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Sylvanas storms down the hall, her boots clicking loudly against the polished tile floor. The General’s assistant scrambles up from his seat to intercept her, but she flicks her ear and gives him a look that has him dropping back in his chair in a second. She strides past him and knocks twice before opening the door.
She steps inside, taking measure of the human seated in front of the desk for a moment before looking at the General and saluting. She’s pissed that she got pulled from the most important mission of the year, benching her squad after having trained for three full months for it, but that doesn’t mean she will disrespect her in front of an unknown party.
That’s her mother, after all.
“General,” she says, voice clipped but professional. The General turns, and all the anger and frustration melt from her at the look she gives her. Oh, this is serious.
“Major, take a seat,” Mother says, voice tight. Sylvanas is quick to close the door behind her and advance towards the chairs.
“I was about to leave for a mission, General,” she can’t help but say, taking care to keep her voice neutral in front of the human woman. Her ears, however, tell a different story, one the General acknowledges with her own ear flick.
“I’m aware. Please take a seat,” she repeats, and Sylvanas sits. The General motions at the human, and finally Sylvanas allows herself to take her in.
She looks young, even for a human. Hair the color of spun gold –except for a single, pure white lock at her crown– is twisted into a complex braid that rests over her chest. Her eyes remind Sylvanas of the sea during the summer storms, dark and shifting and… enchanting. She wears a Kirin Tor uniform, the deep color and the silver stripe on her cuffs denoting her as an Archmage of the Order. And yet… the Kul Tiran anchor hangs from her neck, and the medals that rest over her breast are not Kirin Tor regulation.
“Major, this is Archmage Jaina Proudmoore from the Kirin Tor, and Captain in the Kul Tiran Navy, though she is here on behalf of the Kirin Tor only.” Sylvanas tilts her head, and has to stop herself from reacting outwardly –noticeably– when the returning nod reveals the long expanse of the Archmage’s neck to her. If the way the General’s eyes narrow is anything to go by, she wasn’t completely successful. “Archmage, Major Sylvanas Windrunner.”
Proudmoore blinks, returning her eyes to Sylvanas for a moment before looking back at the General. “Do you really want your daughter brought into this, General?”
Well… That's new. Sylvanas looks at the General, ear twitching up and her eyebrow following, only to find her smirking. Huh…
“I’m not bringing my daughter, Archmage, I’m bringing in the best officer I have, along with the best squad, for the job.”
Shit couldn’t have gone worse if they'd tried to make it so.
Jaina curses her luck as another explosion makes the ground shake beneath her, followed by a rush of mana that makes her skin buzz. Ranger Anya Eversong, the ranger Windrunner had assigned as her personal escort, gasps and shudders at her side; the glow of her eyes is noticeable even though they’re screwed shut, and her breath escapes in short bursts through her tightly clenched teeth. She slaps a hand over the elf’s arm and siphons the excess mana away, condensing it into a tight, volatile ball and shooting it over the rubble towards the group of trolls that have them cornered.
The resulting explosion is smaller, but it seems to have done its job well enough, if the chorus of cries and exclaimed Zandali curses is anything to go by.
She tugs at Eversong’s arm, and they run to the door, making their way down the hall. The elf stumbles, and Jaina hauls her up, her arm over her shoulders, and pulls her through until they find a small room that looks mostly untouched. She helps Anya down into the corner, and rips the collar of her shirt to get a better look at the burn the woman had taken in her stead.
“Fuck me,” the ranger gasps, letting her head thunk against the wall.
Jaina tsks and palms at the small potion pouch at her waist. “Buy me a drink first, Ranger."
Anya snorts, and accepts the potion Jaina presses into her hand. “No thanks, the Boss would kill me."
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, please. You two are everything but subtle,” she grouses before popping the lid and downing the potion like a shot. “Belore, that’s foul!” She passes the vial back, and grins at Jaina, one small fang poking from beneath her lip. “Besides, the walls in that safe house were thin as fuck, and you two weren’t exactly quiet.”
Jaina does her best to contain her expression, though she cannot do much for the hot flush that overtakes her cheeks. She distracts herself from looking at the smug elf by examining the rapidly healing burn, and carefully ties a knot at her collar with the torn edges to keep the shirt from falling fully apart.
“I hope you stay…” she hears the elf murmur, and she looks up to see Anya giving her a soft look, her eyes smiling as much as her lips. “She’s happy with you. We haven’t seen her smile like that in a long time…”
She takes a moment to study the Ranger before her; no matter how young she may look, Jaina knows she’s much older than her. There’s a steadiness, a wiseness in those eyes, that makes her stop and think. Her… relationship with the Elven Major had started as nothing more than a dalliance. A way to blow off steam on the field after having been in each other’s pockets for the better part of a month. But as time went on, stolen moments in dark rooms became quiet mornings around warm cups of tea, which then became strategy sessions that turned into deep, personal discussions.
Playful kisses pressed against bare shoulders. Soft smiles in the predawn light. Sleepy nuzzles right before midnight.
Countless hours spent studying those enigmatic ears, adorned with delicate gold and oh so sensitive.
A distant explosion knocks her from her thoughts, and she finishes tidying up before looking back up at Anya and offering her a smile of her own.
