, unsure if she’d passed out or not and how much time might have passed. She turned her head and stared at the woman, who was sitting on a chair next to the bed. For some reason, Sylvanas hadn’t killed her.

A glass of water was on the table near her, too. “Was that glass here when you got here?”

“Yes, why?”

“No reason.” Jaina started to sit up, but Vereesa was on her feet in an instant and pushing her back down. Jaina protested, trying to slap her hand away. Varian, delighted at the new game, reached out from his position beside Jaina’s head to join in loyally batting at Vereesa’s fingers. “I’m not an invalid!”

“You are, actually.” Sylvanas leaned on the door frame, halo’d by the light behind her in the hallway. She gave Jaina a considering look, folding her arms.. “You drained yourself so thoroughly that you didn’t just tap into your magical reserves. You drew from your life force, too.”

“I did what?” Jaina looked at Vereesa for confirmation.

The youngest Windrunner nodded, glancing at her sister out of the corner of her eyes. “That’s what Kalecgos said. Khadgar agreed, as did several Alliance and Horde mages. The Focusing Iris allowed you to dig past your reserves of magic once they were exhausted. They’re pretty sure that was the only reason the shield didn’t fail.”

Jaina’s throat bobbed, and she looked at her hands. Using life force was typically something that Warlocks did. And Death Knights. “So what does that mean?”

“It means you rest. It means I’ve assigned Minuial as your personal healer for the next several weeks, as she is one of the most powerful we have.”

“It also means she has graciously allowed me to hang around and make sure you actually rest,” Vereesa said, eyes glinting.

“I meant magically. Long term,” Jaina whispered, staring at the two of them like they’d both gone mad. They must have. They were almost getting along. Maybe that meant Jaina actually was dead. “Did I somehow tap into fel?”

The bed dipped as Sylvanas sat on the edge of it, reaching out to twirl her finger into Jaina’s witch’s lock. She lifted the hair so that Jaina could see the last of her gold had turned to silver. Her voice was surprisingly gentle. “This, for starters.”

“Oh.” Jaina blinked back tears, the realization hitting her like a punch to the gut, as though the Jaina Proudmoore of before was now well and truly dead. She didn’t bother to ask anything else or even seek out clarification. That could come later, perhaps from Minuial.

“... Are you hungry?” Vereesa asked.

Jaina shook her head, though that reminded her of something. “Ihz. The courier. She was the one that found me. I borrowed some herbs for a mana potion and I promised I’d compensate her.”

“No, you’re eating,” Vereesa insisted, getting up and leaving the bedroom to find some food.

“Ihz…” Sylvanas mused, then nodded slowly. “Ah yes, I remember her. Good in a crisis. Not one for pleasantries. An irritating habit of making herself slightly too useful to kill, which I see hasn’t changed.”

“Please don’t murder her,” Jaina deadpanned.

Sylvanas shook her head. “On the contrary, I would like to personally deliver the payment and thank her for returning you to us.”

Jaina’s eyes widened. “That would be worse.”

Giving her an amused smile, Sylvanas replied, “It would only give her a little fright.”

“Sylvanas, please.”

“As you wish.” Sylvanas cupped Jaina’s cheek, stroking her thumb along a too-sharp cheekbone.

That was… disconcertingly easy. Jaina studied Sylvanas’s face, if only because she had nowhere else to look. “Your hand is cold.”

“You’ve never complained before,” Sylvanas purred.

“Well I…” Heat rushed to Jaina’s cheeks but she couldn’t move her eyes away from Sylvanas’s. She lifted her head, pushing herself up by the elbows only for Sylvanas’s free hand to rest on her chest and stop her upward movement. Jaina huffed, and slid her hand up Sylvanas’s arm and to the back of her neck.

Jaina still felt like a drowned rat, the vast chasm where her power should be threatening to swallow her. She didn’t want Sylvanas to leave. So she clung to her, just a little bit, just by tangling her fingers in the hair at the base of Sylvanas’s neck. What did it mean, wanting Sylvanas to stay, to keep her close.

To be comforted by her.

To want her and be wanted by her.

Oh gods but Jaina didn’t want that to mean what she thought it meant.

Jaina flicked her tongue out, wetting her lips, her other hand lifting to Sylvanas’s right ear. She stroked her fingers along the outer edge, watching closely as Sylvanas tilted her head into the touch, eyes flickering. It was beautiful and tender and vulnerable and a desire welled up inside Jaina to kiss her, with no expectation of sex or want or need. Just kiss her...

If Jaina had the energy, she would have gotten out of bed and fled then and there, to be anywhere in Orgrimmar but here. If Jaina had the energy, she could have resisted when Sylvanas pushed her down, removing her hand from her neck and ear.

“Rest.”

“Stay.”

Sylvanas straightened, expression unreadable and tense, before she stood and shook her head. “I’ve duties to attend to.”

Watching her leave, Jaina couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

******

The wall had been shattered by a great force, but already workers were beginning repairs, scaffolding in place. Vereesa thought they’d be done within a fortnight at this rate, which was pretty impressive considering it required Horde and Alliance workers coordinating. Really, the entirety of Stromgarde was proof positive that both factions would work and even live together. It was good to think about, at least, rather than worrying about Jaina. At least her friend had seemed to be doing better before she’d left for Stromgarde. Over a week of bed rest helped.

She turned, looking down into the city and marveled at it. While it wasn’t as large as Stormwind, it had grown considerably since the first time she’d seen it.

A familiar figure on a white horse weaved through the streets and crowds of people, and Vereesa caught herself making her hair presentable.

“I would say you missed an incredible battle, but by all accounts you were more needed in Kul Tiras.” Cenengel slid off her horse and approached, putting her hand on Vereesa’s shoulder and smiling at her. “And don’t try to apologize. We go where we’re needed.”

Vereesa nodded, then gestured to the wall. “What happened here?”

“Whale.”

She looked back at the damage. “Whale?”

Cenengel nodded. “They threw a whale at the wall.”

“A whale.”

“A white whale. A big one!”

“A whale,” Vereesa repeated again. Why that was somehow more incredible than the leviathan that she and her sisters had defeated was beyond her, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around the mental image. “They threw the whale.”

Cenengel nodded, her hand leaving Vereesa’s shoulder. Vereesa immediately missed the contact. It wasn’t betraying Jaina to be attracted to someone else, was it? It wasn’t like she was leaving her to her fate with Sylvanas.

Though when she put it that way it really did kind of feel like a betrayal.

“Vereesa?”

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to picture a flying whale.” Vereesa realized Cenengel was staring at her, and heat rose to her face. Hoping to distract herself from where her mind had been going, she pulled a vial out of one of her pouches. Moving on. “I picked up the elixir you said you needed when I was in Dalaran last night.”

Cenengel’s emerald eyes lit up, seeming to bring out her freckles--much to Vereesa’s combined delight and dismay. “Thank you. It helps me be more … me.”

Double-checking the label, Vereesa handed it over, trying to ignore it when her fingers brushed Cenengel’s skin. “Is that the right one?”

“Yes.” Cenengel slipped the vial into a compartment on her belt. “I wonder if there are more permanent magics available. I’ve always been too nervous to check.”

“You, nervous?” Vereesa asked, tilting her head and looking the tough woman up and down. “I’m having a hard time picturing you scared of anything.”

“The elixirs work, I don’t know if other magics would, so...” She tapped her fists on her chest, grinning broadly. “Now how long are you staying?”

Vereesa snapped her eyes from Cene’s chest to her face and those freckles. “A few weeks unless something comes up.”

Cenengel looked so happy that Vereesa forgot all about flying whales and her concerns about Sylvanas. “Then it’s a good thing I have that extra room in my home.”

“You don’t have--” Vereesa was interrupted when Cenengel’s arms wrapped around her. She felt like she was being swallowed whole by a warm and comforting blanket.

“I know, my friend. But I want to.” Cenengel pulled away, smiling. Then she picked Vereesa up like she was made of straw and put her on her horse. “But first, there’s something I need to show you.”

Cenengel climbed on behind her and Vereesa stiffened. “You taking that armor off?”

“What was that?”

“Where are you taking me?” Vereesa forced herself to relax against Cenengel and kept her expression bored and neutral as they rode. No one really paid them any mind and Vereesa reasoned it wasn’t embarrassing. She hadn’t had anyone do anything romantic for her since Rhonin died. It was … nice.

“A nice present for you.” Cenengel said, voice too soft and breath too warm against Vereesa’s ear.

“You don’t have to do this either.”

“Do what?”

“Treat me like some kind of lady.”

Cene’s smiled, her left hand sliding across Vereesa’s waist and resting on her stomach. “But you are one.”

“I’m just going to have to prove you wrong some day.”

“I look forward to that.” Cenengel fell silent for a moment, before asking. “How is Lady Proudmoore?”

Vereesa frowned, running her fingers through the horse’s mane. “She’s doing better. She’s recovered enough to be ambulatory, anyway. I figured it was time for me to leave.”

“You don’t sound too happy about that,” Cene noted. For some reason Vereesa could feel Cene’s hand more now.

“I just worry. She’s one of my best friends. We’ve been through so much together, but …” Vereesa shook her head, unsure of how to voice what she felt.

“What she’s going through for all of us is not something you can go through with her.”

Sinking back against Cenengel, Vereesa nodded. “Yes…but I think she’s had more life in her lately than she did for a very long time before.”

The arm tightened around her as Cenengel replied, “I think I can understand. While Stromgarde fell before I was born, I know what it’s like to feel alive again after a great loss.”

“What was his name? Or hers.”

“Ondine. Her name was Ondine and I lost her in Northrend. I’ll tell you about her sometime.”

They moved on to lighter topics after that, Cenengel updating Vereesa on Stromgarde’s status before they finally arrived at a stone building with barred windows. Cenengel slipped off and wisely let Vereesa hop down on her own.

Vereesa looked at the building curiously. “My present is in there? I think you’re skipping several stages of courtship.”

She got a blush out of Cenengel and a bit of stammering before the warrior cleared her throat. “We captured someone during the attack.”

Oh. Now Vereesa’s interest was definitely piqued. “You got me a prisoner.”

“Naga,” Cenengel said, eyes flashing. “She’s proved difficult to interrogate.”

“Give me an hour,” Vereesa said, expression hardening. “Then you can buy me dinner and I’ll tell you all about it.”

******

Just because Jaina was ambulatory again didn’t mean she could get far. To be fair, Jaina had made it about halfway down the stairs before Tyra and Kalira had caught her about to fall and bodily carried her back into the residence. They’d at least given her the dignity of putting her in the living area and not telling Sylvanas. She sat on the couch, stretched out and about as comfortable as one could be without being in bed.

Though Sylvanas probably already knew. She knew everything that happened in her city.

Jaina pinched her brow, and contemplated trying to make her way back to the bedroom. She was feeling weary again already, the words in her book all kind of running together. She didn’t want to sleep yet, though. What she really wanted to do was talk to someone. Just not Sylvanas.

Perhaps she could get a magical message to Minuial or Lissibeth to convince them into paying her a visit, or see if Enda wanted to discuss what she should wear at an upcoming event. Mundane, not all that important things, but it was all she had the energy for.

There was a knock at the door, and she gestured vaguely while calling out. “Come in.”

If it was someone trying to harm her, they wouldn’t have knocked; and her shadows would never have let them get this close regardless. But when she saw the figure in the hallway, tall and wide-shouldered and green, she took back her desire to have company.

“Go’el,” she said, gripping her book too tightly.

“Jaina.” He nodded his head at her, taking her in with worry in his eyes.

“This isn’t fair,” she said. “Catching me when I can’t go anywhere.”

“It’s the best chance I had to get to talk to you,” he replied. “And see how you’re doing.”

A smile tugged at Jaina’s lips, and she pointed at a chair. “Sit, you’re just going to tower over me otherwise.”

“Thank you.” Go’el took a seat in front of his captive audience, shifting uncomfortably in it. Jaina studied him, closing her book and folding her hand on top of it in her lap.

Jaina opened her mouth, then closed it. Then she exhaled and tried to make words happen. “I wanted to thank you anyway. For showing up the way you did. Even though it was for Orgrimmar, it felt… good having you at my side again.”

“It wasn’t just for Orgrimmar,” he said, shaking his head. “It was for you too. I have spent so long trying to heal Azeroth that I have neglected those closest to me.”

That was not what Jaina wanted to hear, precisely because of the water that started to fill her eyes. She blamed it on her exhaustion. “Go’el…” Jaina shook her head, and held up her hand before he could speak. “I don’t deserve that. Not after the way I’ve treated you.”

“You were hurting, Jaina. And you were right about some of it. You were right that Garrosh was my responsibility.”

She nodded, picking at her nails. “I’m glad you talked me down. And I have.. other regrets.”

But not everything. There were things she’d done in the war that she didn’t regret and things she’d wished she’d done, that she really should be ashamed of thinking. “If one good thing has come from the compact, its the two sides seeing each other as living, breathing beings.”

Go’el tilted his head, staying silent and letting Jaina collect her thoughts.

“It became too easy to see each other as monsters. I…” Jaina shifted on the couch, leaning her head back against the pillow behind her. “I lost my way. I lost myself. I went so far from those days when we thought we could keep the peace and work together.”

“I know.”

She lifted her head again. There was no judgement in Go’el’s eyes, no hatred. Sadness, yes, and hope. Jaina realized that she’d forgiven him; though when, she couldn’t say. He blurred as her tears spilled over. “I tried so hard, Go’el. I tried so hard and my hand got slapped away again and again and again.” Jaina wiped at her eyes. “I still wake up, sometimes. Expecting another war. Afraid that everything I’ve sacrificed these last years was for nothing. To have my hand slapped away again. To have to kill these people. I don’t want...”

Go’el got up, and knelt next to the couch, taking her hand. “If you have that fear, Jaina, that must mean you have hope again.”

Jaina looked at him, then at their hands, before forcing herself to sit up and lean in, putting her other hand around his shoulders. She buried her face into his chest and cried.

******

Sylvanas found Jaina in the kitchen when she came home, the sun almost gone behind the mountains. Leaning on the doorframe, she folded her arms and watched her in silence. Jaina looked much better than even just a few days ago, and was using magic to help herself cook. Perhaps whatever she and Thrall had discussed that day had helped her, or Minuial’s latest healing session. Or both, perhaps.

Regardless, Sylvanas wasn’t entirely ready to let Jaina resume her normal routine, though she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep her in the residency any longer. She just … did not want any more harm to befall her. There had been relapses over the course of Jaina’s recovery; Sylvanas was being cautious, not irrational. And Vereesa had made her promise to take care of her.

Listening to her sister wasn’t high on Sylvanas’ list of priorities, but in this case their desires were the same.

Jaina hadn’t noticed her presence yet; Sylvanas had let herself become one with the shadows, if only to observe her wife. Jaina was humming to herself as cookware floated about. Bacon sizzled in a pan several inches above a magical fire and Sylvanas felt a sudden longing for a taste she could barely remember.

Banishing the thought, Sylvanas went perfectly still when Jaina turned around. Her smile was dangerously infectious, and reminded Sylvanas of how close she’d come to freeing her in the days after she’d returned to Orgrimmar.

No, freeing was the wrong word. Releasing her from her obligations to the Horde, though that might just be semantics. There were political considerations, in the cold light of day, that would have made it difficult; but not impossible, in the wake of her willing sacrifice. Jaina Proudmoore had intended to die for the Horde. She’d given them enough, that had to be enough. The Alliance would certainly agree with that sentiment; and most of the Horde was too honorable to openly disagree, at least. It could have been done. It might have weakened the treaty--but the gesture might just as easily have strengthened it.

If asked, Sylvanas considered that possibility too nebulous to risk the current, functional peace on mere hope. But even she couldn’t lie to herself that boldly. Sylvanas had to admit, at least to herself, that she didn’t want to risk Jaina leaving. She wanted to keep her around.

As much as it pained her to admit it, Sylvanas had become dependent on Jaina’s presence in her life.

She left the kitchen and snuck back outside, seeking air she didn’t need to breathe, needing time and distance from that smile and those dimples and the choking fear of not being alone.

When Sylvanas returned a few hours later, the lingering smells of Jaina’s dinner still wafted through the residence. She didn’t mask her movements as she shed her armor, finding her wife at the desk in the bedroom.

“I’m resting,” Jaina said, anticipating her rebuke, and Sylvanas tried not to smile.

“If that’s the best you can do.” She moved to the bed, sitting on it and leaning back on both hands while crossing her legs. Jaina looked at her out of the corner of her eyes and this time Sylvanas allowed a predatory smile to spread across her face.

“I was losing my mind, so I wanted to actually do some work,” Jaina snapped, swiveling in her chair and giving Sylvanas a hard look.

“Hard to lose something you never had to begin with.”

Jaina shook her head. “Sylvanas Windrunner, Warchief of the Horde and Banshee Queen, actual twelve year old.”

Sylvanas gestured with her hand before holding it out. She wouldn’t admit it to Jaina, but she wanted her close. Wanted physical contact. Was greedy for it and for the heat of Jaina’s skin. “Come to me.”

She watched Jaina’s reaction, the flush on her face, the way her body had started to move before her mind clearly caught up and she got up and walked with dignity rather than rush. It told Sylvanas everything she wanted to know and probably a few things she didn’t want to think about.

Once Jaina took her hand, she pulled her closer and fell back onto the bed, pulling Jaina with her. Jaina lay stiffly on top of her and Sylvanas started to rub her back in slow circles and teasing caresses of her fingers. Relaxing, Jaina turned her head, resting her ear against Sylvanas's chest.

“Just what are you expecting to hear?” Sylvanas asked, her other hand threading through Jaina’s loose hair.

“You do actually have a heartbeat,” Jaina said, and Sylvanas stilled.

“Sort of,” Jaina continued, shifting her shoulders like she was encouraging Sylvanas to resume her stroking.

“Explain.” Sylvanas kept her hands still. She was dead, no matter what she felt inside when Jaina was nearby.

Sighing, Jaina lifted her head and stared down into Sylvanas’s ember eyes. “There’s energy. A constant low hum that pulses on occasion. I don’t know if it’s the magics that preserved your body or a side effect of the banshee within, but it’s there. Like a heartbeat.”

She touched Sylvanas’s face. “I can’t tell you when I first noticed it. Maybe it’s because of proximity, or my attunement to magic in general.”

Sylvanas pulled away, inching back up the bed and leaving Jaina at the foot of it. Jaina narrowed her eyes, then crawled towards her, the front of her nightgown dangling off of her chest and giving Sylvanas a fantastic view. She started to slide her hand down Jaina’s side when Jaina caught her hand by the wrist, straddled her, and pinned her arm over her head.

Eyes shrunk to points of sharp red light, Sylvanas rolled her hips under Jaina, eliciting a low gasp from her. Jaina leaned her head down, silver hair like a curtain around their faces, and kissed her.

Sylvanas kissed her back, unhurried and indulgent, slowly undoing the ties of Jaina’s nightgown.

Once Jaina was freed of the cloth, the gown fluttering to the ground at the side of the bed, Sylvanas rolled them over. She pressed down on top of her, leg slipped between Jaina’s and Jaina’s hands now the ones being pinned. Sylvanas continued to kiss her, tongue flicking out to tease her lips as she drew her free hand down the center of Jaina’s chest.

Jaina was still exhausted, she knew. Weakened from her ordeal. They could go slow, it was no skin off her back to be considerate of her consort’s needs. Sylvanas didn’t really care as long as she got what she wanted.

She almost believed that she wasn’t lying to herself.

She broke the kiss, freeing Jaina only so that she could shed her own clothing. She still stared at Jaina with unfiltered desire, eyes flickering from her face to her breasts, then to her throat and back again. “I told you once that I’d have you on your back.”

******

Jaina struggled to find her breath, staring at Sylvanas as she removed her clothing, moving in a languid, lazy manner. As if they had all the time in the world, as if doing so wasn’t taunting Jaina and making her stomach do somersaults. And gods, the way Sylvanas was looking at her would have woken flames inside Jaina if there wasn’t already a bonfire burning.

“Look at you,” Sylvanas murmured. “You’ve been waiting for this victory dance for weeks, haven’t you.”

There was something in Sylvanas’s tone that reverberated throughout Jaina’s body, and she wondered if she was actually well enough for the shagging that was sure to come. She didn’t really care.

Kneeling between Jaina’s legs, Sylvanas lifted the left one, turning her head and kissing Jaina’s heel. She licked there, and when Jaina shivered she bit down gently. Too gently. And her fingers that stroked the back of Jaina’s calf were too gentle, the touch on her thighs as Sylvanas leaned down. Her lips brushed the sensitive skin near Jaina’s pelvis and she moved up, kissing Jaina’s stomach. Jaina stared down at her as Sylvanas pressed her lips against her breast before using her tongue to slowly pull the nipple into her mouth.

Sylvanas’s tongue was cold at first, which only heightened the sensation. And when the jolt ran through Jaina and she arced into Sylvanas’s face, Jaina felt fingers between her legs, exploring gently, stroking at her folds and kindling heat lightning under her skin.

Jaina wrapped one arm around Sylvanas. The deliberate slowness of Sylvanas’s touches did more than just make her burn hotter, it caused a tightness in Jaina’s chest. But she knew this wasn’t anything emotional. She knew that all this was was a desperate need for physical comfort after a near death experience.

Sylvanas lifted her head and pushed a finger inside her as she watched Jaina’s face. Jaina tried to keep her eyes open, but they closed against her will as pleasure rippled through her.

She moved her finger as though she were trying not to overwork Jaina, but all that did was make her desperate for more. Jaina opened her eyes, studying the way Sylvanas was watching the bobbing of her throat and rasped, “I know what you want to do. I want you to. Please...”

Right hand dragging from Jaina’s breast to her throat, Sylvanas closed her hand around it. Every word sent pleasure cracking up Jaina’s spine like a whip. “I want to hear you gasp. Moan. Whine. I want your body at my command.”

Not waiting for Jaina’s affirmative, Sylvanas squeezed. It wasn’t hard, and Jaina had just enough air to gasp; but that lightning returned, shooting through her limbs and down to her core. Sylvanas’s eyes grew more fiery when Jaina involuntarily clenched around her finger, letting out a high pitched whine.

It was Sylvanas who groaned next, adding a second finger, her thumb moving over Jaina’s clit as she held her pinned by the throat. Everything that Sylvanas did was unhurried, measured. It was impossible for Jaina to do anything but react as the intensity built, her hips jerking as Sylvanas drew out a second powerful orgasm, only to bring her back down and then up again. If she’d had the air and the energy she would have screamed her lover’s name. But more than anything in this moment Jaina wanted Sylvanas to kiss her.

Then Sylvanas did, letting go of her throat and cupping her cheek as she found Jaina’s lips with her hungry mouth. Tears falling from the corners of her eyes, Jaina wrapped one arm around Sylvanas’s shoulders, the other snaking between them to find Sylvanas as wet as she was. As always, she nearly came out of the moment wanting to understand how that worked.

Sylvanas shuddered on top of her, the kiss deepening as Jaina ran a finger in a circle between Sylvanas’s legs, and she forgot her questions. Wherever they touched she knew had to burn Sylvanas, her skin warm as it drew from Jaina’s heat. Jaina loved that feeling and she could hear the thrum of Sylvanas’s energy all around her.

She didn’t let Sylvanas break the kiss as they moved their fingers in time to each other. Jaina’s body writhed against Sylvanas’s and to her surprise Sylvanas shuddered, body undulating as she moaned into her mouth, kissing Jaina more insistently with every passing moment.

Eager. Eager. That’s what Jaina was. Eager to kiss Sylvanas, eager to taste her, eager to use and be used by her. But she wasn’t using Sylvanas right now, and Sylvanas wasn’t using her. This was something different, something that caused the tension in her chest to grow, something that almost made the tears return, something that made the loneliness shrivel up as warmth flooded her chest.

Jaina felt Sylvanas come, Sylvanas going suddenly still save for tremors and spasms that ran through her and when she whispered Jaina’s name with a tired, weary tenderness Jaina felt herself shatter.

She didn’t move, she couldn’t move, so she lay there, holding Sylvanas as Sylvanas slid an arm underneath her and rolled them onto their sides. Sylvanas pressed her face into Jaina’s chest, forehead against her heart.

“Can you still feel it?” Sylvanas asked, whatever mask she’d been wearing having fallen away.

Not trusting her voice, Jaina nodded, beginning to trace patterns in Sylvanas’s back with the tips of her fingers.

She wondered who she’d become, and what any of this meant. She wondered at words that were too complicated to say anywhere but between the thighs.

But mostly, Jaina wondered if Sylvanas understood what that single word, that single utterance of her name, had done to her.

Chapter 34: Cheers

If there was one thing that Jaina needed, it was a good, stiff drink. She just didn’t want to drink in her office, or the Sanctuary, or even at home in the Residence. Jaina didn’t actually want to wallow alone, and she didn’t trust herself around Sylvanas.

So she wandered around Orgrimmar until she found a tavern. It was easy to miss, set into the rock of the canyon and hidden near Enda’s shop. The decor was almost human, though tending towards the darker end of the spectrum. The barkeep was a Forsaken man with a mop of straw-like hair and what appeared to be a worm living in his left eye.

He smiled at her, most of his teeth cracked or missing and rasped. “Welcome to The Acceptable Place, Lady of Orgrimmar.”

Jaina wondered how much living business he actually got, since it took someone with a strong stomach to stare at him and still drink or eat. But she took a seat at the bar. “Nice to meet you. Please call me Jaina.”

“Of course. I’m Sam Michaels.” He set a clean glass in front of her and jerked a finger at his eye worm. “This is Jenella. What can I do you for?”

“Hi… Jenella.” Jaina eyed the worm dubiously, then looked directly at Sam. “Whatever you’ve got that kicks like a mule. And don’t water it down, I’m friends with actual mules.”

“What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“I needed a drink,” Jaina said, taking the glass once he’d filled it. “It’s been an intense few weeks.”

“I’ll say. The day after I opened this place all hell breaks loose.” But the look he gave her made Jaina think he knew the battle wasn’t the primary reason she needed a drink. Though it was probably pretty well known by now exactly the kind of reappearance she’d made and the length of her recovery.

Having the distinct impression that Jenelle was judging her, Jaina lifted her drink to her lips as she considered her words. Something that she wasn’t sure she could even ask Tyra, but oddly something she could ask a complete stranger. “May I ask you a personal question?”

The barkeep shrugged, the cracking of his bones and rustling of dried skin the only sound in the bar. “Worst that happens is I don’t answer.”

“Do you still feel things? Joy? Happiness? Love?”

He seemed to think about that for a moment, good eye unfocused, then murmured, “Not now, Janelle, I’m thinking.”

Great, his mind had rotted away. Jaina might have picked the wrong Forsaken to ask.

But then Sam nodded his head. “I do. Some of us don’t. Some of us feel more than I do. I think it’s an individual thing. Maybe the things that give us joy changed after we died for some people? I used to love…” He trailed off. “Well, I can’t remember so it must not be important. But I love what I do now, and I’ve got good friends to do it with.” He jerked his finger at Jenella.

Jaina was pretty sure that Sylvanas remembered everything, and seemed to hate most of those memories. Even of things she’d loved. It was almost depressing, in a way, and Jaina knew her wife was one of those who felt less.

“Does that help?” Sam asked.

“A little. Thank you.” She might need to ask Tyra after all.

Nodding, Sam left her to finish her drink in peace. By the time Jaina was done with her glass, she’d decided that she was going to have a nice day. There were people she hadn’t seen in awhile, at least outside of emergencies, and it would do both her and the city good to see her alive and healthy.

Leaving a nice tip for Sam, Jaina slipped out of the bar, composing a few letters in her head. She wanted to personally thank Yukale for helping at the battle, and she was long overdue for that chat with Lissibeth.

There was also the author of a dissertation Jaina had read while she’d been bedridden. I Told You So, or: Musical Notation and Arcane Resonance: Inherent Intersections of Patterns, Structure, Layering Technique, and Controlling For Emotional Variance had made her very interested in meeting the young mage, if only because the fiercely vindicated tone of its account of the victory against Ashvane’s fleet had Jaina deeply amused and deeply curious about the underlying academic drama behind its publication. She’d recognized a few bits of the paragraph she’d once read what felt like a decade ago, the day Dalaran moved. So a letter to her, too.

Jaina drew out a parchment and quill and set them to floating around her, dictating her letters as she walked. It was so freeing to exercise her magics again, in a non-destructive and productive manner. It would be another week, maybe even two, before her reserves returned to the level they’d been in before her display, but she felt much, much better.

By the time her letters had been written and magicked away, Jaina found herself in the Valley of Honor, and she knew exactly where she wanted to go. Passing a dozen children beating each other up with sticks, she cast a spell to give them a common enemy in the form of an animated target dummy and snuck off to one specific door.

Minuial answered, looking Jaina over as if expecting injuries. “Please tell me this is a social visit, I took a twelve hour nap after our last healing session.”

Jaina held up her hands. “Social visit. Promise.”

Glancing past Jaina to where her daughter was tanking the dummy, Minuial shook her head and smiled. “Your timing is good. Galnir is making dinner.”

Jaina followed her inside, glancing around. Minuial’s home looked like any typical Orcish dwelling, save for a few Sin’dorei tapestries that showed the healer hadn’t entirely rejected her heritage. Just mostly. Jaina noticed packed supplies. “Mission?”

Minuial nodded. “Yes. Sort of. It’s a mission and also kind of a vacation.”

“The Warchief ordered us to take a month off,” Galnir said, walking out of the kitchen, holding a sizzling pan and wearing a red apron with the words ‘Me Am That Kind of Orc’ on the front.

Jaina covered her mouth but couldn’t contain the laugh that burst out.

Galnir glowered, but there was an amused glint in his eyes. “She bought it.”

“It’s true.” Minuial gave her husband a devious smile.

Idly wondering how Galnir hadn’t snapped his mate in half by accident but also not wanting to know any more details, Jaina interjected. “You earned yourselves a break.”

“We’re going to lose our minds,” Minuial sighed, watching Galnir return to cooking. “He handles idleness worse than I do. But… We’ve never really taken the children anywhere before. I’m even willing to put up with my family just so they can see Silvermoon.”

Jaina looked at her knowingly. “You don’t get along with them.”

“I mated with an orc,” Minuial pointed out. “The only thing worse for them would have been a troll. Or an ogre.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaina both understood what it was like to be estranged from family, and to have a bias that cut so deep. She’d come to hate that part of her life, and as she watched Minuial and Galnir interact she marveled how far she’d fallen after Theramore and swallowed the guilt like a bitter pill. She never blamed anyone who still hated her.

“I never got along with that side of my family to begin with. It was almost a rebellion against them at first.” Minuial’s smile broadened, and Jaina remembered her skill on the battlefield and how it contrasted with the sweet, serene image she so often displayed.

“There are certainly less enjoyable ways to rebel,” Jaina agreed.

******

Anduin had his hands clasped behind his back as he walked with Yukale through the temporary Keep, a simple but solid wooden building they’d set up while the main structure was repaired. Genn stalked a pace behind, next to a visiting Moira Thaurissan. Anduin gave Yukale a glance, “How long do you think it’ll take them to get here?”

“Cenengel didn’t want to risk a letter, or even using the radio. And that was probably a wise decision,” Yukale replied. “The only thing she’d say was they’d discovered some information from a prisoner and were riding south.”

“Sounds like she and Vereesa didn’t trust a mage portal either.”

“Or they didn’t have one available.” Yukale shook her head. “It might take a few days to reach Ironforge, it’s a shame the Tram is still collapsed.”

The easiest and quickest way between the two kingdoms, but also a great way for an enemy to infiltrate. Anduin knew it would take years to repair, if repairs were even possible. He glanced back at Moira. “Ironforge has other repairs to worry about first.”

“Aye,” Moira agreed. “We’ll be diggin’ out the Hall of Explorers for months. But at least we ain’t worryin’ about relocating everyone like Velen is.”

Anduin nodded. “If you can get my people a list of needed supplies, I’ll see what we can do to help. In the meantime, it might take our messengers a few weeks to get here; less if they can use the air.” He turned his head towards the champion. “Choose a small team. One of your own, perhaps Lorna or Tess too. I want you to meet Vereesa on the road and escort them back here. I’m sure they can handle themselves but I’d rather not take any chances.”

She nodded. “Aye, sir. That won’t be a problem.”

Genn, who’d been ominously silent the entire conversation, growled under his breath. Anduin came to a stop, turning to look at him. “What is it, Genn?”

“All of this and we’re still ignoring one of the Elekks in the room,” Genn said, his eyes flashing. “Lady Proudmoore is either compromised or coerced. Or both.”

Yukale opened her mouth to object, remaining silent when Anduin held up his hand. “Explain.”

Looking for all the world like this was the last thing he wanted to talk about, Genn huffed out, “I think it’s obvious that her dalliances with the Warchief have not been forced on her.”

Anduin frowned, brow furrowing. “Yes. My source has been very clear on that. For whatever reason, Jaina appears consenting.”

“But why?” Genn said, insistent. “Maybe she’s not being held down against her will, but there are other ways to coerce someone. Or what if she’s appeasing Sylvanas for other means?”

“Sleeping with the enemy to keep her happy?” Anduin asked, not liking the direction this conversation had gone. “Or to earn privileges? Protect us?”

“She’s … lonely,” Yukale pointed out, ears drooping slightly at the thought. “Consider all she’s been through, all she’s lost. I’d let Sylvanas into my bed just to feel alive again. Ironically.”

“She rarely leaves Orgrimmar, she’s always around Sylvanas. She’s compromised.”

Anduin actually felt the urge to strangle Genn. “It might be a lot simpler than that. And she leaves Orgrimmar at least once a week. Maybe she isn’t visiting Stormwind, but Dalaran, Thunder Bluff...”

“Ye ever consider that she might actually like her?”

Anduin turned to Moira. “What?”

She just raised her eyebrows, folding her arms and smiling knowingly. “Remember that whole thing where everyone thought I was married against me will? No one stopped t’ask if I actually hated t’bastard or no.”

“No... “ Anduin murmured, as Genn shuddered and exclaimed at the impossibility of the idea.

Only Yukale said nothing, studying Moira. It drew Anduin’s attention, the understanding in that look, the…apology. Had Yukale been one of the champions who Moira’s father had convinced she’d needed rescue? He’d been too young, back then.

There was no condemnation or anger in Moira’s answering look, or subtle nod.

Yukale sighed, and said, “I was attracted to Unariel a long time before she embraced the Void and defected to the Alliance. In love with her, even. You can’t dismiss how powerful emotion can be or the lengths it could make you go to. They say familiarity breeds contempt, but that’s not always true. It’s rarely true.”

Moira just nodded, then nodded again at each of them. “I’m goin’ tae come up with that list y’want. But maybe we should talk more ‘bout this later.”

“Agreed,” Anduin replied. He watched her go, throat bobbing as his mind wanted to put two and two together. He ignored that.

Genn simply huffed, turning on his heel and walking off down another hall. Anduin had to wonder if he thought Jaina sleeping with Sylvanas meant she was compromised, and what it meant that Anduin almost could agree.

Jaina was a full grown adult, nearly twenty years his senior. She was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. But those decisions were playing with fire. What happened if they had a falling out? What if they fell in love? For that matter, did it mean Sylvanas was capable of forming emotional ties?

Maybe it was just stress relief. Some kind of bargaining. Maybe Anduin was just in denial. Despite Moira’s carefully chosen words, he knew she’d loved Thaurissan.

He looked at Yukale, then nodded his head for her to continue with him. “Were you part of the team sent in to retrieve Moira?”

“Yes.” Yukale’s eyes glowed faintly in the dim hallway. “And she loved Dagran Thaurissan, but it was too late when that became clear. I can’t tell you if she and King Magni ever made amends, if she ever forgave him.”

She turned her gaze to him, and though Anduin knew she was young for an elf there were still multiple human lifetimes in her eyes. “Whatever is going on with Jaina, we can’t make the same mistake with her, your majesty. For her sake.”

“And the Aliiance’s. If she were only less defensive, I’d be more comfortable taking her at her word. But when it’s so obvious that she just wants my informants to leave her alone...” Anduin closed his eyes. “I trust her.”

“Me too,” Yukale said, her smile broad.

Falling silent, Anduin turned the corner and stopped abruptly, Yukale nearly running into him.

Tyrande stood with First Arcanist Thalyssra, head tilted as she leaned in close, her hand lingering on Thalyssra’s back as they spoke. She turned her head, dark eyes flicking between Anduin and his companion. She straightened, nodding at Thalyssra before approaching them. “Good morning, your majesty.”

“Good morning to you as well, High Priestess. First Arcanist.” He bowed his head to both as Thalyssra joined them. “I wasn’t expecting either of you in Stormwind. To what do I owe the honor?”

Beside him, Yukale had a neutral expression on her face but a glint in her eyes as she took in the two women. Tyrande gave her a warning look and if she’d been about to say something, she kept it to herself.

Okay. Anduin set aside that puzzle for later as Tyrande answered, “We have been discussing closer ties for our people, though I am in Stormwind to discuss additional matters as well. Pertaining to Kul Tiras’s insistence in meddling where they aren’t needed.”

Yukale bowed to her, then the First Arcanist and finally Anduin. “I’ve got my orders, I’ll see you when I return.”

Anduin watched Yukale’s hair bounce as she jogged off down the hallway. “Well then. We can discuss it here or over breakfast.” If he had to deal with politics on an empty stomach he’d probably make serious mistakes.

“I think breakfast sounds good,” Thalyssra answered.

It made Anduin raise his eyebrows, but he set that aside as well. “If you’ll follow me, ladies.”

They fell into step beside him, Tyrande between himself and Thalyssra. It was good, he thought, that the Shal’dorei and Kaldorei were exploring closer ties. He’d known Tyrande to have held a bitter, angry view of Thalyssra’s people, but they were more alike than not, and in this new world that was being built it was better to be together than apart.

Anduin set them up in one of the rooms that was sometimes used for matters of diplomacy, ordering food to be brought to them so they could eat while discussing. He chose a round table, so that they would all be equal. These women were older than his entire species, and deserved all the respect due their positions and experience.

It was something he’d been giving more and more thought to since the attacks.

Tyrande had barely sat before she started speaking. “Three times in as many weeks, Kul Tiran ships have arrived in Kaldorei ports to flex their muscles.”

“I’m sure the Lord Admiral is just being proactive, considering the increased Naga activity since the attacks.” Anduin leaned forward on the table, noting the tense lines in Tyrande’s jaw and the way she relaxed slightly when Thalyssra murmured something in Darnassian.

“If it was only that, I would still resent the implication that we cannot defend ourselves, but in all three instances my people were involved in trade disputes with the Horde.” She tilted her head, studying him as he nodded for her to continue. “These are simple matters, things we can easily resolve on our own. We do not see anyone stepping in to slap Ironforge’s wrists for being cautious in accepting goblin aid to dig their city free. We do not need the threat of a naval bombardment to come to an agreement.”

There was a very fine needle for Anduin to thread. He couldn’t just ignore Tyrande’s complaints, but he also had to be careful in how he handled Kul Tiras. And having Thalyssra here was several layers of unnerving.

When had that happened? It couldn’t have just been Tyrande sending sentinels to Suramar. There had to have been another overture, something before that to open the dialogue. And it had happened without anyone telling him. But Anduin couldn’t--wouldn’t--spy on his own people. He sank back in the chair. “I’ll speak with the Lord Admiral, and remind her that unless danger is imminent, one should wait to be asked for help.”

Tyrande nodded. “If there were an actual conflict, I would not turn away help. But this is different. This is intimidation and sometimes I wonder who, exactly, they are trying to intimidate. The Lord Admiral dismissed my concerns, telling me that she only works in the best interests of the Alliance.”

This was dangerous territory and Anduin shook his head. “It’s nothing like that. They are our allies, and their help is generous but misplaced. I’ll speak with the Lord Admiral and make it clear that she’s being overzealous.”

Silently, Tyrande studied him. Finally, after what seemed like a century she nodded, and then stood. “I need to speak with King Greymane. I’ll see you tonight.”

Anduin watched her go, trying to calm his gut. He wasn’t sure how he was going to weather the next few weeks, but he was the High King, and if he had to drag Tyrande Whisperwind and Katherine Proudmoore to a table together to talk, he would.

“High King.”

Remembering Thalyssra was here, Anduin turned to her. “Yes, First Arcanist?”

“I am not here just for the High Priestess,” She said, regarding him seriously. “I have discovered something that was stolen from Suramar, and both the Warchief and I agreed that it was best to inform you in person.”

He thought of Vereesa’s news, and wondered how serious the situation must be for Thalyssra herself to come to Stormwind. “Not here.” Standing and feeling weary right down to his bones, he added, “I hope you like cheese.”

******

Sylvanas actually liked Harleen. But it was easy to like any goblin in comparison to Gallywix, and Harleen was eager to assert herself and her new position. She leaned forward on the throne, giving the Trade Princess an interested look. “You granted every Bilgewater adult a stipend?”

Harleen nodded. “And we’re gonna cover healer services an’ make sure no one’ll starve. Y’know, basic stuff!”

“How, precisely, are you going to pay for this?”

“Gallywix’s fortune to start. Taxes after that.”

Goblins and taxes did not usually agree and Sylvanas had her concerns. But as long as the strikes were over she wasn’t going to interfere. It might be an interesting experiment, at least. “I want you to speak to Lady Proudmoore. Such things are in her wheelhouse, so to speak, and I am sure she will be of more help than I. Carry on as you have been, and the Bilgewater will remain important members of the Horde.”

“Sure thing, Warchief!” She saluted her, then bounded out of the Hold.

Could Goblins overhaul their entire society? Sylvanas had her doubts, but she’d let them try as long as they remained loyal to her Horde. Settling back, she tapped her fingers on the arm rest; there was no other meeting planned and it left her alone with her thoughts. Thoughts that continued to return to a certain mage.

Sighing, she got elegantly to her feet. “Kalira.”

Appearing from Sylvanas’s left, Kalira bowed her head, and waited. Sylvanas touched her chin. “Look at me.”

Lifting her head, Kalira wore a wary expression, but she waited still as Sylvanas looked her over. Obedient, but not without rebellion in the set of her shoulders, the fire in her eyes.

“Dark Lady?” she asked, finally. “What is it?”

She let go of Kalira’s face, feeling a sense of regret and longing that she’d thought had been dead and buried. But Jaina had dislodged something, finally breaking through the wall that she’d cracked ages ago. “I raised you because I lost your mother, and I swore I would never lose you.”

“You just didn’t want to be alone.”

“Yes,” Sylvanas admitted, tilting her head. “There is that, too.”

Kalira searched her eyes, then took a step closer, and then a second. She stopped just shy of actually hugging Sylvanas, but it was still the most intimate she’d been with her since before their deaths. “Some day. Not today. But some day, I think Jaina Proudmoore might actually do the impossible and help me forgive you.”

And then she stepped past her, and Sylvanas allowed the words to sink into her until they settled in her chest like a lead weight.

She was still standing there, an hour later, when she sensed Thalyssra enter the Hold. She turned to face her, narrowing her eyes as she scented Tyrande on her. Something to keep to herself, for now. “How did the cub react?”

“He volunteered whatever resources are necessary to aid us in recovering the relic, and others that were stolen,” Thalyssra replied.

“Good.” The weight lessened, just a little. “I have a champion trying to track them, and I’ll summon a few more. She will need help recovering them if our suspicions are correct.”

“There’s one more thing, Warchief.”

Sylvanas gestured for her to go on.

“I learned that your sister Vereesa interrogated a Naga captured during the attack. Whatever she learned was so sensitive that she’s traveling by horse back to Stormwind. The King ordered his favorite champion to rush to her aid.”

“Interesting.” Sylvanas smiled. “I wonder if he’ll tell us first, or we’ll find out from one of our spies before he has the chance. Cooperation only goes so far, after all.”

