My Dread Lady (Warcraft)
Let us see if they manage that much now...or not...
Chapter 38: The Lady's Necklace
Chapter 38: The Lady's Necklace
In which capital letters do not truly suffice.
Author's Note
"Loralen."
Jaina twitched. She had been transfixed by the sight of the dark ranger, the other dark ranger, and had attention left neither for hearing Anya approach nor being relieved that she was with her.
"Anya." Loralen offered a smile, but it was a false smile laced with cold. "How generous of you to grace us with your presence, sister."
Jaina felt rather than saw how Anya had her bow drawn behind her.
"I am touched by your welcoming too, Loralen. Can we lower our bows?"
"But of course." Loralen smiled even wider yet it only gave Jaina shivers. She was desperately sure that she needed to be ready, but for what she could not quite say.
Could she fight against a dark ranger?
Loralen flippantly put both bow and arrow away though, and apparently Anya was doing the same.
"Happier now? We would so hate to make our delicate living guests uncomfortable." Loralen whispered with mocking sweetness. "Oh, that is right…you are not alive any more, are you, Anya?"
Loralen had tilted her head, and on another day and on another person her expression may have looked cute instead of terrifying.
"You are dead, Anya." she hissed malevolently.
"Thank you, it must have eluded me." Anya answered with a little grain of defiance that Jaina was instantly proud of. It made Loralen's gaze harden.
"Poor you, safe back in Silvermoon and yet still you were just as unable as the rest of us to escape your fate, hm? How ironic, would you not say?"
Anya had stepped up to Jaina's side now, and Jaina could see the minute traces of tension on her features that told her that the words hit something deep.
"I would gladly have joined you. And traded places with you, or Lyana, or Denyelle, or anyone else at the Outer Gate."
"Yet you didn't, did you? You left us all to die under Lyana's command instead while you were singing lullabies."
"You never needed me to tell you what to do before. And she told me Areiel commanded until the end anyway."
"Oh, you have met her, have you? Has she also made herself a pawn of the living?"
"Lyana serves Sylvanas, like I do! And we are free!"
Loralen cast a telling and venomous look at Jaina, as if to point out who it looked like Anya was serving at the moment.
"She is neither elf nor dead. By what right does she trespass in this place?"
"Jaina is here on my invitation. She is our ally and our sister-in-arms. She is one of my rangers." When Anya said the last thing her voice trembled with pride.
"Ally? The living haunts us, Anya. They will never suffer our kind to remain in their world."
"SHUT UP! I grow SICK of hearing such things! If you can not tell friend from foe then that is your curse, Loralen, not mine. And I will not waste time defending myself before someone who will not even listen to me."
"Friend? The dead do not make friends with the living. The dead are used, used and discarded and buried." Loralen's face had drawn into a spiteful grimace as contempt overtook her. "We are dead, and you would be wiser to accept it. Oh, I have heard the whispers. You would call yourselves Forsaken, yet I think it is you who have forsaken the rest of us the way you so eagerly fight the battles of your living masters."
"That is not the case!" Anya replied in shock.
"No? Prove me wrong then, and tell me exactly how many living who have died to preserve one of you." Loralen gestured at Jaina.
Anya remained silent.
"I thought so. And how many of you have fallen to preserve the lives of the living?"
"Far too many." Jaina interrupted. Her throat felt hoarse and dry from her long and tense silence. "And I will keep and honour their memory for the rest of my days."
"I am sure it is of great comfort to them." Loralen snarled at her.
"I am done listening to you." Anya said, and her defiance could not hide her sadness. "Step out of the way. We are leaving, and I have no desire to hurt you"
"A little late for such considerations… If you will not speak to me, then how about them?" Loralen hissed it between her tightly clenched lips.
Jaina had not noticed it until now. An eerie, otherwordly light that did not have a source to emanate from. Not the way a lamp or torch looked in any case. Silvery, pale light that flickered through the windows and doorways to other rooms.
Silvery, pale shapes.
Jaina's breath hitched.
She had never seen a banshee up close in this manner. Let alone so many of them. Sylvanas, when Jaina had watched her Wail in battle, had been more like a dark cloak of mist when seen from behind.
These were something else. Full banshees, indeed. Stauesque and elegant in a way, and broken and torn in their appearance like many ghostly tatters and threads that swirled around them like a torn dress, almost. Mesmerising, and frightening. Alluring, and repelling.
The air was filling with whispers and echoes, like the way Sylvanas echoed when she raised her voice, but lower and more drawn out. Whispers in the wind, Jaina thought she would describe it as. Both musical and threatening.
"Sisters, do not fight each other…"
"…one of us is back…"
"…she is lost…"
"…mislead…"
"…what has brought you here, living one?"
The whispers had sharpened into a hiss. The kind of hiss you could expect to hear when a serpent rose from its coils to scare off whoever had disturbed it.
"G-greetings? My n-name is Jaina Proudmoore –" Jaina stammered. She at once felt unnaturally cold, in palpable danger and like she had just trackled mud across a distinguished lady's pristine floors.
"She is my ranger and my friend." Anya cut her off.
"…does not belong here…"
"You belong with us, Anya Eversong…"
"…come to us…"
"…one of us…"
"Leave, if you have nothing kinder to say."
"…not like us…"
"…treacherous…"
"She will betray you…"
"…she is living…"
"Leave us alone!"
The whispers only grew louder and more insistent.
"…where do you truly have to go…"
"…where do you belong if not with your sisters, Anya?"
"What are you if not one of us?"
"…what are you…"
"…what are you…"
"HEEEEEERS!" Anya screamed and her scream grew and grew into something more and something worse as she jumped upon Jaina and clutched her ears so that Jaina felt like her skull would crack at any moment from the pressure and the horrible sound that split bone and mind and soul alike apart.
Time seemed to slow when every impossibly shrill tone, or simply every discernible part of the same sound, stabbed against her eardrums and against her innermost self. Only black writhing smoke in the vague shape of Anya was around her but something solid, something relentless, still clamped down upon Jaina's ears and turned her head away form the sight and the sound. Jaina knew instinctively that the Wail was directed and that she was not in its intended path. Anya was keeping her down and turned as far away from it as possible in the same manner she might keep an infant Jaina shielded from a nightmarish sight.
Awareness of the flow of things returned one or three small steps at a time.
The pounding hammer-strokes upon her hearing lessened and lessened as the echoes of the Wail died down. A monotone, thin sound replaced them and would not stop.
The pressure on her ears disappeared and dull physical pain started to spread as Jaina's senses allowed themselves to reawaken.
The other banshees and Loralen were gone. In front of her Jaina saw Anya kneeling and moving her mouth. She made no sound at all that altered the constantly echoing tone in Jaina's ears. She had never been good at reading people's lips and only looked confused when Anya probably repeated herself. The dark ranger reached down to pick a healing potion from her belt and insistently handed it over to Jaina. That sort of sign language was at least universally understandable and as Jaina gulped it down the pain in her head receded and the monotone sound abated.
"…hear me?"
"Yes, it's better now. Thank you, Anya."
"We need to go. Quickly. They will come back. Do you have the strength to make us a portal from here?"
"I…" Jaina blinked and tried to shake herself back to the present. "Yes, I think so. I haven't used up all that much of my mana at all actually. Tides, I didn't know what to do at all –"
"Let's go home first. We'll talk later."
Finding your way back to well-known locations was never nearly as hard as feeling your way to a foreign one. Within a minute Jaina and Anya stepped back through her portal onto Lordaeronian ground, wild-eyed and shocked but at least in one piece.
A queen could command anyone and anything under her. That was as much true among the Forsaken as in most other realms. Rarer was the sight of a queen who genuinely asked for help.
Sylvanas had been a rare queen this day.
She had asked Areiel, as a friend and not a Banshee Queen, for help. Then she had asked Clea and Kitala, also as a friend. Then another. And another.
Sylvanas was not used to the idea of having friends like this on a personal level. Or no, that was not quite right. She had forgotten – or nearly forgotten – how to be just friends, on a personal level without the ever-present shadow of her own position and duty hanging over herself and everyone else. To be Sylvanas, without an unspoken prefix in front.
Being the way she could allow herself to be during short, stolen moments with Anya and short, undeserved moments with her mage.
Being free.
Today at least Sylvanas gave it a damn good try. Which meant that she was working as hard as she could.
For royal libraries did not renovate themselves.
Being the least damaged part of the keep did not equate undamaged and if they would want the majority of the books to be anything but rotting mush of smeared papers when the next summer came it was high time to do something about it. Also, if an archmage was ever to be able to read in peace without having to call upon a fire spell for her own warmth every other minute, then these broken windows and holes in the roof were unacceptable. A mage like Proudmoore could not be treated to that. A mage like Proudmoore deserved a hundred times better.
Sylvanas and Areiel were hauling stones and broken masonry from the ruins outside, since they were the strongest along with Clea and since Areiel insisted that it was safest for all future occupants if she kept her distance from the actual construction.
They were not out of able hands to make use of the raw materials. Kitala had run off to fetch the Loras family, and when she leaked that they were building a warm lair for the funny living ranger mage – and that the work was taking place outside – the children had apparently vanished in the blink of an eye to fetch half a neighbourhood's worth of families.
Families who were not rangers or soldiers, but craftsmen.
Sylvanas knew professional pride when she saw it. The gruelling, thankless and graceless digging and hacking of tunnels they had consigned themselves to, out of the sheer necessity of making room for everyone within the safety of the Undercity, was not where their talents lay. The mason's ingenuity may be put to test to make the most out of what they had below, but the art of his craft did not blossom into what it could be in such conditions.
Rebuilding a castle just because they could, that was more like it.
Sylvanas' very humble idea had grown out of all proportions into a gathering, into a fair or a festival of the oddest sort. Forsaken stood taller than in a long time in broad daylight absent the stifling worry of Scourge or Scarlet invaders, and even allowing themselves to bicker and disagree about the optimal way of solving an architectural problem, the way engaged professionals in every field do from time to time.
Kitala had even braved the chimney to clear out the soot and inspect the masonry, but after she got stuck and had to be dragged out by Clea the latter had taken over the task and haunted the chimney in her banshee form. Areiel was quick to make a suitably annoying comment about the various kinds of dark smoke and a quickly gathered part of the smaller children kept watch expectantly, if someone would appear out of the fireplace to bring them something interesting.
Sylvanas could not care less. So long as she got her library made for her mage she would put up with any amount of inane…with any amount of dark ranger-like playfulness that she would not begrudge anyone.
Late in the day, the castle actually had a library worthy of being called so. A little haphazard, a little odd, but when the first fire in nearly two years was lit in the fireplace it was warm. The floor was swept reasonably clean and there were frayed and tattered rugs to cover most of it. And Proudmoore would think it was enough.
Sylvanas had not had a very clear idea of how she should present the gift to her mage. For a fleeting moment she had contemplated asking everyone to leave but a look at the content mass of people for once able to gather together and be warm in front of a hearth made her reconsider. It was their keep too and there would be time to speak alone with her mage later. Proudmoore was the last kind of person who would want Sylvanas to expel them.
"Well done." Areiel whispered next to her. "Should we go and find our ranger mage?"
"Yes…" Sylvanas suddenly realised that she didn't know where Proudmoore were. Nor Anya. It was a very likely guess that they would be in the same place but for once Sylvanas had no idea where. "You wouldn't happen to know where she could be?"
Having to ask like that, it shamed her. How unthinkable it would have been just a week ago.
"I sent Lyana to look for them a while ago." Now Areiel was frowning. "That is actually odd of Anya not to notify anyone."
Sylvanas signed to Areiel to come with her. They went out into the corridor outside, through the adjoining archives and the rooms that Anya's squadron had furnished into living quarters for their mage. There was no sign of anyone.
"Go and ask Clea and Kitala if they know something." Sylvanas said and kept walking through the keep towards the general direction of the throne room. The floors above were too broken to be of much use, unless Anya had been at them of course. Sylvanas sprinted and climbed up the remains of the stairs and walked briskly across deserted halls and torn walls. It was more nothing than something in these parts of the keep. Still Anya had found a secluded spot for them to draw Sylvanas a bath that one time.
She stepped inside that room too, in fact one of the more intact, but it was deserted.
The bathtub was left where she had last seen it. Except that it was broken. Like if something had hit it, like a stone or a huge club.
Or a very hard foot for that matter.
Poor Anya, how you must have toiled just to make me feel better. You had every right to be angry.
She had to find something she could do for Anya too.
She had to find both of them.
Now.
Because something was not right.
Sylvanas could feel it.
She hurried out of the room, taking the path down in longer and longer strides and nearly jumping down back to the main floor where she was coming almost face to face with Lyana.
"Dark Lady! Anya and Jaina are gone."
Anya and Jaina had just sunk down on a piece of rubble in a hidden nook in the Undercity. Anya had an excellent sense for nooks.
Jaina felt slightly wobbly, now that the rush of excitement and danger was fading. She was not physically exhausted but mentally she felt overwhelmed. There was so much she was going to wonder about but for now the best possible thing was to sit leaning against Anya and think of as little as possible.
"In retrospect this wasn't maybe the best idea…" Jaina mumbled. "I put you in terrible danger for my sake. I'm so sorry for that."
"I put myself in danger! I choose to come with you." Anya did not snap but she said it uncommonly sternly, which sounded almost harsh coming from her.
"No, I didn't mean it like that! Not like Loralen…just… You could have been killed! Coming there for me. That's all…"
"You would not have let me. And I will not let you come to harm." Anya said sullenly. "Not ever."
"I know. I know. You kept me safe when I couldn't think of what to do. I don't quite know what came over me, I guess…I just find it hard to imagine myself fighting a banshee nowadays… Wasn't much of an archmage out there."
"You did cast something. I could feel it. Around you, and us."
"It…it was improvised. I couldn't make a shield without pushing you away or possibly harming you so I must have formed the magic into a…buffer? Maybe? I don't quite know what to call it."
They sat in silence for a while. It would be completely dark outside by now, late in the day. Late in the evening, perhaps.
They should probably go find Sylvanas any minute, yet Jaina knew enough of her dark ranger to recognize that something bothered Anya tremendously, and she had a pretty good idea of what.
"I…I said a bad word when we were in the spire…" Anya whispered. It was like she was afraid of even talking about it.
Jaina could ask one of the hundred of questions she wanted to some time ask about banshees and their Wails. She could burst out into the spirited tirade in Anya's defence against every possible depreciative thought that was never far under the surface in her mind.
And she could let those things wait because the only proper thing to do right now was to cup Anya's face in her hands and press her lips tenderly against the cheekbone just beneath those frightened eyes that threatened to break into tears.
"I have learned that sometimes, when a banshee gets really, really angry, she can do that. Or when she gets really, really afraid."
"Not…not all of it… That's not all of it… I…choose to…" The choked way the dark ranger forced out the words was akin to a confession of a heinous crime that Jaina was refusing to understand the magnitude of.
"Sometimes you just need to say a bad word." Jaina had removed her lips just enough to speak. "When other people are being mean."
Anya nodded hesitantly.
"The other dark ranger, who was that?"
"Loralen and Denyelle were part of my old squadron. So was Lyana. They perished early during the Scourge invasion when the Outer Gate fell." This was news to Jaina. She had just always assumed that Clea and Kitala had been with Anya even when they had been alive, but perhaps that was not the case. "I was not there, as she said. But I never…no one thought…"
"Anya… No sane person would think you would ever have left your squadron to face something like the Scourge without you. No one. Loralen was talking crap."
"You are kind to say so." Anya was looking down. There was a lot of fight that had gone out of her.
"You were so brave." Jaina touched her chin. She wanted Anya to look up at her. "And I understand that you did something very hard for you out there for my sake. Thank you, Anya. For saving me."
"Always."
How big her red eyes looked right now. You could lose yourself in them if you weren't careful.
"I…hrm…" Jaina struggled to find the right words, or any words in fact. "I did not find any suitable item when I searched. It seems our adventure left us with empty hands."
A slow and content smile spread across Anya's face. Her fangs peeked out over her lower lip in a way that made her look very mischievous. It was completely adorable, Jaina realised. Did only Anya do that or had she missed the trait completely with every other elf she had met?
"I think not…" Anya slowly and carefully fished out a thin golden chain from inside her chest armour.
It was a necklace. It shimmered, a remarkable piece of jewellery that didn't seem to succumb to the gloom that permeated these parts of the Undercity.
To Sylvanas from Alleria.
The inscription read clearly, in thin, elegant Thalassian engraving. Given the inscription, and where they had found it, it certainly had to be a lost property of Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner herself.
"Anya, that's extraordinary! A gift to Sylvanas from her big sister?!"
"Sylvanas, she…always looked up to Alleria. She was someone she could turn to no matter what, even when they were at odds and when Alleria refused to follow tradition and such. Maybe – hopefully – it could be a reminder of those who cared for Sylvanas. They wouldn't want her to be miserable." Anya mumbled.
Jaina swallowed. It was a thing of gravity she held in her hand. Who among the Forsaken had at all experienced the blessing of the smallest touch of home, of something so unbroken from the lives they had lived?
A lot hinged on this conversation.
"I need to report these news to Areiel, about Loralen and those others. Good luck now." Before Jaina had time to react, Anya had kissed her on the cheek, and was gone.
Sylvanas watched herself go mad.
There was no other way to put it. No less drastic expression did justice to the feeling of nearly being able to watch, as the threads keeping her soul and sanity together unravelled and how the coherence of her thoughts slipped by her the way water slipped through spread out fingers.
She had roused – by angry shouting – every ranger at hand above the surface and sent them running in each and all directions on the off chance that Anya and Jaina were simply by themselves in the vicinity. She had ran along herself, unthinking and in truth randomly, until the thought had struck her that they may just as well have gotten themselves lost somewhere below if that was what they would have been feeling up to.
The Undercity was not a safe place at the best of times.
Dreadful images of collapsed shafts leapt at her one after the other, ramshackle beams giving way and shoddy supports caving in under the pressure of innumerable tons of rock and earth above. Weight that could crush even such resilient creatures as the strongest undead into pieces. What happened when a banshee was trapped in her own body? Was it possible for her to cease possessing it at will and save herself in her spiritual form? It was an incorporeal form, not invincible.
And the living. Who needed to breathe air, who bled and suffocated and were so terribly, terribly fragile in the end and who – in the worst case – would only need a single hard hit to be rendered unconscious and helpless in the face of sliding rocks or just plain dirty water.
How sure was she about Jaina's standing with her people, again? It had taken ludicrously little to tip her own scales against her mage and if Sylvanas' mistakes had resulted in her shameful actions, then what might be expected from a wholly malicious mind? What was there to say the danger was over and none had – right or wrong – decided to blame the Dark Lady's mage for the leniency towards alleged traitors after all, just like they had feared?
Damned be what she felt, damned be what had befallen them.
How could she have been such a colossal fool to let Jaina out of her sight?
How could she let her anywhere near someone like Varimathras?
At that point Sylvanas had broken off and rushed heedlessly for the closest entrance, half in banshee form and more than halfway to drawing her daggers. If that wretched demon had so much as thought about…
He had not. Or in the case he had masked every sign of foul play when Sylvanas charged inside to turn her chancellor's and indeed the entire City Council's quarters inside out, followed by whatever city guards she had collected in her frantic rampage through the streets to get there.
Sylvanas then turned her attention to the canals. She hated them right then and there. What good were they, when they brought neither clean water for living allies nor kept Scourge at bay? They should dam up the entire sewer system properly and make use of the reclaimed space instead! She would scour the entire length and breadth of this stinking capital of hers until it spat her best mage and ranger back up and no one and nothing would so much as whisper a word in refusal right now!
If not the canals, then the mines. The volatile new caverns and winding passages dug out with improvised tools and methods by eager and fanatically hard-working laymen – they were practically begging for something to go dreadfully wrong – under the constant pressure of time before who knew which enemy would attack again. Why would Anya and Jaina have gone there?
Why would they not?
Why would they not have come up with a brilliant and absurdly dangerous idea to improve the lot of the Forsaken in some completely reckless and irresponsible manner that put themselves at stupefying risks?
The Banshee Queen haunted those mines. She ran, jumped, glided through pitch black darkness and dim light alike, the latter after she had snatched up a lantern. Tracking skills sufficed little against bare rock and gravel upon which one shoddy boot's imprint was as good as the next. Darkness was everywhere. The physical mirror of the visions she would see, or imagine herself seeing, when black nothingness opened up to swallow her, a maw of endless void and insatiable hunger. An abyss she could not stop herself from falling into, only watch from a corner of her own mind.
It had been…some time since these waking nightmares had come. Months to be precise.
Ever since she brought a human mage onboard the Banshee's Wail, a mage that now every pile of earth and every stack of stone and rubble took the appearance of.
Sylvanas must not Wail. She could not afford it. Not now.
My little mage, where have you gone? Anya, where are you?
It would be too late. Of course it would be too late. Too late for the likes of Sylvanas Windrunner for whom only a true death and the Lich King's laughter were what the future held in store. Fate, circumstance, misfortune – called whatever name that elf or human could think of but it would not allow her more than a cruel glimpse of what could have been, not for real. Twist and turn herself she may but at the end of the day, or night as would be more apt, she was still a banshee whose soul blackened by the blood of hundreds could expect no lenience.
She walked without noticing anything in particular back to her dreary lair in the depths of this…this tomb of a city.
Her walls closed around her until she blinked and they were plain grey stone again. They rose into towering mountainsides as Sylvanas sank down into her chair by her desk.
Then the door opened and Jaina stepped inside.
If Sylvanas had held anything in her hands she would have dropped it. She stared.
Are you a phantom image come to mock me? Jaina?
"Sylvanas? May I…speak to you for a while? Please?"
Speak to me? After…after all you have – where have you had the gall to have been?! Speaking is the least you will do, you – my – unthinking, careless, foolhardy, insane mage!
Sylvanas gestured mutely at the chair in front of her while she struggled to keep herself from exploding.
"I – that is, me and Anya – we have a gift for you. That we brought. Or more correctly returned to its owner."
Something golden shimmered in Jaina's hand. It was so unexpected, so completely out of place here and now, that to Sylvanas it was just another nuisance when all she wanted was to somehow make sure that Jaina was indeed Jaina somehow sitting right in front of her, with her hair in tangles that begged to be combed out and her ranger cloak hanging down too much on the left.
"What's that you have there? That necklace looks somehow familiar. Give it here!"
The harsh words came out so wrong but Sylvanas could not stop them. She knew it was the last thing she wanted to say, should say, needed to say, but she no longer had the strength to steer the maelstrom of emotion inside, only to keep it from erupting into something even worse. She could only watch her thoughts running rampant.
Jaina was putting the necklace down on the table. She was being so careful with it.
"We visited Windrunner Spire and came across this."
I know this jewellery down to the smallest dent in the third link. I know the difference between the light cast when the sun shines on the stone from the right and from the left. I know how it feels against every inch of my throat. And I know that I left it in a box for years and has not thought of ever seeing it again. And now you have it here right before my eyes and –
"It can't be! After all this time, I thought it was lost forever."
"Not any more." Jaina's eyes twinkled. Of all things. Now.
Is this a game to you?! Do you have any idea what you caused by disappearing without a single trace, let alone telling anyone what you were going to do and where? I am inches from screaming at you for it! Have you the slightest idea of what was going on here in the meantime, or what could have happened? What if we had been attacked? Have you completely forgotten how we are at war and how many people that have come to depend on your presence? And you sit before like nothing has happened and –
"You thought this would amuse me?"
"We wanted to give you a gift. And a gift that would be something important, so that was why we visited your old home. It wasn't supposed to take so long but the thing is, we encountered a lot of banshees there…"
Banshees. Scourge banshees, presumably? You rush headlong into the deepest of the blighted parts of Quel'thalas where if not the Scourge would get you then an elven patrol could have, and they do not stop to ask questions any more I can tell you! Were you TRYING to get yourselves killed?! How can you even think of something like this?! Is it not enough that I have hurt you so deeply already but must you and Anya court your true deaths in this manner on top of everything? For a…gilded TRINKET! What do I care for relics of the past when put against your life?!
"Do you think I long for a time before I was the queen of the Forsaken?"
That I long for it so much that I would not be bothered sending mine to their deaths to retrieve mementos on a whim? Is that what you think of me?
"Uh, no – yes – I – we – we just thought it would be something you would like to have. That it would mean something, hopefully mean a lot…"
Jaina looked so unsure of herself. Belore, this wasn't what Sylvanas wanted! But this, all of this, it was so overwhelmingly insane, that she could just keep herself from bursting apart in a Wail. Her thoughts spun so fast that it was only with the greatest difficulty she could catch one of them and put it into words and even so a dozen more passed her by as she spoke, faster and faster and faster.
Jaina, how could you ever think that anyone could care more for a piece of metal than for you? How can you risk yourself for dead gold that is nothing more than dirt next to that in your locks? What gems can compare to those two that look upon me? Have I done this to you? Did I drive you to this reckless thing? It is not the gifts of those closest to me that hold meaning, it is they themselves.
"Like you…" Sylvanas whispered.
"Like…me?"
Like you. My little mage. I would take it all back if I could. I would rather have it that I was taken unawares when someone proved false for real than to have hurt you like I did over falseness imagined. Damn any traitorous prisoners! Damn any malcontents I could not care less about! Damn this entire rotten city!
"It means nothing to me." Sylvanas vaguely gestured around them. "And Alleria Windrunner is a long dead memory!"
She is nothing in comparison for she is gone, and you are not! And Alleria would personally GUT me if she saw me putting her memory ahead of my ranger sisters who were still with me! She would be ashamed to call herself Windrunner if she saw me do that!
Jaina's face fell. She blinked, crestfallen and unbelieving and her eyes were turning misty.
"How can you…say that…? How can…" The mage sniffed, and she became hard and rigid and brittle, so very brittle that it was like shards sharp enough to cut yourself upon. "Well then! If – if that is all there is to it then I shall not take up more of the Dark Lady's valuable time! I hope it is acceptable that I now remove myself from her distinguished presence!"
What have I said? Something dreadfully wrong that I can not even grasp. Even a civil conversation is a feat beyond me as of now. All I attempt today fail before it can even begin. Go, Jaina. Before you are hurt even more by this poison that I am. I do not even know how to say that in a way you will not misunderstand.
Instead Sylvanas just echoed the words Jaina had spoken.
"You may now remove yourself from my presence, Ranger Mage."
Her mage slammed the door shut after her so that dust trickled from the ceiling.
Sylvanas sank with her head into her palms. What had she really done and said? Why would her wild thoughts not quiet? Begone! All of them!
She beat at her own forehead in frustration. What had she really said? Words, thoughts, sentences, there was no telling one from the other!
Start from the beginning.
Follow your thoughts. Retrace and observe them without forcing anything. Like she had once instructed Jaina to on the road back from Hearthglen.
How easy it was to tell someone else to do it.
What of that she had thought had she managed to put into actual words for Jaina?
Oh, no…
What have I really said to her?
Sylvanas leapt for the door.
"Jaina… Jaina, wait… Please…"
Jaina stumbled forward. She was blind to where she went.
How could she?
How could she?
After all she had tried, after all she had done, after she had torn her heart out and laid it bare before her rangers and...
Did Jaina even know the Banshee Queen anymore?
Why are you like this, why, why, why? I look upon you and I don't recognize you anymore.
Had she ever?
Had it all been a lie, or a pastime for Sylvanas, a faint facade of something else than what Sylvanas Windrunner truly was?
Jaina couldn't do this anymore. She had nothing left to give. She could not bear this crushing existence of death and horror and despair everywhere around her. She was physically suffocating, she needed air, and now! She couldn't stand the weight of this endless agony where every smile hid a boiling scream of terror and no laugh could be laughed without its twisted twin of torment being ever so close at hand.
She could no longer help Sylvanas.
The realisation hit Jaina with crushing finality.
I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home to Theramore. To Dalaran.
To Pained.
Pained!
Tears flowed like rivers and covered the world in their mist. Jaina looked past them, past, past everything and everything, into the depths of Azeroth's flowing magic, into the leylines and arcane currents that would rip a careless soul to shreds if she did not know exactly what she was doing, past, past it all, unto the glimmering spark on the other side of the world that Jaina knew was home.
She trembled when her portal took shape, a portal stretching beyond all sense and reason, and it flickered and flashed in and out of existence – and it was gone and Jaina with it, and she fell forward on the hard tiles of her own wooden floor in the cramped little bedroom and study in the tower that was home.
Jaina whimpered as she struggled to her feet, in sorrow or in hurt or in both. The staff had fallen out of her hands. She almost did not catch the footsteps nearing her.
"My… Lady Jaina?!"
The last vestiges of Jaina's composure broke down and she fell into Pained's arms and cried without end.
Anya had finally finished her report to Areiel and hurried through the streets back towards Sylvanas' quarters. Areiel had been hard to find and apparently half the city was in some kind of ruckus because the Dark Lady had been turning it upside down in search of something she refused to divulge, but Anya had a very distinct idea of what that might be even before Areiel had begun to shout her ears off.
The news that Jaina had already gone to see Sylvanas and that they had met Loralen put a quick stop to the ranger captain's talking-to though, and she had listened intently to Anya's hurried report of what they had discovered at Windrunner Spire even if it did not stop her form shaking her head at the idea of leaving for so long without notice. Intended surprise or not.
They would have to talk more about the issue, and plan. Was Loralen and those other banshees still part of the Scourge but able to act independently? Were they their own but actively choosing to avoid the Forsaken? And could they be set free, or become allies, in those cases?
But all that would be for later. Jaina and Sylvanas would have talked quite a deal by now and with just a little luck they would still be talking, and on their way to be friends with each other again.
And if they weren't, then Anya would tie them together with a rope until they hugged and made up. Because there had to be an end to this now.
She didn't really dare to. But she'd do it anyway. If that was what it took.
The first thing that she noticed when she silently approached Sylvanas' part of the military quarters was that it was deserted. Why was it so? Shouldn't there be at least some grouchy deathguard here or there?
No door was shut. As if no one cared whether they were.
Anya hurried inside.
Sylvanas was sitting slumped against the wall with the golden necklace lying in the dust on the floor in front of her. The way she stared hollowly ahead into nothing told more than enough.
No.
No.
She couldn't. They couldn't.
No!
Anya strode ahead and jerked Sylvanas to her feet with a tight grip of the shoulder straps of her armour.
"Where is Jaina?"
It did not take a beating heart to make your voice tremble at a time like this.
"She is gone."
Anya slammed the Dark Lady into the wall while icy cold dread rose to grasp her still heart in its clutch.
"Gone? Gone? What…" Anya started to shake her head unconsciously in denial, defiance, warning, anything. "No, Sylvanas… No…no… What have you… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
There was no answer. There was no need for an answer.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
Anya screamed and screamed and she hammered viciously and then futilely against Sylvanas' chest as the undeniable and inevitable fact washed away all other thoughts.
Jaina was, finally and truly, gone.
Author's Note
In which capital letters do not truly suffice.
Author's Note
The reader familiar with a certain World of Warcraft quest will recognize certain lines of dialogue worked into this chapter.
"Loralen."