“I hope I can stay too.”
“Step on it, Sylvanas!” Jaina screams as she runs out of the facility, hopping onto the back of the bike as half a dozen goons burst out of the doors after her.
She only waits long enough to make sure the human is settled correctly behind her before revving and shooting down the street. She can hear at least three of the goons also hop onto bikes behind them, so she weaves between cars, doing her best to keep steady while Jaina puts on her helmet.
“We’ve got four behind us,” she finally hears through the headset. She hums.
“Hang on, gorgeous," she purrs, and speeds up if only to feel Jaina tighten her arms around her.
She leans forward a little, feeling Jaina doing the same at her back, and expertly maneuvers around cars, turning sharply to the right, then left, then right again. She feels her human move behind her and hears the click of her tongue as she turns back around.
“Still with us, darling!"
“Belore’s tits, what’s in those files?” She grumbles as she tries to lose their tail again.
She does a tight U-turn and gets on the highway access. She guns it, flying down the pavement. She passes two exits, then takes the third in front of a truck. Hopefully the large trailer blocks them from view as the road twists and folds under the highway. She continues at a more leisurely pace as they enter the suburbs, twisting up and down residential streets.
She feels Jaina relax against her back, her helmeted head resting between her shoulder blades and her arms dropping a bit to curl more comfortably around her stomach. She allows herself to savor the moment of tranquility –the wind sneaking through the helmet, the warmth of the woman behind her, the greenery of the streets around them– before they have to go back to Central. She slows down even more, the bike cruising, and feels Jaina snuggle closer.
“Are you okay back there, Dalah'surfal?" She murmurs, taking advantage of the red light to dance her fingers over Jaina’s hands.
“Mhmm… you look so good in leather,” she answers, her hands moving to her arms and giving her biceps a soft squeeze.
Sylvanas lets the prideful purr build, her shoulders straightening slightly.
That is, until a third voice crackles through the comm with a cough. “We’re still here, Boss,” Denyelle says, voice slightly strangled.
“The General stopped by to see how the op was going,” Anya adds; in contrast, she sounds like she’s doing her best to contain her laughter. “You might want to hurry back,”
“We’ll be right back,” she manages to say before cutting the connection.
Jaina’s head thunks down against her back.
“Fuck…”
“So…”
Sylvanas groans loudly, and Jaina can’t help but snicker from her place cuddled against her side. She leans harder against her, tucking herself tight under those strong, archer arms. Even in her melodramatics, Sylvanas moves her hand so it rests against her bicep and starts tracing patterns against her cooling skin. They’re all gathered at the beach under Windrunner Spire, a large campfire built in the sand, making everyone lethargic and languid under its golden light and warmth as the sun sets under the waves.
“Okay, Boss, we’ll stop. Truly, how did it go?” Thank the Tides for Loralen. Even as some of the squad playfully complain about their ribbing getting cut short, they all settle down to hear the General’s verdict. Jaina looks at all these women that have taken her in, folded her into their circle, held her through this long, though fast-passing, year.
Jaina returns her gaze to Sylvanas, taking in the strong line of her jaw and sharp cheekbones, those soft lips and regal nose adorably scrunched in mock discontent. She raises her hand, gives her chin a tap with her knuckle, and delights in the way Sylvanas immediately drops the ruse and ducks down to press a kiss onto her brow. Then grins bashfully when some of the rangers coo from their places around the roaring fire.
“Well… from the Corps’ standpoint, we have done nothing wrong; there’s no regulation about rangers entering relationships with operatives from allied nations, much less from a neutral party as is the Kirin Tor,” she starts.
“I could’ve told you that,” Marrah grumbles, and Jaina giggles when a few of the others jeer playfully at her.
“As the Ranger General, she would have liked to have known before literally walking in on us flirting over comms with Archmage Khadgar at her side." There’s some more snickering from the squad that has Sylvanas rolling her eyes.
“And as your mother?” Jaina asks, taking Sylvanas’ free hand and twining their fingers together.
“Well…” she pauses, and the squad also stops to look at her. “She said she’s going to get me back for the headache the political shitstorm of two heirs dating is going to give her, but… she’s happy that we found each other."
A cheer rises up, half of the rangers jumping up from their seats to dance as Alina picks up her flute and Cyndia starts playing her mandolin. Jaina laughs and shoots a little swirl of mana into the fire. It flares, and small iridescent balls shoot out and start twirling around the group, much to the elves' delight.
The rest of the squad stay in their sleepy heaps; Velonara, Anya and Clea are curled tightly together, the first two using their third as a pillow. Areiel and Vorel are draped over each other, both doing their own thing but entwined so thoroughly that Jaina can’t tell where one begins and the other ends. Marrah, Lenara, and Kalira start a card game while Loralen drapes herself over Kalira’s shoulders.
Jaina takes a page out of their book and shifts in Sylvanas’ grip, twisting until she’s seated comfortably in her elf’s lap, safe and sound tucked under her chin and enveloped in her arms. Sylvanas’ purr kicks up a notch, enough that she’s barely able to hear it over the crackling of the fire and the song and music of the squad.
And to think she’d almost told Rhonin to take this assignment in her stead.