“Sylvanas! There’s something very serious we need to talk about.”

Jaina’s voice drew her attention away from the First Arcanist, and she watched with curiosity as her wife entered the hold. As always since she’d returned, Sylvanas studied her carefully, looking for any sign of weariness or weakness. But Minuial’s healing skills were second to none, and most of Jaina’s magic pool had returned.

“What is it?” She asked, once Jaina had come to a stop.

“I did the math.” Jaina waved her hands, as if describing the math in the air. “And the Alliance report on the Naga arrived half an hour before our report, therefore I win.”

Sylvanas merely smiled. “Actually. I ran the numbers myself, and the Horde report arrived before the Alliance’s. Therefore, I win.”

Jaina smirked. “Time zones.”

Sylvanas could feel her expression souring at the thought of Greymane’s face. She studiously ignored the twitch of Kalira’s lips and pretended no one had noticed her drooping ears. “Then I suppose it’s a tie.”

Smirking, Jaina patted Sylvanas’s chest. “Mm. That’s what I thought.”

“Get a room,” Thalyssra murmured, before excusing herself.

Sylvanas flicked her tongue against her canines. “What an excellent idea.”

Chapter 35: Revelations

***YEARS AGO***

Silvermoon was beautiful. It was Jaina’s first time seeing it, accompanying Antonidas on a diplomatic mission to the Quel’dorei city. She’d been looking forward to this for weeks; it was also her first time going anywhere in an official capacity.

She leaned on her staff as she looked around, eyes wide and expression a little awestruck. “It’s nothing like in the artwork.”

“No, nothing can compare to seeing it with your own eyes.” A dulcet voice spoke behind her, and Jaina turned around.

Years later, Jaina could never tell if it was the woman’s beauty or the fact that she was the Ranger General of Silvermoon, but as Sylvanas Windrunner smiled at her she felt her knees go weak and tripped over her own words. “Yes, it’s... really pretty.”

Really pretty? Great.

Sylvanas covered her laugh, eyes twinkling. Then those beautiful eyes narrowed slightly, sharpening as someone walked up behind Jaina.

“Jaina, I wasn’t aware you were visiting Silvermoon.” Kael'thas eyed Jaina in a way that made her feel distinctly uncomfortable and she took a step back, nearly running into the Ranger General.

“Nor was I aware that you were either,” she answered stiffly. There were days where she didn’t entirely trust his motivations with her, and they’d been rather awkward since she and Arthas had broken up. But it was important to maintain politeness, even if she wanted to put some distance between them. So she forced herself to smile, not wanting to upset a member of the Council of Six.

Kael turned his attention to Sylvanas. “Taking our most gifted talent on a tour?”

Quirking an eyebrow, Sylvanas replied smoothly, offering her arm to Jaina. “I was, in fact, was I not, Lady Jaina?”

Jaina started, then took Sylvanas’s arm with her own. Once they were out of earshot of Kael’thas, she whispered. “Thank you. He is a good man, but--”

“Good men do not eye young women like they are pieces of meat,” Sylvanas said, expression dark. She did not let go of Jaina’s arm as they walked, and seemed intent on taking them somewhere specific.

There was time yet before she needed to meet with her master, so Jaina was content to enjoy the Ranger’s company. She was gorgeous, her voice warming Jaina to her core as she showed her around. And she didn’t need to show her around. She could have dropped Jaina off at any point.

But here they were, in an alcove with a small garden and fountain and Jaina couldn’t recall how they had come to this place. Sylvanas stepped away from her, walking to the edge of the fountain. “When I need to think and be alone, I come here. You are welcome as well, should you ever need to escape while in the city.”

“Thank you, Lady Windrunner.”

“Of course.” Sylvanas smiled at her, hand lifting and her finger looping a lock of Jaina’s hair. In the space between one breath and the next, Sylvanas dropped her hand and walked away.

Elves and hair, Jaina thought. But unlike with Kael, she really didn’t mind.

******

Sylvanas didn’t often meet with champions in her residence, but today she made an exception. It had been a late night with Jaina, discussing plans and backup plans. The late night had turned into an early morning and Sylvanas hadn’t been able to keep the swagger out of her walk as she flung open the door to be greeted by the rising sun and the sight of Tyra Cole and Lomea Shadowbinder.

Lomea’s eyes darted over the Warchief’s unbrushed hair, mostly unbuttoned tunic and the pattern of bruises down her throat and chest. She simply raised one eyebrow, casually put her hand over Tyra’s mouth before Sylvanas’s pet warrior could say something to get them both killed and said, “We’ve a report, Warchief, and it is urgent.”

“If it is so urgent as to knock at my door at sunrise, then we should not talk with the door open,” Sylvanas replied. She jerked her chin and closed the door once the two had entered.

Skipping any niceties, she led them into the living room and leaned against the wall. “Report.”

Tyra was used to the place, and to her credit Lomea didn’t stare or gawk. She brushed her nails against her robe and inspected them. “I discovered that the Naga have set up a forward base in the Barrens, near the ruins of Fort Victory. My companion remained to harry them, but we have reason to believe that additional bases are either planned or in the process of being established.”

“They think us weak.” Sylvanas dropped her hands to her sides, Lomea’s eyes darting briefly to her chest again as it was exposed.

“We can show ‘em different, Lady,” Tyra punched her fist into her palm, a feral grin on her face.

“We can. I will call a few additional champions to search for other bases. In the meantime, I want you to get in contact with your Alliance counterparts and wipe the Naga from my lands.”

Lomea sneered, the expression marring her usually impassive face. “Must we be in bed with the Alliance, Warchief?”

“No, no,” Sylvanas waved her hand in dismissal. “You can leave that to me. Only I am required to make that sacrifice for the Horde.”

From the kitchen, Sylvanas could hear Jaina make a strangled choking sound before coughing up what sounded like an entire glass of water.

“You do still have to work with Alliance champions, of course.”

She watched Tyra and the warlock start to go, before calling out. “Tyra?”

“Yes, Lady?” Tyra stopped and turned around.

“Where is Kalira?”

“Blightcaller sent her on a mission.”

Sylvanas frowned, then waved her hand. “That is all.”

Jaina only emerged once the two were gone, and she gave Sylvanas a sour look as she stroked one of the bruises she’d left on Sylvanas, before starting to button up her wife’s shirt. “In bed with the Alliance, Sylvanas? Really?”

“She said it, not I.” Sylvanas ran her hand up Jaina’s arm, then started to push her towards the nearest wall.

Jaina twisted out of her grip and bounced on her heels a few feet back, a coy smile on her face. “So what happens if the Champions discover more Naga bases?”

“They destroy them.”

Jaina tilted her head. “We’re weaker than you want them to know.”

“Yes. We need to keep the Naga on their toes until Wrynn and I can work out how to deal with them.” Sylvanas was in no mood for this, still wishing to be in bed with Jaina’s head on her chest. It was a desire she’d never voice out loud--one she could barely admit to silently.

“What’s it like? Anduin, compared to his father.”

Sylvanas’s eyes searched out where the cat was sleeping on the back of a sofa, and she smiled ruefully. “I liked working with Varian better. He was a warrior, steel tempered in the forge. His son is nothing like him, and yet… I would say he has come into his own.” Her eyes snapped back to Jaina. “If you ever tell him I said that I will kill you both and bury your bodies in Varian’s litter box.”

Jaina smiled at her. “My lips are sealed.”

“I can get right on that,” Sylvanas murmured, taking a step toward her.

“You’re in a mood…” Jaina seemed as content as Sylvanas to let the Champions handle matters for the moment. It was too early in the morning for anything but an emergency to force them out of the house, as it were.

Sylvanas could hear Jaina’s heart skip a beat as she pinned her to the wall with her body. She brushed Jaina’s hair back, watching the way the strands fell across her knuckles and fingers, silver on blue. The back of Jaina’s hand brushed against Sylvanas’ cheek.

She leaned into the touch, disgusted with herself for enjoying it and yet when Jaina did it again she didn’t stop her. This was a disaster. “Remind me of today’s plans…”

“You’ve got a meeting with Thalyssra and Baine at eleven. I’ve got to be in Dalaran at three but that will only take an hour.”

“Your meeting with the Council of Six.” Sylvanas nodded. “So. Barring any further emergencies…”

“You get me to yourself,” Jaina finished, leaning in and kissing her.

As though she’d predicted that’s what Sylvanas wanted. As though she’d known what Sylvanas had wanted without Sylvanas really knowing. Sylvanas hated it, hated that feeling of weakness and vulnerability, hated that when Jaina looped her arms around her shoulders she did the same with Jaina’s waist.

So Sylvanas did the only thing that made sense. She bit down on Jaina’s lip, tasting the coppery tang of blood in the moment before Jaina shoved her away with a pained cry.

“What the hell was that for?!” Jaina held her hand over her lip, her eyes flashing in the kind of rage that always made Sylvanas want her.

She regarded Jaina cooly, though she didn’t actually have an answer for her. Instead, she licked Jaina’s blood off of her own lip and swallowed it, holding Jaina’s gaze the whole time.

“Gods, you’re impossible,” Jaina snarled, unmistakable hurt in her voice that made Sylvanas actually regret her action.

But she wouldn’t take it back or apologize, so just stood there as Jaina stormed out.

******

Once, Valeera Sanguinar had been a common sight for Anduin. One of his father’s closest friends and advisors, she’d sworn to protect Varian and Anduin both, but since the beginning of the compact he’d tasked the Sin’dorei with keeping tabs on a very important target.

Her status updates had been few and far between, so to see her standing in his bedroom, his window open and the curtain fluttering, was a surprise to say the least. “Valeera. There’s this thing called a door.”

“Didn’t want to be seen coming in and out,” she said, unfolding her arms and smiling at him. “How are you, Anduin?”

“In need of better locks on the windows,” he replied, shaking his head and walking towards a cabinet. He suddenly needed a drink, and Valeera nodded when he silently held up a bottle.

“You know what I mean.”

“As you can see, repairs are mostly complete. My throne room is still a mess, but the people are in renewed spirits.” He handed a glass of the other kind of spirits to the elf. He knew he was avoiding the question, but he didn’t really have an answer for her. “As for myself, well…” He sipped from his own glass. “What do you think my father would have done?”

“About what, exactly?”

She was in a good mood at least, so whatever news she had to bring wasn’t time sensitive. Anduin rubbed his temple. “Everything, Valeera. Azerite, the war, Sylvanas, Jaina, the Naga. Gods, if my father had lived I don’t even know if that war would have happened. The peace might have lasted, Teldrassil would stand, Jaina wouldn’t have had to...”

“I don’t think the peace would have lasted,” Valeera interjected. “It’s true that Sylvanas respected your father, and she didn’t respect you so she acted sooner rather than later. But eventually she would have made some kind of move and Varian would have had to react.”

“A good king doesn’t seek war, but will fight when it is brought to him,” Anduin mused, swirling the liquid in his glass. “And what do you think now? You’ve spent a lot of time in Orgrimmar.”

Not even Shaw had known she was there, and her mission in Orgrimmar was important enough that he relied on their regular spies for much of their intel rather than risk her being revealed.

“Sylvanas is in love with Jaina.”

The whiskey went up into Anduin’s nose, burning his sinuses as he went into a coughing fit, eyes blurring. It took him a few moments to get back under control and his voice was rough and froggy. “I sent you to make sure Nathanos doesn’t murder Jaina, what are you talking about?”

“Blightcaller is often around Sylvanas, when she has not tasked him with something. He and Proudmoore do not get along, but I’m sure you were aware of that.” Valeera sipped at her drink, then continued. “So by observing Blightcaller, I’ve had many occasions to observe both Sylvanas and Proudmoore.” Something flashed in her eyes and she grimaced. “Including some occasions I’d really rather forget.”

“Please don’t share.”

“I promise, I won’t.”

“Now, back to this other thing.” Anduin wiped his face and chest with a cloth, trying not to think about what Valeera might have seen.

“I don’t think the Warchief feels things the way we do, but she does feel things.” Valeera explained, pulling out the chair from Anduin’s desk and sitting in it backwards, long legs spread around the back.

He mused that his leanings towards men really should have been obvious when those legs had done nothing for him while growing up. “Big leap between that and her being in love with Jaina. I’m just barely starting to accept there might be some actual lust involved.”

Valeera got that look in her eyes again that told him she’d seen too much and regretted it. “It’s the little things, Anduin. Sylvanas converted the entire area above Grommash Hold into an office for her. She watches her, constantly. She won’t hear a word against her.”

“That doesn’t mean she’s capable of feeling love.” The concept was anathema to Anduin. Everything he knew about the Banshee Queen was thrown into doubt by the idea that she could feel that kind of emotion.

“It pains me to say this,” Valeera admitted. “But is it not love to protect one’s people, the way she has always defended the Forsaken?”

“Love, or selfishness?” Anduin countered, setting his drink down on a table. Even as he said that, though, he knew that he might be wrong. If the Forsaken felt, if they remembered what it was like to love and feel regret and miss those they’d cared about, why not Sylvanas?

“A little of both.” Valeera tapped her finger against the rim of her glass, seemingly lost in thought. “The thing I am most certain of is that if Lady Proudmoore asked to leave Orgrimmar, Sylvanas would let her. I can’t tell you why I feel that. I don’t even know myself. But I believe it to be true.”

“And Jaina’s feelings about Sylvanas?” Anduin asked, voice too low, expression knowing. He remembered the conversation with Moira and Yukale. Their theory, their theory that suddenly seemed so much more likely.

“You know her better than I, my king.”

“Then it’s mutual.” There had to be something he could do, though just what that should be was up in the air. Anduin only knew that he had to do something. Save Jaina and Sylvanas from themselves? Encourage it? “And knowing Jaina she will spend the next decade in denial.”

“Sylvanas would likely last as long.”

Anduin needed to sit down, so he pulled out a chair and faced it towards Valeera before sitting. “I’m going to need time to process that. Let’s move on.”

“Nathanos,” Valeera guessed, picking up her glass and knocking the entire thing back in one gulp. “Nathanos has been difficult to read and harder to track. But he’s jealous. Angry.”

“Is he in love with Sylvanas?”

“Maybe? He sees Sylvanas as the person he places above all others. He wants her to succeed, to conquer, to rule. He and Lady Proudmoore bicker constantly, more so now than ever.”

“Is Jaina in any danger?”

Valeera shook her head. “Sylvanas keeps him in line, and she has both a Champion and Dark Ranger as bodyguards. If Nathanos wanted to make a move, he’d have to get through them and Proudmoore’s magic.”

“There’s still ways around that,” Anduin pointed out. “Poisons, assassination in bed. Nathanos could easily slip past most people.”

She flashed her teeth. “I’m there too, much of the time.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment of her skill. “If you’re not worried about that, then I’m not going to worry either. Nathanos values Sylvanas’s trust and well being above even his own.”

“It’s a better leash on him than anything else we can do. Though I sometimes wish we could just let Tyrande or someone rip out his throat.” Her eyes glinted, and Anduin just gave her a look and hoped it conveyed that no, she was not going to murder Nathanos Blightcaller.

She sighed, accepting his silent order. “I should get back. Nathanos will not watch himself.”

“Give yourself a day or two, Valeera.”

“Thank you. I’ve been running out of ways to write erotic letters to my admirers. There’s one I’d like to see in person again.” Her smile turned wicked at the stricken expression on his face, and she stood in a single smooth motion.

At her hesitation, Anduin stood as well, crossing the distance between them and giving her a hug. “I will never be able to repay you enough for the work you do for me.” He pulled his head away, looking into her eyes, at the sadness and grief that still lingered there.

Valeera exhaled slowly. “I’ll always watch over your family, Anduin. Always.”

Chapter 36: Overdue Conversations

It really shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did. Jaina knew she shouldn’t have expected any less. And yet…

Sylvanas had pushed her away, and Jaina knew she’d done nothing wrong. And that was what upset her more than anything. After all that had happened, the years they’d spent together, the blood they’d drawn together, she liked to think she’d earned a little bit of something from her wife. Some consideration.

Some emotion.

Varian hopped onto her desk, weaving his way across paperwork and her coffee to butt his head against her face. A smile tugged at her lips, and she stroked her hand down his back, and up again, digging her nails into his fur for the especially deep scritches.

Once in awhile she wondered how Human Varian would have reacted to having a cat named after him, let alone a cat mutually owned by Jaina and Sylvanas. Maybe he’d have found it amusing.

Jaina trailed her nails around to Varian’s chin, lighter scritches now, but still making him purr loudly and pleasantly. She nuzzled her nose against the top of his dark head. “At least I know you love me.”

At that, Varian squirmed away from her, hopping down from the desk and disappearing behind a flag hanging on the wall.

Sighing, Jaina looked around her office. There was absolutely nothing for her to do today; she’d finished her week’s work while nursing her lip the previous night and had spent the past two hours re-reading the same report on tax revenue without actually seeing the words.

Getting up, she stepped beyond the curtains that blocked off the more private area of the office. Even though she was alone, she suddenly felt like she needed a little extra barrier between her and the rest of the world as she sat on the couch.

After a moment’s thought, she scribbled a note and magically whisked it away, then leaned her head back onto the couch and closed her eyes.

It might have been ten minutes. It might have been an hour. But she opened her eyes when she felt a presence outside the curtains. Sylvanas stepped in, that traitorous cat balanced on her shoulders. She was dressed casually, no armor, though Jaina knew better than to assume she was unarmed. “My, how productive you are today.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Can I help you?”

“What, I can’t see how my own wife is doing?” Sylvanas took a seat next to Jaina, putting her arm on the back of the couch behind Jaina’s shoulders. She leaned in close, breath cold in Jaina’s ear.

“Nice try,” Jaina murmured, fighting the shudder than ran through her. She scooted away, eyeing Sylvanas. “Really, what do you want?”

Sylvana’s expression shifted. Not hardening, but not going soft either. Like she was hurt. Like she had something she wanted to say, so Jaina went silent and waited.

Predictably, Sylvanas started to play with Jaina’s hair, in a fashion that was almost like a nervous tic. “I wanted to ask your help with something. But first I need to explain the context for it. So if you could hold yourself in check long enough, I would appreciate it.”

“All right.” Jaina nodded in agreement, her nails digging into her palms. “But an apology would be nice.”

Sylvanas pursed her lips, eyes flicking to Jaina’s lip and back up to her eyes. Jaina didn’t expect her to actually say anything, but there was enough of a flicker on her face, a muted sigh, that Jaina accepted that as close enough.

“I am sure you can understand by now that everything I do is for survival. Mine. The Forsaken. The Horde.” Sylvanas continued finally, hesitating before she added, “You. The Horde is in a better position than they once were. Always precarious, but a little farther from the edge of the cliff.”

Sylvansas’s fingers moved more quickly in Jaina’s hair, in random patterns, twirling locks around fingers and brushing through silken strands. Jaina took a breath, and said, “But the Forsaken…”

“We dwindle a little more, each year. We cannot be replaced at a rate fast enough to remain even, let alone grow.”

“It is not something many are willing to volunteer for,” Jaina replied flatly.

“No, I suppose not. The Valkyr are the only hope we have,” Syvlanas explained. “And there are only a few left.” Her fingers stilled, her eyes boring into Jaina’s head. “I save her for myself. To forestall the inevitable. Death cannot be escaped, merely delayed. Eventually that dark will claim me and I shall suffer everything I deserve.”

“I…” Jaina didn’t know how to answer that, or what to say to it, or where this had even come from. It seemed to be out of the blue, but must have been at the back of Sylvanas’s mind for some time.

“I would use her for you,” Sylvanas continued.

Jaina went deathly still, her blood turning to ice in her veins as she stared at Sylvanas from the corner of wide, dilated eyes.

“You would hate me for it at first. Perhaps you would always hate me, the way Kalira does. But I would make that sacrifice to have you with me.”

No, the sacrifice wasn’t Jaina hating her. The sacrifice was her own get-out-of-death-free card. The sacrifice was the Valkyr Sylvanas held in reserve for just herself. And if not a Valkyr, the sacrifice would have to be something or someone else.

The ice turned to liquid and started to boil as Jaina dug her nails into her legs. Her voice was a strained whisper, ragged like a flag flown too long in a storm. “Sylvanas, if you think for one minute I would allow--”

“You would be dead, Jaina.”

Sylvanas said that so calmly that Jaina’s anger faded, the flame snuffed out. It didn’t make it better. “So you’d do to me what Arthas did to you?”

The temperature behind those curtains dropped several degrees as Jaina found herself frozen by the cold fury in Sylvanas’s eyes, as surely as if her wife had put a dagger to her throat. “How dare you!”

Magic crackled in the air and Jaina held Sylvanas’s gaze defiantly, tilting her head back, baring her throat as it to dare Sylvanas to draw a weapon or use her teeth.

Instead of doing either, Sylvanas dug her fingers into her thighs, her voice drained. “If you think that being raised by the Valkyr is anything like what Arthas did to me, you’re a fool.”

“Then tell me, Sylvanas. What did he do to you? We’ve known each other this long, and yet …” Arthas had always been a taboo subject between them.

Sylvanas looked at her, and Jaina realized the Warchief’s hands were shaking.

******

Vereesa watched the fire crackling in the pre-dawn light; or rather, she watched the way the shadows danced and flickered on Cenengel’s sleeping face, making her hair look like it was bathed in flame. She reached out, hesitated before her fingers were close enough to touch Cenengel’s cheek, then drew her hand back and looked around. The sun would be rising soon, and they would have to get moving, but she wanted just a few more minutes to herself.

They’d decided that secrecy was the best route to take, rather than risk anything that might draw attention to them. But with secrecy came other dangers; the fact that it was just the two of them left them vulnerable, no matter their individual skill.

The sea was a few miles west, close enough to smell. The stream nearby bubbled along, and Vereesa’s sharp eyes scanned the ridge and the tree line.

Something whispered that it was time to go, some instinct that she’d learned long ago to trust. She leaned forward, putting her hand on Cenengel’s warm, bare arm, and running it to her shoulder before shaking her awake. “Cene, it’s time to go.”

Cenengel opened her eyes, gazing groggily up at Vereesa, a sloppy smile on her lips. “Morning beautiful.”

Vereesa pulled back, her face heating up as she set herself to the task of breaking camp. Cenengel rose, visible out of her periphery, and kicked dirt over their fire before she strapped her armor on.

“If we’re fast enough,” Vereesa said quietly. “We can be in Dun Morogh before nightfall.”

“I don’t think we’ll make Ironforge before then,” Cenengel reasoned. “I hope you like the snow.”

“There are ways to keep w--” Vereesa’s head snapped around at the sound of something in the stream. As the dawning sun started to filter through the trees, she spied movement.

Naga surged towards them and Vereesa unslung her bow and sent an arrow into the eye of the nearest. Metal and leather creaked as Cenengel lifted her swords. She shot forward on powerful legs, leaping through the air and landing boot-first on the head of another Naga. The creature’s spine snapped as Cene’s momentum drove it to the ground, her weight crushing its head.

She parried a trident from a Naga on her left, slashing to the right with enough force to sever another in half with her claymore then slammed her head into the jaw of a third.

Vereesa could only watch in admiration a moment more before she was loosing arrows into the Naga. There were dozens of them, maybe even breaking a hundred, and she focused on the mages so that her companion could fight toe to toe with their warriors, lost in a berserking blood-lust as her massive swords swung through the air with increasing speed and ferocity.

Ten naga turned towards Vereesa and charged, mages on the back line flinging fire and ice in her direction. She flipped backwards, springing off of the ground with her hands and in a fluid mid-air movement drew three arrows, nocked her bow and and fired, striking three Naga true.

Three more were dead before Vereesa touched the ground again and began to backpedal through the clearing. She snapped her bow out, cracking the head of a Naga brute, twisting out of the way of a spear to her left and using an arrow to gouge out the eye of the spear-wielder. She shot that arrow into a mage as she pulled back, searching for Cenengel in the mass of snake-like bodies.

Cenengel roared somewhere to her left, and a half-dozen Naga were flung into the air as the warrior charged for Vereesa’s position. She smashed and slashed her way to the archer’s side, covered in gore and worse, but alive.

“I’m giving you a bath after this,” Vereesa remarked, drawing her sword.

“Better make it a tub for two,” came Cenengel’s response and Vereesa wondered if she was trying to get her killed.

But, just in case one or both of them didn’t live to see the sun finish rising, she turned her head and kissed Cenengel. Quick, messy, tasting vaguely like fish and not the kind of first kiss she’d imagined, but then nothing about her life had gone the way she’d imagined in far too long to count.

There was no time to say or do anything else as the Naga swarmed them. Steel clanged against steel or cut through flesh and Vereesa fell into a killing calm, quick and efficient, not wasting a single movement.

The ground rumbled, and the Naga pulled back. Vereesa retrieved her bow from where she’d dropped it, and counted her remaining arrows. All two of them.

Trees swayed and rustled, and then a monstrous crab came crashing across the forest towards them.

“Go,” Cenengel said, twirling her claymores. “Get the message to the king, I will hold them as long as I can.”

“Bullshit,” Vereesa snapped. “I’ve faced worse.”

“Even the mightiest among us can fall,” Cenengel reminded her.

She thought of Sylvanas. Rhonin. Varian. Before Vereesa could respond, something fell from the sky, bounding off of the shell of the crab and almost immediately exploding. The crab made a chittering, screeching sound as it jerked away, shell cracked and smoking.

Five figures dropped from above as well, hitting the ground hard and rolling before they tore into the surprised Naga.

Cenengel cheered, whooping and clanging her swords together to greet the new comers.

Vereesa caught a glimpse of violet hair and the flash of swords. Another Kaldorei and a Ren’dorei calmly pumped arrow after arrow into Naga, driving them back. A second violet-haired Kaldorei wielding a massive hammer smashed her way towards Vereesa and Cenengel.

The woman stopped, holding her hand out as light erupted beneath a group of Naga when she closed her fist.

Running to her, Cenengel lazily knocked aside a Naga and slapped her hand against the Kaldorei’s shoulder. “Nyana, are we glad to see you.”

Nyana flashed her a winning smile as a mechanical squirrel peered its head from under her cloak. “Looks like we almost missed all the fun. Isn’t that right, Squee?”

Cenengel nodded, patting the machine on the head.

Vereesa had joined them by then, the others of their rescuers forming a circle around them, the Naga staying back as they tried to assess the new threat.

She recognized Yukale, and a second Ren’dorei and gave them a nod. “We got swarmed quickly.”

“I’ve got my sister and her mate keeping them busy by the ocean and Tess Greymane is harrying a flanking force to the north,” Yukale said, and Vereesa was too tired to remember who else usually accompanied this Champion. “They’ll pull back once we’ve extracted you.” She glanced at Cenengel. “Both of you.”

“Pah.” Cenengel sheathed her claymores on her back.

“What’s the plan?” Vereesa asked.

Nyana grinned again, pointing up. Vereesa tilted her head back to see several gyrocopters hovering above them. Their secrecy was shot anyway. She looked back at Yukale and her Vanguard, and nodded.

Pressing something inside her glove, Yukale glanced up as ropes descended. Vereesa reached for one, Cenengel for the other. As they started to rise, she heard Yukale order two of her people to keep them safe. One of the hunters and the Kaldorei … Paladin? Started to ascend.

She called out to Cenengel as she settled into the gyrocopter. “Can we never let my sisters know that a hundred Naga and a giant crab actually gave us trouble?”

******

“Not here,” Sylvanas said, staring at Jaina as numbness settled into her limbs. She stood, shoving the curtain roughly aside and then turning towards the stairs, towards sanctuary and the one place in Orgrimmar that was truly private for either of them.

She sensed Jaina following, but was inside before her consort had even reached the first step.

By the time Jaina had closed the door to the stairs, Sylvanas stood nude, shadows dancing on her pale bare skin. Jaina approached her, fingers trailing idly up Sylvanas’s arms, before she moved her hand to the scar on her chest. “Arthas.”

Jaina had often touched that scar. Stroked it. Kissed it, in an obsessive way that wasn’t much different from Sylvanas and Jaina’s hair. Sylvanas had never called attention to it, though it was impossible for her to say if it was because she didn’t want her to stop or because she didn’t have the words.

Her own voice was hollow and distant to her ears. “Yes. Whatever magics preserved my body could not rid me of this reminder. A reminder of the scars he left on my soul.”

“All my scars from him are here,” Jaina said, taking Sylvanas’s hand and pressing it to her heart.

“You loved him,” Sylvanas stated. “A foolish thing.”

“I’ve asked myself a thousand times, if I’d just refused to see who he was,” Jaina replied, running her finger down the scar and back up again. “If love had blinded me. Or if he’d truly been a good person and become corrupted.”

“He made the right choice, in Stratholme.” Sylvanas said, fighting the urge to shut down. She felt so tired. “It was a kinder fate than that which he would later bestow upon his kingdom.”

“And yet,” Jaina said, her finger touching the underside of Sylvanas’s chin. “You would subject me to your fate.”

“I, at least, admit to my selfish desires,” Sylvanas replied.

Jaina sighed, eyes flicking to the scar again. “I could have made a different choice. And I did not, and the blood of Silvermoon is on my hands. The blood of Lordaeron. Of you.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.” Jaina looked back into her eyes. “If I hadn’t abandoned him, he might not have gone to Northrend. Found Frostmourne. Let the Lich King poison his mind and his soul. We could have found another way to stop the plague.”

“Or it might have been you who succumbed to that cursed blade,” Sylvanas pointed out. How easily the wheels of fate turned, how precarious the balance. She imagined Jaina Proudmoore, the Lich Queen, all her considerable power brought to bear on the world, and decided that all would have been lost.

She took Jaina’s hands, guiding her to the couch and pulling her down as she sat. Her nudity didn’t bother her, she long ago had shed any sense of shame.

It was fairly well known, Jaina’s role in that saga. She’d turned away, gathered what survivors she could, and saved them. Sylvanas could appreciate that, even if part of her wished that she’d done the same for her own people.

“Sylvanas…”

“No.” Sylvanas put one finger over Jaina’s lips. “No. I need to speak. I need to say the things I have never spoken aloud and I need to say them to you.”

The question was in Jaina’s eyes but Sylvanas was not ready to face the answer she’d give in return. “Arthas did not simply kill me, and raise my spirit to serve him. Those chains were bad enough.”

Just the memory was enough to spread darkness and rage through Sylvanas. It was like the grating of metal scraping on metal, children screaming. It was a chasm that opened up beneath her, an endless abyss through which she could fall forever and never see the light.

Jaina’s hand on her face brought her back to the now, and she shuddered when she met those sapphire eyes. “He tore my soul from my body, and then, out of pure spite, he tortured me. It is not a pain that can be put into words, to have one’s soul flayed over the course of days. Days that felt like years. Millennia.”

Flaying wasn’t even the right word, and Sylvanas, frustrated, wished she could simply share the memories and be done with it.

Share the memories…

Jaina said something, but Sylvanas didn’t hear it, her eyes widening slightly, the red reduced to points as the idea struck her like a killing blow.

It was monstrous, but she was a monster, accepted it, reveled in it and yet…

Sylvanas cupped Jaina’s face, drank in her eyes, and said. “There are no words for the suffering I faced, Jaina. Just as there are no words for the pain you have felt. But we can share it.”

The only sound in the wake of Sylvanas’s words was Jaina’s shallow breath and the loudness of her heartbeat. And then, without really understanding what Sylvanas had planned, she nodded.

Turning into mist and shadow and darkness, Sylvanas poured into the pools of Jaina’s eyes. Deeper and deeper she went, until she was Jaina and Jaina was her. Their souls lashed together and ripped apart, Theramore exploded around Sylvanas and Arthas ran Jaina through.

As one, they screamed.

Notes:

37 will go up Thursday ;)

Chapter 37: Shared Trauma

Jaina was floating in a sea of darkness, surrounded by nothing and no one and totally alone. It could almost be peaceful, except she was deprived of all her senses, unable to feel anything. For however long she floated there, Jaina could make no sense of time or place. Had this driven Sylvanas mad, and would it do the same to her?

But then she heard the voices. They were familiar. Sylvanas and Arthas somewhere distant. Jaina tried to move in that direction, swimming and kicking her legs in a futile attempt to reach them.

Red eyes opened to fill her vision. All at once the memories assaulted her, battered her. Sylvanas’s undying love for her people, her loyalty to them and her city, the fear she kept carefully hidden as Arthas advanced. Anger and regret and a name. That defiant final stand.

And Jaina felt the wound in her chest burning like cold fire and a sensation like a violent wind and Sylvanas screamed, a broken, shattered sound. Theramore was no more, a crater of memories and loss. Wrath washed over her, a maddened grief that consumed all thought and reason. Flooded with power and fueled by rage, Jaina finally snapped, and there were no gods here, only endless agony and torment.

Sylvanas was pulled like a loose thread, in a thousand directions and shredded by countless lashes. Nails like iron and steel dug into her and ripped her apart, violating her mind and soul and making her feel unclean. Jaina understood pain as she never had before, unrelenting, unending, a thousand and a hundred lifetimes, she--

-- wanted to destroy them all. Blood for blood and flesh for flesh and Sylvanas had thought she’d known anger and vengeance and despair but not like this. This was madness, mindless hatred, the ruin of all things good and hopeful and peaceful. Everything Jaina believed and fought for turned around and thrown back in her face, emotions amplified by the arcane crackling in her veins. The Horde laughed and mocked, no one had stopped Garrosh, no one had stood up to him. They could have turned on him sooner, should have seen what he was doing. She would see them all--

--burn. Quel’thalas burned, her people trampled under the inexorable march of the Scourge. Men begged and children screamed as Arthas unleashed Sylvanas on them, her will shackled, her actions not her own. A face stood out from the masses, staring up at her as she dug her fingers into yet another victim’s chest.

Kalira mouthed the word ‘mother’ before the light left her eyes. Sylvanas--

--fell, the rocks rushing up to greet her. Arthas was gone, she was free and yet empty, so empty, without purpose any longer. But there would be no peace, and Jaina stared into a dark so empty and filled with terrors that fear clung to her like icy chains, weighing her down. It was nothing, an eternity of nothingness and yet something waited for her in the dark and those claws rent at her again and again and again and she--

--screamed.

Words and sentences began to overlap, talking over each other and around each other the worst of them echoing around like a ghostly serenade. She’d been so sure of their loyalty, too certain, too overconfident, she should have seen the betrayal coming, should have-- This is the hour of the Forsaken--

I will remove the Sunreavers by force, then--

Arrows in the quiver--

Thrall, do what you must--was there truly no way to save him?

Burn it!

I can’t watch you do this...

Jaina rubbed at her skin, her face, an ancient ache pulsing in her soul and drawing tears from her eyes.

She dropped her hand from her face, staring at Sylvanas’s limp body before her. And when next she moved she wasn’t sure if that was herself or Sylvanas that did so, or if they were in Lordaeron or Orgrimmar or who was who. Sylvanas was a cold presence in her mind, a warm comfort, a sensation of wholeness and completion that neither woman had known in what felt like a thousand lifetimes.

Jaina heard them, felt them, the words Sylvanas could not say, emotions that swallowed them up and battered them about like a rowboat lost at sea. The world went black again, and when Jaina was herself once more she felt a little more empty, a little lesser.

Hands stroked at her hair, Jaina opening her eyes to see Sylvanas looking down at her, her head cradled in her lap.

Sylvanas’s eyes had narrowed to points, though Jaina could not read what the expression meant. Tired and drained, she nevertheless made herself sit up, and leaned her shoulder against Sylvanas’s. She searched for words that would not feel inadequate, Sylvanas’s arm snaking around her back to rest her hand against her waist.

“Are you angry?”

Jaina turned towards her, shaking her head. “You could have been a little more clear as to what you were going to do, but no, I’m not angry.”

The expression on Sylvanas’s face shifted, almost into a vulnerable softness that Jaina had never seen there before. A feeling rose up wrapped in the veil of Sylvanas’ lingering memories; a certainty in Jaina’s heart that if she asked, Sylvanas would break the compact and end the marriage. Setting Jaina free, some might say. Or casting her aside.

Jaina could not voice the emotions she experienced at that. Confusion, maybe even irrational anger at the thought, but it was a hollow anger, one that could no more remain lit than a candle in a vacuum. Sylvanas had not told her she felt that way because she did not want her to leave. It was a feeling that Jaina … understood. A need to hold onto the things that she had, the people she cared for. Because they were all too easily taken away. And now that Jaina knew she could ask, she chose not to.

Some part of Sylvanas cared about this, Jaina had learned. About being abandoned. About her people abandoning her. Because she was a monster and embraced that part of her, would not shy from it nor apologize for it.

But she was Jaina’s monster. And for that matter, Jaina was a monster in her own way, as Sylvanas had now seen. The aftermath of Theramore, Dalaran … So Jaina took Sylvanas’s hand and brought it up, kissing her palm.

“And now that we have both been laid bare?” Sylvanas asked, eyes fixed on her hand and Jaina’s lips.

Jaina kissed her wrist next. “Are all possessions like that?”

Eyes flaring at the sensation, Sylvanas replied in a low, conflicted voice. “No. They are never like that.”

She pulled her hand away, but laced her fingers with Jaina’s.

Ragged. She felt ragged. And Sylvanas lived with those memories and that feeling, day after day.

“There is a … natural, justified inclination to be angry at being raised from the dead,” Sylvanas acknowledged slowly. “And I have perhaps been compared to the Lich King too many times for my reactions to be … entirely rational.” From Sylvanas Windrunner, that was nearly self-flagellation. Her eyes fell to their hands. “Theramore was such a strong memory for you that I could scarcely focus on anything else. But loss. Betrayal. These are things we share, and not just because of Arthas.”

Jaina looked around the sanctuary. Their sanctuary. And she felt calm. Calmer and clearer than she had in nearly ten years. It was if everything snapped into place, a clarity and understanding that she’d been repressing. Not the panic she’d been experiencing since her feelings had dawned on her.

No anger. No fear. Jaina was calm. “I’m sorry for comparing you to Arthas. For assuming you’d do to others what he made you suffer through.”

Then she looked at their hands, feeling the things she knew Sylvanas would never say aloud, at least not in simple human terms. Not even in this place, not even when sharing heads and hearts and bodies.

But Jaina could voice them. She could voice them for the two of them, or at least try to. The words were soft. “I’m not going anywhere, Sylvanas.”

The corners of Sylvanas’s lips twitched upwards, and then she smiled. “I know.”

That smile was the only thing keeping Jaina from hitting her with a pillow. Jaina pulled Sylvanas close, either intent on wiping the smile away or just needing some physical closeness, she couldn’t say. To her surprise, Sylvanas let herself be pulled that way and to her frustration that smile only grew against her mouth.

She pulled her head back, Sylvanas immediately going for her neck. Light bites made her shiver and she breathed, “I could teleport us to our bedroom.”

“No,” Sylvanas murmured, lifting her head again and brushing her lips against Jaina’s, the motion fragile and a little terrifying because of that. “Not for this.”

Before Jaina could ask what Sylvanas meant or focus too much on her actions, she was being pushed down onto the couch, Sylvanas kissing her languidly, hands inching slowly around and over Jaina’s corset.

Jaina stroked her back, and moved her hands down across her ass, pulling Sylvanas closer as the kiss deepened slowly. This was an agony she could bear, and gladly.

Sylvanas’s hands were possessive, but they always were and Jaina had grown to love it. This time her possessiveness was...not different, just slower than usual, as though there was all the time in the world to appreciate Jaina. And Jaina couldn’t say if that was true or not but the kiss… the kiss made her heart wrench, like Sylvanas was telling her a secret only she was ever allowed to know.

She was so distracted by it that she barely noticed Sylvanas had stripped her until she felt the chilled skin against hers. The cold had become familiar, and Jaina could admit that it was sometimes a welcome relief against the fire that Sylvanas had learned to so expertly stoke inside her.

Jaina dug her fingers into Sylvanas’s ass again, grinding her hips up into her. She let out a relieved moan when Sylvanas palmed her breast, other hand moving inch by inch between them. And suddenly Sylvanas rolled over, pulling Jaina on top of her.

Pushing herself up and gazing down at Sylvanas in admiration, Jaina remarked, “And what if I’m not in the mood to service the Queen?”

Though truth be told her exhaustion and aches had faded away, replaced by a subtle hunger and raw emotions that she was sure would make Sylvanas leave if she didn’t keep them leashed.

Sylvanas ran her hands up Jaina’s sides, cupping her breasts almost playfully. “That is for the throne room. Or your office. Here...”

Rolling her eyes, Jaina leaned down, lips just above Sylvanas’s, tauntingly close. “Here, just Sylvanas, or my wife?”

“Yes.” Sylvanas moved her hand to the back of Jaina’s head, pulling her down and kissing her and then Jaina understood.

She stretched herself out on top of Sylvanas, her hands moving lightly across her skin and they spoke through actions rather than words. Jaina spread her legs, her right knee balanced precariously on the edge of the couch as she caressed at Sylvanas’s thigh.

Sylvanas kept her hand on Jaina’s head, her other mirroring Jaina’s as she sought out Jaina’s slick center.

Gently, but steadily, Sylvanas stroked at Jaina, sinking one finger in, and then two. Jaina groaned into Sylvanas’s mouth, matching Sylvanas action for action and movement for movement as their hips rocked in time to each other. It was as though Sylvanas were writing a love-letter with her fingers.

Tears returned to Jaina’s eyes and she let them fall, mouthing soundless words against Sylvanas’s skin, body trembling as Sylvanas shivered beneath her. She’d never experienced this with any other lover, how easily Sylvanas’s touch could undo everything Jaina was. The world fell away from Jaina as she lost herself in the moment.

******

Sylvanas lay with Jaina’s head tucked under her chin. Her wife breathed slowly, her heartbeat steady as she slept.

There was a low thump from a side table; then, after a pause, the sound of gently creaking leather as the arm of the couch dipped beneath Sylvanas’ head.

“You are lucky I am in a good mood,” she whispered to the cat, before turning her attention back to her wife. Sylvanas rubbed her back, trailing fingers up her spine and then across her shoulder.

She didn’t want to admit it, but she was exhausted. The effort to retain herself without overpowering Jaina had been considerable, and then the effort to not allow Jaina to overpower her had been just as great.

But Jaina looked peaceful, a smile on her sleeping face. She rarely looked to be at peace when she slept, nightmares so prevalent that they were the norm rather than the exception.

Varian gave an inquisitive mew and tapped a velveted paw against Sylvanas’ forehead. She watched him, lazily playing with Jaina’s hair as she did so. “You think you can go anywhere you wish.” He rubbed his chin against the tip of an ear, and she relented. “Fine, but if I catch word of you sharing what you have seen here, I shall destroy you. Which would be a pity. I’d hate to murder Wrynn’s father before our planned meeting.”

The cat looked at her, blinking slowly, before wedging himself between Sylvanas, Jaina and the couch and purring loudly.

Resigned to her fate as pillow for cat and wife, Sylvanas turned her thoughts inward.

Inward to Jaina, to what they’d just experienced. She’d thought that possessing her would have made it easier to show Jaina what had happened rather than try to find words where words did not exist. Instead, perhaps by virtue of Jaina’s power, they’d relived each others’ lives together. The traumas, mostly, but as Sylvanas picked her mind she could remember other details.

Not quite as if they were her own. There was a thin film over Jaina’s memories, as though viewing them through a sheer curtain. Sylvanas was grateful for that seemingly small detail. The ability to distinguish between herself and Jaina.

She turned her head, wondering how much Jaina had gleaned. Wondering if, once Jaina remembered the things she’d seen, she would be so eager to share Sylvanas’s bed. Her life. To remain her wife.

Sylvanas felt no shame or guilt for the crimes she’d committed or the lives she’d taken. Everything she’d done she’d done for the Forsaken and the Horde. For her people.

Twirling her fingers into Jaina’s hair, Sylvanas mused over that, unable to ascertain exactly when Jaina had become her people but accepting that as the truth.

