My Dread Lady (Warcraft)

[Maltacus]

The story is set about year 22 since the Dark Portal and just about in the middle of the Undead campaign of the Frozen Throne and shortly after the Orc campaign. It would appear that a certain demon hunter's meddling with cosmic powers in order to topple the Frozen Throne destabilised more than anyone could imagine. Who knows what terrors that may now risk being summoned to Azeroth as a result of his rash actions?

While a couple of protagonists hail from really far away and may even have some useful previous experience with demanding dark ladies and elven rangers all too eager to draw their bows, this story is not a crossover and they will exercise diplomatic discretion and spying secrecy regarding their origins as much as they are able to.

Azeroth is a violent place and the life...ahem...unlife as Forsaken undead is less than merry, but there are some brighter sides to it too. The Forsaken elite, the hero level Dark Rangers, have Charm as their ultimate skill after all and they are not afraid to use it. Just slightly inept at times.

Who is who?​

Arthas Menethil: The fallen prince of Lordaeron, turned death knight under the former Lich King and lately Lich King himself after merging with the imprisoned spirit of his predecessor. Wielder of the immensely powerful, as well as immensely cursed, sword Frostmourne with the ability to capture souls and raise the dead. Leader of the vast enslaved undead armies known as the Scourge, responsible for devastating Lordaeron, Dalaran and Quel'Thalas. Currently residing in Northrend



Runar: A dwarf diplomat with unconventional manners and methods. Known for displaying immaculate politeness as well as corrosive disdain depending on the situation. The inseparable colleague of the notorious rogue of a spy, Halvdan.

Halvdan: A dwarf spy as fond of complex schemes as he is unimpressed with complex spying equipment. Prefers to let diplomatic party members distract the opposing party while he concocts a magnificent master plan from behind the scenes. The ever-present retainer of the infamous diplomat, Runar.

Voo/Ratatosk/Rattletusk: A squirrel that has teamed up with the dwarves. An expert scout and ambassador whose eyes are the bane of every barmaid's resolve.



Theramore: A city on a rocky island by the east coast of Kalimdor founded by the expeditionary force and exiles from the eastern kingdoms led across the sea by Jaina Proudmoore. After the Third War Jainas father, Admiral Daelin Proudmoore, arrived at Theramore with a fleet aiming to continue the old war against the orcs and killing them indiscriminately. Unable to reason with him, Jaina choose to stand aside and let the orc Warchief Thrall and the Horde attack Theramore and kill her father after promising Jaina to spare his soldiers if possible. Theramore is nominally a part of the Alliance but maintains peaceful relations with the bordering Horde territories.

Jaina Proudmoore: Accomplished archmage and in practice ruler of Theramore. Snatched up from her studies in Dalaran by the events of the Third War, Jaina led the expedition of Alliance forces and exiles to Kalimdor. She allied with the Horde and Night Elves against the demonic Burning Legion and became a personal friend of Thrall and the night elves Priestess of the Moon Tyrande Whisperwind. She was at one time engaged to Arthas Menethil and also worked with him to investigate the plague in Lordaeron, but turned her back on his brutal tactics to contain it at the town of Stratholme. Branded as a traitor by her family and home nation of Kul Tiras, Jaina maintains the trust of Theramores people and respect and gratitude of Thrall. At heart she remains one of the stronger voices for peace in Azeroth and fascinated by foreign peoples and lands, but mourns her father and blames herself for failing to stop him as well as Arthas.

Pained: A night elf serving as Jaina Proudmoores bodyguard. Originally assigned by Tyrande Whisperwind, she seems to care more about Jainas wellbeing than her duty requires of her.

Oddricht Mekkatorque-Jansen: The gnome Master Carpenter of Theramore. Holds a lot of influence among the citys craftsmen and is dedicated to improving it. He detests waste of resources and likes overly long and detailed briefings and Theramorian candied cherries.



Dalaran: A city ruled by the Kirin Tor mages in southern Lordaeron. Formally part of the Alliance but in practice fairly independet and with a strong desire to be neutral ground for mages wherever they are from.

Rhonin Redhair: An adventurous mage who is a member of the Kirin Tor council. Lives in Dalaran with his wife Vereesa Windrunner. Thinks the Kirin Tor somewhat boring at times.

Vereesa Windrunner: A ranger captain of Quel'Thalas, residing in Dalaran along with her husband Rhonin Redhair. Little sister to Sylvanas and Alleria Windrunner and has in practice been the adopted mother of her nephew Arator. Nicknamed Little Moon by her sisters.



The Forsaken: The independent undead who have broken free from the Lich Kings control and banded together in a fledgling nation. Comprised mainly of undead humans of Lordaeron and elves of Quel'Thalas slain and raised by the armies of Arthas Menethil, the Forsaken control the former capitol of Lordaeron, now known as the Undercity, and part of the surrounding countryside.

Sylvanas Windrunner: Dark Lady and Banshee Queen, ruler of the Forsaken. Driven by lust for vengeance against Arthas Menethil and care for the Forsaken, she bothers with little else and cares nothing for herself. Formerly the revered Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas, she is now despised for her actions under the Lich Kings control or feared for being undead. Constantly haunted by guilt and grief, she remains no less iron-willed and determined. She was the first of the Forsaken to break free from the Lich Kings control and appears to, if such a term is allowed, possess extraordinary banshee powers along with undimished skills as ranger and tactician. Nicknamed Lady Moon by her sisters Alleria and Vereesa.

Davey Bonecarver: Davey Bones for short. Captain of the Forsaken navys finest, and so far only, ship.

Haley Quinnivere Bonecarver: Haley Bones, as she will remind everyone it is, is the daughter and lookout of captain Davey Bones. So far the only Forsaken who has treated Jaina Proudmoore with indifference.

Dark rangers: Former elven rangers of Quel'Thalas, these undead are among the most powerful and physically intact of the Forsaken. Some are banshees in possession of their preserved former bodies, some are inherently corporeal undead elves known as darkfallen. Their individual abilities vary but all are expert archers and scouts. Like their living colleagues, most are female. Their smallest unit is a squadron, a raiding party of three pairs of rangers, that form companies of fifty or double strength companies of a hundred in pitched battles.

Areiel: A seasoned dark ranger captain with a practical mind and pragmatic outlook. Seems less affected by undeath than most, or is just too stubborn to let it stop her from getting on with her duties. She is Sylvanas' former mentor, with a weakness for refreshing directness and annoying puns. One of the darkfallen rangers.



Amora's squadron:

Amora Eagleye: A dark ranger lieutenant with friendly manners and a reputation for traning newly arrived rangers with good results.

Alina: A recently acquired dark ranger who does not take her undeath well. The mere mention of the wrong death knight is usually enough to send her into a rage. One of the banshee rangers.

Mira Shadewither: One of the 'Mirrah's', close ranging partners and tough allies for all their friends.

Marrah: The othe rhalf of the 'Mirrah's'.



Kalira's squadron:

Kalira: A no-nonsense dark ranger lieutenant. A harsh drillmaster in Cyndias opinion. One of the darkfallen rangers.

Cyndia Hawkspear: A somewhat sarcastic dark ranger who dislikes confined spaces. She appears to handle undeath reasonably so long as she can have her moments alone outside. One of the banshee rangers.

Velonara: One of the youngest rangers in life. A foul-mouthed brat at times but also deeply devoted to Sylvanas despite or perhaps because of being Raised by her. One of the darkfallen rangers.

Lenara: The middle dark ranger of the 'Naras'.

Nara Pathstrider: The third of the 'Naras'. The loss of an eye has not slowed her visibly.



Sylvanas' squadron:

Anya Eversong: A quiet dark ranger lieutenant. Appears to know Sylvanas exceedingly well and is highly trusted by her, despite a reputation for sometimes exceedingly unbecoming conduct. One of the banshee rangers.

Lyana: A reasonably civil dark ranger adept at tailoring and first aid. She used to stich the rangers' cloaks after stitching them up and dress them up after dressing their wounds. She likes spiders and is perhaps a little obsessed with them in the way some humans would call nerdy.

Clea Deathstrider: A dark ranger who can only speak in whispers but seems to enjoy closeness in any case. Feels uncomfortable at sea. Thrives in the warmth of the living.

Kitala Starshadow: A dark ranger with a teasing disposition and expressive features and ears, one of them half which is a great source of discomfort for her. Never the less she does enjoy when someone she trusts touches her ears.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 1. Awakening and Arrival

Jaina Proudmoore mumbled a thankful goodbye to the last of the pitifully few who had remained with her in the rain. Only Pained was left with her now. She should go back. There ws so much left to do. So many things that needed to be seen to. But Jaina could not bring herself to move. Not yet.

You only got to bury your father once.

Out in the rain she could spy the pitiful remnants of Kul Tiras' first fleet, readying their sails to limp home. No recognition. No salute. A Lord Admiral lay dead before their eyes and the fleet offered no salute.

They considered themselves in hostile waters still. And in hostile waters a fleet did not offer salutes.

They would be safe, those that remained. And Theramore was safe and in her hands once again. And the Horde was safe from the persecution of an Alliance fleet at least.

And Jaina had no father.

She shook when she reached down to loop the silvery pendant in the shape of an anchor around Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore's sword that marked his grave, like so many others along this dreary stretch of rocks and sand. She shook so terribly that she dropped the pendant in the sand.

Jaina bent down when a steady hand over her arm stopped her.

"My Lady. Who will carry the memory of your father if not his eldest child?"

"Memory." Jaina whispered, numb and distant.

Blood, betrayal, infamy. What memory?

"If he was not more than how he ended you would not grieve as you do, My Lady." Pained had edged closer to Jaina, who was shaking worse than ever now, clearly concerned with whether she could stay upright. Which she could not. Jaina gracelessly fell to her knees and slumped forward. She unconsciously dug her hands into the sand, wanting to grasp something concrete and steady while the world spun before her and her breaths came quicker and quicker and quicker.

She would very likely have fallen over had it not been for Pained.

Slowly, Jaina's breathing calmed down again and she blinked when she found her vision blurry. There was wet sand all over her robes. Something shiny glittered in the misty air before her. She clumsily put her hand over it and grabbed it.

"Your father's legacy is rightfully yours, My Lady. For good or ill." Pained gently closed Jaina's hand over the silvery anchor.

"Remember him as a proud warrior. That's what Rexxar asked me to. Asked all of us to."

"Remember him as the man he was. How else could you learn how to do better?" Very gently, Pained put her arm around Jainas shoulders and put her cloak in order. "Please, come inside with me, My Lady."

***​

The last echoes of the Lich Kings control were fading from Alinas thoughts as her ethereal claws tore apart the throat of the last acolyte of the Cult of the Damned. Her misty form floated towards the grotesque wagon-like contraption they had guarded and her ethereal arms tore off the lid off the iron coffin she knew contained the right body.

Her body.

I had begun a day or so ago with the mindless ghouls that guarded the small patrol. Their primitive and single minded bloodlust broke them free of their masters shaking powers absent thoughts of whether it could be a trick or a test, absent hesitation. The acolytes who were formally in command, by now very formally, ordered her to shoo them off with a Wail to take their fatal bickering tendencies somewhere else. Soon after the slow-witted by incomparably stronger abomination was sent away as well. Somehow the primitive humans seemed to think that her somewhat more intact mind would make her less of a danger. Did they expect her to harbour enough righteous fear of the Lich Kings wrath to keep herself in line? Did they confuse simple-mindedness with rebellious thoughts? Could their fanatical minds no longer distinguish between their own pathological obedience and their slaves forced servitude to their hated master?

She would never know and would never care. The acolytes died as they had lived, ugly stains of blight upon the ugly and stained blighted ground.

The cruel humour of the Lich King and his despicable prince of a death knight manifested itself in the petty idea of assigning the banshees to guard the coffins of their own bodies, forever beyond reach as the unbreakable force of their masters will shackled them, forever near enough to be a constant reminder of what they had been and all that was denied them. Life. Afterlife. Rest. Freedom.

Still ever distrusted by the prince, Alina and other banshees were mostly dispersed around Lordaeron these days to hunt down whatever renegade remnants of Lordaerons human population that might be lingering in the cursed woods and highlands. To that end they had abominations with them to drag along the crude contraptions known as meat wagons that doubled as catapults and storage for whatever bodies they may collect to bring back to the necromancers in the capital and other strongholds, to be raised as new undead minions or thrown to the ghouls.

No longer.

Alina surged down and into her body. It was not like possessing a living creature, there was no soul to battle and destroy, no alien physiology to get used to. This was familiar, this was sliding into a well worn set of armour and coat, moulded to her shape from years of use. This was…her.

But she was empty.

The forest did not call to her. The power of the Sunwell did not sing in her blood. Those were the first things she noticed, as whatever fleeting hope she may have maintained of experiencing the opposite crumpled and died inside of her. She could hear the faint calls of what wretched birds still remained in the Lordaeron woods, but it was only sound now. No more, no less. She knew somehow that no bird or beast would ever trust her implicitly again. The trees were just obstacles now, with shade and darkness underneath. Darkness that did almost nothing to impede her vision now, she also noted.

Her skin was white as snow, still and lifeless like a statue. She raised her arm and flexed her hand. She could move, she could feel her fingers coming together to form a fist. It all felt…dull. Dampened. As if all her senses were muffled like sounds coming from behind a wall or from far away. She ran one of her nails across her arm. She felt it, but still hardly didn't. She raised her arm to her mouth and bit down, her fangs almost breaking the skin. Yes, there was pain to be felt, but at the same time she did not feel it. She…registered pain but did not feel the fear and discomfort it would have brought earlier. When she had been…alive. Been…herself. Perhaps the most accurate way to describe it was that she simply did not care about the pain she now felt.

Honestly, what was left to care about? She was dead.

She was not a withered or rotting corpse though. Her body looked, in shape if not in colour, more or less like before as far as she could tell, and she reckoned she was at least as strong and enduring as in life. Probably more, without the need for breath or food or water to sustain her and with fewer vulnerable body parts she needed to depend on. Although, would she need to drink? A living body needed water, and lots of it, did a dead one need to keep itself from dehydrating? She guessed she would find out sooner or later.

Alina was aware of a presence of darkness and shadow just out of her vision, always behind her wherever she turned. She knew that it was part of her, like your hair blowing freely in the wind behind you was part of you. She reached back with her mind, something like as if her mind had been her arms, and pulled the shadow forward and around her like a cloak. Darkness boiled and bubbled around her, smoking and writhing like cool flames. She knew without trying that it would hide her in anything but strong sunlight. She could move inside it without being hindered but it took up a part of her concentration to keep herself wrapped in this flowing cloak.

That would have been interesting. For someone that cared.

She focused on her shadows again, but instead of pulling at them she let herself sink back into them. It was not a step back, more akin to letting yourself fall backwards into the water of a lake a dark night. Her shadows were cold and fleeting and weightless and so was she. She wanted to move forward and glided forward like a mist. Her eyesight was the same but her hearing had dulled and what little remained of her smell and, she would presume, taste was now gone.

Her banshee form.

She did not glide, but flew up, ever higher, into the pale light of the sun above the drying and withered treetops. The sun felt…wrong on her skin. Not burning her, but not warming her either. Not welcoming her like it would have when she was alive and thrived under it like all the high elves did. Belore had turned away from her. Or looked right through her. A banshee was a creature of the dark.

Alina lowered to the ground. She mentally took a step forward, out of the embrace of shadow and darkness, and took a step forward in her…physical form? Corporeal form? In her own body that she now possessed and inhabited but which hardly felt like herself in anymore. A heart that had not beat for almost a year. Necromantic energy that flowed through her veins instead of blood, or flowed through her body in veins and patterns of its own. Her tattered clothing was still on her, she had unconsciously brought it with her in her banshee form she realised. She willed her right leg to sink back into the shadows. It was hard to keep part of her corporeal and part of her not, it required a great deal of focus and balance. She raised her shadowy, smoking part that was her right leg out of her right boot, and then back inside and let it become corporeal again.

That…certainly opened up for some unconventional military tactics if nothing else. But Alina couldn't summon anything but dulled indifference about her realisations.

There was a step behind her, a step intended to be heard.

"Alina."

Alina turned around.

Tall, regal and very obviously dead, her former Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner stepped forward fully into her view without a second glance at the gory surroundings. Her eyes shone red like Alina suspected her own perhaps did as well now.

"I am pleased to see you too have freed yourself, Alina. Am I correct in assuming it is something that happened only recently?"

Alina would have raised an eyebrow in life. Now she only cast the slightest glance at the carnage around her which spoke for itself. Sylvanas did not display any surprise at either Alinas answer or her disinterested manner of answering.

"There are more of us, former Scourge who have reclaimed our own will. We are not many, but I suspect there are others to be found now as the cursed prince has departed these lands. I and some of our sisters tracked his movements towards the coast after I failed to end him. For that failure I must beg the forgiveness of all of you, for the second time. I had him on the ground with a poisoned arrow but his pet lich intervened when I wasted time gloating and Arthas escaped me and is sailing for Northrend as we speak. It is possible that the Lich Kings control over Lordaeron could have weakened further now with the greater distance to Frostmourne, or perhaps to Arthas himself…"

Memories flooded into Alina faster than what was left of her conscious self could even hope to keep up with and sort through in a controlled way. She was barely registering what Sylvanas was saying any more.

Arthas.

In a blink she was standing in Quel'Thalas with her ranger squad months ago and hearing the first reports of his undead army crossing the border.

In another she was back hearing the first report of rangers who were not coming back.

She was running, retreating from outposts that were going up in flames and undead monstrosities desecrating her forest.

She was loosing arrows as fast as she ever had against gargoyles filling up the sky, wounded rangers hobbling ahead to join exhausted refugees fleeing towards the first gate.

She was crushed under the weight of a fallen gargoyle that dropped out of the sky and broke her leg.

She stared into the gaping maw and claws of the ghoul that jumped for her throat before all became pain and darkness.

She saw the welcoming warmth of a sunny forest far away as something cold and sinister held her back and pulled her away from it, back to a wretched existence of only slavery and grief.

She opened eyes that no longer had eyelids and looked into the leering face of the former prince of Lordaeron wielding the cursed blade that now had chained her to the Lich Kings will.

She watched powerless as the undead she was now part of tore apart her capitol of Silvermoon.

She struggled in vain, unable to resist the command to give chase to the fleeing families making for the harbour where no ships were left afloat, or the outer gates that had already fallen to the undead.

She tried to shout to them to hide and get away from her, but all that came out was a banshees Wail that caused all who heard it to fall to the ground in agony, those closest never to rise again.

She heard the mocking laughter of Arthas echoing through her mind no matter how loud the cries of terror from her people grew. Her former people.

Alina fell to the ground and felt herself slipping into her banshee form, shadows flickering and smoking like flames around her, and she let out an ear piercing Wail. She Wailed and Wailed until her drained spirit could manage no more and she fell down into her corporeal form again, absent-mindedly noting that it was apparently the easier one to maintain when her focus or anger ran out.

Alinas legs gave out but Sylvanas was there and caught her and Alina collapsed into her arms. She spoke in a strange language that Alina knew without thinking was called Gutterspeak and that she understood without even trying.

"You are not alone anymore, Dark Ranger."

***​

The flash of light had been brief. But it was there.

Dark Ranger Cyndia Hawkspear peeked out across the clearing from her hiding place in a drying pine. There had been movement on the other side, she was sure of it. It was something just out of her eye, in the rustling of the branches that differed from the way the other trees swayed in the wind. She whistled quietly, only perceptible for someone with matching elven hearing wok new exactly what to listen for. She could spot Kalira looking up at her. Cyndias hands moved in the rangers sign language and pointed towards the trees she had been watching.

Movement – Trees – Hidden – Advance to investigate.

Kalira signed back.

Affirmative. Friend or foe?

Cyndia shrugged, whereupon Kalira rolled her eyes. Not everything in their sign language had to be needlessly complicated.

She saw Kalira and two more rangers advance. Cyndia focused on the opposing treeline. If something happened, she and the other two left hidden would have to keep the enemy distracted enough for the three below to fall back.

This time the scouting party did not have to go far. Out into the clearing, blinking in the light and looking around looking slightly disoriented, marched two…dwarves? There was little that fazed Cyndia nowadays but she had to admit that she did blink. Twice.

One of them had brown and blonde hair and beard, the other pitch black. They wore practical travelling clothes, with some light armour squeezed in here and there, and absolutely gigantic backpacks. Ridiculous dwarves. Always overly proud of how much ore they could carry on their backs and how long they could work their smithies and whatever. So long as they got to gulp down ludicrous amounts of their abhorrent ale.

Kalira was stepping into their sight, the others quickly following with theirs bows drawn and ears laid back.

The reaction was…not quite what they had expected.

"Runar, look around…" the black-haired dwarf begun. His companion looked up at the undead rangers and their three nocked arrows pointing at them, rolled his eyes toward the sky and closed them, and let out the most exasperated sigh Cyndia had heard in years.

"Oh, for the love of…" the brown-haired dwarf muttered as he ran his fingers over his forehead in a gesture of utter boredom. "Yes, us dwarves breathe so loud you could have shot us in the dark and so on! We know!"

Cyndia could see the small tilting of her squadmates ears as they hesitated, as taken aback as she was by the absurd greeting.

"Runar…" the black-haired dwarf said very pointedly.

"Alright, alright…" the other acquiesced and looked down for a moment before taking a breath and gathering himself. "Greetings and well met. We are Runar and Halvdan, emissaries of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. We seek the realm of Midgard."

They spoke Common, Cyndia noted. That much about them made sense at least.

Kalira was not to be trifled with.

"Keep your hands where we can see them and make no sudden move! Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"We are Runar and Halvdan, diplomatic envoys and in search of the realm of Midgard as previously stated. What we are doing here is currently rather self-explanatory I would say." Runar answered and glanced at the arrows of the three rangers. "Though as far as we can tell we only just arrived wherever 'here' is, and would be deeply grateful if you could assist us with clarifying that, my lady." he added with a flourishing bow, a feat that surely few but dwarves would have managed with such a burden.

Cyndia could practically see Kalira raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

"You mean to tell us that you have no idea where you are?"

"Completely clueless, my lady. I mean of course my ladies." the dwarf Runar nodded to all three, falling into a smooth and businesslike demeanour with astonishing ease.

"This is Lordaeron, the land of the Dark Lady Sylvanas."

"And…not in Midgard I assume?"

"Azeroth."

"I see... Irrespective of our current location, may we inquire of the fair ladies name?"

"I am Kalira. Consider yourselves in the custody of the Dark Rangers. We will bring you before the Dark Lady."

"Nice start…" the dwarf Halvdan grumbled under his breath.

***​

Their captives were not acting as expected, Cyndia quietly considered as they approached the Undercity, as their capitol was starting to be called more and more. They were not unafraid of the rangers - she could spot the tension in their postures and wary looks - but they were making a damn good effort not to show it. If anything, they acted as if they were clinging to their feeble stories of being envoys from some far away reach of Khaz Modan or wherever that so called Lonely Mountain might lay. Cyndia had never been particularly interested in the geography of distant places.

Cyndia was content with remaining in the background and observe Kalira handling the barrage of questions thrown at her by the undeterred dwarves. Cyndia had almost expected her to shut them up a long time ago but perhaps Kalira had more patience than she had given her credit for, or perhaps the lieutenant wanted to impress them with her self-control. Kalira was an overbearing drillmaster at times when it came to stealth and patience during scouting missions.

Maybe Kalira viewed it all as some sort of game, or training exercise? Sooner or later the apparently dense pair of dwarves would have to drop their pretence of not recognizing the rangers for what they were. Maybe Kalira was just playing along until then to pick up as much information as she could for Sylvanas.

"Lordaeron, is it an elven kingdom? Or state, or realm if that is the more accurate term?"

Kalira stiffened slightly.

"It is not. Lordaeron was a human kingdom before the Scourge claimed it. The Dark Lady now rules what is left of the realm."

"Ah. Perhaps I spoke in haste." the dwarf continued undeterred. "Would I be correct to assume that you are in fact elves? They are a race of pointy-eared people from back home that are quite alike you in appearance and, hrm, demeanour, and I may have jumped to the conclusion that since we share a common language our respective realms may share certain terminology as well."

Cyndias ears peeked up as Kalira answered in a hard voice.

"No, we are not elves. Not anymore."

"Pardon my apparently quite boundless ignorance, but then what are you now?"

"Forsaken." Kalira replied, and the bitterness that radiated from the simple statement told all who heard her that the inquiry was over.

***​

The capitol had seen little care since the infighting and subsequent ravaging in the early days of Arthas rebellion, or rather betrayal. While the main host of the Scourge had rapidly advanced north towards Quel'Thalas and then south to Dalaran the leftovers and later the demons of the Burning Legions had all but completed the destruction of almost all of Lordaerons larger settlements. It did not mean that every single building was ground to stone and dust – neither the mindless undead nor the demons bothered much with ruins so long as their living victims could not find shelter in them – but there was practically nothing whole left. Towers stood hollow and crumbling, walls had more holes and jagged tears in them than there was surface. The very streets had been torn up by clawed and hoofed feet too large and too vicious to be meant for the road building craft of puny mortals.

Both the remnants of Lordaerons armies, the dreadlords formerly commanding the Scourge and later Arthas had used the city as a base of operations and nominally capitol, even if they had neither the need or the inclination to restore it to its former state. Realising the utility of at the very least a secure location for storing more personal and important valuables as well as keeping the studies of the Scourges necromancers going, Arthas had ordered the complete opposite and had his minions dig and delve deeper underneath instead. Expanding on the already vast net of sewers and tunnels in existence, they had been constructing a subterranean mirror image of the broken city above. In this rare instance, the Dark Lady had been of the same mind as their hated enemy and continued the expansion and fortification below.

This was the Undercity, the Forsaken capitol and only remotely safe place for their people.

Cyndia didn't particularly like it.

Ignoring the fact that the canals ran thick with disgusting sludge that even the Forsaken were better of not knowing what it was, turning the atmosphere of the place into at beast unhealthy for the living and repelling to even someone with her own dulled sense of smell, or the absolutely bleak and lifeless look and feeling of the surroundings that they all seemed to wallow in, in their morbid collective embrace of all that was dark and gloomy. Ignoring the impracticality of climbing stairs and, indeed, often mere ladders to get to almost wherever you were going.

The place felt so insanely cramped.

Cyndia was a ranger. She belonged in the forest, dark ranger or not, and withered and dried as the forest here may be it was still her place. She could still find the quietude of cloudy nights comforting even if she were dead, and she could float around the treetops as a banshee in the moonlight and not need to be disturbed or reminded of what she had been. Or done. She did not belong in corridors were the walls seemed to edge inwards to smother those who walked them, or among the huffle and chaos of overly crowded walkways and street corners. She wondered sometimes if it had always been like this or if it was just the Undercity. She couldn't be sure. Silvermoon and all other elven of note cities were all tall spires, gardens and airy bridges and wide, impressive and immaculately kept streets. Elven architecture wasn't designed to appear shut or closed in any way that could be avoided – it was a small miracle her people had at all incorporated doors in their dwellings! Nothing could be further from this overgrown sewer-turned-catacombs they now resided in.

To Cyndias secret relief Kalira were not leading them towards any of the new entrances downstairs but along the old surface boulevard towards the Lordaeron Keep. The massive structure still stood tall despite the decrepit state o fits walls and still very visible scorch marks and piles of debris. Not even demons could tear down metres-thick walls without making an effort they were disinclined to. For all their clumsiness in the wilds and their lacking wisdom and artfulness, human and dwarven fortifications were no joke.

The Keep was one of the few places that had a visible guard force standing out in the open, in a twisted or perhaps pitiful parody of the guards of the murdered King Terenas' court. They were forsaken in the best armour they could scrounge up, former human footmen and officers that had remained when the main Scourge body marched onward or had been Raised more recently. Death Guards and Dread Guards and whatever, Cyndia had paid little attention to the designations that had been springing up lately. They were loyal and did their part so she would offer them her grudging respect for that at least. They were more heavily equipped than her so she would not count on them to keep up in the forest she would but expect them to hold their line long enough in the open for her to do her work from the sides. That was that, in Cyndias opinion.

And like the Dark Rangers, they were far too few. No amount of repetitively, well, grave titles would change that.

The main gates of Lordaeron Keep led quickly to the throne room, a majestic circular hall lined with pointed arches over the adjoining corridors, four on each side apart form the larger one from the gates, with the throne directly opposite. It stood on a round dais with four wide steps, overlooking the floor where most of a once majestic mosaic depicting Lordaeron heraldry and astronomical symbols still spoke of the grandeur of the fallen kingdom. The sun had once shone through a window in the middle of the roof but now it was mostly gone and dust piled along the walls, even dry leaves that the wind had carried inside. Despite the large openings above, the shadows grew long and the place had an air of emptiness and hollowness.

But of course, not quite empty.

"The Banshee Queen." Kalira simply said. "Dark Lady." she added for her own part, and saluted the woman on the throne. The queen nodded back.

She did not display a shred of regal poise or stature, instead leaning back at one armrest sprawled across the doubtlessly uncomfortable stone seat with its fading decorations. Her eyes gleamed red like the other rangers, for she was without doubt an elf ranger herself, having the same lean build and arms that had been shaped by the endless pulling of her bowstring. Her armour resembled that of the rangers apart from being a little heavier and dyed dark red rather than black. An intimidating bow, seemingly made mainly of the vertebrae of some huge creature, rested against the throne along with a well-stocked quiver. The shadows in the room seemed to lengthen and the light fade away when she rose and descended the few steps leading up to the throne. While being quite tall by herself, the queen seemed somehow to tower even more over everyone in the room than her height would account for. Her voice had a strange echoing character when she spoke, at once both slightly hoarse as well as deep and melodic.

"Greetings. I am Sylvanas Windrunner."

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 2. Diplomacy and Delegates
The Dark Lady distrusts outsiders but Alina is able to smooth things over. The way banshees do. With a Wail.


"They are spies!" the banshee queen snapped.

The surrounding four pale faces were impassive, their red eyes fixed on her. They had been seated in this improvised conference room for about an hour, seated on mismatched chairs around a cracked table. None of them felt tiredness in the way that would normally call for being seated but Sylvanas was convinced that acting as similarly as possible to what they would have done in life helped to keep them all steady. Even such a simple thing as sitting down around a table to discuss. Standing up signalled impatience, hurry and possibly confrontation all too easily, and that was certainly not something she had time for between them. Although she was aware that her latest outburst was not helping in that regard.

Sylvanas took a deep breath she did not need, a stupid thing that still tricked her body into calming down just through the memory of what breathing deeply was like. Or so she reckoned. She had asked these four of her most trusted rangers to speak their minds and she wouldn't disrespect them by responding with nothing but anger and dismissal. The general who let others lead in her stead was a fool but the general who failed to listen to and ask for others advice was just as big a fool. This was not Sylvanas official council of war, or rather what was growing into being that, but an informal and more familiar gathering among the rangers exclusively for her own advice. Nothing would need to leave the room and no one would be held to what they had put forth as suggestions, that was their constant agreement as it had always been, in life as in death.

Areiel, Anya, Velonara and Kalira waited with patience for her to gather herself until Areiel continued her reasoning.

"Dark Lady, we have gone through this twice now. I stand by my assessment that if these dwarves are enemy spies they are an exceedingly poor choice. Their mere presence has drawn enough attention to hinder any realistic attempt at gathering hidden information about us." she said with the calm voice of her old self who had instructed the new ranger Sylvanas in a different age.

Sylvanas stared into the table. Areiel was right, infuriatingly so. They had been over this already. This meeting was going in circles.