Jaina twitched. She had been transfixed by the sight of the dark ranger, the other dark ranger, and had attention left neither for hearing Anya approach nor being relieved that she was with her.
"Anya." Loralen offered a smile, but it was a false smile laced with cold. "How generous of you to grace us with your presence, sister."
Jaina felt rather than saw how Anya had her bow drawn behind her.
"I am touched by your welcoming too, Loralen. Can we lower our bows?"
"But of course." Loralen smiled even wider yet it only gave Jaina shivers. She was desperately sure that she needed to be ready, but for what she could not quite say.
Could she fight against a dark ranger?
Loralen flippantly put both bow and arrow away though, and apparently Anya was doing the same.
"Happier now? We would so hate to make our delicate living guests uncomfortable." Loralen whispered with mocking sweetness. "Oh, that is right…you are not alive any more, are you, Anya?"
Loralen had tilted her head, and on another day and on another person her expression may have looked cute instead of terrifying.
"You are dead, Anya." she hissed malevolently.
"Thank you, it must have eluded me." Anya answered with a little grain of defiance that Jaina was instantly proud of. It made Loralen's gaze harden.
"Poor you, safe back in Silvermoon and yet still you were just as unable as the rest of us to escape your fate, hm? How ironic, would you not say?"
Anya had stepped up to Jaina's side now, and Jaina could see the minute traces of tension on her features that told her that the words hit something deep.
"I would gladly have joined you. And traded places with you, or Lyana, or Denyelle, or anyone else at the Outer Gate."
"Yet you didn't, did you? You left us all to die under Lyana's command instead while you were singing lullabies."
"You never needed me to tell you what to do before. And she told me Areiel commanded until the end anyway."
"Oh, you have met her, have you? Has she also made herself a pawn of the living?"
"Lyana serves Sylvanas, like I do! And we are free!"
Loralen cast a telling and venomous look at Jaina, as if to point out who it looked like Anya was serving at the moment.
"She is neither elf nor dead. By what right does she trespass in this place?"
"Jaina is here on my invitation. She is our ally and our sister-in-arms. She is one of my rangers." When Anya said the last thing her voice trembled with pride.
"Ally? The living haunts us, Anya. They will never suffer our kind to remain in their world."
"SHUT UP! I grow SICK of hearing such things! If you can not tell friend from foe then that is your curse, Loralen, not mine. And I will not waste time defending myself before someone who will not even listen to me."
"Friend? The dead do not make friends with the living. The dead are used, used and discarded and buried." Loralen's face had drawn into a spiteful grimace as contempt overtook her. "We are dead, and you would be wiser to accept it. Oh, I have heard the whispers. You would call yourselves Forsaken, yet I think it is you who have forsaken the rest of us the way you so eagerly fight the battles of your living masters."
"That is not the case!" Anya replied in shock.
"No? Prove me wrong then, and tell me exactly how many living who have died to preserve one of you." Loralen gestured at Jaina.
Anya remained silent.
"I thought so. And how many of you have fallen to preserve the lives of the living?"
"Far too many." Jaina interrupted. Her throat felt hoarse and dry from her long and tense silence. "And I will keep and honour their memory for the rest of my days."
"I am sure it is of great comfort to them." Loralen snarled at her.
"I am done listening to you." Anya said, and her defiance could not hide her sadness. "Step out of the way. We are leaving, and I have no desire to hurt you"
"A little late for such considerations… If you will not speak to me, then how about them?" Loralen hissed it between her tightly clenched lips.
Jaina had not noticed it until now. An eerie, otherwordly light that did not have a source to emanate from. Not the way a lamp or torch looked in any case. Silvery, pale light that flickered through the windows and doorways to other rooms.
Silvery, pale shapes.
Jaina's breath hitched.
She had never seen a banshee up close in this manner. Let alone so many of them. Sylvanas, when Jaina had watched her Wail in battle, had been more like a dark cloak of mist when seen from behind.
These were something else. Full banshees, indeed. Stauesque and elegant in a way, and broken and torn in their appearance like many ghostly tatters and threads that swirled around them like a torn dress, almost. Mesmerising, and frightening. Alluring, and repelling.
The air was filling with whispers and echoes, like the way Sylvanas echoed when she raised her voice, but lower and more drawn out. Whispers in the wind, Jaina thought she would describe it as. Both musical and threatening.
"Sisters, do not fight each other…"
"…one of us is back…"
"…she is lost…"
"…mislead…"
"…what has brought you here, living one?"
The whispers had sharpened into a hiss. The kind of hiss you could expect to hear when a serpent rose from its coils to scare off whoever had disturbed it.
"G-greetings? My n-name is Jaina Proudmoore –" Jaina stammered. She at once felt unnaturally cold, in palpable danger and like she had just trackled mud across a distinguished lady's pristine floors.
"She is my ranger and my friend." Anya cut her off.
"…does not belong here…"
"You belong with us, Anya Eversong…"
"…come to us…"
"…one of us…"
"Leave, if you have nothing kinder to say."
"…not like us…"
"…treacherous…"
"She will betray you…"
"…she is living…"
"Leave us alone!"
The whispers only grew louder and more insistent.
"…where do you truly have to go…"
"…where do you belong if not with your sisters, Anya?"
"What are you if not one of us?"
"…what are you…"
"…what are you…"
"HEEEEEERS!" Anya screamed and her scream grew and grew into something more and something worse as she jumped upon Jaina and clutched her ears so that Jaina felt like her skull would crack at any moment from the pressure and the horrible sound that split bone and mind and soul alike apart.
Time seemed to slow when every impossibly shrill tone, or simply every discernible part of the same sound, stabbed against her eardrums and against her innermost self. Only black writhing smoke in the vague shape of Anya was around her but something solid, something relentless, still clamped down upon Jaina's ears and turned her head away form the sight and the sound. Jaina knew instinctively that the Wail was directed and that she was not in its intended path. Anya was keeping her down and turned as far away from it as possible in the same manner she might keep an infant Jaina shielded from a nightmarish sight.
Awareness of the flow of things returned one or three small steps at a time.
The pounding hammer-strokes upon her hearing lessened and lessened as the echoes of the Wail died down. A monotone, thin sound replaced them and would not stop.
The pressure on her ears disappeared and dull physical pain started to spread as Jaina's senses allowed themselves to reawaken.
The other banshees and Loralen were gone. In front of her Jaina saw Anya kneeling and moving her mouth. She made no sound at all that altered the constantly echoing tone in Jaina's ears. She had never been good at reading people's lips and only looked confused when Anya probably repeated herself. The dark ranger reached down to pick a healing potion from her belt and insistently handed it over to Jaina. That sort of sign language was at least universally understandable and as Jaina gulped it down the pain in her head receded and the monotone sound abated.
"…hear me?"
"Yes, it's better now. Thank you, Anya."
"We need to go. Quickly. They will come back. Do you have the strength to make us a portal from here?"
"I…" Jaina blinked and tried to shake herself back to the present. "Yes, I think so. I haven't used up all that much of my mana at all actually. Tides, I didn't know what to do at all –"
"Let's go home first. We'll talk later."
Finding your way back to well-known locations was never nearly as hard as feeling your way to a foreign one. Within a minute Jaina and Anya stepped back through her portal onto Lordaeronian ground, wild-eyed and shocked but at least in one piece.
***
A queen could command anyone and anything under her. That was as much true among the Forsaken as in most other realms. Rarer was the sight of a queen who genuinely asked for help.
Sylvanas had been a rare queen this day.
She had asked Areiel, as a friend and not a Banshee Queen, for help. Then she had asked Clea and Kitala, also as a friend. Then another. And another.
Sylvanas was not used to the idea of having friends like this on a personal level. Or no, that was not quite right. She had forgotten – or nearly forgotten – how to be just friends, on a personal level without the ever-present shadow of her own position and duty hanging over herself and everyone else. To be Sylvanas, without an unspoken prefix in front.
Being the way she could allow herself to be during short, stolen moments with Anya and short, undeserved moments with her mage.
Being free.
Today at least Sylvanas gave it a damn good try. Which meant that she was working as hard as she could.
For royal libraries did not renovate themselves.
Being the least damaged part of the keep did not equate undamaged and if they would want the majority of the books to be anything but rotting mush of smeared papers when the next summer came it was high time to do something about it. Also, if an archmage was ever to be able to read in peace without having to call upon a fire spell for her own warmth every other minute, then these broken windows and holes in the roof were unacceptable. A mage like Proudmoore could not be treated to that. A mage like Proudmoore deserved a hundred times better.
Sylvanas and Areiel were hauling stones and broken masonry from the ruins outside, since they were the strongest along with Clea and since Areiel insisted that it was safest for all future occupants if she kept her distance from the actual construction.
They were not out of able hands to make use of the raw materials. Kitala had run off to fetch the Loras family, and when she leaked that they were building a warm lair for the funny living ranger mage – and that the work was taking place outside – the children had apparently vanished in the blink of an eye to fetch half a neighbourhood's worth of families.
Families who were not rangers or soldiers, but craftsmen.
Sylvanas knew professional pride when she saw it. The gruelling, thankless and graceless digging and hacking of tunnels they had consigned themselves to, out of the sheer necessity of making room for everyone within the safety of the Undercity, was not where their talents lay. The mason's ingenuity may be put to test to make the most out of what they had below, but the art of his craft did not blossom into what it could be in such conditions.
Rebuilding a castle just because they could, that was more like it.
Sylvanas' very humble idea had grown out of all proportions into a gathering, into a fair or a festival of the oddest sort. Forsaken stood taller than in a long time in broad daylight absent the stifling worry of Scourge or Scarlet invaders, and even allowing themselves to bicker and disagree about the optimal way of solving an architectural problem, the way engaged professionals in every field do from time to time.
Kitala had even braved the chimney to clear out the soot and inspect the masonry, but after she got stuck and had to be dragged out by Clea the latter had taken over the task and haunted the chimney in her banshee form. Areiel was quick to make a suitably annoying comment about the various kinds of dark smoke and a quickly gathered part of the smaller children kept watch expectantly, if someone would appear out of the fireplace to bring them something interesting.
Sylvanas could not care less. So long as she got her library made for her mage she would put up with any amount of inane…with any amount of dark ranger-like playfulness that she would not begrudge anyone.
Late in the day, the castle actually had a library worthy of being called so. A little haphazard, a little odd, but when the first fire in nearly two years was lit in the fireplace it was warm. The floor was swept reasonably clean and there were frayed and tattered rugs to cover most of it. And Proudmoore would think it was enough.
Sylvanas had not had a very clear idea of how she should present the gift to her mage. For a fleeting moment she had contemplated asking everyone to leave but a look at the content mass of people for once able to gather together and be warm in front of a hearth made her reconsider. It was their keep too and there would be time to speak alone with her mage later. Proudmoore was the last kind of person who would want Sylvanas to expel them.
"Well done." Areiel whispered next to her. "Should we go and find our ranger mage?"
"Yes…" Sylvanas suddenly realised that she didn't know where Proudmoore were. Nor Anya. It was a very likely guess that they would be in the same place but for once Sylvanas had no idea where. "You wouldn't happen to know where she could be?"
Having to ask like that, it shamed her. How unthinkable it would have been just a week ago.
"I sent Lyana to look for them a while ago." Now Areiel was frowning. "That is actually odd of Anya not to notify anyone."
Sylvanas signed to Areiel to come with her. They went out into the corridor outside, through the adjoining archives and the rooms that Anya's squadron had furnished into living quarters for their mage. There was no sign of anyone.
"Go and ask Clea and Kitala if they know something." Sylvanas said and kept walking through the keep towards the general direction of the throne room. The floors above were too broken to be of much use, unless Anya had been at them of course. Sylvanas sprinted and climbed up the remains of the stairs and walked briskly across deserted halls and torn walls. It was more nothing than something in these parts of the keep. Still Anya had found a secluded spot for them to draw Sylvanas a bath that one time.
She stepped inside that room too, in fact one of the more intact, but it was deserted.
The bathtub was left where she had last seen it. Except that it was broken. Like if something had hit it, like a stone or a huge club.
Or a very hard foot for that matter.
Poor Anya, how you must have toiled just to make me feel better. You had every right to be angry.
She had to find something she could do for Anya too.
She had to find both of them.
Now.
Because something was not right.
Sylvanas could feel it.
She hurried out of the room, taking the path down in longer and longer strides and nearly jumping down back to the main floor where she was coming almost face to face with Lyana.
"Dark Lady! Anya and Jaina are gone."
***
Anya and Jaina had just sunk down on a piece of rubble in a hidden nook in the Undercity. Anya had an excellent sense for nooks.
Jaina felt slightly wobbly, now that the rush of excitement and danger was fading. She was not physically exhausted but mentally she felt overwhelmed. There was so much she was going to wonder about but for now the best possible thing was to sit leaning against Anya and think of as little as possible.
"In retrospect this wasn't maybe the best idea…" Jaina mumbled. "I put you in terrible danger for my sake. I'm so sorry for that."
"I put myself in danger! I choose to come with you." Anya did not snap but she said it uncommonly sternly, which sounded almost harsh coming from her.
"No, I didn't mean it like that! Not like Loralen…just… You could have been killed! Coming there for me. That's all…"
"You would not have let me. And I will not let you come to harm." Anya said sullenly. "Not ever."
"I know. I know. You kept me safe when I couldn't think of what to do. I don't quite know what came over me, I guess…I just find it hard to imagine myself fighting a banshee nowadays… Wasn't much of an archmage out there."
"You did cast something. I could feel it. Around you, and us."
"It…it was improvised. I couldn't make a shield without pushing you away or possibly harming you so I must have formed the magic into a…buffer? Maybe? I don't quite know what to call it."
They sat in silence for a while. It would be completely dark outside by now, late in the day. Late in the evening, perhaps.
They should probably go find Sylvanas any minute, yet Jaina knew enough of her dark ranger to recognize that something bothered Anya tremendously, and she had a pretty good idea of what.
"I…I said a bad word when we were in the spire…" Anya whispered. It was like she was afraid of even talking about it.
Jaina could ask one of the hundred of questions she wanted to some time ask about banshees and their Wails. She could burst out into the spirited tirade in Anya's defence against every possible depreciative thought that was never far under the surface in her mind.
And she could let those things wait because the only proper thing to do right now was to cup Anya's face in her hands and press her lips tenderly against the cheekbone just beneath those frightened eyes that threatened to break into tears.
"I have learned that sometimes, when a banshee gets really, really angry, she can do that. Or when she gets really, really afraid."
"Not…not all of it… That's not all of it… I…choose to…" The choked way the dark ranger forced out the words was akin to a confession of a heinous crime that Jaina was refusing to understand the magnitude of.
"Sometimes you just need to say a bad word." Jaina had removed her lips just enough to speak. "When other people are being mean."
Anya nodded hesitantly.
"The other dark ranger, who was that?"
"Loralen and Denyelle were part of my old squadron. So was Lyana. They perished early during the Scourge invasion when the Outer Gate fell." This was news to Jaina. She had just always assumed that Clea and Kitala had been with Anya even when they had been alive, but perhaps that was not the case. "I was not there, as she said. But I never…no one thought…"
"Anya… No sane person would think you would ever have left your squadron to face something like the Scourge without you. No one. Loralen was talking crap."
"You are kind to say so." Anya was looking down. There was a lot of fight that had gone out of her.
"You were so brave." Jaina touched her chin. She wanted Anya to look up at her. "And I understand that you did something very hard for you out there for my sake. Thank you, Anya. For saving me."
"Always."
How big her red eyes looked right now. You could lose yourself in them if you weren't careful.
"I…hrm…" Jaina struggled to find the right words, or any words in fact. "I did not find any suitable item when I searched. It seems our adventure left us with empty hands."
A slow and content smile spread across Anya's face. Her fangs peeked out over her lower lip in a way that made her look very mischievous. It was completely adorable, Jaina realised. Did only Anya do that or had she missed the trait completely with every other elf she had met?
"I think not…" Anya slowly and carefully fished out a thin golden chain from inside her chest armour.
It was a necklace. It shimmered, a remarkable piece of jewellery that didn't seem to succumb to the gloom that permeated these parts of the Undercity.
To Sylvanas from Alleria.
The inscription read clearly, in thin, elegant Thalassian engraving. Given the inscription, and where they had found it, it certainly had to be a lost property of Dark Lady Sylvanas Windrunner herself.
"Anya, that's extraordinary! A gift to Sylvanas from her big sister?!"
"Sylvanas, she…always looked up to Alleria. She was someone she could turn to no matter what, even when they were at odds and when Alleria refused to follow tradition and such. Maybe – hopefully – it could be a reminder of those who cared for Sylvanas. They wouldn't want her to be miserable." Anya mumbled.
Jaina swallowed. It was a thing of gravity she held in her hand. Who among the Forsaken had at all experienced the blessing of the smallest touch of home, of something so unbroken from the lives they had lived?
A lot hinged on this conversation.
"I need to report these news to Areiel, about Loralen and those others. Good luck now." Before Jaina had time to react, Anya had kissed her on the cheek, and was gone.
***
Sylvanas watched herself go mad.
There was no other way to put it. No less drastic expression did justice to the feeling of nearly being able to watch, as the threads keeping her soul and sanity together unravelled and how the coherence of her thoughts slipped by her the way water slipped through spread out fingers.
She had roused – by angry shouting – every ranger at hand above the surface and sent them running in each and all directions on the off chance that Anya and Jaina were simply by themselves in the vicinity. She had ran along herself, unthinking and in truth randomly, until the thought had struck her that they may just as well have gotten themselves lost somewhere below if that was what they would have been feeling up to.
The Undercity was not a safe place at the best of times.
Dreadful images of collapsed shafts leapt at her one after the other, ramshackle beams giving way and shoddy supports caving in under the pressure of innumerable tons of rock and earth above. Weight that could crush even such resilient creatures as the strongest undead into pieces. What happened when a banshee was trapped in her own body? Was it possible for her to cease possessing it at will and save herself in her spiritual form? It was an incorporeal form, not invincible.
And the living. Who needed to breathe air, who bled and suffocated and were so terribly, terribly fragile in the end and who – in the worst case – would only need a single hard hit to be rendered unconscious and helpless in the face of sliding rocks or just plain dirty water.
How sure was she about Jaina's standing with her people, again? It had taken ludicrously little to tip her own scales against her mage and if Sylvanas' mistakes had resulted in her shameful actions, then what might be expected from a wholly malicious mind? What was there to say the danger was over and none had – right or wrong – decided to blame the Dark Lady's mage for the leniency towards alleged traitors after all, just like they had feared?
Damned be what she felt, damned be what had befallen them.
How could she have been such a colossal fool to let Jaina out of her sight?
How could she let her anywhere near someone like Varimathras?
At that point Sylvanas had broken off and rushed heedlessly for the closest entrance, half in banshee form and more than halfway to drawing her daggers. If that wretched demon had so much as thought about…
He had not. Or in the case he had masked every sign of foul play when Sylvanas charged inside to turn her chancellor's and indeed the entire City Council's quarters inside out, followed by whatever city guards she had collected in her frantic rampage through the streets to get there.
Sylvanas then turned her attention to the canals. She hated them right then and there. What good were they, when they brought neither clean water for living allies nor kept Scourge at bay? They should dam up the entire sewer system properly and make use of the reclaimed space instead! She would scour the entire length and breadth of this stinking capital of hers until it spat her best mage and ranger back up and no one and nothing would so much as whisper a word in refusal right now!
If not the canals, then the mines. The volatile new caverns and winding passages dug out with improvised tools and methods by eager and fanatically hard-working laymen – they were practically begging for something to go dreadfully wrong – under the constant pressure of time before who knew which enemy would attack again. Why would Anya and Jaina have gone there?
Why would they not?
Why would they not have come up with a brilliant and absurdly dangerous idea to improve the lot of the Forsaken in some completely reckless and irresponsible manner that put themselves at stupefying risks?
The Banshee Queen haunted those mines. She ran, jumped, glided through pitch black darkness and dim light alike, the latter after she had snatched up a lantern. Tracking skills sufficed little against bare rock and gravel upon which one shoddy boot's imprint was as good as the next. Darkness was everywhere. The physical mirror of the visions she would see, or imagine herself seeing, when black nothingness opened up to swallow her, a maw of endless void and insatiable hunger. An abyss she could not stop herself from falling into, only watch from a corner of her own mind.
It had been…some time since these waking nightmares had come. Months to be precise.
Ever since she brought a human mage onboard the Banshee's Wail, a mage that now every pile of earth and every stack of stone and rubble took the appearance of.
Sylvanas must not Wail. She could not afford it. Not now.
My little mage, where have you gone? Anya, where are you?
It would be too late. Of course it would be too late. Too late for the likes of Sylvanas Windrunner for whom only a true death and the Lich King's laughter were what the future held in store. Fate, circumstance, misfortune – called whatever name that elf or human could think of but it would not allow her more than a cruel glimpse of what could have been, not for real. Twist and turn herself she may but at the end of the day, or night as would be more apt, she was still a banshee whose soul blackened by the blood of hundreds could expect no lenience.
She walked without noticing anything in particular back to her dreary lair in the depths of this…this tomb of a city.
Her walls closed around her until she blinked and they were plain grey stone again. They rose into towering mountainsides as Sylvanas sank down into her chair by her desk.
Then the door opened and Jaina stepped inside.
If Sylvanas had held anything in her hands she would have dropped it. She stared.
Are you a phantom image come to mock me? Jaina?
"Sylvanas? May I…speak to you for a while? Please?"
Speak to me? After…after all you have – where have you had the gall to have been?! Speaking is the least you will do, you – my – unthinking, careless, foolhardy, insane mage!
Sylvanas gestured mutely at the chair in front of her while she struggled to keep herself from exploding.
"I – that is, me and Anya – we have a gift for you. That we brought. Or more correctly returned to its owner."
Something golden shimmered in Jaina's hand. It was so unexpected, so completely out of place here and now, that to Sylvanas it was just another nuisance when all she wanted was to somehow make sure that Jaina was indeed Jaina somehow sitting right in front of her, with her hair in tangles that begged to be combed out and her ranger cloak hanging down too much on the left.
"What's that you have there? That necklace looks somehow familiar. Give it here!"
The harsh words came out so wrong but Sylvanas could not stop them. She knew it was the last thing she wanted to say, should say, needed to say, but she no longer had the strength to steer the maelstrom of emotion inside, only to keep it from erupting into something even worse. She could only watch her thoughts running rampant.
Jaina was putting the necklace down on the table. She was being so careful with it.
"We visited Windrunner Spire and came across this."
I know this jewellery down to the smallest dent in the third link. I know the difference between the light cast when the sun shines on the stone from the right and from the left. I know how it feels against every inch of my throat. And I know that I left it in a box for years and has not thought of ever seeing it again. And now you have it here right before my eyes and –
"It can't be! After all this time, I thought it was lost forever."
"Not any more." Jaina's eyes twinkled. Of all things. Now.
Is this a game to you?! Do you have any idea what you caused by disappearing without a single trace, let alone telling anyone what you were going to do and where? I am inches from screaming at you for it! Have you the slightest idea of what was going on here in the meantime, or what could have happened? What if we had been attacked? Have you completely forgotten how we are at war and how many people that have come to depend on your presence? And you sit before like nothing has happened and –
"You thought this would amuse me?"
"We wanted to give you a gift. And a gift that would be something important, so that was why we visited your old home. It wasn't supposed to take so long but the thing is, we encountered a lot of banshees there…"
Banshees. Scourge banshees, presumably? You rush headlong into the deepest of the blighted parts of Quel'thalas where if not the Scourge would get you then an elven patrol could have, and they do not stop to ask questions any more I can tell you! Were you TRYING to get yourselves killed?! How can you even think of something like this?! Is it not enough that I have hurt you so deeply already but must you and Anya court your true deaths in this manner on top of everything? For a…gilded TRINKET! What do I care for relics of the past when put against your life?!
"Do you think I long for a time before I was the queen of the Forsaken?"
That I long for it so much that I would not be bothered sending mine to their deaths to retrieve mementos on a whim? Is that what you think of me?
"Uh, no – yes – I – we – we just thought it would be something you would like to have. That it would mean something, hopefully mean a lot…"
Jaina looked so unsure of herself. Belore, this wasn't what Sylvanas wanted! But this, all of this, it was so overwhelmingly insane, that she could just keep herself from bursting apart in a Wail. Her thoughts spun so fast that it was only with the greatest difficulty she could catch one of them and put it into words and even so a dozen more passed her by as she spoke, faster and faster and faster.
Jaina, how could you ever think that anyone could care more for a piece of metal than for you? How can you risk yourself for dead gold that is nothing more than dirt next to that in your locks? What gems can compare to those two that look upon me? Have I done this to you? Did I drive you to this reckless thing? It is not the gifts of those closest to me that hold meaning, it is they themselves.
"Like you…" Sylvanas whispered.
"Like…me?"
Like you. My little mage. I would take it all back if I could. I would rather have it that I was taken unawares when someone proved false for real than to have hurt you like I did over falseness imagined. Damn any traitorous prisoners! Damn any malcontents I could not care less about! Damn this entire rotten city!
"It means nothing to me." Sylvanas vaguely gestured around them. "And Alleria Windrunner is a long dead memory!"
She is nothing in comparison for she is gone, and you are not! And Alleria would personally GUT me if she saw me putting her memory ahead of my ranger sisters who were still with me! She would be ashamed to call herself Windrunner if she saw me do that!
Jaina's face fell. She blinked, crestfallen and unbelieving and her eyes were turning misty.
"How can you…say that…? How can…" The mage sniffed, and she became hard and rigid and brittle, so very brittle that it was like shards sharp enough to cut yourself upon. "Well then! If – if that is all there is to it then I shall not take up more of the Dark Lady's valuable time! I hope it is acceptable that I now remove myself from her distinguished presence!"
What have I said? Something dreadfully wrong that I can not even grasp. Even a civil conversation is a feat beyond me as of now. All I attempt today fail before it can even begin. Go, Jaina. Before you are hurt even more by this poison that I am. I do not even know how to say that in a way you will not misunderstand.
Instead Sylvanas just echoed the words Jaina had spoken.
"You may now remove yourself from my presence, Ranger Mage."
Her mage slammed the door shut after her so that dust trickled from the ceiling.
Sylvanas sank with her head into her palms. What had she really done and said? Why would her wild thoughts not quiet? Begone! All of them!
She beat at her own forehead in frustration. What had she really said? Words, thoughts, sentences, there was no telling one from the other!
Start from the beginning.
Follow your thoughts. Retrace and observe them without forcing anything. Like she had once instructed Jaina to on the road back from Hearthglen.
How easy it was to tell someone else to do it.
What of that she had thought had she managed to put into actual words for Jaina?
Oh, no…
What have I really said to her?
Sylvanas leapt for the door.
"Jaina… Jaina, wait… Please…"
***
Jaina stumbled forward. She was blind to where she went.
How could she?
How could she?
After all she had tried, after all she had done, after she had torn her heart out and laid it bare before her rangers and...
Did Jaina even know the Banshee Queen anymore?
Why are you like this, why, why, why? I look upon you and I don't recognize you anymore.
Had she ever?
Had it all been a lie, or a pastime for Sylvanas, a faint facade of something else than what Sylvanas Windrunner truly was?
Jaina couldn't do this anymore. She had nothing left to give. She could not bear this crushing existence of death and horror and despair everywhere around her. She was physically suffocating, she needed air, and now! She couldn't stand the weight of this endless agony where every smile hid a boiling scream of terror and no laugh could be laughed without its twisted twin of torment being ever so close at hand.
She could no longer help Sylvanas.
The realisation hit Jaina with crushing finality.
I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home to Theramore. To Dalaran.
To Pained.
Pained!
Tears flowed like rivers and covered the world in their mist. Jaina looked past them, past, past everything and everything, into the depths of Azeroth's flowing magic, into the leylines and arcane currents that would rip a careless soul to shreds if she did not know exactly what she was doing, past, past it all, unto the glimmering spark on the other side of the world that Jaina knew was home.
She trembled when her portal took shape, a portal stretching beyond all sense and reason, and it flickered and flashed in and out of existence – and it was gone and Jaina with it, and she fell forward on the hard tiles of her own wooden floor in the cramped little bedroom and study in the tower that was home.
Jaina whimpered as she struggled to her feet, in sorrow or in hurt or in both. The staff had fallen out of her hands. She almost did not catch the footsteps nearing her.
"My… Lady Jaina?!"
The last vestiges of Jaina's composure broke down and she fell into Pained's arms and cried without end.
***
Anya had finally finished her report to Areiel and hurried through the streets back towards Sylvanas' quarters. Areiel had been hard to find and apparently half the city was in some kind of ruckus because the Dark Lady had been turning it upside down in search of something she refused to divulge, but Anya had a very distinct idea of what that might be even before Areiel had begun to shout her ears off.
The news that Jaina had already gone to see Sylvanas and that they had met Loralen put a quick stop to the ranger captain's talking-to though, and she had listened intently to Anya's hurried report of what they had discovered at Windrunner Spire even if it did not stop her form shaking her head at the idea of leaving for so long without notice. Intended surprise or not.
They would have to talk more about the issue, and plan. Was Loralen and those other banshees still part of the Scourge but able to act independently? Were they their own but actively choosing to avoid the Forsaken? And could they be set free, or become allies, in those cases?
But all that would be for later. Jaina and Sylvanas would have talked quite a deal by now and with just a little luck they would still be talking, and on their way to be friends with each other again.
And if they weren't, then Anya would tie them together with a rope until they hugged and made up. Because there had to be an end to this now.
She didn't really dare to. But she'd do it anyway. If that was what it took.
The first thing that she noticed when she silently approached Sylvanas' part of the military quarters was that it was deserted. Why was it so? Shouldn't there be at least some grouchy deathguard here or there?
No door was shut. As if no one cared whether they were.
Anya hurried inside.
Sylvanas was sitting slumped against the wall with the golden necklace lying in the dust on the floor in front of her. The way she stared hollowly ahead into nothing told more than enough.
No.
No.
She couldn't. They couldn't.
No!
Anya strode ahead and jerked Sylvanas to her feet with a tight grip of the shoulder straps of her armour.
"Where is Jaina?"
It did not take a beating heart to make your voice tremble at a time like this.
"She is gone."
Anya slammed the Dark Lady into the wall while icy cold dread rose to grasp her still heart in its clutch.
"Gone? Gone? What…" Anya started to shake her head unconsciously in denial, defiance, warning, anything. "No, Sylvanas… No…no… What have you… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
There was no answer. There was no need for an answer.
"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!"
Anya screamed and screamed and she hammered viciously and then futilely against Sylvanas' chest as the undeniable and inevitable fact washed away all other thoughts.
Jaina was, finally and truly, gone.
Author's Note
Maltacus: Yeah, sorry about that, treasure hunting in Windrunner Spire comes with this certain script you see and, uh…
Anya: "Wails"
Maltacus: …and I know, this sucked. In all bad and not explicit-rating-related ways.
Anya: This script is really, really super-stupid and should be thrown into the deepest abyss together with dreadlord garlic mustard and lich fish soup!