If she had to tear the world down for Jaina, she would do it. Sylvanas would burn it all. And if that cost her Jaina? She would still do it.

Forsaken. Horde. Jaina. Kalira. Tyra. Nathanos. Orders and priorities and loyalties she never wanted to see tested.

It was a sensation she’d nearly forgotten. Rage. Hatred. Despair. Those were the emotions she knew the best, the ones that remained strong and made her figurative heart beat. But this … this warmth that filled the empty hollow of her chest, it made her afraid. As dull and distant as it was, it was there. Waiting to drag her down and make her remember what it was she could lose and what it would feel like to lose them.

The Compact that had been meant as a trap for Jaina and the Alliance had not only proven successful but had ensnared Sylvanas as well.

As if sensing her sudden discomfort, Varian poked his nose against Sylvanas’s cheek, the roughness of his tongue allowing her to ground herself.

“Very good,” she murmured, turning her face and pressing her nose into his fur. The cat understood her. He seemed to have a sixth sense about when his presence could actually help, and enjoyed unnerving people nearly as much as Sylvanas did. Together, they made a powerful team at unsettling dignitaries in the Hold.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you actually liked the cat.” Jaina’s sleepy voice made Sylvanas go still.

Slowly, she shifted her eyes towards her wife, feeling Jaina lift her head from her chest and gaze at her with emotion she wasn’t yet alert enough to hide. Sylvanas replied simply, “He is useful.”

Jaina slid her fingers up Sylvanas’s arm, and then brushed them along her hairline. Her words were heavy with meaning. “Your secret is safe with me.”

“Just this one?”

Jaina held Sylvanas’s gaze, though it was obvious that the gears were turning inside her beautiful head by the way her expression tightened. But then she shook her head. “No, not just this one.”

Trust was a tenuous bond, even under the best of circumstances; and that bond had strained and almost snapped on more than a few occasions. Yet she had been so focused on her need to make herself understood that she’d surged ahead almost unthinking, baring herself without due diligence. Sylvanas hadn’t thought about what else Jaina would see. What Jaina could now use against her if she wished to.

She said nothing, studying Jaina warily. Waiting for her to slip the knife into her heart.

“I will keep your secrets, Sylvanas. As you’ll keep mine.” Jaina slid up, propping herself so that they were eye to eye and her hair curtained both their faces. “Though I reserve the right to yell at you about some of them.”

Sylvanas felt a smile on her lips, and stroked her hand down the back of Jaina’s head and through that silky hair. She knew that Jaina would not likely let go some of what she’d seen. The Valkyr in particular were likely to come up again. But not tonight, not tonight.

“Agreed.” She tightened her grip in Jaina’s hair, before saying the three little words that meant the most to her. “I trust you.”

Chapter 38: Premonitions

Five Years Ago

“They sent back almost everything, my lady.”

Katherine barely noticed the steward, focused as she was on the chests, boxes and crates that now occupied Jaina’s rooms. Clothing, mostly; she knew that not everything had been returned, but enough had to set her teeth on edge. Slowly, she fingered the sleeve of one of Jaina’s dresses. It was blue, the shade that Jaina typically preferred in her formal gowns, and Katherine wondered what the Warchief was up to.

“What will she make my daughter wear?” Stepping away from the dress and slamming the chest closed, Katherine stormed out of the rooms.

Someone called after her, but she ignored them, marching through the keep and into the war room. Jerking her chin at one of the guards, she ordered. “Send for the spymaster.”

Jaina wasn’t willing, or able, to tell her what was going on, but by the gods Katherine would find out.

***Now***

Her dreams had been disturbing. Not every night. Not even most nights, but frequently enough that Jaina could only draw the conclusion that she was still feeling the after-effects of her discussion with Sylvanas.

She couldn’t even put into words exactly what had happened. Had she been possessed? Physically combined with Sylvanas? Or had it been something purely mental and emotional?

Whatever it was, she dreamed of Sylvanas dying. Of being raised. Of raising others.

And Sylvanas would have raised her, if she’d actually died. Raised Jaina against her will. And how dare she!

Incensed, Jaina slipped out of bed, pacing a little, running her fingers through her hair. And she’d have no possible way to stop Sylvanas from doing so. Because the dead could not consent.

Stopping abruptly, Jaina ran her hand down her face. The dead could not consent and Sylvanas had been raising people this whole time. What was wrong with her? Jaina felt suddenly sick, and leaned against the desk to keep herself steady.

“No, no,” she murmured, looking down at Varian as he weaved around her legs. “Let’s think this through, Varian. True, the dead can’t consent, but neither can anyone who’s injured and unconscious, or unable to communicate. And healers will always err on the side of lifesaving intervention in those cases. But that is different.”

Wasn’t it? Varian mewled at her.

Pushing off from the desk, Jaina started to pace again. “The injured are still alive, even if they’re in no position to say how or even if they want to be saved. It’s best to try to save them and sort it out later. Undeath is… a torment. Sylvanas freely admits this and many of the Forsaken do too. Kalira doesn’t seem to enjoy her life...except she’s happy around Tyra. And Tyra… Tyra is one of the most ‘alive’ people I’ve ever met. Even Nathanos enjoys his undeath.”

After several more turns along the path she was wearing into the floor, Varian doing his best to be underfoot at every step, she shook her head sharply. “No, no, I’m thinking about this wrong. The actual ethical issue is that no one has the right to make that choice for anyone else. It’s a slippery slope, isn’t it? Deciding based on any metric whether or not a life would be worth living. So to speak. That kind of thinking leads--no. Of course no one has the right to just decide someone would be better off truly dead. But making what’s essentially a medical decision, without permission--”

Jaina came to an abrupt stop. “Is it possible to choose?”

Varian mewled again, and she knelt to pick him up. Maybe, Jaina thought, the dead could consent. She just had to figure out how.

******

They were too close to the Maelstrom, A'sooka thought. Though she couldn’t quite see it over the horizon, the Draenei was certain she could hear it, and it unnerved her. Her hand rested on the blade at her side as she surveyed the forces the Horde and Alliance had deployed on this little island in the middle of nowhere. It had been rough going at first but they’ve developed a bit of a friendly rivalry and some amount of camaraderie.

Constant fear of imminent danger and constant boredom probably helped a little with that.

But she didn’t dare look towards the sea, feeling that if she did she’d invite trouble that they were ill equipped to handle. There were less than one hundred here; 40 Horde, 43 alliance, and a group of Shaman from the Earthen Ring investigating elemental unrest on some nearby outcroppings.

“Rangari A'sooka.” A male voice drew her attention and she smiled at the balding human commander.

“Just A'sooka,” she reminded him.

“Right, of course.” He nodded his head. “Scouts report nothing unusual.”

“For the six hundred and fifty-fifth day in a row,” A'sooka mused, heaving a sigh. She was still cross there’d been no action even on the day the Old God had tried to wipe the Alliance and Horde off the map. They’d missed the good stuff; not a single Naga or Old God minion had assailed their outpost. She still didn’t know what to make of it and she had kept patrols doubled ever since. There was such a thing as too quiet.

She looked towards the watchtower, up on a hill overlooking the island and small harbor beyond.“How are the newer recruits getting along with our Horde friends, Captain Roberts?”

“About as well as you and Blood Knight Lightshadow lately,” Roberts said, eyes glinting.

A'sooka chose to ignore that glint, flashing her teeth at him. “So a little snippy in places, and only trying to kill each other once or twice.”

“Not exactly. If you don’t mind my saying so, the two of you--”

“I do mind,” A'sooka snapped. Roberts held up his hands and wisely backed away.

There was the sound of a throat clearing quietly, and A'sooka turned in its direction, her expression softening at the dark-skinned Sin’dorei paladin. “Just keeping my men in check.”

“I’m sure,” Belariss said, folding her arms and giving A'sooka a dubious look. As usual, she wore her black hair tucked beneath the helm she rarely went without, a few stray locks escaping. Her armor was blues and greys, similar to the coloring that A'sooka wore, though A'sooka’s leathers tended to be closer to blue and green.

She just stared at Bela for a moment too long, before waving her hand in the vague direction of camp. “Do you want to get lunch, kitten?”

“Yes,” Bela said, holding A'sooka’s gaze long enough to make her cheeks burn. She never objected to the pet name, a fact that always made A’sooka feel like she was on uneven ground. That was probably the point.

Bela had replaced the previous Horde Commander six months ago; her calm quiet was a far cry from the Troll, who’d been as thrilled by danger and excitement as A'sooka was.

But he was gone now, on to more exciting postings the lucky bastard, even if his replacement was both easy on the eyes and nice to talk to, once they’d gotten over that rough first two weeks.

Deciding to just go for it, A'sooka ran a hand up Bela’s arm, enjoying the way the Sin’dorei shivered. “Just the two of us, I mean.”

She was rewarded with color on Bela’s cheeks and the paladin leaning into the touch. Bela finally managed to say something. “People talk.”

“So what?” She moved in front of her. “We have a peace. We have…” Decades of hostility and hurts and hates but… She tucked some hair back under Bela’s helm, the stroked her fingers down her cheek. “Our leaders set the example, we’re not enemies. Why should we deny something just because people talk? People have talked for millenia, that’s one thing that won’t change, kitten.”

“Lunch.” Bela’s shoulders relaxed, and she got the same kind of determined expression on her face as she did when they assigned scouts. Only a smile played across her lips. “Just as long as you’re not the one cooking.”

Rolling her eyes, A'sooka replied, “It’s a deal. I’m just glad your predecessor is gone, he really had a thing for bugs.”

Before Bela could respond, the ground rocked beneath them. Alarms rang out, a bell ringing in a panic in the watchtower. A'sooka sprinted towards it, Bela on her left. They stumbled into each other when the ground rocked again, a crack running through the center of the island, with crevices spreading from it like branches of a tree.

The largest crack reached the tower, and A'sooka stared in horror as the structure collapsed into a rapidly growing maw of darkness, silencing the bell, though nothing could silence the screams.

Birds flew in every direction and she thought she saw druids fleeing in flight form as well. She hoped that was the case; they might be the only way that the Horde and Alliance could get warned of whatever was happening.

“A'sooka!” Bela grabbed A'sooka’s arm and pointed towards the sea, even as the island shuddered in upheaval.

A'sooka looked, her eyes widening as land rose from the sea, displacing the ocean up and away. The wave built up and A'sooka turned and sprinted, hand tight in Bela’s. They had to get to the ship, they had to get to Stormwind or Orgrimmar or anywhere. To warn their people. She shouted orders to anyone who would listen as she bolted for the ship.

A mage, a mage, why didn’t they have a godsdamned mage? But there’d been those druids and the gryphons and windriders. When A'sooka looked to the roost the latter were gone.

Good.

Behind her, she heard the roaring of the surging water. Before her, the ship bobbed in the choppy waves. They were so close, she could see the terror on the faces of the crew as they cast off the moorings. Almost there. Almost...the ground opened up beneath her feet, the dock cracking and splintering.

Golden light engulfed her as the little island disappeared beneath the sea and she fell into the darkness.

******

Sylvanas felt a little claustrophobic. There was so much clothing on display that navigating through the small building was a challenge even for her.

“Come come.”

She rolled her eyes at the commanding tone in the goblin tailor’s voice, but followed anyway, half out of curiosity and half because she’d promised Jaina.

Enda led her into a room in the back with several floor length mirrors. Sylvanas studied herself in them while Enda studied her.

And then Enda clucked her tongue, rubbing her chin with one hand. “No. No. This is no good!”

Sylvanas lifted one eyebrow. “No good.”

“Why the skulls? Why all the skulls?” she waved her hand. “Skulls are so six years ago, dahling!”

Perhaps it really was time for a change. Sylvanas tilted her head, her reflection’s eyes glowing. “And you have a better idea?”

“Elegance,” Enda murmured, slowly walking around Sylvanas. “Simplicity. No...Yes! Intimidation!”

She clapped her hands together suddenly, eyes flashing, “Oh you’re gonna look bitchi-- that is, marvelous, you’ll look marvelous, dahling.”

Elegance and intimidation? Sylvanas’s interest was piqued, and she clasped her hands behind her back. “Go on.”

“I will make you three outfits! Each to show off exactly who you are.” Enda started to pace in a circle. “First...first… let me think.”

She passed into Sylvanas’s shadow, and stopped. “First, Warchief, you are darkness! You are death incarnate walking upon this earth!”

Enda framed Sylvanas with her hands. “Shadow. I will make you a shadow. But!”

Thrusting her finger up, Enda declared, “As Warchief, you are in the light. You are inspiration. Armor. New armor. Nimble but impressive. I can already see it.”

“And the third,” Sylvana asked, almost feeling something akin to excitement.

“The third.” Enda dropped her hands to her sides, staring up at Sylvanas as she told her.

Sylvanas felt something twist inside herself. She blinked once, then twice, before rasping. “Very good.”

They spoke for a few more moments as Sylvanas suffered through measurements, before she left the tailor to her work. Sylvanas turned left instead of right, walking towards the Valley of Honor. She passed under the massive overhang and into the tunnel, the torches winking out as she passed them only to flicker back to life once she’d emerged from the other side.

The sun was high, the light harsh on her eyes, the air unseasonably warm today as a shadow stood at her right. Sylvanas did not look as she spoke. “Kalira, do you remember what it was like to dream?”

“No, mother.”

Mother. Kalira called her mother, and she had for some time now. When had Sylvanas stopped caring if she did? When had Sylvanas started looking forward to it?

She lowered her face from the sun, lips tight and face strained. “If I offered to unmake you, would you accept?”

Kalira started, eyes flicking across Sylvanas’s face as her back stiffened. She did not answer right away, and Sylvanas suspected Kalira didn’t know exactly what she wanted.

Finally, Kalira hissed. “Years ago I would have said yes. I loathed this existence, mother. It’s been nothing but torment and misery, every hour of every day. There was no point in…”

“Existing?” Sylvanas suggested.

“Yes. I existed for your whim, and nothing else. And one cannot balance their life around one single person.”

“No, one very well cannot.” Sylvanas reached out, touching Kalira’s chin. “But your answer has changed?”

Something wet oozed down Kalira’s cheeks. Tears, Sylvanas realized,and she wondered if she was capable of that too. Kalira’s voice was a whisper. “Yes. And not just friends I have made across both factions. We have a family. You and I. Jaina. Tyra. Nathanos. Even your sisters.”

Kalira blinked rapidly, lips quivering. “We are all Windrunners.”

That day in Kul Tiras, when they’d all fed her their power. Nathanos, Kalira, Vereesa and Alleria. And, yes, Jaina. Tyra. Sylvanas didn’t know what to do with this strange epiphany.

Family. It was dangerous, and a weakness and she let go of Kalira’s face and pressed her hand over her silent heart. “The House of Windrunner is ragged and worn, but it survives.”

“And Sundreamer?” Kalira asked. “Did you ever wonder if you could have returned our mothers to us?”

“There was naught left but ash. Not even the Valkyr could return them to us.” She turned on her heel, unwilling or unable to tell Kalira that she’d tried.

******

Vereesa wanted three things; a bath, clean clothing, and a hot meal. But all three of those things had to wait until they’d had a chance to talk to the King.

She glanced to the tall warrior striding alongside her. Cenengel was focused, though she looked as tired as Vereesa felt. Cenengel looked back at her, head tilting curiously. “What?”

“After we’ve spoken to King Wrynn and cleaned up, do you want to join me for a meal?”

“I don’t think I have the energy for a crowd.”

Vereesa frowned, but nodded in understanding. “I meant, just the two of us, alone somewhere.”

Cenengel halted, and Vereesa stopped as well. The warrior took her hand, lifting it to her lips. “I think I have the energy for that.”

Suddenly, Vereesa was all too eager to take a quick bath (or perhaps a long shared soak) and she idly wondered what the twins would think of Cenengel.

Someone shoved at the two of them, snapping Vereesa out of her rapidly guttering thoughts.

“You’re both adorable but now isn’t the time.”

Flashing a grin at Yukale, Cenengel responded, “You are the last person to talk.”

Yukale pushed at them again, feigning offense. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Before Cenengel could tell Vereesa whatever juicy bit of gossip she was holding over Yukale’s head, they turned a corner and walked into the War Room. Cenengel bowed to Anduin while Yukale tossed off a lazy salute.

Vereesa bowed her head. “Your majesty.”

“You had us worried,” Anduin said, approaching them. “I was prepared to dispatch the entire 7th Legion.”

“It got a little hairy there,” Vereesa admitted, drawing a rolled up parchment from her pack. “They did not want us making it here alive.” She held it aloft. “Word for word, everything the prisoner told us.”

Cenengel took a step forward. “The long and the short of it was the offensive last year was meant to soften us up. And it was a lot more successful than they could have hoped.”

Anduin glanced back to where Genn was approaching. “If that was a probing attack, I don’t want to find out what else they have planned.”

Genn’s voice was low, a growl behind his words.“They threw so many forces at us, what else could they have in reserve?”

Vereesa simply held out the parchment to Anduin. He took it and unrolled it, quickly scanning it. “Do you have a copy?”

“We made one for the Horde,” Vereesa said.

Anduin handed it over to Genn then directed his attention back to Vereesa. “Clean up, get something to eat. Then I need the three of you to take a portal to Orgrimmar. I’ll have a missive for Sylvanas ready for you before you depart.”

“I’ll inform Tyrande and the other leaders of the Alliance.” Genn rolled the parchment back up and tucked it under his arm. His expression was resigned, and Vereesa could only guess at what was going through his mind. “We’re going through with your plan, aren’t we.”

Clapping his hand on Genn’s shoulder, Anduin replied, “I’m just making sure you get your life-long wish of working alongside Sylvanas Windrunner towards a common goal.”

Vereesa had never seen a Worgen turn that shade of green before.

******

“Next time you have an important message to deliver,” Jaina said, offering Vereesa a drink. “Find a mage.”

Vereesa smiled cheekily. “We didn’t really have time to wait around. I’d hoped once we’d gotten to Ironforge there might be one available.”

Jaina shook her head, then stared down into her drink. It was going to take time to mobilize, and both Factions would be vulnerable to attack in the meantime. But if Azshara truly planned a war of conquest, something that made the previous attack look like a gentle prodding, there was little choice. They would have to strike first.

That Anduin and Sylvanas had been working towards a mutual defense compact was a secret known only to them; and Jaina. As much as she wanted to tell Vereesa, to get her opinion, she would wait for Sylvanas to announce it. “Nice to have you here without sneaking you in.”

Vereesa’s lip twitched, and she lifted a hand to brush across the light scar left behind by her sister’s arrow. “She actually smiled at me. I thought I might have been talking to an illusion.”

That buoyed Jaina’s mood. With war inevitable, she was happy to see Sylvanas reconnect with her sisters. “You can visit more often, you know. Not just for me. But for her.”

Lowering her eyes, Vereesa tapped her finger on the side of her glass. “Did you… I almost defected to the Horde, once. It was the thought of the kids that stopped me.”

Her words hung in the air, and Jaina stared at her, glass halfway to her lips. Slowly she set the glass back down. “You loved her. She’s your sister.”

“I still love her.” Vereesa pressed her fingers against her forehead. “I always have. And it’s made everything so difficult. But now it’s...still awkward. Like we don’t know where we stand with each other. And Alleria continues to be difficult.”

“She’s been gone a long time from her perspective,” Jaina pointed out. “And she’s suffered.”

“So have you. Me. Sylvanas. We all have.”

“But has she tried to talk to anyone? Has anyone listened?” Jaina knew the answer was probably somewhere in the middle. It was easier to keep things in, but by the same token if no one offered to listen…

“Stop making sense.” Vereesa took a sip, then downed the rest of her glass. “Can you keep a secret, Jaina?”

Jaina nodded.

“I just want us all to be a family again. The three of us and…” She smiled at Jaina. “A few new additions.”

They chatted for a little while longer, before Jaina walked Vereesa to the accommodations she’d been given for the night, and had been delighted by the look on her friend’s face when she found out that there was only a single, one-bed room available for Vereesa and Cenengel to share. She’d patted her shoulder, wished her luck, and returned home.

Jaina sensed Sylvanas before she’d finished closing the door behind her. “The whole creepily standing here in the dark thing doesn’t work with me anymore, you know.” She felt Sylvanas’s fingers run through her hair, and leaned into it. “When is the War Council?”

“Assuming much, are you not?” Sylvanas’s eyes were like red fireflies in the darkness, but they allowed Jaina to find her face, stroke her cheeks and her jaw.

She hadn’t realized how badly she needed to touch Sylvanas today until now. “I know the summons went out. I know the Alliance leaders are gathering too. You’re going to make the announcement public soon. The Joint Defence Pact.”

Sylvanas smiled against Jaina’s fingers. “Yes.”

“We should have pursued that sooner,” Jaina murmured, leaning in. “Immediately after the attacks.”

“We?”

“Yes,” Jaina said, brushing her lips along Sylvanas’s cheek. “We.”

“Jaina Proudmoore,” Sylvanas said, fingers tugging at Jaina’s hair, pulling her head back and exposing her throat. “Of the Horde?”

“... Yes.” And something inside Jaina’s heart broke a little as she admitted to that incontrovertible truth. “I think that is … evident at this point.”

Sharp canines trailed across her throat; Sylvanas could rip into her jugular without effort and Jaina found herself groaning, arching her body into her wife’s. Sylvanas’s voice rumbled against her skin. “The days to come will be difficult for the Horde. I will…”

She trailed off, lifting her head and loosing her grip in Jaina’s hair. There was vulnerability in her voice, something alien and foreign and a little wrong to Jaina’s ears. “I will need you at my side.”

“Lets clean up,” Jaina whispered, kissing Sylvanas lightly before taking her hand to lead her towards the bathroom. She knew better than to draw attention to Sylvanas’s emotions, when she had them.

It seemed to work, because the Warchief purred, “Finally.”

They hadn’t made it to the bedroom before someone started banging urgently on the door. Jaina lit the candles in the hallway with a snap of her fingers as Sylvanas calmly threw the door open.

Jaina barely had time to place a name to the messenger’s face before he gasped out. “Warchief! Nazjatar has risen!”

Notes:

I plotted and wrote a lot of this before blizzcon and then they announced the content for 8.2 and I was like "great now everyone will think I copied them" ;)

Chapter 39: Combined Arms

If there was one thing that Jaina excelled at, it was burying her problems. Except, little by little, events and the day to day chipped away at her until she was left raw and exposed.

And after years of this, on the eve of Sylvanas’s big announcement, it was the stupidest, smallest thing that finally set Jaina off. She realized they were going to miss their anniversary, and then realized that that upset her, which snowballed into a cascade of conflicted emotion that had overwhelmed her. Jaina barely remembered getting up from her desk and teleporting.

It wasn’t far, still within Orgrimmar, but there were private places if one knew where to look, little crannies in the rock face out of view and memory for most.

Jaina curled up in one, resting her forehead on her knees. Her entire body was shaking and what was she doing? Living in Orgrimmar. Sharing a bed with Sylvanas. She… she looked forward to seeing Sylvanas. To working with her, to evenings and mornings spent in companionable silence.

It wasn’t just sex and attraction and need. If it had just been that, Jaina could have dealt with it. She had dealt with it, or so she thought. Accepted it and her attraction from the day she’d willingly gone to her knees for Sylvanas.

But she loved Sylvanas and the line between Horde and Alliance had blurred and broken a long time before she’d come to that realization.

Lost in her own head, Jaina didn’t notice someone had found her until a hand gently touched her shoulder. Startled, she nearly fell out of the cranny, only saved by Yukale’s hand catching her and pulling her in.

Yukale didn’t say anything, instead wrapping an arm around Jaina and allowing Jaina to lean against her. Jaina rested her head on the Kaldorei’s shoulder and sighed.

Her tears had dried some time ago, but she still felt shaky and ill. “Do you remember when life was simple?”

“The last time life was simple was before Thrall sailed to Kalimdor,” Yukale pointed out. “And even after that, I could still find simple moments. I’ve walked the length of both continents, shared memories with friends and loved ones of quiet sunrises and gentle laughter. I think that there are always simple moments, but you don’t appreciate them until after they’ve passed.”

“Yes. I suppose you’re right.” Jaina frowned. Simple moments of late had been with Sylvanas. Kalira. Tyra. She was more Horde than Alliance now, yet she’d stolen moments with Vereesa and even, recently, with Tyrande. And Yukale, she supposed. “Have you ever sat in a room with someone, neither of you talking but each of you doing something different, and yet still be...comfortable, still feel like there was a connection?”

“Yeah.” Yukale nodded, a smile crossing her lips. “Good friends, family, people you love. Just being near them can feel nice. You don’t have to talk or do anything exciting. You can just sit here, and…” Yukale gestured. “Watch the clouds.”

There was a nostalgic note in Yukale’s voice and Jaina was reminded of something. Like a memory she’d forgotten, a hazy picture rose to the surface. She reached into her pouch and pulled out a lock of green hair. “I… I think I was supposed to give this to you. And tell you something, but I’m sorry. I can’t remember. Everything after the wave and before I woke up in Theramore is blank.”

Yukale’s eyes locked onto the hair, her breathing suddenly shallow.

Slowly, Jaina lifted her hand, stroking her fingers over the threads in Yukale’s hair. “I’m sorry,” she repeated, as she braided the lock into the rich purple hair.

“It’s...It’s alright,” Yukale said hoarsely. “I can guess.”

She touched the lock once Jaina’s hands had dropped away, and Jaina thought about the people they’d both lost. Each thread in Yukale’s hair represented a person who was no longer with her. She’d lost them all, she’d loved and cared for them and they were gone, but she kept moving. She kept living, and laughing, and loving. With enthusiasm, most days.

Jaina thought that lesson was something she needed to learn. To keep living, to move on. To accept the new and love people even if loving them might hurt. “How long did you fight it? Wanting someone else?”

“Longer than I should have,” Yukale admitted.

“And loving her? Loving the enemy? When did you realize you loved Unariel?”

“Booty Bay,” Yukale said, so quickly that Jaina knew how deeply the memory must run. “First time we...uhm. You know.” She waggled her hand. “Next morning Deathwing wrecked everything, we barely made it out alive. But I knew then. After everything that had happened between us. All the times we’d fought against each other or alongside each other. Somewhere along the way I’d fallen for her.”

She lowered her head, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “But I think that was when I finally came out of my grief. It still hurts, it’ll always hurt, but I’m happy.”

“Somehow, I think that’s exactly what she wanted,” Jaina said, eyes drifting to the green braided into Yukale’s hair. “Though I can’t tell you how I know that or where that lock of hair came from.”

Yukale looked at her, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Thank you. So what about you?”

“What about me?”

Leaning in and kissing the side of Jaina’s head, Yukale said. “Have you finally come out of your grief?”

Arthas. Father Theramore Pained Kinndy and all the faces, all the faces Jaina remembered. Fresh tears slid down her cheeks, and she said. “It still hurts. You’re right. It will always hurt.”

“But?”

“I’m … happy?” Jaina shook her head, feeling something she had forgotten could exist within herself. Something like peace.

“I’m happy.”

******

It was a big change, though one that had been long overdue even before the wedding. The massive throne of Garrosh and Vol’jin was gone. In its place was one less wide, well cushioned and with a tall, ornate back, upholstered in a red so deep it looked like blood. Horde, yes, but undeniable as to who the Warchief actually was.

There was another difference. A second seat on the throne’s left. Somewhat less tall, but equally ornate.

The only other difference was the color. The Consort’s throne was purple. More red than blue, of course, yet still a mixture of the two.

And Sylvanas was almost eager to see Jaina’s reaction, having to admit to herself she looked forward to seeing Jaina seated in it. She sat in her own while she waited, leaning against the left armrest with one of her legs dangling over the right as she watched the preparations for the discussions with the Alliance.

Most of the details had already been worked out; today was mostly ceremony and the signing of a few key documents that had taken longer to agree to. And the wording of the announcements were still up in the air.

“Warchief.” Galnir approached, stopping in front of her and saluting. “Most of the requested Alliance champions have arrived in the city. There are only a few unaccounted for but I’ve been assured they’ll arrive before the meeting. All Horde champions are ready.”

“Very good.” She tilted her head, studying him. “I am placing you in command of this force. You are to work directly with your Alliance counterpart, whoever King Wrynn chooses, to secure our victory. We’ll discuss the details tonight, but I did not want you surprised when the announcement was made.”

“Of course, Warchief. We’ll crush our enemies, for the Horde!” He saluted again, and she waved her hand in dismissal.

Orcs were always so dramatic about battle.

Her relationship with them could be described as rocky at times. Sylvanas leaned her head back, hanging it off of the side of the throne as Galnir walked out of sight. She was relatively certain that if she hadn’t bought peace with her Jaina gambit, the Horde could have potentially dissolved under internal pressure.

Fools and their lack of foresight.

She felt the energy on the air before Jaina entered the Hold, lifting her head again to watch her wife. The distracted look on her face, the momentary surprise and the way her eyes took in the dual thrones. Jaina’s mouth opened slightly as she moved forward in a daze, eyes darting from the Consort’s seat to Sylvanas.

Sylvanas let her head fall back over the armrest again as she smiled, flashing her teeth. “I told you, we are equal.”

In the space of a heartbeat and with movement too fast for most to detect, Sylvanas was sitting properly in the throne, though she leaned her elbow on the left armrest as she gestured. “Sit, Lady Proudmoore. You earned your place a long time ago and it was past time to show you that honor.”

Jaina looked at her again, and Sylvanas did not disguise her expression from her wife. She was pleased with herself for this, and perhaps, though she’d never admit it, a little anxious about Jaina’s reaction.

Slowly, Jaina sat, adjusting to the cushions -- and adjusting to all the unsaid things the throne represented. Power. Prestige. Control.

Sylvanas ran her hand down Jaina’s arm, the thrones close enough for them to hold hands comfortably if they chose, as a sign of their unity. “What do you think?”

“This is a lot,” Jaina said, settling against the back and studying Sylvanas out of the corner of her eye. “My tired feet thank you, Warchief.”

“Very good.” Sylvanas was about to say more, overcome with the strangest need to be frank with Jaina, when guards rushed into the Hold.

“Warchief, Consort.”

“We really need to find you a proper title,” Sylvanas deadpanned. She gestured for the guard to continue.

“The Alliance leadership has arrived.”

“Have them escorted here immediately,” Jaina said, glancing sidelong at Sylvanas. “And notify the Horde leadership of the same.”

The guard saluted, quickly turning and rushing away. Jaina leaned closer to Sylvanas, whispering. “Is it wrong that that gave me a bit of a thrill?”

“Perfectly normal,” Sylvanas replied, eyes sharpening to red points at the rumble in Jaina’s voice. “Don’t tell me you did not enjoy giving orders in your previous positions.”

“I’d forgotten.” Jaina smiled, placing her hand over Sylvanas’s for a fraction of a moment before leaning away.

Her timing proved to be impeccable, as the first of the leadership entered the hold. The First Arcanist and High Priestess moved almost in sync. Sylvanas noted the imperceptible shift in Tyrande’s expression as she registered the new thrones, and Jaina’s presence on one, before she moved to the right to stand in front of Jaina, slightly to the mage’s left.

Thalyssra nodded once at Tyrande before moving in the opposite direction. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes slightly, wondering if perhaps she’d allowed the two elves too long a leash, then flicked her gaze above and to the left to where Kalira waited. She was missing something, and she wanted her daughter to find out what it was, discreetly.

And what she was missing was Malfurion.

Kalira disappeared as the rest of the Horde leadership started to file in, interspersed with their alliance counter-parts. The Trade Princess gave Jaina a little wave as she took a position next to Lor'themar, shifting back and forth on her feet.

Jaina’s mother entered second to last and the expression on her face would bring fond memories to Sylvanas for years to come. In fact, not one person had missed the implications of Jaina seated next to her. The Horde would say nothing, at least not in public, no matter how uneasy some of them might appear to be. And Sylvanas would invite them to speak. In private, to herself and Jaina.

Some of the Alliance also looked distinctly uncomfortable. If Whisperwind was bothered, she did not show it, but Greymane looked more infuriated than was his usual. Prophet Velen was unreadable.

Only Moira really seemed unsurprised.

King Wrynn, as they’d agreed, was the last to arrive. This entire event had been carefully crafted; from forcing the timing of each arrival to match a cross-faction counterpart, to where they stood. Only the throne and Malfurion’s absence weren’t entirely planned for.

At least, Anduin Wrynn hadn’t been warned about the throne, just as Sylvanas suspected he’d already known about the Druid. Sylvanas was pleased by the split second of shock the King displayed before he caught himself. She stood as he approached. “Now that we are all here, I suggest we dispense with the formalities.”

Anduin nodded his head, turning to look at the other Alliance leaders. “Agreed. This isn’t the time for grand gestures and speeches.”

“There’ll be time for that later,” Sylvanas assured everyone, clasping her hands behind her back as she shared a look with her wife. “King Wrynn, shall I do the honors, or would you like to?”

“Gathering outside this Hold are heroes of the Alliance and the Horde,” Anduin said. To his credit, he didn’t hesitate in taking a position next to the Warchief, and if he noticed Greyman’s low growl he didn’t react.

Sylvanas could sense Jaina standing, but she looked at Anduin instead, smiling a predator’s smile as she made the announcement. “They shall be the vanguard of a strike into the heart of our shared enemy. Furthermore, King Wrynn and I have come to an agreement.” Her eyes flicked to Greymane and she held his gaze. “With the relative success of previous joint operations, the armies of the Horde and Alliance shall, temporarily, become one.”

Predictably, the entire Hold erupted into shouting. Greymane was by far the loudest, and Sylvanas watched as Lor'themar got into a heated argument with the old dog. The Council of Three Hammers were involved in a dwarf-only screaming match with each other.

“Silence!” Jaina’s magic-amplified voice boomed through the chamber, and the arguing came to an abrupt end. She walked down the steps to join everyone else, looking at everyone in turn. “Do you think the attack a year ago was the end of it? Do you think that Azshara has been waiting for us to recover and get our acts together?”

No one said anything, and Sylvanas felt as though all her senses were honed onto her wife. Jaina nodded at her, and Sylvanas turned to regard the First Arcanist. “My consort has suggested that Kaldorei and Shal’dorei forces be the first to be integrated. The vanguard behind our Champion Spear, if you will.”

“You both know Azshara better than any of us,” Jaina said. She focused on Tyrande.“And of everyone in this room you’ve the most vengeance owed.”

Tyrande stood still, expression as veiled as it had been since she’d walked in. “I will have General Feathermoon coordinate our armies with the First Arcanist. I believe I can convince the Wardens to assist as well.”

Sylvanas was paying attention, specifically to catch the look that Thalyssra and Tyrande shared. Calmly, as if she were inquiring about the weather, Sylvanas inquired. “What of Shando Stormrage?”

“Malfurion is otherwise occupied,” Tyrande said, too sharply. “There are too many wounds in the planet still left to heal and it takes all of his attention to assist Speaker Magni.”

Interesting. Kalira would confirm that for her. Sylvanas simply nodded. “Very well.”

“You can’t be serious.” The Lord Admiral stepped forward, gesturing with her hands. “Do you remember the last time we trusted the Horde in battle? Do you remember the Broken Shore?”

Anduin’s hands clenched and there was genuine anger in his voice. “I am very much aware of what happened at the Broken Shore, Lord Admiral.”

“We settled that a long time ago, mother,” Jaina said. Sylvanas could see the strain in her jaw, and hear the tightness in her voice. Even after all these years, it took considerable effort for her to speak like this. “And if you would recall, despite your not actually being there, Warchief Vol’jin was also killed during that battle and the Horde was forced to retreat. It was a lost cause before we ever landed.”

“We were fed false intel by a Dreadlord,” Baine pointed out.

Velen tapped his staff, and a wave of light rippled through the room. It made Sylvanas’s bones ache and burned like fire, and she shot him a glare as he said, “No dreadlords.”

“See? No one is a Dreadlord,” Jaina said, looking directly at her mother.

Katherine stood there for a heartbeat, eyes locked with her daughter’s, before taking a single step back and standing stiffly at attention.

“We’ve still much to discuss,” Anduin said, the tension still thick in the air.

“I’ve written all the proposals up, as well as recommendations for army integration and deployments, though much of that is up in the air until we know what we’re dealing with,” Jaina said.

“Give the champions their marching orders?”

Jaina smiled at Sylvanas, “Yes, dear.” She walked out of the Hold, though Sylvanas stared at Katherine instead.

Katherine did not rise to the bait.

******

Yukale looked around at the gathered Champions. There were several from the Nightsaber Vanguard present, which was a small relief; she worked well with them, even if she was still uncomfortable in a leadership position.

Her Aunt Eilirria was present, leaning against her Core Hound and chatting with her Ren’dorei mate, Kelanthris, and Yukale’s mate Unariel. Eilirria had fifteen years for every one that Yukale had lived, and yet she had turned to her instead when they’d reformed the Vanguard after Teldrassil burned.

It had been the two of them first, of course. Then their mates, and Yukale’s sister and her wife. Some other long time friends and comrades, such as Cenengel, who she was pleased to see was also present.

As she took in her fellow Champions, she wondered if there were a few too many of the sneaky sort. Besides herself and Una, she recognized the Worgen Talet and Korvand. They at least came with their respective Mages, and a tough looking Dwarf Paladin stood next to Talet, holding her scruff in a loose, comforting grip.

On the Horde side, she only really knew Galnir and Minuial. There was a lanky troll with a line of nervous looking mules who Yukale could only assume would constitute part of their supply line, the Sin’dorei warlocks she’d had that friendly rivalry with on the island, and another ten of varying talents and abilities, including at least three more rogues.

“Hey, Yukale!”

Yukale started, then looked over as Tyra approached her. “You coming on this little adventure with us?”

“Nah. Gotta keep an eye on my ladies.” Tyra scratched at her chin, stopping in front of Yukale and staring up at her.

“I’m pretty sure they can handle themselves.”

“Sure,” Tyra said. “Until they can’t. Yeh know how easy it is ta get complacent an’ caught off guard. Better for me to take an arrow or somethin’.”

Yukale felt an old ache in her chest. “Anyone tries, you’ll kick their ass.”

Tyra grinned, then reached up and fingers the lock of Kiska’s hair braided into Yukale’s. “Can I … can I ask yeh somethin’, Yuka?”

“Anything.” She took Tyra’s hand and squeezed it.

“It’s okay ta move on, ain’t it?”

“...that ranger?” Yukale guessed, thinking of the one that was almost always around Jaina.

“Aye.”

“I’m not surprised. And it’s okay to move on, Tyra.” Yukale leaned down and hugged her.

“Thanks.” Tyra stepped back, giving Yukale a knowing smile. “I’ll leave yeh to yeh commandin’ then.”

Yukale scratched her head as she watched Tyra return to the Hold, then shrugged. They were running out of time, so she supposed the warrior had a point. Yukale approached her… well her sister-in-law she supposed, waving to catch the dark-skinned human paladin’s attention. “Aveline, have a moment?”

“Of course.”

“We don’t know what we’re going to find, but I’m going to need you to coordinate our heavies with the Horde heavies. And to keep an eye on my sister while you’re at it.” Yukale felt Unariel silently appear at her left.

Aveline smiled at her, reaching up and squeezing her arm. “Always, sister. I swore my shield to her a long time ago and as long as I draw breath I will shield her, and all of us.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting.”

Yukale turned at the sound of Jaina’s voice, Aveline stiffening to attention next to her. Unariel remained unperturbed and Yukale kept a relaxed air as she smiled at Jaina. “What can we help you with?”

Jaina smiled at her, some kind of mischievous glint in her eyes that made Yukale immediately nervous. “By orders of Warchief Sylvanas and High King Wrynn, you, Yukale Ravenwing, champion of Azeroth, have been placed in command of this spearhead operation.“

“Wait, what?” Yukale blinked once at Jaina, then looked helplessly at Aveline, then past Aveline to where Galnir was giving her a sympathetic look.

“Congratulations.” Jaina turned and walked towards the supply Troll, leaving Yukale standing there in a daze as the weight of the world literally slammed down onto her shoulders.

Again.

Unariel stood on her toes and kissed Yukale on the cheek. “So what are your orders, babe?”

“Get me a--” Yukale took the flask Unariel whipped out and swigged from it before handing it back.

“Perfect, thanks. Aveline, your orders still stand, but I’ll need you to get a list of the Horde champions from Galnir so I can figure out a chain of command that doesn’t favor either faction too heavily. Una, gather up all our rogues, I have an idea…”
***
Jaina rested her hand on Millet’s neck, watching Ihz make her preparations. The noise and crowding had the more nervous of her beasts nearing open rebellion, and their handler had her work cut out for her.“If you need anything to help keep them calm, let me know.”

A cheerful blue head popped up over Millet’s back at the sound of her voice. Dog had apparently not earned the same level of trust that allowed Ihz’s shepherd to sit balancing herself on Thorn’s back, safely out of harm’s way. His long tail poked out one end of a leather saddlebag, counterbalanced on Millet’s other side with what Jaina suspected were rocks. His head stuck out the front from under the leather flap firmly laced closed over him, tongue lolling as he observed the world.

Ihz waved her hand, more irritable than usual somehow as she coaxed a dark, long-limbed gelding from the rear of the train to put him on a pony lead at Barley’s side. “Between Horde an’ Alliance we should get a stable portal soon enough, even Buckwheat here’s well used to those. Ships will be three weeks of hell till then, zeppelins no better, but if we be needed, fine. We’ll be second wave, once there’s a base camp t’get supplies to.”

“Yes, of course.”

If anything the Troll’s movements were gentler and more careful than normal, but even Millet seemed to pick up on the snap in her mistress’ voice. Before Jaina could ask about her mood, Ihz glared at her. “Dis better not be Windrunner’s idea of a joke. I know the job, Lady, I never complain and--not a damn word,” she warned, and Jaina quickly schooled her expression. “My team’s steady an’ dependable an’ quiet but we’re overland necessities, you don’t get fast or exotic, an’ I don’t need to be taught humility over any of it. Sure as hell can’t breathe underwater an’ mules are cautious, Proudmoore. They don’t take to strange magic well. Damn blue dragon of yours once tried to ‘help’ us move faster and--never mind. My train’s wrong for the job, an ocean campaign. Do more good anywhere else.”

Jaina looked around, then leaned in and spoke softly. “This is going to be common knowledge soon enough, but two days ago, a druid who’d been posted to a watchpost flew in, half dead. He said Nazjatar has risen. We’ve got scouts on the way, but this mission is as much about gathering intel as it is establishing a beachhead.”

Ihz took a deep breath, swore, and leaned back against Thorn, lifting her hand to run her fingers through the thick, comforting fur. “Could’ve retired, Nettle. Had a nice soft mail run to Stromgarde lined up a week ago, but no, Warchief sends for us personally...”

“You could have refused.”

“Don’t insult me,” she said mildly. She regarded Jaina for a moment, before saying, “Heard you remodeled.”

“What do you think?” Jaina still didn’t know what she thought. Just thinking about it made her stomach do flips.

Ihz gripped Thorn’s mane, thinking. “No use for thrones, Lady. An’ Warchiefs don’t share power easy, even good ones. But you earned it.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s a compliment,” Jaina said, tilting her head as Ihz grinned at her. “But I’ll take it as one.”

Ihz nodded to the action behind Jaina. “Ravenwing. She’s really in charge?”

“Yes.”

“Same rogue prancin’ around with straws in her nose last night?”

“I’m sure she had a good reason.”

“Sure did,” Ihz said. “Was makin’ all da kids laugh.”

Jaina’s expression softened. “A very important skill.”

With how serious the world could be, and how serious it was going to get, laughter might become something of a premium.

Notes:

"See? No one is a Dreadlord," Jaina said, looking directly into the camera.

End Year Four

Chapter 40: Year 5 - Preparations

Notes:

Warnings for a hospital-like setting and mentions of terminal illness in this chapter

Sylvanas watched from the docks as ships were loaded, a familiar train of mules moving gear and supplies from the staging area. She made sure to make frequent eye contact with Ihz, purely to put her on edge. A little revenge for how many times that particular champion had pushed the limits on the spirit of her orders.