"But their ludicrous story, Areiel? Emissaries from some vaguely far away dwarven realm? How are we supposed to believe that? No envoys or even messengers have returned from anyone we have tried to contact. Nobody wants anything to do with us."

"From what little we know at the moment our envoys never even reached their intended destinations, but this so called Scarlet Crusade caught them. And they don't pause to ask questions, any undead is just as bad as the next." Kalira pointed out.

"Dark Lady?" Anya asked and waited patiently to have Sylvanas' full attention. "Are you not focusing on the wrong question here?"

Sylvanas was about to snap again but forced herself to keep quiet. Anya could be – was – the worst of all possible obnoxious subordinates at times but when she spoke up in her serious tone you had best listen very carefully. It was easy to underestimate the publicly reserved, quiet ranger but when she thought hard about something Anya was one of the wisest councillors Sylvanas had ever known. She could also guess Sylvanas' thoughts and mood eerily well. Sylvanas had never had second thoughts about her decision of making Anya a lieutenant.

"Why do we need to be so concerned with what their intentions are? These visitors are under guard, they pose no significant threat to anything and they are not in a position to cause us any noteworthy hindrance. No matter their possible intentions, wherein lies the danger?"

Anya had a point, Sylvanas admitted. They had argued back and forth over something that was in itself a trivial matter – two passing travellers talking apparent nonsense.

It was just the trivial little other matter that these two were the first and only living people they had encountered that had not displayed outright hostility towards them. And she couldn't get that thought out of her mind.

"They have been quartered and placed under guard. What about supplies - food and clean water, do they have access to that?" Sylvanas asked.

"Yes, but not much." Kalira replied.

"They did have a good deal packed, all dried like field rations for a long trek, but we have been scouting for drinking water and sooner or later we'll have to hunt if we want to keep them alive." Velonara reported. "We never expected to have to see to living people in the city after all."

"Well, that is telling, isn't it?" Anya mused in a low voice. "We don't even have food for the living and expect them to be friends?"

"I would settle for neutrality." Sylvanas muttered but Anyas words still left an uncomfortable silence.

Areiel rolled her shoulders and stretched her arms. "Well, I see clearly that this issue will haunt us until we have resolved it so let's get on with it, then. Sylvanas, why would they be spies? What mad scheme would that be?"

Sylvanas groaned inwards at Areiels terrible puns – those had certainly haunted her ever since she had been Areiels apprentice – but for those very same reasons she could also be sure that Areiel meant no disrespect either by her occasional familiarity or her directness. She spoke her mind as a ranger to another. Belore preserve them if they ever ceased doing that. Not that Belore had been preserving them in any particular way.

Sylvanas tried to move past her instinctual conclusions and consider Areiels question in honest. Why indeed would someone send a pair of such unlikely and ridiculously apparent spies to operate amongst an undead nation?

"I have no good answer. Some form of destabilising scheme?"

Sylvanas could hear Areiel failing to hide her snicker and shot her a stern glare.

"Well, we had best be careful then, Dark Lady, when just the very arrival of those dastardly infiltrators threaten to undermine us and set us bickering against each other." Areiel seemed to sober up the next moment though. "In all seriousness, there are many ways, mundane as well as magical, that a willing or unwilling individual could be used as someones living trap, or living projectile for that matter. And if these dwarves backpacks had been filled with goblin land mines when Kaliras squad apprehended them I would have been the last to laugh."

There were also quite a few ways to affect or alter a seemingly freed undead that the Scourge could very well start using to give her patrols a nasty surprise. Sylvanas set the thought aside for the moment.

"If we try this hypothesis," Areiel continued briskly "who would have the interest in undermining our quite modest nation while lacking the means or interest to do so in a more direct and infinitely more effective way? And don't start about the Alliance, they would have a civil war on their hands if they sent dwarves on that kind of suicide mission. Even I am aware of that."

"Varimathras?" Velonara suggested.

"How would he have gotten his rotten claws on a pair of outlandish dwarves of all things?"

"What do we even know about what dreadlords are capable of?"

"Yes, but portal magics? That is an entire school in itself and the dreadlords were ignorant of the Legions defeat for weeks. Wherever they can go on their own, it's not all across Azeroth at least."

Sylvanas felt her irritation boiling under the surface like a persistent headache threatening to return. This wasn't helping her anymore and she couldn't rightfully expect her rangers to come up with answers based on nothing.

She dismissed her rangers, thanking them for their advice. She needed time to think.

Sylvanas walked absently through the paths of the Undercity with two of the rangers on guard duty shadowing her discreetly, or as discreetly as they could considering that they tried to stay out of the way of the very one who had trained them. She climbed the stairs and ladders leading to the Lordearon Keep and the ruins of a stair by which one could still scale the tallest and least ruined tower to look down on what had once been the thriving city beneath.

It was insane, in a way. Somewhere down there in some less ruined building resided the very thing she had spent so much effort trying to find; potential living allies. And here she was, keeping them under lock and key and with a ranger squad on rotating guard duty for fear of the possibility that they were spies or saboteurs with some hidden agenda she and her rangers were unable to anticipate.

But in truth, what other reasonable explanation was there?

She couldn't keep them here. She didn't dare to.

But she couldn't ignore her rangers either. She didn't have anyone or anything else left that she could trust.

***​

Sylvanas managed to distract herself with furious work for two days, or more precisely two days and nights. She did not need to sleep and had no interest in finding out if she could. She could very well imagine what kind of nightmares that would be waiting for her if she found herself able to.

She had made up her mind and summoned the two dwarves again. Now she leaned back in the uncomfortable throne once more and contemplated how she would proceed with this.

"You claimed to be representing one of the dwarven kingdoms of Azeroth, correct?"

"Not on Azeroth as such, as far as we know, but we have yet to find out exactly where our homeland is situated in relation to Lordaeron. Our journey here was somewhat irregular." Runar replied.

So, they still persisted with this inane tale.

"In other words, I would be negotiating with a head of state neither I nor anyone around me has heard of, ruling a kingdom lost even by its envoys and unable to engage in any meaningful trade or other exchange for the very same reason." Sylvanas remarked condescendingly with a raised eyebrow.

"I could hardly have summed it up better myself, my lady." the dwarf grinned.

Sylvanas was taken aback by the response. Was he completely insane? Or was this some sort of distraction?

She signed to Anya to search the surroundings, which in this context meant sweeping the Keep for intruders. The dwarf would of course note her hand signs but not be able to decipher them.

"So you are either an idiot wasting my time with jests or your purpose here has little to do with your profession. Which leads us to the presumed other realm you did mention previously. Midgard?" Sylvanas intoned darkly.

"Indeed, my lady. We are not quite sure what it is or how to reach it – as have been obvious – but it is described as a place of many wonders and myself and Halvdan are looking for it. We do carry every needed authority to negotiate on our kings behalf but with the current state of affairs such endeavours are at most of secondary importance."

"The name tells me nothing. I do however know about a region of Azeroth with similar sounding names. How much do you know about the frozen continent of Northrend?"

The blank looks the dwarves exchanged with each other were answer enough.

"You have much to learn in that case. I can tell you this much though, Northrend is the most hostile place in Azeroth and you stand no chance of even getting close to it on your own, nor do you stand much chance of getting anywhere else without my help. Lordaeron is beset by its enemies on all sides except the sea and no ships sail to or from it. Our foes will not hesitate to slay you on sight simply for being in the vicinity."

Runar sighed. "Why am I not surprised?" Straightening his posture he eyed Sylvanas curiously. "Unless my instincts have dulled considerably this is the time where some kind of relatively more appealing offer is made, correct?"

"My terms are these." Sylvanas declaimed. "My rangers will guide you through the enemy lands south to the city of Dalaran, home to the Kirin Tor mages. We will provide you with equipment, arms, provisions and as much gold as you can carry from Lordaerons treasuries. In exchange for this you will deliver my letters to the leaders of Dalaran and after that travel to the dwarven kingdom of Khaz Modan and its capitol of Ironforge to do the same. Travelling from Dalaran to Khaz Modan will be considerably easier so long as you have the gold to procure transport. Once you have completed the tasks you will be in a kingdom that will likely view you as kin and from where you stand a better chance of travelling to Northrend if that is your wish."

"Intriguing." Runar said in a businesslike voice that betrayed no emotion beyond polite interest. "And what would the naturally unappealing alternative happen to be?" he asked dryly.

"You brave the hostile forces besieging us without my aid." Sylvanas stated harshly. "You attempt to cross the sea on your own. You remain in my city, if I allow it, among my people who do not drink or eat and care nothing for growing crops."

And with a dreadlord who you may be reporting to or unwittingly be a pawn of, she thought as both dwarves eyed her intensely, their expressions surprisingly hard to read. She met their gaze and to their credit they did not look away from her burning glare.

She could see the dwarves turn towards each other and exchange…something…between them certainly. After a mutual nod, Runar turned back towards Sylvanas.

"Acceptable."

Then the dwarf held out his hand.

Sylvanas was almost amused. You did not shake hands with queens, especially not infamous banshee queens. She rose briskly and descended the four steps to the floor to grasp the dwarfs forearm like the rangers did amongst themselves and the few they considered equals, because why not? This was as much of a farce of royal grandeur that anyone could ask for already and Sylvanas had never been much impressed with the stiff etiquette of elven nobility anyway.

This whole enterprise would be a waste of time and resources but at least it had offered some momentary distraction. And it would appeal to her rangers to cling to this delusion that it was sincere. And they mattered infinitely more than some gold collecting dust somewhere in the lower vaults.

Maybe this course of action would also confuse Varimathras, who would surely expect her to either buy into the ruse or behead the dwarves at once. Yes, that would be a small gain.

Actually, there was the possibility that the intention was to make her to kill the dwarves and then put it forth as some sort of propaganda against the Forsaken diplomatic efforts. Farfetched, but possible.

Runar was apparently not done.

"Now then, if we are going to act as diplomatic envoys we will require some measure of context. What has happened in Lordaeron lately and why are you in this situation?"

"My ranger captain Areiel will brief you about what you need to know." Sylvanas had no wish to go into details herself and she would trust Areiel to decide what to share and what not.

"Excellent. May I inquire if you would like to share something of your own past, my lady? And perhaps your ideas for the future Lordaeron, provided these present hostilities could be dealt with? It would of course not necessarily have to be right now."

Sylvanas clenched her jaw tightly. Insolent damned dwarf! Her own history was the last thing she wanted share with some nosy stranger and absolutely the last thing that she wanted presented to the Alliance.

"I will not insist, my lady -" the insolent dwarf in question said apologetically "- but from a purely practical point of view I expect that the that other nations will wish to know the queen they deal with and her motivations."

It was logical, that couldn't be denied.

Curse his logic.

"I am the queen of Lordaeron and the Forsaken are my people. That is all they need to know."

"Very well. We will do what we can with the information we have. Is there at least some kind of library or archive left in this city that I and Halvdan could go through to familiarise ourselves with Lordaeron and the surrounding nations? Do you have access to maps of our intended routes?"

"Areiel will show you what is left of it. You have one week while my rangers gather supplies and prepare for the journey."

***​

Alina wandered the Keep, off duty.

It was a weird feeling. What was she supposed to do now? What did you do when you were…dead?

She had used to do so many things, used to like so many things. The time off and the free weeks had never lasted longer than an eyeblink. But what did it matter now? She didn't tire any more, at least her body didn't seem to, and she would be just as agreeable to take on a couple of more shifts as anything else. But her lieutenant Amora was adamant in her own amicable manner that Alina would take time off like everyone else. Alina hadn't met Amora much in life but she guessed that she would have liked her.

She knew that many of the Forsaken attempted to recreate whatever they could of their earlier lives. Much of it was practical in nature, such as taking up their former trades to produce whatever their little nation needed, but some things were utterly illogical like the tavern that had sprung up in a rickety shed by the market square. Patrons who did not need to drink shared tankards of hot water before a fire they did not need.

Far more relevant seemed the apothecaries – former alchemists, surgeons and priests – who had formed something of a guild or order, calling it the Royal Apothecary Society of all things. They were attempting to provide what counted as healing and medicine amongst the Forsaken and find ways to counteract the degradation that most of them seemed to suffer from. But like anything else, they had too little to work with and could only provide the most basic procedures, many times literally stitching together their patients when they were equally literally falling apart. Alina knew she should probably feel more sorry for the plight of her unfortunate new kin, and objectively she would be the first to voice her opinion that the situation was critical and acute. She just couldn't call forth any particular emotion to accompany that statement. It was all dulled, dampened inside her.

Many of them would give all they had to trade places with Alina. Her body did not rot and so long as she drank something regularly she couldn't see any adverse effects whatsoever, not even a wrinkle anywhere. She would trade her body with someone who could get more out of it, she supposed, but would that someone be able to draw a bow as surely as she could or read the ground as well as she did? Would he or she be able to protect the Forsaken as good as she objectively knew that she could with the capabilities she now had? Alina did not think so. And so long as she could do her part by putting her body to the best possible use, she could find it in herself to accept that she possessed what most did not and endure the empty days and nights of her current existence.

It was just the time off that she didn't know what to do with.

She saw a light in the library. It lay in a remote part of the Keep that ad suffered the least damage, being of lesser military importance. It wasn't too common with lamps lighted among the Forsaken, both due to their sparse resources and many of them having improved night vision compared to when they were alive. Alina wandered in that direction, thinking that she might as well go there as well as anywhere else.

The library was under watch by a couple of other rangers who nodded to Alina but otherwise minded themselves. A warm light shone out into the outside corridor through the open door. It would have looked rather inviting, Alina reckoned. Inside were almost a dozen lanterns set up, but no candles or open fires apart from in the fireplace where it crackled merrily. The two dwarves were sitting by a table buried under piles of books and papers. They appeared to be sorting through them, scribbling on lists with some charcoal pens someone had managed to dig up.

They looked up and offered good afternoon, although it was really more like evening by this time. Perhaps they had been there for quite some time. Alina shrugged and answered the same indifferently. She would show some manners at the very least, dead or not. She sat down in a corner watching them work. It was something to do at least, and it wasn't like she had found anything better to do.

The dwarves were systematic in their work, she had to givet hem that. They had spread out a couple of large maps across the middle and were apparently cataloguing the books and notes based on regions and subjects covered. They exchanged murmured comments on occasion but otherwise went through their task in silence. Sometimes one would put a pile of books back on their shelves and bring another batch to go through. Alina had the distinct impression that they had done this before.

***​

Amora kept being immovable and Alina had to find out what to do with her hours off the next day and the next. She returned to the library. At least there nobody would pester her with suggestions of pointless pastimes, she reasoned.

She supposed she would have found the dwarves project vaguely interesting in life. They had made noticeable progress these last two days. They had finished their cataloguing and were going through specific content as far as Alina could tell.

They had also begun to ask Alina questions from time to time, generally about Lordaeron. She supposed it made sense but honestly she didn't know particularly much about the country she now inhabited. Or haunted, or whatever.

Apparently satisfied with their geographical research for the time the dwarves shifted their focus to Lordaerons recent history. They had been given some background information, Alina could deduce, that they were doing their best to fill in by going through the kingdoms archives from the past year or so. She almost smirked when she heard the fair-haired one, Runar, quote some of Grand Marshal Garithos missives and notes and the dark one, Halvdan, offer his opinions of the quality of the grand marshals leadership. Particularly his xenophobic views of elves and dwarves of the alliance earned some very visible scorn. Alina wondered quietly what the dwarves would think of Orthmar Garithos' end at the hands of Varimathras by Sylvanas' order.

Like most archives, Lordaerons was sorted chronologically and the further you went the older the correspondence. Alina wondered for a moment why they wouldn't ask her more about the Third War and the kingdoms fall as they read. Then it dawned on her that the dwarves apparently focused their studies on Lordaerons relations and correspondence with other kingdoms, which was reasonable enough for supposed envoys. She wondered if the dwarves had fully grasped how complete the kingdoms devastation had been. Then again, the strictly military matters would have been kept inside the kings close council and army unless the situation was exceedingly dire, and the fall of the kingdom after Arthas betrayal had come swiftly. They had not had the time to call for aid. Garithos amount of correspondence might at first glance suggest a more sensible policy in that regard, but their content was more about reminding the world about his new and august status and the ineptitude of the lesser races than laying foundations of cooperation with the rest of the Alliance.

This was…odd. Alina almost found herself caught up in their studies. She would have found it rather interesting in life to see what the two would find out and what they would make of it.

They had found something, it seemed. Runar beckoned Halvdan over.

"Look at this. It's a few years old, seems like a draft, but it was still archived. Some sort of marriage contract."

"Marriage contract? What the…" Halvdan mumbled.

"The proud kingdoms and so on of Kul Tiras and Lordaeron have this day agreed…to wed until the end of their days and whatever…Runar skimmed through the introductory ceremonial formalities while reading out aloud. "…princess Jaina Proudmoore of Kul Tiras to prince Arthas Menethil of Lordaeron…". He glanced through the rest but apparently found nothing noteworthy.

"There's that name again. Who are these people?" Halvdan mused.

"Lady Alina? May we trouble you for a moment? We are coming across a name that appears to be of importance but a lot of details appear to be left out, or even struck from the records. Would you be able to tell us more about a prince of Lordaeron named Arthas Menethil?"

Alinas knuckles would have whitened where they grasped the armrests of her chair, were it not for the fact that they were already pale as snow.

She watched her fellow rangers being overrun one by one as the gargoyles began to descend from the sky.

Alina faintly registered the sharp crack of her grip crushing the wood to splinters.

A rush of air to her side was all the warning she had when a gargoyle made a dive for her and she rolled away on the ground reflexively.

A scream drew her eyes to the sky to see Loralen, who had watched her back, writhing in the gargoyles claws before it dropped her over the Scourge masses on the ground.

"Go! Run!" Alina shouted, and didn't know if it was to her rangers or the dwarfs.

Her banshee form boiled and fumed behind and inside her. Clenching her fists and curling into herself she caught a last glimpse of the two dwarves hurrying for the door.

Alina Wailed. The walls shook, and books and scrolls flew across the room.

She lost track of time. It might have been a minute or it might have been hours when she grasped at the wall, her throat feeling raw somehow. But she was dead so of course she didn't really feel it, it wasn't real.

The library door creaked. What a strange thing, Alina thought fleetingly, that she could still hear the low groaning of an old door at this moment.

The dwarves entered again, looking wary. Alina couldn't blame them. Why were they even still there? Although, Alina was the one intruding on their workspace after all, she remembered and turned her face away. She couldn't think of anything remotely right to say.

She could hear the dwarves whisper something.

Halvdan approached her.

"What have they done to you?" he asked, sounding shocked.

Alina looked up, disbelieving. Was he serious? Red eyes? Snow white skin? No heartbeat? Hello?

"He… took everything from us.". Alinas voice sounded raspy and hoarse to her ears.

The dwarf stepped over to an old bench by the wall and sat down. Alina sank down beside him. That old chair would probably fall apart now if someone so much as poked it.

They sat quietly for a long while, or so it felt at least. It was…harder than usual to keep track of time. And why should she, really? She was dead and done, she had all the time in the world and nothing to do with it anyway. Hadn't she?

Something brushed against her fingers. Something that wasn't cold. Halvdan hesitantly and very gently took her hand.

"Begging your pardon, Lady Alina, but he didn't. You still have each other." he said quietly.

Each other. Alina pondered at the thought. What did that mean when you were dead?

"I used to play for them." Alina suddenly blurted out. Where had that come from? "The other rangers. Sylvanas would let me stash my violin in her command tent because our ranger quarters were so cramped that someone might have stepped on it."

"It doesn't matter anymore." Alina said quietly.

Halvdan seemed to be about to say something in reply but the door was flung open in that moment and Sylvanas and half a dozen of dark rangers bursted in followed by Runar. Sylvanas was literally fuming, shadowy banshee mist dancing from her like cold black flames. She cast a quick look at Alinas forlorn appearance and whirled on the spot to lift Runar by his collar and slam him into the wall, while the rangers all but flung themselves at Alina.

"What did you do to her!?" Sylvanas growled.

"We don't know…" the dwarf croaked "…and we would like some bloody answers before we need to have a bloody repeat of something like this!" he growled back angrily while taking hold of the banshee queens arm so he could support himself in the suspended state. Taking a deep breath – which was quite a feat in the situation – he looked pointedly at Alina and then at Sylvanas. "We would love to tell you every little thing that we have no idea about here, but at the moment someone else needs you more, right?" he said much more calmly.

Sylvanas dropped him to the floor like a sack of flour and swept down to Alinas side.

"I'm so sorry, Alina. I shouldn't have had you left unattended. I will speak to Amora." Sylvanas mumbled, with all traces of anger gone from her voice.

The rest fell in with her, in a small choir of soothing melodic voices. How did her sisters have such beautiful voices?

Nobody is angry.

We understand.

You are not on your own.

We will help you.

Their hands were cold as the grave as they stroked her cheeks and arms and fingers carded through her hair. But it was the warmest she had felt since…before, Alina thought. They could not warm each other but at least they could calm each other. At least they had something left. At least they…had each other.

Alina looked up and suddenly realised that Halvdan was still holding her hand. It was warm and felt nice despite being rough. Like theirs, that had hardened from centuries of archery.

"Who. The hell. Did this?" Alina heard Runar ask, with a new voice that made her think of stones grinding against each other. It called to mind the stories other rangers had told from the Second War against the orcs, of those dwarves that were clad in iron and hard as stone and whose hammers broke bones instead of bending metal.

Sylvanas regarded them silently for a moment.

"Anya. Tell them. Preferably not here!"

Anya rolled her eyes and turned to the dwarves.

"We'd better take a walk."

Halvdan did not move, however, but sat still with his eyes on Alina. Why wasn't he getting up?

Oh.

Alina nodded a small nod at him. But her hand felt awfully empty when he had gone.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 3: Forsaken and Families
Azeroths diplomatic archmage sleeps badly and the Dark Lady takes out her frustration on the battlefield. What else is new...


Jainas little brother Tandred held onto her arms as hard as his clumsy mittens allowed him and stumbled on the ice as Jaina danced with him around and around on the crystal clear surface. He laughed and screamed and she laughed too, and had not another care in the world. His cheeks were too red and they should really have been going inside at least an hour ago but with the little time she had to see him Jaina wanted to make the very most of every hour she could be home to visit. She had just begun to master portal magics so perhaps she could use it as an excuse to go home more and claim that she needed to train.

Suddenly Tandred looked up on her in terror. Jaina looked down in alarm and the ice was no longer crystal clear but black underneath. With a deafening crash it broke all around them and she felt them being sucked down into the water with ice floes everywhere and numbing immediately from the stupefying cold. She tried to scream to Tandred but only managed to fill her mouth with water and make her lungs burn.

Down, further down, she saw someone sinking even faster and she knew it was her father. He looked up and reached with his arm for her but he was too far away.

Jaina woke with a terrified scream, followed by intense pain when she realised she must have banged her leg against the desk when she startled. Her back ached as well from the unnatural sleeping position bent over a too low desk.

Jaina sighed and slumped down again with her head in her hands.

She knew all too well what that had been about of course. She had seen Tandred for the last time in the spring when the snow was melting in Kul Tiras and Tandred was bored of everything being wet and soggy. Jaina had misused her frost magic something terrible and conjured an entire floor of smooth ice for them right on a drenched and muddy meadow. Tandred had been so happy.

The following summer the plague had struck Lordaeron. The next spring Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore had set sail towards Kalimdor to never return again.

The chair felt too small. Jaina realised there was something behind her. She searched with her hand to find one of her blankets. She distinctly remembered not bringing it with her from her bed last evening. She did however have a pretty clear idea who had draped it over her sleeping form hunched over the desk.

Jainas elbow touched something on the desk. Sure enough, there was a short note with her Kaldorei bodyguard Paineds distinct handwriting.



"My Lady,

As you will not heed mine or anyones spoken words of council I must try my best with the written.

I will defend you with my life from any foe or any danger that I can.

I can not protect you from yourself if you insist on working yourself to death.

Pained"



Jaina sighed again. It wasn't that she didn't want to sleep. By all means, Jaina would admit that she was an incurable bookworm when something gripped her interest and her education as a mage had been filled with one frantic all-nighter after the other. But when she slept she had used to sleep soundly and snoozed well into the next day.

It was just that now she dreaded the nights and all her rest could probably be attributed to her absolute exhaustion and Paineds herbal tea. But not even that could keep Jainas nightmares away.

On their own accord, Jainas eyes were drawn to another letter, the one she would always pick up again and again and again.



"Jaina,

I only write this last letter to you to assure you, for the sake of Kul Tiras, that our nations are not at war and Kul Tiras will not waste its blood seeking retribution against Theramore for a crime that its ruler herself is guilty of.

I can only wonder when the daughter that I had died and became replaced by a monster who would side with savage beasts against her own father and her own kin.

I hope that you live long and never for one day forget what you have done.

You are no daughter of mine.

Lord Admiral Katherine Proudmoore"



Jaina would never see her home again.

She would never see her father.

She would never see her mother.

She would never see Tandred.

She was clutching her fathers anchor-shaped pendant that hung around her neck. Her tears were already running down along her nose. Jaina hurriedly put the letter away to keep it from being smeared.

A few minutes later she heard a discreet knock on her door. Grumbling, Jaina dragged herself up to open it, blinking owlishly. There was nobody there, but on the stool beside the doorway stood a hot cup of Kaldorei tea.

Oh.

Pained deserved better.

***​

Sylvanas and six of her rangers loosed the first arrows into the backs of the patrol of Scarlet Crusade infantry. Seven footmen in mail and pot helmets cried out and collapsed on the ground. It was not a blind volley, they had each taken their time to aim before Sylvanas whistled to them to loose. The rest of the twenty or so strong unit turned on the spot and raised their shields to charge their ambushers but a second squadron of dark rangers rose from the other side to shot at their now exposed backs. The confusion allowed Sylvanas' time for a quick volley after which they had to close in or run away. This time close in.

Sylvanas sidestepped a spear thrust and cut the arm with one of her daggers while whirling inside the soldiers guard to slash at his throat with the other. She was at the flank of the formation and leapt at the back of another footman engaging the opposing ranger squad. She landed with both daggers cutting down into his neck and rolled to the side when he collapsed to the ground. Her next opponent made Sylvanas stagger back to avoid a sweep from her shield but Cyndia crashed into her from the side and thrust her short sword into her armpit where the footmans, or footwomans in this case, breastplate did not protect.

That was the last of it. Sylvanas cast a quick glance around.

"Report!"

"All good!" Kalira answered.

"Two wounded, not serious." Anya followed up.

Sylvanas took a look. Kitala and Lyana in Anyas squadron had taken the brunt of the Scarlet charge and paid with taking a pair of slashes across the legs and a spear into the shoulder. Neither was fatal for the undead but would impede them for some time. On the ground some of the enemies were moving but they would soon be bleeding out. Her rangers were nothing if not accurate.

"Drain what you need and then end the dying ones. The rest, take spoils and spread out and keep watch. We'll leave as soon as possible."

The Scarlet Crusade was sweeping the area with patrols that spread out from company strength columns of up to a hundred or so that made up the main body in the centre, trailed by supply wagons and the few pack animals they had available. They were aiming to hunt down and catch undead and clearing them out of the forest rather than facing a prepared military force. Sylvanas conceded that the assessment was all too close to the truth.

Her counter with a ranger force was to let them pass while using the rangers superior stealth to hide between the paths of two patrols, and then strike at the rear and destroy the logistics corps as much as possible before melting back into the woods. The company would be forced to retreat before long to resupply and the wrong direction of the attack from the enemy rear would lead the Scarlets to consequently search in the wrong direction. Sylvanas had scouted their patrols thoroughly earlier and after continuing from the rear in a wide semi-circle her rangers had now destroyed the outmost one on the left flank, after which they would retreat back for the Undercity.

It would not work forever of course, the enemy would reinforce their rear and adopt closer formations, or hide elite units among them to ambush the ambushers. But for now it would have to do. She could barely spare even this force of herself and two ranger squadrons but this Scarlet column had been necessary to turn away. And it felt good to lead from the front among her dark rangers for a change. Undeath may have dulled their some of their senses but none of their skills, and her rangers were as deadly as ever. How proud she was of them.

On the way back to the Undercity Sylvanas let her thoughts drift. They were laden with scavenged equipment from the patrol they had destroyed, taking the better of arms and armour. The Undercity was lacking everything. The few battle ready troops Sylvanas could command needed to patrol and stand guard as well as raid like simple pillagers due to their own lack of mining and production. She had to get that going as well. It would be best to start with something simple, like arrows. Arrows were always a sound choice in any scenario.

By now they knew the Scarlet Crusade more than enough. The filthy humans were relentless zealots who defied common, and to a certain degree military, sense and reason in their fanatical campaign against all undead. They bled and could be frightened like anyone else, but as a whole they would not be dislodged or discouraged by losing important strategic points or having the supply lines cut off. Come winter the Scarlet Crusade would ponder on how tracking the undead through the snow could best be done, not on how to keep their soldiers clothed and fed.

In that way they were uncomfortably close to the Scourge. The Scourge remained, and in Sylvanas' opinion would always remain, the greatest threat to the Forsaken but currently their activity was low. Whether that was a deliberate decision or due to waning influence of the Lich King was impossible to say. Sylvanas had been not a little surprised at how irregular the loss of his control had been. New Forsaken would be coming out of some areas in dozens while other were infested with murderous ghouls. It could not be exclusively linked to the power or distance of the Lich King which she had first believed, but on the other hand maybe it was encouraging if an individuals personal strength and spirit played a part in how easily she could be chained to another will.

Hours later, they were coming upon the Undercity. A small part of Sylvanas relaxed as always seeing the city still in ruins but not going up in flames at least. There were new Forsaken gathering at the city every day now but they were suffering heavy casualties in people who did not make it through the Scourge and the Scarlets. The rangers tried to be everywhere at once and Sylvanas knew that she was running them ragged, undead or not, but they were always too few. Like now, where she had attained a welcome success but at the price of weakening someone else's position.

She wanted to seek out more rangers who could have freed themselves, and preferably more Forsaken fit to join the Dreadguards and similar regular units. She felt selfish for wanting that though, and angry at herself for that feeling. It was a stupid feeling. The Forsaken, even Sylvanas herself, were just a means to an end, Arthas' end to be precise, as she always told herself. She would find a way to work the weakness of those feelings of doubt out of her.

Back into her personal chambers, or office as it was more like in practice, Sylvanas approved the plans for the new barracks submitted by Varimathras and considered summoning him but decided not to.

Varimathras. The dreadlord was a constant source of irritation. Sylvanas had lost track of how many times she had regretted not taking his head and be done with it. But she still needed his usefulness for as long as possible and he was a capable administrator with still crucial insights into Lordaerons current state. She had no margins for wastefulness, not even when it came to condescending demons that she knew would eventually betray her. Sylvanas lacked the interest and patience for civic issues while Varimathras, like the dreadlord he was, seemed to take a keen interest in how much he could manipulate forth from his workforce. Sylvanas was at heart still a Ranger-General, she led her people at war and out in the field, not in everyday matters.