Maltacus: Has anyone told you how much you resemble Floria the Rogue? She is quite adorable too. And she can sing. And look out for her stiff warrior-queen of a mistress. You should absolutely meet. You are practically colleagues.
Anya: "Nocks arrow"
Maltacus: Ahem, on the BRIGHT side, things can surely not get worse now at the very least. Or they are not intended to anyway…
Anya: "Bares teeth"
Maltacus: Has anyone told you how cute your fangs are? Ah, I mean, this is probably just a temporary setback, no match for the charm and wisdom of the dark rangers' finest to fix.
Anya: In next chapter?
Maltacus: Eh…in the fullness of time…at the appropriate juncture…
Anya: "Draws bow"
Anya: "Wails"
Maltacus: …and I know, this sucked. In all bad and not explicit-rating-related ways.
Anya: This script is really, really super-stupid and should be thrown into the deepest abyss together with dreadlord garlic mustard and lich fish soup!
Maltacus: Has anyone told you how much you resemble Floria the Rogue? She is quite adorable too. And she can sing. And look out for her stiff warrior-queen of a mistress. You should absolutely meet. You are practically colleagues.
Anya: "Nocks arrow"
Maltacus: Ahem, on the BRIGHT side, things can surely not get worse now at the very least. Or they are not intended to anyway…
Anya: "Bares teeth"
Maltacus: Has anyone told you how cute your fangs are? Ah, I mean, this is probably just a temporary setback, no match for the charm and wisdom of the dark rangers' finest to fix.
Anya: In next chapter?
Maltacus: Eh…in the fullness of time…at the appropriate juncture…
Anya: "Draws bow"
Areiel: Oh, so long as it's about work she was always clear. Privately is where the disasters loomed...
Pained: We'll have to do the cake and banner thing tomorrow and hope for the best.
Chapter 39: Woes and Welcomes
Chapter 39: Woes and Welcomes
Things look downer than down for some of the Forsaken but some help may be closer than they think. Jaina is welcomed home and happy to be so but finds herself reflecting on Sylvanas' erratic behaviour.
As a quick reminder of Azeroth ecologies: Frostsabers are the large white tigers that night elf priestesses of the moon like Tyrande Whisperwind likes to ride on.
To Rhonin it felt like yesterday that Jaina and Sylvanas had stepped into Dalaran. And like a year. Or something more creative of a metaphor for very long period of time but whatever. Like he could be bothered by semantics right now.
Vereesa.
He had – as terrible as it felt to say – had to get used to worrying about her and the way that the lethargy of magic depriation seeped into her in conjunction with the wearying series of calamities that had deprived their corner of the world of all semblance of peace and good things these last years. Would that also be what they would found themselves getting used to one day?
It was getting to Rhonin. All of it.
Vereesa had been his strength for most of their time together. Just to keep up with that kind of tireless bundle of arcane energy she turned into whenever they were travelling, that in his opinion warranted both free spellcasting and the theory that Windrunner elves were in fact arcane golems with permanent glamour spells for concealment.
Getting up, alone, on days like this one. Having breakfast, alone, because even when he tried to make it into a cozy occasion it caused Vereesa more stress than anything else when he ate next to the bed where she lay.
On days like these, it was hard and not even the admittedly quite stellar progress they seemed to be able to make with the Forsaken was enough. Rhonin munched disinterested on some slice of bread he had roasted. Or set on fire briefly, if they were going to be so nit-picking.
"Rhonin?"
Wait now, even a drowsy call this early was actually more than most days.
"Darling?" Vereesa was a shadow in the grey and black of their bedroom. She was lying on her back and looking right up but even in her listless position something was different now. A clarity of the eyes that was not usually there.
"What time is it?"
"An hour after sunrise or so."
"What day? What I mean – how many days since – ?
"It's been seven days. I haven't heard back from your sister. Or from Jaina. But I delivered our answer the day before yesterday."
"I know. You told me. And it all becomes a blur." Vereesa was looking very intently at their ceiling. Rhonin resisted the urge to double-check if there was some particularly offensive cobweb there. "I am not getting any better, lying here."
It hurt so because it was unfortunately true. Rhonin couldn't think of an answer.
"Love." Vereesa's hand nestled into his. "You've taken care of me all this time. You've never complained, never been angry, never been impatient with me. Even while you have watched over my rangers and the lost souls of our ramshackle city. Thank you."
Vereesa was smiling slightly. A pale and tired smile. The finest Rhonin had seen in days.
"I have waited so long for Sylvanas. I had hoped so much that she would come, and that all would be different and better in some unexplainable way. But it isn't."
Rhonin wanted to argue the point but he got the feeling that Vereesa did not want it.
"It won't be. I won't be getting any better. And I can not lie here waiting for it anymore. And I think that it has to stop now."
"I miss you." Rhonin found himself mouthing. It was illogical but he couldn't help it. "I miss you with me."
"Help me get out of bed." Vereesa held out her hand, and she swayed like a drunk about to tip over when she stood up. Rhonin wondered if she had done it too fast and experienced light-headedness from the movement
"Have you been able to make any progress with supplements? I'm so sorry, Love, I am sure you have mentioned it many times and I just – "
"Only variations of mana wine and potions, so far. At least grape juice would be healthier than wine in the long run…"
"Barbarian." Vereesa mumbled, and then she sighed. "Well, if it doesn't go with mana wine it will have to go without." She took a wobbly step forward and grabbed hold of the doorway in order not to topple over. "I think…I have this feeling that…it's not me who…"
Just then and there, a small ray of sunshine snuck between the curtains and shone rebelliously into the room. Rhonin found himself liking that ray very much.
"Get me my ranger uniform. My sister needs me."
Being home.
It was both unreal like a dream and completely familiar so that everything from yesterday and earlier was starting to seem like one. Had nothing changed over such a long time? The stacks of paper were even where Jaina thought she very well might have left them that fateful night late in summer.
She yawned. Was it morning? It was hard to tell. Not night at least because there was light coming from her window.
"My Lady?" Pained stifled a yawn from the door. She was carrying a steaming cup of familiar tea.
"Hi Pained. What's the time?"
"Indecently early." Pained put the cup of tea down on the tiny nightstand next to Jaina, who sat up in her bed.
"It feels like I have slept for ages. I think the time is different on the other side of the sea or something like that…" Jaina sipped on the tea. "…there was a long treatise of that which Dalar Dawnweaver wrote on the subject some three decades ago. Aran Spellweaver did his best to shoot it down of course…"
"You did sleep for a long time. I am very sure you needed it."
That was true, but wise from experience Jaina looked closer and saw the reddening of Pained's eyes.
"You sat up awake to make sure I would keep on sleeping, didn't you?"
"No." Pained cleared her throat. "Not too much…" She managed to almost look guilty.
Jaina cautiously put her cup of tea down and reached up to hug Pained, who had sat down precariously perched on her bedside.
"I promise I'll go to bed early tonight so you can get some rest then at least." Jaina smiled fondly at her.
"What's this? Are we no longer arguing about My Lady's sleep schedule?"
"Suffice to say that I have been taught the futility of such things. You have kindred spirits across the sea. You really should meet some day." The moment she said it Jaina remembered herself and her mood plummeted. The chances of Pained getting to meet anyone of the Forsaken were not stellar. Jaina did not look forward to when the events from yesterday would catch up and hit her with full force. For the moment it was all dulled. And unreal.
Jaina managed to pack most thoughts of the day ahead of her away while she had breakfast. Stubbornly so.
But what now? On the one hand she both wanted and knew she had to check in on what had happened in her little town in her absence, and make sure that everyone else were safe and sound. On the other she dreaded what said everyone would have to say about her being gone for such a long time without previous warning.
Could archmages volunteer for watching the bed for, say, the rest of the day? Just to make sure nothing was broken or needed replacing after being out of use for a few months, maybe.
What if the citizens of Theramore would be to Jaina as the Forsaken had been to Sylvanas upon her return? Did Jaina really expect it to be that bad? Maybe not quite. But she couldn't be sure. Jaina had been gone far longer too. It hadn't been the entire Undercity being angry with Sylvanas but it had been many enough. What if there would be a throng of furious Theramorians gathering in the day once word leaked out that Jaina was back. She wasn't seriously worried about her personal safety – she had gotten (overly) used to relying on her own magic first and last in every situation – but hearing those kind of things, and knowing how some would very likely be justified…
It felt a little like her breakfast wanted to escape her belly now.
"My Lady?"
Jaina hummed something in return.
"If you have finished your breakfast I would strongly recommend that we go downstairs. There are a couple of visitors."
Here it came. Either she teleported away now or she was done for.
In other words she was done for.
Jaina nodded queasily. The fluttering moths in her stomach had been replaced by wyverns. At the very least.
She followed Pained down the stair to the bottom floor. It felt just like that time she was on her way to explain to Master Antonidas how she had wanted to try out a certain water conjuring spell and inadvertently flooded the library with all its expensive books. Whoever it was that had come calling was not waiting indoors at least. Jaina probably felt better about that fact but she hoped she wouldn't have come across as too inhospitable on top of everything else.
When Pained moved to open the sturdy front door she looked back at Jaina with affection. She was even smiling. Did that eccentric night elf look forward to see Jaina being torn apart (hopefully only figuratively)?
The moment the door opened there was silence.
Then a roar.
It was a wave of sound that swept through Jaina, the collected shouts and exclamations of at least several dozens Theramorians who did not look the slightest disgruntled but relieved and surprised and, if Jaina had not known better, unreservedly happy to see her.
"We have missed you." Jaina heard Pained mumble close to her ear, and wanted to cry of relief. Was this really true? Nobody who wanted to so much as shout at her? Not even a little bit?
Instead, a score of children were running towards her. Jaina knew most of them by name, but…how big they were! Then again, it had been a long time since she had regularly been out to meet people, even before the Forsaken spirited her away. It had been such a long and dreary time.
She raised her hands and snowflakes materialized and rained down over them, which led to everyone yawning widely trying to catch and eat the falling snow.
The crowd was so tightly clustered that it would be quite a feat to get anywhere, save by a rather impolite teleportation spell.
"Order! Make some space, good people! Let Lady Jaina pass."
A determined Theramorian lieutenant was making his way through the crowd with several other city guards in tow.
"Lady Jaina, you are a sight for sore eyes. Welcome back!"
"Lieutenant Hornblower, thank you. It's so good to see you again. Everyone." Jaina said to all who stood around her. "I don't know what to say, even."
"Everybody made it!" he boasted, and it took Jaina a blink to remember that he had been the one commanding the guard patrol that encountered Sylvanas and her rangers by the docks. "You got all our hides out but when we got our bearings and returned there was no sign of you, Lady Jaina! I swear we looked everywhere. What happened?"
"That, uh, is kind of a long story…" More than that Jaina did not manage to get out before a new wave of pleads and demands that she tell it overtook her. It took some time to restore some semblance of listening.
"Maybe this would be a good time to relocate to the city hall?" Pained suggested. "We can't stand and freeze on your doorstep indefinitely."
"City hall? It's finished?!" Jaina almost shouted.
"Yep." Pained sounded outright smug now. "And there is an impromptu delayed opening party scheduled just right now in fact, so we had better make our way there."
More than Pained appeared not a little pleased by Jaina's clear surprise and followed up with one piece of news after the other meant to astound an already overwhelmed archmage. The harbour was coming together steadily and by next spring they could accommodate a third more vessels if nothing unexpected happened. A local kind of kelp – of which the Dustswallow Marshes had plenty – had been found suitable for grinding and mixing with clay to bake bricks that may even prove stronger than ordinary ones. What would they think of next?
The city hall – it was indeed finished, Jaina noted with growing pride – was a long two-storey building of stone and wood in typical Lordaeronian fashion even though there was visible emphasis on windows and hatches in order to adapt to the Kalimdorian climate. The lower floor resembled that of a tavern, but far larger, with a kitchen in the further end where a couple of stairs led upwards. Jaina made a mental note to inspect the floor above later to make sure the ropes and rope ladders were also in place by the opposite end above the gate, added in case a fire would break out and blockade the stairs. The upper floor would house most of the city's administration and Jaina foresaw many coming hours of reading and writing by lamps and candles. She knew the territory.
There were benches here and there but far from enough for everybody. They looked very new and more would undoubtedly be made later. Jaina found herself led by Pained towards one next to the hearth furthest inside. The dozens of people – the hall was truly becoming packed – must have multiplied for there seemed to Jaina to be more like a couple of hundreds and they would have to open the windows even if it was late into the autumn in order to let in enough air for everyone. That was not all, for somehow someone had made heaps of food be brought inside. Loaves of bread, pieces of cheese, fruits and smoked fish. This was looking more and more deliberate by the minute and Jaina found herself casting an equally baffled and suspicious look at Pained.
"Would you happen to know how I managed to return to a hitherto unknown Theramorian festival, Pained?"
"I might have let slip that someone long expected was finally back, last night. I may even have wandered as far as down to the Gull and the Herring and mentioned off-handedly how we would probably need something to snack on today."
Theramore, like any proper port city, had taverns and foremost among them 'The Thieving Gull' (or 'The Screeching Gull', opinions differed of which was the correct name) and 'The Tusked Herring'.
"Oh, you didn't need to – "
"I beg to differ. Look around, how are your poor subjects going to last through an entire recounting of your adventures without provisions. An army listens on its stomach, isn't that how you humans put it?"
"Marches on its stomach."
"Anyway, you should be pleased. Because evidently I did other things than keeping watch by your bedside, correct?"
Pained looked so pleased with herself that Jaina had to smile back.
She had better say something to every Tides-blessed decent, generous Theramorian who had welcomed her home with open arms when she had felt sick fearing the scorn she expected. It was…it was so good being home right now, in their warm and sturdy new hall in their warm and sturdy little town.
"Ladies and gentlemen, everyone, thank you so much for coming here like this and thank you for not being angry with me for being away for so long. It was not intended to be for such a long time, or it was not intended at all actually."
Jaina would have liked to leave it at that and perhaps add some more reassurances that she would now get back to work as Theramore's archmage and catch up with the city's affairs.
Her audience – yes, her audience indeed and not just guests – did not have the same idea.
"What happened?"
"Were you kidnapped, Lady Jaina?"
"Were there dragons?"
"Was it the Horde?"
Jaina raised her hands pleadingly and looked even more pleadingly to Pained, but her bodyguard only gestured magnanimously for her to please go on and that the stage was hers. Jaina closed her eyes briefly and then resigned herself to her fate. She would not be getting out of this one, apparently.
"This is of course a rather long and somewhat complicated story, but I have in short been spending the time away with the Forsaken, who are the free undead that have broken away from the Lich King's domination…"
That was neither what her listeners had expected nor wanted to hear, Jaina could tell.
"I understand that this sounds downright insane, but I can attest that they are every bit their own and they are fighting bitterly against the Scourge across western Lordaeron. I have been helping them."
There were low murmurs across the hall, and dark glares. Not at Jaina personally, at least she hoped so, but more in response to the dark and looming subject of the fate of Lordaeron and the nightmare that they had left behind to chase a desperate hope on the other side of the oceans.
"Curse them all…"
"They can stay there and rot!"
"Better dead than undead…"
Jaina conjured a huge glittering snowflake that fell apart into sparks. It served no purpose other than to reclaim everyone's attention. Sometimes it paid to be really, really showy when casting spells.
"Please! Order!" Jaina called out and it took some time for the hall to settle down.
"Well, what are they like then?" The voice of the inquirer was gruff and unwilling.
"They are like us." Jaina let it sink in before she continued. "They are those who didn't make it out from Lordaeron and Dalaran and Quel'thalas. Men, women, old, young, rich or poor. Anyone could have eaten the plague-infested grain or been claimed by the Scourge. We escaped that fate. They didn't."
Not a sound was heard in response.
"Many of the Forsaken are withered dead and terrifying to look at, but inside they are ordinary people having escaped one nightmare only to wake up to another one that is an existence as undead without a friend in the world. Some of them are kind, some are not. Some are spiteful. Some are generous."
Some give the most thoughtful gifts and sit up all night to make sure you will not freeze when you sleep.
"There are those who undeath treated very unkindly, who are withered and decrepit, and there are those who are nearly whole. On the outside, at least. They…the Lich King forced them to do his bidding. We all know that and we all know what that entailed. It is my impression that every Forsaken remembers at least partly their actions as his slaves."
They suffer like I can not even imagine and how anyone can hold themselves together after something like that will never cease to astound me.
"I think…I think that in order to understand the Forsaken my first advice is to not overcomplicate anything. They have, for lack of a better term, woken up to a world ready to reject them at every turn. Their queen sent emissaries to neighbouring kingdoms that were shot on sight. They had no way of letting anyone know that they were no longer Scourge."
"They have a queen? What, a Lich Queen?" someone said sceptically.
"No! Not at all, she is a Banshee Queen in fact…"
And she is, she is… Aaah! She is a complete bloody disaster that I want nothing more to do with and that is that! She is a cold-hearted and uncaring manipulative piece of filthy lies that only makes you think she gives a damn about you!
"She is called Sylvanas Windrunner and she – "
At least three benches toppled over when elven occupants stood up in distress.
" – and she used to be the Ranger-General of Quel'thalas before she was killed and turned into a banshee. There are some others like her and they are…they are all acutely aware of what they are and what they were made to do…"
Anya.
Clea.
Kitala.
Lyana.
"Even…even banshees can be kind, despite that. That goes for all the Forsaken. They are not what the Lich King made them into. Not only. They are people again, not mindless monsters. The queen crossed the sea in search of new allies and came here. She encountered our city guard who mistook her escort for Scourge – understandable – and I intervened and managed to prevent a disaster but lost consciousness from the strain. Then I woke up onboard her ship…"
Where she had probably stood guard next to me just like Pained would. And she was angry when I was repulsed by Captain Bones but somehow she calmed me afterwards and when I tried again to do better she let me, and then she spared no effort keeping me fed and warm as best she could for the entire journey.
"…we crossed the sea back to Lordaeron and I came to assist the crew with navigation and some water magics when the wind died…
And we became friends and she and her rangers were so kind to me and she saved my life and I saved her city, and we…
"…we have been in the field for the better part of over a month I think, and managed to push the Scourge back and clear a path to Dalaran even, and the Forsaken and the Kirin Tor have begun negotiations…"
And I betrayed your trust and you betrayed mine. And it tainted that moment that should have been our finest and I would have left you then and there if it had not been for Anya.
Anya!
She wanted us to mend it. Fix it. She put so much on the line and I honestly thought I approached you respectfully that night and that you would also want to talk. And instead you spoke…what did you say to me? That I meant nothing to you, like the necklace? How could you?! How could you bloody damn mean something like that, you incomprehensible fucking ghost?!
The cloth in front of her had dark stains now.
With each new tear that dropped another unseemly black splotch formed on the clean – mostly – and clear white.
Anya couldn't help it.
What did it matter anyway?
Nothing mattered any more.
Jaina was gone.
Jaina's warmth. Jaina's kind eyes. Jaina's laughter.
Jaina's heartbeat, that was the safest sound Anya knew next to Sylvanas' voice, but fuck stupid damned Sylvanas right now because she had ruined everything and Anya didn't want to think about her anymore!
Jaina had kissed her.
Soft and gentle and lovely so that Anya stopped herself from crying in wondrous surprise, even if Anya knew that Jaina would just have kissed her again if she had been crying.
Jaina's lips. She had only felt them for the briefest time. She missed them like it was a hole that had been dug out somewhere inside her.
It was all gone. The only thing that was left was her sack of clothes. And her slippers that she hadn't got to use nearly as much as she should have. And the poor shirt in Anya's hands that Anya couldn't put down or let go of.
Something tugged at her awareness. Someone who was knocking on the open door.
A gentle voice.
"Are you here? All alone?"
Obviously she was here because she was sitting here and nowhere else. Damn it.
Lyana. Flanked by Clea and Kitala. No one would let her be apparently.
"Go away!"
"Anya – "
"Pick a new squad leader, I don't care any more! I don't care!"
"Pull another one." Clea tried to sound cocky but it was truly a pathetic try.
"You do care." Kitala's turn. "You care so much so of course it hurts."
"Leave! Leave me alone!"
"Anya. Did you ever leave me alone when I was in pain?" Lyana now, too? "If so I must have fainted at those times. What kind of ranging partner could leave the other on her own now? What sort of person would that make me?"
"A monster! Like all of us! A wretched, stupid, fucking monster who should just have stayed dead!"
Anya stubbornly turned her gaze away. Away from everything and everyone.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly meant that."
Anya did not look her in the eyes. She did not look at anything.
"Not – " Couldn't they just disappear? All of them, together, so none had to hurt any more. "Not you."
"Not you either, Anya. Not you either. Not any of us."
"Then why do we do these things?!" Anya screamed.
She burrowed deeper into the cold – empty – white linen. Somewhere inside it Anya still imagined that some little scent of Jaina lingered.
Cyndia and her squadron had returned to a city of ghosts. Like, not in the literal and obvious way but in the poetic and metaphorical one. The free undead were themselves…haunted. And afraid to go out at night. Or day, it appeared.
Someone had apparently lost their shit completely, the Dark Lady was nowhere to be seen, and their archmage was gone.
Great.
Home sweet home.
Was it so surprising that Cyndia had never liked the Undercity?
The thing was, on top of everything, that they returned with really damned decent news for a change and now there was no one bothering to greet them and hear it. When, for just once, you came back with something less than pitch black darkness including the true deaths of an unspecified number of people, a little bit of an audience wouldn't be out of place. She would even take a pair of bored dreadguards in a pinch.
The Kirin Tor had got their beards out of their armpits, or whatever was the proper jibe for human wizarding tardiness. There had been a delegation, or more like one wizard and his obviously superfluous guard detail that mostly managed to look uncomfortably around while the odd fellow introduced himself with irreverent ease. Not even Kalira's sternest look managed to faze him.
Try as she might to keep an open mind, Cyndia could not help thinking that Rhonin Redhair somehow didn't look quite like a Kirin Tor wizard was supposed to. He had no white beard, and it was not very long either, but on the other hand he had a great deal of hair and all of it as red as a fox in a sunset. Then he had the gall to appear completely unafraid and just as stubbornly curious as Jaina about everything around him. Not even a small yelp. That had to violate the professional pride of the dark rangers in some way.
But Cyndia couldn' deny that Rhonin had proven to be undeniably charming. Even Kalira had thawed up – and she had very obviously been painstakingly trying to make a good impression on their supposedly potential allies too, which was absolutely hilarious to observe – before long. Before much longer than that, the archmage had – for real – engaged Velonara in a spirited and completely serious discussion about the theoretical applications of polymorphing enchantments on arrows, after Kalira let drop how Vel' had wanted to misuse Jaina's staff at first opportunity.
Cyndia had to admit that the thought of Scarlet knights turning into sheep after a volley had its charms.
The Kirin Tor would be with them. Not as an army, maybe not even side by side on the battlefield. But they would not be enemies.
And with Dalaran, the Forsaken would have a secure stronghold to anchor their front on, maybe even to make use of as a base for their operations in time, and better than that they would have a voice to speak for them in the rest of the Alliance.
Rhonin talked exciredly about portals and portal anchors and a load of other things that begged for someone scholarly to be there to listen to it. Cyndia didn't get half of the highbrowed explanations but anything that meant more of the marvellous portals Jaina had supplied was a sure win in her book. As a final treat, Rhonin had opened one of them for the squadron to step right back outside the capital to report the developments to Sylvanas.
And now they were here, Kalira had ran off in search of their Dark Lady and Cyndia and the rest had been given some time for themselves. The next minute they had met Lyana on the way to the apothecary and tagged along to hear one piece of lousy news after another.
Velonara and Lyana were talking insistently ahead of her and Cyndia was droppig back to hear what the other 'Naras thought about the state of things.
"People were always weird down here but this is insane…" Neither Lenara nor Cyndia were great fans of the Undercity.
"Yeah…serious graveyard vibes." Nara looked around. "We should scout this out, try to find some other squadron and get us up to speed."
"Sounds good. I'm gonna stick with Vel'. Vel', are we going somewhere?"
"The dungeons." Velonara answered immediately.
The dungeons. This was getting weirder and weirder.
Cyndia shrugged.
Lyana was soon done with whatever purchase she was supposed to make and led them out to the surface again and through the Lordaeron Keep down to the lower levels. Cyndia grimaced. Marginally better than the crowded city but still…kind of cramped.
"What's the hurry?" Cyndia asked. Lyana wasn't usually an impatient ranger but the three of them were close to running through the ruins and the keep's corridors.
"You'll see." Velonara answered in her stead.
Cyndia hadn't had the opportunity to go down into the lower levels of the building for quite some time, and it was just as well in her opinion. These circular stairs led down to storage rooms, and guard rooms, and the dungeons. Fortunately the magically warded ones were not completely below ground and small trickles of sunlight from barred narrow shafts set high in the walls.
They passed one open door leading to a deserted room, and one more, and then into one that was not deserted.
There was a small tent set up with a barrel and a couple of buckets next to it. A couple of bedrolls were spread out by the other wall. Someone had obviously lived here.
Now no one lived here but three dejected rangers who haunted the cellar together with Lyana.
They looked seriously worse for wear.
Clea and Kitala were glumness given elven form. Anya was even worse. She was, well…wrong, where she sat and hugged a white shirt that Cyndia after some thought would guess had been Jaina's. It was pitiful to look at.
Cyndia had always found Anya Eversong easy to like since Velonara liked her so much. They were an odd sort of best friends. While Cyndia knew perfectly well how Velonara could be pure steel through and through when the situation called for it, Anya tended to strike you as just a little too scrawny sometimes. It wasn't that she was malnourished in any way - she and Vel' were of almost identical height and size – but maybe something about her demeanour more than her stature. But Anya was still a ranger lieutenant and however she did it she had managed her own squadron for a long time and done it good as far as Cyndia had heard.
The thing with Anya was that she always had her eyes on everyone around her on some level. She really saw you when she looked at you, in some vaguely put platitude-like way.
Yes, that was what was most out of place here. Anya just ignoring everything around her. In favour of a rumpled old shirt.
Well, in all fairness, Cyndia guessed she shouldn't say anything about not being too talkative about…stuff. Velonara had acquired a good deal of experience having clams for friends lately.
Better than having clammy friends at least. Probably.
Vel' had sat down and started whispering with Anya, or to her it looked like. Cyndia supposed she ought to sit down too. This would take a while.
Frankly, it could take as long it had to for all Cyndia cared. Anya was alright, scrawny or not. What words from Vel' would get through to her was more than Cyndia could think of, though.
"Do you remember when we first met? You were crying that time too. And I told you that I had packed booze and a hug." Anya made some sound that only came out as a sniff. "I only brought a hug this time."
Anya clamped down harder on herself in response, wrapped tight into a stiff and hard stone figure that let nothing close. Velonara would have none of it though.
"We all miss her like it hurts. Of course we do." She was sitting down in front of Anya and resolutely grabbing hold of all of her, and Anya had bundled herself up so tightly that she couldn't do anything but topple over when Velonara pulled her closer. "I can't believe she could even be gone just like that. It's terrible! Anya, babe, you poor thing!"
"Leave." Anya sobbed and clawed harder at herself. For all the stupendously horrifying things Cyndia had borne witness to, she still winced at the sight of quiet, gentle Anya digging her nails into her legs so hard that it made her tremble, undead or not.
"Never. You're my bestest friend." Velonara was mumbling into her ear. "You can Wail until my ears fall off for all I care. Not leaving."
With one hand on either cheek, Velonara carefully pried Anya's face free from her knees and tilted it up towards her own. Cyndia could only see a mess of pale hair when Vel' was leaning down over her friend.
"Sooner or later there will be a spring. Then I know someone who will want to set sail with the Banshee's Wail." Anya twitched when she said that. "And I know someone who will want to come along."
Anya whimpered in her arms.
"We made the crossing once, on our own, with no magic admiral to help us. Now Captain Bones has all her notes and charts and stuff. We can be in Theramore in no time, or in a month if that is what it takes. We don't need to be bothered with rotting fishes and stuff after all."
"We…c-could g-go…"
"Always. I'll follow you and look for Jaina as soon as the storms pass. I promise." Cyndia could hear that Vel' smiled as she said it. Damn. Some mad seaside adventure it would have to be then, if that was what Vel' said it would be. Because there was not a chance that Cyndia would let them be separated again.
"But for now, should we pack Jaina's things for her? Perhaps we could send them to her in Theramore in advance. So she doesn't have to freeze through the winter."
Anya mumbled something that sounded like an 'alright'.
"I mean, it wouldn't do to make the people of Theramore think we dark rangers nicked her knickers, would it?"
Cyndia sighed and closed her eyes. Anya probably showed some similar reaction judging by the gleeful follow-ups of Velonara.
"At least we didn't snitch her snatch…"
"Ve-el'!" Cyndia had to smile at how Anya groaned. "That's rude and it doesn't make any sense at all."
"Hm, you sure? That's a relief. We wouldn't want them to think we snatched away their archmage last summer…"
Velonara grinned incorrigibly. On the other side Cyndia could see even Clea and Kitala trying hard to keep a straight face too.
"Does she have her ranger pants with her? Otherwise we are looking into a veritable hose-heist. Or since she is a mage maybe it becomes more like a robe-ery?"
Velonara, the most foul-mouthed and irredemable troublemaker of her generation. The most annoying, insufferable and altogether marvellous ranging partner you could ever wish for, that Cyndia would trade for nothing.
Jaina's day had certainly been eventful. Going over her stay with the Forsaken in satisfactory detail had taken all morning. If not for the fact that not even arcanely blessed cities did not run themselves she would likely have ended up storytelling twice as long. After that she had been promptly summoned by her actual council which had been no less enthusiastic and fervent in their demand for another retelling of the events since late in the summer. Jaina however had given as good as she got in that regard and interrogated them about the slightest detail of every development of Theramore in her absence with seldom seen vigour. How much they had managed!
Master Carpenter Oddricht had insistently offered her so many candied cherries that Jaina half feared her teeth would fall out and a cherry tree would sprout from her belly the coming spring. But they were tasty.
She could not leave the graceful taverns without a sincere thanks for the prodigious breakfasts they had provided and of course there were patrons who only waited to cheer for her return and be regaled with even more tales of her adventures – the wilder and more embellished the better.
Jaina did not have the heart to deny them and she found herself mostly swept up by the good mood. But it was an undeniable fact that her adventures were centred on a specific small group of people and chiefly one person that she would have liked to keep her thoughts away from no matter how impossible it proved.
Sylvanas Bloody Windrunner.
Later in the evening Jaina found herself restlessly pacing back and forth, attempting to read a book, or beginning her catching up of civic affairs, or anything else than thinking of the banshee queen. Consistently without success.
Jaina would not let Sylvanas' behaviour damn the Forsaken. The people were not their queen and were not to blame for her hurtful and outrageously insulting ways. She had decided upon that from the beginning and kept her account as free of personal biases as she could. Just, even when she tried to stay objective and focus on the facts and the events and nothing more…it saddened her. Saddened and angered her something terrible.
They had done so much together. And…and for lack of a more proper term, they had had so much fun even in the middle of everything that was tragic and terrible in Lordaeron.