Curiously, a gaggle of Goblins were running around, speaking with Champions and soldiers both, and handing out some kind of item. She narrowed her eyes and was about to go investigate when Jaina teleported in next to her. Her wife held up her hands. “Before you go and get angry, I did something and I hope you’ll approve. I’ve been thinking about this ever since our talk.”

“This ought to be good,” Sylvanas drawled, trying to deduce which talk Jaina was speaking of. She cocked her hip and waved her right hand. “Out with it.”

Instead of saying anything, Jaina simply held out a round, flat stone. It was made from a kind of obsidian and covered in faintly glowing red runes. They pulsed the closer Sylvanas got to it.

Sylvanas took it and held it up to inspect it. There was some kind of energy buzzing through it that made her distinctly uncomfortable. It felt wrong, somehow, almost as though it was anathema to her existence. Her eyes darted to her wife, alarmed. “What is it and why are you handing them out to the expeditionary force?”

And what was wrong with it?

“I thought it might be prudent to… start putting into place rules about certain kinds of resurrection,” Jaina explained, calmly holding Sylvanas’s gaze even as anger, white and hot, flashed through her.

“Did you.”

“Yes.” Jaina plucked the stone from Sylvanas’s hand. “This is only the first real iteration, but it’s basically a DNR Stone.”

A sense of relief washed over her the moment Jaina took the stone from her, but Sylvanas simply raised her eyebrow and waited.

“Do Not Raise,” Jaina explained. “Any carrying it will not have their bodies raised against their will. It’s enchanted so they don’t accidentally get raised in mass combat, where there’s no time to really pick and choose volunteers.”

There were spells to bring someone back from the very brink of death. Priests and Druids and others utilized them to great effect.

But at a certain point, the person was too far gone and the only way to bring them back was as the mindless dead; or a Forsaken. That anger still burned through her, but it was cold now. Sylvanas’s voice was eerily calm. “And if one does not carry this stone?”

“Then they accept the possibility of their bodies being used to continue the fight.”

“And if they lose the stone? Or would prefer to be Forsaken?” Important questions, and Sylvanas’s eyes locked onto the stone in Jaina’s hand.

“As I said, first iteration. But I thought of the latter. There are two variations.” Jaina waved the one she was holding. “This one means no raising. Ever. The one with blue runes allows for raising only as one of the Forsaken.”

Sylvanas’s eyes slid from Jaina to the docks. She recognized that cold feeling now. It was almost like fear. “They are on a time table. You thought that there was no time to ask.”

“I’m sorry.” And Jaina genuinely looked sorry. She put her hand on Sylvana’s arm.

Feeling her anger dissipate, Sylvanas waved her hand. “It was… the right call. Many in the Horde would not choose this, just as most in the Alliance would not. The other leaders remain unconvinced as to the necessity of my people continuing to exist. I had not wished prejudice to doom my species; yet I am not delusional enough to deny that reactionary fear has only ever made things worse.”

“And yet some will choose. And have,” Jaina pointed out. “You've always feared the dwindling of your people. There is now an avenue for one to… volunteer before they die. The Forsaken can live on. So to speak.”

The stone disappeared into one of Jaina’s pouches, and Sylvanas felt something akin to a punch in the chest. That Jaina would carry such a stone was unsurprising. That it was a red-runed stone?

That cold was replaced by a lonely ache. But she said nothing of it. “Continue to iterate on the idea, but for now it is a … good measure. Next time you’ve an idea of this magnitude, talk to me first.”

Jaina’s shoulders were tight, and she was avoiding eye contact. “It still operates on...an honor system. Of sorts. The enchantment should be powerful enough to avoid their being raised by accident, but they’re only runestones. They can be brute-forced. Anyone carrying them has to trust that their decision will be respected.”

Sylvanas had assumed this would come up again. She hadn’t anticipated the setting being quite this public, and took several long moments to ensure her voice would be as calm as it ever was.

“I had intended,” she said carefully, “to make an offer. Not a threat.”

Jaina took Sylvanas’s hand, squeezing it. “Will you stay here until they have left?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll stay here with you.”

Sylvanas nodded. She did not let go of Jaina’s hand.

******

Jaina shifted around in her throne, not used to it but grateful the back was lower than the Warchief’s seat; she wasn’t a fan of the whole towering back thing, though she was jealous of some of the patterns unique to Sylvanas’s throne. She shifted again, leaning to the side and hanging a leg over the opposite armrest, subconsciously mimicking Sylvanas.

She wasn’t sure why she’d even come into the hold. The expedition had left hours ago and the Hold was empty except for herself; and the statuesque, leggy blood elf that dropped down from the rafters. Jaina raised her eyebrow at Valeera. “There’s a door, you know.”

“I get that a lot.” Valeera replied, giving Jaina a half-smile. “But I didn’t want to be noticed. You can … not hit me with that spell. That would be nice.”

Jaina let the magic around her hands dissipate with a wave of her hand. “Some people want me dead.”

“Besides Blightcaller?”

“Probably.” Jaina swung her leg off of the armrest and got to her feet. ”What brings you out of the shadows, Valeera?”

“Questions,” Valeera said, clasping her hands behind her back. She seemed to study Jaina. The way she moved, the way she stood. “To set my mind at ease.”

“And Anduin’s mind, too, I imagine?” Jaina wondered if she was passing muster and what seemed to be of so much interest. She studied Valeera in turn, wishing Anduin had sent Vereesa. She’d be more comfortable talking to Vereesa. “I hope you know I’ve got no intention of spilling any details, sordid or otherwise.”

Valeera stopped, close enough to Jaina that Jaina felt her hackles rise. But she didn’t back down, lifting her head to look up at her. “Well?”

To her credit, Valeera was blunt and to the point. “Are you being coerced? Is this--” She gestured at the thrones, and then at Jaina. “Genuine? Do you feel--”

Jaina held up her hand. “That’s enough.”

She knew Anduin, and knew he’d be uncomfortable with these questions. But he’d still be concerned, still seek ways to protect her and help her if she needed it. Still; the fact that it came from a place of caring didn’t make Jaina any less angry. And a little hurt that he hadn’t sought her out himself. Curtly and with a little fire in her eye, she snapped. “Have the last seventeen times I’ve answered that question not been enough? Would you like me to submit it in writing? I could get it notarized. Perhaps in triplicate.”

The anger crested, and Jaina added, “And if he sends you to Orgrimmar in secret again I won’t be able to guarantee your safety. But I’m going to guess this isn’t your first trip.”

Valeera didn’t confirm that, but nor did she deny it. She simply nodded her head, and said. “So you really are in love with her.”

“Get out.” Jaina didn’t start breathing again until Valeera was gone. Then she closed her eyes and counted backwards from ten.

“Very well done, Lady. You almost managed to keep from staring at her legs.”

Jaina’s eyes snapped open, and she turned to where Nathanos’s voice had come from. “Enjoy the show?”

“Immensely.” He walked up to one of the steps, now standing above Jaina. “Interesting, how easily she was able to sneak through our wards.”

“Valeera is torn between two worlds, just like I am,” Jaina said, flexing her fingers as she imagined setting Nathanos on fire. “But are you implying that I somehow knew of the presence of the best spy in the Alliance, let alone assisted her?”

“Of course not.” He smiled, the expression unnerving her, though she refused to show it.

“Aside from the eavesdropping, did you want something?” Jaina ran her fingers through her hair.

Nathanos stepped down, moving until he was deep within Jaina’s personal space. As with Valeera, she didn’t lean away.

“Yeh might wanna rethink yeh proximity t’my Lady.” Tyra leaned on her sword, well within striking distance of Nathanos. When had she even arrived and how had she moved so quietly?

Jaina didn’t like her odds against him, but appreciated the effort regardless. “I’m fine, Tyra.”

“I merely wished to offer my congratulations on your new program, with those lovely little stones.” Nathanos took a step back. “And there is someone I want you to meet.”

He turned and started walking out of the Hold. Jaina glanced at Tyra and gestured. “Come on, I’ll feel better if you have my back.”

“Always got yeh back, Lady.” Tyra fell into step to Jaina’s right and slightly behind her.

“You can call me Jaina, you know. It’s been years.”

“Sure thing, Lady.”

Jaina could just hear the grin in Tyra’s voice.

Nathanos was waiting for them, the red glow of his eyes casting his face into shadow. It was eerie, and made it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Not that it was possible at any other time.

He led them around the west side of the Hold and down towards the Cleft of Shadow, then past it for a few minutes until they’d reached a set of newer buildings.

Jaina probed it with her magic. “What’s this?”

“Against my advice, the Warchief has once again allowed some of the living to seek audience with their Forsaken kin. Only in much more controlled circumstances.” His eyes fell on Tyra. “Go in, Miss Cole. But remember that some things are only pleasant on the surface.”

Almost as if in a daze, Tyra pushed the door open, and stepped inside. Jaina shot Nathanos a look, then followed her in. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust, and when they did, she gasped.

The interior was arranged like a barracks, with a dozen bunk beds along each wall. A number of humans lingered about and the place smelled like medicine and death.

Jaina lifted her hand to her chest, grasping her necklace. “They’re all dying, aren’t they.”

“Most are, yes.”

There was a bucket filled with DNR stones, one for red and one blue. Many of the sick held red runed stones.

“They came to visit their loved ones at the end,” Nathanos said. Bitterness edged his voice. “Before they were forever parted. And yet, given the chance to live on and be with them, most have chosen death.”

“Not all,” Jaina pointed out, staring at a young woman who was rubbing her fingers over one of the blue-runed stones. A red-rune stone was in her lap.

She was in her mid-twenties, blonde and heavily tanned from a life outdoors. But her illness had sapped away some of her definition. She lifted her eyes at the newcomers, and when they met Tyra’s they lit up with renewed energy. “Tyra!”

Tyra just stood there, mouth hanging open, staring at the woman like she was some kind of ghost. Jaina nudged her, and she said in a small, nervous voice. “S’my sister.”

Jaina looked between them again, at the obvious effort the woman took to move, then the DNR stone, before she pushed Tyra forward. “Go talk to her, then.”

Lurching forward, Tyra caught herself on a table. The woman reached forward and took her hand between her own.

“Cassandra Cole,” Nathanos said. “Some kind of wasting disease. Alliance healers can only stall it. Horde healers haven’t been able to do much better.”

“How long does she have?”

“Six months to a year, I suppose. Champion Minuial came through here a few days ago, but even she cannot fight the inevitability of death.”

Jaina turned away from the sisters, staring at Nathanos. There had to be an angle here, some part of a plan to… what? “Sylvanas never told me of this. Why?”

“You’ll have to ask her yourself.” Nathanos nodded his head towards Cassandra. “But she has now been given a choice, thanks to you. Will she choose death, or reject her people and take the chance to be with her sister again?”

******

Paladins, apparently, made for good emergency flotation devices. At least that was what A’sooka had told Belariss repeatedly over the past few days.

Bela was less convinced, but such talk kept the Draenei from thinking of their circumstances and the inevitable death from dehydration. She wasn’t a mage to conjure water, and her magic reserves were mostly depleted from keeping them shielded during the initial upheaval and the days after.

Slip into our embrace.

She lay on a piece of wreckage, sprawled on her back as the sun beat down on them. A’sooka was next to her, her presence a strange kind of comfort. It was nice, not dying alone.

It was selfish, but she hoped she went first, rather than losing A’sooka and being left alone.

“Think anyone made it to shore? To warn people?”

A’sooka’s voice was like a dry lake bed, and Bela doubted hers was much better. “Odds are likely.”

“Think someone will find us? Not the Naga, I mean.”

Bela moved her hand until it rested on top of A’sooka’s. “No, the odds are very low that someone will find us.”

Hopeless, it’s hopeless. Take my hand.

Turning her hand around, A’sooka threaded her fingers with Bela. Again, Bela was grateful she wasn’t alone.

“Think...someone will.”

“At least one of us is an optimist,” Bela responded, closing her eyes.

“I’ll make you a bet.” A’sooka rolled her head towards Bela. “Someone finds us, you owe me a kiss.”

Bela shrugged tiredly. “Fine. It’s a bet.”

“Great. I can’t wait to collect.” A’sooka laughed, then coughed and groaned.

Too tired to say anything, Bela let herself start to drift off to the sound of the water lapping against debris. But there was something else. Another sound underneath it all and distant.

False hope.

Creaking wood, flapping canvas, voices calling out. It got louder, and closer, but the last thing Bela heard before she drifted off was A’sooka whispering, “Told you.”

***A YEAR AGO***

Nathanos did not like the way that Sylvanas looked at Proudmoore. Though he was absolutely certain she did not realize it and would never admit to it, there was more than lust in her eyes.

Proudmoore had her nails in Sylvanas and was completely unaware as to the full extent of the control she had. Even as Sylvanas lured Proudmoore into her lap, Proudmoore was the one in control.

It was as though his Lady was intoxicated, and Nathanos pinched the bridge of his nose when she tore off Jaina’s corset. He cared little for propriety or privacy but he could not in good conscience watch this. Silently, he slipped through the shadows in the cracks and into Orgrimmar proper.

“Lord.”

“Bass.” Nathanos walked with his hands behind his back as his chief spy kept to the shadows. “Speak quickly.”

“Raze continues to remain out of contact. I believe he’s gone rogue.”

“I shall bring this to the Warchief,” Nathanos replied. “For the time being have our people maintain a distance and monitor his actions and location.”

“I also have the Three Sisters report ready for you, my lord.”

At that, Nathanos came to a stand still. He held out his hand. “The network is in place then?”

Bass placed a file into Nathanos’s hand, inclining his head to him. “Everything is ready, as the Warchief ordered. Victory for Sylvanas.”

“Victory for Sylvanas,” Nathanos replied. “Just remember. Patience. Discipline. Our time will come.”

“Dark Lady watch over us both.” Bass’s voice faded as he melded back into the shadows.

Nathanos flipped through the file and smiled. “Indeed, she shall.”

Chapter 41: War Council

Notes:

Bonus update because it's my birthday and I do what I want!

Nazjatar. Sylvanas studied the map. She’d had some of her best crafters build a scale map from the initial scouting reports and aerial photographs from druids and gyrocopters. They had, as best they could make, a somewhat accurate depiction of the island and city.

Little figures represented the beachhead and initial strikeforce. Others were Azshara’s army of naga. Soldiers and spellweavers, giants and hydras and things from nightmare.

She lifted her eyes to Tyrande, present at Wrynn’s behest, who was leaning on the War Table with both hands. Thalyssra stood next to her, left hand on her right shoulder as they studied the map together. Sylvanas studied them for a long moment, hands clasped behind her back. She felt something rub against her leg and nudged at Varian with her foot.

Tyrande shook her head. “No matter how we arrange our forces, the casualties will be great and the war will extend well into the next year. They’ve been fighting since before Hallow’s Eve and have barely held on.”

“Winter’s Veil shall be grim this year,” Sylvanas replied, eyes darting across the table again. She could not place what, but it felt like they were missing something.

“The last report from Galnir described heavy resistance from the Naga.” Baine moved some of the enemy units. “And that they were congregating here. That foothold on the beach is tenuous at best.”

“Maybe it’s a trap?” Harleen pulled herself up onto the corner of the table and peered at it. “Like she’s gonna lure us all in an’ then close the noose.”

“It’s very likely.” Thalyssra moved a few more units. “It’s inevitable our Champions will hold the beach. But once they advance, the jaws snap shut, and by the time the rest of our armies arrive it will be too late.”

Jaina tapped her lip with her thumb. “A fast ship with some reinforcements will arrive with the dawn. That will buy them some time.”

“The rest of the transports are still two days away,” Lor’themar pointed out. “And are being harried by the Naga. We will lose some before they even get to the battle.”

“Once we have the beach, what then?” Sylvanas asked. She added additional units to the map,arraying them as they’d discussed with the joint forces. Varian rubbed against her again and she gently pushed him away. “They will be sitting ducks for Naga mages and archers.”

Tyrande shook her head. “Unless Ravenwing’s plan works.”

Seemingly fed up with the lack of attention, Varian hopped up onto the War Table, scattering units everywhere. He bounced across the hills, over the main part of the city itself, took a detour through the harbor to gleefully bat half the Zandalari navy across the map, and then sat down at the seat of Azhara’s throne, looking pleased with himself.

“So good of you to join us,” Sylvanas remarked dryly. “Your majesty.”

“I’m so sorry,” a mortified Jaina announced to the War Council, sidling around the table to pick him up. Varian, pleased with the new game, leapt out of reach and sent several infantry legions flying before pouncing on a Forsaken cavalry unit and attempting to eat it. “We--I try to keep him out of here but with so many people coming and going--”

“Not like it was doin’ us much good anyway,” Harleen pointed out, cracking her back. “I think we’ve redeployed seventeen different ways in the past hour and they all stink like Old God chunks left in the sun. So glad we know that from experience now.”

“Sometimes there are no good deployments,” Thalyssra said quietly. Jaina, who had finally ushered the menace she called a familiar onto an empty section of table, murmured in agreement. The First Arcanist moved to start gathering unit markers up. “We will have to do the best we can. Perhaps if--Warchief?”

Sylvanas, eyes locked on the aftermath of the cat’s passage, had snapped up her hand before anyone could touch the map. After a moment, Thalyssra’s eyes widened in understanding.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Baine leaned in, staring at the new troop distributions, and then at Varian, who’d begun to clean himself. “Warchief, are we absolutely sure that, somehow, this is not actually Varian Wrynn?”

Jaina barked out a laugh, but Sylvanas turned her attention towards Tyrande. “It could work.”

“Yes, it could…” Tyrande glanced at Thalyssra, then at Sylvanas. “I shall bring this up with King Wrynn. It’s … enlightening.”

Baine, meanwhile, leaned in towards the cat and whispered, “Varian, if that is you, give me a sign.”

Varian reached up and batted at one of the feathers dangling from Baine’s horn.

******

The Naga weren’t going to let them win this war easily, Anduin knew. It wasn’t just the Naga they faced either. Faceless Ones and other abominations joined the battle as frequently as not, and Yukale’s reports were grim. They’d advanced little in recent weeks, even with the wave one reinforcements.

The plans and positioning as shared with him by Tyrande were brilliant, but not all the pieces were available to place just yet. Many of those had just set sail with the second wave, though Anduin felt guilty for sending them so close to Winter’s Veil.

It couldn’t be helped. Rubbing his forehead, he set the report aside, feeling hopelessly alone. Tyrande had left Stormwind to coordinate her forces coming in from Kaldrassil, and Genn was en route to Nazjatar with wave two.

“Your majesty.”

He looked up as an aide peered in apologetically. “Yes?”

“A package for you, from Lady Proudmoore.”

Interesting. Perhaps an early gift; and Anduin desperately needed a distraction right now. He nodded at the young man. “Bring it in.”

The man darted his eyes, then made a motion. Another aide brought in a box. And then a second box. And finally a third. Anduin furrowed his brow, getting up and walking to the table they’d been placed on. He opened the first one, which was filled with stacks of paper. On top was a note.

To prevent further inquiries, Jaina

He set the note aside and picked up the first page, reading the title out loud, "Consent Form For Sexual Relations With The Warchief Of The Horde."

There were thirty pages, all notarized, and judging by the number of boxes Jaina had filled them all out at least ten times.

Anduin knew he’d deserved this. It was so absurd, and yet so Jaina that he started to laugh. It was a laugh he hadn’t known he’d needed until just then. In the face of war and death and the blood that was spilling even now, Anduin had needed this.

And because he’d deserved it, he sat down and read the entire consent form. It turned out to be a delight, because Jaina had filled it with a number of inside jokes and stories for him, along with a heartfelt letter on page six.

He decided he really needed to get one of these Typographers. Genn was right; they’d lost a strategic advantage in paperwork through Jaina’s efficiency.

Several hours later, he’d constructed a proper response to Jaina’s opening salvo in the hopes it would buoy her mood too. Leaving his chambers, he walked through the lonely keep, feeling like there was something wrong with it.

It was too new. He’d grown up in these halls, beneath these stone walls, but they weren’t the same. They were new stone, new construction, and even many of the rooms and halls had been redesigned. The place he’d known was as dead and buried as the person he’d been before the last war with the Horde.

Anduin wondered who he’d become after this war.

Coming to a stop in the new gardens, Anduin leaned against a tree and looked out over the city. It looked peaceful with Winter Veil lights flickering. Still licking its wounds from the attack, a tense energy laying over the city like a fog, but it was healing. Anduin would give his life to ensure Stormwind and all the peoples of the Alliance would have that peace. And even, he had to admit, the Horde.

The sound of bells drew his attention towards the harbor. The docks were brand new, a dozen ships docked or at anchor. Wave three would include that fleet and six others sailing from every corner of the Horde and Alliance. A dangerous gambit, bringing all that to Ashara’s doorstep.

He looked to the city again, calculating the garrisons that would remain to defend it, or Orgrimmar or Kaldrassil. Enough, he hoped, with Azshara focused on the main assault.

The sun would rise soon, bringing with it the holiday. Anduin decided two things just then. First, that he would not actually spend the holiday alone; he would spend it in the city, with his people and those who still waited the order to go to war.

And secondly, Anduin Wrynn would sail to war with the third wave.

******

There was little reason for festive cheer this year. Though some did make valiant attempt to proceed as normal, there were fewer stalls. No rationing had been introduced yet; supply routes, especially overland, remained strong. But the populace remembered the last war, and while food cooked it was a cautious feast, the frugal celebration of a city unwilling to waste food that might soon be scarce. Even the music seemed subdued, as if the musicians felt that playing too loud was inappropriate at best or would invite disaster at worse.

But Sylvanas had not allowed for the celebrations to be entirely canceled. To do so would drastically impact the morale of an already depressed citizenry.

She leaned against a wall, inspecting some kind of candied apple in her hand. Of much more interest, her wife was near the tree in front of Grommash Hold, dressed in one of the festive outfits that were sometimes passed out. Her long legs were exposed up to her thighs, above which she wore red shorts with white fur trim. Her top was about as revealing, with the same color and trim.

If Jaina was cold, she didn’t let on, merely peering back at Sylvanas occasionally and giving her an extremely distracting smile. With a war just beginning, Sylvanas reasoned, they could stand for a little bit of distraction, and she took the opportunity to openly admire Jaina, not caring if anyone saw.

“Mother.”

Sylvanas tore her eyes from Jaina. “Have you discovered anything of interest, Kalira?”

“I believe so.”

The distraction cost her, as a snowball impacted the side of Sylvanas’s head. Whirling, she stared open-mouthed as Jaina grinned at her, and threw an entire volley.

Six snowballs hit Sylvanas, though not hard enough to make her move. The square was suddenly very still and very quiet, a citizenry which had previously been milling about and watching the festival suddenly intensely focused on whatever stand, menu, or other distraction was immediately in front of them and did not require them to breathe too loudly.

After a long moment, Sylvanas heaved a sigh. “And here I had such high hopes for peace. Alas, I am forever dogged by treachery.” She brushed snow from her face and chest, gave Jaina a polite smile and then turned towards a group of children who were staring at her with a mixture of excitement and fear. “Well? Get her.”

At the Warchief’s order, the children sprang into action. There were representatives from nearly every faction of the Horde, and a few Alliance members as well. To Sylvanas’s ever conflicted emotions, they worked together as a unit, engaging Jaina from multiple fronts.

A few snowballs hit Jaina before she brought up a low powered barrier. It wouldn’t last long against the onslaught and Jaina had clearly made it so the children could break through without it being too hard or too easy.

She ran to the eastern side of the Valley, her eyes glowing blue as she pulled together a spell.

Ice and snow built around where she stood, forming walls and towers and a gate as a fortress rose beneath her. It was small by Horde standards, but just large enough to present a challenging and fun objective for the growing raid of children making plans outside the gate.

Sylvanas felt something freeze her limbs. If she could breathe, she’d be hyperventilating. Those glowing blue eyes, a fortress of ice, it was too much like--

Kalira touched her arm and she snapped back to the present. “What?”

“Are you all right?”

“I am fine.” Sylvanas folded her arms across her chest, eyes focused on the red-clad mage atop the tallest tower. “Do me a favor, daughter.”

“What do you need?”

Sylvanas’s eyes flashed with thinly disguised amusement. Jaina had struck first, and Sylvanas was never one to play fair. “Supply the children with Goblin Snow-blowers.”

Kalira reflected the amusement. “This might force her to escalate, Warchief. She’s already deploying water elementals at key points.”

“That is exactly what I am counting on.” Sylvanas clasped her hands behind her back, watching the snow-war as it raged. It was a good lesson, she decided, for the children to begin to learn the basics of warfare. She had a few other ideas, perhaps for the next year.

Something to look forward to once Azshara’s head was hanging from the Gates of Orgrimmar.

It took approximately three hours before the attackers managed to breach Jaina’s last defenses. She went down under a hail of snowballs, dying in the most dramatic fashion she could manage.

It almost made Sylvanas laugh.

“Warchief!” An orc girl ran up, saluting. Sylvanas recognized her as one of Galnir’s brood, and she nodded at her to continue. “Jaina Proudmoore has been defeated! She requests your presence to discuss terms of her surrender.”

“Does she? Very well, lead me to your prisoner.” She followed the girl through the now-destroyed snow fortress. In the last tiny courtyard nearly thirty children formed a line on either side for Sylvanas to pass through.

She actually felt something close to delight at the display, but kept that feeling hidden so that no one, least of all Jaina, might pick up on it.

Jaina was sitting on an ice chair, green ribbons ‘binding’ her to it. She looked up at Sylvanas with faux defiance. “So the Warchief shows her face at last.”

“Here I have you at my feet,” Sylvanas replied, placing enough emphasis on the last few words that Jaina’s face colored. “And you have the gall to try to set terms?”

“I’ll surrender my fortress to your army,” Jaina declared.

“And you’ll surrender yourself to me,” Sylvanas said, eyes like pinpoints. She reached down, picking Jaina up and throwing her over her shoulder. Turning around, she called out. “Victory for the Horde! I shall take my prisoner to discuss further terms. The fortress is ours!”

She barely noticed Jaina using her magic to repair the fort as she carried her out of the Valley of Strength and straight to the residency.

“You can put me down at any time,” Jaina said, smacking her hand on Sylvanas’s butt.

“Mm. No.” Sylvanas patted Jaina’s in kind as she ascended the stairs. Jaina shook with barely contained laughter as Sylvanas casually maneuvered her inside.

She didn’t set her down until she’d dumped her onto the bed. Sylvanas regarded Jaina for a moment, before speaking. “Tomorrow we sail on The Banshee’s Wail and the Tempest. Today was the last chance for some time for us to enjoy ourselves.”

“I was going to suggest that myself. It’s past time we joined the battle proper.” Jaina shifted to her knees in front of Sylvanas, slowly undoing the buttons of her shirt and seemingly intent on extracting whatever else she could from this night. “So you admit you enjoyed yourself.”

“That should never be public knowledge.” There was a single large button keeping Jaina from falling out of her top and Sylvanas removed that with a quick, dexterous move. Her eyes drank in her wife’s exposed breasts.

“Naturally, the Warchief isn’t allowed to have fun,” Jaina said. She moved unexpectedly quickly, pulling Sylvanas down into the bed as she pulled herself to her feet.

Sylvanas looked up at her, inexplicably excited and so surprised that she didn’t hide either from her. “That is ... new.”

Leaving the top on but unbuttoned, Jaina slid the shorts off her legs, then knelt on the bed as she hooked her fingers into Sylvanas’s waistband and pulled her trousers off. She peered at Sylvanas through a curtain of hair. “As part of the terms of my surrender, I’m going to take care of you. And then...”

Her voice lowered. “You’re going to take care of me.”

Sylvanas tried to sit up, only for Jaina to shove her back down. Since this role-reversal was entertaining, Sylvanas allowed it. Jaina’s lips trailed from her ankle, past her knee, her tongue darting along the inside of her thigh.

And then Jaina did something else unexpected. She shook her hair out and slowly traced it across Sylvanas’s skin. The hair was soft, each brush making Sylvanas’s senses focus entirely on that spot. She stroked her palm across the back of Jaina’s head.

Smiling, Jaina moved her head so her hair brushed over Sylvanas’s breasts and her dark nipples. The faint touch trailed over her chest, and face, and then she took a lock between her fingers and traced Sylvanas’s ear with it.

Groaning, Sylvanas dug her nails into Jaina’s scalp, turning her head to expose more of her ear to Jaina’s teasing.

“Tomorrow,” Jaina whispered, lowering her head to kiss Sylvanas’s earlobe. “Tomorrow the war begins in earnest. But tonight…” She licked along the shell, then sucked on the tip.

It was like electricity and fire and Sylvanas rasped soundlessly as Jaina continued to lick and suck at her ear. She flicked her tongue inside, her hand moving across a breast and rubbing over the nipple there.

Jaina gave mercy to Sylvanas’s ear, moving her mouth to her jaw, her cheek, her eyelids and finally her lips.

Sylvanas loathed the feeling in her chest, this sucking chest-wound that grew and grew with every touch and kiss from Jaina.

Fingers moved between her legs, touching, stroking in circles. Sylvanas knew without asking that Jaina always savored making her wet. She gasped again, and Jaina murmured something against her throat.

“Does it bother you?” Sylvanas said, eyes closed and voice light. “That I am not loud?”

“No.” Jaina lifted her head, staring down at Sylvanas, moving her fingers faster, hooking one inside her, and then another.

Sylvanas rolled her hips, squirming, mouth open in wordless pleasure, the only sound a low, quiet groan deep in the back of her throat.

“You don’t need to be loud to show me you’re enjoying yourself,” Jaina said. Her eyes twinkled as she leaned in and brushed her lips against Sylvanas’s. “And I make enough noise for the both of us.”

Saying nothing, Sylvanas pressed her mouth against Jaina’s as a long, slow orgasm was drawn out of her. She settled back into the pillow, opening her eyes as Jaina’s face took up her whole vision.

“I love you.” Jaina brushed back some of Sylvanas’s hair, and that tightness returned to her chest.

She slid her hands up Jaina’s hips and waist, and then pulled her up until her thighs were on either side of her face. Sylvanas licked her lips, eyes flaring. “I know.”

Chapter 42: When a Plan Comes Together

***THIRTEEN YEARS AGO****

It hadn’t been until the very end that Jaina had given up on Arthas. Only then had she accepted that her friend and lover was gone -- had been gone for a long time. But it wasn’t until now that it really sank in. Now that it was all over, and at such a cost, she had no choice but to face the truth.

The Lich King was dead, and Arthas had died long before that. She was glad she hadn’t been there, at the end.

The frigid wind howled, blasting at her, whipping her cloak and her hair around her as if trying to deter her from what she’d come to do. But the cold never bothered her and she ignored it as she came to a stop.

Arthas’s body still lay where he’d fallen, his armor in ruins around him. The shell of the man she’d loved, pale as ice, eyes lifeless. Everything that he’d been before Stratholme was utterly destroyed now. Tarnished and forgotten in the wake of his crimes. She wondered, not for the first time and probably not for the last, if it was possible for a person to come back from that. Not Arthas, no. Not now.

But what about someone like Sylvanas? Someone corrupted by the Legion or Old Gods? Even herself, gods forbid, in an unimaginable timeline.

She stepped past him, walking up to the throne, to where Bolvar Fordragon sat. A good man, like Arthas had been, cursed to keep the Scourge in line. She rested her hand on the ice encasing him, feeling a little tug.

Jaina wondered how Anduin must feel, knowing the fate of his old mentor. And she searched Bolvar’s eyes, for a flicker of recognition. “Thank you.”

It was all she could give to one of the greatest heroes of the Alliance. Turning, Jaina descended the stairs, moving with purpose to Arthas’s body.

Little by little, Jaina removed the ruined remnants of the Lich King’s armor. Little by little she exposed the man beneath, until finally, after so many years, it was Arthas that lay before her.

Gripping her staff tightly, Jaina teleported, taking the body with her. If she’d waited a little longer, she might have witnessed Sylvanas’s arrival.

The spot she chose was a respectable distance from the ruins of Lordaeron. A tall hill, obscured by trees and yet still providing a view of the city. Arthas had loved this view.

Jaina stared down at the city. It was still a nice view, if one ignored the crumbling stones and patrolling deathguards. She realized she wasn’t ready to say goodbye. That she wasn’t ready to let go. But these things happened whether one was ready or not, and maybe if she couldn’t find the peace for herself she could give Arthas that one last gift. If she was lucky, it would give Sylvanas a vague sort of unease she’d never be able to place.

She could have used magic, or summoned water elementals to do the work for her. Even brought someone to help. But, instead, she pushed a shovel into the soft earth and began to dig.

***NOW***

There was something peaceful about the sea, A’sooka reflected. She stood at the railing, watching a gull soar alongside and then land on the railing and try to steal a sailor’s lunch.

They must be getting close to Nazjatar; which meant that she damn well better get ready and that sailor would soon have much more important things to worry about. She turned to look at the other people on board. Most were human, but there were other Alliance troops as well as some Horde, and standing above it all was Jaina Proudmoore. Just out of view of the starboard railing A’sooka knew Windrunner’s ship sailed. In another time it would have left her uneasy; but she’d spent the better part of two years in constant contact with the Horde and she’d long ago shed her prejudices.

Slowly, The Banshee’s Wail came into view. It creaked and swayed in the gentle swell and just as slowly came close enough for Windrunner to easily leap on board. She walked up the steep stairs to where Lady Proudmoore waited. As if not caring about people watching, the Warchief tangled her fist in the front of Lady Proudmoore’s robes and kissed her.

Okay. So that was a thing now.

Turning away, A’sooka looked for a very specific and familiar face. She found Belariss at the bow and approached cautiously, throwing a casual ‘hey’ in her direction once she’d stopped alongside her.

“Are you ready for this, A’sooka?” Belariss glanced in her direction out of the corner of her eye. Her hand inched closer until it rested on A’sooka’s arm.

“We’re champions and we’ll do what champions do best,” she replied, tucking hair back inside Bela’s helm, feeling emboldened not just by the bet they’d made a few days ago, but also by what she’d witnessed near the helm.

“And what would that be?”

Giving Bela a cocky grin, she replied. “Stab the people that piss us off.”

The paladin rolled her eyes, then edged closer. Her eyes flicked past A’sooka, then back to her face.

“I owe you something.” She leaned up and kissed A’sooka on the cheek.

Breaking into a wide smile, A’sooka rested her hand on the hilt of her favorite dagger. “So do you have any plans for after we defeat the Naga?”

“Dinner.” Bela replied, eyes now focused on the land appearing through the mist. “At Qrawk’s. First night we’re back in Orgrimmar.”

A’sooka’s smile only grew brighter. There was more she wanted to say, more she wanted to do. Time she wanted to spend with Bela in various states of dress and undress.

But then the mist parted and they could see the beach. Most of the Horde and Alliance armies were pinned down in segments all up and down the beach. She could see magical shields wavering and crackling under an intense barrage of Naga magic and arrows.

And then the Naga on the ridge spotted the approaching reinforcement, and fire rained down on the deck.

Bela grabbed her, using her shield to deflect the bulk of it as they rushed for cover. Proudmoore’s voice boomed out orders, and cannonfire quickly followed.

A man to their right was engulfed in flame, screaming as he rolled over the railing and fell into the sea below. Arrows took several other sailors down before a shield of arcane energy rippled between the ship and the shore.

Unslinging her crossbow, A’sooka looked for something to hit when a presence appeared behind her and the Warchief’s voice rang with the sound of death.

“Champions, we have a mission for you.”

******

They had the beach.

Mostly. It was the closest landing point to Azshara’s throne, and heavily defended. On the other side of the ridge above the beach was a mostly straight shot to the city, but if Azshara’s deployment was as Sylvanas suspected, it would also be like swimming through Naga.

Yukale and Galnir had done the best they could holding the beach over the previous weeks, and the arrival of the bulk of the Horde and Alliance had forced the Naga to retreat to the ridge.

Therein lay the problem, as Sylvanas’s keen eyes took in what they were dealing with. With all those mages and archers on the high ground, any attempt to climb the ridge turned it into a killbox. The stone and sand were already soaked with the blood of previous attempts. It would get worse before it got better if the plan failed.

Wrynn had landed nearby as well and they would meet on the other side of that ridge, assuming they could get over it. Sylvanas looked to the champions. “We do not have all day.”

A sudden salvo crashed down around them, blocked only by a shield of golden light that wobbled from the impact. The priestess nearest was a familiar, though strained face, and Minuial gave Sylvanas a distracted nod. No, they most certainly did not have all day.

Another salvo, and Minuial fell to one knee. Galnir glanced in her direction, but did not leave his position. If anything, the look from her mate bolstered the priestess and she stood, sweat pouring down her body as she strengthened her shield. Several other priests stepped in as well.

The Kaldorei rogue, Yukale, spoke. “Everything else is in place, right?”

“Naturally.”

“Then it’s time.” Yukale nodded and lifted up a small grey box. She tweaked a dial and then pressed a button. Static crackled from a little speaker as she shouted. “Rogue squadron, go!”

Chaos erupted on the ridge as a dozen rogues suddenly appeared, stepping out of shadow and through thick smoke. They were quick, efficient, slicing throats and sinking daggers into the spines of the Naga, moving through the ranks in a deadly dance. Blood sprayed and Sylvanas felt her body sing.

A red rocket launched from Yukale’s glove, exploding thirty feet above them. Galnir bellowed a battlecry and started to move up the ridge, a line of shields stretching out on other side of him, hunters moving behind them losing arrows as quickly as they could. From the safety of the shields, mages and warlocks threw fire and ice ahead of the warriors. Sylvanas risked a glance at her wife.

Jaina simply watched as the defense strategy she’d originated at Orgrimmar was used offensively here.

The Naga not busy fighting the rogues turned and unleashed their magics on the advancing line. Three warriors went down in quick succession, only for their spots to be filled by the next warrior in line. Horde, or Alliance, it did not seem to matter. They fought as one and only moved faster the closer they got to the top.

Another rocket shot into the air, this one gold. Sylvanas could feel the ground shaking under her feet, and her eyes focused on movement to the west. Horses, rams and Elekks all gleaming gold or red shone like the sun as a hundred paladins charged up the ridge, flanking the Naga line. She could see Liadrin and one of Yukale’s Vanguard at the point of the spear.

Above them, a cloud moved rapidly through the sky and Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. That wasn’t part of the plan. But before she could sound an alarm she realized what she was seeing. Sylvanas shot an impressed look at Yukale.

Druids, nearly as many of them as there were paladins, shot through the sky and towards whatever Naga were hidden by the ridge. One let out a screech, the sound taken up by the rest. As though they were all of one mind, they began to dive.

The first shifted just before going out of view. Cats and raptors and bears rained down onto the Naga position and the sound of Naga panic was loud enough for Sylvanas to hear. One druid shifted into a stag, legs flailing as she fell out of view and joined the cacophony of violence.

Sylvanas raised her eyebrow. “Unorthodox, but effective.”

Yukale drew her swords as she prepared to move up the ridge as well. “Thanks.”

A horn blew, and she spotted Wrynn and Greymane leading the charge from the east. Greymane quickly left the others behind as his powerful body charged uphill.

“I don’t think so, you mongrel. Tyra, Kalira, stay with Jaina.” Unwilling to let either Greymane or Wrynn beat her to the top, she sprinted as fast as she could.

Once she came to a stop, she stared as the true scope of the battle became clear to her. Even Greymane was silent as he took it in.

The Naga stretched for what seemed like miles on the path leading to the city. There were types and varieties that Sylvanas had never seen or heard of before. To make matters worse, they had sea giants and Faceless Ones. Three hundred Hydra heads waving and snapping and howling as the Hydras stomped their feet.

Relaxing at the city gates, protected from the sun by slaves holding umbrellas of seaweed, Queen Azshara watched the battle unfold as though it was the finest entertainment imaginable. She seemed to lock eyes with Sylvanas as she bit into some kind of pink fruit.

Sylvanas felt her sisters join her on the ridge, and Jaina’s presence appeared to her right. Sylvanas almost felt worried. “I can feel her power from here.”

Jaina flexed her fingers. “If she wants a show, we can give her one.”

“She means to exhaust us before we even get to her.” Tyrande rode up on her Frostsaber. “But for this to work, we must give her that show.”

As if to punctuate the high priestess’s words, the front lines of the Naga broke. Galnir led the charge through the lines as the paladins and druids barreled through at an angle and a contingent of death knights carved through another angle. Yukale and her rogues had completely disappeared from the battlefield, but that had been expected.

So if Azshara wanted to be entertained, they would entertain her. Sylvanas inclined her head towards Tyrande. “After you, then.”

Tyrande studied her for a moment, then nodded her head as a feral gleam sparked in her midnight eyes. With a single graceful bound, the Frostsaber took Tyrande into the fray. Sylvanas admired her efficiency and the fluid grace with which she cut through the opposition. Tyrande was just so much more interesting without Malfurion around making the air feel stagnant.

She turned her head, noting where Alleria and Vereesa stood, and then gestured with her hand. “Let us make sport of it.”

Alleria moved first, a flurry of darkness and shadow that made something inside Sylvanas recoil. She ignored it, drawing a black arrow and taking aim as Vereesa joined the eldest Windrunner. Alleria veered left and Vereesa right as Sylvanas fired, the projectile leaving a swath of destruction and death between them.

“Are you going to let them show you up?” Jaina asked, her presence a strange sort of comfort at Sylvanas’s back. The mage had her eyes locked on Azshara, trying to gauge her power.

Sylvanas touched Jaina’s cheek. “Remember the plan.”

Jaina simply smiled and used her magic to launch Sylvanas into the air. It was an exhilarating feeling, and Sylvanas angled her body, flinging arrow after arrow into Naga bodies as she reached her apex and began to fall.

Hitting the ground, Sylvanas rolled, sweeping her bow out and sending Naga flying. She felt a low growl, turning slowly to see Greymane standing nearby. He locked eyes with her, and her fist clenched tighter around her bow. She stared back, lifting her chin in challenge, before swinging her bow into position and loosing an arrow.

It sailed past Greymane’s cheek and sank into the throat of the Naga that had crept up behind him. Sylvanas tossed him a merry salute, before turning to stalk her way through the battlefield like a reaper of death.

Light flared as King Wrynn pushed another line of Naga back. He was flanked by a number of champions and Sylvanas joined them.

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Anduin said, expression grim.

This was not what he was made for. Not like Sylvanas or even Greymane. Wrynn was not the warrior his father was; and yet over the years Sylvanas had grown to respect him, in a way. He had spine. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“Not yet, anyway.” Jaina strode past them, waving her hand in front of her. Spears of ice rained down on the Naga ahead of them, and Jaina turned to smile at them.

Sylvanas gestured at the Naga. “Finally. I could use the break, my love.”

Anduin blanched.

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Who knew Warchief Sylvanas was so lazy?”

“If you want to work, I can think of a few things you can do.”

“Would you kindly focus?” Anduin asked.

Jaina cried out suddenly, staggering. She shook her head, then shouted, voice booming. “Take cover!”

Red energy washed over the battlefield, crackling like fire and lightning. All across the Horde and Alliance lines barriers went up and champions and soldiers hid behind shields and magical bubbles, or dove behind boulders. Jaina’s own wall of ice went up and then rattled and cracked and shattered.

All Sylvanas could see were thousands of Naga corpses, bodies with blue and red tabards spread throughout.

And moving leisurely through the carnage was Queen Azshara.

Chapter 43: Queen's Gambit

Facing Azshara had been something that Anduin had never expected he would have to do. In all truth, he and most others had hoped or assumed the Naga Queen would continue to bide her time. Almost like kicking the can down the road for the future to have to deal with.

It was a selfish thing; but staring at her as she got closer, after wiping out her own forces in the process of taking out a quarter of theirs, Anduin really, really wished she was still a problem for future him.