But her leadership could be called into question lately. Sylvanas thought of Alina and her own neglect. She had found her herself, damn it! She should've known better than to leave her alone to face her past like that. It was not unusual with rangers and death knights raging after recovering their will and they had lost two of the rangers to that previously. They had wandered off to seek death against the Scarlet Crusade and Sylvanas had found their bodies hacked to pieces among droves of bodies of Scarlet soldiers. That, she suspected, was part of the reason why they had been coming closer to sniffing out the Undercity lately. She had buried Somand Wayfinder and Siren Ghostsong herself, burning the bodies so the Scourge would never be able to bring them back into thraldom again. After that Sylvanas had issued a standing order that no assignments outside the Undercity were to be handled by rangers on their own without her express permission. They would need to work in pairs like they had in life, despite their new abilities and strengths as undead.

And then she had been stupid enough to allow newly acquired rangers to handle their downtime alone. Sylvanas slumped in her chair, feeling weary in her mind rather than her body.

Although Alina hadn't actually been alone.

Sylvanas considered the dwarves. They had left for Alliance territories further south a week ago, escorted by Amoras squadron including Alina who had continued to keep them company whenever she had time off. The dwarves had left permanently she was sure, it was just a most likely futile gesture of good will to send them packing with an escort. But if Alina was happy about it Sylvanas owed it to her to some extent and Amora would use the mission to scout deeply into the practically unknown parts of southern Lordaeron on the way back.

Her thoughts were interrupted by an urgent knock on the door. It was Areiel.

"The far ranging party is back." she informed, and her omittance of titles told Sylvanas something was urgent. "You better come and hear this yourself."

***​

An hour later Sylvanas had summoned her Council of War, meaning her ranger captain and lieutenants, four other Forsaken commanders and Varimathras. Areiel was briefing them all but Sylvanas ignored it for the moment, having heard the report already.

Amoras escort had not been the only patrol Sylvanas had sent out on a long range mission.

Anthis Sunbow had led a squadron to the southeast, heading deep into Scourge infested provinces. Their mission was to trace the steps of the Forsaken envoys heading into Alliance territory in that direction. They had believed them ambushed by Scarlet forces or Scourge but Sylvanas was running out of options and wanted to be sure, if possible, about what had happened and why. The rangers had escorted them through the thick of the Scourge lands but then withdrawn. Anthis had continued along the trail, following a combination of very meagre tracks, the agreed upon route and sets of secret signals left by their envoys to show where they had passed.

"The trail continues down to the borders of the human nation of Stromgarde which is the northernmost Alliance territory apart from Aerie Peak and Dalaran." Anthis Sunbow concluded her report. "We scoured the borderlands for four days and the trace ends there, but we spotted the remains of a pyre of something by the closest border post. It may mean nothing, but…

Sylvanas silenced her with a gesture.

The envoys had been good people – hardy, brave and experienced Forsaken human soldiers who knew the woods and the Alliance militaries, and among the best preserved and…presentable of them. They should have had a good chance to push through and find common ground with their living colleagues if anyone could. And pushed through they had apparently managed, but then…

The council was silent. Even Varimathras held his tongue, his expression unreadable.

Kalira was the first to speak up.

"Since nobody wants to be first to mention this ugly truth I will. The envoys we send are being killed on sight. This latest report just confirms what we have suspected all along."

"Not Quel'Thalas though." said Anya in a small and sad voice.

"No, of course not by our dear kin in Quel'Thalas." Kalira sneered.

Sylvanas could understand Anyas sadness as well as Kaliras bitterness. The Blood Elves, as they now called themselves, had been the only nation who had allowed their emissaries to leave unmolested but perhaps mostly because the rangers had gone themselves and in force. They had been met by living rangers, who told them with cold eyes to turn back and that they would receive no second warning. Sylvanas suspected it was no empty threat. Elven rangers did not make those. Sylvanas had not joined that expedition, aware that the animosity against her person after Arthas' had paraded her and forced her to commit open atrocities as a way to break the remaining elves morale may impact any negotiation negatively. Something inside her had still broken when she had been told the tale of rangers she had had trained herself turning their backs upon their own former comrades, who had stood and died for Quel'Thalas hardly a year before. A few days after the news had spread Somand and Siren had gone to seek their true deaths against the Scarlet Crusade and the first serious infighting had broken out between those Forsaken who clung to their old identities and those who wanted to embrace their undeath as a new beginning and turn their back upon the living as a whole. Sylvanas for herself considered both sentiments useless extremes but she keenly recognized the impact this kind of news would have on the Undercity.

"There are always the options of using living messengers." Varimathras suggested.

There were. The idea was not new and they had discussed it at length. They could either capture prisoners and send them off with letters but that would be as random as leaving letters mysteriously at foreign nations borders with no way of knowing if and how they had been received. The other option was to use the banshees to possess the living instead but while the tactic was sound for gathering information – which was why banshees could excel at spying if they could only control their emotions – mimicking a high ranking representatives mannerisms before a wide audience was something else entirely. The day may come when Sylvanas grew desperate enough to risk it but it still did not address the actual root of the problem. If the living would not trust the Forsaken as a people, or even see them as people and not monsters, it would in the end matter little who they sent to represent them.

"No." said Sylvanas finally and rose form her seat. "The risks are not worth it."

The rest of the council rose after her and she nodded raptly to them.

"We are alone. The world does not want us." Anya mused quietly to nobody in particular and her resigned, hollow voice echoed in Sylvanas' ears.

***​

Sylvanas wandered the keep alone, the earlier meeting gnawing at her mind. She needed to think.

Her mind lingered for a moment on the dwarves who would perhaps be walking to their doom if they declared themselves to be her envoys, or at least never be taken seriously. But they would not have been sincere about helping her anyway so the question was moot.

This could not go on. They could not sustain this. Arthas had taken the bulk of Raised undead fighters to Northrend and left the others. The dark rangers and the banshees had been left mostly in Lordaeron for their tracking skills and likely in mistrust after her little farewell arrow. There would be no great force of battle-ready Forsaken waiting to be discovered.

Turning their backs on every living was perhaps a way for oneself to cope with the inevitable but not a viable strategy for someone in charge. The Forsaken needed allies.

Perhaps her mind was still unconsciously on Alina but for whatever reason Sylvanas found herself walking the corridor towards the keeps library. Not particularly strange for someone intending to think things over quietly, but usually not her way of doing things either.

The library was still in disarray after Alinas outburst. Sylvanas absent-mindedly pick up an old book here or and old document there. She preferred having something to do with her hands when she was thinking.

What ally would join the Forsaken? It should be simple, everyone should despise or fear the Scourge more than them and wish to unite against the Lich King. The Forsaken did in some ways possess crucial insight into the strengths and weaknesses of the Scourge. Common military logic called for at least putting an alliance with such an enemy of ones enemy into serious consideration.

But evidently it didn't. Sylvanas tried to look at herself as a new Ranger-General decades ago. There hadn't been undead in question then but the humans and their Alliance. And Quel'Thalas had put it off to the last moment, indeed far past the last moment, to join forces against the orcs that ransacked their land and murdered Sylvanas' parents and little brother Lirath. But they had joined forces at last and there had never been a question of blockading or sabotaging the humans war efforts in any way. No, she would not have turned down a chance to have aid against the orcs, or the Amani trolls for that matter.

Would she now join sides with a renegade Scourge against Arthas? Sure thing, so long as they stayed out of Lordaeron. She would even had let the dreadlords be if they had stayed out of their way, they could serve as a distraction for the Lich King if nothing else.

There was also the polar opposite policy to think about. Someone so far away that they did not need to fear the Forsaken as an immediate threat, but still able to serve as a check upon the hostile parts of the Alliance and upon the Scarlet Crusade, provided the latter would let such small concerns get in their way.

Dalaran was closest but severely weakened from Arthas' assault and would surely harbour an especially bitter grudge against any undead for that. Still, theoretically worth a try if for some implausible reason her letters would in fact be delivered.

Stormwind, as the Alliances presumed new head, had not worked and Quel'Thalas rebuffed them. Gilneas was reputedly closed off from the world. Khaz Modan was said to be almost as insular in itself despite sending substantial troops to the Alliance. They were honouring past agreements but showed no inclination of reaching new ones.

Kalimdor?

The Horde?

She should choke on the thought. And part of her still did, but stranger things had been contemplated in war. Would the horde protect them?

Maybe so, maybe not. She knew next to nothing about the orcs that had left across the sea to settle in Durotar, as they called their new nation. But an alliance with the Horde could very much antagonize the unfriendly yet still neutral eastern kingdoms and spark them into more than isolating the Forsaken. Besides, she detested the orcs for what they had done to Quel'thalas in the Second War. They had taken half her family and indirectly cost her her sister Alleria who went after them beyond the dark portal.

The night elves, the Kaldorei, remained but by all accounts (sparse as they were) they were only tolerating the outsiders help to deal with the Burning Legion. They were just like…Quel'Thalas had been.

Sylvanas almost kicked at a random book lying on the floor. This was pointless!

Wait. There was a thought that had eluded her. She knew from her time in the Scourge that there had been orcs allying temporarily with the night elves, but also humans, dwarves and high elves that had fled the destruction of Lordaeron and Dalaran and Quel'Thalas, and some who had come anyway to follow the rest across the sea to Kalimdor. And they had presumably settled somewhere on that continent instead of returning to their ruined homelands.

There was a name she had seen that was connected to that gathering. From a couple of the reports scavenged from Grand Marshal Garithos she thought. The presumed leader of the exiles from the eastern kingdoms. Jaina Proudmoore.

 

[Krazyfan1]

Neat.
Nice to see a pro-Sylvanas fic.

 

[Warmachine375]

At first you have my curiosity. But now you have my attention. I will be watching this Sylvanas-centric story with great interest.

 

[Krazyfan1]

i've read ahead on Ao3.

Good fic.

 

[Maltacus]

Neat.
Nice to see a pro-Sylvanas fic.

Click to shrink...

Thanks! That's good to hear!

At first you have my curiosity. But now you have my attention. I will be watching this Sylvanas-centric story with great interest.

Click to shrink...

I shall do my very best to keep all three! Thanks for telling me!

i've read ahead on Ao3.
Good fic.

Click to shrink...

Ah, yes, it is somewhat longer gone there. Now I'm of course extremely curious about your thoughts of the coming chapters.
AO3, or Archive Of Our Own, is the site I originally published the story on. I am called Maltacus over there as well.

 

[Warmachine375]

I shall do my very best to keep all three! Thanks for telling me!

Click to shrink...

You're welcome and keep up the good work.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 4. Baths and Beds
Anya and Pained try their best to keep their overstressed rulers from working themselves to (true) death while the Scarlet noose is tightening around the Forsaken. Areiel is researching foreign magocratic city-states and stumbles over state documents that some careless reader has left scattered all across the library.

Family drama amongst the Forsaken is turning into quite the soap opera...


The meeting with the carpenters guild would start in half an hour. Jaina was already nodding off.

She was sitting in their tiny meeting room on the first floor of her tower, which doubled as city hall and office for the mages and whatever else they could cram inside it. Sometimes Jaina really felt for the overworked building.

Jaina was seeing Master Carpenter Oddricht Mekkatorque-Jansen before the proper guild meeting of the evening to familiarize herself with the items and clear up things she was too inexperienced to know beforehand. It was useful, it was sensible and Jaina felt it was the most respectful she could do as a ruler who knew far too little about woodworking and construction to have much useful input. Except that now she was stifling a yawn ever so often and blinking furiously as she tried to mentally shake herself out of her daze.

"…and we need to make a major decision now if we are going to shape up the walls or the docks next. Both projects are sorely needed but they will require a good deal different skills and materials, in short more wood for the docks and more stone for the walls. Leading us of course to the old issue of our chronic shortage of good materials. Right now the guild is rationing but that may not be the best state of things, it would make more sense if the ruler – meaning you – did it and we dealt with allocating what we could use. But you'd also need to be aware of what we can do with a set amount of resources so you don't waste 'em by giving us just too little to be useful, better then to give it all to something else…

Jaina struggled to take in the barrage of issues, of important questions that she knew needed answering and important decisions that would have an impact on so many peoples lives. It was just so overwhelming today.

"…so today I reckoned we'd go over the construction plans in earnest for the new docks and compare them with the ones of the new wall so you know what you're getting into. My carpenters are sure to have their suggestions too but final decision's yours of course. But be prepared for a lot of sentiment in favour of new docks, the lads and lasses are itching for not having to go through Ratchet for every barrel of tar…

Constructions plans of…of…new barrels of tar from Rachel? No, Ratchet of course, Jaina berated herself. She squeezed her eyes, trying to bloody focus!

So the lads were itching to have a go at the lasses at Ratchets docks…no, that wasn't right… Ratchet was…barrels…tar…sticky…thoughts…stuck…

"Are you still with us, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina opened her eyes in absolute terror. She had been nodding off, hadn't she? How long had she slept? Had the meeting already started?

But no, there was only her wizened gnome master carpenter who peered at her with his piercing glare. Jaina shrunk under it, feeling like a new plank being scrutinized for imperfections by a very critical craftsman.

"Am I boring you?"

Jaina blushed, no, practically burned, with embarrassment. She felt so terribly guilty. Here he was, trying to make all this make sense to a complete amateur and she just… Jaina sighed.

"No, no, I…I know this is very important for the city and I very much appreciate the heads-up before we meet the rest, I just… I just haven't managed to sleep very well for some time." Jaina confessed. It sounded so feeble. Pathetic. But the least she could do was to be honest about it and let him think her a complete idiot without reservation.

But Master Oddricht just looked at her and then hesitated a little.

"You're driving yourself into the ground aren't you, Lady Proudmoore, lass." he said, not unkindly.

Jaina looked up. Wasn't he going to be angry? Or at least a bit snide?

The old gnome looked around conspiratorially and then lowered his voice.

"Candied cherries, that's the trick. They sell 'em by the red-and-yellow striped market stand by the square. It's my own guilty pleasure. But you have to watch out! Next thing you know you're practically addicted to it and pot-bellied like a dwarf!"

Jaina wasn't sure she had heard correctly. Was he pulling her leg?

"Listen, how about you sit this one out and call it a day? We'll try our best without our lady holding our hands and I'll scribble a note to you of the main points at stake afterwards?"

"That would be…most kind, Master Oddricht." Jaina smiled sadly and dragged her tired self off to her rooms.

Jainas rooms at the top floor of her tower were in reality one room and the smallest of them all unless you counted the bathroom or the broom closets. The rest were currently used for storage and laden with piles of books, dozens of half-finished uniforms for the city guard, spare tools for the towers construction, boxes with more books and whatever else could be squeezed in. Her own quarters had one window, that could thankfully be opened, and room for exactly a modest bed, a desk with a chair, a cupboard and a pile of reports and letters that Jaina could swear would secretly grow taller by itself whenever you turned your back on it.

She fell down on her bed, not even bothering to get under her blankets, and was asleep the next moment.

"This entire city must be purged!"

Arthas' words resonated in Jainas head. She wanted to speak out, to make him see reason, to make anyone question the brutality in murdering innocent victims of the plague of undeath. But her throat constricted and no sound came out. All around her, she saw Alliance soldiers clutching their weapons and readying themselves, their faces set with grim determination to stop Mal'Ganis at any cost. But the more Jaina looked, the more did those grimaces twist into bloodthirsty grins and their skin looked ever greyer and less alive each moment. She turned her eyes back to Arthas and his features were drawn into a mocking sneer that froze on his face, all taut lines and deep creases where it had once been beautiful and proud and open. His beloved horse stared at her with hollow eye sockets and a wave of rotten stench washed over Jaina as Arthas reached down with a hand that was all bone and withered remnants of skin.

Jaina shook herself out of her sleep with a sob. Only it hadn't been her doing it, she realised and looked up on Paineds dark silhouette and faintly glowing eyes in the darkness of her room.

"What time is it?" Jaina asked in a low voice. She wouldn't get any rest this night either, apparently.

"It is an hour to midnight. I heard you cry out in your sleep." Paineds calm voice answered. So perhaps Jaina had managed to make more sound in the waking world than in her dream at least. Great. Now they were both kept up at night.

"I'm so sorry." Jaina murmured apologetically. "You can go back to sleep, I'm fine. I…I'll close the door better."

"Will you humor me and please stop acting like an idiot now, my lady?". Pained had crossed her arms and was all but tapping her foot in annoyance.

Jaina stared at her, too tired to retort.

"Have I ever asked you to keep it to yourself if you are hurt, or in pain or discomfort? Have I asked to be relieved of my duties? If so, pray remind me of when my lady, for it seems to have mysteriously slipped my mind."

Jaina looked down into the floor. Had she offended Pained now too? Tides, couldn't this miserable night just go away?

"Let me help." Pained said, more softly than Jaina had ever heard her. "Tell me how to make it better."

"I don't want to impose on you." Jaina said quietly. "You stand watch almost all day - and evening with the hours I keep – and you need time to train and tend to your equipment too. And you need to eat and rest too."

And Pained really did all of that and more. And she still managed to find time to brew Jaina tea and make sure that she took time to eat properly, which in all honesty Jaina knew she was terrible at. On top of all that Pained was probably expected by Tyrande to keep an eye on Jaina as well, and Jaina did not envy her that conflicted position. If that really was the case Jaina had promised herself not to be angry at Pained for being caught up in the middle of something she had little say over. And frankly, as far as such things went, asking Pained to write home about how Jaina was doing was more akin to the actions of a nosy aunt rather than an ill-intentioned spymaster.

Jaina suddenly realised how much she missed Tyrande. Tyrande had made Jaina feel calm and the time she had spent with the night elves directly after the Burning Legions defeat at Mount Hyjal had been so serene, like something out of a fairytale but without the monsters. Tyrande had taken Jaina with her and showed her some of the most breathtaking parts of Ashenvale. Unused as she were to ride on a frostsaber even if it was with someone else, and overwhelmed by the multitude of sights and impressions, Jaina would usually get tired late in the day and Tyrande would let Jaina sleep on her arm with her cloak as bed. Drifting off as the moon priestess told stories about the Kaldoreis past or sang to her in Darnassian secretly became Jainas favourite part of the day.

Was Pained any less kind and gentle than Tyrande?

"Could you, maybe, sit here for a while?" Jaina asked hesitantly in a small voice.

Pained placed Jainas uncomfortable chair next to the bed and sat down without hesitation. It creaked slightly when she stretched her legs.

Paineds glowing eyes looked down on her, calm and steady. Jaina tried her best to keep her mind on them and to think of Ashenvale and the sound of Tyrandes voice, and her frostsabers thick fur and coarse tongue that had once tickled Jainas toes when those had apparently been found too dirty for frostsaber standards.

Jaina wouldn't keep Pained for long, she told herself, just until she had calmed down a bit. Then she could tell Pained she could leave. Just a little while…a little longer…

"Sleep well, child." Jaina didn't know if it was Tyrandes or Paineds voice she heard.

***​

Anya Eversong listened to Sylvanas instructing Areiel. She liked it. For once there was a task that was not hurriedly desperate and for once it was not something that the dark rangers had to do alone.

And for once it was something that might actually get them somewhere.

"I want you to be in charge of this as it is of the highest priority, but there is no need to engage the rangers, anyone who can read Common and possess a smatter of brains should do. You are to scour the archives and library for any information regarding Jaina Proudmoore and the Alliance expeditionary force to Kalimdor. Officially, and especially if Varimathras or his lackeys wonder, this is an attempt to gauge the military strength of remaining Alliance forces with strong national ties to our territory and to Dalaran."

Areiel grinned at the last bit and saluted, already on her way. Anya didn't even have time to nod at her, but then again she had a mission on her own on her mind right now.

"Dark Lady?"

"Yes, Anya? Is something the matter?" Sylvanas answered with a barely recognizable tiredness behind her even tone.

"If it's alright, I would like to talk to Sylvanas Windrunner."

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.

"If I'm not much mistaken, you already are."

"Am I?" Anya asked softly and looked intensely at Sylvanas.

Sylvanas sighed. "Anya, I don't intend to pull rank on you when it's just you and me. Out with it now. What's on your mind?"

"You."

"Me?"

"Our Dark Lady does everything she can and more to keep us safe. Our sister Sylvanas suffers alone."

"What is left of her." Sylvanas replied depreciatingly.

Anya had heard more than enough of that hated litany.

"Everyone is encouraged to take time off sometimes. Ordered, I would say. When did you last take a moment to yourself, Sylvanas?"

Sylvanas' jaw seemed to clench a bit.

"I have too much to do." she said curtly.

"Of course." Anya agreed. "Lucky for the rest of us that our tasks are so unimportant that we can slack off at our leisure at least…"

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes.

"Mind your tone, Anya." she warned. "And you all need your rest, whether your bodies crave sleep or not, to keep your mind sharp and you know that well enough. And it's still my job to see to it that you get it."

"I used to have this Ranger-General who badgered me about the same being true for commanders." Anya remarked absent-mindedly. "Who told me that I would get my rangers killed if I made decisions with fog in my head."

"Leave me alone." Sylvanas muttered, not meeting Anyas stare. It was a testament to the deep bond between them that she didn't literally throw Anya out. But doing that would violate a trust that ran far too deep to be broken in a moments irritation. Rangers did not back down from difficult things. Rangers did not turn their backs on one another.

But now Anya was the one getting irritated.

"Excuse me, but for a moment it sounded like you were thinking we should entrust our safety to someone refusing to take even a moments pause to recover her wits. Or perhaps to someone so overconfident she believes herself so superior to everyone else that she is completely above the need to rest and recover." she pointed out, with a hint of steel behind the sarcasm.

Sylvanas stared back, then she slumped and admitted defeat as if tiring of their nagging game.

"Fine, have it your way, Anya! What the fuck would you have me do? Sit in a corner weaving baskets? Whittling? Tin smithing?"

"You did stitch my cloak once…" Anya remarked, her tone unconsciously growing a little warmer.

"Only because we were in the field and your arm was torn up by a troll."

Anya smiled inside herself at the memory. It was a sad little smile but a smile none the less.

"You kept watch over me all night. Allow me to return the favour, Sylvanas."

"Anya, you owe me no favours, you have done all I could ask for and more." Sylvanas replied, no longer hiding her tiredness.

"Will you stop being so damned stubborn? Just come with me! The water's getting cold."

That at last seemed to pick Sylvanas interest.

"The water?"

Anya nodded towards the door and led the way, silently cherishing the quiet sound of dark red boots behind her.

They navigated the unstable maze of half-ruined stairs and corridors that remained of the keeps upper levels to the room Anya had laid claim to and prepared. The wall had a large hole in it and the roof had fallen in, but it had a working fireplace and a mostly intact floor at least. In the middle of it stood Anyas prize, scavenged and bolted together again during hours of thankless toil with rusting tools and worse materials.

A huge, barrel-like bath tub, filled nearly to the brim with water that she had painstakingly climbed the walls with. Hung over the crackling fire was Anyas other discovery, a miraculously whole cauldron she had traded many hours of work for, filled with boiling water.

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.

"Do you intend to cook me, lieutenant?" she asked dryly, amused and clearly surprised even if she tried to hide it.

"Yes, I discovered an absolutely fabulous recipe for boiled mule, I just need to get some salt and root vegetables. In you go!" Anya ordered and used her ranger cloak to keep her hands wrapped up as she dragged the cauldron over to the tub and heaved its steaming content into the rest of the water, which thankfully hadn't cooled too much.

"I will keep watch." Anya promised and mockingly began to parade back and forth across the small unlittered floor area. "I will guard you with my last breath against Scarlet peepers, Scourge squatters and dreadlord busybodies."

"With your last breath?" Sylvanas quirked an eyebrow as she loosened the straps of her pauldrons.

"Petty details!" Anya smirked and presented arms before an imaginary visiting officer.

"Alright, I yield, just stop that incessant pacing and sit down, will you?" Sylvanas smiled.

Belore, how long it was since Anya had seen that smile. Sylvanas was removing her breastplate and Anya promptly busied herself with picking up the discarded parts of her ranger armour and arranging them orderly, wiping the dust from some places. She knew that the scar on Sylvanas' chest where Frostmourne had pierced her heart was a sensitive thing for her and one she preferred to neither discuss nor display.

Bent over her task, she could hear Sylvanas removing her boots and pants and slide into the bath.

"How's the water?" Anya asked and tried to not sound as nervous as she felt.

"Not bad, lieutenant… Why, I'm almost thinking you mean to butter me up to whisk a promotion out of me…" Sylvanas drawled.

"Don't get any ideas now, I am not Areiel. The horror…" Anya almost shuddered which earned her an amused chuckle form Sylvanas. Sylvanas' insistence that Anya would make a fine ranger captain one day was as old as Anyas unbridled dread at the very thought.

And for a fleeting moment, everything was almost like before.

"My lady, I have a present for you." Anya said and held out a lump of something distorted with a sickly colour and not particularly pleasant smell.

"And what is that?"

"Soap, my lady!" Anya announced and couldn't hide her pride. She beckoned for Sylvanas' left arm and for once the stubborn woman did not protest. Anya dipped the piece of soap in the water and rubbed her hands with it, silently relieved that i actually seemed to work and turn out to be soap and nothing else. She followed the outside and inside of Sylvanas upper arms, admiring their toned muscles and the intriguing myriad of scars that told the history of the Ranger-General of Silvermoon. Anya thought they had faded a little, but it was hard to tell of course with the stark difference in skin colour compared to before. She gently lifted Sylvanas' elbow and slid down around and along her forearm with the other hand. Sylvanas sat still as a statue, watching Anyas hands wrap around hers and then slowly lower it into the water again.

"How much can you feel?" Anya asked, partly curious and partly concerned about keeping Sylvanas' mind on something else than her awkwardness with someone doing something nice for her.

"More than most of us, I believe. Physically. I feel the heat of the water, not just that it is water. Some sense of smell and taste remain I guess. It seems to be rather random. I know that Kalira claims to be able to taste sweetness and Velonara could tell the difference between fresh and blighted grass without looking."

Typical Sylvanas, Anya thought as she worked on the other arm. Deflecting any personal questions at the first opportunity. She currently didn't give a damn about whether Kalira snacked on an entire cake or if Velonaras was growing a rose garden.

Still, so far it was going fine. Anya was here and Sylvanas was here and that was all that mattered.

"Would you care to lean forward, my lady?" Anya asked quietly. To her relief, Sylvanas obliged her without a word. She traced the back muscles up and down, smooth and hard and…far too hard. Tense from months of neglect followed by months of monstrous pressure without a moment of relief.

"Apothecary de'Urden claims that soap could be weaponized to make things explode. Like the dwarves' black powder. He seems a bit unhinged in my opinion." Anya remarked.

Sylvanas snorted and shook her head.

"At least it would be clean shot if it could be made to work…" Anya mused innocently.

"Ugh, that was worthy of Areiel. I tell you, captain material…" Sylvanas mumbled with her head resting against her knees. But she put no real effort into sounding annoyed.

Now came the hard part. Anya almost bit her lip.

"Would you like me to…wash your legs?" she nearly whispered.

Sylvanas was silent so long that Anya thought that she would say no, but then the banshee queen sunk back into the water and lifted a dripping leg to rest on the uneven edge of the tub. Anya could see her shrinking into herself and hiding under the surface. Of course. Sylvanas did not care about showing her her leg, she was worrying about the scars on her chest. No, Anya corrected herself, Sylvanas was worrying about The Scar.

The Amani had left their marks along Sylvanas' thighs and calves nearly as much as on her arms. Reminders of spears, axes and arrows crisscrossed all along her skin but Anya could not care less. Sylvanas was still the finest ranger of them all. Sylvanas still had the most gorgeous calves Anya knew. She ran her soapy fingers along them almost reverently, and not especially efficient for an impromptu chambermaid, but it didn't earn her any complaint. In fact, Sylvanas was leaning back a little and Anya felt the leg stretching under her and then relaxing against the wood. She grabbed Sylvanas' calf with one hand to keep in off the uncomfortable surface as she ran her fingers over the foot and between the toes. She had to restrain herself from outright caressing that leg or doing something silly like pinching Sylvanas' toes.

"I'm going to get something." Anya said, careful to look at Sylvanas eyes and not down her chest. "You can wash the rest of you in the meantime if you like." When I am not watching, so you don't need to think about that.

Anya deliberately took her time readying her last surprise, listening for the sound of water splashing to stop before turning around with a clay jar, or at least a broken half of it as the top had been smashed.

"This is something the apothecaries have been working on. It's basically a simple oil but seems to do the trick to keep Forsaken skin from drying and cracking." Other Forsaken skin, was the unspoken addendum. The rangers and the most powerful other undead were spared from those particular ills. "Soon enough a flaking hide will be soo last month, and it wouldn't do for the dark lady to be unfashionable, would it?" Anya chattered, trying to distract them from the present tension.

Sylvanas looked at the broken jar.

"You should not be wasting it on me." she said flatly. "Others will need it more."

"We still get stiff, and if we get stiff and fail to pull our bows fast enough the others die. Besides, this one is mine to do as I please with." Anya countered, soft but insistent.

Sylvanas' gaze locked on Anyas, who found herself caught in it. They may all have red eyes now but Sylvanas' were mesmerizing. They did not glow so much as burned, smouldering deep inside or openly when she was furious.

"Then do as you please, Anya." Sylvanas breathed, her voice now dark and hoarse.

Anyas hand cradled Sylvanas neck, gentle as if the merest pressure would shatter it into pieces. She tried to feel every knot and every hurting, strained muscle that Sylvanas would be all too eager to dismiss and ignore. Her hands ran down the broad shoulders, much firmer than when she had merely been washing them, and upper arms that Sylvanas let hang out of the tub. It wasn't a massage in the proper sense, although Anya did her best to knead the stiffness out of the shoulders and neck as best she could, but rubbing and caressing and caring until Sylvanas leaned back just barely into her hands and Anya felt her unbeating heart soar. It was working. Belore, it was working.

Folding a part of her cloak to a small pad, Anya tentatively guided Sylvanas' head to rest and tilted it back to allow her access to her face. Her thumbs rubbed tenderly around the too often clenched jaw and followed Sylvanas sinewy but slender throat down along her shoulders and up again, along her collarbone, up and then carefully down the middle of her chest and…

Shit.

Sylvanas jolted as if struck by some mages lightning spell and inhaled for air she did not need. Her eyes, almost heavy-lidded a moment ago, flared and she became rigid as a post.

Anya pulled her hands away as if Sylvanas had burned them, no, worse, as if she had burned Sylvanas.

I'm sorry! Please don't go. Let me fix this. Let me…

"I have to go." Sylvanas' curt tone tore into Anyas soul.

Anya said nothing. She knew when she had lost.

She had brought no towels but a ranger cloak would have to do. Anya mutely held out one piece of armour after another for Sylvanas to don in equal silence. She averted her eyes.

"It…must have taken an effort to prepare." Sylvanas mumbled.

"It was nothing." Anya mumbled back, almost unintelligible, and stared straight ahead at the floor as Sylvanas left.

She did not tell Sylvanas how long it had taken her to obtain the ingredients and the materials for making soap and oil, or how greasy and unpleasant the ordeal was even for her. She did not tell Sylvanas how thankless it was to saw plank after plank with a bent saw that broke after the first tries and forced her to chop them into shape with a spare dagger and a piece of firewood for a hammer.

Anya kicked angrily at the bathtub, but filled with water it was too heavy to topple. Instead her foot crunched through it effortlessly, the wood no match for ranger legs and undead strength.

Stupid scar. Stupid stubborn Sylvanas. Stupid damned everything.

Anya sank down on the floor against the wall and watched indifferently as the water pooled around her and soaked through her pants and cloak.

Her eyes itched. Something wet dropped on her hand. A blackish liquid, like too diluted ink.

Huh, so apparently she could do that too.