Sylvanas had been so unbelievably kind and caring at times. She had known exactly what to say or do to make Jaina feel better.
Then everything had been ruined because Jaina could not stand the thought of Sylvanas becoming the tyrant she was – in the worst case – prepared to be for her people's sake. And since then no one had been truly happy.
They had been at it again when Jaina left, hadn't they? Jaina doing something rash, Sylvanas being angry, Anya trying to save the situation.
Oh, Tides, Anya…
Jaina had left without so much as a goodbye to anyone and least of all Anya. How terrible.
She could see the logical chain of events leading to that and still not be overly inclined to blame herself for reacting the way she had. Not really.
But how terrible it felt, still.
Damn you, you insufferable, uncouth walking dead…ruffian!
Jaina had more important and constructive things to busy herself with than fretting over vain and futile what-ifs.
What-ifs were dangerous things.
What if something was not what it seemed?
What if there could be an explanation that Jaina did simply not fathom?
What if she could have talked to her rangers before opening that portal home?
What if she had said goodbye to Anya if nothing else?
What if by some wonder everything could one day become good again?
What if that thick-skulled Banshee Queen could have the decency to apologise for being a stuck-up, rude, inconsiderate ass whose behaviour was so aggravatingly hard to reconcile with her personality as Jaina had previously come to know it?
Jaina suddenly quit her pacing and marched resolutely towards her desk. She was both fuming and fretting when she took out a fresh sheet of paper and uncorked the bottle of ink. She would do the responsible thing and inform the ruler of the Forsaken that she was back in Theramore. And then she would give said ruler a good piece of her mind.
Writing her thoughts down did her good. Jaina sighed as she mentally discarded a good deal of colourful but less clear and coherent expressions. She was a head of state with a far-reaching responsibility to her people and to Azeroth at large.
She was also mightily cross with the recipient.
Sylvanas,
I write to tell you that I am back in Theramore. And in one piece I should likely add since there are ample reasons why teleportation spells over long distances are neither recommended nor regularly employed.
I also write to say that I have, to the best of my ability, spoken the truth to you. I have not told you everything about everything regarding me as you are well aware of, to ruinous consequence for us both.
I therefore wish to say that I also write because against my better judgement I am unable to let go of what you said to me during our last conversation. There is a small part of me beneath the greater part that feels hurt and disappointed, that can not stop itself from questioning how you acted. What was it truly that I witnessed when you sat looking at me like a living person at a ghost instead of the other way around, and with the greatest effort could only manage the barely coherent insults of a dead drunk dockside thug? I do after all know exceedingly well that you do not want for eloquence when riled.
As the ink of the words above is already drying there is no reason to omit that I am lastly enormously angry with you and I suppose that I write to tell you that as well. If what you said to me was indeed what you meant and intended to, then I do no longer know you and I do not think I will ever want to. And if the annoying hunch that will not leave me be should prove to somehow be more than a hunch, then I am quite possibly even more angry with you in ways that I lack the words to properly convey.
I bid you a good night, as that is the current time in Theramore though it will likely not be in Lordaeron.
Jaina Proudmoore
When she was finished it was dark outside and late in the evening.
"Pained?"
"Yes?"
"Why are people so stupid sometimes?"
Pained thought about it for a moment, or possibly she was gauging Jaina's mood.
"I honestly think it is the feeble noses."
"The…? What?"
"Beasts can just smell what the issue is about, plain and simple. People need to talk it over all the time and mess it up by not saying what they are truly thinking."
Jaina let out a huffed laugh.
"I frankly can't argue with that. But then, you night elves are more or less feral so you should know." Jaina added cheekily.
"You do not know half of it, My Lady." Pained said and grinned just like that, ferally. "GROARR."
Pained would probably make a really fine frostsaber.
Joking like this made Jaina think of the other night elves, and miss them. There were so many people she hadn't seen in months and now she found herself longing for all of them. Malfurion and Tyrande in particular.
"I think…I feel like…I don't know what I feel like. Foolish. Probably. I feel like thinking of second chances. That's the thing." Pained looked questioningly at the only a little bit cluttered couch, made from two very packed chests with a lot of blankets stacked on top. They sat down there together. "At what point is it the right thing to do to say 'no!' for the final time?"
It was a rhetorical question Pained did not answer.
"It is easy to be right about things when you are safe and secure in your own home, that isn't on the verge of extinction. That isn't death and grief and terror and Tides-damned madness all around!"
"Not one year ago your own – our own – home was not safe at all." Pained pointed out calmly. "And even if you had not already suffered through enough grief and terror yourself to last you centuries I could not be more relieved that you are back in it."
"Not everyone gets to go home. Or has a home to return to. And what does that do to you?"
"Lady Jaina, is this one of those times when you…want me to omit your titles even more than you usually do?"
"That was very smoothly put."
"Are you debating whether the other persons that are strongly on your mind should be given a second chance, or whether or not you should?"
That was really an uncomfortable question to ask and it left Jaina thoughtful and not answering.
"I do know very little about what happened while you were gone and I can only speak of what I have seen…"
"Do go on. Please."
"I saw you come back through magical means that even I recognise were the fruit of either prodigious advancement or great desperation, crying like rain and upset. I understand that you are deeply and personally hurt. But I also see how good and hale you look, the healthiest I have seen you ever since last winter before the miseries begun."
Jaina looked down over herself and nodded. Pained was not wrong. She winced at the difference.
"I am not your parent, Jaina – not that I think it would make you listen more to my advice –"
Jaina smiled amusedly at her but Pained had stopped herself abruptly and darkened.
"I apologise. I should not have brought the subject up. Please forgive my inconsiderate manners."
Jaina swallowed. She felt no ill will towards Pained, it was just…just… Being back in Theramore and talking about the past year, with Pained, it was different than ordinary talk about someone's lost parents. But she refused to let it ruin their conversation. She refused. She had to learn to face what had happened or it would never get better.
Face your fears, Lady Proudmoore. Know them, or they will always hold you in their grip.
Unbidden, even here Sylvanas' words echoed clearly in her mind. Echoing in more ways than one, of course. While they made perfect sense, it made Jaina irritated.
Get out of my head, you conceited banshee. I am busy being angry with you!
"There is nothing to forgive. I – we – have to be able to talk freely." Pained still looked regretful but Jaina moved on before she had the chance to dwell any more on what she had said. "I think you would probably make a nice mother in fact. So long as you don't make fish soup. And as for your question, I can not say for sure. It is a good question."
"Then I can only suggest you sleep on it and send this letter tomorrow at least."
"You're probably right. It will have to be tomorrow night then since I wrote good night in the letter. Good night, Pained."
"Good night. Oh, and Lady Jaina?" Pained turned around by the door and looked somehow more firmly at her.
"Yes?"
"First, no running off anywhere on your own no matter what ships moor outside our harbour, young lady. Secondly, stay in the den, my cub."
"I promise. For now."
Pained rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.
Freezing cold drifts of rain covered both ground and sky in its murky grey haze and battered against anything unwise enough to be outside. Winds almost approaching a gale threatened to take these anythings in their hand and throw them wildly about in any and all directions across Lordaeron.
"Are we climbing, Master Blacksilver?"
"Sinking."
"Do we need to drop weight?"
"No, the engines are on their last leg. I am keeping us steady to let the wind carry us with it for as long as possible. I don't think we can count on having enough in reserve to make it worth to land and refuel. Better make our last drops count for as much as possible."
"In this storm any landing may prove to be our last regardless. How are you holding up in the front seat?"
"Freezing. We should have bought scarves for ourselves too."
Things look downer than down for some of the Forsaken but some help may be closer than they think. Jaina is welcomed home and happy to be so but finds herself reflecting on Sylvanas' erratic behaviour.
As a quick reminder of Azeroth ecologies: Frostsabers are the large white tigers that night elf priestesses of the moon like Tyrande Whisperwind likes to ride on.
To Rhonin it felt like yesterday that Jaina and Sylvanas had stepped into Dalaran. And like a year. Or something more creative of a metaphor for very long period of time but whatever. Like he could be bothered by semantics right now.
Vereesa.
He had – as terrible as it felt to say – had to get used to worrying about her and the way that the lethargy of magic depriation seeped into her in conjunction with the wearying series of calamities that had deprived their corner of the world of all semblance of peace and good things these last years. Would that also be what they would found themselves getting used to one day?
It was getting to Rhonin. All of it.
Vereesa had been his strength for most of their time together. Just to keep up with that kind of tireless bundle of arcane energy she turned into whenever they were travelling, that in his opinion warranted both free spellcasting and the theory that Windrunner elves were in fact arcane golems with permanent glamour spells for concealment.
Getting up, alone, on days like this one. Having breakfast, alone, because even when he tried to make it into a cozy occasion it caused Vereesa more stress than anything else when he ate next to the bed where she lay.
On days like these, it was hard and not even the admittedly quite stellar progress they seemed to be able to make with the Forsaken was enough. Rhonin munched disinterested on some slice of bread he had roasted. Or set on fire briefly, if they were going to be so nit-picking.
"Rhonin?"
Wait now, even a drowsy call this early was actually more than most days.
"Darling?" Vereesa was a shadow in the grey and black of their bedroom. She was lying on her back and looking right up but even in her listless position something was different now. A clarity of the eyes that was not usually there.
"What time is it?"
"An hour after sunrise or so."
"What day? What I mean – how many days since – ?
"It's been seven days. I haven't heard back from your sister. Or from Jaina. But I delivered our answer the day before yesterday."
"I know. You told me. And it all becomes a blur." Vereesa was looking very intently at their ceiling. Rhonin resisted the urge to double-check if there was some particularly offensive cobweb there. "I am not getting any better, lying here."
It hurt so because it was unfortunately true. Rhonin couldn't think of an answer.
"Love." Vereesa's hand nestled into his. "You've taken care of me all this time. You've never complained, never been angry, never been impatient with me. Even while you have watched over my rangers and the lost souls of our ramshackle city. Thank you."
Vereesa was smiling slightly. A pale and tired smile. The finest Rhonin had seen in days.
"I have waited so long for Sylvanas. I had hoped so much that she would come, and that all would be different and better in some unexplainable way. But it isn't."
Rhonin wanted to argue the point but he got the feeling that Vereesa did not want it.
"It won't be. I won't be getting any better. And I can not lie here waiting for it anymore. And I think that it has to stop now."
"I miss you." Rhonin found himself mouthing. It was illogical but he couldn't help it. "I miss you with me."
"Help me get out of bed." Vereesa held out her hand, and she swayed like a drunk about to tip over when she stood up. Rhonin wondered if she had done it too fast and experienced light-headedness from the movement
"Have you been able to make any progress with supplements? I'm so sorry, Love, I am sure you have mentioned it many times and I just – "
"Only variations of mana wine and potions, so far. At least grape juice would be healthier than wine in the long run…"
"Barbarian." Vereesa mumbled, and then she sighed. "Well, if it doesn't go with mana wine it will have to go without." She took a wobbly step forward and grabbed hold of the doorway in order not to topple over. "I think…I have this feeling that…it's not me who…"
Just then and there, a small ray of sunshine snuck between the curtains and shone rebelliously into the room. Rhonin found himself liking that ray very much.
"Get me my ranger uniform. My sister needs me."
***
Being home.
It was both unreal like a dream and completely familiar so that everything from yesterday and earlier was starting to seem like one. Had nothing changed over such a long time? The stacks of paper were even where Jaina thought she very well might have left them that fateful night late in summer.
She yawned. Was it morning? It was hard to tell. Not night at least because there was light coming from her window.
"My Lady?" Pained stifled a yawn from the door. She was carrying a steaming cup of familiar tea.
"Hi Pained. What's the time?"
"Indecently early." Pained put the cup of tea down on the tiny nightstand next to Jaina, who sat up in her bed.
"It feels like I have slept for ages. I think the time is different on the other side of the sea or something like that…" Jaina sipped on the tea. "…there was a long treatise of that which Dalar Dawnweaver wrote on the subject some three decades ago. Aran Spellweaver did his best to shoot it down of course…"
"You did sleep for a long time. I am very sure you needed it."
That was true, but wise from experience Jaina looked closer and saw the reddening of Pained's eyes.
"You sat up awake to make sure I would keep on sleeping, didn't you?"
"No." Pained cleared her throat. "Not too much…" She managed to almost look guilty.
Jaina cautiously put her cup of tea down and reached up to hug Pained, who had sat down precariously perched on her bedside.
"I promise I'll go to bed early tonight so you can get some rest then at least." Jaina smiled fondly at her.
"What's this? Are we no longer arguing about My Lady's sleep schedule?"
"Suffice to say that I have been taught the futility of such things. You have kindred spirits across the sea. You really should meet some day." The moment she said it Jaina remembered herself and her mood plummeted. The chances of Pained getting to meet anyone of the Forsaken were not stellar. Jaina did not look forward to when the events from yesterday would catch up and hit her with full force. For the moment it was all dulled. And unreal.
Jaina managed to pack most thoughts of the day ahead of her away while she had breakfast. Stubbornly so.
But what now? On the one hand she both wanted and knew she had to check in on what had happened in her little town in her absence, and make sure that everyone else were safe and sound. On the other she dreaded what said everyone would have to say about her being gone for such a long time without previous warning.
Could archmages volunteer for watching the bed for, say, the rest of the day? Just to make sure nothing was broken or needed replacing after being out of use for a few months, maybe.
What if the citizens of Theramore would be to Jaina as the Forsaken had been to Sylvanas upon her return? Did Jaina really expect it to be that bad? Maybe not quite. But she couldn't be sure. Jaina had been gone far longer too. It hadn't been the entire Undercity being angry with Sylvanas but it had been many enough. What if there would be a throng of furious Theramorians gathering in the day once word leaked out that Jaina was back. She wasn't seriously worried about her personal safety – she had gotten (overly) used to relying on her own magic first and last in every situation – but hearing those kind of things, and knowing how some would very likely be justified…
It felt a little like her breakfast wanted to escape her belly now.
"My Lady?"
Jaina hummed something in return.
"If you have finished your breakfast I would strongly recommend that we go downstairs. There are a couple of visitors."
Here it came. Either she teleported away now or she was done for.
In other words she was done for.
Jaina nodded queasily. The fluttering moths in her stomach had been replaced by wyverns. At the very least.
She followed Pained down the stair to the bottom floor. It felt just like that time she was on her way to explain to Master Antonidas how she had wanted to try out a certain water conjuring spell and inadvertently flooded the library with all its expensive books. Whoever it was that had come calling was not waiting indoors at least. Jaina probably felt better about that fact but she hoped she wouldn't have come across as too inhospitable on top of everything else.
When Pained moved to open the sturdy front door she looked back at Jaina with affection. She was even smiling. Did that eccentric night elf look forward to see Jaina being torn apart (hopefully only figuratively)?
The moment the door opened there was silence.
Then a roar.
It was a wave of sound that swept through Jaina, the collected shouts and exclamations of at least several dozens Theramorians who did not look the slightest disgruntled but relieved and surprised and, if Jaina had not known better, unreservedly happy to see her.
"We have missed you." Jaina heard Pained mumble close to her ear, and wanted to cry of relief. Was this really true? Nobody who wanted to so much as shout at her? Not even a little bit?
Instead, a score of children were running towards her. Jaina knew most of them by name, but…how big they were! Then again, it had been a long time since she had regularly been out to meet people, even before the Forsaken spirited her away. It had been such a long and dreary time.
She raised her hands and snowflakes materialized and rained down over them, which led to everyone yawning widely trying to catch and eat the falling snow.
The crowd was so tightly clustered that it would be quite a feat to get anywhere, save by a rather impolite teleportation spell.
"Order! Make some space, good people! Let Lady Jaina pass."
A determined Theramorian lieutenant was making his way through the crowd with several other city guards in tow.
"Lady Jaina, you are a sight for sore eyes. Welcome back!"
"Lieutenant Hornblower, thank you. It's so good to see you again. Everyone." Jaina said to all who stood around her. "I don't know what to say, even."
"Everybody made it!" he boasted, and it took Jaina a blink to remember that he had been the one commanding the guard patrol that encountered Sylvanas and her rangers by the docks. "You got all our hides out but when we got our bearings and returned there was no sign of you, Lady Jaina! I swear we looked everywhere. What happened?"
"That, uh, is kind of a long story…" More than that Jaina did not manage to get out before a new wave of pleads and demands that she tell it overtook her. It took some time to restore some semblance of listening.
"Maybe this would be a good time to relocate to the city hall?" Pained suggested. "We can't stand and freeze on your doorstep indefinitely."
"City hall? It's finished?!" Jaina almost shouted.
"Yep." Pained sounded outright smug now. "And there is an impromptu delayed opening party scheduled just right now in fact, so we had better make our way there."
More than Pained appeared not a little pleased by Jaina's clear surprise and followed up with one piece of news after the other meant to astound an already overwhelmed archmage. The harbour was coming together steadily and by next spring they could accommodate a third more vessels if nothing unexpected happened. A local kind of kelp – of which the Dustswallow Marshes had plenty – had been found suitable for grinding and mixing with clay to bake bricks that may even prove stronger than ordinary ones. What would they think of next?
The city hall – it was indeed finished, Jaina noted with growing pride – was a long two-storey building of stone and wood in typical Lordaeronian fashion even though there was visible emphasis on windows and hatches in order to adapt to the Kalimdorian climate. The lower floor resembled that of a tavern, but far larger, with a kitchen in the further end where a couple of stairs led upwards. Jaina made a mental note to inspect the floor above later to make sure the ropes and rope ladders were also in place by the opposite end above the gate, added in case a fire would break out and blockade the stairs. The upper floor would house most of the city's administration and Jaina foresaw many coming hours of reading and writing by lamps and candles. She knew the territory.
There were benches here and there but far from enough for everybody. They looked very new and more would undoubtedly be made later. Jaina found herself led by Pained towards one next to the hearth furthest inside. The dozens of people – the hall was truly becoming packed – must have multiplied for there seemed to Jaina to be more like a couple of hundreds and they would have to open the windows even if it was late into the autumn in order to let in enough air for everyone. That was not all, for somehow someone had made heaps of food be brought inside. Loaves of bread, pieces of cheese, fruits and smoked fish. This was looking more and more deliberate by the minute and Jaina found herself casting an equally baffled and suspicious look at Pained.
"Would you happen to know how I managed to return to a hitherto unknown Theramorian festival, Pained?"
"I might have let slip that someone long expected was finally back, last night. I may even have wandered as far as down to the Gull and the Herring and mentioned off-handedly how we would probably need something to snack on today."
Theramore, like any proper port city, had taverns and foremost among them 'The Thieving Gull' (or 'The Screeching Gull', opinions differed of which was the correct name) and 'The Tusked Herring'.
"Oh, you didn't need to – "
"I beg to differ. Look around, how are your poor subjects going to last through an entire recounting of your adventures without provisions. An army listens on its stomach, isn't that how you humans put it?"
"Marches on its stomach."
"Anyway, you should be pleased. Because evidently I did other things than keeping watch by your bedside, correct?"
Pained looked so pleased with herself that Jaina had to smile back.
She had better say something to every Tides-blessed decent, generous Theramorian who had welcomed her home with open arms when she had felt sick fearing the scorn she expected. It was…it was so good being home right now, in their warm and sturdy new hall in their warm and sturdy little town.
"Ladies and gentlemen, everyone, thank you so much for coming here like this and thank you for not being angry with me for being away for so long. It was not intended to be for such a long time, or it was not intended at all actually."
Jaina would have liked to leave it at that and perhaps add some more reassurances that she would now get back to work as Theramore's archmage and catch up with the city's affairs.
Her audience – yes, her audience indeed and not just guests – did not have the same idea.
"What happened?"
"Were you kidnapped, Lady Jaina?"
"Were there dragons?"
"Was it the Horde?"
Jaina raised her hands pleadingly and looked even more pleadingly to Pained, but her bodyguard only gestured magnanimously for her to please go on and that the stage was hers. Jaina closed her eyes briefly and then resigned herself to her fate. She would not be getting out of this one, apparently.
"This is of course a rather long and somewhat complicated story, but I have in short been spending the time away with the Forsaken, who are the free undead that have broken away from the Lich King's domination…"
That was neither what her listeners had expected nor wanted to hear, Jaina could tell.
"I understand that this sounds downright insane, but I can attest that they are every bit their own and they are fighting bitterly against the Scourge across western Lordaeron. I have been helping them."
There were low murmurs across the hall, and dark glares. Not at Jaina personally, at least she hoped so, but more in response to the dark and looming subject of the fate of Lordaeron and the nightmare that they had left behind to chase a desperate hope on the other side of the oceans.
"Curse them all…"
"They can stay there and rot!"
"Better dead than undead…"
Jaina conjured a huge glittering snowflake that fell apart into sparks. It served no purpose other than to reclaim everyone's attention. Sometimes it paid to be really, really showy when casting spells.
"Please! Order!" Jaina called out and it took some time for the hall to settle down.
"Well, what are they like then?" The voice of the inquirer was gruff and unwilling.
"They are like us." Jaina let it sink in before she continued. "They are those who didn't make it out from Lordaeron and Dalaran and Quel'thalas. Men, women, old, young, rich or poor. Anyone could have eaten the plague-infested grain or been claimed by the Scourge. We escaped that fate. They didn't."
Not a sound was heard in response.
"Many of the Forsaken are withered dead and terrifying to look at, but inside they are ordinary people having escaped one nightmare only to wake up to another one that is an existence as undead without a friend in the world. Some of them are kind, some are not. Some are spiteful. Some are generous."
Some give the most thoughtful gifts and sit up all night to make sure you will not freeze when you sleep.
"There are those who undeath treated very unkindly, who are withered and decrepit, and there are those who are nearly whole. On the outside, at least. They…the Lich King forced them to do his bidding. We all know that and we all know what that entailed. It is my impression that every Forsaken remembers at least partly their actions as his slaves."
They suffer like I can not even imagine and how anyone can hold themselves together after something like that will never cease to astound me.
"I think…I think that in order to understand the Forsaken my first advice is to not overcomplicate anything. They have, for lack of a better term, woken up to a world ready to reject them at every turn. Their queen sent emissaries to neighbouring kingdoms that were shot on sight. They had no way of letting anyone know that they were no longer Scourge."
"They have a queen? What, a Lich Queen?" someone said sceptically.
"No! Not at all, she is a Banshee Queen in fact…"
And she is, she is… Aaah! She is a complete bloody disaster that I want nothing more to do with and that is that! She is a cold-hearted and uncaring manipulative piece of filthy lies that only makes you think she gives a damn about you!
"She is called Sylvanas Windrunner and she – "
At least three benches toppled over when elven occupants stood up in distress.
" – and she used to be the Ranger-General of Quel'thalas before she was killed and turned into a banshee. There are some others like her and they are…they are all acutely aware of what they are and what they were made to do…"
Anya.
Clea.
Kitala.
Lyana.
"Even…even banshees can be kind, despite that. That goes for all the Forsaken. They are not what the Lich King made them into. Not only. They are people again, not mindless monsters. The queen crossed the sea in search of new allies and came here. She encountered our city guard who mistook her escort for Scourge – understandable – and I intervened and managed to prevent a disaster but lost consciousness from the strain. Then I woke up onboard her ship…"
Where she had probably stood guard next to me just like Pained would. And she was angry when I was repulsed by Captain Bones but somehow she calmed me afterwards and when I tried again to do better she let me, and then she spared no effort keeping me fed and warm as best she could for the entire journey.
"…we crossed the sea back to Lordaeron and I came to assist the crew with navigation and some water magics when the wind died…
And we became friends and she and her rangers were so kind to me and she saved my life and I saved her city, and we…
"…we have been in the field for the better part of over a month I think, and managed to push the Scourge back and clear a path to Dalaran even, and the Forsaken and the Kirin Tor have begun negotiations…"
And I betrayed your trust and you betrayed mine. And it tainted that moment that should have been our finest and I would have left you then and there if it had not been for Anya.
Anya!
She wanted us to mend it. Fix it. She put so much on the line and I honestly thought I approached you respectfully that night and that you would also want to talk. And instead you spoke…what did you say to me? That I meant nothing to you, like the necklace? How could you?! How could you bloody damn mean something like that, you incomprehensible fucking ghost?!
***
The cloth in front of her had dark stains now.
With each new tear that dropped another unseemly black splotch formed on the clean – mostly – and clear white.
Anya couldn't help it.
What did it matter anyway?
Nothing mattered any more.
Jaina was gone.
Jaina's warmth. Jaina's kind eyes. Jaina's laughter.
Jaina's heartbeat, that was the safest sound Anya knew next to Sylvanas' voice, but fuck stupid damned Sylvanas right now because she had ruined everything and Anya didn't want to think about her anymore!
Jaina had kissed her.
Soft and gentle and lovely so that Anya stopped herself from crying in wondrous surprise, even if Anya knew that Jaina would just have kissed her again if she had been crying.
Jaina's lips. She had only felt them for the briefest time. She missed them like it was a hole that had been dug out somewhere inside her.
It was all gone. The only thing that was left was her sack of clothes. And her slippers that she hadn't got to use nearly as much as she should have. And the poor shirt in Anya's hands that Anya couldn't put down or let go of.
Something tugged at her awareness. Someone who was knocking on the open door.
A gentle voice.
"Are you here? All alone?"
Obviously she was here because she was sitting here and nowhere else. Damn it.
Lyana. Flanked by Clea and Kitala. No one would let her be apparently.
"Go away!"
"Anya – "
"Pick a new squad leader, I don't care any more! I don't care!"
"Pull another one." Clea tried to sound cocky but it was truly a pathetic try.
"You do care." Kitala's turn. "You care so much so of course it hurts."
"Leave! Leave me alone!"
"Anya. Did you ever leave me alone when I was in pain?" Lyana now, too? "If so I must have fainted at those times. What kind of ranging partner could leave the other on her own now? What sort of person would that make me?"
"A monster! Like all of us! A wretched, stupid, fucking monster who should just have stayed dead!"
Anya stubbornly turned her gaze away. Away from everything and everyone.
"Look me in the eyes and tell me that you truly meant that."
Anya did not look her in the eyes. She did not look at anything.
"Not – " Couldn't they just disappear? All of them, together, so none had to hurt any more. "Not you."
"Not you either, Anya. Not you either. Not any of us."
"Then why do we do these things?!" Anya screamed.
She burrowed deeper into the cold – empty – white linen. Somewhere inside it Anya still imagined that some little scent of Jaina lingered.
***
Cyndia and her squadron had returned to a city of ghosts. Like, not in the literal and obvious way but in the poetic and metaphorical one. The free undead were themselves…haunted. And afraid to go out at night. Or day, it appeared.
Someone had apparently lost their shit completely, the Dark Lady was nowhere to be seen, and their archmage was gone.
Great.
Home sweet home.
Was it so surprising that Cyndia had never liked the Undercity?
The thing was, on top of everything, that they returned with really damned decent news for a change and now there was no one bothering to greet them and hear it. When, for just once, you came back with something less than pitch black darkness including the true deaths of an unspecified number of people, a little bit of an audience wouldn't be out of place. She would even take a pair of bored dreadguards in a pinch.
The Kirin Tor had got their beards out of their armpits, or whatever was the proper jibe for human wizarding tardiness. There had been a delegation, or more like one wizard and his obviously superfluous guard detail that mostly managed to look uncomfortably around while the odd fellow introduced himself with irreverent ease. Not even Kalira's sternest look managed to faze him.
Try as she might to keep an open mind, Cyndia could not help thinking that Rhonin Redhair somehow didn't look quite like a Kirin Tor wizard was supposed to. He had no white beard, and it was not very long either, but on the other hand he had a great deal of hair and all of it as red as a fox in a sunset. Then he had the gall to appear completely unafraid and just as stubbornly curious as Jaina about everything around him. Not even a small yelp. That had to violate the professional pride of the dark rangers in some way.
But Cyndia couldn' deny that Rhonin had proven to be undeniably charming. Even Kalira had thawed up – and she had very obviously been painstakingly trying to make a good impression on their supposedly potential allies too, which was absolutely hilarious to observe – before long. Before much longer than that, the archmage had – for real – engaged Velonara in a spirited and completely serious discussion about the theoretical applications of polymorphing enchantments on arrows, after Kalira let drop how Vel' had wanted to misuse Jaina's staff at first opportunity.
Cyndia had to admit that the thought of Scarlet knights turning into sheep after a volley had its charms.
The Kirin Tor would be with them. Not as an army, maybe not even side by side on the battlefield. But they would not be enemies.
And with Dalaran, the Forsaken would have a secure stronghold to anchor their front on, maybe even to make use of as a base for their operations in time, and better than that they would have a voice to speak for them in the rest of the Alliance.
Rhonin talked exciredly about portals and portal anchors and a load of other things that begged for someone scholarly to be there to listen to it. Cyndia didn't get half of the highbrowed explanations but anything that meant more of the marvellous portals Jaina had supplied was a sure win in her book. As a final treat, Rhonin had opened one of them for the squadron to step right back outside the capital to report the developments to Sylvanas.
And now they were here, Kalira had ran off in search of their Dark Lady and Cyndia and the rest had been given some time for themselves. The next minute they had met Lyana on the way to the apothecary and tagged along to hear one piece of lousy news after another.
Velonara and Lyana were talking insistently ahead of her and Cyndia was droppig back to hear what the other 'Naras thought about the state of things.
"People were always weird down here but this is insane…" Neither Lenara nor Cyndia were great fans of the Undercity.
"Yeah…serious graveyard vibes." Nara looked around. "We should scout this out, try to find some other squadron and get us up to speed."
"Sounds good. I'm gonna stick with Vel'. Vel', are we going somewhere?"
"The dungeons." Velonara answered immediately.
The dungeons. This was getting weirder and weirder.
Cyndia shrugged.
Lyana was soon done with whatever purchase she was supposed to make and led them out to the surface again and through the Lordaeron Keep down to the lower levels. Cyndia grimaced. Marginally better than the crowded city but still…kind of cramped.
"What's the hurry?" Cyndia asked. Lyana wasn't usually an impatient ranger but the three of them were close to running through the ruins and the keep's corridors.
"You'll see." Velonara answered in her stead.
Cyndia hadn't had the opportunity to go down into the lower levels of the building for quite some time, and it was just as well in her opinion. These circular stairs led down to storage rooms, and guard rooms, and the dungeons. Fortunately the magically warded ones were not completely below ground and small trickles of sunlight from barred narrow shafts set high in the walls.
They passed one open door leading to a deserted room, and one more, and then into one that was not deserted.
There was a small tent set up with a barrel and a couple of buckets next to it. A couple of bedrolls were spread out by the other wall. Someone had obviously lived here.
Now no one lived here but three dejected rangers who haunted the cellar together with Lyana.
They looked seriously worse for wear.
Clea and Kitala were glumness given elven form. Anya was even worse. She was, well…wrong, where she sat and hugged a white shirt that Cyndia after some thought would guess had been Jaina's. It was pitiful to look at.