He took a quick count of what they had left. Jaina was the only mage close enough in power to Azshara to be able to hold her own, but they still had a sizeable reserve once one combined the champions with himself and the rest of the leaders. But Anduin was relatively sure that some of them -- many of them -- would not leave Nazjatar alive.

He gripped his father’s sword more tightly, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted the remains of his helm. They all formed a line now, Horde and Alliance leaders mixed together with champions. Sylvanas and her sisters stood to his left. The First Arcanist and Tyrande had moved to his right. And Jaina…

He deliberately did not look at Jaina, instead drawing himself up to his full height as the Queen of the Naga stopped thirty yards in front of them. She was gigantic, pulling herself along by her tentacles as her torso swayed.

She drew herself up, as if mocking his action, and smiled at them. Her voice was sickly sweet, cloying like honey, and he shook himself. “This is the might you have chosen to bear against me? I grow bored. Surely there is more to you than this?”

Azshara clasped two hands behind her back, gesturing with a third. “Are these your vaunted champions? The ones who defeated the Scourge? The Legion? The Destroyer? I expected you all to be taller.”

“Are you here to offer your surrender?” Sylvanas tilted her head, one eyebrow raised. “Or are you just trying to talk us to death.”

“Stand down, monster.” Tyrande pointed her weapon at Azshara, the edge of it dancing with moonlight. “You are outnumbered.”

“Oh sweetling.” Azshara leaned down, until she was flat on the ground, her chin propped up by a fourth hand. Thalyssra stiffened next to Tyrande and drew one of Azshara’s many eyes. “And you, you’ve finally left that adorable bubble of yours. Though I can’t really blame you.” Half her eyes swiveled to Tyrande. “Why, with her keeping my bed warm at night, there are any number of things I would do! People I’d betray. Could you imagine the empire you two could forge?”

She let out a laugh, a musical note that nevertheless sent a chill down Anduin’s spine. Azshara swept a hand past Anduin and Sylvanas. “Certainly better than bowing to mortal whelps and a genocidal maniac.”

“That sounds a little hypocritical,” Anduin called out, drawing Azshara’s attention away from Tyrande and Thalyssra and whatever manipulative game the Queen was trying to play. He wasn’t going to play it and judging from Sylvanas’s non-reaction neither was she. “If I recall my history, you’ve bowed to your own master, and I’d be careful with accusations we can easily bounce back to you.”

Azshara’s eyes narrowed. The air shifted suddenly, a bolt of pure lightning, so fast that Anduin had barely started to move in response when the thunder rolled. And yet it did not strike him. He heard the sundering of metal, the crack of an impact that sent a shockwave rippling through the ranks, nearly knocking some people over.

The dust cleared slowly, and Anduin saw, of all things, an Orc standing between himself and Azshara.

Galnir’s left arm went limp, his shield hitting the ground, nearly cloven in two. His sword followed suit, and then the great warrior fell to his knees, smoke rising from his chest. Someone cried out, an agonized wail of grief, but the line held. The old warrior looked up to the sky, rattled out a joyous laugh, and slumped over.

******

Any good plan had multiple points of attack. And any target, no matter how well defended it was or how impossible the odds seemed, had weak points. Nathanos intended to find Azshara’s weak points and then exploit them.

Azshara was vain. Powerful, but easily bored. In a way, it made her predictable in that there would be a time frame before she tired of toying with her prey and decided to kill it. From his vantage point at the battle he’d watched her eliminate a huge number of her own soldiers because the battle was going on too long.

And yet there seemed to be a method to that madness. Soldiers were expendable. Arrows in the quiver, as his Lady was so fond of saying. Behind Azshara were more soldiers, and siege weapons, and creatures the likes of which might give even Nathanos nightmares. But those were not what drew his attention; there was a steady stream of Naga fleeing the city. Civilians, lords and ladies, even hatchlings.

“She’s evacuating.” The Rangari, A’sooka peered over the outcropping next to him. Her eyebrows furrowed. “I never expected Naga to have civilians.”

“Nor for the Queen to care about their fate,” Nathanos mused. He looked at the Draenei,and then the paladin who’d been fished out of the water with her. “Do you see that siege weapon?”

Belariss looked in the indicated direction, and nodded her head.

“Take two of the rangers,” Nathanos ordered. “And turn that weapon onto the city.”

A’sooka looked like she was going to object, but Bela took her by the arm, and started to lead her away.

Satisfied, Nathanos ordered his other rangers to capture additional siege engines, and turned his attention to the rest of the Naga defenses. There was a reason that Azshara was evacuating the city, and if they started firing on it it could provide his Lady with the distraction she needed. There was a lot of danger in their plan, many things that could go wrong. But he would do his part.

“Rankin Bass.”

Bass approached him, saluting.

“Come with me.” Nathanos turned his gaze towards the civilians. “If Azshara actually cares about the fate of her people, let us see what happens when they start dying.”

******

Getting to the siege engine was the easy part. Taking it proved to be more difficult. Bela weaved out of the way of a Naga trident, bashing her shield into another’s face. But for every Naga they killed another two seemed to take their place.

She heard someone running behind her, and dropped to her knee before she heard A’sooka’s request. The Draenei leapt up, springing off of Bela’s shield. She flipped, dropping several grenades into the mass of gathered Naga. A’sooka landed on the siege engine, unslinging a crossbow and taking aim, but the remaining Naga retreated, regrouping at the bottom of the hill. A’sooka lowered her weapon and pulled out a spyglass.

Bela stepped over the gooey remains of a sorceress, joining her companion at the weapon. “We lost two of Blightcaller’s rangers. It’s just us, A’sooka.”

“I think the other teams have succeeded though.” She flashed a smile at Bela. “Help me get this thing turned around.”

“I don’t know how much longer they’ll wait before attacking us again,” Bela said, moving to one side of the siege weapon and pushing at it. Slowly, it creaked around until the Naga city came into view.

“Probably as soon as I start firing.” A’sooka settled into the controls, aiming and adjusting the trajectory. But she hesitated. “Naga have… civilians.”

She swiveled in the seat, looking at Bela. “They’re still evacuating.”

“We have our orders.” But Bela felt the same conflict, a twisting in her gut. “But he did not say to aim at the civilians.”

A’sooka smiled. “No, he didn’t.” She adjusted the arc, and then fired. Bela felt her hair stand on end at the build up of magical energy. With a low, thrumming rushing sound, the weapon launched a ball of energy. It arced towards the city, hitting one of the tall spires. The tower shook, debris falling from it.

As Bela predicted, the Naga launched an enraged attack on their position as the other siege weapons began firing on the city. She hefted her shield, remembering a conversation she’d once had with a human Paladin.

"My comrades are my weapons, and I am their shield.”

“What was that, Bela?”

Aveline. That had been her name. She had told her her creed, one that had touched Bela in ways she did not fully understand before now. “While I draw breath, they shall not perish. So long as they live, our enemies will fall. I am defender, protector, guardian. I am a Paladin."

 

The first wave crashed into her, pushing her back several feet before she could bash them back with both shield and sword. She kicked her foot out, the heel of her boot crushing a Naga’s chest and sending him flying back into his companions. The magic thrummed behind her as A’sooka launched another salvo.

An attack from the second wave rattled her to her bones. Out of the corner of her eye she could see one of the other siege weapons under assault, and wondered if any of them would make it out of this alive.

She pushed back, inch by inch and step by step, and the Naga fell back again. They parted to allow one of their larger number through, a warrior with a conch shell for a shield and a wicked, jagged axe for a weapon. Bela brought her shield up, and prepared for the worst.

Why do you struggle? What is the point of all of this? All things die ere the end, Belariss. This peace is fleeting. But if you only open your eyes, we can make it last forever.

Bela blinked her eye, shaking her head and repeated, “My comrades are my weapons and I am their shield.”

A saying from a human, from someone who’d been her enemy. But A’sooka had been her enemy too and yet no one had ever touched her the way the Rangari had. Peace had been possible. They were all the same. And maybe she...

Shields are for breaking. Let us in…

“I am… I am a…” Her vision was clouded, her head was swimming. She turned, eyes locking on A’sooka, sword shaking in her hand. It felt as though something were ripping through her mind, tearing at it.

“Gul'kafh an'shel. Yoq'al shn ky ywaq nuul!” And she lunged at A’sooka.

******

No one moved. Even Minuial, staring at Azshara with unadulterated hatred, held her position. Jaina could feel the hatred and grief like a kick to the gut; they were emotions she shared.

Galnir had been her friend. How many more people that she’d come to care about were going to die today? How many already had? She studied the Queen, flexing her fingers and drawing deep, deep into her power reserves, as she’d been doing since the day they’d sailed for Nazjatar.

“An orc?” Azshara said, her tone musical and light. “Sacrificing himself for the human king? My, but times have changed. Such ferocious foes, putting aside their differences in the pursuit of the greater good.”

Two of her eyes locked onto Jaina and another onto Sylvanas. “When I heard, I admit I laughed. So absurd. But look at you now. Here on my doorstep, the might of the Horde and the Alliance. So many of your champions, so many of your leaders. Just for me. I’m flattered.”

An uneasy feeling ran down Jaina’s spine, but she didn’t dare let Azshara sense her fear. The Queen had a point, but against a being of such power risks needed to be taken.

“Do you just enjoy hearing yourself speak?” Sylvanas asked, placing her hand on her hip and tilting her head. “Because all I hear is noise.”

Azshara ignored her, and Jaina could sense Sylvanas’s irritation at that as Azshara turned towards her. “You are almost enough to interest me. Your power is like the ocean, wide and deep.” Her eyes, all of them, remained on Jaina’s face. She lifted herself to her full height, spreading her arms as if inviting attack. A single mottled tentacle flicked out, curling idly under Jaina’s chin. “Set aside this shallow attraction to your Warchief, and we can plumb these depths of yours together.”

A black arrow exploded in front of Azshara, magic flaring and sparking around her. Sylvanas was already darting forward, the red in her eyes deeper than Jaina had ever seen it. With a screech, Sylvanas shifted into black mist, hitting Azshara with the full power of her Banshee scream.

It was like a call to arms, as champions up and down the line unleashed a figurative hell onto the Naga Queen. Arrows and bolts of fire and ice blacked out the sky, thunder crackled and boomed, the ground beneath Azshara heaving and writhing from dozens of Shaman.

Lightning struck from the heavens, priest and mage shields rippling and cracking from the impact. The wind picked up, waves of arcane energy blasting at champions and leaders alike. But the line held, and Jaina knew they were being toyed with, because Azshara was alone and unmoving. Her people remained out of range, those who she’d not used as fodder in her display of power.

People that, Jaina realized, were not combatants at all. She narrowed her eyes, flicking her gaze between them and Azshara, as balls of energy started to pound her city.

Thalyssra called out Tyrande’s name, energy arcing between her fingertips before she hit the High Priestess with it. Tyrande leapt up, firing a dozen arrows in the space between two of Jaina’s heartbeats, each arrow charged with Thalyssra’s power.

Azshara swayed. Sylvanas unleashed another cry, and Azshara slithered back a single meter.

Rogues appeared out of the shadows, Yukale’s sword swiping low, and Azshara was distracted enough that her barrier wobbled.

Sylvanas rejoined the line, standing with her sisters this time, and Kalira. She drew an arrow, and Jaina could feel the energy that flowed between the Windrunners.

Jaina could sense many were becoming restless, but Azshara kept her people back, so there was no one for the bulk of the champions to fight.

Sylvanas’s arrow pierced Azshara’s shield, knocking the Queen onto her back and that was Jaina’s cue.

Her eyes turned blue, glowing with the ferocity of the sun as she threw her arms out, electric fire coursing through and around her body. Something blotted out the sun, large and filled with enough arcane magic to turn Durotar into a wasteland.

Azshara stood on her tendrils, looking up as the object descended towards her. She laughed in delight, ripping the armor from her chest, baring it for Jaina’s strike and holding her arms wide as if to welcome it to her heavy bosom.

Tempest fell from the sky, cracks of violet light slowly spreading across the hull, a spear of ice held by the figure head and pointed right for Azshara’s heart. All around Jaina, the champions began to retreat to a safe distance or behind mages held in reserve to provide shielding against this very thing.

But she looked past Azshara, at the empty city, something thrumming beneath it. There were more than civilians who’d evacuated and taken up positions a safe distance away. There were hatchlings. Children.

Evacuated out of a fortified city...

Azshara turned her gaze from what was now a falling comet, and stared directly into Jaina’s eyes.

The enemy of her enemy was her friend.

Tyrande cried out in dismay as Tempest swooped over Azshara’s head and slammed into the city. There was flash of light as blinding as the noon-day sun. And then there was a sound, a bang like that of a dwarven blunderbuss, followed by a dull roar.

Tears burned down Jaina’s cheeks as she lowered her arms. Someone, Tyrande she thought, was shouting her name, but she couldn’t focus on that. It hadn’t been a mana bomb, but did that really matter?

She felt dirty, standing there, blinking her eyes to clear them of the after image from the explosion.

When Jaina could see again, the city was gone, and rising from the ashes was a behemoth with thousands of glowing red eyes, tendrils thicker than a Sin’dorei spire waving in the air. Black blood oozed from a massive open wound and a huge swath of its skin was charred and burned.

Chuckling, Azshara turned back towards them, expression akin to madness. “Truce?”

******

“The enemy of my enemy,” Sylvanas murmured, rolling one shoulder as she assessed the situation. N’zoth was massive, easily twice the size of Orgrimmar and growing still. And it wasn’t alone; crawling out of the rubble were all manner of its minions, and the ground shook as they charged towards the gathered forces.

She looked at Anduin, and nodded at him. He nodded back, and said to Azshara. “We deal with that, and then I suggest we all retreat to lick our wounds.”

“It is agreed then.” Ignoring her discarded armor, Azshara turned back to her former master and its army, spreading her arms out. She called out, her voice rising in a song that Sylvanas had once heard at sea, and her people responded.

Civilians and children retreated from the battle as Ashara’s massive reserves of warriors and magic users swarmed onto the field. And then Azshara split. Into three, then six and twelve and twenty-four and more and more until N’zoth was surrounded by hundreds of images of Azshara.

Before Sylvanas could believe what she was seeing, Jaina copied the ability, a line of Jainas stretching for half a mile in either direction. Almost as if they’d timed it together, the images of both mages began to weave spells. Many targeted the charging army, and many more the Old God, fireballs and lances of ice soaring through the sky towards it.

She lifted her fist, and then dropped it. Horde mages joined the offensive, bursts of arcane accompanied by fire and ice. The green flame of the warlocks soon followed, fire raining from the sky to burn at the enemy.

And then the bombardment from the Naga siege weapons began again.

King Wrynn spun his sword, and with a single, wordless cry, charged. Sylvanas felt something like pride swell inside her as their people followed him.

She lifted her other fist, signalling the archers and hunters, before saying casually. “Windrunners, on me. We clear a patch to N’Zoth.” Sylvanas swiveled her head, staring directly at Alleria, who stood nearby with her hand on her head. “Can I trust you, sister?”

Alleria looked at her, the void writhing in her eyes. “I will sooner die than let that thing control me. But it’s afraid, Sylvanas. Of you.”

Nodding once, Sylvanas looked back to the mountain of eldritch flesh towering over them. Its defenses were beginning to fail from the constant onslaught of two of the most powerful mages to ever live. She looked to Jaina --- the real Jaina, her Jaina --- and then back to the rest of her family. Her voice was barely audible over the crackle of magic. “If it fears death, then I shall give it death.”

While Sylvanas didn’t quite have a plan for what she’d do when she reached N’zoth or what exactly she was supposed to do that made it so afraid of her, she needed to reach the abomination first.

The other leaders were keeping the lesser creatures at bay but it was a fight that was turning swiftly against them. Her eyes fell on Kalira, and then to Tyra, and others of the Forsaken. She lifted her eyes skyward.

A being dove from the clouds above, coming to an abrupt stop a few feet above the ground; a Valkyr glowing bright white.

Sylvanas dropped to one knee, slamming her fists into the earth as a black mist rippled around her.

With a shriek that reverberated across the battlefield, Sylvanas unleashed the black mist. It lashed out in every direction and in its wake the dead rose with a clatter of bone and steel and rippling of leather.

Mostly Naga, Azshara’s fallen forces now bent to Sylvanas’s will, but there were a few dozen among the Horde and Alliance who’d chosen to have their bodies used as a weapon in this time of need, and Sylvanas turned them onto N’zoth’s dark army.

The glow around the Valkyr faded, and Sylvanas felt a tightness loosen inside her chest. Six. There were six new Forsaken Champions among the mindless dead. A Kaldorei, Sin’dorei, two Humans, and two Orcs.

Sylvanas inclined her head towards them and her Valkyr. “Fight. For the Forsaken and the Compact.”

Without another glance or another thought, she turned and led Kalira and her sisters along an angled attack vector towards the Old God. Behind and around them, the mindless undead at her command ravaged the enemy. With no fear of death or pain, they flung themselves over and over again into the battle.

Eventually Sylvanas passed some sort of invisible line, and a shudder ran up N’zoth, its skin rippling and the wound oozing more quickly. A tendril crashed down towards them. She rolled to the left, narrowly avoiding the crushing blow but finding herself and Alleria separated from the other two.

Wordlessly, Sylvanas continued on, running at breakneck speeds towards the body of the beast. She loathed the thought of trusting Alleria. Vereesa was … easier. Of the two they’d started to find more of a balance. Things were rockier with the eldest Windrunner, and now Sylvanas found herself in the position of having Alleria at her back as she approached N’zoth.

She just hoped that didn’t earn her a knife in it, especially if Alleria lost whatever control she still had over her own mind.

A great eye slid open, as large as Grommash Hold, swiveling down to look at them. Sylvanas looked up at it, and the power of its mind felt like she’d been hit by a physical wall.

But she knew this feeling. Sylvanas breathed it in like sampling a fine wine. N’zoth was afraid. Afraid of her, afraid of--

“Death,” Alleria hissed. “You represent Death, something it is incapable of understanding. The concept is unknown to it.”

“Then let us acquaint it with the idea,” Sylvanas said, turning to her sister.

Alleria stood a few feet away, her bow shaking in her hands as the void seemed to writhe inside her. She lifted her head, her eyes like a sky with countless stars within. She straightened, drawing an arrow and aiming it for Sylvanas’s chest. “Sylvanas, I need you to trust me. The way you trust Jaina.”

She didn’t. She couldn’t. There were four people Sylvanas trusted, and that trust was thin.

Jaina would trust Alleria, Sylvanas reasoned. Of them all, Alleria understood the void and the Old Gods more than any other, assuming she wasn’t controlled by them.

Jaina would trust Alleria.

Sylvanas held her arms out, and nodded.

The arrow struck her in the chest, propelling her back against N’zoth and pinning her to the Old God. Something pulsed inside her, something fragile, and she held fast to it.

When she opened her eyes, she could see her body, spreadeagled and pinned. She looked up towards N’zoth, then back to the raging battle. Jaina had returned to a single form, eyes still the color of lightning as she threw every spell in her arsenal at N’zoth.

Sylvanas’s blood oozed into the Old God, and it shuddered, recoiling from it like it was poison. Laughing, Sylvanas shot like black mist straight for N’Zoth’s largest eye.

This must be what going mad felt like.

******

The number of wounded was growing at what seemed like an exponential rate. Anduin had abandoned direct combat in favor of battlefield triage, healing the fallen enough to stabilize them for the healers at the back line. He had to rely on others to protect him; both Baine and Genn kept close by to protect his back, and the champions had started to rotate in and out on the fly. One moment Yukale was helping him with the wounded and the next a druid in a ten-point stag form was being loaded to speed the person he’d stabilized to the healers.

It didn’t matter if the wounded was Horde, Alliance, or Naga. Anduin treated them each the same, and he expected the healers to follow suit. As long as they fought the Old God, they were all allies.

And he hoped that maybe healing some of the Naga might pay dividends in the future.

“Have you seen the Warchief?”

The voice of Nathanos Blightcaller brought his attention from the woman he was healing. “She and her sisters charged through the lines about ten minutes ago. I haven’t seen them since.”

Nathanos looked past him towards N’Zoth, a fleeting expression of dismay and grief on his face. It passed, determination settling onto his face. “We cannot last much longer here, King Wrynn.”

“I agree.” Sylvanas’s ‘reinforcements’ were all but spent, but they’d bought them time. A fact that Anduin would have to worry about at a later date. He picked up the woman and handed her off to an orc. “We need to regroup; high ground will give us an advantage. Genn! Fall back to the ridge!”

Genn whipped his head around, nodded, then started bellowing orders. It was chaos, but controlled chaos as the combined forces began to pull back. Jaina’s head jerked suddenly towards N’zoth and she teleported away.

Anduin had barely started to react to that when a shockwave rippled out from N’zoth.Turning, he watched as its skin turned purple, and then pale white like the bloated flesh of a drowned man. It rippled and undulated, accompanied by a high-pitched screeching.

The entire island rocked and shook as one by one, N’zoth’s tendrils fell to the ground. Its many eyes glazed over and with a great, trembling sigh, it sagged and went still.

All around them, the Old God’s minions also shriveled and died, collapsing or falling apart like crumbling sandcastles, but Anduin was still looking towards N’zoth, and the figures approaching through the dust. Alleria, moving stiffly, her face shadowed and a fathomless darkness in her eyes, and then Kalira and Vereesa, before Jaina emerged, carrying Sylvanas in her arms.

They approached in silence, even Azshara watching with a fascinated curiosity. Anduin felt the tension rising in the air, and kept one eye on the naga Queen as Jaina finally set Sylvanas on the ground.

One moment, there was nothing but the sound of the wind and the faint cry of the wounded. The next, Tyrande was on Azshara, a dagger in her ribcage, and time slowed down.

Anduin’s heart thudded in his chest, his eyes locked on the High Priestess. Ten thousand years of rage on her face and Anduin could understand. Azshara had caused the Shattering, had led to untold suffering and many of the problems they now faced today.

Time resumed as Azshara grabbed Tyrande by the throat. Before the High Priestess could draw her glaive a tentacle lashed around her wrist, dragging it lazily away; several others bound her limbs in place as she was lifted to Azshara’s eye level.

“Elune--”

“Ah.” Azshara’s rebuke was a soft coo as she dug her thumb into the hollow of Tyrande’s throat. The prayer was cut off with a gagging sound, and Anduin’s fingers twitched toward Shalamayne, even as he knew he’d be too slow to be of any use.

The battlefield was perfectly still, a good two-thirds of both Alliance and Horde combatants having flinched toward weapons; Thalyssra was frozen halfway through an arcane blast she knew better than to release, and the watching army bristled with Kaldorei arrows drawn on terrified reflex. None of them dared breathe, let alone move. Even if a wayward strike didn’t hit Tyrande, it would place her at risk of … swift retaliation.

Azshara smiled. In complete control, her voice was sugar sweetness. “Oh sweetling, I’m touched. And any other day, I’d make you scream for that. But if I’m to guess, I don’t think the First Arcanist wants to share.”

“What?” Anduin’s head snapped towards Thalyssra. Why he even entertained the thought this time as opposed the the first he wasn’t certain, but the look on the First Arcanist’s face was a dead giveaway. Which meant Azshara’s comments earlier hadn’t just been an attempt to get under their skin. Which meant that...

He looked at Sylvanas, who appeared to be having difficulty deciding if she was angry or impressed or just confused. Mostly angry, Anduin decided.

Azshara laughed. “You’ve kept it secret!” She leaned in, her lips almost touching Tyrande’s. “Someone has been very, very naughty.”

With an almost lazy motion, Azshara threw Tyrande into Thalyssra. “You two deserve each other. But my doors will be open should you find yourselves in need of a new… ally. Or at the very least, First Arcanist--a firm hand, when that feral thing you’ve brought into your bed proves too wild for you to handle.”

Tyrande pulled herself to her feet, then helped Thalyssra up, before she turned back to Azshara, holding her head high, eyes raging.

The Queen looked around at the others, her eyes meeting Anduin’s first, then Sylvanas’s. Pulling the knife out of her body, she threw it at Sylvanas’s feet. It stuck in the ground. “Would you like a go?”

Sylvanas said nothing, the only thing keeping her upright her grip on Jaina’s arm. Anduin would have given a bag of gold to know what was going through her mind just then.

Azshara laughed softly, all of her eyes focused on Jaina now. “You. Oh you, my sweet nectar… not now, no. Not now. But some day, when you are ready, we shall have a little chat.”

The ground shook. The crowd reflexively took a step back from Azshara; hands drifted toward weapons again, with the exception of Genn, who just growled, “What now?”

“The island is sinking!” Someone shouted from the ridge.

“The island is sinking,” Sylvanas told Genn, helpfully.

“As if my headache couldn’t get any worse,” Anduin remarked. He nearly lost his balance when the ground shook again, and he could see water beginning to trickle down into the valley they were all standing in.

“Unless you want me to give you gills, I highly suggest you run,” Azshara offered, her eyes still locked onto Jaina.

“This is not over,” Tyrande breathed. “One day you shall finally pay for all your crimes.”

“Mm. Perhaps, sweetling.” Azshara turned her back on them, pulling herself along on her tendrils as more water flowed in, rising to Anduin’s ankles. “But not today.”

“Jaina,” Anduin said, not looking away from Azshara. The sound of rushing water filled his ears, and he looked up as a literal river crested the ridge. “Unlike your wife, most of us still need to breathe!”

“Hang on!” Jaina shouted, and the world flashed white.

Chapter 44: Pride

Hundreds of pyres had been built in front of the gates of Orgrimmar, for the honored dead. In the days and weeks to come, memorials and ceremonies would be held in Stormwind and Kaldrassil, Ironforge and Velen’s New Shattrath. But today, today was for the Horde.

Sylvanas was speaking, but Jaina tuned her wife out. She counted the pyres, and wondered if it had all been in vain. N’zoth was dead, but Old Gods never truly died. And Azshara was still out there, now freed from its control. There would be a reckoning some day for the choice she’d made, but as she watched Anduin speak to Minuial, she knew that there’d been no other choice. She only hoped people like Minuial and Tyrande would forgive her.

Anduin pressed his hand to his chest and bowed to Minual, who inclined her head to him. Jaina approached her, picking up a torch. Minuial’s eyes reflected a sadness and anger that Jaina knew all too well, a loss that could not be put into words.

They both knew, though, that there could have been no other death for a warrior like Galnir. He’d lived long past the age that many of his kind did. Jaina held the torch out for Minuial, saying quietly, “For the Horde. For Galnir.”

“For the Horde,” Minuial repeated, her fingers closing around the torch. She held it, the flames casting shadows on her face. “He died as he lived.”

A smile flickered on Jaina’s face. “He was faster than the Alliance. We should make sure they never live that down.”

“It’s what he’d want.” Jaina mirrored her smile as Minuial lowered the torch to the kindling beneath Galnir’s pyre. It caught and began to burn, the fire jumping to the fabric draped over Galnir’s form.

A horn blew, and almost as one, other pyres caught flame. The fires built slowly but surely, until there was a sea of flame stretching out in front of Orgrimmar. Jaina was reminded of Hallow’s End; the smell of soot and the crackling of fire was familiar. She hoped it would comfort those left behind, both the living and the dead. Newly so and otherwise.

Save for the crackling of the pyres, it was silent. In Kul Tiras, Jaina would have sang. She knew a number of dirges, at least one that would be appropriate. It wouldn’t be out of place, in the Horde. A song to send off the honored dead.

But no voices rose up, and Jaina understood that today the dead would sail off on a silent vigil.

Movement drew her attention to Minuial again, her children standing stoically at her side. Jaina could see their father in the set of their jaws and shapes of their faces, their mother in their ears and cheekbones. She fished around in a pocket and quietly removed the doll she kept there.

Silently, Jaina withdrew from the funeral, slipping into an empty area between two boulders. She stared down at the toy, and turned it over and over in her hands.

Then she held one hand above it, fingers splayed out as rivulets of energy dripped from them and into the doll. Twisting her fingers, Jaina started to reshape it, transmute it into another material. The features became a little more life-like, like a sculpture, the arms and legs no longer floppy bits of cloth and thread. As the magic faded, Jaina held up a striking likeness of Galnir.

Alami would need the protection and guidance more than Jaina. She would need her father to watch over her. Jaina couldn’t bring Galnir back for his family, but she could at least give his daughter some measure of comfort, something to draw strength from when she couldn’t lean on her mother.

Jaina returned to Sylvanas’s side and watched Minuial’s vigil as Sylvanas took her hand and threaded their fingers together. Though she thought that Alami was already strong, from the way she stood next to Minuial, she also know what it was like to be a daughter without the father she’d loved.

Jaina almost wished she’d had a father like Galnir instead of her own. The toy would help, she decided. After all, even the strongest person needed a little support now and again. It could be like her little boats from so long ago.

******

This victory, like many before it, had come with a price. Hundreds dead and a stalemate with a powerful force lurking under the surface. To Sylvanas, it barely looked like a victory at all. But there had been one thing that brought her something close to joy: her new Forsaken.

She hadn’t expected that. Hadn’t expected any of her own people to carry the stone that allowed her Valkyr to raise them into unlife, let alone people from the Alliance. But the fear of death was a strong one, Sylvanas mused.

Regardless of their reasons, they were welcome to stay with the Horde, or rejoin the Alliance; even she knew how bad it would look to force them to remain with her. Jaina would never let her hear the end of it, besides.

Approaching the six, she looked them over, moving from the Kaldorei woman, and the Sin’dorei rogue standing next to her, to the formerly human women with ashy skin.

Twins.

She tilted her head, eyebrows raising in curiosity.

“Where she goes, I follow,” the one on the right said, and her sister nodded.

Sylvanas nodded in return. “Tell me then. Do you wish to stay here, with your new people? Or shall you attempt to return to the Alliance? The choice is yours, but once made it cannot be unmade.”

She looked up and down the line at the other four. “And that goes for all of you. Choose your loyalties now, while I’m still in a good mood.”

The Kaldorei shrugged and walked past Sylvanas, but the others remained.

“We are Forsaken,” the woman said, her sister nodding in agreement.

“Welcome to the fold.” Sylvanas jerked her head and two of her Dark Rangers materialized at her side. “Tyra is waiting to assign the twins their new home. Take them to her.” She turned back to the group. “I suggest you take the opportunity to ask any questions you may have, of my Rangers or Tyra. Integrating yourselves into these new forms will become easier with time, but it does not hurt to ask for help.”

She stepped aside, watching as the five were led out of the hold. As they disappeared from view, she heard that same woman ask one of the Rangers ‘how come you get elbows?’

Slowly, Sylvanas sat on her throne. She leaned back in it, tapping her fingers along the armrest thoughtfully. She had new Forsaken. Forsaken who’d volunteered for an existence that many found miserable.

Was this what hope felt like?

“I’d make a comment about your throne, but mine is about as bad.”

Anduin regarded her with a smile as he strode into the Hold, and Sylvanas shrugged. “I am the last person you wish to get into a dick measuring contest with, King. You would lose.”

He coughed. “I’ve spoken with Lord Admiral Proudmoore as well as Admiral Tattersail. They’ve recommended a blockade around the borders of Nazjatar.”

“How effective could such a blockade be when the enemy can swim right under it?”

“Submersibles,” Anduin suggested. “We can task our best minds to a new kind of submarine, one capable of extended duty deep below the ocean. Mekkatorque has also suggested a kind of sensor net, something to alert us if Azshara’s forces cross the line.”

“Agreed. To both.” Even now, days later, she felt as though her bones were fragile and her skin was stretched too thin across her body. Her emotions fluctuated wildly and she was just… tired. She wanted Anduin to leave and there wasn’t much she could object to about this idea. “We can assign teams, two from each faction, to monitor this sensor net. The blockade itself should also represent both of us. We can sort out the details later. For now, I must ask you to leave. I am expecting someone that I need to speak to … privately.”

Thalyssra’s arrival was timed almost too perfectly, and Anduin looked at her, then Sylvanas with a soft ‘o’ expression on his face. His expression shifted, and Sylvanas knew he was considering what he would need to say to the other half of this equation.

“I’ll leave you to it.” He nodded at Sylvanas, then turned to walk out. Whatever look he gave Thalyssra Sylvanas couldn’t see, but it drew out a subtle half-smile on her face.

Sylvanas quashed down her irritation as she rose from the throne and descended the steps towards Thalyssra. “Tell me something, First Arcanist. What I am supposed to do about this?”

A storm started to brew in Thalyssra’s eyes as Sylvanas came to a stop in front of her and looked up, continuing.

“Maneuvers behind my back? Alliances with hostile nations?”

“The idea that the Kaldorei are hostile at this point is laughable,” Thalyssra replied. “What I do and whom I do it with are none of your concern.”

“You belong to the Horde, first and foremost.” Sylvanas started to circle Thalyssra, her voice low and dangerous. “And yet, I should have seen it. Working so closely with Whisperwind. Mutual defense. Trade pacts. What secrets of mine have you shared?”

Thalyssra’s voice was even, with no less a dangerous edge to match Sylvanas’s. “I have shared nothing that would not already be public knowledge.”

Sylvanas gave a mirthless laugh. “Consciously, perhaps; that remains to be seen. But I doubt you’re fool enough to believe you can bring an Alliance leader into your bed without compromising our security. Is she suddenly incapable of observation? You keep business and pleasure so separate you never once mentioned a meeting running long, never complained about your own logistics, another Horde leader’s stubbornness? That does impress me.”

Thalyssra bristled, ears pinned back against her temples. “I have mended wounds that have been open longer than your mother’s people have existed. Longer than any human kingdom has stood. Wounds that were, in part, my own making. Wounds that were made worse by your madness during the war!”

That almost gave Sylvanas pause. She tilted her head slightly as she considered it. “A ruse then, to gain an advantage.”

“This is no ruse. Nor will I be used to make it one. I am not a spy.”

A cold smile. “I never said the advantage would be yours. Poaching the Nightborne would be a tremendous benefit to the Kaldorei. Or did that never occur to you?”

Something inside Thalyssra seemed to snap, and she grabbed Sylvanas by the upper arm, a fierce glint in her eyes. Sylvanas looked at Thalyssra’s hand, then to her face, eyes sharp like daggers. “If you value your hand, you will release me, First Arcanist.”

Letting go but not looking at all apologetic, Thalyssra lowered her voice further, her arcane filtered eyes narrowing. “Need I remind you, Warchief, that the Horde needs my people more than we need you. Suramar is more than capable of standing alone now.”

Thalyssra’s words hung in the air for a long, pregnant moment before Sylvanas replied, voice like the ice of Winterspring. “Is that a threat?”

“A warning to stay out of my personal business.”

“Much as the thought entertains me, cuckolding Malfurion Stormrage transcends ‘personal’ business.”

A barrier suddenly crackled between the two women, and Sylvanas looked past Thalyssra to see Jaina standing behind her. Jaina lowered her hands, an exasperated look on her face. “Setting aside that being a sentence I never expected to hear in my life, maybe you both should take a step back.”

“I am handling this, Consort.”

Jaina stepped around Thalyssra, closing her hand gently around Sylvanas’s wrist. Sylvanas looked down and saw pulsating dark energy in her hand. She relaxed her fingers, and the energy dissipated. Sylvanas felt, rather than heard, Thalyssra’s answering magic fade away.

From the look on Thalyssra’s face, she had not realized she’d been powering up either.

Turning to look at Thalyssra, though keeping her hand on Sylvanas, Jaina said, “You have to understand that hiding this puts us in an almost impossible position.“

“We are not unaware of the implications,” Thalyssra’s expression remained calm, but that pride that prevented her from backing down or even just admitting fault kept a bite to her voice. “That is why we chose to err on the side of discretion. We realize it is a...delicate situation. Not the kind of...thing...best introduced to the public in the midst of war.” She gestured at the two of them. “You can’t tell me you preferred all the scrutiny.”

What galled Sylvanas most was that Thalyssra almost had a point. As much as she enjoyed teasing Jaina in public, there were certain aspects of their relationship she preferred to keep private. “There’s a difference between an open political union turning personal, and having Tyrande Whisperwind’s face buried between your thighs. You intentionally deceived me, and it worked. Having your little liaison revealed by Azshara made us all look like fools.”

Jaina’s other hand moved up Sylvanas’s back, rubbing in small circles as though she were trying to soothe her.

“If we’d had more time,” she pointed out, “we could have prepared a unified strategy for how the Horde would respond when this became public. The secrecy damaged our ability to support you. There are already doubts being raised about your loyalties.”

Energy crackled between Thalyssra’s fingers before she caught herself. She seemed to calm herself over a few seconds before speaking. “That would be foolish. I’ve no intention of leaving the Horde.”

Sylvanas shot her a sharp look. “And if your intentions change?”

“That depends entirely on you.”

“Are you going to pursue this relationship?” Jaina asked.

“Are you expecting me to ask permission?”

“That horse has left the stable,” Sylvanas snapped.

Thalyssra shook her head, turning on her heel. But she threw one last dig over her shoulder before she left, “We have you to thank, Warchief. Without the compact, we might never have allowed ourselves to mend that bridge.”

A near silent form dropped in behind Sylvanas and Jaina. Nathanos’s voice was soothing, like a balm, and combined with Jaina’s hand on her back calmed her further. “Shall I arrange a little accident, Warchief? We could blame the Alliance.”

Sylvanas could literally hear the glare on Jaina’s face. “You mean like how all the doors to Gallywix’s Palace were mysteriously left unlocked the day Quinzel stormed it?”

“Precisely.”

“Somehow, I think the sudden and mysterious death of the First Arcanist would look suspicious,” Jaina said. “I’m so glad to see we’re all handling this like adults.”

“Pity.”

Sylvanas lifted her head. “I’ll task one of my Rangers to keep tabs on her. In the meantime…” She slipped her arm through Jaina’s. “My wife needs rest.”

“I’ll rest,” Jaina said. “But only because you need it too. Besides, I have this great idea for a double-date.”

******

Anduin’s migraine was strong enough to power the Vindicaar. He leaned against the table in the empty dining room, rubbing two fingers against his temple as he considered what he should say. What he needed to say.

The prospect of talking to Tyrande about her indiscretions felt vaguely like scolding his mother, if his mother was an ethereal immortal warrior queen.

Yukale had been no help. Somehow she’d gotten wind of what he was going to ask her and activated some kind of device that whisked her away through a hole in space before he got the chance. Anduin thought he’d caught a glimpse of the Argent Tournament grounds before the hole had closed.

Apparently Icecrown was better than facing Tyrande. He couldn’t really disagree, though he didn’t think it had been necessary to maintain eye contact the entire time.

It wasn’t that Anduin was particularly afraid of Tyrande, but he didn’t always know if she respected him, and having someone capable of taking a harder line or at least being a meatshield might give him an edge. But it would have to be someone who was a peer to Tyrande, or at least had her respect like certain Champions did.

He wasn’t about to ask Genn, and Velen was otherwise occupied. If he spoke to Moira she’d start making Darkfaire Popcorn.

No, he’d have to have this discussion with Tyrande alone, which if he was honest with himself was the right thing to do anyway. Out loud and to himself, he murmured. “If I had a prince consort I could at least play good cop bad cop.”

There came a knock at the double doors that led to the rest of the keep, and then Tyrande pushed them open. She gave him a considering look, before closing the door behind her.

“Interesting choice of locale.”

“I didn’t think you wanted to have this discussion where prying eyes and ears might bear witness,” Anduin pointed out. He gestured to the wine bar. “Drink?”

Tyrande shook her head, crossing the distance between them in a few large strides. Gods, but she was always so intimidating up close. Beautiful too, in an aesthetically pleasing way. He craned his neck to look up at her and half-considered getting up on a chair.

“I’m not going to judge your romantic and sexual choices, Tyrande. And if you were almost anyone else or she were almost anyone else it wouldn’t even matter. But was a little bit of warning too much to ask?” He clasped his hands behind his back. “To know that one of my most respected allies was becoming entangled with the leader of a Horde faction? The rumors are already swirling and the political implications are mind-boggling.”

“There was nothing to bring up, until there was something happening,” Tyrande said, her voice even and expression calm. “And by then there were other concerns.”

Anduin hadn’t been sure what he’d been expecting. Anger, maybe. But despite the calm demeanor he knew if he said the wrong thing he’d get that anger he’d worried about. “I get that. But how did Sylvanas and I not find out about this before Azshara?”

The darkness of Tyrande’s eyes swirled as she answered, “A lucky guess.”

“So you’d have just kept us in the dark.” Anduin stepped away, needing that drink himself now. “What about Malfurion? This affects him too. Does he know? Do you have some kind of … arrangement?”

Tyrande followed him, moving only her head as he walked, though she seemed to stifle a snort at his words. Slowly, she turned to face him, lifting her arms and folding them across her stomach. “While many of my people indeed practice polyamory, that is not an issue here. Malfurion and I have already… separated. The First Arcanist played only a very minor role in that decision.”

The bottle slipped from Anduin’s hand and he caught it before it could shatter on the floor. Straightening, he blurted out, “And you were going to tell the rest of us when?”

Irritation flashed across Tyrande’s face, and Anduin felt the same emotions one typically experienced when a snake rattled its tail in warning. “It is a deeply personal matter, Anduin.”

“Not for you! Not for any of us in leadership.” He put the bottle down, crossing some of the space he’d put between them. “I’m not trying to offend you, but people like us don’t get to have these matters just be personal ones. The Archdruid and High Priestess of the Kaldorei have split. The High Priestess is involved with the First Arcanist of the Shal’dorei. Could you imagine the uproar if someone revealed I was sleeping with Baine or Lor’themar?”

Tyrande raised both eyebrows. “Baine would surprise no one.” She hesitated. “... Are you not?”

Anduin opened his mouth and closed it a few times before he continued. “We--no! No, we are not! Tyrande, you’re an experienced leader, you’ve guided your people for millennia...”

He shrugged, helplessly. She would be angry in his place, he knew that she would be, but he also knew he’d said the wrong thing as her eyes narrowed.

“How gracious of you to acknowledge my experience, your majesty. I appreciate this lecture.”

The pride of the elves would be his downfall, he thought. “You know what I mean. This was a political misstep with gods know what consequences. You can at least admit that much.”

Tyrande seemed inclined to remain silent, and Anduin sighed. Before the silence could become too awkward, he offered, “If you want to talk… as a friend, not as the Alliance, my door is always open.”

She inclined her head, turning and walking to the door. Anduin didn’t know what possessed him, but he asked. “Is this love, or something else? You hated her, when the dome first came down.”

“Yes.” Tyrande stopped at the door, running her fingers down the frame. “But is that so surprising that hate can so easily turn to love when one gets to know the other?” She looked at him over her shoulder. “After all, love and hate are two of the strongest emotions there are, and they exist as opposite sides of the same coin.”

Anduin nodded, saying nothing, but in his mind he saw Jaina’s face and wondered what other surprises lay in store for him.

Chapter 45: Breathing Room

“Why do you think I’m wanted at the banquet hall?” Jaina asked, rubbing her shoulder as she walked.

To her left, Tyra shrugged. “Don’t look at me, ain’t something’ worth questionin’ the Dark Lady on, aye?”

“Are there things worth questioning her on?” Jaina asked.

Tyra’s gaze slid to Kalira. “Aye. There is.”

A smile crossed Jaina’s lips. In the aftermath of the latest war, it was good to see things starting to return to normal, and it was really good to see Tyra and Kalira being relatively open with their affections. They weren’t large on PDA, but they did share obvious glances, which Jaina found adorable. “Speaking of, that offer is still open.”

Kalira shook her head. “We don’t need a romantic vacation.”

“Just a few days. No prying eyes, just the two of you and a few birds.”

“Birds are tasty,” Tyra rasped, and then countered. “Take t’lady, then.”