***​

Theramore. It was called Theramore. A newly founded town on a rocky island going by the same name, divided from Durotar by swamps and rocky coastland. Presumably lacking in resources but incredibly hard to assail from land due to the marshy ground. As far as the previous occupants of Lordaeron knew almost all Alliance survivors in Kalimdor had congregated there and they followed Jaina Proudmoore with devotion. The city was not an official monarchy but the archmage appeared to be the de facto ruler of the humans, elves and dwarves from mainly Lordaeron, Dalaran and Quel'Thalas.

Proudmoore hailed from Kul Tiras, but the island nation remained unmentioned in any current correspondence. As far as Sylvanas could discern the islanders had isolated themselves almost completely from the Alliance but the reasons were unclear. The mighty Kul Tiran fleets had held the seas against the Horde during the Second War and with the recent events in Kalimdor that would seem like a still highly relevant asset, but perhaps they both lacked the resources to effectively aid one another.

The mention of Dalaran tugged at a bitter knot of hurt deeply buried inside Sylvanas as Areiel concluded her report.

Vereesa.

Little Moon.

Sylvanas insufferable, mewling, adorable and so very dear little sister.

Vereesa and her husband Rhonin Redhair had lived in Dalaran the last time Sylvanas heard from her. Before. She knew it was stupid, and most likely vain, but a tiny part of her still hoped they and Allerias son Arator had somehow survived.

Vereesa would probably detest what she had become, not to mention done as Arthas' shackled servant. Sylvanas would find a way to bury those memories for good, she resolved. One way or another.

"My lady, there was one other thing.". Areiel had an unusual air of thoughtfulness about her. If it were anyone else Sylvanas would have interpreted it as hesitation. She looked up.

"We found one other thing amongst the books and documents the dwarves researched. I think you had best take a look at it yourself." Areiel said and handed Sylvanas a folded document, not looking very old judging by the lack of yellowing of the paper.

"…Kul Tiras and Lordaeron have this day agreed…"

Marriage contract.

Jaina Proudmoore.

Arthas Menethil.

"What in all rotten hells is this Areiel!?" Sylvanas almost snarled.

"A draft. And authentic, as far as we can guess." Areiel shrugged. "He was a human prince once, after all and this is maybe the human way of doing these things."

Sylvanas' mind was spinning, working on its own volition to process the new information. What did this mean?

She knew better than to try and sort out her thoughts right now. She returned the paper to the improvised dossier that Areiel – thorough as always – had compiled with information on Theramore and its ruler and forced herself to mentally put the matter away for later as well.

Areiel took her silence as a cue to move on to the next issue.

"The Scarlets are advancing. They aren't moving fast, or like they know exactly what to look for, but they are coming. Their main stronghold is Hearthglen. With the Scourge to the south and the sea to our north and west we are pinned down neatly. If we are going to do something else than repare for a siege of the Undercity it will soon be high time, Dark Lady."

"Do we know where they are currently?"

"More or less. Our raid shave taught them to protect their supply trains. They advance at a snails pace now but gather in palisaded encampments and keep those as strongpoints behind their lines to fall back to. Supplies are, we think, ferried between these to limit their time in the open."

Areiel indicated the sketchy map on the table, a pitiful example of cartography by elven standards but growing in detail every day. Red stones dotted the eastern flank of the Forsaken territory.

"How well manned are these forts behind the Scarlet lines?"

"We cannot tell. But all logic points to them being lightly garrisoned, anything else would detract too much form their sweeps at the front lines."

"Indeed." Sylvanas pondered. "This is just like with their patrols, but scaled up. The big picture mirrors the small…"

Areiel scowled at the dismaying situation indicated on the map.

"You have something on your mind, Dark Lady.". It was not a question but a statement.

" I have a very bad and very dangerous idea, Areiel. I want you to assemble all banshees and all the rangers except two squads and create a diversion along the Scarlet lines upon your signal. The banshees will help you relay that signal to everyone."

"Belore, how crude!" Areiel scoffed. "And then?"

"You concentrate your forces upon one single weak point where the enemy lines can be penetrated and you go in, punching through and going deep into their rear. Your target are their supply encampments. You do as much damage as you can and then circle south through Scourge territory, preferably letting the Scarlets know where you are going but not letting them catch up. After that you break off north in secret."

Areiels eyebrows rose almost to the ceiling.

"The Scarlets are blinded by their beliefs but they are not fools, Dark Lady. They have priests with them, knights and paladins. They will not let us get away with something so…reckless!"

Sylvanas just stared down among the pieces on the table, as if her scalding gaze would make them crawl back in their box and cease bothering her. Areiel looked a second time at her, scrutinizing Sylvanas with an evaluating gaze.

"What is it that you're not telling me? Wait…just what kind of diversion did you have in mind?"

"You will be running with the wind, Areiel. No stops. No looking back." Sylvanas jaw was set. "It is late summer and blighted trees dry as everything else. You will wait for the wind to blow eastward. Set the woods on fire. Set their camps on fire. That will be your diversion."

If Areiel had been alive she would very likely have paled. Then again, if any of them had been alive Sylvanas would never have issued such an order.

"It will be done, Dark Lady. And where will you be?"

"Hopefully, far away by then."

"No, my lady."

"No?" Sylvanas smooth tone was dangerous.

"We will be far away by then." Areiels voice was grave. "I do not know what you intend but I know a diversion when I see one. You have something else planned in the meantime. Kalira or Amora can handle themselves in the woods as well as I can. I am coming with you, wherever you are off to."

Sylvanas opened her mouth to utter an adamant no, but Areiels determined look gave her pause. She thought about it. And as much as she loathed herself for feeling so, the more she thought about it the less appealing it seemed to be without Areiels steady presence and comforting practicality. Besides, they could take the time to properly plan the next moves after the return.

"Fine, you can come along." Sylvanas said with a barely perceptible smirk.

"Lovely! Perhaps you'll even tell me where we're going some day, my lady." Areiel replied flippantly.

"Perhaps." Sylvanas' smirk grew a little. If Areiel felt like being stubborn with her today then Sylvanas would at the very least give as good as she got.

***​

Lorderons capital lived by its sheltered position and proximity to Lordamere Lake and the rivers that connected it to the sea. As the fledgling human settlements grew over the centuries so did maritime trade and like most other inland cities Lordaeron now had a sprawling and chaotic harbour town to tend to larger vessels and ferry goods up and down the river and roads. Or had had such a town. It had not escaped the destruction of the Scourge and the Legion, but the damage was less than Sylvanas had expected. Feral ghouls had been scouring the abandoned sheds and ramshackle houses but a company of their new deathguards aided by dark ranger scouts had cleared them out effortlessly.

Sylvanas entered the town at midnight. They were heading straight to the docks, more specifically the It was raining slightly, and a biting wind blew through the muddy streets and heralded the coming end of summer in a few weeks. Sylvanas cursed under her breath. If the rain increased it would hamper Kalira and the rest. They had marched out a couple of days ago, laden with prepared torches and axes to fell trees for pyres and cut through Scarlet palisades and gates. The picture was sickening, no matter how much Sylvanas tried to squash that useless emotion. She was not a Ranger-General anymore. She was not alive.

But they were setting fire to a forest. She could try as much as she liked to convince herself that it was all blighted and rotting but that was simply not true. Boughs withered and dried upon greying pines but they clung to life. Birds and beasts hid in terror from the undead and their foul aura of death but they were still there. Not all of Lordaeron was corrupted, but she was setting fire to it all the same and would not even do the deed herself but flee the scene and disappear for who knew how long exactly.

The world did not allow Sylvanas Windrunner to be the Ranger-General of Quel'Thalas. So she would be the Dark Lady of the Forsaken and do what was needed to keep them safe. Even if it meant setting the forest on fire.

Sylvanas turned her thoughts towards the man coming to greet her. The Forsaken was truly a mariners nightmares and superstitions given form. With a tangled and wild beard, fraying and tattered greatcoat and gaunt face with eerie pale yellow light shining from the sockets of his skull, the old sailor only lacked a peg leg and a few barnacles clinging to his temples to be the consummate ghost ships captain risen from the depths to drag more lost souls down with him, or however the human ghost stories tended to go. Sylvanas was no expert. What she did know far better however, was that the he and his motley crew comprised virtually all of the few Forsaken with experience sailing ships larger than river boats.

"Captain, have the preparations proceeded as planned?" Sylvanas asked in formal manner.

"Aye, Dark Lady. We have managed to replace the mizzen mast and fixed up the bowsprit like intended. She'll be able to handle herself against the wind now, but she's no sloop mind you. If the wind won't turn we're not getting far any time soon."

"And if the wind is with us?"

"Then she's in her right element an' we'll see what this lady's really built for. But our biggest problem are sails and rope. Without good tacking an' sheets these masts are just useless skeletons standin' there lookin' pretty."

"Last we spoke you claimed we had the supplies we needed, captain." Sylvanas pointed out and couldn't help sounding quite accusing.

"An' we do, we have rope and sailcloth enough, an' some decent timber too in fact. Loaded and stowed. Those Scourge landlubbers let it all be, couldn't tell a spritsail from top gallant if their unlives depended on it."

Neither could Sylvanas but she refrained from mentioning that.

"But it turns out my me and my lads aren't as nimble with our hands as we used to be…back in the day... Skin's bruising more'n it used to…"

Sylvanas couldn't see his hands but she recognized the tone well enough. Every Forsaken mourned his or hers own losses and she could well imagine that for a sailor to be unable to pull rope would be as for a ranger to no longer manage to draw her bow.

"I am bringing a dozen dark rangers with me. Put them to work with whatever your crew has the most trouble with."

"Music to me ears, Dark Lady! We are short-handed as ye well know, we're almost but a skeleton crew, heh!"

Sylvanas summoned all her discipline not to sigh and pinch the ridge of her nose. Belore. Her ships captain and her ranger captain would get along just fine. She could be looking forward to a very long journey.

And it would indeed be a long journey. They were out of options, this was one last toss of the dice to find one single miserable nation willing to at least talk to them. She would go herself this time, with two ranger squads as an escort. An envoy too dignified to ignore and an escort too powerful to assassinate.

"Prepare to cast off then, captain. Set course for Theramore."

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 5. Dwarves and Detours
Rhonin Redhair and Vereesa Windrunner receive unexpected news. Runar and Halvdan experience the restaurants and flights of Azeroth like the tourists they are.

And Alina is not staring or anything.

Arators age is inconsistent beyond relief in the various sources of Warcraft lore. I will assume that he was born shortly before Alleria and Turalyon travelled to Draenor and thereby in his twenties as I understand it around the Frozen Throne events. I will also assume that he is at the moment a paladin in training (Squire? Novice?) but not yet out hammering things.


Alina did not particularly care where she was sent or what she was told to do in service of the Dark Lady. But if someone had suggested that she would be spending days rowing a leaky boat across Lordamere Lake right under the eyes of the Scourge she would probably have suggested that person see the apothecaries for a clearly acute head wound.

Yet here they were, well past halfway across the lake trying to fit a dark ranger squad and two dwarves with their small mountains of travel packs inside a patched up river boat with three pairs of oars. The fact that the dwarves travelling equipment contained better tools than anything currently available in the entire Undercity said a lot about the Forsakens state of things. The sudden and indiscriminate onslaught of the Scourge and the plague of undeath had left a lot of stuff dropped as it was, many times literally, across the kingdom for those who could scavenge it. It was just almost always broken.

The dwarves. No. Alina didn't want to think of them like that any more she realised. They were Runar and Halvdan and they were her…

Could the dead have friends?

Alina wasn't sure. Friendship implied mutual feelings on some level and it was ridiculous to think that Runar and Halvdan would want anything but to get as far away as possible as quickly as possible from the likes of her. They were little more than walking corpses, for Belores sake! But both dwarves had acted with politeness, more than that even, and at least been kind enough to act as friends towards her. So Alina would do her best to act as a friend back. Because that was the only decent thing to do, even if none of this was for real.

Runar and Halvdan had even insisted on rowing along with one of the rangers during the day. The rangers would be rowing in two shifts during the evening and night. Runar had pointed out that dividing the crew into watches and splitting the duties was after all standard practice at sea and Amora had obliged them even though she had looked a bit sceptical.

But they could indeed row. At least after they had arranged their packs before them to have something to support their feet. And they didn't quit or complain for a moment.

The small crew would seek out a shore some times during the day for the rangers to scout the surroundings and the dwarves to tend to the needs of the living in the meantime. They slept onboard though as the rangers rowed, propped up against the hull and whatever piece of clothing they had packed, waking stiff and clutching their necks.

The late summer would once have been a beautiful time for travelling. Of course it helped not being dead and not traversing blighted and withering forests filled with mindless ghouls. They had had to fend of packs of those twice, but it was no organized attack and there was no necromancer present so they stood little chance against their arrows and training.

The weather was mostly warm during the day and rowing forced Runar and Halvdan to strip down to their pants after wary glances at the surrounding forest. Alina was studying them in secret as she held the tiller. They weren't what she expected. She noted that they had smaller noses and ears than the dwarves she had seen described or depicted and not the rounded bellies. Then again, they had not exactly been eating well in the Undercity and probably not too good before either if they had been travelling through wilderness. There was no such thing as a truly lean dwarf but those two came close, with thick upper body muscles that strained against the oars absent layers of bulk to conceal them.

Not that she was staring. But she was almost off duty and had to occupy herself with something.

Alina felt a small nudge in her ribs and looked up only to see Amora Eagleyes knowing smirk. Alinas commander had been giving her a lot of curious looks these last days but she put it down to herself losing her grip and Wailing. Alina couldn't blame Amora for keeping close watch after that. Belore, she could have killed one or both of the dwarves!

"Do keep your eyes on them, they row twice as hard under your scrutiny." Amora whispered in Thalassian.

Alina scoffed. Both Runar and Halvdan always did their best at the oars, they didn't need anyone checking on them. Besides, she could mostly see Halvdan anyway since he had the aftmost seat. Not that she was staring or anything.

"Of course." Amora chuckled. "In any case it's good to know someone keeps an eye on our short-legged allies, we can't have them jumping overboard on us." she commented with glittering eyes.

Alina attributed the comments to Amoras weird idea of humour and repeated attempts to cheer Alina up and keep her thoughts on things that would not provoke a Wail.

When it started to rain later in the night Amora still gave her that unfounded knowing look when she draped her ranger cloak over Halvdan and folded the hood into a tiny pillow between his ear and the bare planks. It wasn't like Alina needed it when rowing anyway, it just got in the way and the cold didn't bother her. She was just trying to act like a good friend.

Amora was just overinterpreting things.

Wasn't she?

***​

Rhonin Redhair privately concluded that the people of Dalaran lacked a sense of humor.

At least it was underdeveloped. Perhaps starved from too little exposure to a healthy laugh now and then.

For the love of mana, it was just a joke about polymorphing the citys population into sheep to keep them warm during the winter and use the wool to knit new clothes by spring. There was no need to interpret it as Rhonin thinking them all to be a flock of sheep. It was just a suggestion. And where would they get the forage to feed all the sheep anyway, to start with? And who would shepherd them? Academic culture was doubtlessly in decline if you couldn't air these kinds of innocent idle thoughts without someone losing their head over it. As if they hadn't enough to be sorry for since the Scourge invasion and Archimondes devastation of central parts of the city. No need to make matters gloomier than they had to be.

At least his nephew-in-law had managed to keep his wit even after joining the somewhat stuffy ranks of the Alliances paladins. Rhonin missed Arator more every day, even if dealing with Dalaran restoration along with the elves magic withdrawal kept him and Vereesa busy. He hoped Arator wouldn't do anything stupid and jump into strange dark portals like his parents or something similar. Much better to follow his and Vereesas examples and…go rescuing dragon matriarchs from their captivity among demon-worshipping orcs or so. Right… Perhaps Rhonin could enchant something for him, speaking of which. Paladins Polymorphing Poleaxe or something like that. Turning the enemy to sheep would keep Arator rather safe if he insisted on going into melee range and Light clerics always preached about their flocks so the iconography would be absolutely flawless.

Had nobody else thought about this before? Truly, people lacked vision sometimes.

He was on his way home, with another stack of reports to read in service of his pleasant city. This council business was interesting and all but all this report reading all the time…it was eerily similar to homework. And that was what you were supposed to have gotten out of when you got your archmage title, not gotten into. But at least he could be near Vereesa so that was well worth the inconveniences.

He was passing by the city gates, still mostly in shambles but with a decent palisade that kept potential wandering murlocs and gnolls at bay with a little luck. And with the obligatory nosy city guard detachment. Those had been an absolute pest when the city had been under Grand Marshal Garithos regrettable command. Nowadays they were a little more sane. A little. There appeared to be some sort of commotion. Rhonin decided to linger and hear what the matter was about.

"…look, if we presented ourselves as common tavellers, would that have led to us being admitted? If you doubt our credentials as envoys; fine, but may we enter Dalaran outside of any such capacity?"

"You already said you were an envoy from Lordaeron and that makes it extremely suspicious. Do you expect me to forget that all of a sudden, dwarf?" the gruff voice of the guard details sergeant sneered.

"No, I expect you to let us into the city like any other commoner since we are of no apparent threat to you and you have not stated any reason why we would be. Consider us peasants with delusions of grandeur if it pleases you.". The other voice was controlled, but had lost any warmth by now.

"Dwarves don't farm around here. Don't try to fool me, mister!"

That does it, Rhonin thought. This had to violate some sort of limit of common decency for what a city could allow itself to tolerate and still call itself civilized. If the guard sergeant had not been one of Garithos finest he certainly could have qualified.

"What seems to be the problem, sergeant?" Rhonin interjected smoothly.

"Huh? Move along, this does not concern you, citizen.". The sergeant waved him away dismissively.

"Oh, but I very much think it does.". Rhonin stepped into his view properly.

"Do you have a hearing problem, mister…"

"'Councillor' will do just fine, sergeant. Or 'Councillor Rhonin Redhair' I suppose, though you simians may refer to me merely as 'sir' if you prefer a less…syllable-intensive workout."

The confused look shared between the sergeant and his subordinates confirmed Rhonins assessment that these gentlemen would indeed have been prime material for Marshal Garithos.

"Now, is there any particular reason why we are letting these two esteemed guests wait at our door, other than indulging ourselves in a liberating moment of spontaneous and unbridled impoliteness?"

"Esteemed guests?" the sergeant parroted.

"Certainly. As you so observantly noted, they are not from around here. Anyone brave enough to risk the journey to Dalaran in these dangerous times is in my opinion an esteemed guest at the very least, until proven otherwise."

"Councillor, they claim to be from the kingdom of Lordaeron! But Lordaeron has fallen to the wretched undead and they are obviously lying."

"Is that so? Thank you for you insight, sergeant, and I will take it form here then. Foreign relations used to be council business last time I looked, which was admittedly almost half an hour ago, so I will be happy to relieve you of the burden of bidding two travellers welcome to the city of Dalaran."

"But…"

"That will be all, sergeant." Rhonins tone remained smooth but it had taken on a certain crackling quality that brought to mind the merry sound of the fireballs certain mages had the habit of flinging when they were in a fouler mood. "Now, allow me to be the first to welcome you to our somewhat dented city and humbly request that you join me for an early dinner if it would be to your convenience." he added with an elegant bow to the two dwarves.

"With the utmost pleasure, councillor. Runar and Halvdan, emissaries of the queen of Lordaeron, at your service.". The dwarves managed a bow that matched his, despite the travelling packs that weighed them down.

"Please call me Rhonin."

***​

"This is molten iron in disguise and don't you dare tell me otherwise you sneaky spell-chucker!" an accusing brown-bearded dwarf gasped some time later and reaching urgently for a glass of water while Rhonin chuckled in amusement. "A volatile concoction that is definitely a danger to the public… Could you pass the – rice, was it? – please?"

The 'Thundering Brewmaster of Flaming Righteousness' was the newly opened pride of Dalaran cuisine in Rhonins opinion and his companys slack-jawed stare at the Pandaren staff as well as their terrified wide eyes upon downing the first spoonfuls of Pandarian red curry stew was well worth the extortionate rates.

"He's definitely trying to murder us slowly." the dark-haired Halvdan stated while scooping up a prodigious second serving.

"Sorry, gruesome deaths are from the green curry, not the red." Rhonin winked.

"You sure? Well, further studies are needed." Halvdan decided and dove into his plate.

The arrival of the spicy dishes had interrupted the most outlandish tale Rhonin had heard in weeks, which spoke volumes surrounded as he was by scores of Kirin Tor mages.

Lordaeron in the hands of a queen – a banshee queen – and rebelling against the undead Scourge with all it had. And Scarlet crusaders at their throats uncaring about the difference whatsoever. And these two dwarves acting as this unnamed queens ambassadors? Or were they simple messengers?

"Just to clarify; where do you fit in in all of these developments? Are you the queens envoys?"

"That we are, but our mission in Dalaran is honestly limited to handing over a letter of introduction and leave it to you how to proceed form there. We are due for Ironforge next."

"Hmm, I can imagine. With the information unconfirmed I will make no promises other than that I could arrange for you to formally hand over this letter to the Kirin Tor Council – effectively the city council – at which you may have the opportunity to ask and answer a few questions."

"May we take a moment to discuss that?"

"Of course."

Rhonin busied himself with his neglected second serving as the dwarves spoke quietly in a language he did not understand.

Runar turned to face him again.

"I'd like to ask first – let's call it out of professional curiosity – if that gentleman of a sergeant was acting or if he is actually that completely done?"

Rhonin snorted very un-councillorly and reached for his napkin. He used the moment of respite to consider how to answer that. The question was humorous but it touched on things that decidedly were not.

"I would like to be able to crown him the owner of the thickest skull north of Stormwind but I fear that the truth of the matter is far uglier." Rhonin sighed and struggled a bit with how to continue. "Until quite recently, Dalaran was under the command of a certain Grand Marshal Orthmar Garithos. His most significant achievement was driving the Blood Elves away from the Alliance and to who knows where, deeply insulting the dwarven contingents and by extension king Magni of Ironforge, as well as driving a wedge between the remnants of Lordaerons army and us Kirin Tor mages. The Grand Marshals opinions of other races than humans are as can be expected from these actions. And while Dalaran has regrown some measure of sense since then I fear there are a lot of sentiments and misguided blame of the same manner lingering here. Not least in said guard detail and the sergeant, who I think would have miraculously rediscovered a good deal of his brains and manners had it been a human envoy and not a dwarven approaching him." Rhonin explained with a grimace.

"I see. The obvious next question is of course if similar sentiments can be expected among the Kirin Tor councillors."

Rhonin wanted dearly to answer an assured no. He wanted to denounce the mere notion that the senior Kirin Tor members would allow themselves to be clouded by something so petty as racial bigotry. And he would also like to pretend that the centuries-old rivalries between elven and human mages were just a series of overblown misunderstandings, now that he was at it.

But reality was sometimes not so accomodating.

"I honestly don't know for sure. I would of course very much like to believe that my closest friends are above such things but…" he shrugged.

"Then if we leave the letter to you we have an unknown factor in the shape of your potential rogueishness…" Runar began and Rhonin grinned at him "…and if we leave the letter to you and also accompany you we add another in the shape of your councils potential shortsightedness and flaring instinctive jealousy at the sight of our impressive beards. So the choice seems pretty clear."

Rhonin couldn't argue with the logic there. But neither could he deny that there was a bit of a shame to miss seeing his fellow councillors faces as they were introduced to dwarven sarcasms of the highest order.

After lightening his purse to a worrying degree and showing his guests a respectable inn and the way to the local flight master from where they could continue to Ironforge the next morning, Rhonin bid them good evening and continued on his way home, his head full of thoughts as he glanced over the envelope. There was something familiar about it.

The handwriting. If anything, it had a distinctly elven elegance to it.

Rhonin quickened his pace. He would have to ask Vereesa about this.

They lived in a relatively small apartment in a part of the city that was becoming something of an elven enclave. It wasn't too close to the flight areas. Rhonin feared the rowdy late night noises of the street might upset the gryphons otherwise.

Rhonin knew his wife well enough to gauge that it had been an average day when Vereesa buried herself in his arms. The magic withdrawal symptoms waxed and waned by the day. For the thousanth of time he wished there was a spell to transfer mana from one person to another or something similar to counter that damned affliction.

And the loss of Quel'Thalas was less than a year in the past. Rhonin winced at the thought of upsetting Vereesa if the letter turned her thoughts to that, but keeping it to himself would feel dishonest and they had promised one another not to keep their troubles to themselves.

"Hey dear, you're home late." Vereesa whispered into his neck. "Long meetings or something?"

"No, I actually had dinner at the 'Brewmaster on the way home with a couple of new friends." Rhonin whispered back.

"That's great!" Vereesa praised. "Finally you're obeying orders to take some time to yourself once in a while." she teased. "Who did you meet?"

"I'll get to that, it is a bit of a weird story. Let's go and sit down first. How's your day been?"

"Spitzamina came by in the afternoon." Vereesa remarked.

"Spite? That's nice of her. Did she want anything special?"

"Not really, just ask when we both can come out with her to party a little, and for me to help her untangle her tangled love life."

Rhonin laughed.

"Your rangers must miss their mother something terrible." he said fondly.

"That lot. Sometimes it surprises me how they manage to tie their shoes on their own." Vereesa shook her head. "Now, what about the mysterious dinner company?"

"Right." Rhonin produced the envelope. "Do you recognize this handwriting? It's familiar in some way but I can't place it. It looked quite elven to me…"

Rhonin noted that he apparently had better wash up in order to not taint such an elegant letter with the potential remnants of a spicy Pandaren stew, and had just removed himself to the bathroom when he heard a strangled, wounded sob from Vereesa and hurriedly tip-toed back to the living room

Vereesa was white as a sheet. She was shaking like in the worst throes of magic withdrawal, and crying rivers, bent over the envelope that she clutched close to her as if it was the most precious item in the world.

"You must open it, Rhonin. You must, or I will!" Vereesa whimpered.

"Alright…shhh. I will. I better read it in advance if I'm going to present it tomorrow anyway." Rhonin said as gently as he could and lifted Vereesa into his lap. She felt so small in his arms all of a sudden when she buried her face into his neck.

"It's her, Rhonin! It's from her. I would know her handwriting anywhere!"

Rhonin slowly pried the enevelope from Vereesas hands, still shaking from sobs that racked her body. He unfolded the letter inside, written in the same elegant writing.

It was direct, concise, relevant and to the point. No needless embellishments. Not they way a royal ambassador would express himself, more what you would expect from the professional reports of an experienced soldier. Of a Ranger-General.

True enough.

Vereesa did not need to look to know.

Rhonin carefully put the letter down. The world was spinning before him for a brief moment and he held on to Vereesa to steady himself as much as her. Vereesa took a few ragged breaths, evidently struggling to speak.

She whispered in the saddest voice Rhonin had ever heard.

"I want my sister. I want my Lady Moon."

***​

"Of all the insanely stupid things we have done this has to be the most stupidly insane!" Runars voice rang out to the rider on the gryphon slightly to his left.

"It is insane of us not to have tried this out earlier!" Halvdan answered merrily. "My beard, just look at the view from up here!"

"Trust the master spy to become bedazzled by such details!"

"Trust the royal diplomat to attempt to renegotiate the terms of the transport service just moments after taking off! One would expect a little more trust in our current allies!"

"On the contrary, I have complete confidence in their abilities! I would be perfectly happy to leave the flying business completely in the talons of these obvious experts!"

"How long would it take us to reach Khaz Modan on foot do you think!? Personally I want to get there before I am ready to join the restless dead ranks of our dark lady!"

"Are you sure!? Because to me it looked like you were happy to join the ranks of a certain ranger of hers!"

"I am just being considerate! It is called common courtesy, which I would expect even a mediocre diplomat to be aware of!"

"But of course! I had better follow your fine example and ask her to join me for dinner when we get back, provided the Undercity has acquired something edible by that time!" Runar shouted gleefully.

"If you so much as think about it I can arrange a date with my aaaaaaaaaaxe!"

"Yaaaaaaaaaah!"

The two mighty gryphons of Aerie Peak suddenly tucked in their wings and dove at dizzying speed, only to spread them out and skillfully sweep along the ground and climb further up again.

"You did that on purpose!" Runar accused.

"No! He did!" Halvdan indicated his gryphon.

The dwarves silently agreed to postpone further discussions about the up- and downsides of gryphon riding until they had firm ground a bit closer under their feet than at the moment. Halvdan was not sure if the gryphons had tired of their admittedly loud conversation or if they just enjoyed the occassional prank with new travellers, but discretion was always advisible.

Pranksters or not, the gryphons were impressive creatures and could carry immense burdens. A whole dwarf (reasonably lean and in shape but still) and his pack, including a not insignificant amount of Lordaeron gold. If he left the baggage on the ground the gryphon could most likely carry another passenger at the same time without any trouble. Especially if the passenger was rather lithe and not too tall for being, say, an elf.

Ah, damn, now he was doing it again. They had a mission to finish as per agreed and then they could see about how to proceed to get to Northrend and deal with the apparent dangers there, foremost of them doubtlessly this Lich King and his scum of a knight. Halvdan unconsciously bared his teeth at the thought. Well, perhaps gryphons could be trained to pick up enemy commanders with their claws and deposit them in more convenient places…like in the middle of that vast ocean to the west… Otherwise, he could always use an opportunity to practice his hammering backhand. He was sure that Runar would find it beneficial to their latest alliance to help bury that particular grievance rather permanently.

And now he was doing it again, again. Blast it!

Their travel path (or rather flight path) took them along the shoreline west, passing the town of Southshore and then veering south into the human kingdom of Stromgarde. It was a sight to behold, as the northern border was protected by an enormous fortification, Thoradins Wall if Halvdan recalled correctly. The kingdom was reputedly in some disarray bu the had to admit that the humans here knew how to build at least. It still felt a bit, well, exposed with defenses out in the open like this. Where were the mountain halls to fall back to?

The gryphons held the course unerringly, crossing from roost to roost overseen by different flight masters and gryphon stablehands. Runar and Halvdan could have sped up their travel by continuing on fresh mounts but they quickly found themselves rather attached to their original ones. For all their antics – sudden dives were not an isolated occurence or the only mischievous behaviour when the journey appeared too routine – even Runar admitted that they were looking out for their riders and both he and Halvdan came to trust them implicitely.

Besides, a few days of sleeping in beds rather than bushes and eating warm food wasn't an unwelcome change of pace. And it also let them listen in on the topic debated in the smoky confines of the Stromgarde taverns. Two additional dwarves travelling aroused no particular suspicion it would seem and with a few extra coppers and toasts along with one or two prodding comments Runar and Halvdan soon had a rough picture of the spirit of this kingdom.

Stromgarde was isolated, fractured, on its own for long time, insular, divided and patriotic at the same time. It was the northernmost Alliance realm now that Lordaeron had fallen and sentiments shifted between a longing for recognition long overdue and reluctance to be at the forefront of a gathering of nations many felt had not benefitted Stromgarde too much. After a brief council, Runar and Halvdan shelved any plans on approaching the kingdoms rulers spontaneously. This was an unsteady and unknown theatre where they would need far more intelligence to negotiate effectively.

It was clear however that if the rest of the Alliance was met with suspicion, Stromgardes relative reprieve from the Scourge had not mitigated its hatred of the undead. Droves of battered soldiers and terrified refugees had fled south from Lordaeron, each with a more dreadful tale than the other. Carefully planted flippant remarks about what it would be like if some of the Scourge would have rebelled and fought the Lich King were only met with grunts and gruff remarks about how they would be welcome to destroy one another in that case, and rid the world of the plague. The plague referring here to the existence of undead, and not the actual plague that had been used to spread the curse of undeath and destroy Lordaeron in preparation for the Scourges attack.