Cyndia had always found Anya Eversong easy to like since Velonara liked her so much. They were an odd sort of best friends. While Cyndia knew perfectly well how Velonara could be pure steel through and through when the situation called for it, Anya tended to strike you as just a little too scrawny sometimes. It wasn't that she was malnourished in any way - she and Vel' were of almost identical height and size – but maybe something about her demeanour more than her stature. But Anya was still a ranger lieutenant and however she did it she had managed her own squadron for a long time and done it good as far as Cyndia had heard.
The thing with Anya was that she always had her eyes on everyone around her on some level. She really saw you when she looked at you, in some vaguely put platitude-like way.
Yes, that was what was most out of place here. Anya just ignoring everything around her. In favour of a rumpled old shirt.
Well, in all fairness, Cyndia guessed she shouldn't say anything about not being too talkative about…stuff. Velonara had acquired a good deal of experience having clams for friends lately.
Better than having clammy friends at least. Probably.
Vel' had sat down and started whispering with Anya, or to her it looked like. Cyndia supposed she ought to sit down too. This would take a while.
Frankly, it could take as long it had to for all Cyndia cared. Anya was alright, scrawny or not. What words from Vel' would get through to her was more than Cyndia could think of, though.
"Do you remember when we first met? You were crying that time too. And I told you that I had packed booze and a hug." Anya made some sound that only came out as a sniff. "I only brought a hug this time."
Anya clamped down harder on herself in response, wrapped tight into a stiff and hard stone figure that let nothing close. Velonara would have none of it though.
"We all miss her like it hurts. Of course we do." She was sitting down in front of Anya and resolutely grabbing hold of all of her, and Anya had bundled herself up so tightly that she couldn't do anything but topple over when Velonara pulled her closer. "I can't believe she could even be gone just like that. It's terrible! Anya, babe, you poor thing!"
"Leave." Anya sobbed and clawed harder at herself. For all the stupendously horrifying things Cyndia had borne witness to, she still winced at the sight of quiet, gentle Anya digging her nails into her legs so hard that it made her tremble, undead or not.
"Never. You're my bestest friend." Velonara was mumbling into her ear. "You can Wail until my ears fall off for all I care. Not leaving."
With one hand on either cheek, Velonara carefully pried Anya's face free from her knees and tilted it up towards her own. Cyndia could only see a mess of pale hair when Vel' was leaning down over her friend.
"Sooner or later there will be a spring. Then I know someone who will want to set sail with the Banshee's Wail." Anya twitched when she said that. "And I know someone who will want to come along."
Anya whimpered in her arms.
"We made the crossing once, on our own, with no magic admiral to help us. Now Captain Bones has all her notes and charts and stuff. We can be in Theramore in no time, or in a month if that is what it takes. We don't need to be bothered with rotting fishes and stuff after all."
"We…c-could g-go…"
"Always. I'll follow you and look for Jaina as soon as the storms pass. I promise." Cyndia could hear that Vel' smiled as she said it. Damn. Some mad seaside adventure it would have to be then, if that was what Vel' said it would be. Because there was not a chance that Cyndia would let them be separated again.
"But for now, should we pack Jaina's things for her? Perhaps we could send them to her in Theramore in advance. So she doesn't have to freeze through the winter."
Anya mumbled something that sounded like an 'alright'.
"I mean, it wouldn't do to make the people of Theramore think we dark rangers nicked her knickers, would it?"
Cyndia sighed and closed her eyes. Anya probably showed some similar reaction judging by the gleeful follow-ups of Velonara.
"At least we didn't snitch her snatch…"
"Ve-el'!" Cyndia had to smile at how Anya groaned. "That's rude and it doesn't make any sense at all."
"Hm, you sure? That's a relief. We wouldn't want them to think we snatched away their archmage last summer…"
Velonara grinned incorrigibly. On the other side Cyndia could see even Clea and Kitala trying hard to keep a straight face too.
"Does she have her ranger pants with her? Otherwise we are looking into a veritable hose-heist. Or since she is a mage maybe it becomes more like a robe-ery?"
Velonara, the most foul-mouthed and irredemable troublemaker of her generation. The most annoying, insufferable and altogether marvellous ranging partner you could ever wish for, that Cyndia would trade for nothing.
***
Jaina's day had certainly been eventful. Going over her stay with the Forsaken in satisfactory detail had taken all morning. If not for the fact that not even arcanely blessed cities did not run themselves she would likely have ended up storytelling twice as long. After that she had been promptly summoned by her actual council which had been no less enthusiastic and fervent in their demand for another retelling of the events since late in the summer. Jaina however had given as good as she got in that regard and interrogated them about the slightest detail of every development of Theramore in her absence with seldom seen vigour. How much they had managed!
Master Carpenter Oddricht had insistently offered her so many candied cherries that Jaina half feared her teeth would fall out and a cherry tree would sprout from her belly the coming spring. But they were tasty.
She could not leave the graceful taverns without a sincere thanks for the prodigious breakfasts they had provided and of course there were patrons who only waited to cheer for her return and be regaled with even more tales of her adventures – the wilder and more embellished the better.
Jaina did not have the heart to deny them and she found herself mostly swept up by the good mood. But it was an undeniable fact that her adventures were centred on a specific small group of people and chiefly one person that she would have liked to keep her thoughts away from no matter how impossible it proved.
Sylvanas Bloody Windrunner.
Later in the evening Jaina found herself restlessly pacing back and forth, attempting to read a book, or beginning her catching up of civic affairs, or anything else than thinking of the banshee queen. Consistently without success.
Jaina would not let Sylvanas' behaviour damn the Forsaken. The people were not their queen and were not to blame for her hurtful and outrageously insulting ways. She had decided upon that from the beginning and kept her account as free of personal biases as she could. Just, even when she tried to stay objective and focus on the facts and the events and nothing more…it saddened her. Saddened and angered her something terrible.
They had done so much together. And…and for lack of a more proper term, they had had so much fun even in the middle of everything that was tragic and terrible in Lordaeron.
Sylvanas had been so unbelievably kind and caring at times. She had known exactly what to say or do to make Jaina feel better.
Then everything had been ruined because Jaina could not stand the thought of Sylvanas becoming the tyrant she was – in the worst case – prepared to be for her people's sake. And since then no one had been truly happy.
They had been at it again when Jaina left, hadn't they? Jaina doing something rash, Sylvanas being angry, Anya trying to save the situation.
Oh, Tides, Anya…
Jaina had left without so much as a goodbye to anyone and least of all Anya. How terrible.
She could see the logical chain of events leading to that and still not be overly inclined to blame herself for reacting the way she had. Not really.
But how terrible it felt, still.
Damn you, you insufferable, uncouth walking dead…ruffian!
Jaina had more important and constructive things to busy herself with than fretting over vain and futile what-ifs.
What-ifs were dangerous things.
What if something was not what it seemed?
What if there could be an explanation that Jaina did simply not fathom?
What if she could have talked to her rangers before opening that portal home?
What if she had said goodbye to Anya if nothing else?
What if by some wonder everything could one day become good again?
What if that thick-skulled Banshee Queen could have the decency to apologise for being a stuck-up, rude, inconsiderate ass whose behaviour was so aggravatingly hard to reconcile with her personality as Jaina had previously come to know it?
Jaina suddenly quit her pacing and marched resolutely towards her desk. She was both fuming and fretting when she took out a fresh sheet of paper and uncorked the bottle of ink. She would do the responsible thing and inform the ruler of the Forsaken that she was back in Theramore. And then she would give said ruler a good piece of her mind.
Writing her thoughts down did her good. Jaina sighed as she mentally discarded a good deal of colourful but less clear and coherent expressions. She was a head of state with a far-reaching responsibility to her people and to Azeroth at large.
She was also mightily cross with the recipient.
Sylvanas,
I write to tell you that I am back in Theramore. And in one piece I should likely add since there are ample reasons why teleportation spells over long distances are neither recommended nor regularly employed.
I also write to say that I have, to the best of my ability, spoken the truth to you. I have not told you everything about everything regarding me as you are well aware of, to ruinous consequence for us both.
I therefore wish to say that I also write because against my better judgement I am unable to let go of what you said to me during our last conversation. There is a small part of me beneath the greater part that feels hurt and disappointed, that can not stop itself from questioning how you acted. What was it truly that I witnessed when you sat looking at me like a living person at a ghost instead of the other way around, and with the greatest effort could only manage the barely coherent insults of a dead drunk dockside thug? I do after all know exceedingly well that you do not want for eloquence when riled.
As the ink of the words above is already drying there is no reason to omit that I am lastly enormously angry with you and I suppose that I write to tell you that as well. If what you said to me was indeed what you meant and intended to, then I do no longer know you and I do not think I will ever want to. And if the annoying hunch that will not leave me be should prove to somehow be more than a hunch, then I am quite possibly even more angry with you in ways that I lack the words to properly convey.
I bid you a good night, as that is the current time in Theramore though it will likely not be in Lordaeron.
Jaina Proudmoore
When she was finished it was dark outside and late in the evening.
"Pained?"
"Yes?"
"Why are people so stupid sometimes?"
Pained thought about it for a moment, or possibly she was gauging Jaina's mood.
"I honestly think it is the feeble noses."
"The…? What?"
"Beasts can just smell what the issue is about, plain and simple. People need to talk it over all the time and mess it up by not saying what they are truly thinking."
Jaina let out a huffed laugh.
"I frankly can't argue with that. But then, you night elves are more or less feral so you should know." Jaina added cheekily.
"You do not know half of it, My Lady." Pained said and grinned just like that, ferally. "GROARR."
Pained would probably make a really fine frostsaber.
Joking like this made Jaina think of the other night elves, and miss them. There were so many people she hadn't seen in months and now she found herself longing for all of them. Malfurion and Tyrande in particular.
"I think…I feel like…I don't know what I feel like. Foolish. Probably. I feel like thinking of second chances. That's the thing." Pained looked questioningly at the only a little bit cluttered couch, made from two very packed chests with a lot of blankets stacked on top. They sat down there together. "At what point is it the right thing to do to say 'no!' for the final time?"
It was a rhetorical question Pained did not answer.
"It is easy to be right about things when you are safe and secure in your own home, that isn't on the verge of extinction. That isn't death and grief and terror and Tides-damned madness all around!"
"Not one year ago your own – our own – home was not safe at all." Pained pointed out calmly. "And even if you had not already suffered through enough grief and terror yourself to last you centuries I could not be more relieved that you are back in it."
"Not everyone gets to go home. Or has a home to return to. And what does that do to you?"
"Lady Jaina, is this one of those times when you…want me to omit your titles even more than you usually do?"
"That was very smoothly put."
"Are you debating whether the other persons that are strongly on your mind should be given a second chance, or whether or not you should?"
That was really an uncomfortable question to ask and it left Jaina thoughtful and not answering.
"I do know very little about what happened while you were gone and I can only speak of what I have seen…"
"Do go on. Please."
"I saw you come back through magical means that even I recognise were the fruit of either prodigious advancement or great desperation, crying like rain and upset. I understand that you are deeply and personally hurt. But I also see how good and hale you look, the healthiest I have seen you ever since last winter before the miseries begun."
Jaina looked down over herself and nodded. Pained was not wrong. She winced at the difference.
"I am not your parent, Jaina – not that I think it would make you listen more to my advice –"
Jaina smiled amusedly at her but Pained had stopped herself abruptly and darkened.
"I apologise. I should not have brought the subject up. Please forgive my inconsiderate manners."
Jaina swallowed. She felt no ill will towards Pained, it was just…just… Being back in Theramore and talking about the past year, with Pained, it was different than ordinary talk about someone's lost parents. But she refused to let it ruin their conversation. She refused. She had to learn to face what had happened or it would never get better.
Face your fears, Lady Proudmoore. Know them, or they will always hold you in their grip.
Unbidden, even here Sylvanas' words echoed clearly in her mind. Echoing in more ways than one, of course. While they made perfect sense, it made Jaina irritated.
Get out of my head, you conceited banshee. I am busy being angry with you!
"There is nothing to forgive. I – we – have to be able to talk freely." Pained still looked regretful but Jaina moved on before she had the chance to dwell any more on what she had said. "I think you would probably make a nice mother in fact. So long as you don't make fish soup. And as for your question, I can not say for sure. It is a good question."
"Then I can only suggest you sleep on it and send this letter tomorrow at least."
"You're probably right. It will have to be tomorrow night then since I wrote good night in the letter. Good night, Pained."
"Good night. Oh, and Lady Jaina?" Pained turned around by the door and looked somehow more firmly at her.
"Yes?"
"First, no running off anywhere on your own no matter what ships moor outside our harbour, young lady. Secondly, stay in the den, my cub."
"I promise. For now."
Pained rolled her eyes but smiled all the same.
***
Freezing cold drifts of rain covered both ground and sky in its murky grey haze and battered against anything unwise enough to be outside. Winds almost approaching a gale threatened to take these anythings in their hand and throw them wildly about in any and all directions across Lordaeron.
"Are we climbing, Master Blacksilver?"
"Sinking."
"Do we need to drop weight?"
"No, the engines are on their last leg. I am keeping us steady to let the wind carry us with it for as long as possible. I don't think we can count on having enough in reserve to make it worth to land and refuel. Better make our last drops count for as much as possible."
"In this storm any landing may prove to be our last regardless. How are you holding up in the front seat?"
"Freezing. We should have bought scarves for ourselves too."
Chapter 40: Vindictiveness and Violins
Chapter 40: Vindictiveness and Violins
Mail and mail-not-ordered deliveries abound in Azeroth. Sylvanas and Jaina remain stubborn as they make political decisions with absolutely not any trace of influence from the other one.
Remember what Alina told of her past about a book or so ago? Probably not maybe unless you recently binged this, but in any case she used to play the violin to her fellow rangers and Sylvanas was kind enough to store it safely for her in the command tent.
The rooms of the Banshee Queen were dark and gloomy. Only a couple of candles offered the bare minimum of illumination. Sylvanas allowed herself no more, nor did she pay much attention to the fact. She could see well enough in the dark after all and might as well make use of it.
A knock on her door interrupted the mechanical regularity of her work.
"Dark Lady? Apothecary Putress is here." Alina was on watch today. Or if it was tonight. She was always polite. Not in the formal way, but civil. Considerate.
"Send him in." Sylvanas raised her voice to be heard through her door.
Putress. Sylvanas had not quite decided what she thought of him. He and Lyndon despised one another to an almost comical point, just like what…what Sylvanas had been told about the Kirin Tor's academic top. From what Sylvanas had seen and heard Putress was skilled enough and highly dedicated. He was the kind of Forsaken who seethed with vengefulness rather than sorrow, and Sylvanas found it easy to recognize herself in it.
He looked less than pleasant. It did not move Sylvanas much, she had seen worse and long since ceased to be surprised by the grotesque. But there was something about Putress, or the meeting with him here and now, that itched. The sort of itch that told you that there was something to be wary about.
Sylvanas put the thought away. Her instincts were not reliable anymore.
Putress entered and cautiously took his seat in front of Sylvanas.
"Apothecary Putress. I have read your paper with interest. Suffice to say that I trust the Royal Apothecary Society to have a substantial scientific reasoning to base this on. What I am now primarily interested in are the practical considerations of the suggested research and applications of this weapon. When, how and by how many could it be expected to be researched?"
Putress wet his lips. He radiated expectation.
"My Queen, we have as a starting point the blight as we now know it. It is harmful to all living things but beneficial to all undead. It is also distinctly magical in its form. We aim to deconstruct and de-mysticize what causes the Scourge's blight to spread and amplify its effects, presumably harnessing it in a concentrated form that can be deployed and disposed where and how we want it. That is the first stage of our research. The second stage is the harder, to modify this new blight into being able to harm undead instead of healing. If possible only Scourge undead."
Sylvanas nodded to him to go on.
"We have collected knowledge and a fairly rich material of observations and insight for the first stage of the research to expect rapid results. I have already drafted several hypothesises that I expect will be quick to prove or disprove that will take us a long way towards a solution. The Royal Apothecary Society can handle this research effectively on its own. The second stage will require far more practical tests which calls for raw materials, very likely an increase of our available space, and…test subjects."
"Test subjects." Sylvanas echoed tonelessly.
"Indeed, My Queen. The living are fragile and can be expected to be affected by a wide array of substances that are part of the strain of blight or can be mixed with it without neutralising its effects. However, we need to ensure that the method of application works quickly enough for it to be of actual use in battle and that it is simply powerful enough. The undead on the other hand lack many of the physical sensibilities but are also decrepit and thereby frail in several ways. Our search for a weakness to exploit will by necessity include a great deal of trial-and-error and thus a more or less steady supply of test subjects."
The idea was…distasteful.
Sylvanas had no difficulty grasping the logic behind Putress' words. It was not that. Nor was it any particular sense of compassion towards the Scourge. Or the Scarlets. But Sylvanas saw in her mind before her eyes a vision of herself forcing open the mouth of some desperately writhing human in her grasp. A Scarlet soldier, a knight or priest or paladin perhaps even. Yet the more she looked, the more the vague and undefined person shrunk and looked less and less like a remorseless fanatic and more and more like just a frightened human girl. A girl with golden hair and wide and terrified blue eyes.
"My Queen." Putress had evidently read more from her than Sylvanas would have preferred. "The swordsman may cut his enemy apart like a butcher, the archer may hunt him like helpless game in the woods. Are these methods not cruel enough on their own? But what remains for the common man? Those who were offered no training, who toiled so that others could spend their time to acquire the skills to defend themselves with the weapons they knew? The black powder is jealously guarded and complex to create. The arcane powers are gifted from birth to a few with utter fickleness. For us, the lowest, weakest ones, what choice is given but to die in accordance with someone else's rules?"
Putress knew his audience if nothing else, Sylvanas noted. Those arguments would find many receptive ears in the Undercity.
Not that he was wrong. Bows and blades had also been tested on living subjects, by their ancestors who determined that a sword and a spear were useful means in general to cause grievous harm. Those skilled at arms were ever prey to the arrogance that lay in forgetting that behind each of them were ten or a hundred others who forged their arms, farmed or fished their food, and built their houses. The elven rangers, who should know better, were no exception and each year had always brought their share of recruits with an aversion to honest labour that they needed to work off.
"If this long-term research is approved, what will it happen at the expense of? What alternative routes are available for the apothecaries to contribute forcefully to the war effort?"
Putress appeared to hold the alternative fields in less regard but he listed them conscientiously and as far as Sylvanas could tell with objectivity.
"The most obvious alternative is that we could divert more resources to the attempts at crafting abominations of our own. It will require significant raw materials but dead flesh is easily harvested. The Royal Apothecary Society can graft the things together but to animate them requires alchemy and magic combined and therefore services requisitioned from our casters."
"That could be arranged. And otherwise?"
"We could focus increasingly on the production of potions, as well as oils or similar incendiary concoctions. The industry is in all relevant aspects ongoing and it would just be a question of ramping up the production rate." Putress made a pause like he considered how to put what he was going to say next. "Focusing on potion production is guaranteed to yield results but they will be of limited significance. Our kind are helped by potions but they offer us no decisive advantages. The abominations, if they can be made to function and if they can be produced at a sufficient rate, would be of greater impact. Yet both options remain at best just advantages, that could well prove negligible in the long run. The blight however… My Queen, it could change everything. If we succeeded we would hold the key to the Scourge's destruction in our hands!"
Sylvanas held up a hand. She shared his fervent want for revenge and she knew that Putress knew that.
"Begin researching and compiling what is known about the Scourge's blight and its effects. Do not proceed with anything more unless I explicitly order it."
"Yes, My Queen." Putress said with satisfaction and bowed. "We shall begin immediately."
Sylvanas sat still in her chair after he had left.
Do not proceed with anything more unless I explicitly order it.
Putress would obviously hear it as until rather than unless. And expect that this until would not be a too long wait.
And why shouldn't he? What was the point of beginning a long-term project using crucial resources, if not to finish it? It would just be a waste, that the Forsaken could ill afford.
Yet still Sylvanas had issued that reservation.
She glanced involuntarily down at her desk and her hands moved compulsively to its haphazardly repaired drawer that got stuck half the times you tried to open it.
Sylvanas,
I write to tell you that I am back in Theramore. And in one piece I should likely add since there are ample reasons why teleportation spells over long distances…
She had told herself a hundred times that she would not respond, after she had found Jaina's letter lying on her desk. Not that she quite knew how but she suspected that if she left an answer in the same place Jaina would be able to find it one way or another. But Jaina would find no return letter.
It was better that way. She was home, and she was safe. Safe from Lordaeron, and Sylvanas, and everything that was wrong and turned out wrong no matter what. She would probably hate Sylvanas unless she did not already, and perhaps she was right to. And with time her hatred would fade and Jaina would move on with the life she still had before her, unless the Scourge claimed them all before that of course.
Jaina would move on. Jaina would… Jaina would… Jaina…would…
Jaina…
For one rare time Sylvanas appreciated the fact that she had no tears left. None would stain the letter she would be wise to throw away and burn, but could not bring herself to let come to harm.
She knew why she had hesitated about the blight. Why she still did.
What would Jaina think if she saw her?
Putress may be right. It may be what was necessary to defeat the Scourge one day. No one could tell that for certain.
And Sylvanas would be giving up all remaining shreds of decency for it. She would sanction torture and murder. She would make the Forsaken as vile as the Scourge in the eyes of every living. Every condescending, bigoted, conceited living that had let them suffer.
She would become exactly what Jaina had feared, feared to the point that she had thrown everything to the wind in a panicked attempt to prevent it.
Now it would not even matter. None of it.
Sylvanas realised that she was clenching her fists to the point where the leather in her armour creaked. She opened her left hand and saw the letter and how crumpled it had been. Regretfully, Sylvanas tried to smoothen it out again. How long she sat there and tried to make Jaina's letter good again she had no idea of.
…against my better judgement I am unable to let go of what you said to me during our last conversation. There is a small part of me beneath the greater part that feels hurt and disappointed, that can not stop itself from questioning how you acted. What was it truly that I witnessed when you sat looking at me like a living person at a ghost…
"Alina."
Only silence. Then, the door was opened so slowly it could only be called hesitant.
"Dark Lady? Did you call for me?"
"Send a message to Putress. He is to belay his current orders and focus on the abominations instead."
For Jaina, it was both natural and absurd to be back into her previous routine as head of Theramore. Not even back at it even, or rather she was back at something more akin to how it had been until her father's fleet was sighted in early spring. How it should be.
She spent a lot of time by her desk but she was no longer hiding away in her tower for the sake of hiding away and avoiding other people. There was so much to catch up with, to think about, and to find out more about.
Pained had not shied away from making one or two pointed comments about Jaina's still famously – famishly in her bodyguard's view – unreliable eating habits when she was caught up with something, but noted with satisfaction that someone had taught her lady to heed the calls for lunch and dinner without complaint. Jaina only brought with her a paper to read half the times or so.
Jaina was both busy, and pleased with keeping busy, and restless. After dinner, her thoughts would leave the day's and the next day's issues and return to Lordaeron and the Forsaken and their impossible queen.
Jaina had written her again. That had also become a routine.
It had been five times now. Sylvanas had not written back and Jaina shifted between disappointment that she hadn't, irritation and anger and wishing that she wouldn't, and hoping that she would. For all the times she found herself doubting the point of it all she kept penning letter after letter.
Sylvanas,
In addition to my previous letter I realise I had better be overly clear rather than leave room for another debacle of communications between heads of state. Let me therefore make it plain that as far as I am concerned we are still allies with the same goals and aspirations for our respective states as before I left. I hope and expect that the Kirin Tor will send you their response any day and their agreement to mutual efforts and cooperation against the Scourge.
What and how Theramore can contribute in the immediate future from the other side of the ocean I have no good answer for. Perhaps we will be wiser to let intermediaries work out those kinds of details when the time comes. Regardless, I will not let whatever I may personally think of you or anyone else put the safety of my city in jeopardy and expect that you share the sentiment.
Good night
Jaina Proudmoore
Jaina had sighed as she wrote that letter, dutifully to pre-empt whatever possible more misunderstandings or faulty assumptions that her return home may give rise to. It was a tiresome thought, because it invariably led one to the matter of more personal things that may or may have a part of either in them.
Sylvanas,
I hope that all the rangers and all the other Forsaken are well. Even your unpleasant chancellor since I know he is useful to you despite his lack of pleasant manners.
I would like to ask you to tell them – the rangers and Irizadan and the Baron – that I never wanted to leave them in this way without saying goodbye. I would have had to return home at some point, and quite possibly soon, but obviously it would not have needed to be in this manner…
That letter had been hard to finish. What would Anya be thinking of her? What would she be feeling right now?
Sylvanas,
Has the Kirin Tor gotten back to you? I do not intent to pry into your affairs but only ask since I was about to write to Dalaran and it got me thinking that I could remind them to do while I was at it, if needed.
Life goes on in Theramore in rather much the same way as in the Undercity – meaning life as the comings-and-goings and daily chores of its inhabitants. While you build below ground, we build above, and I suppose Dalaran rebuilds on its ruins in the meantime…
Jaina was still angry. Of course she was. But it was not all she was. She no longer seethed with fury to the point where it drowned out everything else.
And this everything else was tricky.
"What troubles you, Jaina?"
"Am I that easy to read for everyone now?"
"Yes." Pained said patiently. "When you pace and try to act like you do not, and forcefully have to stop yourself from crumpling that innocent sheet of paper."
Jaina put down said piece of paper in a completely controlled manner.
"I don't know what I expected, or if I expected anything at all, when I wrote. But I suppose now I find that I would have liked an answer or at least to now that my letters were received. Am I stupid for letting it get to me?"
Pained looked up in earnest now from what she was reading.
"I do not know anything approaching the full picture of what happened between you, My Lady." her bodyguard begun somewhat carefully. "But if I had left under circumstances that upset me like they had upset you when you came back, I would probably very much prefer to be able to write back to this other person. And I must confess that I too belong to the eccentrics who in general prefers their mail to reach the recipient."
As usual Pained managed to make her smile, and feel better about herself. Jaina sat down next to her instead of not-pacing around the room.
"I just want to know they reached her, is all. I'd understand if she wanted to take her time before responding, especially since we parted on bad terms and my first letter was rather angry. But a small note saying she's got them and will write back later wouldn't have been out of place."
"Did you leave the later letters in the exact same spot as the earlier ones?"
"Yes… I guess so. It was on her desk."
"And were the previous letters still there?"
"No. No they weren't." Jaina felt foolish. "You are right. But what if someone else took them instead?"
"Is that a common occurrence? Other people checking the queen's desk for the eventuality that magically delivered mail would have one day appeared just there?"
"Of course not. She is a very private person when at work and take on far too much on her own just because she can."
"Hm. That type…" Pained said with a meaningful lack of expression. She was absolutely like…Areiel…when she did that, Jaina suddenly realised. Tides, those two should really have tea some day.
"So the most likely thing is that Sylvanas has actually gotten my letters." Jaina said partially to herself.
"There could be many things that occupy her time and attention. The Scourge neighbours for one thing."
"Very possible." Jaina sighed. "She could be away in the field on a new campaign, or the Undercity could have been attacked again for all I know."
"You are worried."
"It was close. The day they attacked the capital city. And the field battles – they could easily have gone far worse. If the Scourge come again with a force of that size…they'd have need of me."
"Theramore would also have needed you if the last three months had not been so mercifully calm and quiet for us." Pained pointed out forcefully. But then she softened. "It isn't easy, not being able to be everywhere you would need to be. I heard about some of what my people encountered on their expedition tracking Illidan across southern Lordaeron. It must be terrible there. Of course you are worried."
"I couldn't stand it eventually. I think that's what happened. It became too much."
Pained didn't say anything but she rubbed her hand over Jaina's back.
"They don't get to quit. They have nowhere else to go." Jaina continued saying out loud to no one. "They are still there, still stuck with all the horrors, all the danger… What will it do to you eventually…"
"That, you know more of than I do, My Lady."
"And still we ended up like this..." Jaina mumbled glumly and curled up in the corner of their couch with her knees under her chin while staring into the fireplace. The embers looked like red eyes that watched her and eventually she got up again to look for something to do that could occupy her.
Pained suddenly looked up after giving the matter some further thought.
"My Lady? Maybe this is an odd question but does the queen of the Forsaken undead know how to send you her reply?"
"Oh, that's nothing to worry about, she'd just have to put it on her desk for me to…" Jaina stopped right between two steps and froze. Then she clenched her eyes tight with what she assumed was a very pained expression.
"And the queen…is aware of this?"
"Possibly not." Jaina sighed. "Letters were one of the things we talked too little about. Very much too little."
"So she could in theory be intending to respond but consider herself without the practical means to do so."
"Uuuh…" Jaina groaned. "Tides, what a mess if that's the case… How we always manage to mess everything up…"
She was not sure if Sylvanas would be at loss about how to respond. On the one hand the Banshee Queen was very sharp of mind and possessed (yes, that phrasing…) both substantial experience and a solid understanding of how teleportation magic worked, and had her own junior mages and potentially Rhonin or someone else of Dalaran to ask for advice. Surely she would have thought of at least ruling out the possibility of leaving a reply in the same place as the letter had arrived?
On the other hand, who was Jaina kidding? Of course something completely, aggravatingly, mundane like this would happen and put a stop to even the smallest attempt at mending relations between them in any measure.
She sat herself down by her desk and picked up the sheet of paper she had absolutely not crumpled earlier. It totally smooth and even.
As Jaina started to think of how to formulate a reasonably phrased paragraph about the sending of arcane mail, she found herself thinking all the more of what she and Pained had talked about. Pained was right. Jaina sure wanted to be in several places at once right now. She wanted and needed to stay in Theramore, she wanted to look in on the Forsaken and see that everyone at least were safe, she wanted to check on the bordering territories inland of Theramore to ensure that no new catastrophes were brewing when she least expected it. And she would very much like to say hello to the night elves for that matter.
As a matter of fact Jaina found that she would very much more than say hello to Tyrande and Malfurion and the rest of them. She missed them terribly, and she missed Ashenvale with its wonders and its strange peace and quiet.
It was contradictive to travel again so soon after she had returned and it would lead to its fair number of raised eyebrows. But on the other hand, if Jaina had worried more than Theramore's population sick by disappearing then she had better put it right before any new crisis unfolded because of it.
And it wasn't just about her either.
Pained. You've not mentioned much about how you had it these months, both when I was gone and before. I know you've kept yourself busy but like you said it earlier, I also know that type. Even if you are a couple of thousand years old you deserve some time off in your own home. Or…especially since you are a couple of thousand years old? I think I will not say anything right now about that particular philosophical conundrum of elven age, hihihi...
"Pained?"
"Yes?"
"Don't get too worked up now, but I am seriously thinking of going away again for a short time…abroad, so to say."
"I suppose I should draw My Lady's attention to my ominously lowered brows." Pained pointed at the impression she made of a seriously displeased tauren. "Does the notably vague term 'abroad' in this case refer to Lordaeron?"
"No, as a matter of fact no." Jaina ignored the slight flush of her cheeks. "I was rather thinking of Ashenvale in fact. It strikes me that it was a long time since I last wrote to Tyrande and if she have found out that I have gone missing she may be very worried."
Pained cleared her throat and looked a little guilty.
"Hm, yes, that might be very prudent."