‘Romantic getaway’ and ‘Sylvanas Windrunner’ did not belong in the same sentence, Jaina thought; even if the idea was incredibly appealing. “I’m not sure there would be a Horde left by the time we got back.”

Kalira pressed the attack. “I’m positive that spending two days away is not going to be the end of the world.”

“I’ll think about it,” Jaina relented. “But I’m not really the one that needs to be convinced, am I.”

The banquet hall was dim, but Jaina could smell roasting meats and… more roasting meats. Was there some event she’d forgotten? It had been weeks since Nazjatar had returned to the bottom of the sea and what passed for normal would still take some time to resume as Stormwind and Orgrimmar came down from a war footing; a fact that both Nathanos and Genn had fought against, but Jaina had insisted upon.

Light suddenly flared, and when Jaina’s vision cleared she saw that a table had been filled with food and pastries. Sylvanas leaned against it near a large, three tiered cake, arms folded.

Sylvanas wasn’t alone; a dozen other people were also present, if one included Tyra and Kalira. Baine, both of Sylvanas’s sisters, Anduin, Minuial, Yukale and her mate Unariel, Enda, Vereesa’s new girlfriend Cenengel, and Ihz. Ihz had one hand gripping Nettle’s collar and stood with nearly every other person between herself and Sylvanas. Jaina read her expression as ‘just here for the free food, lady.’

Jaina narrowed her eyes as the scene registered. “If this is what I think it is I’m not going to like it.”

“Happy birthday,” Sylvanas said, a pleased smile spreading across her face.

“I don’t like it.” Jaina looked around, trying to figure out which of them told Sylvanas when her birthday was. She caught Anduin’s sheepish smile and glared at him. “We have more pressing concerns than--”

“No, not really.” Minuial strode over, putting her hand on Jaina’s arm, voice low. “This is more for your friends, than you.”

Jaina stared at her, then put her hand over Min’s and nodded.

“And a little bit for you,” Min said, guiding Jaina over to Sylvanas and transferring her hand to Sylvanas’s arm.

Maybe Min was right. This wasn’t the first time there’d been an excuse to loosen up and they’d taken it, but it felt like the first time that it was … intimate. These were her friends, some of whom would have surprised her years ago.

“I’m jus’ here for the food, Lady,” Ihz said, and Jaina laughed.

She looked around at the people gathered around. Friends. Family. Well, her mother and brother weren’t present, but she’d felt increasingly distant from both since she’d married Sylvanas. Jaina wondered where she’d gone wrong, with that, and what she should have done differently.

Jaina had just decided to write her mother a letter when Varian skidded into the hall like Ragnaros himself was after him. He had a fabric scrap in his mouth and rolled to a stop against the leg of the table as he played and batted at it.

With quickly mounting horror Jaina realized he’d raided her underwear drawer. As if sensing his impending doom, Varian looked up at his human, mewled once, then bolted out of the hall.

“Now, now, dear.” Sylvanas said, hand on Jaina’s forearm. “Try not to murder our son.”

“Your son has been in my dresser again,” Jaina hissed through clenched teeth.

“Oh, he’s my son now.” Sylvanas slid her hand around to the small of Jaina’s back, leaning in until her mouth brushed her ear. “I have something for you, tonight.”

“I wanted to ask you something too.” Jaina shivered, suddenly forgetting what exactly she -- oh yes, a romantic getaway. “Just not here.”

“Ah,” Sylvanas said. “And here’s grandmother.”

Jaina turned her head in time to see her mother step into the hall. She blinked once, then twice, muttering in a half-whispered aside. “She kind of is one. I really should… talk to her about Kalira.”

“Would she even care?” Sylvanas asked.

“It’s the only grandchild she’ll get out of me instead of Tandred, so she might.”

Removing herself from Sylvanas, Jaina approached her mother. She didn’t expect a hug, not in public like this and certainly not in public in Orgrimmar, but Katherine gave her a warm smile. “Happy birthday, Jaina.”

“Thanks.” Jaina glanced towards the door. “Can I talk to you about something?”

“Of course.” Katherine’s eyes glided around the gathered people with assorted degrees of disdain reflected in them. Jaina started to regret this almost immediately.

Once outside, she folded her arms crossly. “Thank you for at least being somewhat polite in front of my friends.”

“Your friends.” Katherine sighed. “I’m not in the mood to argue, I just wanted to see you.”

Jaina wondered, briefly, if that period of peace between them had been real or a product of pending war. Oh, she knew her mother loved her, she just didn’t believe her mother got her. And she’d changed so much in the past five years that she was probably even more of a foreign mystery than previously. “It’s good to see you, mother.”

A hug would be nice, but none was forthcoming.

“Are you doing well? The war took a lot out of you, I’m told.”

Jaina smiled. “I’m doing better than I did after the attack on Orgrimmar. I was better prepared this time, and I had more time to ready myself and tap my magic reservoir.” She tugged at a thread on her sleeve. “There’s something I need to tell you. And ask you. Really I could use some advice.”

Katherine tilted her head. “You can ask me anything, darling. I’m always here for you.” There was something in her eyes, something urgent and concerned, and Jaina sighed.

Maybe her mother never really would trust her. “I know you never expected… How do I even… you’re a grandmother, mother. And I don’t mean Tandred’s brood.”

“Are you pregnant?”

Jaina’s head jerked back. “Excuse me?”

Katherine regarded her imperiously and then repeated, “Are you pregnant?”

“No!”

“Are you planning on it?” Katherine folded her arms. “You don’t exactly have much time left.”

“I’m a mage, I’ve got another fifteen years at least, maybe twenty,” Jaina protested, then shook her head. “No! I don’t plan on it!”

Assuming it was remotely possible for the undead to procreate that way, it would in no way be possible without magic anyway.

“Then don’t you think this joke of yours has gone on long enough?” Katherine was saying. “You can call Varian your son all you want, that doesn’t make him a child. He’s just a cat.”

“...You think I’m talking about the cat?” Jaina threw her head back and laughed. When she regained her composure, her mother was staring at her. She shook her head and gestured towards the hall. “Haven’t you ever wondered why Sylvanas favors one particular Dark Ranger over the others?”

Katherine’s lips thinned out into a line, and she glanced towards the hall as well. “Her daughter?”

“Adopted. But that still makes her my daughter too. Which is what I wanted advice on, because I still don’t really know how to approach her.”

“I’ll send her a box of innards for Winter’s Veil, then.” Her mother’s voice was cold, expression shutting Jaina out as quick and final as a headsman’s axe on the block.

“Mother,” Jaina said, sharply. “That’s a cruel thing to suggest.”

“It’s no less cruel than pretending she’s your daughter,” Katherine replied, voice lowering to a dangerous pitch. “No less cruel than dangling this concept in front of me only to have the gall to tell me that thing is my grandchild. No less cruel than for you to submit yourself to that monster’s bed chamber.”

Jaina took a step back, as if she’d been slapped. Her mother was hard, she knew this, but only once before had she heard words like that from her, words that dripped with hate and anger and bitterness. Had this been what Jaina had sounded like, after Garrosh? During the war with the Horde? Had she been that ugly? Her limbs felt numb. “Who are you? Because the mother I came back to seven years ago would never--”

“Let us help you,” Katherine whispered, reaching for Jaina’s hand. Hers were chilled, clammy. “Please. Just say the word and I’ll whisk you home, take you back to where you’re safe.”

“I’m safe here.” Jaina’s chest ached, the heartbreak in her voice impossible to hide. “This… this is my home, mother.”

Katherine stared at her, eyes reflecting some kind of sadness or grief. “Of course. This is your home.” She took a step back, and inclined her head. “I’ll leave you to your party, Lady of Orgrimmar.”

Jaina stared at her retreating back as dust made her eyes water.

******

The thing about war was how quickly life could return to normal for the vast majority of people. Even Nathanos marveled at it, though for different reasons than others might. He hated the idea of celebrations, of parties, he hated normalcy. At least, normalcy like this.

Six months, seventeen days and sixteen hours since the end of the war with Azshara and what did they have to show for it? Nothing. Except, perhaps, Proudmoore’s little party a few weeks ago, as if that amounted to anything but a waste of resources. And besides that?

A fragile peace, a blockade above and under water, and a dozen lost garrisons from Northrend to Pandaria. Most had been lost during the war, but a few had gone silent in the months since. A fragile peace, indeed.

Five years. For five years he’d stood by and watched his Lady be drawn into Proudmoore’s orbit and it grated on him as it always did. In five years he’d turned over every stone he could find in an effort to prove to Sylvanas her trust was misplaced. Her … heart was misplaced.

Oh, Nathanos was under no illusion as to the nature of Sylvanas’s affections for him, no matter what others might think. He himself was barely capable of anything so base as love. Long ago, perhaps, he’d felt such a thing.

Now, though. Loyalty. Duty. Those were his motivations. Loyalty and duty to Sylvanas, the Forsaken and by extension the Horde. A duty he believed in above all else, and would fight for at any cost.

Five years. Five years of peace between Alliance and Horde, of intermingling and the slow erasure of borders and fences. Nathanos scowled, watching his lady dance with her lady, as fireworks shot into the night. But even he had to admit this was good for morale.

“Lord Ranger.” Rankin Bass’s gravelly voice drew his attention from the dance floor below.

“Report.”

“Our teams have recovered the wreckage of Wraith’s Shadow. Captain Raze’s body was not on board.”

Nathanos nodded. “I expected as much. If he is somehow still alive, I look forward to wringing his neck on behalf of the Warchief.”

“Shall we proceed as planned?”

Eyes darting back to the dance floor, Nathanos weighed his words carefully. “The Dark Lady believes it is worth it to attempt the project again. Do be sure the Alliance learns just enough to be intrigued.”

“One of our scouts could lose his missive near Kul Tiras. They’ve been particularly nosey over the years.”

“Exactly. We can play right into their expectations.” Nathanos turned his attention fully back to his ranger. “Our scouts in the Howling Fjord?”

“Garrison was completely empty, except a few corpses, both our people and Naga. They believe the Naga pulled the rest into the water for reasons unknown.”

“Queen Azshara continues to ignore diplomatic overtures.” Nathanos sneered. This celebration may be a bit premature, but if things played out how he expected, he would do what he could to ensure the Horde came out on top.

And the Alliance?

“One more thing, Rankin. Before you go.”

Rankin remained silent, waiting. A good soldier, a good ranger.

“Use Alan Claremont and have him report to me. There’s a mission I’ve in mind for him, once he’s ensured Kul Tiras has recovered our little report.”

“As you command.” Rankin saluted once, then melted into the shadows.

Nathanos watched until he was certain he was gone, then returned his attention to the festivities below.

Loyalty. Duty. His life forever in her hands, Nathanos would do anything necessary for Sylvanas to remain as she was.

At any cost.

******

Anduin should be used to formal dinners. In the past six months alone he’d attended dozens; it seemed like every time he blinked there was another formal dinner on his schedule.

There’d been the one after announcing a second joint city on Kalimdor. The one after the first real joint army regiment had proved successful and the one after that to celebrate … at this point Anduin couldn’t even remember.

And then a dozen more diplomatic dinners to figure out how to deal with the Azshara problem.

He had to admit it was better than war or conflict. But not by much.

Tonight was in part because of the opening of formal diplomatic relations between the Shal’dorei and the races of the Alliance and the Kaldorei and the race of the Horde; part of a push he and Sylvanas had agreed to in an attempt to keep one faction from having too much of an advantage over the other.

Princess Greymane had flagged him down earlier to warn him she had an announcement of her own to make. From the expression on her face he was already prepared to calm Genn down.

But the idea of facing tonight alone left him grinding his teeth. Besides the fact that everyone seemed to be pairing off, he was somewhat jealous of Sylvanas and Jaina so easily having each others’ backs.

He’d never tell them, but that didn’t make that fact any less true.

The dining table had been painstakingly laid out. The First Arcanist and High Priestess were seated next to each other. Anduin at the head of the table, assorted diplomats along one side, Genn, Tess and Lorna, and Baine, who’d come to represent Sylvanas and was escorted by Lady Liadrin. Alleria Windrunner was supposed to come as well.

Anduin’s eyes drifted around. There were sixteen guards visible, both Horde and Alliance, and … there, hidden in an alcove, was Valeera. He’d seen her purely because she’d chosen to be seen. He nodded at her once, and she disappeared, only to reappear in one of the doorways, walking in to take her seat. She exchanged a look with Tess as she did so, a quiet smile. A smile that widened when she sat across from Liadrin.

“I’ll have the appetizers brought in to start, everyone,” Anduin announced. “Alleria should be here shortly.”

Anduin took his seat, smiling at Baine and then Tyrande. “I have a radical proposal that involves completely revamping the way we handle diplomacy.”

“A nice, comfortable outdoor picnic?” Baine suggested.

“Underneath a canopy of trees,” Tyrande added.

“I’m glad I’m not the only one growing weary of the formalities.” Thalyssra twirled her wine glass between two elegant fingers. Amusement glittered in her eyes, and Anduin almost missed the way Tyrande’s hand slipped down under the table.

“Well, if you’re growing weary of formalities,” Anduin decided. “Then that’s certainly saying something.”

Thalyssra laughed. “I promise you I forgave you that faux pas ages ago.”

Laughter rippled along the table and Anduin’s face heated up. He lifted his glass. “Water under the bridge, then.”

Everyone broke off into their own conversations, and even while engaged in conversation with Baine or one of the people near him, Anduin paid close attention to everyone else.

Valeera, he noted, was as sharp-eyed as ever, though she also directed her focus with a razor edge on Liadrin and, eventually, Alleria when she arrived. The eldest Windrunner took a seat next to the paladin, looking at Liadrin with eyes like pools of night. He’d never actually seen Valeera enjoy herself before, but she seemed to be having a good time putting one or both of the women on edge.

He’d have intervened, excepting that Liadrin seemed to be slowly relaxing the longer the three spoke. Anduin wondered if they’d all known each other, before Quel’thalas fell. Before the Sin’dorei became the Sin’dorei and families were split down the middle.

His attention returned briefly to Tyrande and Thalyssra; like the human kingdoms of old, the elves had suffered through multiple splits and divisions. And, now, like the human kingdoms of today, they were beginning to mend old wounds and renew ancient ties.

In a way, it gave Anduin a great deal of hope for the future.

Tess Greymane tapped a spoon on a glass, continuing to do so until conversation quieted and she had everyone’s attention. She was wearing a lovely gown, blue and white, that suited her figure well. Sometimes, Anduin wondered what that would be like.

It couldn’t be any less uncomfortable than ceremonial armor, anyway.

“I’d like to announce something,” Tess said, then cleared her throat as her eyes drifted first to Anduin, then to her father.

Genn seemed to perk up as he noticed her look at Anduin, and took a sip of his wine.

“I’ve become engaged to be married,” Tess said next, her father looking pleased and nodding along as he drank. “To Lorna Crowley.”

Wine went straight up Genn’s nose and down his windpipe, and he coughed loudly, beating his fist on his chest. Valeera reached over and smacked him on the back once, and the coughing stopped.

Tess held her father’s gaze. “I love her, father.”

Barely containing his mirth, Anduin offered, “Congratulations! And Genn, as you well know there are plenty of ways for them to ensure an heir.”

“I’ll talk to you about it later, Princess,” Tyrande called out, and to Anduin’s delight Tess actually blushed.

Slowly, Genn set his glass back on the table, then rested his hands in front of him. He still held Tess’s gaze, before speaking evenly. “I’m happy for you, Tess. Even if I have no idea where this came from.”

“Father, I’ve told you on sixteen separate occasions.”

“I suppose… I wasn’t ready to hear you were in love with any Crowley.” Genn glanced at Lorna, then nodded gruffly at her. “No offense.”

“None taken. But didn’t you and my father make up?”

Genn chuckled. “I suppose we did. And Tess can’t do much better.” He hesitated for a moment, before someone refilled his glass. He stared at it, and then stood, holding it out. “A toast then. To happiness, love, and letting bygones be bygones.”

Recently, during one of their private dinners, Genn had confessed to Anduin that he had been having difficulty keeping up the old anger. He’d told him that, somehow, the whole situation with Jaina had forced him to reconsider many things he’d known. Anduin had agreed with that, and for the same reason.

As he lifted his own glass in toast, he shared a look with his old mentor, and wondered if those bygones were more than just Greymane versus Crowley.

Notes:

End Year 5

Chapter 46: Year 6 - Layers of Trust

There were nights Jaina woke in a cold sweat, the return of nightmares that had grown few and far between. There was something new to them, a different perspective. A falling ship with Theramore the target.

Jaina never told Sylvanas precisely what those nightmares entailed, and Sylvanas didn’t ask, which Jaina appreciated nearly as much as those cold arms wrapped around her.

Eight months. It had been eight months since Nazjatar had disappeared beneath the waves again and yet that weighed on Jaina less than the uncomfortable conversation during her birthday. She hadn’t even visited Kul Tiras since before the war, and had no intention of doing so any time soon.

She’d visited Stormwind recently, New Shattrath and even Gilneas in the shadow of Kaldrassil, though the latter was mostly because she’d been in a tiff with Sylvanas and wanted to annoy her.

It had been a strange trip, and Jaina had come away filled with the thought that though both the World Tree and Genn’s rebuilt capital were new, they felt old. There’d been a weight in the air, as though centuries of history had been compressed into the span of a few short years.

In all truth she was still unpacking her feelings about the visit, which allowed her the luxury of ignoring the cold uncomfortableness that came up every time she thought about writing her mother a letter -- and every time she had to be in the same room for a diplomatic function.

And there’d been many, many diplomatic functions in the wake of the Battle of Nazjatar. The political landscape was shifting, and fast. Jaina wasn’t sure what the world would look like in another twenty years, but for the first time since Theramore she looked forward to it.

The Horde Leadership were, in fact, in the middle of discussing … well it probably wasn’t too important since Jaina had spent most of the meeting staring at Sylvanas. Something about the way she wore her armor today. It was driving her just a little crazy, and once or twice Sylvanas noticed, her smile downright feral.

It was too much, and she decided that she needed to, for the three hundredth time, reaffirm the good things in her life. “Warchief, would you join me upstairs for a few moments?”

“Of course.” Nodding to her advisors, Sylvanas stepped away and towards the elevator, beckoning Jaina with her eyes.

Smiling, Jaina followed her in. “I’m sure everything can go smoothly without us for a few moments.”

“Yes,” Sylvanas agreed.

Jaina glanced at her as the elevator started to rise, sliding her hand up Sylvanas’s side. With a sudden movement, she pinned Sylvanas to the elevator wall, running a hand up the front of her chest as she leaned in and whispered, “I think it’s time we discussed strategy.”

The elevator came to a stop, Jaina kicking at a lever to lock it into place so one one could summon it without overriding it, just as she dragged Sylvanas out of it. She tangled her fingers into her wife’s hair, catching her lips with her own and reveling in the feel of them.

Sylvanas moved fluidly, allowing Jaina to guide her past the curtains and to her desk. Surprise registered on her face when Jaina broke the kiss, pushed everything off of the desk, and shoved Sylvanas against it.

The low, guttural growl of Sylvanas’s that reverberated past Jaina’s lips and down into her throat set Jaina’s insides aflame. She pushed and prodded at Sylvanas’s armor, opening buckles and loosening belts and breaking a few bits and pieces in her urgency. But the armor fell to the office floor with a clatter, followed swiftly by Jaina’s robe.

“Your dedication to the minutiae of government,” Sylvanas murmured against her lips, “is, as always, an inspiration.”

“Shut up.”

“Such a conscientious civil servant--”

“Shut up.”

Digging her fingers into Sylvanas’s shoulder, Jaina pushed her down onto the desk, crawling part way on top of her to share a searing kiss. Her left hand trailed down over one breast, stroking and squeezing idly. Sylvanas arched her back, pressing herself into Jaina’s hand as Jaina pinched and rolled her nipple between two fingers.

She lifted her head, gazing down at Sylvanas. Jaina had learned to tell when something particularly hit one of Sylvanas’s buttons. The vicious red glow of her eyes shrunk to pinpricks as she hyperfocused on whatever it was. So, so many times Jaina had seen that look directed at her, just before Sylvanas lost any shred of control she’d had.

Today, there was that look, those pinpricks of crimson light in her eyes as she yielded to Jaina. Jaina made a resolution to do this to her more often.

Slowly, teasingly, she moved her hand over Sylvanas’s still chest. From breast to breast, up to her throat and down across her stomach. Warming her up, Jaina’s body heat soaking into the chill of Sylvanas’s skin.

She leaned down again, kissing her jaw, her cheek, moving her lips to Sylvanas’s earlobe and then trailing her tongue all the way to the tip. Wood splintered, and Jaina realized Sylvanas had cracked the desk under her grip.

She’d worry about that later.

Carefully, Jaina pulled the tip of Sylvanas’s ear into her mouth, sucking lightly, before dragging her tongue down the inside of Sylvanas’s ear. The motion left a warm, wet trail that had Sylvanas trembling beneath her by the time she was done. “What would people say if they knew how easily licking your ear can make you come to heel?”

Sylvanas started to make a warning sound, but Jaina became more aggressive then, using her teeth on Sylvanas’s throat, and her shoulders and breasts, biting her nipples and stroking fingers at her thighs as reward for the rare sounds that escaped Sylvanas’s throat.

Strong fingers gripped the back of Jaina’s head, and she stopped what she was doing.

Sylvanas lifted her own head, looking at Jaina with confusion. Slowly, while holding her gaze, Jaina grabbed Sylvanas by the wrist and then pinned that arm to the desk.

“Interesting. I did not know you had this in you.” Sylvanas rasped. Miraculously, her eyes somehow became even sharper, and then her head fell back as Jaina resumed what she’d been doing. She bit a nipple again, sucking on it and flicking her tongue like she had with her ear. Her fingers found the wetness between her wife’s legs, marveling, as she always did, at the slick folds and how ready Sylvanas was. And Jaina was very much enjoying throwing Sylvanas off with this.

But she didn’t touch her clit, or try to penetrate her with a finger. Instead, Jaina teased and taunted with her hand, tracing circles and patterns against Sylvanas’ core until --

“Jaina…” Her voice, thick and raspy, betrayed her.

Grinning to herself, Jaina purred. “Say it.”

The wood thunked when Sylvanas smacked her head down against it. “Please.”

There would be consequences for that later, Jaina knew. Consequences she would enjoy very, very much.

Content to have gotten that much out of Sylvanas, Jaina ran her thumb across her clit watching her face as she did so. It was so rare to see any expression but boredom or anger on Sylvanas’s face, and this view, this… as close to happiness or joy that Sylvanas was physically capable of, was something precious and just for Jaina.

She slid a finger in, moving her thumb faster as she did so. Sylvanas’s hips bucked, her mouth falling open as she arched her back, desk jerking underneath them. Jaina leaned down, adding a second finger, stroking her clit and pumping her hand aggressively. Sylvanas rasped again, quiet as always, but shaking and trembling in ways that Jaina had rarely seen. That fire inside her spread farther still, and she whispered in Sylvanas's ear. “I hate you.”

“No,” Sylvanas gasped. Her head turned towards Jaina, eyes no longer pinpoints but blown wide. “You don’t.”

“No,” Jaina agreed, her own breath short as she drew Sylvanas towards that inevitable cliff. “I don’t.”

******

Electricity shot through Sylvanas as she came and for the first time in unliving memory she made a sound as she did so. A soft cry, barely a grunt, but Jaina’s face appeared in her field of vision, triumph writ all over it.

Sylvanas watched Jaina lick her fingers clean, deciding that she really ought to let her consort indulge in this side of herself more often. Slowly, she lifted herself onto her elbows, her wrist marked from how tightly Jaina had been holding it. “Pray tell what has gotten into you?”

“Women in uniform,” Jaina replied, kissing Sylvanas sweetly on the nose. Her pulse was loud in Sylvanas’s ears, racing, as ragged as her breath and her arousal was a sweet scent that almost made her mouth water.

“As if you do not see me in armor every day.” Still not caring that there was a meeting going on just below them, Sylvanas stood, sweeping Jaina off of her feet and carrying her back towards the couch near the bar.

Jaina wrapped her arms around Sylvanas’s shoulders, kissing her throat and jaw and apparently just about as concerned with the meeting as Sylvanas was.

She set her down on the decadent couch, and then did something truly rare. Sylvanas slowly dropped to her knees in front of Jaina, leaning against her and kissing her thigh, and her stomach. She moved upward, kissing each breast and peaked nipple in turn. Jaina’s fingers threaded through her hair as Sylvanas pushed her down, crawling the rest of the way up her body, teeth marring Jaina’s freckled chest. She allowed an almost reverence into her voice. “You are the only thing I can ever taste.”

Slowly, but not gently, Sylvanas dragged her teeth across Jaina’s neck, her canines leaving faint trails in Jaina’s pale skin. The fingers in Sylvanas’s hair clenched tightly, the hand at the back of her head pushing insistently enough that Sylvanas bit down. Harder than she’d intended, hard enough for skin to break and the taste and smell of copper to fill her senses.

Jaina made a pained sound, halfway between a whimper and a moan, pushing Sylvanas’s head down, down to her breasts. Her words were less a plea than a command. “Don’t stop.”

Heat pooled deep inside Sylvanas at that, at the scent of blood and Jaina’s strong arms pushing at her. Flicking her eyes up to Jaina’s face, Sylvanas licked her lips clean of blood and then took one of those hard nipples into her mouth. When she let her teeth graze it, Jaina’s hips jerked underneath her, lifting up in unspoken need.

Unlike Jaina’s teeth, Sylvanas’s would cause unnecessary damage; so she only grazed them once more before using a combination of her tongue and suction to make Jaina beg her name.

At least, that had been the intent, and yet no plea came. Sylvanas ran her tongue over her teeth, and she rested her chin near Jaina's navel, peering up at her with unhidden admiration.

“You’re demanding today.” Lazily, casually, Sylvanas stroked the inside of Jaina’s left thigh as she spoke. “I do love when you get like this.”

“I’ll try to surprise you more often,” Jaina gasped, before shoving Sylvanas’s head between her legs.

Sylvanas laughed, inhaling Jaina’s scent and contemplating just leaving Jaina here to think about her life choices.

But that would mean denying herself a taste. Jaina tugged on her hair hard enough to hurt, forcing a hiss out of Sylvanas. She gripped Jaina’s thighs, lifting them over her shoulders. Sylvanas ran her tongue between Jaina’s legs, flicking it against her folds in a slow, torturous exploration. Jaina’s hips rocked slowly, her fingers and hand holding Sylvanas’s head tightly in place.

While Jaina was, perhaps, Sylvanas’s favorite meal to dine upon, this aggressive neediness was a rare delight. Even after all these years, Jaina could still surprise her.

“I love you,” Jaina gasped, arching her back off of the cushions and not even bothering to muffle her cry.

Those words, those traitorous words. Sylvanas had never uttered them. She never would, not like that. So she spoke them into being, with her lips on Jaina’s core, her tongue moving in circles around her clit and pressing down, the fingers she pushed inside her. Two, three, four, until Jaina nearly tore her hair out from the force of her orgasm.

The faint, musical ringing of magic filled the space. Sylvanas left a hickey on Jaina’s thigh, before lifting her head to give her a quizzical look. “What are you doing?”

“That’s a... Dalaran state secret,” Jaina said, chest heaving as she caught her breath. “Come up here.”

Curious, Sylvanas obeyed, propping herself up on her arms above Jaina and studying her. The redness of her face from their exertion, the blood drying on her throat, the glowing energy in her fingers.

The… Sylvanas looked at Jaina’s hand. “What sort of spell are you weaving?”

Jaina’s wicked smile in response almost made Sylvanas’s heart beat.

******

Jaina scooted back a little, waiting for Sylvanas to figure out what she was doing, and a little nervous about it too. She’d conjured this spell plenty of times for herself, and once or twice with Pained. But she’d never quite been bold enough to bring it up with Sylvanas.

Today, however, she felt emboldened as she reached down, touching Sylvanas’s hip and drawing her eye to the glowing energy that had formed between her wife’s legs. “It can get lonely, a mage in a tower all by herself.”

Sylvanas’s ears twitched and triumphant anticipation flooded Jaina. She reached down, stroking the now solid mass of energy and paying close attention to the way Sylvanas’s face shifted, her eyelids almost fluttering.

“Feedback?” Sylvanas asked, voice tight as she dragged her nails up the outside of Jaina’s hips. “How?”

“Your nerves work, the magic simply stimulates those. Not unlike using a, a properly designed leather--or--or...glass...toy.” Jaina couldn’t quite believe she was actually trying to explain that, so she settled back and looked at Sylvanas expectantly and tried to pretend her face wasn’t red.

Sylvanas exhaled, a sound not unlike a death rattle, and locked eyes with Jaina. It was clear she had questions, but it was also clear that she thought those questions could wait. Her nails dug into Jaina’s hips, hard enough to bruise but then she thrust forward and Jaina gripped Sylvanas’s wrists, arching her back as the magic filled her, her cry muffled by her wife’s mouth.

No tongues battled for dominance like in so many stories Jaina had read. Sylvanas demanded entry and Jaina simply let her, rubbing her hands up Sylvanas’s arms and wrapping them around her as they started to move together, Jaina rocking her hips to meet each tentative thrust. She moved her hands across that hard back, reveling in the muscles under her palms.

But she wanted more, she was ready for more and she dug her nails into Sylvanas’s skin hard enough that even the Banshee Queen might be able to feel that pain. Sylvanas growled, the sound making Jaina clench around the toy and moan in response.

“You want badly for discipline, my pet,” she rumbled against Jaina’s throat. “Must I remind you of your place?”

“Big talk.” Jaina arched into her, mouthing at her ear. “You’ve never managed it before.”

Jaina was wholly unprepared for Sylvanas to push her arms away and pin them over her head. She nearly came then and there, before Sylvanas altered the angle of their hips. She pulled out, almost all the way, then pushed back in, striking a part of Jaina that made her toes curl. Sylvanas continued that slow, steady pace, the red glow of her eyes filling their entirety in a wild, hungry gaze. Jaina could feel herself being drawn in, her heart swelling the longer Sylvanas looked at her like that, pleasure rippling up from deep within her core to spread warmth and desire through her body.

Keeping both of Jaina’s wrists pinned with one hand, Sylvanas stroked her other down her chest, then up to her throat. Jaina arched her body, pressing her throat into Sylvanas’s hand, eyes bright with want.

Sylvanas’s pace shifted again, a little less controlled, a little more wild as her thumb pressed into Jaina’s throat, her fingers closing in and squeezing but never cutting off her breath entirely.

Jaina thought she saw something in Sylvanas’s eyes through the haze, wordless emotion that meant the world to her. Wordless emotion just for her. She gasped, rolling her hips in response to Sylvanas. She came hard enough for her vision to blur, the only sound besides her voice that of Sylvanas’s body against hers.

“It’s okay,” she managed to say, sensing Sylvanas’s body trembling over her. “I trust you. Let go.”

Like a tether snapping, Sylvanas let go of Jaina’s throat and wrists, grabbing her by the hips and lifting them off the bed as she let herself go wild, like some feral creature, like the banshee she was.

Closing her eyes, Jaina all but screamed Sylvanas’s name, her fingers digging into the cushions nearly hard enough to tear them. Magic crackled around her as another climax built, just as Sylvanas writhed, head thrown back in soundless surrender.

Jaina tumbled over the edge after her. It took her a moment for her senses to reassert herself, but Sylvanas was smiling down at her.

Thinking she might regret this, Jaina tightened her legs around Sylvanas’s waist, then rolled them over. Her head swam, but she was rewarded with an almost shocked look on Sylvanas’s face. Slowly, she rocked her hips, enjoying the shift in Sylvanas’s expression.

Sylvanas’s hands went to her waist, trying to guide her and Jaina ran her hands up her wife’s stomach, over her breasts, and to her throat. She kept her pace slow, lazy, more content to assert control than in any pressing need to finish again.

Tentatively, she squeezed Sylvanas’s throat. The only response was a sharpening of Sylvanas’s gaze, so she squeezed again, harder. It wasn’t like Sylvanas truly needed air, but the concept of it aroused Jaina and she started to move faster, pushing down onto Sylvanas with increasing urgency.

They had nowhere to be, after all, and Jaina -- came to a complete and abrupt halt, her eyes widening as she was overcome with horror. “Wasn’t… wasn’t there a meeting?!”

Sylvanas barked out a laugh, reaching her hand up to cup Jaina’s cheek. “Dearest, they have likely long ago given up on us. Besides, you have not been quiet, and I doubt you’d wish to show your face down there for the rest of the day.”

“I can’t believe--”

“This was your idea.”

“Yes well--”

“Do you wish to stop?”

Jaina frowned. “Of course not.”

“Good, I’ve been enjoying the view.” Sylvanas’s hands slid down to Jaina’s breasts, kneading and stroking lightly. “So it would be best if we just stayed here until the morning…”

Jaina closed her eyes, letting the sensation soothe her. Before long, she began to move her hips again.

 

Kul Tiras - Seven Months Ago

The body had washed up on shore the previous night, bloated from the water and nibbled by fish and other creatures of the sea. Perhaps the one good thing to come out of the stalemate with Azshara was the return of regular fishing, but that was really the last thing on Katherine’s mind.

She stared at the healer, one of the few people that she trusted implicitly. Short and round, Elizabeth Harrington had been Katherine’s personal physician for a good number of years.

Among other things, though it had taken considerable effort on her part to get Katherine to trust again.

“What killed him, Beth?”

Beth shrugged one shoulder. “He drowned, Kate. That’s all I can say for sure.”

“A spy of Kul Tiras, drowning near our waters.” Katherine didn’t believe it was coincidence or accident, not even for a second.

“Still had his report on him. Secret compartment in his quiver. Not much else though.”

“So it’s your professional opinion he was drowned, ransacked, and then thrown to the sea to hide the evidence?”

“Not in so many words, but yes.”

Katherine paced around the body, stopping only when Beth put a hand on her arm. “Beth, I don’t know what to think about this. I read that report. Jaina is fine, it says. And yet…she wears long sleeves and high collars sometimes, even in the heat of summer. My gut is telling me something is wrong.”

“In that case, why would someone kill a spy reporting all is well?”

Katherine turned the spy’s report over in her hands. Beth spoke truly; the man’s quiver compartment had been untouched, the report inside pristine. Paper made waterproof by a Tidesage blessing, impossible to fake; the codes were correct, the magical wax seal unbroken and perfect in every detail. Absolutely nothing to cause suspicion, absolutely every reason to believe the words inside without question.

And the hidden compartment had been untouched. Which was terribly convenient, because when she’d picked the quiver up, the gap between compartment seal and quiver base had been nearly invisible. Nearly. Surely, no one would ever notice it unless they already knew it was there...or they were ruthlessly searching the body of a dead spy for that exact kind of secret message. And yet, a just-slightly-visible message slot had apparently been missed, and here she stood, holding a Kul Tiran spy report perfect down to every last comma in the code books.

Folding her arms, Katherine regarded the body again. “Because that’s exactly what they want us to think.”

Chapter 47: Family Matters

“I tell you, I’m fine.”

A’sooka looked from Belariss to the healer. “She’s not fine.”

Minuial sighed, shaking her head. “Physically, she’s in perfect health. The battle on Nazjatar left her unscathed.”

“See?” Belariss stood up from the chair, and A’sooka had to fight the urge to push her back down.

“You didn’t see her babbling Old God-ese and trying to kill me.” A’sooka gestured to a scar on her chin. “She almost succeeded!”

“There’s no darkness there, Rangari.” The Sin’dorei’s voice was clipped as she put one hand on each of their shoulders and started to guide them towards the door. “And even if there was, my light would have burned away the void. Her light would on its own.”

A’sooka found herself standing outside before she realized what was happening.

“Now,” Minuial said. “If you’ll excuse me, I have more work to do.”

“I’m sorry to have bothered you,” Belariss said, folding her arms and shooting A’sooka a look.

“It’s all right.” She gave them smile that barely reached her eyes. “I needed the distraction.”

Nodding, A’sooka watched her as she turned to walk back inside. Her eyes fell on a sundered shield, leaning against the far wall, and she understood. Her arm slid around Bela, maybe a little too tightly, but the paladin didn’t pull away.

“I’m sorry.” A’sooka turned her head, glancing down at the Sin’dorei. “I guess I’m being a little paranoid.”

“It’s been months. You can stop worrying.”

“Only if you stop apologizing.”

Bela reached up, touching the scar on A’sooka’s chin. “All right. Fine. You have a deal.”

“Well.” Still keeping her arm wrapped around her Blood Elf, A’sooka started to walk. “Now that that’s settled, I wanted to tell you I’ve been thinking about that question you asked me a few weeks ago.”

Bela’s ears straightened, and she looked up at her. “Have you?”

A’sooka nodded. “Taking command of the new garrison in Howling Fjord. It’s a good idea. It’s really pretty up there. Just exciting enough to not be bored and boring enough to be relaxing.”

“That’s...what you got from that conversation?” Bela asked, incredulous, expression falling.

“Uh. Yeah?”

“You beautiful blue idiot.” Belariss came to a stop, peering up at A’sooka before cupping her face between both of her hands. “Did you completely miss the part about building a house up there, together?”

“Build the what now?” A’sooka flashed her a grin, and when one of Bela’s eyes started to twitch she laughed. “I already picked out a spot.”

Perking up again, Bela leaned on her toes and kissed A’sooka. “You can be such a jerk.” She pulled away. “I need to…” Bela gestured in a direction. “Tell…”

“Go ahead, I’ll meet you for dinner.”

Looking pleased, Bela nodded, turning in her heel and walking away. A’sooka watched her leave, eyes alight. She’d gotten to admire Bela more openly since the end of the war, though despite her promise she still worried. But the paladin was not so distracting that she didn’t hear the person behind her.

Casually, hand resting on the hilt of her blade, she turned. “Can I help you?”

A Worgen stepped out of the shadows, moving on silent feet, her leather armor worn but well cared for. She tilted her head, waiting, back to the wall and alert for any changes in their surroundings.

A’sooka frowned at the woman. Talet, she remembered. “Now?”

Talet nodded her head, once.

Reaching into a pouch, A’sooka pulled out a silver coin. She flipped it between her fingers, eyes still locked onto the Worgen. “I’ll be stationed in Northrend for awhile. It won’t be easy to get away.”

“No need.” Talet’s voice was rough, as though she didn’t speak often.

“They want eyes up there, or they’ll send someone?”

“Yes.”

Rolling her eyes, A’sooka flipped the coin, it spun, sunlight gleaming off of the scratched out crown on one side before Talet snatched it out of the air in a fluid, seamless movement.

“Tell Sanguinar I’m in.”

*****

It was a day. Not a long one, or a short one, but just a day. Jaina had been elbow deep in economic reports when an unexpected figure had stepped out of the elevator and into the Consort’s Office. She’d gladly set aside her work to greet Go’el; they hadn’t really had a chance to reconnect since she’d nearly died that one time, and she’d been intending to reach out anyway.

He’d sat with her on the round couch and they drank tea and caught up and Jaina felt a tightness in her chest ease, as though at last she’d found a piece of herself that had been missing.

It was late by the time Go’el excused himself, but Jaina had scarcely gotten back to work when the elevator opened again. She looked up, eyebrows raised. “I’m popular today, who is it?”

“Just one of your in-laws,” Vereesa said, striding towards Jaina. Jaina thought she looked particularly radiant today, explained by her bright smile and casual wear.

“Just the one?” Jaina smiled, getting up from behind her desk for the second time that night.

“The twins are…” Vereesa grimaced. “Spending time with their aunt.”

“I don’t know how you managed that,” Jaina said. “Sylvanas tries to avoid spending as much time around them as possible.”

“You’re definitely their favorite aunt.”

“They just say that because they liked their birthday presents.” Jaina moved to the bar to pour Vereesa a drink. “How are you doing? The last time I saw them they were, well. Being teenagers.”

Vereesa laughed, walking up beside Jaina. “It won’t be long and they’ll be adults. I’m not sure how I’m handling that, actually. They both look so much like Rhonin now.”

“If I recall, Galadin had a great deal of magic potential,” Jaina prompted, offering her the glass.

“He’s been training with the Kirin Tor.” Vereesa took the glass. “Giramar is proving to be very skilled with a bow.”

Jaina smiled. So they took after both their parents; her heart ached to think of Rhonin, but the anger that had once simmered in that same place had long ago turned to mist. “So how did you talk Sylvanas into this?”

“I… actually left it up to Giramar and Galadin to reach out to her,” Vereesa admitted. “And they wanted to and I guess my sister was receptive to that.”

“She does tend to like it when people volunteer for something.”

“Speaking of volunteering,” Vereesa said, one finger stroking the rim of her glass. “What would you say if I volunteered you for something?”

Amusement edged Jaina’s voice. “You volunteered me for something? This ought to be good.”

“I need help.” Vereesa lifted her eyes to Jaina’s. “With a wedding. My wedding, actually.”

It took a full three seconds for Vereesa’s words to sink in, and when they did Jaina had to fight the urge to throw her arms around her. “Congratulations!”

Jaina understood just how big a deal this was for Vereesa. It meant moving on from Rhonin, it meant accepting someone new into her life on a permanent basis. Someone knew who was every bit as mortal as Rhonin had been.

“Thank you.” Vereesa went in for the hug, and Jaina gladly provided. “You know, it was so easy to say yes? I never thought it would be again, with anyone. And yet with Cene, it was just… it felt right.”

“Good. I’m glad. And as we’ve learned both the Horde and Alliance have come to like a good party.”

Vereesa grinned, a wicked expression. “I fully intend to play the sister-card with Sylvanas in this.”

“She might actually play along,” Jaina mused. “With the right encouragement. What are you planning?”

“I want her to be my maid of honor.”

Jaina choked on air, coughing. She beat her chest then held out her hand, palm towards Vereesa, “Are you kidding me?”

“Nope.” Vereesa’s grin only widened. “Also I’ve been meaning to ask you about your dress. How did you manage to get that much support?”

“Magic,” Jaina replied. “Same with some of Enda’s riskier pieces, when I want to make Sylvanas drool in public.”

Vereesa’s eyebrows rose. “Who needs brassiers when you have magic, right?”

“Exactly. I’ll teach you the spell. It’s very comfortable, too.” Jaina looked down at her chest then at Vereesa’s. “Though I may need to make the spell less powerful for you.”

“I knew there was a reason you’re my best friend.”

Jaina laughed, putting her arm around Vereesa. “I knew you were just using me for my magic.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Now.” Jaina leaned in. “Tell me exactly how she proposed.”

*****

To her own surprise, Sylvanas had agreed to her sister’s request. Even now, days later, she puzzled over her response, trying to understand why she’d agreed so readily.

Jaina, to her credit, had only teased her a little. Sylvanas reasoned she was just pleased to see her making an effort for her sister and unwilling to piss Sylvanas off enough to back out.

She was considering backing out even now, except that would mean she’d lose face, and Sylvanas refused to lose face. No, she would have to suffer through it and somehow turn it to her advantage in the end. Appearing the gracious sister and bridesmaid could go a long way to confusing certain people. Perhaps it would give Greymane a stroke.

That would certainly make the whole debacle worth it.

Worse, maybe, was the fact she couldn’t even mock Vereesa for her choice in mate, not without mocking herself. ‘Oh look, you’re marrying a meek human’ carried a lot less weight when one’s own consort was a human and also when said chosen mate had once quite literally deadlifted Baine Bloodhoof. Cenengel was strong; Sylvanas could respect that, if nothing else.

So lost in her own thoughts, it took Jaina’s subtle nudge to return her to the present. That was right. She peered across the table to where her guests sat.

Technically, they were Jaina’s guests, as this whole thing had been Jaina’s idea. So imagine her surprise when Jaina had told her that she, Sylvanas Windrunner, had arranged a dinner with Thalyssra and Tyrande Whisperwind.

She’d made Jaina pay for that, though Jaina had enjoyed the punishment almost more than Sylvanas had. Sylvanas glanced at her, and Jaina, as if reminded of their dalliance earlier in the evening, blushed.