Halvdan reviewed his findings with Runar who shared his pessimistic conclusions and they raised their last tankards to the hope that the dwarves of Azeroth would prove more reasonable. It was hard to sleep after such days. Images of angry throngs of shouting dark shapes passed by Halvdans eyes, closing in around pale long-eared faces weeping red tears.

***​

South of Stromgarde lay the Wetlands, mile after mile of water-logged marshes dotted with patches of woods and firm ground. A haven for some and a menace for others, they effectively guarded Stromgardes southern flank and Khaz Modans northern. Runar and Halvdan could only stare from above at the myriad of roads, paths, villages and small towns that huddled around the larger areas of open land or rivers.

And then the mountains grew taller and taller and the Wetlands gave way to the heaths and pine forests of northern Dun Morogh. In no time the gryphons soared high over snow-capped peaks that shone in the sun. It was a truly majestic realm (not that the dwarves were partial in any way) that spread out before them and Runar and Halvdan felt their spirits soar along with their mounts.

After hours of flying, the could see a particularly high mountain ridge where grey stone jutted out among the snow and ice. Rounded towers looked down on the valley below them, seemingly growing out of the mountain itself. Halvdan felt like letting out a great sigh of relief. Finally, here was a hall were one could feel at home and lean back in peace inside proper walls and not rubble and soot-blackened ruins. He was so captivated by the sight of the central keep with its enormous gate and stonework decorations that he almost yelped when theyw ere suddenly flying inside the massive structure under stone archs the size of castles in caverns that could hold several human towns with space to spare.

Gryphon Master Gryth Thurden greeted the two somewhat shaky travellers with hearty exclamations and a few slaps to their backs and recommendations to seek out his favourite taverns whenever they had the chance. Runar and Halvdan thanked him and bid their tireless mounts goodbye with some regret and took in the new surroundings.

Ironforge.

The capital of Khaz Modan and oldest and greatest of all dwarven cities, Ironforge was a grand marvel of stoneworking and dwarven architecture, but fairly easy to navigate. Unlike the city-planning terrors of the human kingdoms Ironforge was logically and symmetrically carved out in a circle centred on the Great Forge that gave the city its name. From there one reached the Commons area next to the gate, the Mystic Ward, the Military Ward and the Hall of Explorers.

Runar and Halvdan spent several days familiarising themsleves with the city and its major sights and shops, and consequently also its people. The dwarves of Azeroth were quite similar to their own kind and the place brimmed with an enterprising energy that was hard not to be swept up in. There were always myriads of things happening in every direction. Still laden with a good deal of Lordaeron gold, both Runar and Halvdan invested in more local outfits and not least winter clothes. The gryphon flight had left them feeling a bit too numb afterwards for anyones comfort.

King Magni Bronzebeards clan had rod eout a civil war by eventually allying with the Windhammers against the Dark Iron dwarves that were now exiled and a bitter and relentless foe. The troubles at home however paled compared to the grief caused by the undead and costing the dwarves Alliance contingents dearly, including the kings brother and former ambassador in Lordaeron Muradin Bronzebeard, allegedly betrayed and murdered by none other than Arthas Menethil himself. Despite everything, Khaz Modan remained firmly comitted to the Alliance and its king lusted for vengeance against the Scourge. He was said to have forged an especially terrifying blade to counter that of the fallen prince, named Ashbringer and reoutedly capable of destroying any and all undead. Every dwarf clan was itching to have their share of reanimated bones to break and only the multitue of domestic troubles around the homeland seemed to be keeping them from marching out in force.

To say the least, it was not looking bright for relations between the Forsaken and Khaz Modan, Runar adn Halvdan concluded as they gathered at Firebrews Inn by the western part of the commons. There was no point in putting off their task any longer.

But it did not sit well with any of them.

"Well, here we are." Runar began. His tone was off to say the least, Halvdan noted. His best friend and decade-long travelling companion was wry, amused, professional, irritated, angry or outright silly, but not deflated like this. It was a tone of someone about to concede defeat, not congratulate himself on succeeding.

And it mirrored Halvdans mood perfectly.

"Indeed. Just an introductory letter to hand over and then we're done."

A long moment of silence followed.

"What would you say about the odds of Ironforge even penning a response to the Forsaken?" Halvdan muttered.

"Almost irrelevant in my opinion, given the odds of anyone of note being willing to actually read their letters in the first place rather than tossing them into the nearest fireplace." Runar remarked with an empty stare into his plate.

"They are given no damn chance of proving themselves, or their intentions!"

"To be frank, that could actually turn out to be the better outcome. What if all this accomplishes is provoking hostile attention and paint a target on Lordaeron for those who would rather see every undead destroyed?"

Their predictions grew ever gloomier, but the strategic realities were undeniable. Lordaeron was the undead stronghold on the eastern continent and if the Alliance should want to make a push to reclaim it, now would be the time. And with the fanatical Scarlet Crusade well established in Lordaeron, there was little doubt about which side of the Forsakens story was the most likely to be listened to by the rest of the Alliance.

"So all in all it seems downright suicidal for any living being to voluntarily keep serving the banshee queen of a shunned undead kingdom." Halvdan mused, seemingly absent-mindedly.

"Complete madness." Runar agreed. "Just as addled as someone obsessing over the idea of returning a smile to the delicate lips of one of her delightful dark rangers."

"Utter lunacy."

"Insanity in its purest form."

They both sipped on their ale.

"I suppose we could always…belay delivering this introductory letter until the circumstances are more to our sides advantage. Until they have been…wrenched to our sides advantage." Halvdan suggested to nobody in particular. "After all, it wouldn't be particularly flattering for a master emissarys reputation to have orchestrated a colossal and irreparable diplomatic fiasco in a sensitive political situation."

"Terribly shameful." Runar concurred. "And it would certainly be rather embarrassing for the spying department to have failed at gathering the background information needed to prevent a diplomatic blunder of such magnitude."

"There's that, after all." Halvdan nodded.

There was a moments silence as the dwarves looked for confirmation in each others eyes. An onlooker might have noticed how those eyes narrowed as both dwelled on the injustices of Azeroth.

"For the sake!" Runar snarled defiantly.

"Of the Forsaken!" Halvdan growled.

The sound of engraved dwarven tankards clanging together and slamming down onto the table echoed along the mountains of Khaz Modan.

 

[Krazyfan1]

"For the sake!" Runar snarled defiantly.

"Of the Forsaken!" Halvdan growled.

Click to shrink...

i wonder if that will catch on as a rallying cry?

 

[Maltacus]

i wonder if that will catch on as a rallying cry?

Click to shrink...

Or a recurring way for Velonara to be a brat to the Dark Lady when Areiel is not around to launch puns at her?

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 6. Waves and Wails
Sylvanas and Jaina finally meet. Of course it will all be, so to say, smooth sailing from now on.

---

"When meeting foreign powers for the first time, be polite and do not rush things if at all possible. Allow the other party to form his or her opinion about your faction at their own pace. Rushed decisions are rash decisions, and adds the risk of the other party deciding to dislike you just out of spite for being rushed.

Always have a moderate amount of food and drink close by. An embassy negotiates on its stomach and lack of sustenance leads to unrest in any gathering.

Always have plenty of maps at hand. Maps are beautiful to look at during boring conversations and having them instills a sense of importance in attending delegates and makes them more tractable to your proposals.

Try not to kidnap foreign heads of state."

Excerpt from "A Dwarven Treatise of Elementary Diplomatic Conduct" (working title "Diplomacy for Dummies").


On the second day at sea there was a second sunset in the east.

It was barely perceptible until the real sun had set properly, then the rim of the night sky smoldered like the embers in a fireplace late in the evening. Sylvanas stood rigid and unmoving by the reeling and watched it. She had been standing there for hours and it was unlikely that anything would be different the next hour. Still, she wouldn't take her eyes off it. She didn't deserve to.

She should be out there, not hiding herself at sea far away. She should be in the thick of it and not let Kalira and the others risk themselves alone. She should have come up with a better plan. She should never have ordered the burning of an entire forest.

If there ever really was any sliver of the Ranger-General left inside her, that was her funeral pyre.

And it was just as well, Sylvanas thought with a contemptuous grimace at herself. Good riddance to that part of her! In the end, when it had truly mattered, she hadn't been good enough. She had held the most crucial of positions and she had failed. Lireesa Windrunner would not, had the Amani not got to her during the Second War. Alleria would not have failed either, had she not refused the position as Ranger-General. Lor'themar Theron could have stepped up, or perhaps even Halduron Brightwing. Maybe even Vereesa. Anyone but Sylvanas.

Sylvanas the inadequate.

Sylvanas the failure.

Sylvanas the banshee, who rose to terrorize the city and the people she had sworn to defend.

She took on as much work as she could possibly find time for and then some. Anya had not been wrong about that when she came to drag Sylvanas out from her desk. Sylvanas was aware of the fact that she punished herself just as much as she gave the not-enough she had to better the existences of the Forsaken. How could she do otherwise? She saw her debts day and night in the eyes of every dark ranger. She could never repay them. She could never make it right again.

Was there a point of even trying?

She questioned what she was now. What was left of Sylvanas Windrunner, what was the banshee queen? Only what Arthas made her into, in the end?

To Sylvanas' knowledge Forsaken did not sleep or dream, but that was not to say they were at peace or anything remotely close. Sylvanas was no exception. Her thoughts turned to the blackest abyss more often now than a few weeks earlier. Waking nightmares, stubbornly clinging to the back of her mind even as she tried to shake them off. Visions of herself as Arthas' unwitting pawn, of her leading the Forsaken to ruin or to renewed slavery under the Lich King. Visions of herself torching forests, cities, kingdoms along a dark path without escape. Would she take the first step onto it tomorrow? Or, more likely, had she already taken that step a long time ago?

Was there no real hope for them at all?

Sylvanas was so deep in thought that she had not heard the quiet steps next to her. Unacceptably sloppy.

"What do you see out there?" Anyas voice was quiet and gentle.

Sylvanas should dismiss the question. Deflect it. Answer something witty. Counter with a question of how the rangers were doing learning the basics of sailing to assist the crew.

But the thought of doing any of those things to Anya disgusted her beyond description now. Before the deep red of her eyes Sylvanas found herself, or more precisely the armour that was the Dark Lady, crumbling to nothing.

"Our ruin."

"You have sharp eyes." Anya said after a while. "To me it is still rather misty."

They said nothing for a moment. Then, to Sylvanas astonishment, Anya began to sing. She had a low, smooth singing voice with the ethereal echo of a banshee nearly unnoticeable.



"Shadows to the right of me

Shadows to the left of me

Dancing flame, withered tree

Death ahead of me



Sword and shackle wait for me

Guarding shadows shelter me

In the darkness I am free

Death ahead of me



Shadows calling back for me

Shadows lie ahead of me

What they hide I can not see

Death ahead of me"



To another pair of ears the words might have sounded morbid and depressing but the more Sylvanas thought of it the less sure she was about that. The shadows were their element now, their home ground to hide in. And death was not the end for an undead; on the contrary, the way Anya sang it was more as a second chance or a new life ahead of them to experience.

"How can you still hope, Anya?"

"How can you?"

"Who says I do?

"Would any of us be here now if you did not think there was a small piece of hope left for us?"

How could someone so deadly as Anya have such a gentle voice?

"Hope fails."

"Hope fails. Dark Ladies rise again. So as long as I have my Dark Lady I'll still think we have a chance."

A weak, thoughtless part of Sylvanas wanted her to close her eyes and just lose herself in that voice and never think a single thought again. It was a dangerous part of her.

Hardly a day went by without Sylvanas dreading the moment when Scarlet or Scourge armies would come for them in earnest and casualties would mount, but the thought of losing Anya or Areiel secretly terrified her. They were not useful, although both were among the very best, they were needed. Sylvanas despised herself for it but she needed both her captain and her own lieutenant for purely selfish reasons these days. She could no longer imagine herself leading the Forsaken without Areiel standing steady at her side or without Anyas calming presence around her. Anya who always seemed to know what she was thinking without having to ask. Anya who she knew secretly would like nothing better than to just be Sylvanas' ranging partner like before, when the worst thing Sylvanas had to worry about was getting Anya to safety before she bled out from a troll spear in her leg.

Anya who drew her a bath from nothing but a pile of rubble and, of all things, boiled soap just to give Sylvanas a moment of comfort. And Sylvanas had just… Belore, what a shameful way to repay Anyas efforts.

She wanted so much to find the right words, to put shape and form to the cloud of unease and regret that formed up inside. But it seemed that her ways with words were a thing of the past as well.

"For what it's worth I am…sorry for walking out on you before the way I did." Sylvanas whispered hoarsely. "I am not the Dark Lady you deserve."

Sylvanas stood stiffly and almost expected Anya to scoff at her completely pathetic attempt at apology. Maybe laugh coldly at her and walk away.

She did not expect Anya to smile.

She did absolutely not expect Anya to twine her fingers with Sylvanas', terrible clawed gauntlets and all, and squeeze them.

"I don't want the Dark Lady I deserve. I want the one I have. I want my Sylvanas Windrunner."

Sylvanas slumped and closed her eyes. What in all the world had she done to deserve that? But here was her incomparable and irreplaceable lieutenant anyway.

Well. So long as Sylvanas had Anya Eversong by her side perhaps there would still be a chance for her to make things right.

One small chance.

One last chance.

***​

Ever since she became Ranger-General of Silvermoon, Sylvanas made it a point to keep everything around and about her in immaculate and precise order to the best of her ability. And the table now before her was anything but that. It was a travesty, a cluttered, disordered heresy against every tenet of elven military professionalism.

After a couple of weeks of preparation and planning, the captains cabin – now turned into the Dark Ladys temporary headquarters – was drowning in sketches, notes and above all a dangerously overloaded table where Forsaken and enemy formations battled for control of a rough depiction of the terrain south of Brill. With the state of strategic planning accessories being what it was, the thick-headed enemy was using wooden pegs while the sharp Forsaken were represented by iron nails, all promptly requisitioned from the ships carpenters supplies.

"Yes, this should work. I think we've nailed it now, Dark Lady."

And yes, Areiel was still being Areiel.

And thanks to, well, Areiel being Areiel in the other ways than her crass excuse for humour, they had a workable idea for how to conduct a set battle in the field. It had been a long-winded exercise in forcing them to rid themselves of elven military doctrine and at least partially embrace the clumsy human ways of doing things. The Forsaken as a whole were much more human than elven and instead of ranks of nimble archers supported by swift mounted units Sylvanas would now have to work with mainly heavy infantry with very few mounted or ranged troops.

Their new kind of strength was having the numbers to form long and deep lines capable of standing their ground, at least relatively, but doing so would also result in massive losses over time and the tricky question was how to prevent those. The dark rangers would open the battle as they always had, picking off enemy skirmishers and hiding the Forsaken dispositions. The would then melt away into the infantry lines and hurry to one wing with her best units, currently deathguards and abominations, where they would swing around the enemy flank along with the banshees and concentrate all ranged power in one spot at a time. The Forsaken other wing would meanwhile step back to buy itself some time before the enemy devoured it. If Sylvanas could win on her strong side before the foe won on her weak one, she could roll up the enemy front before the weaker Forsaken were grinded down.

There were many unknown variables, not least how to prevent massed enemy cavalry from delaying her missile troops too much or overwhelming the weaker wing completely, but so far it would have to do. She had some ideas of concentrating those Forsaken adept with halberds and similar weapons at those spots, or adopting square or column formations to take the edge off a cavalry charge.

As usual after a long session of tactical planning and war games, they were moving on to more everyday matters.

Areiel produced a list.

"To start with today, we are currently diverting key resources to gathering supplies – scavenging the ruins, gathering herbs and other ingredients, even a few mining operations. This is generally carried out by our civilians with an escort of deathguards or rangers. That, in my opinion, needs to cease sooner or later, preferably sooner."

"Oh? Would you have them go without escort?"

Sylvanas was honestly surprised. It wasn't like Areiel to risk lives if there was the slimmest of chances to avoid it.

"They can escort themselves." Seeing Sylvanas' curious look Areiel continued to explain. "I see you haven't been out in town much lately, my lady. There is a surge of eager volunteers arming themselves with whatever they can get their hands on and lining up to train. These new mighty champions won't do much of an impression against anything regular in the field but I'm sure they can handle the odd disgruntled zombie around Brill."

It was actually…not a bad decision. The Forsakens current lack of raw materials and functional workshops, and lack of need for food, made it hard to utilise the surplus of craftsmen and farmers in defense of the Undercity. Most were engaged in excavating and improving the catacombs and sewers but there was a limit to how many could effectively work an area at the same time and with their few tools, and such tasks were also not for everybody. But…

"Can you imagine what this is going to look like? Scores of amateurs running around the citys outskirts hacking at feral ghouls with a rusty shovel and a – what, a grocery list of alchemical ingredients in their left hand?"

"Precisely!" Areiel grinned.

"Belore, so long as I don't have to watch it myself…"

"Well, as Dark Lady you could delegate more menial tasks after all. And I think I know just the right person to keep track of all our new prodigies and their errands. I am sure that Varimathras will be up to the job and eager to do his part for his fine city."

Sylvanas almost laughed.

"I see you have given this some thought, Areiel. Approved!" she smiled appreciatively. "And 'quests', I think."

Areiel raised an eyebrow.

"Call it 'quests' rather than 'errands'. That should instill a sense of importance and motivate these newbies."

Areiel grinned and nodded. Then she grew more serious.

"I have heard an especially ugly rumour that I believe you should know about. It's nothing I have had opportunity or time to corroborate but the mere rumour is bad enough."

Sylvanas braced herself. The Forsaken talked and gossiped like any other people, barring the Scourge of course, even though their subjects tended towards the grim and morbid.

"There are whispers among some of the newcomers, at least I think that's where they've originated, about some of them having had contact with the Scarlets and…cut deals."

Sylvanas flinched.

"What sort of deals?" she asked, tense as a bowstring.

"The sort you are thinking about. Information. Trading someone else's safety for their own. Perhaps someone else's existence. And if that is true and Scarlets somehow have their hooks into some of ours in the city, of course spying and sabotage too."

Sylvanas wanted to close her eyes and just scream in frustration. To Wail. She could feel the banshee inside her boiling under the surface and forced her down with what felt like a monumental effort. Of all illogical things, would the rabid fanatics of the Scarlet Crusade be capable of putting their blinding hatred aside long enough to truly undermine the Forsaken? Well, of course they would, because why would they be spared that or any other rotten filth that the world tossed at them? Was she naive not to have expected something like this? Well, evidently so. Foolish enough to give in to wishful thinking that free will could come without the downsides of all peoples dishonesty and capacity for betrayal.

Areiel waited for Sylvanas to gather herself.

"We have no way of knowing what is true or not when we are so blind outside the immediate vicinity of the Undercity. But the whispers are spreading and they will work their mischief on us regardless unless we find something to counter with. I will investigate this as best I can when we get back."

Sylvanas nodded and they moved on to the next item and the next. But she wasn't quite there. As hard as she tried to focus on the present and the issue at hand there was a sense of urgency that had taken root inside of her. Her thoughts ran in circles, only to return time and again to the festering, vague feeling that she was running out of time much faster than she had hoped.

She had to make this expedition worth it, and then get back home as fast as they possibly could.

***​

Jaina put down her latest half-written letter and stretched her arms, stifling a yawn. It was well past her bedtime, she thought ironically. Tides, she was still embarrassed by how she had fallen asleep with Pained left to sit alone in the dark beside her. The fact that Pained waved away all her attempted apologies and excuses only made it ten times worse. So now Jaina had delved into the subject of alchemy – never her best one – and more specifically the brewing of sleeping potions. She had a shelf of recommended mixes waiting to be tested that she still hesitated to use, dreading the disappointed look that Jaina knew she could count on receiving from Pained once she found out what they were. Or once she stopped pretending not ot have found out, which was perhaps just as likely.

But Jaina saw no other option for the moment. She couldn't keep grabbing at random night elves to play at being her mother, for Tides' sake! Not ot mention falling asleep at meetings so that random gnomes had act her father and send her to bed while covering for her. How enormously stupid of her. She was supposed to be a grown woman practically in charge of a city!

Some ruler she was, too.

Lover to a mass murderer whom she failed to stop or reason with.

Patricide by her own inaction, and not even with shame enough to truly regret her choice.

Disowned by her own homeland and family.

Jaina knew, rationally speaking, that she was being neither constructive nor consequent towards herself, and that if she had heard the same judgements directed against someone else she would be sorely tempted to summon a very pointy ice lance against whoever delivered them. But it was one thing to know and another to bring herself to act in accordance with it. So she shut herself inside her office most days while not attending meetings and inspections, maintaining strict professionalism towards the people she thought herself increasingly unfit to lead. She was delegating what she could think of, and sometimes entertained the notion of removing herself completely from Theramore's government. Perhaps that would be for the best after all.

It was just that she didn't truly want to. Tides be damned, but as low in esteem as she held herself she still liked ruling Theramore. She did not want to turn into an autocrat, and she could most evidently not do it alone, nor would she ever wish for anyone to be afraid to speak out if she did something wrong. But sometimes she could allow a little bit of herself deep, deep inside to be genuinely proud and happy for what she had managed to do for her little city in the middle of nowhere.

Maybe she just needed a break, going away somewhere for a while. Perhaps she could ask Tyrande if she could visit, and let Pained spend some time with her kin in the process? But there was always so much to do.

A chill ran through Jaina and she rose to peek out of her window left ajar. Even though the summer was brutally hot, both the interior and the coast of Kalimdor had cold periods in abundance and there was definitely a chilly sense to the night. Jaina considered shutting her window completely but settled for wrapping a robe around herself instead. She could use every bit of fresh air in her study after a long days work.

Jaina yawned and sighed. She could give her little city another hour tonight before her eyes would shut themselves and her dreams would be impossible to keep out. She noted how the wind was increasing outside and raindrops were starting to hammer against her towers roof.

There seemed to be a storm coming.

***​

The midnight watch was close when they sighted Theramore's faint lights in the distance. The wind was blowing hard from the north and whitecaps would have been visible everywhere were it not for the looming darkness of the sky, black with massive clouds boding ill for any captain foolish enough to be caught under their gaze.

Captain Bonecarver lowered his looking glass and nodded to Sylvanas who had just stepped onto the quarterdeck.

"I reckon we 'ave a quarter-glass or two before we're about to enter Theramore Bay south of the town."

"Very good, captain. Prepare the longboat for me. I will approach as openly and visibly as possible and negotiate safe passage for us into the bay and signal to you when it is safe to approach."

"Aye, wouldn't want to find out firsthand if these Alliance fellows have cannons ashore. But ye best hurry, my lady. Whatever business ye're going to 'ave, that storm isn't going to wait for it. I want to have us either safe and sound in the bay or well off the coast by then."

Sylvanas nodded.

"Signal us if the winds grow too strong, with a lantern waved in circles. I will signal back if you can approach or return to the ship."

The ship carried two boats of which Sylvanas was now taking the largest. Seven ranger were with her, all banshees and fully armed but brushed and polished to their best. It was a shame it was so dark, for it was a rare sight to see that band of brigands look so smart, Sylvanas thought almost fondly.

The waves nearly upturned them as soon as they pushed away from the ships hull and only after altering their course half to the north could they begin to make progress towards the harbour. Every cloak was soaked through in a minute and they were regularly showered every time a new wave crashed into their fore. The light of their lantern looked pitifully small in the night and just as Sylvanas wondered if she should wave it to call attention to them a particularly large wave crashed over them and tore the lantern with it into the churning waters.

Sylvanas could have sworn several times that they were going more backward than forward but at long last the boat slammed into a thick post of Theramore's dock, seemingly half filled with water at this point despite the frantic bailing of the rangers aft of their rowers.

Anya tossed a line to Sylvanas, or a head spring or whatever it was Captain Bonecarver insisted it was called, and after a nearly being swept away by the waves several times they had secured their little vessel. Sylvanas leaned down and helped her rangers climb out, or more like heaved them up on the pier by herself. They had lost a quiver and a couple of bows to the storm, and the strings of the rest were likely unusable despite the oiled leather sleeves that protected them from more normal amounts of rain. As Sylvanas rose from helping Clea up as the last one, clanking steps caught her attention and half a dozen city guards in the typical Alliance mail and plate armour were running up to them.

"Hold it!"

"Stay right there!"

Sylvanas rose to her full height and took an unneeded breath to compose herself. She was unimpressed by the soldiers apparent skittishness but she would not let herself be distracted now.

"Greetings. I am…" Sylvanas began in her clearest Common, almost shouting to be heard over the wind.

"You be a smuggler I reckon, skulking in the night like this!"

"Or a spy, sergeant!"

Sylvanas flinched. What? What were they thinking, that a smuggler would moor at the docks in the middle of a storm and without carrying any goods?"

"Sergeant! They're undead!"

"They undead! The undead are here!"

"To arms!"

No…

"I wish to speak to Lady Jaina Proudmoore!" Sylvanas declaimed, more and more desperate to retain a semblance of control over the situation. "I assure you we have no hostile intentions against Theramore!" She stretched her arms along her sides and sprawled her fingers to indicate that she was unarmed.

"They're undead assassins, sergeant!" one voice called out, frantic and apparently panicking.

"You will stand down and surrender your weapons immediately!" the one that was apparently a Theramorian sergeant barked. Sylvanas did not miss the trembling of his voice that he tried to hide. "Prepare to be taken into custody!"

What?!

As if on cue, every dark ranger drew a blade and spread out to protect Sylvanas. It was in every way the right thing of them to do. And in every way the wrong thing. Sylvanas' vision narrowed, darkness closed in from all around, darkness that boiled and bubbled and wanted her to let go of herself and be one with it, one with her limitless wrath over each and every thing done to her, to the elves, to the Forsaken. Her pent-up frustration tore at its mental shackles, her anguish of being made into a monster and a murderer, of watching helplessly as her envoys were killed without question and her rangers walked away to seek their deaths, of listening to the frightened whispers of Forsaken families hunted like vermin by a world united by only its hatred of them.

Sylvanas could hear faint voices and shouts. Time had slowed to a crawl, every second seeming like an hour.

"…call for support…"

"Back off!"

"…we need mages!"

Sylvanas clenched and unclenched her fists. She tried to breathe, to focus her thoughts on anything at all. But the more she tried, the more they flooded freely.

It was an ambush. Was this the plan all along of the Alliance? To starve her of allies until she became desperate enough to risk herself, depriving the Forsaken of their leader? Would the rest of them be hunted and taken down following her death here?

The guards were shouting, there was a commotion now.

They would lose it all. They had lost it all. They had lost. She had lost. She felt herself falling down into a hole of darkness, darkness in which waited the mocking laughter of the Lich King to welcome back his murderous banshee into the fold. Was that her fate, cruel and inescapable? Was freedom of choice but an illusion for the dead?

She could hear more calling, differently now. There was a flash at the periphery and a new voice rang out, loud and clear and most evidently upset.

"What in the Tides' name is going on here?!"

Sylvanas could practically taste the arcane magic in the air. Was this their plan then, waiting for their mages to come and finish them? She could agree that it was a sensible tactic.

She was falling deeper into the darkness. There would be no escape.

Not for Sylvanas.

Not for her rangers that she had led here.

Not for Clea, who would never admit how uncomfortable she was on water and would sail to the worlds end for her, but who clung to her arm for dear life when she dragged her onto the quay.

Not for Anya.

Her vision turned red and all the world burned before her.

And Sylvanas Wailed.

She could see flashes and the shimmering outline of something that a part of her mind knew was a mages shield, but it was a thought that the rest of her could not hear over the anguished and furious scream that rang in her unnatural being.

Boiling darkness formed into tendrils around Sylvanas, smoking and writhing like flames. She closed her eyes and willed them back inside her, falling to her knees and curling into herself as if that would contain her banshee self.

Eventually the last echo of her Wail died down and only the wind and the waves thundered in the night.

She looked up, only to see a lone mage swaying and falling into the ground, hitting her head against the uneven timber of the quay. A human woman in a nightrobe. She did not rise or open her eyes.

Sylvanas senses returned, rapidly now. Her rangers were still there. There was no sign of the Theramore soldiers. The mage was injured for sure, having lost consciousness from the fall if not from the sheer power of the Wail. How was she even alive?

She heard her rangers cry out and turned around to see the agreed upon signal on the ship far out in the storm. In fact there were three signals, her captain taking no chances. Sylvanas could feel the wind rising even further. What of the mage? They had to leave, there would be no time to seek out the humans of the city, let alone hand her over in a safe way. She hadn't attacked them, she had arrived late and only shielded the soldiers, saving them from Sylvanas' Wail. Saving Sylvanas from having even more blood on her hands.

She could leave her here. To die from a wound or injury yet undiscovered or contract pneumonia, if she was lucky enough not to be blown straight into the sea!

She could not do that. Somewhere deep inside her rotten black banshee soul Sylvanas refused to do that.

She bent down and scooped up the mage, carefully cradling the woman's head against her shoulder and holding her tight. Her neck seemed whole at least, but she was bleeding from a head wound, smearing the tangled trusses of hair that hung over her face.

"Take your banshee forms! Fly to the ship!"

Spoiler

Ooops…

Well, as I have learned that the saying goes their ship can now, ahem, set sail. The double meaning of that phrase in this particular story would make Areiel practically swoon and Sylvanas clutch her tormented ears.

I very much hope that the story so far makes Sylvanas' actions and (over)reactions make some measure of sense. I wanted to illustrate some of the circumstances that may contribute to her jumping at conclusions and losing her temper, but without spelling it out too demonstratively.

 

[Krazyfan1]

what are the downsides to the banshee forms again?

 

[Maltacus]

what are the downsides to the banshee forms again?

Click to shrink...

Hm, good question. Physically they are vulnerable to magics, particularly light magic, and can't wield things as dextrously as when corporeal - probably archery is out of the question for example. It may be that the dark rangers can run faster than they can fly as banshees too.
Emotionally the banshee form is conected to intense bad feelings, with the accompanying lack of self-discipline and mental drain, and long-term adverse effects. Alina with her flashbacks is a clear example of someone who probably wants to stay away from that form, while Cyndia seems to be able to maintain a sense of calm and can float around the treetops.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 7. Sleeping and Sailing
Sylvanas and Jaina experience the aftermath of a too late and too loud night out, such as regrets and monumental headaches when waking up, demonstrating that fantasy doesn't necessarily exclude some measure of realism.

Spoiler

It might be appropriate (and funny) at this time to point out how this is primarily a Warcraft III Frozen Throne story and the respective characters generally have the according traits and abilities. The setting is also by the way in classic Warcraft III before the graphical retcons of Warcraft Reforged, so humans and elves are in their full unbalanced, gorilla-armed and melon-chested glory. In the case of the dark rangers, and their dark lady, we are therefore talking about hero-level elite archers with the following special abilities among others.

Black Arrow – a magically enhanced arrow adding extra damage to their attack. Units killed while under the Black Arrows effect will turn into a temporary skeletal minion.

Silence – Stops all enemies, even Heroes, in a target area from casting spells.

Life Drain – Drains life from a single enemy over time and restores the dark rangers health.

Charm (Ultimate) – Takes control of target enemy unit. Can not be used on Heroes or creeps (local creatures) above a certain level.