"Pained, if it was you who had disappeared I would send Tyrande a panicked letter within half a week."
"I assure you I delayed until at least a whole week after your disappearance. By which time I had received your not altogether reassuring note, My Lady."
"Considering the circumstances I assure you it was the best I was able to put together. Poor you, it can't have been easy waiting here without any way of knowing what went on with me in Lordaeron. Just being on the writing end and not knowing if anyone is actually reading is taxing enough."
"Well, so long as My Lady does not speak to any strange satyrs and remembers to notify the rest of the party when she feels the urge to stop to look at every interesting creature or flower…" Jaina tried to look stern but blushed too much for it to work. "…I see no reason why we could not pay a visit to my kin. You are very right in that there is much to tell them about."
"Great. I'll make arrangements tomorrow and think of a way to send word in advance that we're coming."
Sylvanas,
Earlier today Pained pointed out a very relevant detail regarding my correspondence that I find myself having overlooked completely. I have used a small scale portal to deposit my letters on your desk and while I have cast it as briefly as I was able, it is in all respects similar to any other two-way portal. In order to reply, should you want to, it would therefore be enough to leave a letter or an envelope addressed to me on your desk and I will notice it. The same would of course apply to any instructions to deliver future letters to another location.
I must apologise for the oversight and the frustration it must have caused if you found yourself unable to send a message back due to purely practical reasons. If that was the case I wish to assure you that it was not my intention. I do not intend to be petty or cause you unnecessary problems.
I plan to be travelling for some days and be gone from Theramore, should you wish to write back or have something already written. Upon my return I will look for it on your desk.
Jaina
"That one has your nose."
"That one definitely has your chin."
"And your belly."
"And your ass."
It was a cold, cloudy and windy day in Lordaeron. It did not bother anyone in the group especially much.
"They should both feel right at home then, shouldn't they?" Kalira remarked dryly over the habitual bickering. "When they join their respective ranger squadrons we would so hate for anyone to feel like they stood out, wouldn't we?"
Two squadrons' worth of rangers turned to look with palpable suspicion and not a little apallment at Cyndia's commander.
"Their uniforms will prove a hassle though…" Kalira continued to muse. "I guess we will simply have to stitch a dozen or so cloaks together. And then to stealth training…"
Now she was faced with more than one grimace.
"Noble Commander, it is all well and good that you have discovered this new sense of humour thing…" Lenara begun.
"…but could you make it just a little less twisted?" Nara filled in with a shudder. "Abominations in a ranger squadron is not something we joke about – ever, understand?"
Kalira looked at them with clear amusement.
"Goodness gracious, how squeamish we are today." their ranger lieutenant noted airily.
The Naras and Cyndia shared a long look. No one was quite used yet to this side of Kalira.
Though at present they would take every little morsel of fun they could get.
Cyndia glanced at Anya's squadron and mostly at Anya herself. Were things as they should then she and Velonara would be making up steadily more absurd jokes about abomination rangers by now. But things were anything but that and Anya just glared sullenly ahead while the rest of her squadron didn't know if they should join in the banter or just stay silent around her.
"Mindless constructs." Anya mumbled bitterly. "They will fit right in."
Not even Kalira knew quite what to respond to that. This acidic bitterness cut deeply when it came from Anya who would otherwise be the last ranger you'd expect to hear that from. It was not that she was out of line, and the Forsaken had to accept a damned deal worse from each other for very obvious reasons, but still it bloody hurt. So Cyndia thought while feeling the whole of that along with Vel'.
Could something just bloody happen that would take their minds off runaway mages and botched relations that Cyndia did not quite know the full extent or significance of? It was like they were just waiting when they should be doing so much. Sending flowers to Dalaran and start kicking the Scourge out of Silverpine Forest together, for instance.
"What is that?" Anya was not so vacant as she appeared to be. Cyndia was well aware of the fact that very few could match her hearing.
"Over there." Lyana pointed east roughly along the shoreline of Lordamere Lake.
Nine faces turned and concentrated on the dense grey sky where the clouds hung low and curtains of drifting rain hung from them like some dreary window.
"Whirring… Something is whirring. In the sky."
"The night we got you back, did you hear the sound from the goblin zeppelin that flew by us earlier?" Vel' asked.
"No, not much enough to think on it at least. I was pretty preoccupied at the time."
"Jaina said that zeppelin engines sounded more even. Not like the dwarven flying machines."
"Alright…?" Cyndia did not really get the point. She had no difficulty believing Jaina would know that and all sorts of other stuff about the Alliance but why did it matter now?
"Yes, that – that is not the same." Kitala said thoughtfully. "That one is not a goblin zeppelin."
"Nara, alert Sylvanas." Kalira sounded unusually hesitant when she continued to speak almost to herself. "Do you think…no, it couldn't possibly…or… Lenara…will you please ask Amora to bring her squadron here too."
The thing burst from the cloud in an instant, like a fish out of the water but the other way around.
A dot, rapidly taking shape from dark blur into a contraption both clumsy and primitive, compared to the grace of a dragonhawk and its rider, and ingenious and awe-inspiring because it was a thing that was made, and could fly.
A dwarven flying machine, the successor to the gyrocopter. Sylvanas had met the infuriating contraptions in the field outside of Dalaran, during her time as a Scourge. One large spinning thing had given way to two smaller, one on each side. It was hard to understand how something so peculiar could fly. Just look at those tiny, stubby rigid wings.
Although this steep descent did not speak volumes of its flying ability. If it had been a dragonhawk rider Sylvanas would have reckoned it was high time to pull the reins back and break out of the dive, unless the rider was practicing some very risky combat move.
What was the rider – no, pilot was the term they used – thinking? There were at least four squadron's worth of rangers with her along with several city guards and a good deal of bystanders attracted by the commotion and sound. If that machine crashed into them it would be a disaster. But no, the whirring sound rose along with a roar from the engines and the flying machine levelled out, however it still came very fast and now the sound shifted again to a hacking or sputtering together with the noise, as if the machinery was not working the way it should.
"Clear out!" Areiel shouted next to her.
The pilot seemed to be trying to reduce speed. Sylvanas wondered if it was more akin to sailing a small ship than riding a dragonhawk. Whatever the case it did not go as well as it would have had to and the flying machine swept past before their eyes, carried by the wind, and slid with a grating noise along the ground only to catch on to something and spin, and finally dig a deep furrow in the dirt with its one wing before it came to rest.
"Rangers to scout!" Sylvanas commanded and waved Kalira forward. "Everyone else stays back until we are sure it is safe to approach!"
She followed close behind Kalira's rangers. The noise from the engines was dying down, which she assumed was a good thing, and at least there was no smoke forming or any other sign of a fire.
Unless you counted signs of fiery temper of course.
"…absolutely worst possible landing in the history of landings!"
"Completely wrong. This could have gone way worse." Another voice grunted in return.
"Anything worse than this would have counted as a crash, not a landing, so my point stands."
"Really? Isn't a crash just depictive of a botched maneuver? A crash landing, or crash takeoff and so on?"
Somehow the two interlocutors had calmed down to turn their argument into a bickering about semantics.
"Next time we fly with our helmets on… Ow! Blasted…argh! Or better yet do not fly at all whatsoever…"
"How is Rattletusk?"
"Safe in my pocket. He at least had the good sense to take cover under some commendably thick padding."
"On second thought he is usually the wisest member of the party… I guess we should unload the gear and get our bearings."
There was definitely something vaguely familiar about those two voices.
Kalira was signing to her squadron to circle around the upturned machine. She kept herself strictly professional but Sylvanas could see the expectation among her rangers and Velonara indiscreetly waved at those behind them to come closer. Sylvanas decided to let it slide.
On the other side of the metal body were two dwarves busily preparing to unload luggage. One with light brown hair and beard, the other with black. Afraid of neither dark rangers nor banshee queens. Here. Contrary to all sense and reason, here.
"Runar." The dwarven spy patted his colleague's shoulder.
"Uh?" Runar looked up. "Oh, ah, good day Ranger Lieutenant Kalira. What a coincidence, running into you and your – squadron, was it? – like this. Although it could be argued that since we ran into each other last time then yours should be the one we are least surprised to be discovered by, I suppose…"
Sylvanas remained in the background and beheld the unlikely scene of two presumably half-mad dwarven adventurers – no other term sufficed – who were seemingly out of words, and of strict, harsh Ranger Lieutenant Kalira who was….smiling?
"We seem to have a knack for discovering lost dwarves, don't we, girls?"
"HIII!" Velonara interrupted her and waved.
"Vel', discipline!" Cyndia nagged insincerely. "We could still need to be suspicious."
"Bore. You can be that in my stead."
"Welcome back, Master Runar and Master Halvdan." Kalira said and restored some sense of propriety.
"Welcome back…do you mean we are actually back in your capital? I knew I saw something like a city when we went down – I mean landed." Halvdan asked expectantly.
In answer, Kalira stepped to the side and gestured invitingly for him to come around their downed vessel and take a look for himself.
"Ha!" Halvdan exclaimed triumphantly. "Right on the spot, eh?"
"Yes, we are all pleased that the pilot has performed his task in accordance with the expectations placed upon him." Runar said dryly but he was very clearly also relieved that they had not ended up somewhere else.
"You actually flew through this?" Cyndia pointed at the heavy sky.
"Apparently we did. Blast…" Halvdan grimaced as he looked at the murky soup above them.
The dwarves were taking note of the clusters of other Forsaken who were nearing the site. Some rangers, some guards and some of the general population who had just happened to be near. It was a stark contrast to how their previous stay had eloped, where they had remained secluded and under strict ranger guard.
They took it better than a young human girl who had been Wailed at the night before.
"Blimey…" Runar half whispered, half spoke.
"Agreed." Halvdan was even quieter.
"We rangers are fortunate to be more whole than most of the others. On the outside at least." Kalira noted solemnly.
"Does it, well – does it hurt? Or what do you say…"
Sylvanas wondered how she would answer such a question herself. Did being undead 'hurt'?
"Not in the sense of the word you refer to." Kalira answered for both of them. Sylvanas reckoned she had likely put it as concisely as it could be. "Just say hello. That is all we really ask."
"Do you want us to help with the luggage?" Velonara asked and sounded much less sure of herself. She was obviously discomfortable with the topic. "If you have a lot of it, that is, I just reckoned since you had a lot packed last time…"
"Could you, ah, keep close while we introduce ourselves? So nothing goes, hm, wrong." Runar clearly shared her feelings of awkwardness.
It was the right time for proper reintroductions, Sylvanas decided.
"That will not be necessary for this will not go wrong." she stated more than said as she stepped out of the shadows and took command of the situation.
She let their visitors be suitably surprised and the greater part of the assembling crowd come within earshot before she continued.
"We received your notes from Khaz Modan and the Kirin Tor have told us of your visit to Dalaran." Sylvanas' statement was close to a declamation, to make sure the greater part of the audience got the message that they were welcoming back two persons who had lent the Forsaken useful aid. "It is pleasing to see our envoys in good health. Especially considering the manner of arrival."
Sylvanas cast a poignant and meaningful look at the no longer flying machine and after a couple of silent moments a few snickers and chuckles appeared here and there among the crowd.
The dwarves looked a bit flustered, and Belore knew if they did not start to redden a little too. Just like her mage would, although she had no beard to obscure it.
Their living mage had made enough of an impression and garnered enough affection that Sylvanas hoped some could spill over in a more accepting atmosphere for other living allies or potential allies. That was about to be put to the test.
No one had been told of the exact circumstances related to Jaina's departure, but the news that their formidable allied archmage had returned to her own city across the oceans had been enough to cause its fair share of distress and sullen misgivings. Where would they be without the ice storms and thunder the next time the city came under siege?
A large enough number of rangers knew enough to form their own opinions however. And they were not impressed. Sylvanas had known what to expect when being requested to come to the arena to 'help with maintaining their close combat skills' which was a polite way of saying 'beating the un-living daylights out of their commander'. Sylvanas had not had the shame to refuse, nor would it had served any purpose but to put up the reckoning she knew would come anyway.
But it was a blessing that undead healed quickly. From what Sylvanas could tell her rangers had little need for brushing up on their capacity for close quarter violence. They had in fact rarely seemed so vicious. Her right side still felt like Areiel had cracked something the sixth or seventh time she had beaten, kicked or thrown Sylvanas to the ground. It paled however, compared to the feeling of seeing her ranger captain towering over her with an expression of disappointment bordering on disgust.
Did I not beg you not to lose her, Sylvanas?
She would gladly have preferred seven more rounds instead.
Anya had not been there. Sylvanas had barely seen her since Jaina left.
She could not blame her.
But she would gladly have taken a hundred rounds.
She could now only try to do better for all of them, and cause as little harm as possible, until someone stepped up to replace her. Starting with making sure this unexpected meeting went as well as it could.
"So, Master Runar and Master Halvdan. How did your mission in Khaz Modan go?"
Sylvanas had already decided to spring whatever traps this conversation might hold. Better to let the city know any bad news firsthand along with her answers than later and muddled by hearsay.
"Mission accomplished, My Lady." Runar offered her a wide, and a tad smug, smile. "We have delivered your letter to King Magni who read it with great interest."
The dwarf spoke in normal conversational tone. Sylvanas gestured with her palm that he needed to speak up. They had an audience after all.
"And what was King Magni's answer?"
"You are looking at it, My Lady." Now most of the crowd would have been able to catch both the words and the triumphant tone. Sylvanas raised one eyebrow in question. "We are proud to present the newest emissaries of King Magni of Khaz Modan. Complete with full written and sealed credentials, which I am sure we packed…somewhere."
"You are the king's emissaries?" Of all possible answers this was certainly not one that Sylvanas had expected.
"As royal as they come." Runar nodded and then shrugged with very deliberate casualness. "We are emissaries by trade and thought that since being the queen's envoys worked out rather well we would stay in the business… So now we are the king's envoys instead, but hopefully we will with your permission set up some sort of embassy in Lordaeron since we obviously will have a great deal to discuss."
The dwarf now had the scene, no doubt about it.
"As we wrote in our note some time ago we held off delivering your letter of introduction until the circumstances would be more favourable, and after arranging more favourable circumstances it turned out that we were able to persuade the king to grant us the assignment as ambassadors." Runar brushed some immaterial dust from his sleeve and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Naturally a primary issue would be to lay the groundwork for a military alliance against mutual enemies, and we are sure that King Magni will attach considerable importance to the reports of his personal embassy in Lordaeron in such matters."
Sylvanas was, for one of those rare times, speechless.
How in all the world had they managed this incredulous feat – had they gotten the dwarven king dead drunk? And also…why?
If the words were not enough to convince a disillusioned crowd of listeners, then the with difficulty suppressed merriment of Runar did its part too. The dwarf acted like he presented the finalization of a perfect plan, or plot, or prank, brought to dazzling execution. Which obviously was not without reason. Ingratiating themselves to the point of being named ambassadors before presenting Sylvanas' message was certainly…one way of rigging the game. It was not a little infectious, Sylvanas could objectively note even if she was not swept up in it herself.
Runar had taken her hint and turned more to the rest of the listeners than to herself, more serious and sombre now.
"This is not, I would like to underline, in any way contrary to the interests of Khaz Modan. The last laugh from the Scourge is the only reward anyone will reap for fighting amongst ourselves when we had better things to do. Let us all avoid that. We are honoured, to be welcomed back to your city."
Not too bad of a speech. Now Sylvanas should…
A high pitched squeak interrupted her. Out of somewhere in Runar's clothes scurried a…squirrel? In a blink it had climbed up to sit on his shoulder and take in the surroundings the way squirrels did, perched on a branch of a tree.
Velonara squeaked even higher.
"No waaay!"
Before anyone could mouth 'inappropriate' she had jumped down to kneel beside Runar and started clicking and chattering at the bewildered animal in her best imitation of squirrel language.
"This is Ratatosk, our scout and head tavern haggler." Runar explained and patted him with a finger.
"We rescued him from a band of trolls outside of Ironforge. And it is supposed to be 'Rattletusk'. I was talking with my mouth full at the time." Halvdan filled in. He had retrieved some sort of package or bundle from their luggage. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in blankets and he carried it with extreme care.
Velonara paid little attention to the semantics of names where she sat down on the ground and looked overly doe-eyed – or squirrel-eyed perhaps – at him. Rattletusk had scurried down to the ground and stopped to look even more curiously at the dark ranger. Velonara in turn bent down forward so she would be as close to eye level with the squirrel, while sticking her backside out at her squadron and especially Kalira, who looked like she was about to roll her eyes.
"We, uh, used to call him Voo at first but it got confusing. Ratatosk is as it happens an expert wooer of barmaids far and wide for discounts and extra nuts…"
"Nuts?" Velonara echoed eagerly. "We have plenty of nuts in store!"
Sylvanas was sure she could see Rattletusk come to attention when hearing the word 'nuts'. Velonara nodded encouragingly and stretched out her open hand. Rattletusk ran forward, then stopped and sniffed at it.
"Inside." the dark ranger explained. "I will show you."
Sylvanas shrugged. At least nobody would take any threat of dwarves with squirrels in their pockets very seriously.
"Velonara is correct, we are in fact far better provisioned these days to accommodate living guests. Would you like to come inside?"
"Very much so. But first we would like to speak to Lady Alina. Is she here?" Halvdan asked. "Is she…alright?"
He added it like someone who fears the answer.
"On your right, by the edge of the crowd." Sylvanas reassured him. She had noted Amora there and Alina nearly hiding in her shadow.
"Alright."
Halvdan swallowed, and sat down to slowly unwind the layers of protective cloth with Runar's help. Inside was a smooth elongated case that appeared elven in design. The kind you would expect to contain something very valuable.
Halvdan unlocked and opened it to peek inside.
"It…looks like it's still in one piece, right?"
"It looks just fine. We did it." Runar said. "Only the scary part left."
Halvdan gave him a long glare and closed the case and rose. They started to walk towards where Amora's squadron stood, with Sylvanas in tow. On her nodded command the nearby guards parted and gave way, and made the other bystanders follow their example.
Amora almost nudged Alina out in front of her. Almost.
"Hello, Lady Alina." Halvdan mumbled.
"Hello. But I don't want to be Lady Alina again. I liked it more when you just called me Alina." Alina said to both of them.
"That you did, right… Er…"
"We sort of…happened to…come across this." Runar said and failed miserably to sound casual. It was evident that whatever was inside they had likely flown across half of Azeroth to get it.
"We figured that since, well, you are a ranger and obviously expert with the bow, we'd get you another one. Kind of." Halvdan cleared his throat as he offered up the case.
"For me?"
He nodded.
Alina tentatively unclasped it. She opened the case very slowly and went wide-eyed with awe and fright combined.
"I'm going to break it." she whispered as she took a step back. "I'll drop it, or, or… It's too valuable. It's too...."
"Left untouched it is not valuable. It is worthless. It is less than worthless."
"I can't… I can't…anymore…"
Amora bent down to whisper something into her ear. Insistent hissing in Thalassian.
Sylvanas watched Alina step back forward and slowly, painfully slowly, she reached inside to take hold of something. She closed her eyes briefly, almost like something had hurt her, and then even more carefully retracted herself. In her hands she held a masterfully crafted violin. And its…bow.
Halvdan had put the case down and only had eyes for the dark ranger.
"You said – before – that you used to play for the other rangers so we figured… Neither of us has very much experience with musical instruments, I hope it isn't wrongly balanced or something…" he rambled as if he needed to explain himself.
"I mentioned it once!" Alina sounded like it was unfathomable how anyone could put the slightest importance in what she had said. "And I said it didn't matter anymore…"
"Yes?" Halvdan sounded equally incredulous about how anyone could fail to place the greatest importance in what she had said. "Well, I think it matters very much."
Alina looked at him like he was completely insane. Then Amora nudged her gently in the side.
If Alina would have been alive Sylvanas was convinced she would have swallowed and trembled. Now she was just still as a statue, until she slowly placed the bow against the strings.
It let out the sort of horrifying grating shriek that only violins could. Alina twitched and retracted the bow, then closed her eyes and slowly redid it.
And for the first time in more than two miserable years she played again.
Eyes closed, posture relaxed and her chin placed almost lovingly against the wood. And Alina, so troubled and haunted and broken, looked like she was peaceful.
No one spoke. No one moved.
The last notes of a hauntingly beautiful melody faded away and Alina opened her eyes again to look right at Halvdan.
"Invaluable." Halvdan whispered at her.
Sylvanas reckoned anyone else around them might as well have been a rock or tree for all that the dwarven spy and elven ranger seemed to care. She mumbled out of the corner of her mouth towards Runar who had discreetly vanished to the background.
"Even with the gold you were given you would not have been able to pay for a fraction of all of this, surely? How have you been able to afford this treasure trove? And that flying contraption on top of everything."
"Oh…" Runar shrugged casually while they watched Alina with her violin. "…with a rogue handling the treasury you can't expect anything less than a tad of fiddling with the figures…"
Somewhere behind them, Areiel laughed.
Sylvanas sighed and pinched her nose.
Alina was dreaming.
She dreamed of Quel'thalas' warm forests, of sunshine that felt real on her skin, of laughter and happiness that was not denied her and not marred by horrors and memories. She dreamed and dreamed as she played and the echoing laughter of the Lich King could not touch her. It was drowned out – no, more than drowned out, repelled – and reduced to an ugly insignificant past thing that did not deserve anyone's thoughts dwelling upon it.
Mira and Marrah walked on either side of her and gently guided her and kept her from tripping. They were walking next to a small caravan of rangers carrying a striking amount of dwarven luggage. The way so much had been stowed away into their small flying vessel stretched credulity.
Alina had no idea what the majority of it was but she assumed they would have been wise to prepare for any eventuality. Perhaps it was some set of tools, or maybe sensitive spare parts for the engines, that had caused that loud clanking sound that seemed to be the cause of such a commotion right now?
"…nothing special?" Alina could hear Cyndia echoing sceptically. "But what is this? It weighs like an ogre's kettle."
Alina put her violin and bow down and opened her eyes properly. She was actually getting curious now like Cyndia and the Naras seemed to be.
"You're not wrong about that…although I haven't had the pleasure of meeting any kettle-bearing ogre." Runar muttered.
"What seems to be the issue?" Sylvanas asked sternly.
"Your helpful dark rangers have taken a great sudden interest in our luggage, My Lady."
Sylvanas was looking at Cyndia and Velonara.
"It's clanking, it's secret and it's heavy." Velonara explained as if that was more than enough reason to justify anyone being curious about visiting dwarves' luggage.
"Is this where you would demand to inspect our cargo?" Runar asked just a little dryly.
"I trust you to have the common sense to inform me of anything volatile or otherwise dangerous." Sylvanas looked evaluatingly at Kaliras' squadron and the interested onlookers they had attracted. "Although, speaking not as queen but simply as someone used to dark rangers, it may be easiest for you to just let them have a look inside and save yourselves the storm of probing questions for the rest of the day."
"That so? Fine then…" Runar walked over to open the wooden box that Cyndia and Velonara had been carrying. "See? Nothing out of the ordinary here. Just some…wait, no, don't take it out…"
It was already too late. Velonara picked out a heavy dwarven helmet and immediately tried it on, or rather she tried to try it on but her ears had nowhere to go.
Kalira let hear an appreciative whistle. Inside the box was the rest of a complete suit of plate armour and a round shield. It looked extremely expensive. And durable.
"You have to pack for all weathers. Rain, snow, angry ghouls who want to eat you…" Halvdan tried to put things into perspective.
Now the rangers were on the scent. No amount of eye-rolling and counter-arguments that it would be better if they were allowed to unpack in an orderly way once inside, had any effect and eventually Runar and Halvdan were looking meaningfully at each other and then collectively sighing. Alina was sure they were not really irritated with her and her sisters, otherwise she would have said something.
Then began a peculiar sort of spectacle, a little like when they had returned with the loot from Hearthglen and presented it to the rest of the city for display.
First was another suit of heavy-looking armour. Alina hoped it was as strong as it seemed. The idea of any of the dwarves wearing that still made her uneasy. Because it meant battle.
"Oh, baby…" Velonara whistled when the next box was opened.
"Paws off." Runar admonished. "That one is mine."
It was the largest, and most complex, crossbow Alina had seen. It was part of a set with quivers, spare parts and a tripod support to steady the thing on. The elves had never favoured that kind of weapon as a personal arm but the field ballistae of their army were basically the same thing.
Runar picked it up and inspected it out of habit it looked like, while Velonara looked on with unmitigated envy.
"Is this how 'dwarven diplomacy' is usually conducted?" Sylvanas asked evenly as the next two boxes revealed a second smaller crossbow, but also with some mechanical oddities, together with glimmering dwarven weaponry.
"We are of course in favour of civilised negotiations…" Runar muttered while hefting a blue-shimmering hammer. "…but sometimes in our trade you have to hammer the point in..."
The Dark Lady was casting him a very long glare. It was just like how she often looked at dark rangers in fact, Alina noted.
Halvdan meanwhile was looking over the edge of an axe, with the blade balanced by a long spike. Cracking thick armours open seemed to have been on their minds for some time.
"Death knight heads should serve equal purpose…"
Then, in the next blink, Halvdan remembered himself. Alina could see every minute movement when his eyes widened and he looked at her with fear. He dropped the axe beside him and leapt over the box to run up to her.
Arthas.
Most accursed of names. A hated thing. A dreaded thing.
A thing that last they met had been enough to cast Alina back into the past and all its horrors.
And still Halvdan was running to her and not from her.
Alina didn't quite know what to think or do, but she held out her arms unconsciously so she wouldn't risk harming the violin. A small part of registered Amora snatching it out of her hand.
"Please Alina, don't go back there, don't go back…" he was mumbling insistently…with his arms around her.
Alina closed her eyes and felt. There was really nothing there. Her thoughts were there, and she hated Arthas and all he stood for and all that the Scourge was, and it was a raging inferno inside its corner of her mind. And in another corner was her friends and in particular a stark mad dwarf with black hair and kind eyes whose first instinct had been to run to a Wailing banshee rather than from her.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
"I am still here. I am still me."
She was looking into the world's reddest dwarf.
"I'm…I…excuse me…I thought…" Halvdan apologised to her feet. He did not get any further before Alina hugged him the hardest she could.
"You are right. It was like that. And still you run to me."
"Where else would I…"
"I – it – is better now. When I have Amora. And my ranger sisters. And my scarf-giving dwarves who gave me my music back and would battle death knights on my account."
"I had this thought, that if you rode a gryphon, and you could teach it to pick up the bugger in its claws, and then fly and drop him into some deep part of the sea…"
"Could I sit behind you in the saddle?"
"Always. I mean, if you sit in front of me I will probably not see very much other than your cloak so it would probably be best if you held the reins in that case…"
Alina did not need warmth to survive any longer. Cold weather could do nothing to her. But she had really, really missed the feeling of warm skin against her cheek.
From somewhere outside that warmth she could hear Sylvanas' voice.
"Name whatever is in my power that does not harm or endanger my people or my allies, and you can have it."
The Dark Lady did not sound like her usual self.
Author's Note
Mail and mail-not-ordered deliveries abound in Azeroth. Sylvanas and Jaina remain stubborn as they make political decisions with absolutely not any trace of influence from the other one.
Remember what Alina told of her past about a book or so ago? Probably not maybe unless you recently binged this, but in any case she used to play the violin to her fellow rangers and Sylvanas was kind enough to store it safely for her in the command tent.
The rooms of the Banshee Queen were dark and gloomy. Only a couple of candles offered the bare minimum of illumination. Sylvanas allowed herself no more, nor did she pay much attention to the fact. She could see well enough in the dark after all and might as well make use of it.
A knock on her door interrupted the mechanical regularity of her work.
"Dark Lady? Apothecary Putress is here." Alina was on watch today. Or if it was tonight. She was always polite. Not in the formal way, but civil. Considerate.
"Send him in." Sylvanas raised her voice to be heard through her door.
Putress. Sylvanas had not quite decided what she thought of him. He and Lyndon despised one another to an almost comical point, just like what…what Sylvanas had been told about the Kirin Tor's academic top. From what Sylvanas had seen and heard Putress was skilled enough and highly dedicated. He was the kind of Forsaken who seethed with vengefulness rather than sorrow, and Sylvanas found it easy to recognize herself in it.
He looked less than pleasant. It did not move Sylvanas much, she had seen worse and long since ceased to be surprised by the grotesque. But there was something about Putress, or the meeting with him here and now, that itched. The sort of itch that told you that there was something to be wary about.
Sylvanas put the thought away. Her instincts were not reliable anymore.
Putress entered and cautiously took his seat in front of Sylvanas.
"Apothecary Putress. I have read your paper with interest. Suffice to say that I trust the Royal Apothecary Society to have a substantial scientific reasoning to base this on. What I am now primarily interested in are the practical considerations of the suggested research and applications of this weapon. When, how and by how many could it be expected to be researched?"
Putress wet his lips. He radiated expectation.
"My Queen, we have as a starting point the blight as we now know it. It is harmful to all living things but beneficial to all undead. It is also distinctly magical in its form. We aim to deconstruct and de-mysticize what causes the Scourge's blight to spread and amplify its effects, presumably harnessing it in a concentrated form that can be deployed and disposed where and how we want it. That is the first stage of our research. The second stage is the harder, to modify this new blight into being able to harm undead instead of healing. If possible only Scourge undead."
Sylvanas nodded to him to go on.
"We have collected knowledge and a fairly rich material of observations and insight for the first stage of the research to expect rapid results. I have already drafted several hypothesises that I expect will be quick to prove or disprove that will take us a long way towards a solution. The Royal Apothecary Society can handle this research effectively on its own. The second stage will require far more practical tests which calls for raw materials, very likely an increase of our available space, and…test subjects."
"Test subjects." Sylvanas echoed tonelessly.
"Indeed, My Queen. The living are fragile and can be expected to be affected by a wide array of substances that are part of the strain of blight or can be mixed with it without neutralising its effects. However, we need to ensure that the method of application works quickly enough for it to be of actual use in battle and that it is simply powerful enough. The undead on the other hand lack many of the physical sensibilities but are also decrepit and thereby frail in several ways. Our search for a weakness to exploit will by necessity include a great deal of trial-and-error and thus a more or less steady supply of test subjects."
The idea was…distasteful.
Sylvanas had no difficulty grasping the logic behind Putress' words. It was not that. Nor was it any particular sense of compassion towards the Scourge. Or the Scarlets. But Sylvanas saw in her mind before her eyes a vision of herself forcing open the mouth of some desperately writhing human in her grasp. A Scarlet soldier, a knight or priest or paladin perhaps even. Yet the more she looked, the more the vague and undefined person shrunk and looked less and less like a remorseless fanatic and more and more like just a frightened human girl. A girl with golden hair and wide and terrified blue eyes.
"My Queen." Putress had evidently read more from her than Sylvanas would have preferred. "The swordsman may cut his enemy apart like a butcher, the archer may hunt him like helpless game in the woods. Are these methods not cruel enough on their own? But what remains for the common man? Those who were offered no training, who toiled so that others could spend their time to acquire the skills to defend themselves with the weapons they knew? The black powder is jealously guarded and complex to create. The arcane powers are gifted from birth to a few with utter fickleness. For us, the lowest, weakest ones, what choice is given but to die in accordance with someone else's rules?"