Good. Feeling suddenly much better, Sylvanas leaned back in her chair, hooking her arms around the back of it. “Really. My spies have been useless and I must know when all this started.”

She gestured at the two elves with her free hand to encompass ‘all this.’

Sylvanas fully expected one or both women to object to the line of questioning. Perhaps she might even provoke Tyrande into throwing something. A food fight would at least provide entertainment; Sylvanas could really use something interesting before she died (again) of boredom.

“Is this actually small talk, Warchief?” Tyrande asked, not taking the bait. She leaned forward, eyes focused on Sylvanas. “I never saw you as one for small talk.”

“I’m fishing for information, High Priestess.” Sylvanas waved her hand dismissively. “Small talk is beneath us both.”

“Though I myself am curious about it,” Jaina said. “I was delighted to see the Kaldorei and Shal’dorei mending fences but I never expected there to be a personal aspect to it.”

“Personal connections have gone a long way in erasing the divide between Horde and Alliance,” Thalyssra pointed out. It was a low blow, and Sylvanas could feel Nathanos actually tense up from where he stood nearby.

She ignored that, because it was right and she did not want to give the First Arcanist the satisfaction of being acknowledged as right. Even if both of the women were easily forty times her age. “Have they now.”

Jaina’s foot connected with Sylvanas’s shin under the table, and she nudged her back. Her wife shifted just slightly, and her foot poked Sylvanas back, before rubbing at her ankle.

Dinner suddenly became a lot more entertaining. Sylvanas patiently blinked at Tyrande and Thalyssra as her foot battled Jaina’s for dominance under the table. Her question still had not been answered, and she had several more of varying levels of inappropriate. She had incredible difficulty trying to envision either woman submitting in the bedroom, for example, as pleasant an image as that was.

Now that would be a battle for the ages.

“They have,” Tyrande said, finally. She leaned back in her own seat, a much more elegant motion than Sylvanas, dark eyes focused on the Warchief. Something flickered there, briefly. Some kind of amusement that was reflected in Thalyssra’s that made Sylvanas intensely curious.

But Jaina stopped playing footsie and remarked, “Well this is awkward. I should have realized three of the most close-lipped people in the world in one room would lead to less than stimulating conversation.”

“Mocking us, Lady Proudmoore?” Thalyssra asked, lips spreading into a smile.

“Simply pointing out that we aren’t enemies and can actually talk like adults here. You know, if anyone was interested in such things.” Jaina put her hand over Sylvanas’s. “So perhaps stand down from a war footing, dear, and actually enjoy the company of people who are more like us than you’d like.”

Sylvanas noted the flicker of anger in Tyrande’s ears and yet didn’t feel as satisfied by that as she should have.

“Next time, we should do this in Suramar,” Thalyssra suggested. “There are… contests there.”

Incredulously, Sylvanas asked, “Are you suggesting a game night?” She had vague recollections of what a Suramar ‘game night’ entailed and wondered how true those rumors were.

“Yes, I am.”

Before Sylvanas could think on that, or reject the idea Jaina leapt in. “I think we’d love that!”

Keeping her expression neutral, Sylvanas snapped her heel down onto Jaina’s toes.

Jaina’s half-bitten down yelp was lost as alarm horns began to sound throughout Orgrimmar. Sylvanas was on her feet in an instant and halfway to the door when a messenger burst in. “Warchief! There’s a fleet offshore, within cannon range of Orgrimmar!”

There weren’t too many fleets with guns capable of hitting Orgrimmar from the sea. Before Sylvanas could inquire further, she felt herself ripped away and through a tear in the world. When her senses reasserted themselves, she was standing on the docks, alongside Jaina, Nathanos and their two guests.

Jaina’s gasp was the first thing Sylvanas heard, as she spied green sails stretched far, far past the horizon.

One hundred ships, at least.

Sylvanas stared for a long moment, before casually asking, “Tell me, Nathanos. How did we not notice Kul Tiras building a fleet that large?”

Chapter 48: Game Night

“I don’t understand,” Jaina said, the full scope of the fleet arrayed against Durotar weighing down her shoulders and making her feel all the years of the compact. Deja vu made her dizzy, the sound of long sunken ships’ bells ringing in her ears. “What are they thinking?”

“This act of aggress--”

“Shut up,” Jaina snapped, energy crackling around her hand as she turned towards Nathanos. She took a breath, then a second, and said. “High Priestess--”

“Send me to Stormwind.”

“Yes.” Jaina called up the portal, one eye now on Sylvanas. The Warchief hadn’t turned away from the sight of the fleet, making no move. “And take Valeera with you. I know she’s here.” Jaina had absolutely no idea that was true, actually--her detection and anti-invisibility spells were good, but Valeera Sanguinar was very good. After a moment, however, the sin’dorei reluctantly stepped out from behind a spire.

“Jaina--” she began.

“Please don’t make this personal.” An Alliance assassin--Valeera could protest her independence all she liked, her devotion to Anduin was too deep to make her anything but a de facto Stormwind asset--had no place in Orgrimmar right now. Jaina didn’t think Valeera would strike at her, not willingly; but Sylvanas? Thalyssra? If the situation grew desperate enough... “Leave now and we’ll pretend this conversation never happened.”

Valeera looked pained, but stepped through the portal without another protest. But before Tyrande could follow her, Sylvanas spoke, voice cold and even. “Tell the boy he has one hour. Less, if they fire on us.”

Something flashed in Tyrande’s dark eyes; but she simply nodded once and was gone. Jaina closed the portal, her shoulders tight, her chest tight, her stomach roiling. Thalyssra stared into the space where the portal had been, then called up her own. “I will retrieve Baine and the other leaders, and direct my mages to bring as many troops as possible to Durotar.”

Hearing her own voice as if it were someone else’s, Jaina said, “Warn Talanji first. If there are Alliance ships in Zuldazar, she needs time to expel them safely before chaos starts.”

As the First Arcanist departed, Sylvanas gave a signal and a messenger ran for Orgrimmar. In just a few minutes, defenses would be called up, civilians rushed to shelters and warriors brought the mile or so to the shore. Gunships were probably already on the way.

The bulk of the Horde fleet was too far away and too thinly spread besides to be much use, but Jaina knew that what ships could respond would receive messages and move in to block the Kul Tiran fleet from behind.

Jaina also knew that would be a suicide mission with the might of the Zandalari Navy too far away to come in time.

A flare shot up from the lead ship, and Sylvanas tilted her head. “I think they wish to talk.”

“We need to buy time for Stormwind’s response,” Jaina said.

There were only really three responses; side with the Horde, side with Kul Tiras, or remain out of it, which was the same thing as siding against Kul Tiras but Sylvanas might not actually see it that way.

What scared Jaina was she wasn’t sure which option Anduin would take.

“The guns on those lead ships can hit Orgrimmar even from there,” Nathanos growled. His eyes slid towards Jaina, triumph within their ruby depths, hand resting on the hilt of his blade. “If they fire on us, Proudmoore will be the first casualty, dead long before their marines land on our shores.”

“If they fire on us,” Jaina said, even voice hiding the tumult of her emotions, the heartbreak that tore at her. “I will stand and fight for Orgrimmar. Die for Orgrimmar if I must. But it will not be your blade that cuts me down.”

“The Compact clearly states--”

“Enough.” Sylvanas grabbed them both by the shoulders and pulled them apart. “We parlay. We buy your time, consort. Perhaps, you might even talk our way out of war. But in an hour, you will have a choice to make.”

Sylvanas met Jaina’s eyes. Red like blood, her eyes swirled with unspoken feeling. “Fight for me, or submit your throat to my blade.”

Sylvanas Windrunner did not beg, but her eyes, her eyes almost seemed to be suggesting a third option; run. Jaina knew she could flee to Stormwind, break the pact but spare her own life and Sylvanas did not beg and yet...

Jaina resisted the urge to touch her neck with her fingers. Whether she fought or fled the Compact would be rendered moot by her betrayal. Taking up arms against the Alliance would prove their threat of using her as a weapon was toothless; if she stayed in Orgrimmar but could not bring herself to stand against Kul Tiras and Sylvanas did not claim her life, the Horde’s position would never recover. Sylvanas would never be trusted again, if she so blatantly advertised her weakness.

If Jaina ever wanted to stand alive on Horde ground again, she would have to choose them over the Alliance forever. This was an impossible task, an impossible decision and yet it felt inevitable. No.

No, that was wrong.

Alliance people visited Orgrimmar, they lived there now. Orcs had homes in Stormwind, interacted with nobles and peasants alike. Jaina had attended a wedding between a surly Orc shaman and a Stormwind noblewoman only a few weeks ago. Nightborne and Kaldorei picniced and loved each other.

No, she would no sooner run than submit to a blade. Not this time. Not again. Anger welled up inside her, outrage and fury and a bitter tearing in her chest that set her heart aflame as she watched a rowboat approach. As she locked eyes with her mother.

******

Anduin leaned on the table as he looked at the hastily convened war council. It was a miracle most of the Alliance leadership was even in the city today.

He still couldn’t believe his ears, and he looked around the table, at Genn and Tyrande and Velen, Moira and Mekkatorque. “Last I knew, Kul Tiras was going through a shipbuilding boom. Mercantile vessels. A new class of exploration vessel. Not warships.”

“These were not trade ships converted for war,” Tyrande said. “They clouded the horizon, and each was a warship.”

“So the Lord Admiral lied to us.” Moira tapped her finger on the map of Durotar that had haphazardly been opened on the table. “Question is why. What’s the point o’doin’ this? Bringin’ us into a war we thought was in the past.”

“She must believe there’s some kind of threat from the Horde.”

“No, Genn.” Anduin shook his head. “She believes there’s a threat to Jaina.”

“Regardless of her reasons, we can’t just sit here and let her fight this war alone.” Genn had always pushed for a harder line with the Horde. Had he been right all along? Was everything wishful thinking?

Anduin sighed. “Let’s think through this logically. Kul Tiras is part of the Alliance. As part of the Alliance, we’re honor-bound to support them.”

“What about the compact?” Velen placed his hand on Anduin’s shoulder. “If we support Kul Tiras, the compact breaks.”

“Yes, there is that.” The consequences would be...disastrous was too small a word. Cataclysmic. Unified military forces, garrisons and outposts. Stromgarde. It would be friend against friend, neighbor against neighbor. Even rifts in families at this point. The Horde and Alliance at arms again might well be little different from a civil war.

“If we don’t support Kul Tiras,” Genn countered. “Then the Alliance is not worth the blood we’ve all spilled for it! This is our time, Anduin. We can strike while Windrunner is busy in Orgrimmar. We can retake Darkshore--”

“No!” Tyrande straightened to her full height, midnight eyes focusing on Genn like a nightsaber on prey. “I stood by when I could not take vengeance for my people. I stood by as Malfurion and I grew distant and our love withered and died. I will not allow this peace I sacrificed so much for to be lost because Katherine Proudmoore wishes to choose the same path as her husband. Where, pray tell, was she when Jaina actually needed her most, after Theramore?”

Genn’s voice was low, a dangerous growl making Anduin’s heart speed up. “Considering you’re sleeping with the enemy, you may want to remember which side you’re supposed to be on.”

As Tyrande’s ears pinned back in wild fury, Anduin tried to head off the storm. “Is it possible she knows something we don’t?”

Genn snarled, “If she’s right about Jaina…”

“In the unlikely event that this is true,” Tyrande said coldly, “Then so be it. You will not demand that my people forgive Teldrassil only to throw that sacrifice away for a single woman! You will not value the lives of all those butchered in Ashenvale so cheaply. This peace was bought at the price of every lost soul that will never be avenged, and I will not stand by and watch it shattered by a fool’s arrogant bloodlust! There is no decision to be made! A unilateral strike by a rogue faction. Peace may yet be maintained if the Lord Admiral is repudiated.”

It what might be the understatement of the century, this was bad. Watching Tyrande and Genn fight was a little like watching one’s parents on the verge of divorce. Anduin wondered where this anger of Genn’s had come from. Not that long ago it had seemed like he was starting to believe in the compact, and the peace. And yet, here he was. Here they were on the edge of the precipice.

Anduin started to lift his hands, when Tyrande issued her ultimatum.

“My people will not be bound where our lives are worth so little. If the Alliance strikes the Horde, the Kaldorei leave. Kaldrassil will stand alone.”

Ice. Ice in his veins, ice in his heart, a thrumming sound rushing through his head. Anduin glanced at Velen, and he knew.

He knew what would happen then. Velen, his mentor and his friend, would follow Tyrande, their people that close. And the Worgen… the Worgen would be torn in half, between those who’d come to see the Kaldorei as kindred and those too loyal to Greymane to leave. And that alone would be a heartbreak, with how bound to the Kaldorei Gilneas now was.

The lines drew themselves as each leader shifted closer to one, or away from another. Their equal status had made them strong for so long that Anduin had forgotten that what made them strong could also divide them. Anyone could walk away from the Alliance at any time, for any reason. And as all eyes fell on him, Anduin felt as though he were falling off that precipice.

A part of him wondered if this had been Sylvanas’s plan all along.

******

“Not exactly what I think anyone had in mind for game night,” Sylvanas remarked, voice low for Jaina’s ear as she watched Katherine Proudmoore step onto the dock. She did not need to reach out to restrain Jaina; Jaina seemed to pick up on her thoughts and visibly calmed herself. Not for the first time Sylvanas wondered if there’d been a lingering, permanent effect from the possession.

“Mother,” Jaina said, her voice even despite the turmoil Sylvanas could sense. “If you were going to visit you could have asked for a portal.”

Katherine looked Jaina over, scrutinizing her, her eyes darting over her clothing, to her neck and wrists, and then finally her face. “We’ve come to take you home, Jaina.”

Sylvanas bristled at that. Jaina was home. She locked her eyes onto Katherine, but held her tongue. This was Jaina’s fight to have, even if she did want to rip her mother’s heart out and feed it to the sea.

“I was planning a visit, but I’ll go in my own time.” Jaina clasped her hands behind her back, affecting a casual air, but Sylvanas could see her nails digging into her palms. “Let’s cut the bullshit, mother. You’ve brought an invasion force to Durotar in violation of the Compact and a half-dozen other treaties, but I already know you’ll tell me you’re acting independently of Stormwind and I know Anduin well enough to believe that.”

“The fleet is only here to ensure the Warchief’s cooperation,” Katherine said. Her face was inscrutable, but there was a desperate sort of fire in her eyes.

It was the kind of look that told Sylvanas if anyone said the wrong thing, the situation would go south immediately. “Cooperation at gunpoint is hardly cooperation, Lord Admiral.”

“Something you know well.” Katherine’s eyes slid from Sylvanas back to Jaina, and her voice was gentle. “It’s all right Jaina. I know. I know what she’s been putting you through, and it’s going to end today.”

The smell of blood reached Sylvanas’s nostrils at the same time Jaina’s heartbeat quickened; her nails had broken through the skin of her palms. Weary and on the verge of losing her temper, Sylvanas asked. “What, pray tell, the fuck, are you talking about?”

“You sent her clothing back. Even that kind of simple comfort--you took away her dignity and her choices and dressed her up like a Sin’dorei whore. I know about healers called in the dead of night when you’re angry with her, about how often you take Jaina into your so-called ‘sanctuary’ alone, where none can see.”

“If you think for one minute I would let--”

“You would suffer any indignity and any pain if it meant ensuring the peace lasts, Jaina.”

Jaina’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t have an easy retort for that one. It was, even Sylvanas knew, the truth. She slowly unclenched her hands. “I chose that dress, mother. I worked with a local tailor on the rest of my clothing. I like my wardrobe. I wasn’t ordered to return anything; it was summer in Durotar by then, Kul Tiran clothes were giving me heatstroke just looking at them! And we retreat to the sanctuary like we do to have a few minutes of privacy.”

“If it makes you feel better, I was as injured as Jaina after our little sparring accident. The healer was for both of us.”

From the look on the Lord Admiral’s face, that didn’t make her feel better. “And you expect me to believe that monstrosity of a ship was the brainchild of both of you as well, I imagine.”

If Sylvanas had held any less of the moral high ground--an unfamiliar sensation that she intended to enjoy while she had the chance--she might have winced. As it was, she simply glared as Jaina pinched her nose. “Shadow herself was a fiasco, and no, at the time I didn’t have clearance for top-level experimental military secrets, on account of being a political hostage. But she was a legitimate exercise in arcane shipbuilding. Not that any of that is the point, by the way, can we get back to--”

“Its sisters, I might remind you, provided the entirety of the first-wave subsurface blockade of Nazjatar,” Sylvanas pointed out. “If you believe its corruption by Old Gods should fall at my feet, Lord Admiral, you might consider reinforcing the glass in your own home before you fling any more stones.”

They might have saved their breath; Katherine Proudmoore barely seemed to hear them. “You think you know what’s happening, but you don’t. The banshee has corrupted your mind. You’re not yourself.”

“I’m more myself than I’ve ever been. I’m happy here. I need you to accept that.”

“I don’t believe that, Jaina.”

The temperature of the air dropped, and Sylvanas’ ears shrank back against her skull reflexively before she controlled herself. Jaina’s voice was nearly a growl. “Don’t you? I’m the infamous traitor, remember? The orc-lover who chose the Horde over her own father? You never had a problem believing it before.” Her voice broke in something like despair. “I’m tired, mother. Would it make you happier if I was miserable? Is that what you want to hear?”

Katherine frowned. “Can you really tell me, with a straight face and honesty, that you love this monster?”

“Like attracts like,” Jaina said quietly. “And yes, I do.”

“Something tells me you aren’t going to believe that either. I suggest you return to your little boat, Lord Admiral.” Sylvanas waved her hand in a shooing motion. “If you turn that fleet around I’ll only raise a little hell with the High King.”

“Jaina, I’ve failed to protect you in the past, I know that. I cannot make that up to you. But this time--”

“I don’t want your protection!” Arcane energy crackled at Jaina’s fingertips. “I never needed you to protect me! I needed you to listen to me! All I wanted, all I ever wanted was for you to, for once, mother, trust my judgement!”

Katherine shook her head. “Does Koltira Deathweaver ring a bell to you?”

“This is the thanks I get for saving your city?” Sylvanas asked, though her eyes slid towards Jaina.

“You think I’m brainwashed?”

Oh, Katherine had clearly not been expecting Jaina to recognize the name, though Sylvanas had all but forgotten about that. But Koltira, like many other secrets, had been exposed when she’d shared her mind and her past with Jaina. “You know?”

Jaina just drew herself up. “The past is in the past. Go back to your ship, this parlay is over.”

“Jaina--”

With hands that shook almost imperceptibly, Jaina reached up and snapped the chain holding her anchor pendant. She threw it at her mother. “Go!”

Sylvanas openly stared at her wife, even as Katherine backed away and then stumbled into the skiff.

Slowly, Jaina turned towards Sylvanas, tears streaking down her cheeks as her eyes glowed with arcane light.

Behind them, Orgrimmar’s magical barrier snapped into place, as the sea in the harbor began to bubble and rise, forming an additional barrier of a wall of water.

Jaina left an opening for her mother, letting it close once she’d passed through.

The only sound Sylvanas could hear over the breaking of Jaina’s heart was the wall of water. “I never once considered that with you.” She hesitated. “I won’t pretend that was out of nobility.”

“I think we both know what the world would look like if you had tried.” Jaina sighed, eyes still locked on the form of her departing mother.

Sylvanas inclined her head in silent agreement. Jaina stepped closer, her nerves fraying and her emotions bubbling over. She leaned against Sylvanas and Sylvanas slowly slid her arms around her.

“For the Horde,” Jaina whispered.

Chapter 49: From a Certain Point of View

Words did not exist that were strong enough to encapsulate Jaina’s feelings. Across the harbor, on the other side of her watery wall, Jaina’s mother readied for war. On this side, Sylvanas and Nathanos positioned their forces; archers and mages on the ridges and hills while the nearest available airship sped to their location, likely to arrive too late to help.

There were Alliance gunships in range, Jaina knew, but she didn’t dare hope. Worse, there was a real possibility they’d turn their guns on the Horde.

It was like a powderkeg on thin ice with a lit fuse. One misfire, one too-eager mage or cannoneer, and there’d be war. War with Kul Tiras, and if Anduin didn’t advertise his intentions soon, war with the Alliance.

To say nothing of what else might be going on unbeknownst to all of them; there were at least a dozen Horde merchantmen docked at or within range of Kaldrassil, Stormwind, or New Shattrath and an equal number of Alliance vessels near Horde ports. All it would take would be one nervous sailor or lookout and...

Maybe that had been the whole point of this. There had always been elements that hated the peace, that still wished to see one side or the other destroyed. Elements besides Nathanos and Genn, and old soldiers who’d never let the past go. Maybe something she should have paid more attention to.

“I can’t believe she thinks you brainwashed me.” Jaina turned her head towards Sylvanas, who was in the process of directing the positioning of repurposed plague launchers, refitted to unleash a new kind of fire that burned hotter on sea water. Perfect against ships. Jaina felt her stomach reel at the thought of Kul Tiran sails burning.

“I can.” Sylvanas stepped towards her. “As far as your mother is concerned, I have bent you to my will. And you cannot tell me that such things were not discussed among the leaders of the Alliance and others of your friends. I’d be surprised if even Baine hadn’t questioned it at least once.”

“I see Baine nearly every week,” Jaina pointed out.

“Yes, well, the man is obsessed with my cat. Forgive me if I occasionally doubt his judgement.”

A smile ghosted across Jaina’s face for a brief moment, before her eyes flitted out to sea. “Even if we can pull back from the brink, there are going to be a lot of questions and I don’t know how I’m going to be able to assure everyone I’m of sound mind and not under duress.”

Sylvanas merely shrugged. If she had more to say, Jaina didn’t get a chance to hear it. Someone was shouting, and she spotted Tyra waving a spy glass and pointing towards the South. Jaina whipped her own out and peered through it. Distantly, she could see a pair of gunships approaching.

They were a newer design, faster and with less armor, but no less heavily armed. The things were destroyed with such frequency that Jaina reasoned they must have decided on speed and maneuverability over durability.

Slowly, she extended her glass to Sylvanas. The Warchief took it and zeroed in on the gunships. “What has the boy king decided, then?”

She snapped the glass shut and returned it to Jaina. “Nathanos, I want at least three guns trained on those ships, and a few mages as well. I will not be taken unprepared.”

“They’re moving north-northeast,” Jaina said. “If they continue on that course they’ll be positioned between the fleet and the shore.”

“Well within range of Orgrimmar.”

Jaina nodded, feeling ice spread through her veins. She almost didn’t recognize her own voice. “Gunships are typically weakest at the junction where the engines are attached to the hull. Target that area and they’ll go down faster.”

Sylvanas studied her, then gestured for Nathanos to join them. Once he’d jogged over, she spoke. “Let us game this out. Option one; the Alliance backs Kul Tiras.”

Closing her eyes, Jaina saw the consequences spreading out like a spiderweb. “The gunships will provide heavy air support, and they likely have marines on board. The ships at sea will bombard the shore, hoping to push us back far enough for troops to land.”

“Many of those ships have large enough guns to batter Orgrimmar,” Nathanos continued. His eyes locked onto Jaina. “They will attempt to weaken the shield, likely in a bid to draw our most powerful mages to reinforce it, and thus remove them from the battle proper.”

“Our own reinforcements are not arriving as quickly as I’d like.” Sylvanas folded her arms. “We are at a disadvantage. ”

“I suggest we eliminate the gunships first.” Nathanos said. “They are a major threat, and their wreckage will make it a lot more difficult for the Kul Tirans to land their troops.”

“Not yet,” Jaina said. “We’re not going to attack the Alliance until we know for sure they’re against us.”

“Us.” Nathanos lifted his head, looking down his nose at Jaina. “And how can we possibly trust you to not turn your magic on Horde soldiers the moment your mother and your people are in danger?”

Gods, but she wanted to punch Nathanos’s nose in. Jaina gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to do so. Had he forgotten about her father? That she’d left him to die rather than harm innocents, when she’d had no ties to the Horde other than a tentative peace? She swept her arms out. “The Horde is my people, or have you lost the memo? They’re the ones in danger of an unprovoked attack spurred by what is clearly misinformation.”

This was madness. They’d barely recovered from Azshara, to say nothing of the Naga Queen still being out there, waiting. Was this her influence, at least in part? Either way, she must be laughing herself sick at us..

“I cannot believe you’d take up arms against your own kin. Warchief, I suggest we confine your consort to Orgrimmar until this battle is done.”

“No.” Sylvanas had not moved her eyes from the approaching gunships the entire argument. “We need her here. One does not stow away their most powerful weapon when they have need of it.”

Magical energy made the hairs on Jaina’s arm stand up, and she turned to face a forming portal.

A body emerged, nearly bouncing off of a magical barrier Jaina erected. Jaina immediately brought it down when she recognized Yukale. That… was probably a good sign, wasn’t it, that it was her?

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Tyra edging closer, which meant the Kaldorei had Kalira’s arrow aimed between her eyes.

Sylvanas gave Yukale a bored look. “Well? What says the cub?”

Very slowly, Yukale withdrew a rolled up, sealed message from her armor. She held it out but when Nathanos made to take it she pulled it away. “Nuh uh. Sylvanas only. King’s orders.”

Exchanging a wry look with her wife, Sylvanas took the message and broke the seal. Jaina could hear the gunship rotors now, but she only had eyes for Sylvanas’s face as she read the missive.

Sylvanas rolled it back up. “It seems the Alliance repudiates the actions of Kul Tiras and offers the Horde any and all aid against the Lord Admiral.”

“Are we sure it’s not a trick?” Jaina found herself asking, earning a double take from both Nathanos and Yukale.

“Read for yourself.”

Jaina took the message, opening it and scanning the writing. Anduin had written it himself, but he hadn’t been the only one to sign it. There were ten signatures or seals. She recognized Alleria’s large script, and -- “Even Genn signed this.”

“It appears Wrynn has a better handle on his people than I ever thought possible.” It was a stark admission by Sylvanas, tinged by something that was almost, but not quite, respect.

The gunships began to angle for position above the docks, guns bristling as they were pointed out to sea. That ice returned to Jaina’s veins, and she had to close her eyes as she asked her next question. “What other forces is the Alliance committing to the defense of Orgrimmar?”

“The 10th Legion is waiting to be teleported, along with one hundred sentinels.”

Sentinels? Tyrande was ready to… If the Alliance fights their own… Their own, Jaina realized. Not our. She opened her eyes. “Warchief?”

Sylvanas said nothing, merely inclining her head to Jaina.

Great.

Jaina took a breath. “Report back to Anduin with the coordinates I’ll give you for the Alliance to portal to. I won’t put them into the immediate battle, but when Kul Tiras breaks through towards the city we’ll need all the help we can get. The gunships aside, at least we can keep Alliance killing Alliance from happening until it’s absolutely necessary.”

“More for us,” Tyra chimed in.

“If we’re lucky, the Lord Admiral won’t pitch the King’s representative overboard and none of this will be necessary,” Yukale said, taking a message Jaina hastily scribbled out for her to give to Anduin.

Looking exceedingly unhappy, Nathanos asked, “Who did he send?”

“King Greymane.”

“Oh good,” Jaina remarked, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Now we’re definitely going to war.”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said, waiting for the champion to return through the portal. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

****

With the rising of the sun, the first cannon-fire erupted from Kul Tiran battleships. The shield around Orgrimmar stood strong against the first few volleys, before the fleet began to fire on everything in range. Explosions rocked the beach and destroyed the dock, rocks and boulders rained down from the canyon cliffs above.

The Horde airship returned fire immediately, the delay from the Alliance gunships stretching on for far too many heartbeats before their guns opened up as well.

Jaina sent a wave of frost speeding along the water, freezing soldier-laden longboats with a thin layer of ice. A few soldiers attempting to continue on foot fell through almost immediately. Tidesages countered her spell, speeding the boats towards the shore as the fleet continued to soften it with their bombardment.

Magefire scorched across the ice, igniting one longboat, and then another. One of the battleships near the north side of the line exploded in a dazzling display of fire and smoke as a gunship found its mark.

The sound of splintering wood and screaming sailors reached Jaina’s ears, and she thought of her father, of the Kul Tiran sailors who’d died under Horde steel, and Horde magic. It was Horde magic that sprung from her fingers, Horde fire that engulfed her mother’s ship. Sharp, jagged Horde ice that crushed flesh and metal alike.

Her mother stood defiant even as the flames raged around her, and on another ship she could see Tandred at the helm and felt the sorrow he must feel.

“I’m sorry,” Jaina whispered, her fire spreading from ship to ship until there was nothing left but ash and cinder.

Bolting upright, Jaina looked around as she realized she was in bed. Once her breathing returned to normal, she climbed out, a sudden focus and determination consuming her.

There had to be another way, there had to be a chance. Because Jaina was certain that one way or another, her people would be burning tomorrow.

****

Maybe it was the presence of the gunships or the Alliance troops positioned along the road to Orgrimmar, or maybe Genn did manage to break through to Jaina’s mother, but no attack came from the Kul Tiran fleet that night, despite Jaina’s nightmare.

They didn’t move, but they didn’t fire either, seemingly content to settle in for the night. Jaina suspected that her mother was attempting to sway Genn and some others to her side, or at least weighing her options. She was absolutely certain that Katherine had not believed her during the parlay and she was equally certain that war would come with the rising of the sun if she couldn’t talk sense into her mother.

Getting any more sleep was a fool’s errand. Jaina managed to burn two hours in the dead of night writing up contingency plans, and fifteen minutes chasing Varian down to shoo him through a portal to Thunder Bluff. A silly thing to worry about in a time like this, maybe, but fretting over her cat was easier than worrying about anything else. She was able to spend most of the rest of the hour organizing reagents and mana potions that were already in perfect order before she couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Do you know,” Jaina started, stepping out of the shadows inside her mother’s cabin. “How badly I wanted some sign of your concern or caring, for so long? But not like this.”

Katherine nearly dropped her mug, setting it down on a table and staring at Jaina. But Jaina didn’t let her speak before she continued.

“You could have come to Dalaran. You could have sent a letter. I worked so hard to turn Theramore into something to be proud of, and then when that was taken from me, when I lost everything, you weren’t there. If it hadn’t been for Vereesa, I would have grieved alone. Theramore was home. More than Dalaran, more than Boralus. It was the home I built with sweat and tears and people I cared for.”

“Jaina, I--”

“I’m speaking, mother, and you’ll let me finish.” Now that she’d started, Jaina didn’t think she could stop. “I finally come back, and you reject me. You didn’t even give me the courtesy of a proper audience, let alone a hug, or a hello, or I don’t know, a trial. No, you let Ashvane take me away, knowing I’d probably be executed for it. You believed her over your own daughter. I deserved the courtesy of at least being heard out!”

Jaina flexed her fingers, calming herself and struggling to bring her voice back under control. “If Yukale and the other champions hadn’t… made you see... I’d still be suffering in a hell of my own delusions and memories.”

She’d been holding onto this for so long she felt drained now that she’d said it. Through the war and the years after, she’d buried those feelings, that anger and sadness and the broken heart of a daughter betrayed by her own mother.

“I never knew you felt that way.” Katherine took a step forward, then stopped herself, her hand half stretched towards Jaina.

“Our family has always been experts at burying their emotions,” Jaina admitted. “And I was just happy to have you back. And then the war and everything else, there was never really enough time to talk about it.”

“I’m sorry.”

And for the first time, Jaina believed it. She gave her mother a tired smile. “Turn the fleet around. I don’t know what you’ve heard, or where you’ve heard it, but I’m fine.”

“You have to understand--”

She resisted the urge to throw up her hands. “I can’t believe how stupid this was! You’re damn lucky you were wrong about Sylvanas’ willingness to hurt me. Oh, yes, how shall we rescue Jaina from the treaty where any hostile action means a knife in her throat. I know! Let’s invade Orgrimmar!”

Katherine studied Jaina’s face. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you’re happy. That you’re not being coerced, that she hasn’t damaged your mind.”

She lifted her chin, meeting her mother’s eyes. “You have my word that I’m whole and happy. I can’t believe I’m going to say this, but I’ve become part of the Horde. Sylvanas...trusts me. And loves me in her own way. Enough that she told me today that if anything ever happened to her, I would be Warchief.”

Backing up until she could sink in a chair, Katherine looked like she’d just suffered a heart attack. Jaina supposed she couldn’t blame her; she’d nearly had one herself.

“The other Horde leaders would never… Is that why you’re here? As heir apparent?”

“They already have, and I’m here as your daughter and as someone who doesn’t want another unnecessary war.” Jaina was aware of the irony. “Please go. The Horde will let Anduin handle this as an internal matter on the condition we’re allowed an observer. We don’t need to let people bleed over this.”

Katherine leaned forward, pressing her fingers to her temples. She looked, suddenly, like she was as old as her years, and twice as weary. “They sent Genn, you know. One stubborn, pig-headed old coot to deal with another stubborn, pig-headed old coot.”

“I had some concerns about their choice in ambassador.”

Lifting her head to look at her daughter, Katherine said. “The fleet will sail before the sun, and I’ll face whatever judgement the High King decides. But I want you to know, Jaina. I would burn the world down for you and it would still never be enough to make up for everything.”

Jaina stepped closer, kneeling on the deck and wrapping her arms around her mother. She didn’t say it, but she thought that statement made Katherine and Sylvanas more alike than they realized. She knew in her heart that Sylvanas would burn the world down for her, too.

Katherine clung to her, and Jaina drew the hug out as long as she could before she knew she had to leave.

“I love you.” She told her mother, before she teleported away to her bedroom. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness in the residence. She brushed her robes down and called out, “Sylvanas?”

Flicking her hand, Jaina attempted to light the candles, but nothing happened. She started feeling a buzzing sensation in the back of her head, and tried a more powerful spell.

Still nothing, as though a lid had been clamped down over her magic. Silently, Jaina drew the knife she kept hidden up her sleeve.

A voice echoed around the room and hallways. “Keep trying, but nothing will happen.”

“Nathanos!” Jaina put her back to a wall, slowly, very slowly edging towards the door. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I spent months trying to discover a way into Suramar’s vaults, only for the Naga to provide my Rangers with ample opportunity.” It was impossible to tell where his voice was coming from, as it seemed to be amplified, echoing off walls and through doorways.

“...We never did find all the stolen relics.”

It explained why she couldn’t tap into her magic. They’d assumed Azshara simply couldn’t risk leaving a magic dampener in the hands of her enemies; it would certainly have been useful in Nazjatar. But that theft had been years ago.

“Clever girl.”

Jaina’s grip tightened on the hilt of the blade as answers to many questions slid into place. How her mother had known about her private matters and yet been so ignorant of the broader picture. About Koltira. Why she’d believed the Wraith’s Shadow project was still in existence. Rumors about her health and her treatment that had persisted long after she and Sylvanas had stopped being enemies. And how had the discrepancies in Kul Tiran shipyards never made their way to Orgrimmar, anyway, with Nathanos’ infamously efficient little birds scattered all over the globe?

All the considerable might of the Alliance armies, brought to bear on Silithus while Ashenvale started to burn...

She sensed movement, but still could not tell where it was coming from. “What happened to your undying loyalty to the Dark Lady?”

“I do this for her. For the Forsaken. For the Horde. Your poisonous influence ends tonight, and the Alliance falls tomorrow.”

Something whistled through the darkness and the impact of arrow on flesh reverberated through her bones.

Chapter 50: Conviction

***Nazjatar, 8 months ago***

Despite the huge bulk, Sylvanas could feel N’Zoth somehow trying to shrink away from her. A fear that permeated the air, that sank into her bones.

As if she could even feel her bones at all. She dove, fast and deep, driving herself into N’zoth’s mind with a soundless scream. And then she was everything and nothing and her life stretched on for eons and the world was dark and heavy and all bowed to her.

The Dark Queen, the ending and the beginning, Sylvanas stretched her hand across Azeroth and made it hers and hers alone. But there were others, stronger others and she was not Sylvanas but N’zoth, the Old God, weak but clever. And it was patient, so patient and it waited.

But Sylvanas lacked that patience. She drilled and dug and swam and at last she found the heart of N’zoth and took that up and squeezed it.

Still it fought her, and she ripped Tyra’s head off, unmade Nathanos, ran Kalira through and strangled Jaina until she stopped twitching. It knew her weak points. And they were weak points. But Sylvanas knew better.

Sylvanas knew that Nathanos had her back, that Kalira and Tyra had become her left and right hands. And Jaina….

An Old God knew nothing of love, even less than Sylvanas did. It only saw that they had been enemies. That they had hated and fought and bled each other. It did not understand change, the grating stop-and-start of evolution and time, any more than Sylvanas understood how to give a proper apology.

So she did not release its heart. Old Gods did not die and yet Sylvanas was death given form. Her blood poisoned it, their minds battled and she ignored its desperate attempts to distract her and crushed its heart and that which could not die, did.

Her eyes snapped open. She was still impaled against the husk of N’zoth, and Alleria, Veressa and Kalira stared up at her.

Alleria’s expression could best be described as free. Vereesa reached up to catch Sylvanas as Kalira removed the arrow. They stumbled, Sylvanas landing on her knees hard enough to jar her teeth.

“You trusted me,” Alleria said, sounding somewhat dumbfounded. There was something different about her eyes. They seemed darker, somehow, but Sylvanas was too exhausted to pursue the matter.

“That is what family is for,” Sylvanas said, and to her own surprise, she meant it.

***NOW***

It took nearly a full second for Jaina to realize that the arrow had not struck her. In the darkness, two wide, red eyes peered at her, before a thin figure collapsed into her arms. The figure was light, lighter than Jaina might have ever suspected, and her heart ached.

Fumbling for an oil lamp, Jaina managed to light it with flint from her belt. In the soft, flickering light, Kalira looked up at her. The Ranger had been the movement Jaina had sensed just prior to Nathanos’s attack, and there was now a thick arrow protruding from her back. Her shadow, her daughter had thrown herself into the line of fire.

Jaina moved the candle, eyes widening as she recognized Kaldorei fletching.

“Mother…” Kalira whispered, and Jaina put a finger over her lips, lifting her eyes as she tried to listen or sense Nathanos, the lamp sputtering in her hand.

Shadows flickered and danced on the walls but one in particular moved with a predator’s determination. It was too dark to see anything, and with her magic guttered Jaina could barely defend herself against a fighter of Nathanos’s caliber. Be it by arrow or by blade, Nathanos would finish her off if she tried to fight on his terms. She heard the bow string a split second before it fired, jerking her head to the side as an arrow sliced her cheek open. Realizing the danger, she thew the lamp in the direction the arrow had come from. In the midst of her growing panic, Jaina realized Nathanos was toying with her.

Still reluctant to leave Kalira, Jaina first tried pulling her, before deciding Nathanos would leave the girl alone while he dealt with her. Jaina found a canister of black powder on Kalira, trying to ignore the pained sounds Kalira made every time that arrow jostled. Had it been coated with something? Jaina chided herself for never considering that the Forsaken might actually still be able to feel pain.

Canister in hand, Jaina drew back into the bedroom, where she had more room to maneuver and maybe find something better to defend herself with. The advancing shadow didn’t follow her immediately and she very quietly opened a few drawers, searching for anything she could use as a weapon.

There were a few things that Jaina found of use; a letter opener she used as a throwing blade, and then a heavy paperweight. She tried to pry loose a letter spike she’d told Sylvanas could kill someone, but a flare of paranoia told her she’d been standing in one place too long, and she threw herself behind the desk half a second before three arrows in rapid succession sprouted where her lungs had just been

Very, very quietly, she reached above her head and pulled a single wire loose.

“Give up and accept your fate. This is the natural order of things,” Nathanos said, just outside the door. If she’d hit him he gave no sign.

What she needed was light, and to get to the bed, to where they kept several blades. The only problem was that making a run for that part of the bedroom would expose her to Nathanos’s line of fire. But there, his shadow in the moonlight. And above her head, a barely audible warning whine.

“I don’t think so.” Jaina dove out of the way as the overloaded typographer exploded in a hail of shrapnel, ink, and pinging screws, then thumbed open Kalira’s canister, lit and threw it while Nathanos was distracted by exploding office supplies.

The resulting flash momentarily blinded her, but Nathanos cried out as well and she knew he was just as affected. And then she heard the woosh of fire, and rushed for the bed and the Sin’dorei blade behind the headboard. But Nathanos had recovered as well. Only luck and the positioning of that sword kept another arrow from piercing her heart but the impact made her stumble.

Swallowing her desperation, Jaina edged towards the bolt tunnel and called out. “Big strong ranger, has to block my magic to be able to kill me. Bet you were really happy when Tyrande sent those Sentinels to Suramar and gave you a ready made target for framing. Too bad you couldn’t arrange that yourself, I can imagine how that must sting.”

“I cannot wait to shut you up permanently.” Irritation lined Nathanos’s face, the shadows cast by the fire giving him a severe, ghoulish look. He lifted his bow and with the tunnel still too far away, Jaina found herself wondering if he’d taken those arrows from some unfortunate sentinel and what kind of person she might have been. Maybe she’d meet her in whatever waited on the other side.

A vicious roar shook the walls around them and Nathanos was very nearly cloven in two by a sword almost as long as he was. Jaina’s sword shook slightly as she realized she’d been granted at least a temporary reprieve.

Tyra’s armor gleamed in the spreading fire, her face contorted , sword swinging up at an angle as Nathanos dodged out of the way again. She shifted her hands, slashing horizontally across Nathanos’s stomach and twisting her whole body as she made another attempt at severing his head.

The Ranger Lord was fast and agile, spinning and flipping out of the way of every one of Tyra’s attacks. But each strike was closer than the one before, tearing at Nathanos’s armor and then eventually opening up gashes.

Yet Nathanos was toying with her; Tyra had to be outmatched. There was nothing Jaina could do to help her without magic. Maybe with her sword, if she could find an opening without getting killed by either of them in the process. Her next option would be to get help; but just as she reached the lever for the bolt tunnel she saw a thin wire and gingerly pulled her hand away.

She turned back to the fight as fire spread through the bedroom and the hallway outside.

Tyra was pure rage, her claymore moving faster and faster as she built up momentum but never scoring more than those shallow hits, until a glancing blow sent Nathanos crashing through the hallway and into the kitchen. Tyra pressed the advantage, and Jaina followed, hoping to pull Kalira away from both the duel and the flame.

Kalira still seemed to be conscious as Jaina grabbed her under her arms and pulled her towards the living room, one eye on Nathanos and the other on the fire. The three undead might not have problems with the smoke, but Jaina would.

Nathanos came at the warrior with a second sword drawn, catching Tyra’s sword in a lock and then ripping it from her grasp. Jaina was given the sweet satisfaction of the shock on Nathanos’s face when that did nothing to stop her bodyguard.

Attacking with teeth and claws and her fists, Tyra shredded the front of Nathanos’s armor and gouged out chunks of flesh from his arms and throat. When he managed to pull away Tyra followed, bashing her head into Nathanos’s face, digging her fingers into his neck to hold him in place.

Silhouetted by fire and smoke, Tyra resembled a monster from a ghost story, clinging to Nathanos. And then she slammed her head forward again, the sound of shattering bone filling the space of the hallway.

And then again, and again, and...Each crunch was more sickening than the last, but Jaina also heard the slick sound of a blade penetrating skin and muscle. Tyra still did not stop, no matter how furiously Nathanos stabbed at her, the brackish scent of Forsaken blood filling Jaina’s senses.

Flame now engulfed the hallway, bone and blood splattered the walls and floor and Jaina kept Kalira’s head turned away from the sight, stroking her hair in an effort to keep her step-daughter calm. Then, seeing her opening, Jaina lowered Kalira’s head to the floor and gripped her sword more tightly as she prepared to launch herself at Nathanos.