So, what may be deduced from looking at this skillset? Dark rangers are obviously devastatingly Charming and especially innocent little spellcasters will just stand gaping in stunned Silence. While those in possession of a strength of mind – or paladinly prudeness - of heroic proportions may be able to avoid falling hopelessly for them at a first glance, it can be called into question how prolonged exposure would affect the outcome. And what if said heroes would no longer be enemy heroes?

Resistance is futile.

Sylvanas dropped down on a chair in the captains cabin. If she had been alive she would have felt exhausted.

The crew had hung a hammock across the rather small space while Sylvanas and her rangers checked the mage for visible injuries. She seemed fine as far as they could tell, meaning concretely no broken bones and no bleeding wounds, and she breathed steadily. Sylvanas had carried her to bed (well, hammock) herself and put a blanket from the bed over her. She was about to rise and leave at that point but then thought better of it. They were on their way and she couldn't help the captain in any meaningful way with riding out the storm. Besides, their captive was a mage after all and someone needed to watch her in case she woke up and decided to turn the ship to cinder.

And there was this storm to consider as well. For all Sylvanas knew some errant rocking of the ship might even knock her out of her hammock. The ship rode the waves well enough as far as Sylvanas could tell but you couldn't be too careful with head wounds. The living were such frail creatures.

So Sylvanas sat next to her and the bucket that some thoughtful person – probably Areiel – had remembered to bring along with the hammock in case its occupant would feel sick. Thinking.

What a complete and utter failure this was.

A diplomatic mission twisted into a…a night-time raid? Like some band of damned pirates? All because of, what really? The cursed storm that had forced them to hurry everything along? The unbending hostility of the human soldiers? Her own impatience? Her own… Panic.

They could have done it differently. They could have sailed into the bay and le themselves be trapped there while enduring the storm, then landed in daylight. They could have located Theramore and then sailed up the coast to anchor and approach the town by land, scouting it out and making some kind of contact with their patrols or travellers or whatever. But she had been too fearful to trust Theramore Bay beneath the Alliance eyes and too impatient to find secure anchorage along the coast, which would likely have been no quick and easy task with the jagged rocks that seemed to be a defining feature of Kalimdor.

It all came down to Sylvanas herself. Her people trusted in her. And she had let them all down.

What a complete and utter failure she was.

Sylvanas thoughts were interrupted when the mage suddenly opened her eyes and sat straight up, gasping and letting out a scream, only to fall back down again. Sylvanas saw her face contort in pain, she must have a monstrous headache at the very least, and her eyelids were coming down by themselves again. She must be absolutely exhausted from shielding herself against a point blank Wail for so long, Sylvanas reckoned. That she had stayed alive at all was really no small feat.

But the mage did not seem to be getting much rest. She was tossing and turning from one side to the other, with her features hard and drawn tight. That wouldn't do. Sylvanas hesitantly clamped down with her gauntleted hand on the mages arm with what she hoped wasn't too hard a grip. She should have taken those clawed things off, really. But the mage did not struggle against her grip. On the contrary, she seemed if anything steadied by it and after a while her fitful movements had stopped and she was sleeping soundly.

Sylvanas awkwardly begun rocking her hammock a little. She felt a bit better somehow when looking at the sleeping mage.

The night went by, with only the sound of the raging wind outside and the creaking of the ship to be heard. Or, no, not really. She could hear the mage breathe after all, and if she concentrated she could hear her heartbeat. How long had it been since Sylvanas had heard such peaceful sounds? How long since she had just sat down and listened to nothing in particular? Since before she died, most likely. Not that she needed it in any way. But it was…not unpleasant.

The sky had started to turn towards the faintest of grey when the mage made a pained, whimpering sound. Sylvanas looked up and saw her face tense and her eyes moving underneath the eyelids. Her jaw was clenched hard and she moaned in a way that grew ever more frightened with each sound.

Sylvanas rose and leaned closer over the mage. Was she mumbling something?

"No…don't do it…don't hurt them!"

Sylvanas hesitated. It wasn't her concern really if the mage had nightmares. Not as if she actually really cared or anything.

"…can not watch you… …do th… …thas…"

The mage seemed more and more agitated. Could human spellcasters accidentally start casting in their sleep? That would be a mess.

"Sleep." Sylvanas whispered softly and took hold of her arm again, as gently as she could and careful not to poke her with the claws, because of course she had forgotten to take them off. Had the mage turned slightly towards her? "Sleep." she whispered again. The mage seemed to sink back a little into her pillow, her jaw not so terribly set and her shoulders not so stiff. She drew a ragged breath and sounded more sad than scared now, sobbing lightly and grasping the blanket in a pitiful way.

Sylvanas turned her chair around and sat down again so she was looking right at the mage, who was calming down. Sylvanas felt a small, stupid little hint of satisfaction at that. Her own thoughts were a little calmer too, she noticed. Quieter. She leaned back in her chair and kept rocking the hammock without really thinking about it.

She wondered who that mage was. She had dark blonde hair, actually looking quite golden now that the light was slowly returning, and an elegant jaw like most of the elves. But she was distinctly human too, her chin and cheeks and nose tip a little rounder and softer than an elfs and of course those tiny round mouse ears the humans had to make do with. Sometimes it surprised Sylvanas how they could even hear themselves talking. Perhaps that explained why some of them were so extraordinarily loud. She almost reached out to stroke that intriguing little ear until she came to her senses.

How old could the girl be? The rounded, soft features of her face resembled those of an elven child and the impression was likely added to by how she was sleeping peacefully nestled in her hammock, but she was far too tall for that. She seemed to be only slightly shorter than Sylvanas, which would put her on par with almost any elf.

Alleria had made up a rhyme about human ageing one time when she was teasing Turalyon, with every sentence beginning with a "T". How did it go, now again? Human ages were measured in Tens. Tiny until Ten. Then Teenagers. Then Twenties. Then Thirties. Then…Tired?

Sylvanas almost found herself smiling at the memory of her irreverent and wild sister, never too old to arrive at a fancy dinner with straws in her hair and mud on her boots, gracelessly crashing into her chair like a sack of beets no matter how stony the gaze from her mother or how deep the frown from her father. Curious. It certainly wasn't often she could think of Alleria without pain.

The mage in any case would probably be a Teenager or in her early Twenties Sylvanas thought. Just a couple of decades old. Seriously, all of them practically Toddlers in comparison…

Wait.

Wait one Sun-blessed bloody moment.

It couldn't be, could it?

No, who was she kidding, of course it could be because why on Azeroth should it not?

Tentative, as if afraid to do do it and of the answer, Sylvanas whispered.

"What is your name?"

The mage stirred and moved her head a little, with her eyes still closed.

"J…Jaina…" she mumbled sleepily.

Sylvanas recoiled, and stepped back towards the door as if the mage had turned into a venomous reptile.

For once in her unlife she needed air.

***​

Dawn was almost breaking outside. The sea was still in turmoil but the storm was passing now and the sky was grey rather than black. The ship tore defiantly through the waves, a couple of reefed sails providing the bare minimum of speed and manoeuvrability.

Areiel met her with a concerned look but also a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Is the little sweetheart asleep?" she whispered.

Sylvanas glared the darkest glare she could muster. They were in the middle of a political disaster, it was not the time for frivolities.

"The kid certainly looked like she needed a nap." her insufferable ranger captain continued unperturbed. "Is that why we're kid-napping her?"

Areiel was biting her lip of all things. This was not funny!

"I expect you to have been briefed by Anya about the encounter at the docks." Sylvanas replied icily in her strictest commander voice.

It glanced off Areiel like a wooden club on plate armour. Indeed, having been Sylvanas' old commander and mentor centuries upon centuries ago seemed to make people immune to all her tricks.

"And woman, Areiel. She is an adult and an Alliance mage. Gather the rangers and captain Bonecarver. I have an announcement to make."

"No problem, they're all on deck. We've searched the ship for every bucket and barrel capable of holding a drop of water the last couple of hours."

"What for?"

"The rainwater. We don't have any drinking water onboard so I reckoned it would be high time to gather some now that we're taking on living passengers. We will still need to go ashore soon to provision, we can hardly count on fishing for the whole journey."

That was…outstandingly practical thinking. Sylvanas decided that she could let Areiel off for this time. Suddenly it struck her how Areiel had assumed that they would bring the mage, no, Jaina Proudmoore, with them back to the Undercity and not objected in the slightest.

The other dark rangers and Bonecarver were quick to round up. Sylvanas strode in front of them and assumed a strict stance with her hands clasped behind her back and towering over the small assembly as much as possible.

"Rangers, captain, after the engagement last night our mission to Theramore must as of now be considered a failure. We have been met with hostility from the city's forces without being given a chance to plea our cause. From now on we must consider Theramore as hostile to our cause. I wish to underline that any responsibility for this setback rests solely on me. Rangers, you did everything you were supposed to. Captain, convey my compliments to your crew. They have performed under exceptionally harsh conditions this night." she concluded with a brisk nod that made Bonecarver stand a little taller.

"This leads us to the question of the mage now in our custody. She is Jaina Proudmoore, the ruler of Theramore. She is also an archmage of considerable skill according to our admittedly insufficient sources, but in light of the extraordinarily powerful shielding she demonstrated this night I am inclined to regard that as a proven fact."

"Dark Lady, we found this on the quay right before you ordered us back to the ship. I thought you'd want to know." Clea held out a staff, ornate and topped with a blue crystal. Fairly elegant in fact.

An archmages staff.

"It must be hers. Well done. Keep it hidden for now and do not speak of it unless I say so."

Clea nodded.

"Why did we bring her with us?"

"What's the plan now?"

"How are we going to guard an archmage?"

Sylvanas held up a hand, halting the stream of questions.

"With the Alliance evidently hostile, Lady Proudmoore will serve as our hostage which should prove useful. If we aren't already accused of having attacked Theramore it is only a matter of time until we will be. No other faction possess similar ranger troops."

And especially not under the command of such an easily recognizable commander, hung unspoken in the air.

"Not to mention that a Wail like that practically screams of banshees and banshee queens." Areiel added with a smirk, leaning back casually with her arms crossed.

The rangers snickered while Sylvanas resisted the urge to throw something at Areiel.

"How do you wish to handle this, Dark Lady?" Areiel continued slightly more seriously. "Mages tend to be 'dangerous if provoked', as they say."

Sylvanas shot a long glare at her. But the question had merit, and truth be told she wasn't even completely sure herself. Her mind was still spinning with thoughts and questions.

"I am confident that our combined strength can easily overpower her should the need arise, but currently that is not an acceptable outcome as the damage to the ship would be catastrophic. I will handle the majority of guarding myself and you are to treat Lady Proudmoore firmly and not let her out of your sight when I am unavailable. I will review what we know about her and see if there is an angle that can be exploited to keep her off balance. For the time being our official standpoint towards her is that the Forsaken delegation was attacked unprovoked when approaching openly and without any declaration of hostile intent. That will be all for now."

The rangers rose and saluted her, and went about their tasks again.

As Sylvanas was about to return to her cabin Anya approached her.

"You know it could be a very long journey home, Dark Lady." she begun matter-of-factly. "So you should have plenty of opportunity to speak with Lady Proudmoore."

"So long as I can keep her from incinerating our ship, yes." Sylvanas shrugged.

"So what if you could win her over to our side? Then Theramore would no longer be hostile if their ruler wasn't. Perhaps you could try to be a bit nice to her too and not so, you know, dark and looming all the time? It's just a suggestion."

Sylvanas wondered whether Anya was actually serious as she stepped down the stair to check upon her…prisoner? Ward? Guest? What was Lady Proudmoore really to her? Sylvanas shrugged. Her mage, as much as anything else. Her mage to keep her eyes on. She had better not forget what that woman could do. And it felt more right inside her than any other term, somehow.

Her mage.

Sylvanas told herself that Anya must have been jesting to lighten her mood after all the trials during the night. She would just keep Proudmoore in check and preferably put her in her place so she wouldn't bother Sylvanas' rangers or her crew, nothing more.

***​

Jaina woke up peacefully, opening her eyes in slight wonder about that very fact. There was light dancing across a wooden roof above her, coming from somewhere above her head, and the room she was in smelled of wood and a bit of tar and the homely, familiar damp air of a closed space. Jaina knew that smell very well. Was she on a ship? She surely was, and at sea no less. She could feel it rolling in the waves. And she was in a hammock? That must be why she had slept so soundly. Although there was something else.

There had been a…a dream? A dream of glowing red eyes and a strange voice. A deep, alluring voice that echoed and made her go back to sleep and calm down. A voice that not even Jainas nightmares dared say no to it would seem. She strained to recall more of how it had sounded and nearly cried out.

Aouch!

No. No, no, no. Absolutely no thinking or remembering for the time being. Tides, her head hurt! What had happened to her? She wasn't sure she could even feel her arms and legs, even. Jaina wondered how long she had been knocked out like this. She hadn't…embarrassed herself, had she? No, it didn't seem like that. Her clothes and bedclothes were just a bit damp, because…because she had been outside and… No. No thinking. Hurt.

Jaina was getting angry at herself. For all she knew she could be captured by enemies of some kind who intended to kill or torture her and she worried about the state of her bedclothes? Although people who abused their prisoners rarely put them in hammocks with blankets first as far as Jaina knew. And damn that line of thinking anyway because now she had to get up.

The world spun and every blurry piece of furniture suddenly had twin brothers and Jaina pushed back the urge to vomit. She stood swaying and grasping the hammock for support as Azeroth slowly realigned itself around her. Uuuh… It was worse than the day after the celebration party when she had been accepted as Antonidas' apprentice, toasting the fruits of weeks of badgering and stalking and pestering her new mentor from dawn to dusk. Jaina blinked owlishly and looked around. She was in some sort of officers cabin likely, with windows that let in the morning sun and a cluttered desk, a bed built into the wall, a few cupboards and her hammock. Her foot touched a dented bucket that someone had left next to it. Well, that very considerate person would probably be considerate enough to not mind if Jaina borrowed it for a while, especially since she currently didn't trust herself to take more than five steps anywhere on this ship.

It was all Jaina could muster to put the bucket back in a corner and crawl back into her hammock. Had she said – thought - her hammock? It wasn't like she was moving in here, was it? Her head was splitting in two, it was like one of those migraines that weeks of overworking brought on her. Maybe she had gotten drunk last evening and abdicated or something... Oh, this was intolerable, she had to reorder her thoughts. Jaina tried to breathe heavily through the headache and mentally list what she knew.

She remembered working late. Well, when was she not working late?

She had gone to bed, when it was pitch dark outside. There had been a storm outside.

She had not fallen asleep because she had been disturbed by sounds from outside and a strange feeling in the air, one of strange magic?

Jainas tower was overlooking almost everything in Theramore and she had seen some sort of commotion by the new docks, in the middle of the night. She had wrapped a robe around her and teleported there.

The events of last night came back to her in vivid clarity. Arriving in the middle of an argument. Weapons raised. Dark, lithe shapes on one side, Theramorian city guards on the other. And then that horrible, horrible scream. Her head almost hurt from the memory of it. She had thrown up a shield and without thinking teleported her guards away from it. She had stood her ground – why had she done that? – until she passed out. Her night was filled with troubling dreams she could barely recall, but also that voice and those red eyes.

Jaina looked up at the cracks and flaking paint of the ceiling while she tried to think. Who were the dark shapes? What kind of creature could scream like that? She went over all the monstrous, peculiar, fascinating beings of Azeroth that she knew about – the last year had certainly been educational if nothing else – but it was like her thoughts had been glued together.

But then the cabin door was quietly opened and the answer to her question stepped inside.

It was an elf woman, that much was quite clear by the ears sticking out of her hood and the, well, buckles of her armour. Jaina tried not to stare, but then what else in the room was she supposed to look at? And the elf was captivating. She had light blue-grey skin to start with, and was dressed in what looked like an elven rangers attire except that instead of the blue or green tones she had seen amongst those that had journeyed to Kalimdor with her, it was dark red bordering on purple, with grim silvery ornaments where graceful patterns mixed with skulls. And her eyes… They were those eyes. They were red, and they actually shone, just like in the dream that Jaina was beginning to wonder about how much of it that had really been a dream.

The elf somehow managed to make the couple of steps to Jainas side seem like a demonstration of balance and grace. Unfair elves… She leaned forward slightly and seemed somehow even taller than she already was – definitely one of the tallest elven women Jaina had met – and somehow the room felt a shade darker.

"Good morning, Lady Proudmoore."

The simple and altogether reasonable words momentarily made Jainas brain cease to function completely. First and foremost, the voice…was that voice, and it sent a shiver down Jainas spine and made her long to hear more delicious words that dripped like melted chocolate into her ears and…wait! One of those delicious words had been 'Proudmoore'. She knew Jainas name. How did she know Jainas name? Had they met, and she didn't remember? And why couldn't the room stop spinning like that?

"W…What are…" Jaina tried.

"I said; 'Good morning, Lady Proudmoore'." the elf repeated herself slowly as if questioning whether Jainas ears were functioning as they should.

"Oh, that… I mean, good morning too! To you." Jaina blurted out. Tides, she was already making a mess out of this. "I must apologize deeply if this comes across as very rude, but you obviously know my name and I am not sure if I should know yours."

The red eyes regarded Jaina for a moment, and she couldn't turn her gaze away from them. They were mesmerising, like ruby red fires waiting deep inside to flare up and consume her.

"No. We have not met previously but I can understand your confusion. The nights incidents must have been…disorienting." the elf continued in an even tone. "My name is Sylvanas Windrunner. I am the queen of Lordaeron and of the Forsaken, the free undead no longer under the Lich Kings control."

Jaina could only stare. Queen of Lordaeron? Queen of a nation of free undead?

"I'm sorry to say I'm not really in any shape to bow, or curtsy, or however you do it in Lordaeron these days, your majesty." Jaina said with an apologetic smile. "I am, well, not quite well."

"Of course." the queen nodded. "And in the interest of formal courtesy you my address me as Lady Windrunner as one head of state to another.

"Well, Lady Windrunner, how did I end up here? I remember arriving at the docks in Theramore just in time to stop everyone from losing their heads and attacking each other, but then there was a terrible scream that really went through my bones."

The Lady Windrunner regarded Jaina silently for a second. Jaina felt like the red gaze bored into her mind and went through every thought that she had been thinking since yesterday afternoon.

"I am a banshee and possess several ways to incapacitate an adversary. What I hit you with was a banshees Wail, after your guards had proven Theramore's hostile intentions."

A banshee! Jainas brain ran through all her mentally catalogued knowledge of banshees, which was not too much but still creatures that the Scourge had employed during the fighting in Ashenvale. She was so intrigued by the revelation that she almost missed the other bit of crucial information.

"Wait, what?! Theramore's hostile…we've no hostile intentions to you!"

"The actions of your city guard speaks otherwise, Lady Proudmoore."

"But what happened? What did they do?"

"I arrived by boat with my escort, disembarking openly with the intention to seek out the city's rulership to negotiate safe passage for my ship into Theramore Bay and the opening of negotiations between our respective factions. I was met by a guard patrol whose commanding officer insulted me and demanded that I would surrender myself and my bodyguards. You arrived about the next moment. As you are aware of I unleashed a Wail and you were wise to teleport your guards away. I must commend your quick action in that regard. I assume you lost consciousness after maintaining your shield for so long and I had you brought to my ship."

Jaina felt her face redden slightly. It was absolutely silly, but she had a profound weakness for being praised and hearing someone so impressive as Lady Windrunner recognizing her quick thinking and the strength of her spells made the blood rush to her cheeks. And there was that voice as well. It had a peculiar otherworldly echoing quality to it, sometimes almost imperceptible and sometimes very clear.

"As for now, you are in my custody onboard my ship. So long as you do not attempt to escape or attack me or anyone else under my command you will not be harmed. You may go where I allow it onboard the ship and you will have food and water brought to you."

"Hm, well, regarding that…you probably already know that I am a mage…" Jaina began. Then she wanted to slap herself. Of course she new she was a mage, she had just commented on her teleporting people away, for Tides' sake!

Lady Windrunner nodded.

"We are aware of that, and you will be under constant watch. Any attempt to cast a spell without prior permission would be…inadvisable. You would also be wise to keep in mind that the dead do not require sleep."

"For now it's not like I could conjure so much as a snowball for my head, and I don't think I'd make it through the door without falling, but I can let you know when I'm feeling better and more dangerous." Jaina promised, a tiny bit cheeky. It was maybe – probably – not very wise to provoke the queen of Lordaeron but she didn't want to appear too intimidated either, and a very unwise part of her wondered what would happen if she actually did that and if those eyes could in fact burn even hotter than they already seemed to do. In that moment, Jainas stomach made a very undignified growl to remind her that she had in fact not eaten since yesterday evening and that the concept of breakfast had more to its merit than just satisfying the whims of stubborn night elf bodyguards.

Lady Windrunner raised an eyebrow, which was enough to make Jaina want to disappear under her pillow.

"I will have food and water brought to your cabin as soon as it is available. My crew has gathered limited quantities of drinking water during the night but otherwise we did not expect to be carrying living passengers."

"As soon as I'm able to cast again I could conjure some mana-bread or something like that, but some water would be very nice, thank you." Jaina said gratefully and noted that her throat was in fact starting to feel very dry.

Lady Windrunner nodded.

"Is the hammock to your liking?"

"Yes, it's actually been quite comfortable." Jaina nodded.

"Then you may continue to make use of it as well as this cabin."

"May I ask, where am I? On the ship, I mean?"

"This is the captains cabin, which now serves as my quarters for as long as I am onboard. You may continue to use it at your leisure as I do not sleep and require little light to work. Do not mistake my occupying myself with other tasks for dropping my guard."

Jaina fell back into her hammock, too tired and too thirsty to ask any more questions for the moment. Her mind was spilling over with questions – they thought Theramore was an enemy, what a Tides-damned utter mess – and things she wanted to know more about as well as clarify. But that would have to wait. She had to get her head back under control first.

Perhaps she was too exhausted to worry as much as she probably should, but for some reason Jaina did not feel nearly so ill at ease as when she'd woken up. She did not doubt that her captor meant what she'd said, and on the one hand she was freaking scary. But on the other…Jaina could not help but long to hear more of that voice and as much as the queen of Lordaeron frightened her – which she did – Jaina also felt intrigued by her. As far as being captured and technically in enemy hands went it could certainly be considerably worse and the thought of Lady Windrunner watching over her and lending her room made Jaina feel inexplicably warmer for some reason.

Although, it didn't actually fit to think of the elf as Lady WIndrunner, or as the Queen of Lordaeron either. Those were titles she bore but not who she were. Titles were for stiff, formal people doing stiff, formal things and the graceful and doubtlessly quite deadly Sylvanas Windrunner was anything but that, even though the way she spoke Common was a little old-fashioned at times.

Sylvanas. That name was what she were, Jaina was sure of it. Sylvanas with the burning eyes and the voice that made her shiver.

 

[Krazyfan1]

its a shame they don't know how to turn seawater into drinking water.

also Poor Jaina, only able to summon Bread, and not a Strudel

 

[Maltacus]

its a shame they don't know how to turn seawater into drinking water. also Poor Jaina, only able to summon Bread, and not a Strudel

Click to shrink...

Jaina seems to have a bit of a gap in her education when it comes to conjuring proper and nutritious foodstuffs, even if it is reputably a complex field. Maybe Modera's Elementary Magical Cooking course took place during the period when she was the most distracted by her princely engagements.
Pained: OR maybe she just has an incurable sweet tooth...

 

[Krazyfan1]

even if it is reputably a complex field

Click to shrink...

"The Schools of Arcane Magic - Conjuration implies that it is a considerable feat for even more formidable specialists in conjuration to summon several glasses of water, or even a tankard."

makes sense.

Pained: OR maybe she just has an incurable sweet tooth...

Click to shrink...

According to the wiki
"Jaina Proudmoore was able to conjure some "delicious breads and beverages" for Arthas and his men and her conjured cookies were deemed by Kinndy Sparkshine to be "master" cookies, superior in flavor and quality compared to the latter's "apprentice" cookies."

the summoning beverages bit is iffy, but her focusing on sweets is believable.
i can see her focusing on flavor instead of actually being nourishing

 

[Maltacus]

Above

Click to shrink...

Water summoning is a bit odd since the mages can summon ice bolts and blizzards and such, so at least they could cast a combat spell into the ground and let the ice melt...? In any case, it doesn't play a great role in this story.

The wiki quote is from the Arthas novel if I am not much mistaken, which was released later than Warcraft III and has some conflicting lore, in which cases WCIII:s takes precedence in My Dread Lady. That is trivial, for foodstuffs are not among those things anyway. I simply have yet to delve into details of Jaina's education but it seems likely that she has learned som all-round basics and has a lot of natural talent to back them up with.

But agreed, what are vegetable stews compared to a juicy mana bun? Maybe the good ruler of Theramore is not quite so grown up in all ways as her Alliance would have liked her to be...
She may have run into company that will be about to take stern issue with her eating issues.

 

[Krazyfan1]

Water summoning is a bit odd since the mages can summon ice bolts and blizzards and such, so at least they could cast a combat spell into the ground and let the ice melt...?

Click to shrink...

perhaps the ice is Magic, and therefore takes longer to melt?
good to keep drinks cold, but unless you use fire magic its not likely to melt soon.

 

[Maltacus]

perhaps the ice is Magic, and therefore takes longer to melt?
good to keep drinks cold, but unless you use fire magic its not likely to melt soon.

Click to shrink...

Archmages are fortunate then to have blizzards as a spell and fireballs as their ordinary ranged attack
Velonara: They are both cool and hot at the same time, wouldn't you agree Anya?

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 8. Knives and Knaves
Anya welcomes Jaina aboard in her own way and Jaina makes some new friends.

---

Jaina had not had time over to wonder overly much about what kind of crew the queen of Lordaeron commanded before one of them introduced herself by a brief knock on the door and entering upon Sylvanas' order. She was evidently another Forsaken elf but her skin was light grey, almost white. Apart from that she had the same red eyes as Sylvanas but they were not the same flaring fires. They were glowing more akin to the eyes of a night elf, except for being red of course, and indeed there was something of Pained across the scarred features of her face. Jaina had never been good at guessing the age of elves, tending to find the lot of them unfairly elegant regardless and somewhat grudgingly leaving it at that, but she had the impression that this one was older than most and that there was very little on Azeroth that could unbalance her in life or in death.

The new elf saluted Sylvanas with her hand over her chest.

"Lady Proudmoore, may I introduce Areiel, captain of my Dark Rangers." The way Sylvanas said Dark Rangers hinted at great significance and Jaina made a note to herself to ask her more about them later. Certainly Areiel appeared like a darker version of an elven ranger, with sparse armour very similar to Sylvanas but less elaborate and black rather than dark red.

Areiel bowed formally to Jaina, who hurriedly managed a "Good morning, ranger captain Areiel." in response.

The ranger captain, still silent and with an even expression that betrayed no emotion, held out a flask with the flourish of a waiter presenting a particularly exquisite and expensive wine. Jaina only hesitated for a second before she greedily snatched it up and downed the most delicious pint of rainwater she could imagine at the moment, eagerly enough to spill some over her nightgown.

"The crew is currently fishing for something to serve for breakfast." Areiel stated.

Jaina was about to express her gratitude when her stomach rumbled again, quite loudly.

"I'll tell them to hurry up." Areiel said in the same even tone and made Jaina want to sink through every deck of the ship and to the seas bottom. Areiels voice was something like what one might guess from seeing her face, a little hoarse and rough from untold years of trials but still carrying.

"Dark Lady." Areiel nodded to Sylvanas before leaving, bringing with her the bucket Jaina had borrowed. It did not make Jaina feel any more dignified.

Sylvanas had watched her without a word and her expression betrayed as little as Areiels. If Jaina wanted to appear as more than a bumbling girl she would evidently have some work cut out for her, she noted with an inwardly sigh.

Briefly clenching her eyes, Jaina put her mind to work instead by going over all se knew of Sylvanas, trying not to look too much at her as that was proving to be utterly distracting. Dark Lady, to start with. The Queen of Lordaeron Lady Windrunner was apparently a woman of many titles. This was certainly an intriguing one and Jaina was going to ask more about it later.

Speaking of names, though. Windrunner… Her friend Rhonins wife Vereesa was also named Windrunner. Was she and Sylvanas perhaps related? How common could the surname be? It was surely more elaborate than the ever-present human Lanes, Fords, Hills, Lakes and so on but weren't all elven names that? Perhaps Windrunner was a commonly used name. Jaina thought of Vereesa and Sylvanas. Both were tall and fit, and actually rather similar apart from the hair colour with Vereesas being silvery and Sylvanas a faded blonde, which might have been less faded in life. Then again Jaina thought most elves were looking quite alike, each more handsome than her than the other with their elegant features, so maybe Jaina wasn't a very good judge at that. But Vereesa was also an elven ranger, which was a noteworthy coincidence at the very least, so chances were she and Sylvanas would know about each other if nothing else.

She had met the adventurous Vereesa several times and she had been quite nice to Jaina, eagerly trading embarrassing stories about Rhonin and regaling Jaina with the unlikely tale of their grand first mission together and their heart-warming rescue of Alexstraza and the other red dragons. Jaina and Rhonin had managed to find time and opportunity to write to one another a few times since she had settled in Theramore and Jaina was immensely relieved to know that both he and Vereesa had survived the Scourge and the ensuing turmoil around Dalaran. Jaina promised herself she would write more often to both Rhonin and anyone else she could think of as soon as she got the opportunity. And she really had to ask about Sylvanas' last name at some point.

Right now was not a good time, though. Jainas thoughts were turning increasingly towards all the fat and juicy fishes that she knew could be caught around Theramore – the primary source of food for her city – and didn't want to be more distracted than necessary when conversing with her intimidating captor. Besides, Jaina was fairly comfortable now apart from her hunger. Having something to drink along with Sylvanas opening the small windows of the cabin to let in fresh air was starting to do wonders for Jainas headache, even though her limbs still felt like lead. True to her word, Sylvanas was sitting by her desk and writing, and the familiar sound of a quill against paper was as comforting for Jaina as that of a crackling fire was for the majority of Azeroths peoples.

Now that she had resolved to leave the talking for some time later, Jaina decided that it wouldn't interrupt anything if she tried to steal a few glances of Sylvanas while waiting for her crew to get lucky with their fishing.

***​

Anya had knocked on Sylvanas' cabin door countless times by now. So she shouldn't really hesitate to do that one more time. It should be just the same as reporting last morning.

Should be.

If Anya had a mirror she would have double-checked every little detail about her appearance. It wouldn't do for them to appear like a band of scruffy-looking thugs when you were dealing with a foreign ruler, whether Sylvanas wanted to appear sympathetic or intimidating to her.

She knocked briskly and was immediately told to enter.

Lady Proudmoore was awake, and looked newly awake in a beautiful sort of way with tangled hair spilling across her pillow and clear, curious eyes that fixed on Anya. They were distractingly blue little oceans that Anya tried not to look too much at.

"Anya, good. I need to see to some things with Areiel, stand guard over Lady Proudmoore in the meantime." Sylvanas said without further ado.

"Dark Lady." Anya saluted and took up a position next to the door in full view of Lady Proudmoore. She'd caught the hint and wouldn't act as if guarding archmages was anything but routine for the dark rangers.

"This is lieutenant Anya Eversong." Sylvanas mentioned to Lady Proudmoore. "I would avoid antagonizing her. Rangers do not command my personal guard for no reason." she said curtly and walked out without another word or a second look, projecting the supreme confidence that only Sylvanas could. Anya had never quite figured out how she did it. It was as if the idea of everything not turning out like the Dark Lady had just ordered was completely alien, ridiculous even.