Putress knew his audience if nothing else, Sylvanas noted. Those arguments would find many receptive ears in the Undercity.
Not that he was wrong. Bows and blades had also been tested on living subjects, by their ancestors who determined that a sword and a spear were useful means in general to cause grievous harm. Those skilled at arms were ever prey to the arrogance that lay in forgetting that behind each of them were ten or a hundred others who forged their arms, farmed or fished their food, and built their houses. The elven rangers, who should know better, were no exception and each year had always brought their share of recruits with an aversion to honest labour that they needed to work off.
"If this long-term research is approved, what will it happen at the expense of? What alternative routes are available for the apothecaries to contribute forcefully to the war effort?"
Putress appeared to hold the alternative fields in less regard but he listed them conscientiously and as far as Sylvanas could tell with objectivity.
"The most obvious alternative is that we could divert more resources to the attempts at crafting abominations of our own. It will require significant raw materials but dead flesh is easily harvested. The Royal Apothecary Society can graft the things together but to animate them requires alchemy and magic combined and therefore services requisitioned from our casters."
"That could be arranged. And otherwise?"
"We could focus increasingly on the production of potions, as well as oils or similar incendiary concoctions. The industry is in all relevant aspects ongoing and it would just be a question of ramping up the production rate." Putress made a pause like he considered how to put what he was going to say next. "Focusing on potion production is guaranteed to yield results but they will be of limited significance. Our kind are helped by potions but they offer us no decisive advantages. The abominations, if they can be made to function and if they can be produced at a sufficient rate, would be of greater impact. Yet both options remain at best just advantages, that could well prove negligible in the long run. The blight however… My Queen, it could change everything. If we succeeded we would hold the key to the Scourge's destruction in our hands!"
Sylvanas held up a hand. She shared his fervent want for revenge and she knew that Putress knew that.
"Begin researching and compiling what is known about the Scourge's blight and its effects. Do not proceed with anything more unless I explicitly order it."
"Yes, My Queen." Putress said with satisfaction and bowed. "We shall begin immediately."
Sylvanas sat still in her chair after he had left.
Do not proceed with anything more unless I explicitly order it.
Putress would obviously hear it as until rather than unless. And expect that this until would not be a too long wait.
And why shouldn't he? What was the point of beginning a long-term project using crucial resources, if not to finish it? It would just be a waste, that the Forsaken could ill afford.
Yet still Sylvanas had issued that reservation.
She glanced involuntarily down at her desk and her hands moved compulsively to its haphazardly repaired drawer that got stuck half the times you tried to open it.
Sylvanas,
I write to tell you that I am back in Theramore. And in one piece I should likely add since there are ample reasons why teleportation spells over long distances…
She had told herself a hundred times that she would not respond, after she had found Jaina's letter lying on her desk. Not that she quite knew how but she suspected that if she left an answer in the same place Jaina would be able to find it one way or another. But Jaina would find no return letter.
It was better that way. She was home, and she was safe. Safe from Lordaeron, and Sylvanas, and everything that was wrong and turned out wrong no matter what. She would probably hate Sylvanas unless she did not already, and perhaps she was right to. And with time her hatred would fade and Jaina would move on with the life she still had before her, unless the Scourge claimed them all before that of course.
Jaina would move on. Jaina would… Jaina would… Jaina…would…
Jaina…
For one rare time Sylvanas appreciated the fact that she had no tears left. None would stain the letter she would be wise to throw away and burn, but could not bring herself to let come to harm.
She knew why she had hesitated about the blight. Why she still did.
What would Jaina think if she saw her?
Putress may be right. It may be what was necessary to defeat the Scourge one day. No one could tell that for certain.
And Sylvanas would be giving up all remaining shreds of decency for it. She would sanction torture and murder. She would make the Forsaken as vile as the Scourge in the eyes of every living. Every condescending, bigoted, conceited living that had let them suffer.
She would become exactly what Jaina had feared, feared to the point that she had thrown everything to the wind in a panicked attempt to prevent it.
Now it would not even matter. None of it.
Sylvanas realised that she was clenching her fists to the point where the leather in her armour creaked. She opened her left hand and saw the letter and how crumpled it had been. Regretfully, Sylvanas tried to smoothen it out again. How long she sat there and tried to make Jaina's letter good again she had no idea of.
…against my better judgement I am unable to let go of what you said to me during our last conversation. There is a small part of me beneath the greater part that feels hurt and disappointed, that can not stop itself from questioning how you acted. What was it truly that I witnessed when you sat looking at me like a living person at a ghost…
"Alina."
Only silence. Then, the door was opened so slowly it could only be called hesitant.
"Dark Lady? Did you call for me?"
"Send a message to Putress. He is to belay his current orders and focus on the abominations instead."
***
For Jaina, it was both natural and absurd to be back into her previous routine as head of Theramore. Not even back at it even, or rather she was back at something more akin to how it had been until her father's fleet was sighted in early spring. How it should be.
She spent a lot of time by her desk but she was no longer hiding away in her tower for the sake of hiding away and avoiding other people. There was so much to catch up with, to think about, and to find out more about.
Pained had not shied away from making one or two pointed comments about Jaina's still famously – famishly in her bodyguard's view – unreliable eating habits when she was caught up with something, but noted with satisfaction that someone had taught her lady to heed the calls for lunch and dinner without complaint. Jaina only brought with her a paper to read half the times or so.
Jaina was both busy, and pleased with keeping busy, and restless. After dinner, her thoughts would leave the day's and the next day's issues and return to Lordaeron and the Forsaken and their impossible queen.
Jaina had written her again. That had also become a routine.
It had been five times now. Sylvanas had not written back and Jaina shifted between disappointment that she hadn't, irritation and anger and wishing that she wouldn't, and hoping that she would. For all the times she found herself doubting the point of it all she kept penning letter after letter.
Sylvanas,
In addition to my previous letter I realise I had better be overly clear rather than leave room for another debacle of communications between heads of state. Let me therefore make it plain that as far as I am concerned we are still allies with the same goals and aspirations for our respective states as before I left. I hope and expect that the Kirin Tor will send you their response any day and their agreement to mutual efforts and cooperation against the Scourge.
What and how Theramore can contribute in the immediate future from the other side of the ocean I have no good answer for. Perhaps we will be wiser to let intermediaries work out those kinds of details when the time comes. Regardless, I will not let whatever I may personally think of you or anyone else put the safety of my city in jeopardy and expect that you share the sentiment.
Good night
Jaina Proudmoore
Jaina had sighed as she wrote that letter, dutifully to pre-empt whatever possible more misunderstandings or faulty assumptions that her return home may give rise to. It was a tiresome thought, because it invariably led one to the matter of more personal things that may or may have a part of either in them.
Sylvanas,
I hope that all the rangers and all the other Forsaken are well. Even your unpleasant chancellor since I know he is useful to you despite his lack of pleasant manners.
I would like to ask you to tell them – the rangers and Irizadan and the Baron – that I never wanted to leave them in this way without saying goodbye. I would have had to return home at some point, and quite possibly soon, but obviously it would not have needed to be in this manner…
That letter had been hard to finish. What would Anya be thinking of her? What would she be feeling right now?
Sylvanas,
Has the Kirin Tor gotten back to you? I do not intent to pry into your affairs but only ask since I was about to write to Dalaran and it got me thinking that I could remind them to do while I was at it, if needed.
Life goes on in Theramore in rather much the same way as in the Undercity – meaning life as the comings-and-goings and daily chores of its inhabitants. While you build below ground, we build above, and I suppose Dalaran rebuilds on its ruins in the meantime…
Jaina was still angry. Of course she was. But it was not all she was. She no longer seethed with fury to the point where it drowned out everything else.
And this everything else was tricky.
"What troubles you, Jaina?"
"Am I that easy to read for everyone now?"
"Yes." Pained said patiently. "When you pace and try to act like you do not, and forcefully have to stop yourself from crumpling that innocent sheet of paper."
Jaina put down said piece of paper in a completely controlled manner.
"I don't know what I expected, or if I expected anything at all, when I wrote. But I suppose now I find that I would have liked an answer or at least to now that my letters were received. Am I stupid for letting it get to me?"
Pained looked up in earnest now from what she was reading.
"I do not know anything approaching the full picture of what happened between you, My Lady." her bodyguard begun somewhat carefully. "But if I had left under circumstances that upset me like they had upset you when you came back, I would probably very much prefer to be able to write back to this other person. And I must confess that I too belong to the eccentrics who in general prefers their mail to reach the recipient."
As usual Pained managed to make her smile, and feel better about herself. Jaina sat down next to her instead of not-pacing around the room.
"I just want to know they reached her, is all. I'd understand if she wanted to take her time before responding, especially since we parted on bad terms and my first letter was rather angry. But a small note saying she's got them and will write back later wouldn't have been out of place."
"Did you leave the later letters in the exact same spot as the earlier ones?"
"Yes… I guess so. It was on her desk."
"And were the previous letters still there?"
"No. No they weren't." Jaina felt foolish. "You are right. But what if someone else took them instead?"
"Is that a common occurrence? Other people checking the queen's desk for the eventuality that magically delivered mail would have one day appeared just there?"
"Of course not. She is a very private person when at work and take on far too much on her own just because she can."
"Hm. That type…" Pained said with a meaningful lack of expression. She was absolutely like…Areiel…when she did that, Jaina suddenly realised. Tides, those two should really have tea some day.
"So the most likely thing is that Sylvanas has actually gotten my letters." Jaina said partially to herself.
"There could be many things that occupy her time and attention. The Scourge neighbours for one thing."
"Very possible." Jaina sighed. "She could be away in the field on a new campaign, or the Undercity could have been attacked again for all I know."
"You are worried."
"It was close. The day they attacked the capital city. And the field battles – they could easily have gone far worse. If the Scourge come again with a force of that size…they'd have need of me."
"Theramore would also have needed you if the last three months had not been so mercifully calm and quiet for us." Pained pointed out forcefully. But then she softened. "It isn't easy, not being able to be everywhere you would need to be. I heard about some of what my people encountered on their expedition tracking Illidan across southern Lordaeron. It must be terrible there. Of course you are worried."
"I couldn't stand it eventually. I think that's what happened. It became too much."
Pained didn't say anything but she rubbed her hand over Jaina's back.
"They don't get to quit. They have nowhere else to go." Jaina continued saying out loud to no one. "They are still there, still stuck with all the horrors, all the danger… What will it do to you eventually…"
"That, you know more of than I do, My Lady."
"And still we ended up like this..." Jaina mumbled glumly and curled up in the corner of their couch with her knees under her chin while staring into the fireplace. The embers looked like red eyes that watched her and eventually she got up again to look for something to do that could occupy her.
Pained suddenly looked up after giving the matter some further thought.
"My Lady? Maybe this is an odd question but does the queen of the Forsaken undead know how to send you her reply?"
"Oh, that's nothing to worry about, she'd just have to put it on her desk for me to…" Jaina stopped right between two steps and froze. Then she clenched her eyes tight with what she assumed was a very pained expression.
"And the queen…is aware of this?"
"Possibly not." Jaina sighed. "Letters were one of the things we talked too little about. Very much too little."
"So she could in theory be intending to respond but consider herself without the practical means to do so."
"Uuuh…" Jaina groaned. "Tides, what a mess if that's the case… How we always manage to mess everything up…"
She was not sure if Sylvanas would be at loss about how to respond. On the one hand the Banshee Queen was very sharp of mind and possessed (yes, that phrasing…) both substantial experience and a solid understanding of how teleportation magic worked, and had her own junior mages and potentially Rhonin or someone else of Dalaran to ask for advice. Surely she would have thought of at least ruling out the possibility of leaving a reply in the same place as the letter had arrived?
On the other hand, who was Jaina kidding? Of course something completely, aggravatingly, mundane like this would happen and put a stop to even the smallest attempt at mending relations between them in any measure.
She sat herself down by her desk and picked up the sheet of paper she had absolutely not crumpled earlier. It totally smooth and even.
As Jaina started to think of how to formulate a reasonably phrased paragraph about the sending of arcane mail, she found herself thinking all the more of what she and Pained had talked about. Pained was right. Jaina sure wanted to be in several places at once right now. She wanted and needed to stay in Theramore, she wanted to look in on the Forsaken and see that everyone at least were safe, she wanted to check on the bordering territories inland of Theramore to ensure that no new catastrophes were brewing when she least expected it. And she would very much like to say hello to the night elves for that matter.
As a matter of fact Jaina found that she would very much more than say hello to Tyrande and Malfurion and the rest of them. She missed them terribly, and she missed Ashenvale with its wonders and its strange peace and quiet.
It was contradictive to travel again so soon after she had returned and it would lead to its fair number of raised eyebrows. But on the other hand, if Jaina had worried more than Theramore's population sick by disappearing then she had better put it right before any new crisis unfolded because of it.
And it wasn't just about her either.
Pained. You've not mentioned much about how you had it these months, both when I was gone and before. I know you've kept yourself busy but like you said it earlier, I also know that type. Even if you are a couple of thousand years old you deserve some time off in your own home. Or…especially since you are a couple of thousand years old? I think I will not say anything right now about that particular philosophical conundrum of elven age, hihihi...
"Pained?"
"Yes?"
"Don't get too worked up now, but I am seriously thinking of going away again for a short time…abroad, so to say."
"I suppose I should draw My Lady's attention to my ominously lowered brows." Pained pointed at the impression she made of a seriously displeased tauren. "Does the notably vague term 'abroad' in this case refer to Lordaeron?"
"No, as a matter of fact no." Jaina ignored the slight flush of her cheeks. "I was rather thinking of Ashenvale in fact. It strikes me that it was a long time since I last wrote to Tyrande and if she have found out that I have gone missing she may be very worried."
Pained cleared her throat and looked a little guilty.
"Hm, yes, that might be very prudent."
"Pained, if it was you who had disappeared I would send Tyrande a panicked letter within half a week."
"I assure you I delayed until at least a whole week after your disappearance. By which time I had received your not altogether reassuring note, My Lady."
"Considering the circumstances I assure you it was the best I was able to put together. Poor you, it can't have been easy waiting here without any way of knowing what went on with me in Lordaeron. Just being on the writing end and not knowing if anyone is actually reading is taxing enough."
"Well, so long as My Lady does not speak to any strange satyrs and remembers to notify the rest of the party when she feels the urge to stop to look at every interesting creature or flower…" Jaina tried to look stern but blushed too much for it to work. "…I see no reason why we could not pay a visit to my kin. You are very right in that there is much to tell them about."
"Great. I'll make arrangements tomorrow and think of a way to send word in advance that we're coming."
Sylvanas,
Earlier today Pained pointed out a very relevant detail regarding my correspondence that I find myself having overlooked completely. I have used a small scale portal to deposit my letters on your desk and while I have cast it as briefly as I was able, it is in all respects similar to any other two-way portal. In order to reply, should you want to, it would therefore be enough to leave a letter or an envelope addressed to me on your desk and I will notice it. The same would of course apply to any instructions to deliver future letters to another location.
I must apologise for the oversight and the frustration it must have caused if you found yourself unable to send a message back due to purely practical reasons. If that was the case I wish to assure you that it was not my intention. I do not intend to be petty or cause you unnecessary problems.
I plan to be travelling for some days and be gone from Theramore, should you wish to write back or have something already written. Upon my return I will look for it on your desk.
Jaina
***
"That one has your nose."
"That one definitely has your chin."
"And your belly."
"And your ass."
It was a cold, cloudy and windy day in Lordaeron. It did not bother anyone in the group especially much.
"They should both feel right at home then, shouldn't they?" Kalira remarked dryly over the habitual bickering. "When they join their respective ranger squadrons we would so hate for anyone to feel like they stood out, wouldn't we?"
Two squadrons' worth of rangers turned to look with palpable suspicion and not a little apallment at Cyndia's commander.
"Their uniforms will prove a hassle though…" Kalira continued to muse. "I guess we will simply have to stitch a dozen or so cloaks together. And then to stealth training…"
Now she was faced with more than one grimace.
"Noble Commander, it is all well and good that you have discovered this new sense of humour thing…" Lenara begun.
"…but could you make it just a little less twisted?" Nara filled in with a shudder. "Abominations in a ranger squadron is not something we joke about – ever, understand?"
Kalira looked at them with clear amusement.
"Goodness gracious, how squeamish we are today." their ranger lieutenant noted airily.
The Naras and Cyndia shared a long look. No one was quite used yet to this side of Kalira.
Though at present they would take every little morsel of fun they could get.
Cyndia glanced at Anya's squadron and mostly at Anya herself. Were things as they should then she and Velonara would be making up steadily more absurd jokes about abomination rangers by now. But things were anything but that and Anya just glared sullenly ahead while the rest of her squadron didn't know if they should join in the banter or just stay silent around her.
"Mindless constructs." Anya mumbled bitterly. "They will fit right in."
Not even Kalira knew quite what to respond to that. This acidic bitterness cut deeply when it came from Anya who would otherwise be the last ranger you'd expect to hear that from. It was not that she was out of line, and the Forsaken had to accept a damned deal worse from each other for very obvious reasons, but still it bloody hurt. So Cyndia thought while feeling the whole of that along with Vel'.
Could something just bloody happen that would take their minds off runaway mages and botched relations that Cyndia did not quite know the full extent or significance of? It was like they were just waiting when they should be doing so much. Sending flowers to Dalaran and start kicking the Scourge out of Silverpine Forest together, for instance.
"What is that?" Anya was not so vacant as she appeared to be. Cyndia was well aware of the fact that very few could match her hearing.
"Over there." Lyana pointed east roughly along the shoreline of Lordamere Lake.
Nine faces turned and concentrated on the dense grey sky where the clouds hung low and curtains of drifting rain hung from them like some dreary window.
"Whirring… Something is whirring. In the sky."
"The night we got you back, did you hear the sound from the goblin zeppelin that flew by us earlier?" Vel' asked.
"No, not much enough to think on it at least. I was pretty preoccupied at the time."
"Jaina said that zeppelin engines sounded more even. Not like the dwarven flying machines."
"Alright…?" Cyndia did not really get the point. She had no difficulty believing Jaina would know that and all sorts of other stuff about the Alliance but why did it matter now?
"Yes, that – that is not the same." Kitala said thoughtfully. "That one is not a goblin zeppelin."
"Nara, alert Sylvanas." Kalira sounded unusually hesitant when she continued to speak almost to herself. "Do you think…no, it couldn't possibly…or… Lenara…will you please ask Amora to bring her squadron here too."
***
The thing burst from the cloud in an instant, like a fish out of the water but the other way around.
A dot, rapidly taking shape from dark blur into a contraption both clumsy and primitive, compared to the grace of a dragonhawk and its rider, and ingenious and awe-inspiring because it was a thing that was made, and could fly.
A dwarven flying machine, the successor to the gyrocopter. Sylvanas had met the infuriating contraptions in the field outside of Dalaran, during her time as a Scourge. One large spinning thing had given way to two smaller, one on each side. It was hard to understand how something so peculiar could fly. Just look at those tiny, stubby rigid wings.
Although this steep descent did not speak volumes of its flying ability. If it had been a dragonhawk rider Sylvanas would have reckoned it was high time to pull the reins back and break out of the dive, unless the rider was practicing some very risky combat move.
What was the rider – no, pilot was the term they used – thinking? There were at least four squadron's worth of rangers with her along with several city guards and a good deal of bystanders attracted by the commotion and sound. If that machine crashed into them it would be a disaster. But no, the whirring sound rose along with a roar from the engines and the flying machine levelled out, however it still came very fast and now the sound shifted again to a hacking or sputtering together with the noise, as if the machinery was not working the way it should.
"Clear out!" Areiel shouted next to her.
The pilot seemed to be trying to reduce speed. Sylvanas wondered if it was more akin to sailing a small ship than riding a dragonhawk. Whatever the case it did not go as well as it would have had to and the flying machine swept past before their eyes, carried by the wind, and slid with a grating noise along the ground only to catch on to something and spin, and finally dig a deep furrow in the dirt with its one wing before it came to rest.
"Rangers to scout!" Sylvanas commanded and waved Kalira forward. "Everyone else stays back until we are sure it is safe to approach!"
She followed close behind Kalira's rangers. The noise from the engines was dying down, which she assumed was a good thing, and at least there was no smoke forming or any other sign of a fire.
Unless you counted signs of fiery temper of course.
"…absolutely worst possible landing in the history of landings!"
"Completely wrong. This could have gone way worse." Another voice grunted in return.
"Anything worse than this would have counted as a crash, not a landing, so my point stands."
"Really? Isn't a crash just depictive of a botched maneuver? A crash landing, or crash takeoff and so on?"
Somehow the two interlocutors had calmed down to turn their argument into a bickering about semantics.
"Next time we fly with our helmets on… Ow! Blasted…argh! Or better yet do not fly at all whatsoever…"
"How is Rattletusk?"
"Safe in my pocket. He at least had the good sense to take cover under some commendably thick padding."
"On second thought he is usually the wisest member of the party… I guess we should unload the gear and get our bearings."
There was definitely something vaguely familiar about those two voices.
Kalira was signing to her squadron to circle around the upturned machine. She kept herself strictly professional but Sylvanas could see the expectation among her rangers and Velonara indiscreetly waved at those behind them to come closer. Sylvanas decided to let it slide.
On the other side of the metal body were two dwarves busily preparing to unload luggage. One with light brown hair and beard, the other with black. Afraid of neither dark rangers nor banshee queens. Here. Contrary to all sense and reason, here.
"Runar." The dwarven spy patted his colleague's shoulder.
"Uh?" Runar looked up. "Oh, ah, good day Ranger Lieutenant Kalira. What a coincidence, running into you and your – squadron, was it? – like this. Although it could be argued that since we ran into each other last time then yours should be the one we are least surprised to be discovered by, I suppose…"
Sylvanas remained in the background and beheld the unlikely scene of two presumably half-mad dwarven adventurers – no other term sufficed – who were seemingly out of words, and of strict, harsh Ranger Lieutenant Kalira who was….smiling?
"We seem to have a knack for discovering lost dwarves, don't we, girls?"
"HIII!" Velonara interrupted her and waved.
"Vel', discipline!" Cyndia nagged insincerely. "We could still need to be suspicious."
"Bore. You can be that in my stead."
"Welcome back, Master Runar and Master Halvdan." Kalira said and restored some sense of propriety.
"Welcome back…do you mean we are actually back in your capital? I knew I saw something like a city when we went down – I mean landed." Halvdan asked expectantly.
In answer, Kalira stepped to the side and gestured invitingly for him to come around their downed vessel and take a look for himself.
"Ha!" Halvdan exclaimed triumphantly. "Right on the spot, eh?"
"Yes, we are all pleased that the pilot has performed his task in accordance with the expectations placed upon him." Runar said dryly but he was very clearly also relieved that they had not ended up somewhere else.
"You actually flew through this?" Cyndia pointed at the heavy sky.
"Apparently we did. Blast…" Halvdan grimaced as he looked at the murky soup above them.
The dwarves were taking note of the clusters of other Forsaken who were nearing the site. Some rangers, some guards and some of the general population who had just happened to be near. It was a stark contrast to how their previous stay had eloped, where they had remained secluded and under strict ranger guard.
They took it better than a young human girl who had been Wailed at the night before.
"Blimey…" Runar half whispered, half spoke.
"Agreed." Halvdan was even quieter.
"We rangers are fortunate to be more whole than most of the others. On the outside at least." Kalira noted solemnly.
"Does it, well – does it hurt? Or what do you say…"
Sylvanas wondered how she would answer such a question herself. Did being undead 'hurt'?
"Not in the sense of the word you refer to." Kalira answered for both of them. Sylvanas reckoned she had likely put it as concisely as it could be. "Just say hello. That is all we really ask."
"Do you want us to help with the luggage?" Velonara asked and sounded much less sure of herself. She was obviously discomfortable with the topic. "If you have a lot of it, that is, I just reckoned since you had a lot packed last time…"
"Could you, ah, keep close while we introduce ourselves? So nothing goes, hm, wrong." Runar clearly shared her feelings of awkwardness.
It was the right time for proper reintroductions, Sylvanas decided.
"That will not be necessary for this will not go wrong." she stated more than said as she stepped out of the shadows and took command of the situation.
She let their visitors be suitably surprised and the greater part of the assembling crowd come within earshot before she continued.
"We received your notes from Khaz Modan and the Kirin Tor have told us of your visit to Dalaran." Sylvanas' statement was close to a declamation, to make sure the greater part of the audience got the message that they were welcoming back two persons who had lent the Forsaken useful aid. "It is pleasing to see our envoys in good health. Especially considering the manner of arrival."
Sylvanas cast a poignant and meaningful look at the no longer flying machine and after a couple of silent moments a few snickers and chuckles appeared here and there among the crowd.
The dwarves looked a bit flustered, and Belore knew if they did not start to redden a little too. Just like her mage would, although she had no beard to obscure it.
Their living mage had made enough of an impression and garnered enough affection that Sylvanas hoped some could spill over in a more accepting atmosphere for other living allies or potential allies. That was about to be put to the test.
No one had been told of the exact circumstances related to Jaina's departure, but the news that their formidable allied archmage had returned to her own city across the oceans had been enough to cause its fair share of distress and sullen misgivings. Where would they be without the ice storms and thunder the next time the city came under siege?
A large enough number of rangers knew enough to form their own opinions however. And they were not impressed. Sylvanas had known what to expect when being requested to come to the arena to 'help with maintaining their close combat skills' which was a polite way of saying 'beating the un-living daylights out of their commander'. Sylvanas had not had the shame to refuse, nor would it had served any purpose but to put up the reckoning she knew would come anyway.
But it was a blessing that undead healed quickly. From what Sylvanas could tell her rangers had little need for brushing up on their capacity for close quarter violence. They had in fact rarely seemed so vicious. Her right side still felt like Areiel had cracked something the sixth or seventh time she had beaten, kicked or thrown Sylvanas to the ground. It paled however, compared to the feeling of seeing her ranger captain towering over her with an expression of disappointment bordering on disgust.
Did I not beg you not to lose her, Sylvanas?
She would gladly have preferred seven more rounds instead.
Anya had not been there. Sylvanas had barely seen her since Jaina left.
She could not blame her.
But she would gladly have taken a hundred rounds.
She could now only try to do better for all of them, and cause as little harm as possible, until someone stepped up to replace her. Starting with making sure this unexpected meeting went as well as it could.
"So, Master Runar and Master Halvdan. How did your mission in Khaz Modan go?"
Sylvanas had already decided to spring whatever traps this conversation might hold. Better to let the city know any bad news firsthand along with her answers than later and muddled by hearsay.
"Mission accomplished, My Lady." Runar offered her a wide, and a tad smug, smile. "We have delivered your letter to King Magni who read it with great interest."
The dwarf spoke in normal conversational tone. Sylvanas gestured with her palm that he needed to speak up. They had an audience after all.
"And what was King Magni's answer?"
"You are looking at it, My Lady." Now most of the crowd would have been able to catch both the words and the triumphant tone. Sylvanas raised one eyebrow in question. "We are proud to present the newest emissaries of King Magni of Khaz Modan. Complete with full written and sealed credentials, which I am sure we packed…somewhere."
"You are the king's emissaries?" Of all possible answers this was certainly not one that Sylvanas had expected.
"As royal as they come." Runar nodded and then shrugged with very deliberate casualness. "We are emissaries by trade and thought that since being the queen's envoys worked out rather well we would stay in the business… So now we are the king's envoys instead, but hopefully we will with your permission set up some sort of embassy in Lordaeron since we obviously will have a great deal to discuss."
The dwarf now had the scene, no doubt about it.
"As we wrote in our note some time ago we held off delivering your letter of introduction until the circumstances would be more favourable, and after arranging more favourable circumstances it turned out that we were able to persuade the king to grant us the assignment as ambassadors." Runar brushed some immaterial dust from his sleeve and adjusted the collar of his shirt. "Naturally a primary issue would be to lay the groundwork for a military alliance against mutual enemies, and we are sure that King Magni will attach considerable importance to the reports of his personal embassy in Lordaeron in such matters."
Sylvanas was, for one of those rare times, speechless.
How in all the world had they managed this incredulous feat – had they gotten the dwarven king dead drunk? And also…why?
If the words were not enough to convince a disillusioned crowd of listeners, then the with difficulty suppressed merriment of Runar did its part too. The dwarf acted like he presented the finalization of a perfect plan, or plot, or prank, brought to dazzling execution. Which obviously was not without reason. Ingratiating themselves to the point of being named ambassadors before presenting Sylvanas' message was certainly…one way of rigging the game. It was not a little infectious, Sylvanas could objectively note even if she was not swept up in it herself.
Runar had taken her hint and turned more to the rest of the listeners than to herself, more serious and sombre now.
"This is not, I would like to underline, in any way contrary to the interests of Khaz Modan. The last laugh from the Scourge is the only reward anyone will reap for fighting amongst ourselves when we had better things to do. Let us all avoid that. We are honoured, to be welcomed back to your city."
Not too bad of a speech. Now Sylvanas should…
A high pitched squeak interrupted her. Out of somewhere in Runar's clothes scurried a…squirrel? In a blink it had climbed up to sit on his shoulder and take in the surroundings the way squirrels did, perched on a branch of a tree.
Velonara squeaked even higher.
"No waaay!"
Before anyone could mouth 'inappropriate' she had jumped down to kneel beside Runar and started clicking and chattering at the bewildered animal in her best imitation of squirrel language.
"This is Ratatosk, our scout and head tavern haggler." Runar explained and patted him with a finger.
"We rescued him from a band of trolls outside of Ironforge. And it is supposed to be 'Rattletusk'. I was talking with my mouth full at the time." Halvdan filled in. He had retrieved some sort of package or bundle from their luggage. Whatever it was, it was wrapped in blankets and he carried it with extreme care.
Velonara paid little attention to the semantics of names where she sat down on the ground and looked overly doe-eyed – or squirrel-eyed perhaps – at him. Rattletusk had scurried down to the ground and stopped to look even more curiously at the dark ranger. Velonara in turn bent down forward so she would be as close to eye level with the squirrel, while sticking her backside out at her squadron and especially Kalira, who looked like she was about to roll her eyes.
"We, uh, used to call him Voo at first but it got confusing. Ratatosk is as it happens an expert wooer of barmaids far and wide for discounts and extra nuts…"
"Nuts?" Velonara echoed eagerly. "We have plenty of nuts in store!"
Sylvanas was sure she could see Rattletusk come to attention when hearing the word 'nuts'. Velonara nodded encouragingly and stretched out her open hand. Rattletusk ran forward, then stopped and sniffed at it.
"Inside." the dark ranger explained. "I will show you."
Sylvanas shrugged. At least nobody would take any threat of dwarves with squirrels in their pockets very seriously.
"Velonara is correct, we are in fact far better provisioned these days to accommodate living guests. Would you like to come inside?"
"Very much so. But first we would like to speak to Lady Alina. Is she here?" Halvdan asked. "Is she…alright?"