“Enough!” Sylvanas’s unearthly shriek nearly shattered Jaina’s eardrums, the force of it snuffing out half the fire and making the very walls tremble.

Tyra hung from Nathanos, his knife sticking out of a gap near her rib cage. Her face was a black, oozing ruin as she tore her hands from Nathanos’s throat, staggered back and collapsed.

******

It took something truly extraordinary to make Sylvanas freeze up. Finding her home ablaze and Nathanos and Tyra trying to kill each other was one such thing.

In her shock and absolute disbelief, she’d let them fight it out while she tried to make sense of the situation. Jaina was unharmed; Kalira was not.

This was all just so impossible. Nathanos, Jaina, Tyra, Kalira. The people she actually trusted, to the extent she was still capable of trusting. She’d been betrayed, and not by someone she’d ever expect it of, but by someone who was on the inside. By family. The last time she’d felt this level of betrayal had been the Wrathgate.

In just a few seconds, the puzzle came together and so many things that had never made sense finally did. It all became so clear that she couldn’t believe she’d been so blind as not to see it until now.

As the echo of her voice faded and she floated there like black mist, Sylvanas could not find her words. Slowly, she pulled herself together, and stalked towards Nathanos. “Explain yourself, Blightcaller.”

Nathanos steadied himself on the wall, then pushed himself into a mostly upright position. His lower jaw was covered in black blood, his nose ruined and his chest a gaping mass of ichor and exposed ribs. His throat had been all but ripped out so he had difficulty speaking, his voice a thick rasp of gravel. “You are… Sylvanas Windrunner. The world should kneel at your feet. All that I have ever done, has been for you. My Queen. To ensure that end.”

A feeling not unlike Nathanos’s gaping chest wound grasped Sylvana’s heart, as though Nathanos had slid that blade of his into her chest and not Tyra’s. Something burned down Sylvanas’s face. These, at least compared to Jaina, were emotions she was intimately familiar with. “For me? You disobey my orders. You go behind my back. It was your work, Kul Tiras, wasn’t it. What other things have you done in my name?”

Sylvanas would own up to her crimes, but she resented those done without her consent. Putting her hand on Nathanos’s shoulder, she forced him to his knees. Her voice rose, slowly, steadily. “Besides attack my wife. My daughters. Burn my home.”

Gesturing at the discarded bow and arrows, she sneered, “In a sloppy attempt to frame the Alliance.”

And it might have worked. With Jaina dead and most of her impulse control gone, Sylvanas would have attacked first in her grief and asked questions later. But she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of being right. Sylvanas’s voice was strained as she stared down at him. “You are my brother. A Windrunner.”

“I would do anything for the Horde.” Nathanos spat out blood. “For the Forsaken. You have forgotten us, Lady! That human whelp has you wrapped around her finger, your sisters prey upon your sentimentality. And you’ve always had a disgusting weakness for Sundreamer’s spawn.”

He went silent, eyes widening as he was frozen by silent command. Sylvanas looked from him, to Tyra, and then to Jaina and Kalira.

Stepping past her oldest friend, Sylvanas approached Kalira, and knelt before her. Unable to find the words, Sylvanas simply inspected Kalira’s wound. Her Dark Rangers could take a great deal of punishment, but this arrow had hit a vulnerable location. “There is not much time, but our healers can still save her.”

“What about Tyra?” Jaina asked, still holding that Sin’dorei sword.

Sylvanas shook her head. “I do not know.”

Jaina nodded, then looked past her. At Nathanos. Sylvanas set her jaw, willing Jaina to not ask any questions. To not poke and prod at that wound that made her heart bleed and her eyes ache.

Dropping the sword, Jaina slid to her knees beside her. “What are you going to do with him?”

Sylvanas opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head as she stared at Jaina with something she’d never felt before threatening to consume her.

Helplessness. Her world had collapsed, and she couldn’t help but wonder at how blind she’d been. If Nathanos could betray her, anyone could. How easy would it be for Jaina to put a knife in her back? Or Kalira? Her sisters? Hell, she was pretty sure she was almost fond of Wrynn at this point.

Jaina’s hand moved on top of hers, and Sylvanas looked at their hands as their fingers threaded together. “I know what you’re thinking,” Jaina said, roughly.

“I was in your head once,” Sylvanas said. “So that’s no surprise.”

“Do you still trust me?”

Sylvanas met Jaina’s eyes, the answer falling from her lips with disturbing ease and painful familiarity. “Yes. I do, always.” Shaking Jaina’s hand off, Sylvanas stood. “Take Kalira to Minuial.”

Turning, she studied Nathanos. That dull ache remained, but she felt a renewed focus as she pushed her feelings aside.

“If you’re going to kill him I want to--”

Voice even, emotionless, Sylvanas said. “Jaina, go. Save our daughter. Send another Dark Ranger here as soon as you can.”

Jaina blinked once, then carefully gathered Kalira into her arms and started for the door. “You probably don’t want to hear this, but Nathanos was right about something. You care about your family, Sylvanas.”

Sylvanas said nothing else as the door closed behind Jaina, her eyes still locked on Nathanos as a hundred memories flooded her consciousness. Her boot crunched on something as she walked back to him, hesitated, and then walked past him.

Tyra still lay where she fell, perfectly still. Her chest did not rise, and there was no heartbeat to tell if she were alive or dead. There was only the faintest flicker of yellow light in the smashed sockets of her eyes. Sylvanas crouched next to her, resting her hand on the top of her head. That yellow glow followed her movements, as she leaned down and whispered into Tyra’s ear.

That light strengthened as Sylvanas lifted her head and held Tyra’s gaze.

“You, perhaps more than any other, represents the strength of the Forsaken, my champion.” Sylvanas cupped one of Tyra’s cheeks, ichor oozing through her fingers. For the moment, Sylvanas’s anger had frozen, something to grasp on to later. Later, when she could deal with this most personal of betrayals.

Her voice grew soft. “Do you understand?”

“~Y…” Tyra’s mouth moved, and after several more false starts, she managed to rattle out the rest of the word. “Yes.”

Her eyes slid towards Nathanos, and Sylvanas touched her other cheek. “Fear not. He will pay.”

Her voice cracked, that ice-encrusted rage starting to shake loose. And there was more than the rage; Sylvanas grieved, even if she refused to put that into words. It was still so impossible to believe. Nathanos… Nathanos.

Sylvanas would have sooner expected Anduin Wrynn to put a dagger in Greymane’s back, than Nathanos to do so to her. Her hands almost shook. The absurdity of it all.

The door swung open again, Dark Ranger Anya stepping inside the hold. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene. Slowly, Sylvanas gathered Tyra into her arms and stood. She jerked her chin towards Nathanos. “Take him beneath the hold.”

“Yes, Dark Lady.” Anya strode over to Nathanos, picking him up and swinging his immobile body over her shoulder. “What of the fire?”

In a tight, clipped voice, Sylvanas replied, “Let it burn.”

******

Deep beneath Grommash Hold, Sylvanas had Anya lay Nathanos onto a table and strap him down. If the ranger had any commentary on what was a familiar scene to her, she kept it to herself, a fact of which Sylvanas was profoundly appreciative.

Once, this place had been home to Garrosh Hellscream’s most depraved experiments and weapons research. Most access had been sealed long ago, in part to bury the past and in part to prevent anyone from ever breaking into Orgrimmar from underneath again.

But Sylvanas had ordered this room repurposed and until recently it had remained unused, waiting for opportunity or necessity.

Tyra lay on another table, and Sylvanas could feel the thin thread holding her soul to her body fraying by the minute. She peered down at her, wondering if this could work, wondering if this plan would be a mistake and some day she’d find herself betrayed again.

She walked past a third, shrouded figure, and stood over Nathanos. With a wave of her hand, she released the hold she had over him. “You betrayed me. Me. And not just me, but the Horde and the Forsaken. You conspired with our enemies, fed them information and weakened our ability to respond to external threats. And for what?”

“To protect you,” he rasped. “To support you, to lift you up. I accept my execution, but my only regret is that I will not be able to protect you from Proudmoore or the Alliance any longer.”

“You’re mistaken, Nathanos.” Sylvanas allowed the edge of her sadness into her voice, an allowance for all that he’d meant to her, for all they’d been through together. “I am not going to execute you.”

A bright light appeared above and behind her, the Val'kyr hovering above the tables. Sylvanas cupped Nathanos’s cheek, his blood smearing across Tyra’s on her hand. Sylvanas’s expression hardened, her eyes exploding into bloody fury and her voice rose in a shriek.

“I am going to unmake you!”

Sylvanas punched her fist into Nathanos’s chest, closing it around that pulse of energy, that dark magic that kept him animated and bound. The air shuddered, kicking up into a wind that rushed around the chamber. Her hair whipped around her head as her face contorted with rage and sorrow. Far above, lightning crackled and thunder roared.

Nathanos bucked, arching his back and screaming, the glow of his eyes guttering like candles in a breeze. He writhed as she held him down, twisting her hand, digging it into his chest. And then she ripped her hand out, blue, misty energy coiling around her fingers and leading from the gaping black wound like tendrils of string. Nathanos’s body shuddered, his screaming an agonized symphony of torment.

As his scream tapered off, the Val'kyr took Nathanos’s life force from her, beating her wings as she rose up into the air. A light pulsed from Tyra’s chest, rising, floating up and then hovering in the air above her. Sylvanas caught it in her fist, and then carried it over to the third table. Above, the Val'kyr began to chant a familiar dirge.

Leaning over the table, Sylvanas stared down at the woman who lay there, fingers tightly closed around a stone with glowing blue runes.

In answer to the silent question on Sylvanas’s face, the woman said, “For family.”

As if it were that simple, as if family meant that such a sacrifice was second nature. Family was messy and complicated and sometimes you had to reduce your longest, most beloved companion to rotted flesh and brittle bone. “You had a second chance, Cassandra. You’d give this up for your sister?”

“What better way to be with her?” If Cassandra was surprised Sylvanas knew her name, she didn’t show it. Her throat bobbed and she closed her eyes. Her fingers wrapped tighter around the stone.

Perhaps out of some unfamiliar sense of mercy or perhaps because a part of her yet hesitated, Sylvanas allowed Cassandra a few more of her limited breaths to prepare herself. And then she placed her hands onto the woman’s chest.

***Many Years Ago, Before the Third War***

Sylvanas watched the sparks rise into the night sky, the smell of the smoke mixing with that of the rabbit stewing over the fire. She felt relaxed, more so than she had in weeks. And why not? Dinner was cooking, the patrol had been light, and she was in good company. It was almost enough to forget the grief.

“Tell me something, Nathanos? What would you be doing with your life, if you weren’t my very best ranger?”

The man smiled across the fire at her, an easy-going smile that reminded her of why she liked him. Not in the way he’d like her to, she knew, but still. She almost viewed him like family. “I’m afraid I can’t think of anything, Lady. Probably hunting and trapping. A decent living, but nothing like this.”

She spread her arms around. “We’re still hunting and trapping!”

“Trolls.”

“Is there a difference?”

Nathanos leaned his head back and laughed. “The Trolls would say so. But, really. I like this life. Fighting at your side, days in the woods, even time in Silvermoon.”

“Despite the naysayers?”

His grin turned wicked. “I enjoy few things more than putting them in their place.”

“You’re human,” she pointed out, knowing full well he was more affected by them than he’d ever let on. “Naysayers were inevitable.”

Getting to her feet, Sylvanas retrieved the pot from the fire, then spooned the stew into bowls. She handed one to Nathanos before returning to her seat.

He looked into his stew, grin fading. “Perhaps that is the case. All I can do is continue to serve you, and prove myself with every arrow I loose.”

“You proved your worth to me long ago,” Sylvanas smiled. “You’ve earned your title tenfold.”

It was harder to do now, rarer in the years since her mother’s death. But Nathanos was one of the few who could get one out of her. And the other … “Kalira will be joining us soon. Once she passes her final trials.”

Nathanos’s expression was inscrutable, the man seemingly invested in his meal. “She will make a fine ranger once she has some more experience under her belt.”

Sylvanas nodded, mostly to herself, and focused on her own bowl. There was rapid change in the air, with Kalira coming of age. She hoped that Feydori would be proud of her. Of them both, not that she needed the validation.

But there were other changes. Rumors from Lordaeron, unrest in the Orc camps, and gods only knew what else on the horizon.

“Do you trust me, Sylvanas?”

She looked up, meeting his eyes across the fire, the words spilling easily from her lips. “Yes, I do. Always.”

Notes:

Chapter 50 is, in a way, the last chapter of Last Resort.

Chapters 51 and 52 are both epilogues, though 51 picks up right after 50, so it's kind of both a final chapter AND the first epilogue! LR has been really about three things. Politics, Romance, and Family. Family is good, bad and in between, a theme which will carry on into the epilogues a little bit and there are still some politics to shake out. And a few threads left dangling on purpose.

So the ride isn't quite over, yet, but I'm still very glad to have gotten on this monster and taken all you along with me!

Chapter 51: Epilogue I

Nathanos had not used poison in his attack. Jaina reasoned that since it was uncommon (but not unheard of) for Sentinels to poison their weapons, Nathanos had opted for the course that would make it less suspicious.

It made the healing go quicker, though Jaina ensured Kalira was seen to first before she allowed Minuial to heal her cheek. Despite the healer’s protestations, Jaina helped Kalira up the street and towards the Hold, arm around her back. That old, hard part of her heart wanted to see Nathanos die. Or re-die, however one wanted to look at it.

Despite what he meant to Sylvanas, Jaina knew that she could not leave him alive. His betrayal was more than personal; it would set a horrible example to let his treason slide.

The irony was not lost on her, having so often been the target of his accusations.

Kalira broke the silence, her words close to Jaina’s own thoughts. “He did not see himself as a traitor.”

“No,” Jaina agreed. She adjusted her grip on Kalira. “His loyalty to Sylvanas was so absolute that he was willing to move against her to secure her position. He saw her as infallible, and yet as wrong.”

“I wonder… I wonder what else he has done, for my mother.” Kalira seemed to mostly be talking to herself, so Jaina remained silent, listening. “He has spied, murdered… something all the Rangers have done. But he’s always pushed a little farther. A little harder. He’s been at her side since I was a child.”

“What are you thinking?”

“Nothing that matters, anymore.” Kalira fell silent, and Jaina did not press further. Not now, at any rate, not with the way the air suddenly felt charged.

Though not a single cloud obscured the moons and stars, thunder boomed in the distance; the slow, rumbling kind that echoed and bounced through the canyons, accompanied by flashes of lightning over the Hold. And then Jaina felt something odd. The hair on her arms and neck stood up, her stomach lurched as though the world had gone sideways, and now Kalira was the one holding her up.

“What was that?” Jaina pushed herself into an upright position, staring at Kalira’s wide eyes.

“It… it felt like the day she raised me.” Kalira said, after a moment of trying to speak, before bursting into a loping, hobbled run. Jaina sped after her, casting a spell on her stepdaughter to make her light as a feather before picking her up and running to the Hold.

Reaching it a few moments later, Jaina set Kalira down to allow her some dignity, and the two rushed inside. Her eyes adjusted quickly; Sylvanas was standing in front of her throne, facing the entrance as a figure knelt in front of her. A Valkyr—one of the Valkyr, Jaina realized— hovered near the ceiling.

Sylvanas’ face looked calm, but when she noticed Jaina, her expression faltered for a fraction of a second. Lifting her hand, the figure rose in response. Sylvanas spoke, voice betraying nothing of the emotion that had flickered there just a moment ago. “A Queen must always have her champion. You have defended that which is mi… dear to me, risking ruination and the final death in service to the Horde and the Forsaken. Rise, Tyra Cole, Warrior of the Horde, Defender of the Forsaken, Champion of the Banshee Queen.”

Tyra bowed deeply, then turned to face Jaina and Kalira. She was taller than she had been, clad in a simple black cotton shirt and pants. Her skin had an ashy appearance, sandy blonde hair turned almost white and her eyes were red. There was an almost eerily beautiful air to her, Jaina thought. She stepped down and towards them, slowly approaching Kalira as one might a wounded and cornered animal.

Jaina silently grabbed Kalira by the arm, staring past Tyra at Sylvanas as Sylvanas added, “But know this, my champion. What is made can always be unmade.”

“Tyra?” Kalira asked, finally finding her voice.

“Kinda,” Tyra said, in a voice deeper than Jaina had expected. “Mostly. M’sister she… she...”

“She saved you,” Jaina prompted gently, eyeing Sylvanas for a brief moment.

“Gonna be with me forever now…” Tyra confirmed.

Slowly, as if not quite believing what she was seeing, Kalira touched Tyra’s cheek, peering into her eyes. Her voice sounded almost sad. “I liked how you were before. But it’s still … you.”

From the sound of it and the kiss that followed, that was all that mattered. Movement from Sylvanas brought Jaina’s attention back to her. Her wife had sat down, leaning back in her throne, her gaze miles away. Jaina squeezed Kalira’s arm, then walked up to the throne, sitting in her seat. Sylvanas’s hand closed the space between the thrones and rested on top of Jaina’s.

“An’ now I ain’t gonna rot away on you.” Tyra was saying, rolling up one of her sleeves and taking a good, long look at her arm. An excited smile burst across her face and she grabbed Kalira’s other hand, all but bouncing in place. “Look honey! I got elbows!”

******

They were lucky, and lucky didn’t even begin to cover it. It hadn’t just been Jaina’s life that hung in the balance, but the partnership between Horde and Alliance; and in some ways, Anduin had realized, the ties that bound the Alliance together had become fragile.

Anduin had never been known as a man who yelled, having spent most of his life trying to be even, and measured. And yet his throat was raw and his fingers ached from clenching his hands so tightly, even an hour after the Lord Admiral had left.

And yet, his anger had been nothing compared to Tyrande’s fury.

“Thank you,” he said, looking up at Baine with a grateful expression on his face. “I’m glad they chose you to observe.”

“We wanted to project strength, but in a more calming way,” Baine explained. “That, and I am not sure who might have actually walked out alive if the Warchief had been present.”

Anduin shook his head, his gut still twisted from the entire experience, and flexed his fingers. “I can guess that she’s very unhappy.”

“That would be an understatement.”

“And Jaina?” Anduin asked, finally willing to ask how she was handling the entire situation. With her mother, the Compact, choosing sides… It must have torn her in half.

“Unhappy would be an understatement for the Lady of Orgrimmar as well,” Baine admitted. “I spoke with her privately before she portaled me to Stormwind. She did not say as much, but she’s heartbroken, Anduin.”

“At least this time,” Anduin responded, “she didn’t have to watch a family member die.”

That made twice now that Jaina had chosen the Horde, and peace, over one of her parents. Anduin knew she had to be hurting, and he resolved to do whatever he could to help her feel better.

“I doubt that makes it any easier.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s already bad enough that she’s going to be at odds with Kul Tiras again.”

Baine tilted his head. “She may not be, this time. The narrative in Boralus is likely already building, but Kul Tiras turned on her over third-hand information once before, and she proved them wrong; they may hesitate to make the same mistake again, when the Lord Admiral herself acknowledges that Jaina was not the one breaking multiple peace treaties. But that may be wishful thinking. I have noticed, my friend, that our people can be fickle. They might love us one moment, but under the right -- or wrong -- circumstances, they can turn on us the next.”

“I suppose the right or wrong circumstances depends on what kind of leader you are.” Anduin folded his arms, looking his friend up and down. “And the sanctions won’t help the mood there.”

“Short of military reprisals I can’t see any other alternative.” Baine snorted. “Official reprimands and repudiation would be toothless. And since Kul Tiras relies heavily on trade...”

“They will hurt,” Anduin said. “And they will in turn make their own leadership hurt.”

“Do you think Katherine Proudmoore will hang on? Or pass the mantle to her son?”

“I’m not going to try to predict what she’ll do, not after amassing a fleet and nearly destroying everything Jaina has fought for.” A fleet that still needed dealing with. But tomorrow. Tomorrow.

Baine laughed. “I’m not going to either.”

Anduin smiled. “And yet, I can’t help but feel as though there will be consequences we can’t predict.” Rather than try to think about impossible predictions, he looked at Baine again and asked, “Can you bring Jaina a letter for me? I’d like to spend a little time with her once this has settled down. As friends.” After what he was told happened with Nathanos, he thought Jaina needed that.

“Of course.” Baine squeezed Anduin’s shoulder.

It didn’t take long for Anduin to write his missive, and he watched as the Tauren Chieftain departed through a mage portal. He immediately left the keep and walked to the new gardens that had been planted after the rebuilding. Anduin had discovered they had a calming, relaxing influence on him, and more than anything he wanted to feel calm, and relaxed.

Unfortunately, he found Genn sitting on a bench. Genn seemed distracted, almost conflicted. Resigning himself to not being relaxed, Anduin sat down next to him, saying nothing and waiting for him to voice his thoughts.

“The wedding is in a few days,” Genn finally said, after several long, silent minutes. “It’s a stupid thing to be … With what happened at Orgrimmar and the fallout today …”

“Your daughter is getting married,” Anduin said. “You’re a king, yes, but you’re also a father. It’s a wonderful thing to be preoccupied by, I think, especially after Orgrimmar, and Kul Tiras. And Nazjatar, even.”

“A happy, joyous occasion,” Genn said somberly. “That’s what it is, what it should be. But I keep thinking, when is the next war? With whom? I’m old Anduin. I don’t know how many more wars I’ve got in me and the idea of Tess having to face more without me makes me sick.”

“She’ll have Lorna.”

Genn made a face, and yet he started to sound in better spirits, “I’m still getting used to that. Gods, when I told Darius we were going to be in-laws I think he broke something laughing.”

“She’ll have me too,” Anduin said, laughing at the mental image. “But I like to think you’ll be around a good number of years more, if only to keep Windrunner on her toes.”

“Yes, well…” Genn smoothed a wrinkle on his glove. “I’ll never be able to trust her. Baine… yes. The First Arcanist, maybe. But for what it’s worth, the peace has become welcome. I like to hope that it’s something that Tess can become used to.”

“Jaina?”

“As you’ve told me time and again,” Genn said, almost perfectly mimicking the tone Anduin often used, “Jaina is an adult who is capable of making her own choices. And I’m sure she’s more surprised than anyone else at how much sway she has with the Horde now.”

Anduin snorted. “That still doesn’t tell me if you trust her.”

Still smoothing that wrinkle, Genn huffed a breath. “Yes. No. I don’t know anymore. I want to, but she’s made her allegiances clear. She’s Horde now.”

“I tried to put myself in her shoes,” Anduin said quietly. “And think about living in another city, with another people for six years. Working with them day after day, dining with them, becoming a part of their lives and they a part of mine. And I can’t say that I’d have done any different.”

After a long moment, Genn said, “I would die for Stormwind, Anduin. And … if I were Jaina, I would die for Orgrimmar.”

He said the words like they were a bitter pill, but both men knew it was the truth. Jaina had twice over proven her word to Sylvanas and to Orgrimmar.

Anduin lifted his hands helplessly. “So what do we do now?”

“I walk Tess down the aisle.”

“I mean about the Compact.” Anduin dropped his hands back into his lap. “Sylvanas won’t kill Jaina. And Jaina won’t destroy Orgrimmar.”

“Maybe we’ve outgrown it. Or maybe…” Slowly, Genn pushed himself to his feet. “We already have a new hostage.”

“Stromgarde,” Anduin guessed, standing as well. An already bustling city, filled with Alliance and Horde citizens alike, and a planned counterpart on Kalimdor. “Maybe Azshara was the last war, Genn.”

“No,” Genn said, dourly. “There will always be a next war, whether we’re ready for one or not.”

He disappeared around a hedge, leaving Anduin alone with his thoughts.

******

Seven years and some weeks ago, Sylvanas had stood before the world and taken Jaina’s hand in marriage. Both an attempt to buy the Horde time and a plan to dismantle the Alliance in the process, it had instead morphed into something wholly unexpected. And as she felt Jaina’s hand on her back, Sylvanas decided that it had worked out much better than she’d ever expected.

“So,” Jaina said. “It’s … official now. The Horde now has a chain of succession and I’m first in line. No more arbitrarily choosing who’s next on the spot.”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask why. About myself, I mean.”

Sylvanas turned, and looked into Jaina’s eyes. “The Horde respects you. A long time ago I was wary of the way you seemed to turn our people towards you. That wariness was justified, but not in the way I’d assumed.”

“You expected me to turn them against you.”

“Instead, you’ve helped make them more loyal to me.” Sylvanas flashed her a cocky smile. “Thank you for that.”

Snorting, Jaina pushed at Sylvanas’s back and Sylvanas started to walk. Jaina’s hand lingered as she seemed to enjoy the bared flesh; it had been a miracle they’d made it out of the residency without being delayed. “I wrote my mother. I don’t want to let things get that bad again.”

“How long do you think she’ll hold on to her position?” Sylvanas asked, oddly content to have herself nudged along by her wife. Her initial discomfort at the long, dark dress she wore had faded at the expression on Jaina’s face when she’d first seen Sylvanas in it. Enda had made it for her to impress Jaina with, and yet today she wore it for an entirely different purpose. “If she can, at all.”

“Longer than you give her credit for. It will be a rough few years. The sanctions are harsh, but it has to be better than war.” Jaina stopped, looking around as she thought she heard someone coming.

“Sanctions are only slightly less toothless than a sternly worded letter.”

“And yet you signed on too,” Jaina reminded her, looking past Sylvanas and waving. “Baine!”

Baine practically thundered towards them hefting a large crate on one of his arms. He came to a stop and gave them both respectful nods of his head before thrusting the crate into Jaina’s arms. His voice was harried and he scarcely seemed to notice Sylvanas’s unusual clothing. “I believe these belong to you.”

Sylvanas watched with some curiosity as Jaina flipped open the crate and looked inside. They were greeted with a variety of Jaina’s underwear and at least three pairs that belonged to Sylvanas. Many of them had been missing for literal years. “I was wondering what happened to those. I rarely wear underwear to begin with.”

Clearly not needing to know that, Baine grimaced. “I discovered these under my bed.”

“My my, Baine, who knew you had such perverse interests,” Sylvanas said, her grin only widening when Jaina elbowed her.

“It’s Varian. He keeps coming through the portal to Thunder Bluff and hiding these in my quarters.”

Sylvanas threw her head back and laughed uproariously.

Embarrassed, Jaina closed the crate. “...Thank you for returning these to us. If you would be so kind as to leave them in our residence, I would appreciate it. We have somewhere we need to be and I don’t want to haul my unmentionables across the world.”

Baine took the crate back. “You really need to have a talk with that cat.”

“For the last time, he’s not King Wrynn reincarnated,” Jaina insisted.

“Are you sure about that? Are you absolutely sure about that?”

“Human Varian was many things,” Sylvanas allowed. “But a panty thief he was not.”

Jaina called up a portal, sounding more amused than she was letting on. “Can we not have this discussion in public?”

Laughing again, Sylvanas stepped through the portal. Jaina’s general upbeat mood today was actually having an effect on her, and she sighed dramatically once Jaina had followed her. She glanced around, her face creasing as her lips twitched downward and laugh faded. “The plaguelands?”

“They wanted it in Lordaeron.” Jaina reached for Sylvanas’s hand, and pulled her towards a clearing. From what Sylvanas could tell, they were a few miles northeast of Andorhal.

There remained no evidence of the Scourge here. Flowering plants were visible as far as Sylvanas could see and her sensitive ears picked up the sounds of animals out of sight. Sunlight filtered through the canopy and she caught sight of butterflies fluttering about.

In another life, Sylvanas would have found it beautiful. Jaina tugged on her hand, and Sylvanas amended that thought. Perhaps, in a small way, it still was.

She came up short of the edge of the clearing, not because she sensed any sort of trap or danger lurking in the trees, but because of what waited at the center of the meadow. Sylvanas pulled Jaina back towards her, murmuring, “Jaina. I can’t.”

Jaina squeezed Sylvanas’s hand. “Yes, you can.”

Out of sorts, Sylvanas hissed, staring past Jaina and into the clearing. “She looks just like her mother.”

Kalira wore a dress of silver-spun, red fabric, that exposed her shoulders and neck. Someone had braided her hair and wrapped the braid in several loops around her head, lacing silver ribbon through-out. Tyra stood next to her in full, polished armor the color of basalt, proudly wearing Sylvanas’s crest on her breastplate. Sylvanas thought she’d chosen her new champion well.

Standing behind them was Yukale Ravenwing, Tyra’s friend and honored guest, who was putting the finishing touches on a set of flower crowns. Sylvanas sneered, and whispered. “I am not wearing that.”

Chuckling softly, Jaina pulled Sylvanas into the clearing, pulling colorful rope out of her pouch. “We both know it would make them very happy for you to wear a crown at their handfasting.”

“Are you sure it won’t make you happy?” Sylvanas asked.

The only answer Jaina gave her was a joyous laugh.

Notes:

You didn't think I'd forgotten the little panty thief did you?

Also I didn't know I needed Sylvanas in a flower crown until I wrote this, you're welcome

Chapter 52: Epilogue II

Notes:

We’ve had one, yes, but what about second epilogue?

The coin glinted in the dim lamplight as Valeera flipped it between the fingers of her right hand, and then to her left, and back again. One side was bare; the other bore the sigil of a sword through a broken crown. It had been several hours since Liadrin had taken her leave, and yet Valeera had not moved from her spot.

And if she was half as good as she knew she was, no one else in the tavern even remembered she was sitting here. Valeera could listen, and observe; and there was much to overhear. Anduin had released her from her spying in Orgrimmar, and now she was free to pursue … other goals. Necessities that she’d had no choice but to set aside.

Valeera wondered if that mistake was worse than she thought.

A low, hunched figure approached. To the untrained eye, it was simply a large dog or wolf, some hunter’s companion wandering around. To Valeera, she recognized a Worgen who’d mastered the ability to be unseen, even without the shadows. Invisible and yet right under everyone’s noses.

Talet Broadstone paused to scratch behind her ear with a foot, using the opportunity to flick a folded note into Valeera’s lap. She said nothing, waiting patiently as Valeera leaned back and spun the coin on the table.

“Our new recruit settling in?”

The coin continued to spin, reflecting light in every direction as it did so, and Talet merely nodded once before giving a slightly exaggerated yawn and lying down on the dirty floor, casually within Valeera’s line of sight. Valeera tossed her contact a bit of sausage and winked at the dirty look she got in response as she casually opened the message on the table.

Written in an elegant, precise script that Valeera knew was not Talet’s, the note detailed the initial findings of the new Northrend garrison. Her eyes narrowed as she read it. A’sooka was indeed settling in, and had yet to notice anything untoward. Valeera had concerns about the leadership in that village, but nothing so far to confirm it.

“Have her continue to keep an eye on things. She’s authorized to deal with problems in the usual way. But remind her to keep an eye on that paladin of hers.”

Watching Valeera drop the note onto the candle at the center of the table, Talet merely flicked her ears in acknowledgement. The cover she’d chosen tonight precluded anything else, of course, but from experience Valeera figured meeting openly would probably have gotten her the same level of conversation.

Valeera liked that about her. One usually knew where they stood with Talet. Which is what made her perfect for Valeera’s plans. Leaning back, Valeera signaled someone to order ale neither of them would actually drink. “Once you’ve done that, there’s something else we need to do, and it’s going to be incredibly dangerous.”

Talet’s ears stiffened, a wary glint in her eyes. She stretched, shook her fur out, and padded over in a convincing impression of a poorly-behaved pet worg begging for table scraps. Once Valeera was certain there was no one listening, she leaned forward on the pretense of playing with the friendly dog, and spoke so quietly that only the Worgen ears in front of her could hear.

The coin stopped spinning and landed crown side down.

***TWO YEARS LATER***

Sylvanas leaned against a tree, arms folded as she watched her sisters stare suspiciously at the boxes they each held. “Do you expect them to explode?”

“Were goblins involved in the manufacturing of these gifts?” Alleria countered, staring at Sylvanas with her night-sky eyes.

Laughter from across the hill carried on the breeze, diverting Sylvanas’s attention. She heard Jaina’s answering laugh, then shook her head. “Do you want your gifts or not?”

“I’m still trying to figure out what the occasion is,” Vereesa said, kneeling in the grass and pulling her box closer. “You’re not usually one to throw parties unless there’s some kind of benefit to the Horde.”

“There is an occasion.” Sylvanas pushed off from the tree. “Is the Fire Festival not enough?”

“Well. It’s enough.” Alleria had sat down next to her sister, but still eyed the boxes with trepidation. “Usually you just stick to yourself.”

“Or keep Jaina tied to the bed,” Vereesa quipped.

“Literally on at least one occasion.” To Sylvanas’s delight her sisters shared a pained expression. There might be rifts between them that could never quite be healed, but this felt… adequate. It felt like she had them again, at least until time and fate took them from her, as it would take all the things she cared for. “I have something for my nephews too, though those gifts are a little more practical.”

“I understand they visited with you a few weeks ago.” Alleria tugged on the box’s ribbon, seemingly inclined to take all eternity to open the damn box.

“Yes.” Sylvanas glanced askance at Vereesa. “Someone finally let go of their leash.”

“They’re adults, and it was their choice. I made no attempt to influence them either way.” Vereesa, for her part, was much more aggressive. She undid the ribbon and lifted up the box, only to stare into a pair of blue eyes, set into a tiny, furry head the color of gold-flecked silver.

Vereesa picked up the kitten as it mewled at her, and stared over its head at Sylvanas. Alleria tore the lid off of her box, to find another kitten, somehow a darker shade of night than even Varian was.

“Varian, it seems, has made a dear friend in one of my champions’ cats,” Sylvanas explained. “And when I saw these two, I knew who belonged to them. Jaina had some suggestions for names, but I…” Here, Sylvanas measured her words, before she finished speaking. “I wanted you to … choose for yourselves.”

Alleria’s face journey was, as usual, the stuff of legends, but Vereesa… Vereesa just held the kitten close and smiled at Sylvanas. “Thank you.”

Alleria cleared her throat, carefully lifting the black kitten from its box and not seeming to know what else to do with it. “Did you ever discover what the Blightcaller had planned that involved us?” she asked, voice tighter than usual. “I’m unhappy not knowing.”

Sylvanas’ ears folded back at the sour reminder of Nathanos’ treachery. Her spies had been unleashed like hounds along the trail of Nathanos’ rogue spy network—a term Valeera Sanguinar had cheerfully informed her was redundant, before Jaina expelled the woman from Orgrimmar yet again—but they had almost been unnecessary. Rankin Bass had told them everything the moment he was asked, without even needing to be threatened.

In the end Sylvanas hadn’t even had the satisfaction of executing a cadre of traitors. Nathanos held power, but not true loyalty; his entire shadow operation had been under the sincere impression that they were following Sylvanas’ orders the entire time.

Part of her had wanted them dead for good regardless, but Jaina had learned how to weaponize her disappointed looks.

That he had called his operation “Three Sisters” carried dark promise, especially with far-ranging elements not entirely locked down; but as time went on it became clear that neither Alleria nor Vereesa had ever played a role in Nathanos’ scheming. Almost more galling than the wasted time was the fact that it had been Katherine Proudmoore who finally solved the mystery.

“It was never about you,” Sylvanas answered shortly. “Nathanos had a sense of humor, it seems.” Vereesa frowned at her, and Sylvanas forced her voice to remain even. “A Kul Tiran phrase. My dear mother-in-law recognized it immediately. It refers to a type of triplicate rogue wave, ship-killers due to the effects of hitting in rapid succession.”

A competent helmsman can survive a rogue wave, Katherine had told them. Even a massive greybeard is survivable, if you know what you’re doing. The three sisters aren’t giants, but they follow one after another with no time to do anything but hold on and pray, and you never see more than the first freak trough coming. By the nature of shiphandling, if you strike the first wave at the proper angle—do everything right—the second will knock the ship out of alignment, swamping it, leaving it foundering. A good ship with a good crew will be wet and scared, but still be able to compensate. It’s the third that kills you.

“The third wave is usually the weakest,” Sylvanas heard herself say. “According to the Lord Admiral. But it strikes when a ship has already been knocked far off its bearing and half-drowned, leaving no time to think, let alone course-correct.”

“Poetic,” said Alleria.

“I still think I’ve been insulted,” said Vereesa. “Again.”

“Not every natural phenomenon where the third of something is the weakest is about you, Vereesa,” Alleria said patiently.

“Oh,” Vereesa retorted, though her ears were cocked at a teasing angle. “Just some of them? Is that what you’re saying, Alleria Windrunner?”

Oh, they would undoubtedly continue to bicker, Sylvanas knew, dig and pry at her and she at them. But for now, the rifts seemed a little smaller.

The little void in Alleria’s lap reached up and batted at her eyebrows. Sylvanas held back a smile at the familiar emotion that evoked, and for once in her life and death did not say a thing at the tears on her sister’s cheeks.

******

There was no particular significance for an eighth anniversary. It was between five and ten, and there were only so many significant milestones a relationship could bear. But they’d missed their fifth anniversary, and their sixth had been close enough to the war that Jaina hadn’t felt much inclined toward celebrating it. The seventh had been nice and low key as well, but for the first time in quite awhile, Jaina had asked that they go all out. Not a tenth anniversary level, of course. But there were fireworks, and dancing, and tables upon tables of food.

It was the dancing that Jaina had been looking forward to the most. The dancing, and the fireworks she’d helped Harleen put together into something magical.

But mostly the dancing, and Jaina had a full dance card.

Jaina stood on the docks outside Orgrimmar, watching the calm sea, and the workers arranging the last of the fireworks for the evening’s show. The rockets would shoot skyward and arc over towards the city, where they would explode against Jaina’s barrier; and where Jaina’s barrier would respond in kind, in a thousand pulsing colors.

Nine years ago she’d stood here, reflecting on her fate and that of the world. Jaina Proudmoore, Lady of Orgrimmar, successor and Consort of the Warchief, smiled, and teleported home.

The scent of cooking meat and baked sweets filled her senses. “That is my favorite part.”

“Sure it ain’t the sex?” Tyra appeared at Jaina’s right, wearing a fine white shirt and black slacks. As she’d often done since the ritual, Tyra had dyed her hair and tonight it was a vibrant shade of blue. Kalira was on her arm, wearing a dress in a somewhat darker shade of the color in Tyra’s hair.

“Definitely the food,” Jaina assured her. She held her hand out for Tyra. “Dance?”

“Aye mum,” Tyra said, taking Jaina’s hand.

“You really don’t have to call me that.”

Grinning, Tyra led Jaina into the swing of the music, her eyes, so much like Sylvanas’s and Kalira’s, glinting in amusement. “Yeh know I gotta.”

Jaina laughed, allowing Tyra to spin her around. “You don’t call Sylvanas mother.”

“Tried once an’ she threatened ta unmake me,” Tyra remarked. “Figure I ain’t gonna press the issue.”

“Give it another ten years,” Jaina suggested. “She might be more receptive to the idea by then.”

She allowed herself another dance with Tyra before Kalira cut in to retrieve her wife, and Jaina slipped over to one of the tables to sample the offerings. If she didn’t get a few tastes in now, she knew she wouldn’t ever get the chance; others might want to dance, and when Sylvanas arrived, late as always, the only thing on the menu would be Sylvanas.

A familiar-looking older human gentleman smiled at her as she tried to magic a muffin over to her plate. “Let me help you with that, Lady.”

“Thank you.” Jaina held up her plate as he retrieved the muffin for her. “Enjoying the party?”

“I am.” He bowed his head to her. “I’m grateful for the invitation.”

Jaina peered closer, and her smile grew. “Captain Edrington! It’s been a long time.”

“Indeed it has, my lady.” He had a jovial smile that Jaina had always found charming, even when she’d been a little girl. The Captain had been a simple crewman back then, but had been a strong supporter of her father and then eventually her mother, even into his retirement. “Your mother was happy for the invitation this year, but thought it best to wait until the next time.”

Perpetually grateful that he’d never abandoned her either, Jaina squeezed his arm. “Thank you for relaying the message. Could you deliver a letter for me when you return?”

“I sail tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ll have to see you off then.”

“As long as you don’t make yourself sick from too many muffins.”

Jaina laughed, but then promptly forgot about muffins or roast chicken or old family friends as Sylvanas stepped out of the hold and immediately located her. Their eyes met, Sylvanas’s ears twitching as Jaina lifted her head slightly in challenge.

Setting her plate aside, she started towards her wife, smile growing as they got closer and Sylvanas stared her down. Jaina slipped her arms around her as soon as she was in range. “You’re wearing the silk shirt I bought you.”

“You’re wearing that dress,” Sylvanas murmured, hands sliding down Jaina’s bare back and side. “You haven’t since our second…”

“I know.” Jaina brushed her fingers against the back of Sylvanas’s neck. “I wanted to see if it still fit, and if I still looked good in it.”

“You look ravishing.” The low rumble in Sylvanas’s voice made Jaina’s head spin and she was insanely pleased that she still had it.

“No ravishing until I’ve had my dance.”

Sylvanas smiled at her, showing her fangs and making it difficult for Jaina to think straight let alone hold to her words. “Have you danced with anyone else?”

“Other than Minuial, Xu, Harleen, and a very charming swordsmith?” Jaina asked breezily. Sylvanas twitched her ears back, seemingly for the principle of the thing. “Just one of our daughters. Kalira stole her away and didn’t even offer to dance with me.”

“We Windrunners can be possessive,” Sylvanas allowed, moving slowly around Jaina and then pressing against her back. Her hand slid up the small of Jaina’s back as her lips brushed her shoulder. “Of those things most important to us.”

“Mm.” Jaina tilted her head to the side, feeling Sylvanas’s fingers in her hair. “Sylvanas, if you ruin my hair…”

“Did you expect anything else, wearing this dress?”

Jaina laughed, moving against Sylvanas. “Of course not.”

She pulled away, taking Sylvanas’s hand. Without another word, she pulled her away from the festivities. Overhead, the first of the fireworks lit up the night sky, multicolored patterns streaking across the shield.

Sylvanas came to a stop, staring up at the lights. Jaina slid into her, studying Sylvanas more than she was the fireworks. “What is it?”

“Nothing…”

Jaina leaned in and kissed Sylvanas on the cheek. “Are you sure it’s nothing?”

“Allow me a moment to be reflective with my wife, wife.”

“Of course, warchief,” Jaina teased. “But when your moment is done, I was thinking we could draw a bath…”

Sylvanas’s head snapped down, her eyes zeroing in on Jaina’s. Then she looked around.

“What?”

“I am waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“What other shoe could possibly drop?” Jaina regretted the question almost as soon as she’d asked it. Of all people, she knew the dangers of tempting fate.

“An invasion,” Sylvanas suggested. “Someone dying. Your mother visiting. Thalyssra inviting us to one of those Nightborne parties. Greymane getting fixed.”

Jaina snorted so hard she saw fireworks in her eyelids. “Then we better hurry. I’m looking forward to seeing you in bubbles.”

Sylvanas sneered, but did not actually object to the bubbles. Jaina supposed that some sacrifices were worth it.

It was after all, the story of their lives.

Notes:

Wow. Okay so we made it!

This thing ended up about 150,000 more words than I'd originally expected it to be and is only my second ever fic to break into 6 digits, and I'm so happy with how so many of you responded to it and enjoyed it. It made it so much better to write for me and I wanted to thank all of you for coming along with us on this journey.

It was loads of fun to write and I got to explore themes and ideas that aren't typically present in my writing, as well as exercise writing muscles that I really enjoyed exercising. LR kind of became a passion project in that even the chapters that were the hardest to finish still came relatively easily. Or maybe I just connect really well to Jaina and that helps.

Be sure to click on next to the sequel! Handfuls of Dust

Also! Please make sure to give 10,000 props to my beta mylordshesacactus without whom this fic would probably not exist. She's utterly brilliant and has never written a bad thing in her life.

She's also almost as evil as I am and we have matching 'reader tears' mugs and we've spent many times waiting for comments and laughing evilly with each other.

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 3 of Last Resort