Anya could see that the posturing had made an impression on Lady Proudmoore, but the mage eyed her with interest none the less. She looked very tired, Anya thought and guessed that she should perhaps be pleased by it. Tired mages would be less prone to cause trouble and more easy to intimidate. But she didn't feel pleased at all. There were dark spots under Lady Proudmoores eyes and her dishevelled nightrobe could not hide a certain sense of frailty about her, almost like malnourishment as if she hadn't eaten enough for a long time. But how could that be, if she was the ruler of a city? Was Theramore running out of food?

Anya stood as still as she could, which was like a statue, with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Are you going to make some sort of threat too?" asked Lady Proudmoore. Not unkindly, more like a tone of wry amusement in her voice. Her eyes were still locked on Anya and taking in every detail about her.

Anya initially showed no sign of having heard the question. Then she walked over to the desk and picked up a paper she knew Sylvanas had long since read.

"Would you please throw this into the air, Lady Proudmoore?" Anya asked politely and put the paper in her left hand that was closest to the port side wall.

The mage frowned but did as Anya had asked, throwing the paper with a little spin.

In one rapid movement Anya drew one of her daggers and threw it, nailing Areiels summary of the Undercitys blacksmithing capacity to the wooden wall over the cabins fixed bed. It drew a satisfying startled gasp from Lady Proudmoore who looked between the impaled wall on her left and Anya standing nonchalantly on her right.

In that moment Sylvanas entered the room again. She took in the scene in a moment and quirked an eyebrow. She seemed decidedly amused.

"Have you been playing with your prey again, my dear lieutenant?" Sylvanas almost purred.

Anya could have sworn that those little round ears peaked up a little, and damn her if Lady Proudmoore wasn't blushing a bit. It was rather sweet.

Sylvanas leaned over the hammock and its occupant and made a show of examining the dent in the wall.

"If you are going to ruin my cabin walls you might as well do it for real, Anya." she scoffed, frowning and pretending to be displeased by the too shallow indenture. Anya could tell she was pretending but she wondered if Lady Proudmoore could. This was starting to get fun.

"One has to start slowly so the beginners have a chance to keep up, right?" Anya said as evenly as she could.

Sylvanas hummed affirmatively. Then, without any kind of warning, she grabbed two other pages from her desk and threw them randomly in the direction of the cupboards in the starboard side wall.

Anya drew the second dagger from her belt and was already kneeling as she let it fly, drawing the smaller knife hidden in her right boot and impaling the second sheet a tad lower than the first.

Lady Proudmoores eyes were big as teacups and her breath had hitched. Anya could see Sylvanas smirk and there was pride in that, she noticed and felt lighter than she had for days as she dodged under the hammock to retrieve her first dagger.

"Perhaps you should practice on a live target..." Sylvanas mused with a downright evil smile that showed just a little too much teeth, and glanced at Lady Proudmoore.

If Lady Proudmoores eyes had been large before they grew even larger now. Teapots instead of teacups, perhaps.

"Hey, hold up now! This is a joke, right?! I know this is a joke! You're not seriously going to…" she rambled in a terrified voice.

Anya fingered her daggers edge thoughtfully, looking between Sylvanas by the desk and Lady Proudmoore in the hammock from her spot next to the door.

Fixing Lady Proudmoore with her glare, Anya threw her dagger at Sylvanas as fast as she could, who snatched it out of the air just as rapidly.

Lady Proudmoore let out a loud gasp, or choked scream.

Sylvanas picked up the other two daggers form the cupboard wall, and then threw all three at Anya in rapid succession.

"Stop it! Stop! Please stop it, have you lost your minds?!" Lady Proudmoore shouted frantically as Anya caught them just as rapidly.

"Hm, you don't think I should be playing with the knives, Lady Proudmoore? Do you want me to return them?" Anya inquired threw all three back at Sylvanas as fast as she possibly could without waiting for an answer.

Lady Proudmoore screamed.

"NOW you have to make up your mind, Lady Proudmoore!" Sylvanas demanded, raising her voice to carry over Lady Proudmoores fading scream. Then, taking one in each hand, she threw both of Anyas daggers at her at once. Anya barely managed to catch one in each hand, staggering a little but still slashing the following boot knife aside to send it clattering against the cupboard wall. And Sylvanas was all but beaming at her, looking proudly from behind the view of Lady Proudmoore who panted heavily. And for just one wonderful moment Anya was a ranger recruit again who had just scored her first good hit at the archery range and was looking up at Sylvanas' bright and sunny smile over her shoulder.

"Lay off this at once, you knaves! Bloody crazy pirates!"

Sylvanas flashed a predatory grin at Lady Proudmoore, looking genuinely amused.

"Pirates, Lady Proudmoore?" she asked so smoothly that even Anya shivered. "And I think it was knives involved rather than knaves. Anyway, I came to tell you that my crew has caught some fish which should be properly grilled by now. Do you think you are rested enough to come out and eat?"

"Sadly not. And this was not exactly a peaceful display, Lady Windrunner." Lady Prudmoore huffed and managed an impressive tinge of indignation under the circumstances. "You sure know how to make a girl relax…"

Sylvanas flinched at the last ironic statement and looked at Anya with an apologetic look she struggled to conceal. Anya knew exactly why.

She raged inwardly at Lady Proudmoore for bringing up that miserable earlier episode and ruining this precious rare moment. Then she calmed herself. Lady Proudmoore had no way of knowing about that and it was unfair to blame her. Anya still would have wanted to kick Lady Proudmoores shin if she had been standing. But only a little.

The mage had spotted their exchanged glances, Anya noticed, and made a mental note that they would have to watch themselves in her presence. Not much escaped those attentive eyes. They were not unfriendly though, on the contrary.

"I trust I can get your fish without you giving Anya any trouble now?" Sylvanas asked wryly.

Lady Proudmoore rolled her eyes and then rolled over into her blanket as Sylvanas went to fetch her breakfast. Anya could see Sylvanas' eyes sparkle, like if the red fires deep inside danced merrily for just once. It hadn't been a completely ruined moment, then.

"I believe I still owe you a death threat, Lady Proudmoore…" Anya said, still feeling mischievous.

"Don't you think you've made you point already?" Lady Proudmoore asked dryly, gesturing from her hammock at the dent in the wall to Anyas amusement.

Anya looked down on her resting form. Right now Lady Proudmoore appeared like the last thing in the world that needed guarding against. But Anya had still seen her block a point blank Wail from the most powerful banshee on Azeroth. The archmage had not been fighting back that time, perhaps unwilling to believe that mortal enemies could have appeared in the middle of her city, or perhaps that if they were enemies they would already have attacked her soldiers.

Next time, they would not be so fortunate.

Next time ice and fire would rain on them. Forsaken would die and Sylvanas would grieve.

"I will do it if I have to, Lady Proudmoore." Anya whispered. "But I think that I will not enjoy it."

"All too kind." the mage mumbled dryly. "I hope you'll make it quick at least."

"I promise." Anya said solemnly and sadly.

A black tear ran down her cheek and dropped on Lady Proudmoore. She didn't appear to notice.

If Sylvanas ever ordered Lady Proudmoores death it should be Anya, because doing so would be wrong, and Anya would rather have it be herself doing something so wrong than Sylvanas. It would be very, very wrong to harm Lady Proudmoores slender neck. Anya would much rather fight to keep it whole, she decided. In fact Anya would fucking kill to keep it whole, because the beautiful Lady Proudmoore had made Sylvanas smile.

Another tear dropped, and this time the mage noticed it.

"Anya" she said in a kind but saddened voice "do you think we are bound to end up fighting each other?"

"I don't think you are our enemy, but I believe we may end up on opposite sides of a battlefield one day." Anya almost sighed. "And I don't think I would like that."

"I don't think I would like that either. I think I would rather have you as a friend."

Anya thought that she would like that very much.

She reached down to tentatively stroke Lady Proudmoores hair. It was soft and welcoming between her fingers, and didn't feel like the hair of an enemy.

***​

Sylvanas had never considered humans to be particularly complex creatures, but she was finding her mage more and more difficult to place, for lack of a better word. On the one hand Proudmoore had demonstrated magical prowess that doubtlessly would have rivalled the most senior magisters of Quel'Thalas, and despite being captured by an undead queen in the middle of the night the mage appeared to be in inexplicably good spirits, even after Anyas outrageous antics. On the other hand the woman was blushing, awkward and in many ways the perfect picture of shyness and naivety. Perhaps it played a part that she was technically in bed dressed in only her nightrobe with complete strangers going about in the same room. Most people tended to be more squeamish than the rangers about those kinds of things. Sleeping on bare ground with tents being a luxury and your comrades as the most reliable source of warmth tended to do away with overbearing feelings of propriety after a while.

The way Proudmoores eyes lit up at the sight of a slightly burnt mackerel was nothing short of endearing. Nobody had schooled her in the art of masking her emotions it would seem, but all the better if it made her easier to read and to manipulate.

The mage had swung her legs over the side of the hammock and was eating her fish eagerly bent over a tin plate, her modesty yielding before her distaste of getting pieces of fish amongst her bedclothes. Sylvanas frowned at the worn appearance of her mage. She was way too thin, and modest or not no woman should shrink away from another's gaze like that, even if Sylvanas' in all honesty was something out of the ordinary.

She shouldn't care. But then, a hostage needed to be kept alive in order to be useful after all.

"Are you not getting enough food in Theramore, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas asked with a raised eyebrow.

The question caught her mage in the middle of a particularly large bite. She struggled visibly to chew and swallow quickly to be able to answer.

"Mno, nosching like at." Proudmoore denied and looked rather self-conscious. "It's just me I'm afraid, I tend to overwork and, hm, not always eat so much."

Sylvanas could relate to that. When she had stepped up as Ranger-General and tried to fill the all too big boots left by her mother she had mistreated herself for years with too late nights and too little nourishment. It was not a pleasant position to be in. Sylvanas forced down a wave of sympathy. At least she had had a long time to get used to the thought of eventually succeeding Lireesa Windrunner. Theramore had not even existed two years ago.

Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into Proudmoores demeanour and seeing herself where she had no reason to. And damn all such thoughts. The Ranger-General of Silvermoon was a figure of the past and she would never be that woman again, or anything close by.

"That never works in the long run." Sylvanas said firmly.

"You're sounding like Pained."

"Who is?"

"My bodyguard. She likes to point out when I'm not eating or resting as much as she would like."

"I can understand how she came by her name then." Sylvanas smirked, and noted that Pained and a certain ranger captain would probably be able to find common ground.

Her mage looked down and cleared her throat slightly before she continued to assault her fish. She had quite adorable eyelashes, Sylvanas noted.

After finishing her meal, Proudmoore leaned back into her hammock and turned her gaze on Sylvanas again.

"You know, speaking of names, may I ask if Windrunner is a common name among elves?" she suddenly asked.

"Not anymore.". Sylvanas' tone was curt.

"Oh. I'm really sorry." Proudmoore apologised as the grim implications dawned on her. Of course it was no longer a common name, just as no other elf name was common anymore after the fall of Quel'Thalas. "The thing is, I have a friend whose wife – well, she is quite nice so I hope I can count her as my friend too – is named Vereesa Windrunner. Is she a relative of yours? She is quite tall, with light blue eyes and silvery hair."

Sylvanas froze.

Little Moon.

Little Moon.

Little Moon.

She lived.

Sylvanas did not want that thought in her head. She wanted to tear out everything that tied her to the world of the living that she was forever shut out from. And deep down she wanted to keep Vereesa from ever having to find out what became of her. She would be far better off without that ugly knowledge to mar whatever brighter memories she had of Sylvanas. Forcing her voice to remain steady, Sylvanas answered her mages question, after a far too long time.

"Vereesa Windrunner was my sister."

Sylvanas could not tell if she had answered in an even tone or outright barked at Proudmoore. Speaking the words felt like a curse, a judgement where Sylvanas relinquished every remaining right to call a living soul family again. Her words rang inside her head, inside her soul, or whatever was left of it.

Sylvanas did not look up but she could just feel Proudmoores eyes on her, staring and piercing. She wanted to shrink and hide before them. She did absolutely not wish to share what they might see inside of her, and it surely felt like Proudmoore could see right into Sylvanas' torn soul, through the evidently too fresh wound that was Vereesa.

Or, wait. Was she looking at her scar? Of course she was, what else would it be? Sylvanas really ought to have some less revealing set of armour fashioned, but she also enjoyed the familiar and comforting mobility of a rangers outfit and there were so many things of endlessly higher priority to be ordered from their armouries.

Perhaps she had made a tactical error in letting Proudmoore remain close to her for extended periods of time. She could practically see the mages mind working its way through everything Sylvanas had told her since she woke up.

No. This was just a temporary setback, caused by her surprise of the mages mention of her sister, nothing more. She would order her rangers to observe strict discretion in their interactions with the Lady Proudmoore and lead by example in that regard from now on. And it was high time that she started to study her dossier in earnest to form a strategy. She would wait for the right moment to truly break that irritating mage. The journey was still long and there would be many opportunities left for that.

Sylvanas browsed through her stacked reports to find the folder of information about the rooms other occupant that Areiel had prepared. Then she leaned back slightly in the uncomfortable seat and begun to read it again while trying to block out every annoying hunch that her mage knew exactly what it was she was reading.

***​

Later in the afternoon Jaina finally felt rested enough to get up. Truth be told she also wanted to get out of the cabin that had started to feel very cramped after her blunt inquiry about Vereesa and Sylvanas' grim manner of answering. Jaina needed space to process that before she committed any more hurtful blunders, no matter how tempting it was to keep asking questions just to get to hear Sylvanas' voice.

Vereesas sister!

What would Vereesa say, if Jaina could get a chance to talk to her about all this? And what if she could bring Sylvanas with her to meet Rhonin and Vereesa?

That would have to be a thought for another time. Jaina needed to focus on the present and first and foremost get her bearings, in more than one way actually.

Jaina cleared her throat.

"Lady Windrunner?"

Sylvanas looked up.

"With your permission I would very much like to catch some fresh air on the deck."

"Very well. You should certainly enjoy that luxury a much as you can for as long as it lasts, Lady Proudmoore."

Morbid woman, Jaina thought.

"The deck is straight ahead and up the stairs. I will be right behind you." Sylvanas' tone was neutral but Jaina did of course catch the underlying meaning of Sylvanas watching her every move.

The cabin door led to a small corridor with the stairs up straight ahead. Jaina did not see anyone else but she half expected the darker corners left and right to be filled with dark-clad pale elves itching to unburden themselves of various sharp and pointy objects.

It was more than Jaina managed not to shiver at the thought of Sylvanas' presence right behind her neck. She did as instructed however and stepped out into a bleak and gloomy grey afternoon. The wind was still strong and large frothing waves crashed into the bow while a heavy rain kept blowing into her face. Jaina pulled her ludicrously flimsy robe even tighter around her and thought longingly of every kind of greatcoat and cloak she had ever worn. The wind and rain made her squint and lower her head but she could spot someone approaching them.

"Lady Proudmoore, meet captain Davey Bonecarver!" Sylvanas called out over the howling wind.

Jaina looked up into a dead mans face.

Skin stretched over the upper half of a face with gleaming yellow eyes, leaving the jaws bare and perpetually grinning like a skull. Skin of a sickly grey colour that Jaina had seen far too close far too many times on the wretched victims of the plague of undeath that had ravaged Lordaeron.

Jaina recoiled. Her legs moved on their own accord and her mind unconsciously reached for the mana that coursed through her body. Sylvanas hand clamped down with an angry hiss from her and held Jainas arm in an iron grip, and Jaina dimly realised she had been about to raise it to cast…what she didn't know, but nothing pleasant. Panic and the overwhelming need to get away overtook her and she stumbled backwards, somehow avoiding falling headfirst back down the stairs.

Jaina collapsed in a pile at the foot of the stair and wrapped her arms around her knees while trying to get her breathing to slow down and think of something, anything, that wasn't this cursed ship and its cursed crew.

Heavy steps, meant to be heard, brought her attention back and Jaina looked up to see Sylvanas' burning glare. She couldn't look away from those eyes. Jaina could practically feel the disapproval radiating off the elf. Disapproval and disappointment. Some part of her wanted to turn her eyes away but another, the greater part, wanted to keep looking at Sylvanas because even though it did not exactly bring Jaina comfort in the normal meaning of the word she was coming back to her senses. Her fears of other things melted away until there was only Sylvanas before her.

"Do you find us repulsive, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina cringed at the acid bitterness in her voice. She opened her mouth to deny it, to assure that she didn't find Sylvanas repulsive, or her dark rangers. And that was all true for Jaina found them unsettling of course, at times downright frightening, but not repulsive. But then she thought better of it. That wasn't the issue here.

"I just… I…" Jaina tried and sighed in defeat. "Yes."

She cringed inwardly at hearing herself, and braced for a tongue-lashing without peer – perhaps even rivalling Katherine Proudmoores, for who knew what a banshee was capable of – or worse. She was well aware that she was in no shape of fighting the banshee queen. But Sylvanas stood still with her arms crossed, as if waiting for something more from Jaina. Or demanding it, more like, because she was the banshee queen after all.

Jaina inhaled a ragged breath.

"It is so terrible, the state they are in. So wounded, so…decrepit. Is everyone else like the captain?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"More or less. Everyone but my rangers."

"It…It was like I could see all the deaths of all those poor people by the plague in front of me. Andorhal. Stratholme. I can almost hear Arthas in my head again, ordering them to be…culled."

A flash of terrible rage passed over Sylvanas at the mention of Arthas, so quickly that Jaina nearly wondered if she had not imagined it. A colossal wave of shame was beginning to well up inside her when she considered her own words. How selfish she sounded. Tides! She had founded Theramore instead of returning home because she wanted it to be a safe haven open to everyone. She had turned on her own father in order to protect the orcs who wanted to get away from decades of cyclic bloodshed, orcs that Daelin Proudmoore would slay just for being orcs. How was Jaina any better if she turned away the undead, the Forsaken, merely for being undead? Some ruler of Theramore she was.

The Forsaken was a frighteningly fitting name. They were truly forsaken by each and everyone in the world. And not even for their personal deeds committed under the Lich Kings control either, but simply for the way they now were. It was like turning your back on a revoltingly ill or old person just for the way they looked. Sure, there were sicknesses where you had to keep your distance but that did not mean you still couldn't offer help. And undeath as such was not contagious, not in itself.

"Lady Windrunner, I am sorry for the way I acted. With your permission I will go and apologize to your captain."

"Do not make promises you can not keep, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas sneered.

Sylvanas' tone was hard as stone but she did not stop Jaina from rising and taking a step towards the stair.

"Dark Lady. Lady Proudmoore. If you have a moment?"

Areiel was standing behind Jaina with a pile of clothes in one hand and a pair of sailors boots in the other. Jaina gratefully accepted them and after a confirming nod from Sylvanas began to put them on with her back turned to the two elves and hung her night clothes on the hammock to dry. It felt woefully indiscreet to do so right in front of the two all too perfect elves, and Jaina couldn't shake off the feeling of a thrown dagger making its way towards somewhere between her shoulder blades, but right now she felt the discomfort only served her right.

The boots were too large by far and the trousers and shirt were almost in tatters, complete with a tar-stained sailors jacket with the most frayed cuffs imaginable. It must all have been leftovers or spares dug up from some obscure shelf or sea chest but at the moment Jaina couldn't be more thankful to the ranger captain. She tied the piece of old rope that served as belt and tried not to stomp too much in her unwieldy boots when she ascended the stairs.

The rain was dying down when Jaina came back on deck and the ships captain was standing where she had left him. He turned around and Jaina swallowed and fought down her rising fear. She was better than this. She had to be.

"New garb, eh? Wouldn' wan't to brave this sorry weather in yer night shift, aye." he begun in a raspy voice before Jaina had managed a single word. It grated like, well, bones upon bones Jaina reckoned.

Wait. Tides, he was offering her a way out of having to apologise? If Jainas conscience had been bad before it now plummeted. She felt beyond criminal for the way she had conducted herself. But she would own up to it at the very least.

"I apologize for the way I acted previously, captain. It was unfair and unbecoming of me and I can only say that I'm sorry for it." she forced out and tried to only look at his eyes that shone a dim yellow just like the elves' red. "Captain Bonecarver, was it? I am Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore. It's…it's an honour to meet you."

She held out her hand. For a brief, awkward moment the undead captain just stood still but then he grasped it and Jaina failed to suppress a shudder. His hand wasn't all bone but it was cold as ice and clammy. But she steeled herself and shook it all the firmer.

"Welcome aboard, Lady Proudmoore." he said hoarsely, loud enough to carry to the closest undead sailors.

"Thank you, captain." Jaina managed a small smile. "Would it be alright for me to introduce myself to the rest of your crew?"

Captain Bonecarver regarded her for a moment, and appeared reluctant even if it was hard to guess with the state he was in.

"Better lay low on that fer a while. Some of the lads're none too used to meetin' with the living either. Might wanna give it some time ' let 'em come forth who so wishes it."

"I understand." Jaina said. Tides, she could hardly blame anyone after the first impression she had made.

"Although, there may be one o' 'em ye'll wanna meet." the captain chuckled dryly.

He led Jaina to the main mast and whistled, which Jaina found surprising that he was able to but also comfortingly human.

"Hey! Haley! Get your bony hide down 'ere!"

"Why should I?" a lighter voice answered impishly from somewhere above.

"Because I'm yer captain an' I'm gonna keel-haul you before I use you as shark-bait otherwise, that's why!"

"You'll have to catch me first!"

"I'll tell the dark lasses they can use you as target practice! Free drinks for the winner!"

"Vel' won't let them. And none of them drink."

The source of the snarky comments form above was now made apparent as what must be a young Forsaken, a girl of perhaps thirteen if Jaina had to guess, swung down onto the deck from a rope. She was slightly more intact than Captain Bonecarver but also had a kind of perpetual grin. Her cheerful mood, and perhaps her size and flamboyant dress, managed to somehow take the edge off it though. She was dressed fairly similarly to Jaina with boots, pants and a shirt, but all in proper size and good fit, and a much better cut and sleeker jacket. Her hair was tied back with a broad red ribbon that together with a few earrings made for a very roguish appearance.

"Lady Proudmoore, meet Haley Quinnivere Bonecarver." the captain said with irritation but also an unmistakeable fondness in his voice.

"Huh, so you're the living one." she greeted Jaina, with a most refreshing lack of excitement.

"A notorious delinquent, I understand." Jaina said and smiled without having to force herself.

"Delinquent? Worse. Daughter. And I'm never getting rid of her now."

The comment was cheerful but of course there was a monstrous truth to it. She would never grow up and he would never age. Jaina tried not to think of that right now.

"You could always give her a ship to captain. Then you would be Commodore Bonecarver, right?" Jaina suggested.

"That's what I'm talking about!" the younger Bonecarver cheered. "Velonara will be my first mate. But you've gotta drop this 'Bonecarver' crap, lady. It's Davey and Haley Bones to those who know us, and you better get on knowing us 'cause I'm not gonna put up with anything else."

"Watch yer tongue." her father muttered. Jaina almost wanted to laugh. At least some behaviours were apparently so human that not even death could erase them.

"Have you given her a tour 'round the ship yet?"

***​

"Aye, she's a fine vessel indeed." Captain Bonecarver, or Bones as Jaina dutifully corrected herself, concluded proudly. "Old King Terenas 'ad the right idea but lacked the coin to see it through. He combed his shores for an'one with a bit of sailing experience an' commissioned her from Boralus itself. But then 'is coffers dried up an' the year after we all ate that grain from Andorhal an', well… So she was just a hulk laying there waitin' for 'er masts 'til the Dark Lady came an' wanted to set sail. Bloody marvellous sight, her an' those rangers of hers raisin' the masts by themselves. No cranes or anything."

"What's she called?" Jaina asked.

"Well, with all the dark 'n secret stuffs 'n all, we never got around…"

Jaina considered herself a fairly rational person but sometimes sense of tradition and superstitions could overtake even her.

"You didn't name your ship?!"

The captain shrugged and looked almost ashamed before Jainas indignation. Granted, it wasn't her ship but still. This was a matter of principle, for Tides' sake!

"And another thing, captain Bones, what in all sandwich-thieving seagulls is that supposed to be?"

"What, the forecastle?"

"It's a travesty. Here you have a perfectly good frigate – lovely lines, truly – and who in their right mind will put an imbalancing, wind-catching lump like that on the fore deck?! What was Terenas thinking?"

"Well, those things tend to come on handy when the boarding actions get going."

"But she's a frigate, she's not supposed to ever get close enough to a larger vessel for that. That's what the c…"

Jaina looked around in slight disbelief.

"Where are the main deck cannons, captain?"

"What cannons?"

"Don't tell me… Don't tell me there is a whole gun deck below us without any guns."

Captain Bones chuckled heartily, or a heartily as an undead man could.

"Dear lady, why would the king waste good iron on cannons for a ship he couldn't afford to finish?"

"Common decency." Jaina muttered. "A frigate without cannons, that's… 'Nothing like a stiff broadside to get your point across.'" she quoted both her parents.

"Well, we'll have to take that up with the Dark Lady. Who knows, if the armourers can spare enough iron, one day maybe."

"Bronze, captain Bones. Iron cannons are for amateurs, they never hold up." Jaina said dismissively.

Captain Davey Bones regarded her with such amusement that it finally gave Jaina pause.

"I got a little carried away, didn't I?" she mumbled.

"You've got spirit, my lady, an' that's a precious gift." he grinned. "An' you're not wrong, I reckon."

"You…really think I should talk to the Dark Lady, I mean to Lady Windrunner?"

"Talk to me about what, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina let out a startled gasp and literally jumped on the spot and spun around. How could someone so imposing and dressed in full battle gear – light or not – move without a sound?

"I hear my paltry navy is due for considerable reforms in the near future, Lady Admiral Proudmoore?" Sylvanas drawled.

"I just think the ship would benefit from some adjustments. And perhaps a few cannons…" Jaina managed weakly. Tides, it was hard to even think when Sylvanas was standing so very close to her.

"Well, you shall have to take it up with my blacksmiths once we are home then."

"How long will that take, if I may ask?"

"That you may, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas husked and a shiver coursed through Jaina. "Captain?"

"About two weeks. I think it'll be a good time to set course east in a couple o' days or so."

Sylvanas nodded but Jaina frowned. A couple of days or so?

"Not that I want to sound alarming now, but we are sure about our current position, right?" Jaina asked and tried to keep her voice as level as possible.

"The east coast of Kalimdor." Sylvanas answered while keeping her expression completely even.

Jaina rolled her eyes.

"I hope you are aware of the existence of this rather unpleasant maelstrom in the middle of the ocean. Whatever differences we have, or imagine having, I am sure none of us wish to end up close to that. So in the mutual interest of continued survival, are we quite sure about when and where to set course east?"

Captain Bones grimaced and actually looked quite troubled.

"Tell the truth, we never 'ad a lot to go by from the start. Lordaeron's never been much interested in seafarin' 'n exploring, that's something we're happy to leave to Kul Tirans, an' I reckon the same goes for me. I plied me trade 'tween Lordaeron 'n Kul Tiras, 'n I know the reefs 'n banks back home like the back of my hand – though I suppose both're a bit worse for wear now – but I wasn' intendin' to cross oceans anytime soon."

"Neither was I, actually. All I ever wanted was to study." Jaina said and swallowed the melancholy that admission had conjured. "But Theramore can not survive without its trade and fishing so we mapped the coast closest to us and I have it in pretty good memory. May I have a look at your sea charts, captain?"

With three people later bent over it the desk in the captains cabin seemed even smaller than before. Jaina was soon biting her lip and furrowing her brow worse than ever this day. As experienced as the captain was on deck, the navigational logs left a lot to be desired. Did they really intend to chance it on basically following previous course changes backwards to Lordaeron? What about currents and drift and… Jaina bit back any exasperated sighs that threatened to come out. This wasn't their fault. Captain Bones did what he could with the knowledge he had, but he hadn't grown up being the Lord Admirals daughter. And he was quite right in that only Kul Tirans had the yearning for maritime exploration to invest vast resources in the kind of oceanic navigation that remained a quite abstract concept for most traders and fleets focused on traversing the coasts of the eastern kingdoms. If you saw no land you simply turned east again until you had the shoreline back in view and that was that.

It was in a way very telling. This had to be the normal state of things for the Forsaken. They had to make do with what they had and what they had was almost certainly never enough.

"With all respect, captain, I am not quite sure following the opposite course back to Lordaeron will be enough to ensure we don't end up wrong." Jaina begun hesitantly when they were back on the quarterdeck. Was she really going to do this? "Even though I will not deny that the most becoming method of navigation for the Forsaken fleet is without a doubt 'dead reckoning', so to say..." Jaina couldn't help herself.

Captain Bones guffawed while Sylvanas made a sound that sounded very much like a suppressed groan and "Not another one...".

Jaina straightened her back and stepped forward. She raised her hand in an impeccable Alliance sailors salute.

"Navigator Jaina Proudmoore reporting for duty, captain!"

---

Davey Bones: Ye better start believing in ghost stories, miss Proudmoore, 'cause you're in one of 'em! Arrrr!
Jaina: Set course for Booty Bay and let's pillage ourselves some cannons, me mateys!
Haley Quinn' Bones: Dibs for the Fun Gun, you jokers!
Sylvanas: Five minutes. I leave them unsupervised for five bloody minutes and...

Comments are very much appreciated as always.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 9. Portals and Promises
Sylvanas has trust issues, dark rangers conduct themselves unbecomingly and Jaina makes a big decision.

Authors's Note

Spoiler

Teleportation magics are depicted a bit different in Warcraft III and World of Warcraft but as Jaina herself has proven time and again any constraining rules of those are meant to be bent when the situation calls for it. So in this story I am going for something inbetween, I think you could say, and teleporting and portal magics are not a fully explored branch of magic but more like a set of known general principles that are very dangerous to deviate too much from.

Another thing I will go with is that spellcasting takes mana but also taxes the body and mind as the concentration needed to keep your focus and willpower bent on shaping arcane magic will exhaust the caster. As in real life, too much work and too little rest will drain you sooner or later no matter how good you are at said work.

Incidentally, on the topic of magic, Jainas very first appearance in Warcarft III is when she is eavesdropping on Antonidas when he is receiving a certain mysterious prophet. Her masters resignation before the fact when he informs her that she can reveal herself now is most telling. Jaina is without a doubt as proficient in sneaky ways to utilize invisibility spells as she is endlessly curious.

---

Spending the better part of the day in bed did not prevent Jaina from feeling, aptly enough, bone tired by the evening, and it was telling that not even the prospect of going over captain Bones' notes about the earlier journey managed to prevent her eyelids from slowly dropping. Jaina knew well enough that she would have to study the log meticulously later on but for now she was itching to just skim through it and see what life was like onboard a Forsaken ship. She stretched out to put it back on the desk but found her reach to be just a book-length too short. Not at all wanting to get out of her warm and cosy nest under the blankets Jaina tried to will her arm to temporarily grow just a little more but the uncooperative appendage showed no sign of obliging her.

Without looking up from her own reading by the desk, Sylvanas reached out and put the book on the desk.

"You're welcome, Lady Proudmoore."

"Thank you." Jaina said and felt a little sheepish. She burrowed herself a little deeper into her hammock and enjoyed the pleasant scent of salt and ships timber and a trace of metal and leather she was starting to recognize from Sylvanas' armour. The elf had removed her shoulder pauldrons but were otherwise unchanged from earlier. She was reclining in the one chair of the cabin with a stack of documents in her hand, illuminated by the warm glow from a single lamp. Her legs were stretched out and the silver and dark red armour lacquering went exceedingly well with them, Jaina had to admit. She wondered if Sylvanas carried knives hidden in those boots like Anya.

Anya was such a piece of work that Jaina could not even begin to place her. Who in their right mind greeted visitors with a knife throwing contest across their bed? But Jaina hadn't been able to help herself from being a little moved by the obvious enjoyment shared between Anya and Sylvanas, and she would bet her last mana potion that there was a great deal she was unaware of between those two. For a moment Anya had looked just like Jaina felt after her first frost bolt had cleaved Master Antonidas' desk, and his hearty laughter and applause had shaken Jaina out of her momentary fear of being promptly expelled form Dalaran. Anya looked up to Sylvanas in that very same way, was Jainas distinct impression, and Sylvanas was obviously proud of her. Sylvanas' apprentice, or Sylvanas' protégé, but more than that. Her trusted comrade, and confidant maybe.

At least enough to be entrusted with dangerous archmages, Jaina noted, and almost wished that Anya would be with them right now. There was something so heart wrenching over how the delicate elf had solemnly declared that she would end Jaina if she had to and wept at the thought – that had been a tear, Jaina was sure of it – at the next moment that Jaina found herself most of all wanting to comfort Anya, deadly enemy assassin or not. And it would probably feel quite nice if Anya were to card her hair like that right now. Not having asked Pained to do so sometimes was starting to seem like an outright dumb decision, Jainas pride be damned.

Or she could be reading far too much into it and Anya could have reacted to a surfacing memory of something entirely different for all Jaina could tell. Tides knew the Forsaken probably had more than enough traumatic experiences to last anyone a lifetime, and beyond in their case. And Anyas fingers running through her hair might as well have been her method of calming her hostage from having a nervous breakdown and not any particular sign of affection.

Perhaps she could ask Sylvanas? Jaina laughed inwardly at the thought. "Lady Windrunner, I believe your lieutenant is in acute need of a hug, please summon her now. I would also like to request that she comb my hair until I fall asleep." Jaina might as well ask Sylvanas to rock her hammock while she was at it.

Jaina returned her focus to Sylvanas, which came easy enough. Her thoughts were just going around and she needed to think of something else.

"What are you reading, Lady Windrunner?" Jaina asked drowsily.

"Reports."

"What about?"

"Are you in the habit of sharing your military correspondence with heads of hostile nations, Lady Proudmoore?"

"I hardly have any, as of now. If they asked really nice, maybe…" Jaina mused, too tired to care if she sounded ridiculous. "But it is rather note…I mean moot…isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Well, I am here as your prisoner and can hardly do anything with the knowledge" Jaina yawned "and since it must have taken you a few weeks to sail here the information will soon be quite outdated anyway."

Sylvanas had shifted her full attention to Jaina, who felt pleasantly warm under her gaze. The elf tilted her head slightly as if Jainas sleepy reasoning amused her.

"But there must be a limit to how much paperwork your Forsaken can produce, and I would guess that you have already had time to go through it all on the way here." Jaina continued.

"And what would you deduce from that reasoning then, Lady Proudmoore?"

Tides, Jaina was getting tired.

"That…that the report would be about, or connected to, a recent development that you want to check on. Obviously something related to Theramore…but you would surely have studied it extensively already since you intended to establish diplomatic relations with us… So, if it's about something that has happened recently and not about Theramore itself…" Jainas shutting eyes widened a little. "Are you reading about me?"

Jaina was too tired to tell, but it was almost like Sylvanas had stiffened a little.

"If you…hypothetically of course…were reading reports about me, what would they say?" Jaina mumbled.

"They would say that the hour is growing late and if you intend to serve as my navigator I would prefer to have you rested enough not to plot a course straight into the maelstrom. Good night, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas said dryly and blew out the flame in their lamp.

"Good night, Lady Windrunner…" Jaina was already dozing off.

Sylvanas' red eyes glowed in the dark above her and Jaina dreamt that the banshee queen was in fact rocking her hammock.

***​

Sylvanas did not consider herself a scholar in any sense of the word. She could, like any commander worth her salt, be said to be a student of military strategy in a more practical sense but elven academics rarely managed to hold her interest. There was a distancing sort of indifference, bordering on condescension, that permeated Quel'Thalas' scholarly works.

Proudmoore was an entirely different breed, she had noticed. Over the last couple of days she had practically glued herself to Captain Bonecarver and interrogated him about the ships specifications, construction, rigging, supplies, crew organisation and most of all every conceivable detail he could recall about their previous crossing of the ocean. She had just about fallen asleep with the captains log in her arms and her own notes scattered across her lap. When she reported her conclusions and calculations she did it eagerly and hell-bent on making her listeners understand her reasoning for themselves. As far as Sylvanas could tell it all made a good deal of sense, but she was prepared to trust her captains assessment in any case, and if nothing else it would in the end be Proudmoore herself who would starve to death if she got them lost at sea.

While Proudmoores thoroughness in navigation was respectable, admirable even, her enthusiasm when speaking of magical matters was nothing short of captivating. The mages eyes lit up like little lanterns and the words tumbled out of her mouth when she delved into her favourite subjects. But the biggest difference between her and the scholars that had formed most of Sylvanas' opinion of academics was how Proudmoore genuinely cared for her listeners. She didn't want to impress, she wanted to be understood.

"Strictly speaking there are no clear cut boundaries of where and how you can teleport." her mage explained, looking out from the reeling towards the barely visible coastline. "It's more of a slippery slope toward greater and greater risks of disaster. To put it short you want something to latch on to, something that is visible or can be sensed in some other way, such as with the portal anchors. You can teleport blindly but it is extremely risky unless it is to a location you know intimately. Master Antonidas always likened it to walking around in a completely dark, great mansion filled with steep stairs and trapdoors. You can maybe find your way to your own bedroom in the dark but otherwise it's better to bring a light with you."

"Does distance play a part?"

"Yes, certainly. Technically it's not harder to pinpoint an intended destination far away, it's just that most times your well-known locations tend to be those nearer to you. But the amount of mana and mental effort required increases with distance, unless you can draw upon a leyline or some similar source of energy. It's rather like the difference between rowing your boat on a still lake compared to rowing with the current of a river."

Sylvanas did not let anything reveal that she was well aware of the things Proudmoore explained. Teleportation magics' uses and limitations were crucial knowledge for a general of such a magically gifted people as the high elves. But she had to admit that none of the stiff elven magisters had explained things nearly as eagerly and with such colourful metaphors as her mage.

"You would make a fine teacher it would seem, Lady Proudmoore."

The mage actually blushed at that simple comment. Sylvanas had to admit that it was quickly becoming a pleasant distraction to see how flustered she could make that delightfully impressionable woman. Who would have thought that human ears turned red along with their cheeks and throat?

"We will be coming upon a place with a stream and some of us will disembark to provision." Sylvanas continued in a serious tone. "The drinking water we have gathered will not last you to Lordaeron and we can not rely solely on fishing during the crossing to keep you fed. I am extending my invitation to you to go ashore with us. However, your magical abilities present a complication."

"You are afraid I will teleport away at the first available opportunity."

"Indeed."

"And you would like to have safeguards against that."

"Naturally."

The mage sighed a little and suddenly looked unhappy.

"There are no foolproof ways of ensuring that that I know of, short of throwing me into some kind of dungeon heavily warded against arcane magic I suppose. You have some options. You can keep me blindfolded, which would make it harder for me to teleport to a spot within sight. You or a ranger could keep holding my arms to make it harder for me to cast and theoretically it would also make me teleport you along with me if I succeeded, so you could kill me upon arriving. You could force me to lie on the ground or something, as most mages are unaccustomed to casting complicated spells from strange positions, and it's likely going to be harder for me to maintain my sense of direction when lying down. That's what I can come up with right now."

Sylvanas had watched her intently and as far as she could tell Proudmoore appeared sincere. If anything, she seemed genuinely disappointed with the fact that she could not come up with more ideas to keep herself secured, as if it was all some test given by her Master Antonidas.

But Proudmoore seemed to have something more on her mind. She looked down and swallowed, her hesitation obvious.

"Is there something else, Lady Proudmoore?"

"I could give you my word that I will return to the ship with you, Lady Windrunner. Would you trust that?"

"No." Sylvanas tone was curt, unnecessarily so she admitted. But asking her to blindly put her trust in the head of an enemy nation was ludicrous. It was insulting. And Proudmoore should understand that and not look so damned beaten down for it. It was insufferable.

"Very…very well. I give you my word anyway, in the hope that it will be good enough one day, Dark Lady."

Sylvanas flinched, momentarily rendered speechless. A small smile played at the corner of her mages mouth.

"Nobody has ever broken a promise made to the Dark Lady, have they? So long as you don't hurt me I promise to return to the ship with you."

"I have already said that you will not be harmed as long as you do not attempt to escape or attack anyone." Sylvanas said very stiffly. "I do not break my word."

Proudmoore had the audacity to look at her meaningfully.

Irritated, Sylvanas turned on the spot and stormed off, assured that the half dozen rangers in close proximity would be enough of a deterrent if her mage got any reckless ideas.

Her rangers were starting to take after Sylvanas in keeping Proudmoore on her toes by suddenly appearing in close proximity to her and subtly revealing themselves. Sylvanas wouldn't be surprised if they had made it into some sort of contest of who could elicit the most shocked reaction out of her.

She found her lieutenant hiding – probably out of habit as much as anything else – behind the main mast.

"You heard it all, I presume." Sylvanas said and motioned for Anya to come with her towards the relative privacy by the bow.

Anya nodded.

"Do you think I should trust her, Anya?"

"Would you like to trust her, Dark Lady?"

Sylvanas reflexively tensed up. It didn't matter what she would like, you didn't get to choose if you were betrayed or shunned by the world. And after all the…

Anya lightly brushed her thumb across Sylvanas' lips and silenced her inner rant with a single steady look. Tension bled out from her through Anyas hand when it cupped her cheek.

"I can practically hear your inner voices telling you what you are allowed or not allowed to do. But that is not what I asked." Anya gently stroked her fingertips along Sylvanas' jawline. "Would. You. Like. To trust her, Sylvanas? Would it be worth something if you were able to truly depend on at least one living person?"

Sylvanas sighed and looked away. It was not that she… No. That was not what Anya had asked.

With Anya by her side she needed to look neither left nor right. She was safer in battle with Anya at her back than in her own quarters alone. There were rangers who had many centuries of experience on her lieutenant, rangers who were better shots, quicker fencers and one or two who could match her in stealth. But it was Anya who meant the world to Sylvanas.

What would it be like if she could one day trust Proudmoore like that? Her ranger at one side and her mage at the other. What a strange thought. And nothing but a stupid fantasy. A…not unpleasant fantasy.

"If I could trust Proudmoore or anyone else the way I trust you, Anya, I would count myself very fortunate."

"Then my answer to your question is yes. And I will keep watch over Lady Proudmoore for you."

***​

Sylvanas and her rangers had taken Jainas advice to heart and as they lowered a rope ladder to the waiting longboat below she found herself blindfolded by Anya. Climbing a ladder down a ships side was nothing new to Jaina but doing it without seeing and with another person beside her proved to be quite impractical. Sylvanas' ghostly lieutenant was however very attentive and made sure Jaina had a firm grip with the arm she held her by before taking another step down herself. Jaina was led to the aft of the longboat where Anya handed her arm over to another ranger.

"Clea, you have the watch while we row."

Apart from when they were sneaking up on Jaina the dark rangers had kept largely to themselves, always near but never close to her. She didn't know which one that was Clea, who held her much firmer than Anya so that Jaina almost winced in discomfort. The ship had anchored far from the shore, not daring to take any chances with the rocky Kalimdorian coast. It would be a long rowing.

"Ranger Clea, do you think you could lighten your grip a little? I'm sorry, but it hurts my arm." Jaina said as politely as she could.

Clea said something but she spoke so low that Jaina did not catch it. She did however release her grip a bit to Jainas relief.

The trip ashore was progressing less than pleasantly though, for along with Jaina being blindfolded and unable to enjoy the scenery Clea tightened her grip time and again, until Jaina started to remind her with a gentle tap on the knuckles from her other free hand. She couldn't figure out why until it dawned on her that Clea tended to do that as the longboat rolled in especially strong waves. To Jaina it was second nature to shift her weight and parry the movement, it even made her relax. Boats and ships were Jainas cradles, rocked by the sea and lulling her to sleep. But maybe the ranger did not share her comfort.

"Clea…are you seasick?"

Clea whispered something Jaina couldn't hear.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Tiny human ears, you know." Jaina excused herself.

She could feel Clea leaning closer to her.

"I am sorry, Lady Proudmoore. My death and undeath stole my voice from me." Clea whispered so close to Jainas left ear that she could feel her breath. "We do not get sick like the living do. But I will admit that I am not comfortable at sea. It was not my intention to grab you overly hard."

Clea spoke Common in the same formal way Sylvanas did, as if she had learnt it a long time ago. Her whispering voice was slightly hoarse, but Jaina found it gentle. Even the ghostly echo was very toned down. Perhaps it was exactly that, an echo, and tied to the owners actual voice in some way.

"You should be rowing." Jaina said with conviction. "The best cure for seasickness is having something to occupy yourself with."

"Perhaps Anya thought that keeping watch over an archmage of formidable skill should keep my thoughts occupied enough." Clea mused, and Jaina could swear there was a smile behind those words.

"Well, better keep that archmage close at hand then. You never know with those." Jaina suggested.

Very slowly, careful not to alarm the dark ranger, Jaina put her right wrist against Cleas hand. She understood Jainas meaning and allowed her right wrist to replace the left in her grip. Jaina resolutely put her freed arm around Cleas back, and almost wanted to whistle or something equally immature upon feeling the toned muscles of the elf.

To Jainas dismay Clea stiffened at the touch.

"Lady Proudmoore, remove your left hand from my back now." she whispered sternly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"No. Not that."

Realisation dawned on Jaina.

"You're afraid I would cast something behind your back?

"In your own words, you never know with those formidable archmages, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina almost felt like laughing. The whole situation was absurd on so many levels. She gently wrapped her arm around Cleas instead, and tried not to be too distracted by the flexing biceps against her hand when she pulled the elf a little closer.

"There. Better?"

Clea didn't answer. But Jaina could feel her leaning a bit more into Jainas side, and she didn't hold Jainas wrist so hard when the next wave hit them.

She could smell it in the air when they were nearing the shore, the scent of salt and seaweed and wet earth. The weather was clear and it was turning into a warm day, perfect for a little picnic Jaina thought ironically.

Clea wasted no time getting her and Jaina off the boat. In one move she stepped into the water and before Jaina had time to react in any way she found herself lifted under her arms without further ado and carried ashore like a child. Just as Jaina was about to argue that she was neither child nor damsel someone took hold of her shoulders and spun her around on the spot. It was all so ridiculous – the grim, silent and obviously lethal undead rangers playing with her as if she was their tiny little sister – that Jaina couldn't stop a nervous, bubbling fit of giggles from overtaking her and sit down in a heap as her wobbly legs gave out.

"Archmage on the ground." Jaina gasped eventually and lay back on the smooth rock. "Well done, top marks for everyone in archmage keeping it seems."

"We have taken your advice seriously, Lady Proudmoore." It was Anyas voice, so pleasantly melodic. "You have been most forthcoming."

"Ah, but it seems you have forgotten to gag me, lieutenant Eversong. What if I utter some terrible old troll curse at you that I've picked up from my Horde neighbours?"

Jaina started to declaim in her best dark and ominous voice, which was unfortunately ruined by her lingering fits of giggles.

"Meeny, miny, magic mood…Anya shall become a toad!"

Jaina pointed forward at random.

"A little bit to your right." Cleas amused whisper told her.

"Traitor." Anya muttered.

"Clea" Jaina said more earnestly in the direction of her voice. "I was thinking, if you'd like I could show you how to splice rope when we get back. It might help to keep your thoughts from the waves."

"So, Lady Proudmoore, you intend to both curse my rangers and press them into your service?" There was no mistaking that voice.

"I find myself quite outnumbered, Lady Windrunner, and forced to resort to shameful methods. Divide and conquer, as they say."

"They do indeed, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas drawled. Tides, how did someone manage to sound like a purring cat when pronouncing Jainas last name? "Shall I need to worry about how you intend to…conquer us all, perhaps?"

"You never know, maybe all that has happened is part of my master plan to do just that."

"And maybe I have you exactly where and how I want you, Lady Proudmoore…" Sylvanas' voice caressed her ears and sent a shiver along Jainas spine, midday sun notwithstanding.

Jaina was suddenly very reminded of the fact that Sylvanas and a half dozen or so of her almost equally perfect elves were standing over her prone form. Her prone blindfolded form.

And there it was. Jaina blushing from head to toe, or at least she felt like that. Heat was certainly pooling somewhere in her middle, but it might be due to the sun.

"Please sit up, Lady Proudmoore. I will remove your blindfold now." Jaina could swear Anya was at least half singing when she spoke Common. Jaina couldn't wait to hear what Thalassian would sound like from her.

She blinked in the sudden light as Anyas deft hands freed her eyes from their constraint.

"We can't have you blinded for the entire day without robbing your trip ashore of any meaning. Be warned however, that the woodlands around are patrolled and that two rangers will keep watching you with their bows drawn at all time, Lady Proudmoore."

"Charming as always, Anya." Jaina sighed. She hadn't talked to Anya since her crazy way of introducing herself and scaring Jaina half to death in the process, but Jaina found that she wanted to. Although preferably without any knife throwing this time. "Feel free to join me for lunch if any of you tire of skulking in the shadows all the time." she added dryly to the dark rangers and sat down to open the wrapped up fried Kalimdorian redfin filet.

Of the rangers Jaina did know the names of she found it easiest to recognize Velonara. The elf was definitely young – which could mean she might be only slightly older than Jainas late grandmother – and had an impish manner which probably accounted for her getting on well with captain Bones' daughter.

"Tell me, Lady Proudmoore, what's your preference when it comes to dinner? Eel or clam?" Velonara asked and sat down next to Jaina.

"Eel or clam? They're both good, I guess." Jaina said a little absent-mindedly while munching on her lunch. "Pretty much anything from the sea works for me. We Kul Tirans have at least a quarter of sea gull in us in that regard."

"Is that so?" Velonara asked, deceptively innocent.

"Mhm…actually there's a rather nice soup you can make with clams, button mushrooms, tomatoes, onions and a sprinkle of lemon juice."

"Ah, so you prefer your clams warm and wet then, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina opened her mouth to point out that it was rather obvious if the dish in question was a soup, but faltered when she noticed Velonaras too wide and too sweet smile. Jaina was obviously missing something.

Before Jaina could ask Velonara to elaborate Sylvanas had called her up.

"Velonara, go and see what you can find of shellfish by the shore since clams appear to be firmly on your mind. I am going hunting in the hills ahead. I would hate to run into someone who was not supposed to be there." she added in Jainas direction.

"Thank you for your kind invitation Lady Windrunner, but as it happens I prefer the beaches for my time off." Jaina said and tried to match Velonaras smirk in sweetness. "Would it be acceptable for me to take a bath in the lake? As you know the living prefer to be able to wash up from time to time."

Sylvanas stood silent and her features gave no hint of what went through her head.

"The water will hardly hide me" Jaina indicated the crystal clear surface "and I will likely be even less inclined to escape without my clothes on, wouldn't you agree?"

"Very well, Lady Proudmoore."

The rangers appeared to be organized into some kind of shifts, which meant that three of them were for the moment without assignments, or perhaps they were standing by as a reserve force in case Jaina would attempt to escape. Whatever the reason, it meant that apart from Jainas two guards there were four more elves lingering close to her, as Velonara apparently had yet to get going with her fishing.

It also meant that Jaina would have to undress virtually in front of six uncomfortably fit rangers who had nothing better to do than watch her.

Jaina sighed. She normally kept herself too busy to pay much heed to how she looked but she couldn't help thinking that in the present company she would somehow manage to stand out as both skinny and flabby at the same time. Ever since settling in Theramore, and especially the last months when she had practically hidden herself away in shame and grief, Jaina realised she had spent far too much time behind her desk. Tides, she really had. But there was nothing to be done about it at the moment and she could really use a bath.

Jaina did honestly appreciate how Sylvanas' dark rangers were going out of their way to gather food and water for her, it was in fact a little touching even if she was their captive. But she would have appreciated it a lot more if they could have kept their comments to themselves as Jaina tried to get in the water as fast as she could, and in her haste just entangled herself even more in her clothes.

"Not a bad view on this trip."

"Who knew mages had so much to show?"

"I feel enchanted already."

"Clea would probably have liked to be here and hold onto more of her."

"A shame to hide such pretty things under those rags, wouldn't you say?"

"I can see why the Dark Lady would want to capture that one."

Jaina knew they were mocking her, they were even speaking Common, and it shouldn't bother her but somehow it still did and she felt her face burning by the time she was far enough out to submerge in the pleasantly warm water. The lake was a kettle-like large hole that the adjoining stream had dug out in the sandstone over untold ages. It even had a miniature island in the middle made up of a few boulders of varying size, and was deep enough for Jaina to swim comfortably in. She was starting to feel a bit better. Swimming was one of the things apart from magic that Jaina was actually good at and it was a relief to be able to stretch her arms and legs in the water.

Jaina could faintly hear Anya shooing Velonara off to her tasks.

"Be careful Anya, don't let yourself be dragged down by the sirens. I hear they are especially alluring in this lake." was Velonaras parting remark.

"I make no promises." Anya answered.

Something was different, Jaina noticed, and realised the next second that they were now speaking Thalassian for some reason. Jainas grasp of the language was decent, good enough to get through elven magic literature but she had rarely had reason to practise speaking it.

The next thing she noticed was that her clothes were gone.

Jaina cursed under her breath, damning all rangers and their twisted ideas of humour and normal courtesy. Well, if that was it she might as well keep swimming for a while and let them waste more time squinting at the sunny water surface. Although she wasn't sure if undead eyes were as bothered by it as living ones. The thought gave Jaina an idea however, a much more dangerous one.

She started to repeatedly swim out underwater, surface to catch some air and then swim back to the shoreline as if following some kind of exercise, making sure to kick up lots of splashing water when diving. When she stole a glance at her watchers they appeared slightly wary at first but the settled back into their usual postures.

Teleportation was a spell that relatively speaking took a lot of effort, time and concentration to cast.

Invisibility was not, and together with frost and portal spells it was one of Jainas best fields.

The next time she dove, she kicked up as much water as she could and headed for the bottom of the lake. Letting herself slow down she focused her mind, drew upon her mana, and disappeared from sight.

Jaina wanted to cheer but being underwater that was of course less than optimal. Instead she tried to aim as best she could for the far side of the small isle and took off, keeping below the surface and being careful to disturb it as little as possible. Invisibility was highly useful but there were countless tales of mages who squandered the benefits by their inability to stay discreet. Footsteps in the snow or ripples in the water would reveal anyone no matter how cloaked.

Her lungs were crying out for air by the time Jaina crawled halfway out of the water and tried to breathe as quietly as se could while listening for any signs that she had been spotted. She thought she could hear fragments of rapid Thalassian and suddenly a large splash. That had to be good, at least one ranger had bought into the idea that Jaina had disappeared deep into the lake. Now was the time. She drank in as much mana as she could hold and reached out with her mind across leylines and the obscure arcane signatures of Kalimdor, leading her to the familiar ones of Theramore and her own tower and her own bedroom in front of the desk. There. Jaina kept her focus on that specific spot as she weaved her portal spell. A portal was almost similar to a teleportation spell but the fact that you stepped through the portal instead of instantly being moved by the spell itself made it a little slower to use and a little safer if you were unsure if you had targeted the right destination. Walking into a cliffside was after all marginally safer than hurling yourself into it, to put in bluntly.

Jaina let the portal grow to half her height. If she was right she could crawl across it well enough but if she was wrong it would perhaps not alert the rangers. Portal spells were many things but discreet were not among them. It was ready. She just had to move now. She would hardly get another chance like this again.

The sun was warming Jainas back. In the distance she could hear the waves rolling over rocks and the calls of the gulls. And more than that, unless the birds had suddenly learned to speak Thalassian in frantic voices.

"…supposed to watch…"

"…swear we saw no portals or flashes!" Anya cried out.

"Damn the portals! What about the woods?! What about the river?! What if she's fucking drowned!" That was Sylvanas' voice. And she was furious. And…worried?

"I'll check again!" Velonara did not sound the least bit smug or mischievous this time. And there was a second splash.

Jaina was wasting precious time. The dark rangers could find her at any moment and there was no telling how Sylvanas would react to finding her hiding from them. Slamming Jaina into a wall with her clawed gauntlet at her throat and eyes burning through her would probably be the least. Jaina shook her head. Where had that image come from?

"Jaina!"

Jaina froze. That was Anyas voice and it cut through Jainas heart.

Jaina stretched across the portal and found that she had done everything right. She snatched up a paper from her desk and her ever-ready pen and scribbled hurriedly with horrible penmanship and big splotches from the dripping water. Then she withdrew herself and let the portal close.

Jaina dove and swam out around the other side of the isle, heading for the shore. She was met by Sylvanas who looked just as fuming as Jaina had imagined. Tides, she looked impressive from below.

"He-hello, Lady Windrunner. I hope your hunt was successful?" Jaina stuttered, and prayed that her shakiness would be attributed to being winded from swimming.

"Indeed it was. I hope your swim was satisfactory, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas said with icicles growing from every word.

"Indeed it was. Lovely day for a swim." Jaina said flippantly just as Velonara and another ranger were crawling out of the water a little to her left, looking somehow like wet dogs with their tails between their legs.

"Apparently." Jaina added with a raised eyebrow towards the pair.

"Dark Lady." the taller one acknowledged Sylvanas with a hoarse whisper.

Clea.

"You are…nimble in the water, Lady Proudmoore." Velonara said slowly, as if she didn't quite know what to say. "I would be inclined to trace your lineage from seals rather than gulls."

"However that may be I retain my very human need for clothing and would require mine returned promptly." Jaina pointed out, rather sternly.

Sylvanas ceased her scrutiny of Jaina and looked around irritably.

"Anya?" she demanded.

Anya hesitated. Jaina looked closer at her. She did look tense. And there was a thin, faint dark line running down from one eye.

"Dark Lady. Lieutenant." another ranger begged their attention. Jaina could see little of her except the hood of her cloak that was pulled forward and two curtains of shiny dark hair, black like ink so it appeared almost blue. "Lady Proudmoore, I have your clothes here."

The ranger set them down carefully in front of Jaina, neatly folded, and the jacket looked like it had been brushed a bit. And the shirt and pants now sported well sewn stitches where there had before been tears and holes.

"Thank you…I don't know your name, dark ranger." Jaina said, surprised and not needing to pretend to sound grateful.

"Lyana. And you're welcome, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina only caught a glimpse. But somewhere behind those curtains there was a small smile.

Clea and Veonara were shaking off the worst of the water and retrieving their bows and quivers. As eager as Jaina was to try out whole clothes for a change she was less inclined to have them soaked the first thing she did.

"I didn't know seals needed towels when there are so many sunny rocks to lie on." Velonara smirked, back to what seemed to be her usual self Jaina noticed. Anya however knelt and removed her cloak, and held it out for Jaina to wrap herself in.

***​

Jaina leaned against the mizzen masts shrouds and watched Kalimdor disappear beneath the horizon. The afternoon was turning into evening and the sun was setting all quicker each day. Autumn was approaching, which meant that the weather here was warm rather than scorching hot.

Had she done the right thing? It would have been so very, very easy to crawl through that portal and be back into her tower like nothing had happened. It would have been wise, probably, and safe, and proper, and in every way what Jaina should have done.

Except.

Except things could not be like nothing had happened because something had happened and Jaina was in the middle of it. And she had given Sylvanas her word. Her Dark Lady, Jaina smiled to herself. No, the Dark Lady of course, she corrected herself. Just a minor mental typographical error after a long day, nothing more.

Sylvanas still frightened her, of course. But she had stayed true to her own promises and in her own demanding way she had cared for Jaina, and the same had to be said of her rangers despite all their antics. They were still wary of her, and their hands never seemed to linger far from their weapons, but perhaps there were more than Anya who would not relish drawing them.

About half the regular crew had approached at some time to mutter their names so far and Jaina had returned their greetings with all the politeness she could muster. She'd had little time to get to know anyone except the captain as they were always busy with something, but Jaina had decided that she wanted to rectify that.

There was no denying it. Jaina was curious of the Forsaken.

Whatever captain Bones lacked in off-shore experience he made up for in deck work. Jaina had seldom seen a better drilled crew weighing anchor and readying the ship for their departure. There were some differences from living sailors that stood out. One was how the Forsaken would double up when pulling ropes, even if they did not seem too heavy to pull and Jaina had seen them all carry burdens with an ease that matched the brawniest human deckhands. The captain had explained how most Forsaken had difficulties healing their injuries without help, and even minor scratches or bruises were troublesome of they piled up. Pulling ropes was one of those everyday task that now presented a risk and not just a hassle. Jaina had suggested gloves for them, custom-tailored and lined with silk or something of equal strength and smoothness. Sylvanas had nodded at the idea but dryly told her that she would have to get in line before the Forsaken leatherworkers.

Be that as it may, tomorrow Jaina would ask if she could teach Clea how to splice and help the crew fix up some of the ropes at least. It was a long time since Jaina had tried out that kind of work but she was sure she could catch up and she would need something to occupy herself with during the journey. Maybe Clea and Anya could become friends in time. Maybe Lyana too – Jaina really appreciated not having to feel like she was dressed in a sieve when the wind was blowing – and even Velonara if she could get used to her teasing. Jaina would just have to grit her teeth and endure the jabs at her human clumsiness she guessed.

There was a certain word that brash and reckless mages like Rhonin or Master Antonidas in his younger days (not Jaina of course because she would never even think of sailing across half the world to battle demons alongside orcs and night elves) would use in her situation. They would call it an adventure, Jaina thought, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

***​

"Dear Pained

Am alright. Gone on mission I believe vital for peace and safety of Theramore Azeroth. Will contact you report when able. Keep desk area clear.

Tell people not to worry. Delegate tasks.

Jaina"



Pained put down the letter for latest of…how many times she couldn't say. Jaina was alive, and unharmed enough to open a portal and drop this atrociously scribbled and splotchy note. That was what was important. And if she had opened a portal it meant that she was able to cast, and if she was able to cast she would not be kept wherever she was against her will. Anyone attempting that would soon have cause to regret it.

Pained bared her teeth. If she found out that Jaina had so much as scraped a knee, or worse been allowed to malnourish and mistreat herself further, she would rend whoever was behind this limb from limb. But Pained also knew how impossible it was to stop Jaina from doing what she had set her mind upon, and perhaps a ludicrously dangerous diplomatic quest was what she actually needed instead of caging herself inside her tower.

Just not alone.

Pained looked miserably around the little room. How empty the desk and bed looked without Jaina in it. How quiet the towers upper floor was.

"Come home soon, my lady" Pained whispered.

---

Authors's Note

Spoiler

Clam soup á la Jaina
Clams.
1 can of button mushrooms.
1 tomato.
1 yellow onion.
1 lemon.
Slice the vegetables and boil together with clams and button mushrooms on low heat. Flavour with lemon juice and a touch of white pepper. Use salt sparingly.

Clam soup á la Velonara
1 elven ranger.
Stir.