He added it like someone who fears the answer.
"On your right, by the edge of the crowd." Sylvanas reassured him. She had noted Amora there and Alina nearly hiding in her shadow.
"Alright."
Halvdan swallowed, and sat down to slowly unwind the layers of protective cloth with Runar's help. Inside was a smooth elongated case that appeared elven in design. The kind you would expect to contain something very valuable.
Halvdan unlocked and opened it to peek inside.
"It…looks like it's still in one piece, right?"
"It looks just fine. We did it." Runar said. "Only the scary part left."
Halvdan gave him a long glare and closed the case and rose. They started to walk towards where Amora's squadron stood, with Sylvanas in tow. On her nodded command the nearby guards parted and gave way, and made the other bystanders follow their example.
Amora almost nudged Alina out in front of her. Almost.
"Hello, Lady Alina." Halvdan mumbled.
"Hello. But I don't want to be Lady Alina again. I liked it more when you just called me Alina." Alina said to both of them.
"That you did, right… Er…"
"We sort of…happened to…come across this." Runar said and failed miserably to sound casual. It was evident that whatever was inside they had likely flown across half of Azeroth to get it.
"We figured that since, well, you are a ranger and obviously expert with the bow, we'd get you another one. Kind of." Halvdan cleared his throat as he offered up the case.
"For me?"
He nodded.
Alina tentatively unclasped it. She opened the case very slowly and went wide-eyed with awe and fright combined.
"I'm going to break it." she whispered as she took a step back. "I'll drop it, or, or… It's too valuable. It's too...."
"Left untouched it is not valuable. It is worthless. It is less than worthless."
"I can't… I can't…anymore…"
Amora bent down to whisper something into her ear. Insistent hissing in Thalassian.
Sylvanas watched Alina step back forward and slowly, painfully slowly, she reached inside to take hold of something. She closed her eyes briefly, almost like something had hurt her, and then even more carefully retracted herself. In her hands she held a masterfully crafted violin. And its…bow.
Halvdan had put the case down and only had eyes for the dark ranger.
"You said – before – that you used to play for the other rangers so we figured… Neither of us has very much experience with musical instruments, I hope it isn't wrongly balanced or something…" he rambled as if he needed to explain himself.
"I mentioned it once!" Alina sounded like it was unfathomable how anyone could put the slightest importance in what she had said. "And I said it didn't matter anymore…"
"Yes?" Halvdan sounded equally incredulous about how anyone could fail to place the greatest importance in what she had said. "Well, I think it matters very much."
Alina looked at him like he was completely insane. Then Amora nudged her gently in the side.
If Alina would have been alive Sylvanas was convinced she would have swallowed and trembled. Now she was just still as a statue, until she slowly placed the bow against the strings.
It let out the sort of horrifying grating shriek that only violins could. Alina twitched and retracted the bow, then closed her eyes and slowly redid it.
And for the first time in more than two miserable years she played again.
Eyes closed, posture relaxed and her chin placed almost lovingly against the wood. And Alina, so troubled and haunted and broken, looked like she was peaceful.
No one spoke. No one moved.
The last notes of a hauntingly beautiful melody faded away and Alina opened her eyes again to look right at Halvdan.
"Invaluable." Halvdan whispered at her.
Sylvanas reckoned anyone else around them might as well have been a rock or tree for all that the dwarven spy and elven ranger seemed to care. She mumbled out of the corner of her mouth towards Runar who had discreetly vanished to the background.
"Even with the gold you were given you would not have been able to pay for a fraction of all of this, surely? How have you been able to afford this treasure trove? And that flying contraption on top of everything."
"Oh…" Runar shrugged casually while they watched Alina with her violin. "…with a rogue handling the treasury you can't expect anything less than a tad of fiddling with the figures…"
Somewhere behind them, Areiel laughed.
Sylvanas sighed and pinched her nose.
***
Alina was dreaming.
She dreamed of Quel'thalas' warm forests, of sunshine that felt real on her skin, of laughter and happiness that was not denied her and not marred by horrors and memories. She dreamed and dreamed as she played and the echoing laughter of the Lich King could not touch her. It was drowned out – no, more than drowned out, repelled – and reduced to an ugly insignificant past thing that did not deserve anyone's thoughts dwelling upon it.
Mira and Marrah walked on either side of her and gently guided her and kept her from tripping. They were walking next to a small caravan of rangers carrying a striking amount of dwarven luggage. The way so much had been stowed away into their small flying vessel stretched credulity.
Alina had no idea what the majority of it was but she assumed they would have been wise to prepare for any eventuality. Perhaps it was some set of tools, or maybe sensitive spare parts for the engines, that had caused that loud clanking sound that seemed to be the cause of such a commotion right now?
"…nothing special?" Alina could hear Cyndia echoing sceptically. "But what is this? It weighs like an ogre's kettle."
Alina put her violin and bow down and opened her eyes properly. She was actually getting curious now like Cyndia and the Naras seemed to be.
"You're not wrong about that…although I haven't had the pleasure of meeting any kettle-bearing ogre." Runar muttered.
"What seems to be the issue?" Sylvanas asked sternly.
"Your helpful dark rangers have taken a great sudden interest in our luggage, My Lady."
Sylvanas was looking at Cyndia and Velonara.
"It's clanking, it's secret and it's heavy." Velonara explained as if that was more than enough reason to justify anyone being curious about visiting dwarves' luggage.
"Is this where you would demand to inspect our cargo?" Runar asked just a little dryly.
"I trust you to have the common sense to inform me of anything volatile or otherwise dangerous." Sylvanas looked evaluatingly at Kaliras' squadron and the interested onlookers they had attracted. "Although, speaking not as queen but simply as someone used to dark rangers, it may be easiest for you to just let them have a look inside and save yourselves the storm of probing questions for the rest of the day."
"That so? Fine then…" Runar walked over to open the wooden box that Cyndia and Velonara had been carrying. "See? Nothing out of the ordinary here. Just some…wait, no, don't take it out…"
It was already too late. Velonara picked out a heavy dwarven helmet and immediately tried it on, or rather she tried to try it on but her ears had nowhere to go.
Kalira let hear an appreciative whistle. Inside the box was the rest of a complete suit of plate armour and a round shield. It looked extremely expensive. And durable.
"You have to pack for all weathers. Rain, snow, angry ghouls who want to eat you…" Halvdan tried to put things into perspective.
Now the rangers were on the scent. No amount of eye-rolling and counter-arguments that it would be better if they were allowed to unpack in an orderly way once inside, had any effect and eventually Runar and Halvdan were looking meaningfully at each other and then collectively sighing. Alina was sure they were not really irritated with her and her sisters, otherwise she would have said something.
Then began a peculiar sort of spectacle, a little like when they had returned with the loot from Hearthglen and presented it to the rest of the city for display.
First was another suit of heavy-looking armour. Alina hoped it was as strong as it seemed. The idea of any of the dwarves wearing that still made her uneasy. Because it meant battle.
"Oh, baby…" Velonara whistled when the next box was opened.
"Paws off." Runar admonished. "That one is mine."
It was the largest, and most complex, crossbow Alina had seen. It was part of a set with quivers, spare parts and a tripod support to steady the thing on. The elves had never favoured that kind of weapon as a personal arm but the field ballistae of their army were basically the same thing.
Runar picked it up and inspected it out of habit it looked like, while Velonara looked on with unmitigated envy.
"Is this how 'dwarven diplomacy' is usually conducted?" Sylvanas asked evenly as the next two boxes revealed a second smaller crossbow, but also with some mechanical oddities, together with glimmering dwarven weaponry.
"We are of course in favour of civilised negotiations…" Runar muttered while hefting a blue-shimmering hammer. "…but sometimes in our trade you have to hammer the point in..."
The Dark Lady was casting him a very long glare. It was just like how she often looked at dark rangers in fact, Alina noted.
Halvdan meanwhile was looking over the edge of an axe, with the blade balanced by a long spike. Cracking thick armours open seemed to have been on their minds for some time.
"Death knight heads should serve equal purpose…"
Then, in the next blink, Halvdan remembered himself. Alina could see every minute movement when his eyes widened and he looked at her with fear. He dropped the axe beside him and leapt over the box to run up to her.
Arthas.
Most accursed of names. A hated thing. A dreaded thing.
A thing that last they met had been enough to cast Alina back into the past and all its horrors.
And still Halvdan was running to her and not from her.
Alina didn't quite know what to think or do, but she held out her arms unconsciously so she wouldn't risk harming the violin. A small part of registered Amora snatching it out of her hand.
"Please Alina, don't go back there, don't go back…" he was mumbling insistently…with his arms around her.
Alina closed her eyes and felt. There was really nothing there. Her thoughts were there, and she hated Arthas and all he stood for and all that the Scourge was, and it was a raging inferno inside its corner of her mind. And in another corner was her friends and in particular a stark mad dwarf with black hair and kind eyes whose first instinct had been to run to a Wailing banshee rather than from her.
She opened her eyes and smiled at him.
"I am still here. I am still me."
She was looking into the world's reddest dwarf.
"I'm…I…excuse me…I thought…" Halvdan apologised to her feet. He did not get any further before Alina hugged him the hardest she could.
"You are right. It was like that. And still you run to me."
"Where else would I…"
"I – it – is better now. When I have Amora. And my ranger sisters. And my scarf-giving dwarves who gave me my music back and would battle death knights on my account."
"I had this thought, that if you rode a gryphon, and you could teach it to pick up the bugger in its claws, and then fly and drop him into some deep part of the sea…"
"Could I sit behind you in the saddle?"
"Always. I mean, if you sit in front of me I will probably not see very much other than your cloak so it would probably be best if you held the reins in that case…"
Alina did not need warmth to survive any longer. Cold weather could do nothing to her. But she had really, really missed the feeling of warm skin against her cheek.
From somewhere outside that warmth she could hear Sylvanas' voice.
"Name whatever is in my power that does not harm or endanger my people or my allies, and you can have it."
The Dark Lady did not sound like her usual self.
Author's Note
Alina plays whatever you prefers her to play. To me it is the Easthaven theme from Icewind Dale I. In which there is actually a squirrel along with a group of children too so it fits doubly well.
Maybe she looked like this in life. Seen here in the regimented elven ranger pyjamas of course.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3KUyPKbR7Q
Jaina is the author of fiction who keeps posting and posting things while she racks her brain wondering if anyone even reads.
Sylvanas is the dedicated reader thinking that nothing she has to say about it is good enough to be worth sharing with the author.
Maybe she looked like this in life. Seen here in the regimented elven ranger pyjamas of course.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b3KUyPKbR7Q
Jaina is the author of fiction who keeps posting and posting things while she racks her brain wondering if anyone even reads.
Sylvanas is the dedicated reader thinking that nothing she has to say about it is good enough to be worth sharing with the author.
Chapter 41: Nosiness and Night Elves
Chapter 41: Nosiness and Night Elves
Fluffy white materials abound both here and there in this snowy update. Merry Christmas! 🐿️🌨️☃️🎄Jaina visits Tyrande while the proper and correct dwarven envoys make themselves at home. Beware of dwarves bearing gifts…if you try to maintain order and a tight shift, that is.
The elven rangers have typically lived their lives in the eternal summer of Quel'thalas and with extremely little experience with snow and their general disposition and manners, anyone can understand how they will act with reserved dignity in case of such weather.
The mechanically minded dwarves do of course use slang like "screwing up" and similar expressions. Together with local Azerothian quirks they may have picked up on their travels, like impertinent reminders to keep ones feet on the ground.
The teleportation spell faded away from Jaina's view and the wood and stone of her tower was replaced by mossy rocks and colossal tree trunks around them. Jaina blinked to get used to the different light. There was so much to take in but right before her were first and foremost the night elves' archdruid and finest – in Jaina's opinion at least – priestess of the moon. And also –
"Fluffyyy!" Jaina cried and spread her arms wide with a big smile.
The second after she was bowled over when a hurricane of thick white-and-black fuzziness leapt on her and turned midway in the air to shield her from the ground with its front legs. Theramore's archmage proceeded to return the hug and burrowed her face into the soft fur of the frostsaber's throat.
"Hello to you as well, Jaina." Tyrande Whisperwind said warmly from somewhere behind them. She sounded very amused. "Surely you do remember her proper name?"
"Yes, She-Who-Has-A-Chilly-Nose." Jaina looked up and put her own nose against that of the frostsaber. "But she hasn't – hey!"
Fluffy looked just as amused as her elf when she cut Jaina's speaking short by licking her over the chin.
"Teluriathenelle'ricanor." Tyrande intoned. "Which in Common translates roughly to She-Whose-Nose-Is-Caressed-By-The-Chilly-Night-Breeze."
"It's obvious how she prefers 'Fluffy'." Jaina said and in all fairness tried to get up again and out of the frostsaber paws.
"Teluria, let your cub get up so I may greet her properly."
Fluffy finally set Jaina down on the ground and rolled back on her feet. Jaina tried to brush herself off and straighten out her robes. On second thought maybe she hadn't quite acted like city rulers were supposed to act when visiting foreign states. Even though Jaina's view of diplomatic conduct could maybe be said to have been somewhat skewed by recent events.
"Hello, Tyrande. Hello, Malfurion." she said almost shyly. She was aware of the incredulous way Pained looked at her.
But Pained had not been around last time.
Tyrande embraced her hard enough that it was almost like she had been a dark ranger captain.
"Jaina, how good it is to see you."
"What has happened to your back?" Malfurion whispered when it was his turn.
"L-later." Jaina stammered. She could not believe this – she had meticulously picked a high collar robe that would not reveal so much as a patch of damaged skin. Was it something in her posture? The posture you held when wrestling with the priestess' frostsaber, that is.
Or maybe it was just fifteen thousand years' worth of druid experience talking. Yes, that maybe could play a tiny part. An inconvenient part.
"Of course. Whenever you feel is the right time." Malfurion said as the personification of patience. Jaina looked for something else to talk about.
"You have something in your hair..." she noted and picked out a bough from the long dark blue curtain hanging from the archdruid's head. "Is that a druid thing?"
"No, perish the thought, boughs are completely out of season." Jaina was sure that Malfurion picked up on her insistent wish to change the subject. "In autumn it is of course leaves that we adorn ourselves with. And twigs, those always work."
He put his arm around Jaina's shoulder – carefully avoiding coming into contact with her back – and bowed close to her ear like someone about to share a secret in confidence.
"Can you believe that I was pounced by a wild beast on the way here?" Malfurion looked between Jaina and Pained like they would obviously agree with him that there was no end to what the woods were becoming like these days. "Fierce and feral, it must have been in heat or something like that…"
Tyrande jabbed him in the stomach and Jaina tried not to giggle or blush. She was not quite successful. Pained meanwhile looked…pained, and a little like she wanted to silently excuse herself to Jaina on behalf of her kin.
"I am not apologising for anything. We got here on time." Tyrande concluded primly. "With all the beauty sleep my fair druid has accumulated over the years I have better make the most of it while there is time."
"It is these early risers that cause so much trouble in the world – would you not agree, Jaina?" Malfurion countered blithely while they walked together along a mossy pathway.
"Yes, absolutely!" Jaina nodded fervently while Pained scoffed.
"Sleepy spellcasters…" Tyrande agreed with the bodyguard. "Lazy, aren't they?"
"Quite right, priestess."
The location where Jaina had landed herself and Pained was nothing special in terms of buildings or otherwise. It was simply an open spot that Jaina knew she could describe accurately to the others. On one side was a cliff and a wide view over forested ridges below. The other side led deeper in underneath the canopy of trees through lush grass and moss. It was oddly warm for the season considering what Jaina knew of the latitude of Ashenvale.
Their path took them to a clearing where another striking creature waited. It was an enormous stag with majestic horns who trotted over to Malfurion and Pained.
"I have to keep up with Tyrande somehow, she gets insufferable when she always gets somewhere the fastest." Malfurion joked while speaking in Darnassian to his mount.
Pained did so too, and from the smattering of the language Jaina knew she thought it was something along the lines of 'how you have grown'. Apparently Pained and the stag knew each other from before because she stroked with familiarity along his head while he craned it half over and half around Pained like he was protecting her.
Jaina's stalwart guardian looked so much softer than when Jaina otherwise saw her. Except possibly for the times when Jaina had been having nightmares and disturbed Pained with her troubled sleep. Never a word of complaint.
Just like Sylvanas had been.
"Hop on." Malfurion suggested, and took no refusal. "You need to work on your riding skills."
Jaina for her part needed no coaxing to climb onto Fluffy's back.
Tyrande and Malfurion led the way with their respective mounts trailing behind them.
"So, Tyrande, do you now have a stag party?" Jaina said and couldn't stop herself.
Three confounded faces turned in her direction.
"It's a very human expression." she explained while looking at Malfurion's antlers. "Hard to translate precisely."
Ashenvale was filled with ruins, and memories of the ancient Kaldorei empire. In that it was similar to Lordaeron. But Ashenvale had made peace with its ruins and its past. Moss climbed the overturned columns and found a place to flourish in the withering stone. Rodents made their home under old masonry overgrown with vines.
The night elves had not been pushed away by their forest but voluntarily taken a step back and let it regrow. Works of nature and of elven craftsmanship grew into one another and out of one another. There was a hard-to-define serenity over everything that Jaina had grown fond of from the first moment.
Unfortunately Jaina's stupid mind would note that now would be an excellent time to bring Tyrande and Malfurion up to date on all every sad and hard-to-speak-of thing that had happened since they last saw each other. Since they were riding calmly and alone on the path and Jaina ample opportunity to go through the past year at her own pace.
"You…er…maybe Pained…wouldn't happen to have written about what happened in Theramore earlier this year? In spring?" Jaina begun glumly.
"She did." Tyrande dropped back so she walked right next to Jaina and Fluffy. Malfurion followed on his side.
"I was concerned and I did not know you as well as I do now. I had little experience with humans so I was unsure of how to act or best help you." Pained confessed. She sounded uncomfortable. "I am sorry if I overstepped My L – Jaina."
"No, no, it's common knowledge anyway…" Jaina sighed.
She breathed deeply a few times and blinked a few others. And hoped in vain that no one would notice it.
A small thud was all that announced that Tyrande had effortlessly jumped onto Fluffy's back behind her.
"I am not looking." the priestess of the moon whispered tenderly, which only made it twice as hard to blink that thing in her eyes away.
"My father and his fleet had been searching for me all across Lordaeron the year before. At the earliest possible time after the winter he set sail towards Kalimdor. They discovered Theramore in early March." Jaina broke to search for words. "I was overjoyed at first. I was so proud of what we had built there, of what we had accomplished, and how we had managed to make allies out of the orcs of all peoples. I wanted to show him everything. But he wouldn't listen. He never listened to what I actually said, or cared. As soon I mentioned the orcs it was like…like some door closed…"
"Much ill will against their kind lingers among our people. I can only imagine that your father must have found those of similar mind, given your people's long conflict with the orcs." Malfurion said.
"Yes. My father…the thing is, he was a hero. A legend of the Second War. People cheered in the streets at the sight of the crest on his sails. And when…when I told him we lived next to the new home of the Horde he just nodded grimly, like if I had told him we were beleaguered or starving from a blockade or something. He considered them to be vermin, a plague. But they aren't like that. And the general view of the Kirin Tor that they are dumb brutes easily and willingly misled by demonic overlords…that one isn't true either. There is so much more to it."
"It took a courageous archmage, and a persistent prophet, to bring us all together in the end. For however brief that moment was, it was a proud moment."
"Yes. And I can't honestly say I would ever have thought of reaching out in earnest to the Horde if it hadn't happened like it did. But it did, and I'm glad I met Thrall if nothing else. And Cairne and all his rumbling tauren." Jaina sighed. "But none of it matted to my father. To him, finding me was good, and finding the hidden nest of the Horde was even better. Now he could stamp out the infestation of the world and exterminate them all."
Jaina realised how bitter she sounded and stopped herself. There was no reason to be unpleasant to Pained or Tyrande or Malfurion. It wasn't their fault. Tyrande, all too perceptive, started drawing slow circles on Jaina's back with her palm.
"At your own time, Jaina…"
"You can guess the rest. I suppose that my words had at least moved my father enough that when he begun hunting the orcs down he did not tell me and I learned the full extent of what was going on only when Thrall and Rexxar – Thrall's scout and aide – brought news to me and I investigated myself. Every word I said fell on deaf ears and my city would not side with orcs against the Alliance. So I did that on my own, and my help allowed Thrall to sabotage and sink the greater part of the High Sea Fleet – Kul Tiras' pride – and storm Theramore and kill Admiral Daelin Proudmoore."
Jaina had nothing more to say. She tried to make a half-hearted shrug but it became more like some vague cringing movement.
"You aided Thrall on the condition that he would spare as many as he could and do as little damage to your city as possible." Pained reminded her. "From what I have understood he honoured that bargain."
"Bargain…" Jaina mumbled. Factually right, but such…such a crude term. Dealing in lives like they were shipments or wagonloads of simple goods.
There. Now it was out. And now Tyrande and Malfurion could express their disgust or disappointment with her and the rest of the outlander savages that they must seem like.
Or not.
"Poor child." Tyrande spoke quietly and not even Jaina could detect any judgement in her tone.
"You did your best to preserve as many lives as you could in an impossible situation."
"At the cost of my own father's life."
"Yes." Malfurion simply said.
Jaina wanted to pick something up and throw. Was that all there was to it? Could people just…just accept everything like that? Wasn't that making all the loss and all the sorrow and all the injustice of those deaths lesser? Like a negligible, insignificant thing?
Instead of reaching for a rock or stick she found warm frostsaber fur against her palm.
She couldn't grab and throw Fluffy of course.
She smoothed out the patch of fur. None of this was Fluffy's fault.
The forest stood high and still and calm around them, not minding whoever was walked under its colossal branches.
It was not indifferent. It was just there. It made no judgement of those that passed through it.
"Jaina. We wrote to you early in the year, warning you about the naga we had begun to encounter close to the coast. Did that letter reach you?" Malfurion disturbed her sullen silence.
"The – yes, it did. We've not seen anything like the naga in Theramore though."
"I hope you never will. What followed shortly afterwards was far more dire and dangerous than we had any idea of. Instead of an internal feud we found ourselves on a wild and tangled hunt across the sea along with our senior warden, Maiev Shadowsong, that took us all the way to Lordaeron of all places."
"Wh – what?! You have been to Lordaeron?"
"Indeed. A sorrowful place, it was. Had that journey not kept us occupied we would of course have helped you, if we could."
Jaina slumped. She didn't know what a delegation of night elves could really have done to change her father's mind, but perhaps they could have bought herself more time. Trapping the ships in heaps of kelp and the marine infantry in roots, perhaps. And Tyrande could have tracked them and warned the orcs in the vicinity. Who could say for sure?
It was not their fault. Just as little as anything was Pained's fault.
And just maybe it wasn't quite so much Jaina's fault either.
She had messed upp Fluffy's fur coat again. But she thought that Fluffy probably didn't mind after all. Because she was the kindest frostsaber you could ever imagine.
Jaina's past just…it just was.
But right now no one else was judging her for it. And if she should keep herself from doing that she needed something else to talk about.
"I didn't know there were things like feuds between night elves. Not in the way that would lead to fighting."
"Our own people are not without its fair share of internal strife. You should hear the tale of Queen Azshara one day."
"That was long ago, wasn't it?"
"Yes, rather long ago. I think your race may have discovered fire at the time but I am not sure." Tyrande tried to tease and Jaina tried to wave it away. "Speaking of more recent things I personally violated some of our most ancient laws when I set Illidan Stormrage free again, and when doing so raised arms against his wardens. Earlier this year Illidan shook the very bedrock of Azeroth with his schemes, yet still Malfurion let him escape after he had helped save me. So there is some Kaldorei lawbreaking for you, that pains my heart deeply to have comitted but which I can not say I would not do again if faced with similar circumstances."
While Jaina had gotten to know enough to be aware that the night elves were not always the way they appeared outward, she still had a hard time picturing Tyrande as some sort of renegade. The priestess of the moon was wise and kind and her people admired her, anything else was hard to imagine at the very least.
"Who knows, Maiev probably wants to chain me up in her dungeon along with my badly behaved brother by now." Malfurion suggested.
"Only I get to do that." Tyrande stated fiercely while Jaina blushed and tried to think of anything except whatever badly behaved thoughts that leapt into her mind just then.
"You would be claimed by her too, that woman is quite a collector in fact and would surely love to have the whole scandalous set."
Tyrande reached down to grab him by the ear.
Halvdan woke up slower and drowsier than in many days. Ever since they set out on the last and hardest leg of the return journey to be precise, flying west from the Aerie Peak and making camp under canvas and the metal fuselage most nights.
This time he did mysteriously not have to wake up to his calves cramping from the cold or the ground oversaturated with rain water. He was warm and dry and a fire was crackling nearby. There wasn't any need to hurry up to light a fire or boil water or pack up because they dared not stay longer than absolutely necessary in any single spot. He could just stretch his legs and go back to being just half awake.
They had made it. They had made it back here to this ruined strange kingdom with Alina's present and she had been so happy that it had been worth every trouble twice over.
Then there was of course the related more embarrassing episode where Halvdan had rushed to embrace her in front of practically everyone and made a complete idiot of himself. Probably. He nearly felt like crawling under his blankets and hide just thinking about it. But at least nobody was watching right now, in case it would somehow show when you remembered screwing up.
Or so Halvdan assumed when he heard whispering. Elven whispering.
Slowly and discreetly he turned his head. The moment he could catch a glimpse over his shoulder, four books were immediately raised in front of four faces presumably as white as the hands.
They had been eerily quiet. He hadn't heard so much as a breath…
Right. Undead.
This would take some time to get used to.
Halvdan was sure he caught a suppressed giggle or very dubious snort however.
"The denizens of this castle are a studious lot indeed." Halvdan said out loud to nobody in particular.
"This is a library after all. You're supposed to be reading." said the leftmost book.
"Shhh!" the centre-right book hissed. "I am trying to read here."
"It is very hard nowadays, with passing vagrants sleeping on the floor and what not." said the rightmost book.
"You're holding your book upside-down." the centre-left book pointed out.
"It gives me a new perspective."
Halvdan started to recognize these whispering books. That was Velonara, who was one third of the Naras, and Cyndia who was always with her. And Mara and Mirrah – no, Mira and Marrah, and the Mirrahs as a plural.
They were actually right in this instance. Runar and Halvdan had been allotted the space closest to the hearth in the Lordaeron Keep's library because very little else was in one piece and even less was fit to keep the cold out. Their luggage was stowed in the corridor outside and the room across.
It was in every way a decent and pleasant library but like most libraries it did not come with things like kitchens and baths. Halvdan sniffed uncomfortably at the shirt he had slept in. For several days. Being on the road – or in the air as it were – for weeks took its toll. He wondered what would be a polite, and not laugh-inducing, way to ask about these kinds of mundane things to a flock of elven rangers. Hopefully Runar would be waking up soon. He always managed to know what to say.
Conscious of the hidden glances thrown over the cover of different editions of the Lordaeron Royal Taxation Calendarium, Halvdan turned his back on them and made sure to drape his blankets over himself while getting dressed. Say what you will about the long-legged peoples, but their bedclothes were spacious enough if nothing else.
Runar, that lazy sod, was still asleep further inside their corner between the hearth and the wall and a tattered couch. Halvdan wondered if he could somehow enlist the rangers' help in waking him up in a suitably entertaining manner when the issue was settled by the other two Naras – Nara and Lenara – bursting through the door.
"It's snowing!"
Halvdan leapt to his feet, catching at the last moment his yet unbelted trousers, and looked around expectantly for a window.
"Runar, wake up!"
"Huh?!" Runar sat up in his bed in alarm, looking around for the expected pack of ravenous ghouls or other emergency.
"It's snowing!"
Halvdan had to admit that the speed with which Runar leapt out of his bed and into his clothes was elf-watch-avoidance of high level.
"Here, come look." Lenara had politely snatched up one of the small ladders belonging to the taller bookshelves and placed it under one of the inconveniently highly placed windows. Outside was a dreamy landscape. It had not begun to snow, it must have been going on throughout the night and large starry flakes kept adding to the white drifts.
"That was a pretty storm that chased you here." Mira remarked, but Runar and Halvdan were already out of room.
The Keep was reasonably well planned and they only took one wrong turn on the way.
Halvdan had skilfully remembered to slide to a halt immediately outside the door and not keep running unnecessarily far. His foresight was rewarded when he scored a fine hit just below Runar's collar. He was sure that a bit of snow would have sprayed inside it.
"Ha! First hit of the season to Halvdan Blacksilver!"
"Knave. Brigand. Attacking passing peaceful travellers like a lowlife crook."
"Certified rogue, yes. Any other questions?" Halvdan quickly bent down to reload while Runar's counterattack hit his thigh. It was not early as fine a hit in Halvdan's opinion. He would follow up with a quick volley of three and hurriedly scooped up enough snow. While he bent down he spotted something in the corner of his eye. Perhaps a sneaky close range assault or attempt to push him into the snow, but such a move was terribly unstylish and rather unsportsmanlike in a snowball fight.
In any case, Halvdan was ready and whirled up and around and threw his first snowball before anyone had time to react.
POFF.
It was a fine hit, right into the eye slit of the helmet of the Forsaken elven soldier who had just appeared between them.
He was quite…tall. And armed to the teeth with armour and an imposingly elegant helmet, a long-bladed spear or pole arm of some kind, and an also very long shield.
Halvdan searched his mind for the politest excuses he had ever overheard while the elven warrior shifted his spear to the other hand and brushed and wiped snow from the right half of his face.
"Ah. I see." he noted before anyone else had time to say anything. "Well, this is a little embarrassing."
Halvdan could only silently agree.
"I was passing by and heard some sort of commotion." the elf continued in a very even tone. "And obviously I mistook it for something considerably more alarming than a game of wintry sports."
"And I, hm, in my haste to retaliate obviously mistook you for my esteemed opponent in a considerably more embarrassing manner." Halvdan said while clearing his throat. As far as fully armed elves went, this one seemed quite reasonable so far.
"I had just had my shield repaired after a rather unfortunate encounter." the elf said matter-of-factly. "It can with every right be argued that I should then have made proper use of it. As a matter of fact, there was one rather eccentric infantry captain in the seventeenth century – Evewind – who made it a habit of throwing pebbles and gravel at his troops at odd moments to instruct them in the merits of unceasing vigilance. I must conclude that snowballs are a considerably more civilised alternative."
"I do not doubt that I would swiftly agree with you if I ever encountered someone with similar ideas. My name is Halvdan, by the way. Halvdan Blacksilver."
"Irizadan. My closer friends, and certain irrepressible rangers, tend to call me Ire."
"This is my colleague Runar. We are, our present debatably diplomatic conduct notwithstanding, envoys of Khaz Modan in Lordaeron."
"I am aware. Along with most of the rest of the city I assume. Your manner of arrival and of strengthening the morale of the dark rangers have left very few unmoved I believe –"
"Boring!" A bright voice from the shadow of the door cut him short. "Ire, you should arrest him!"
"Ah. That would be the mentioned irrepressible rangers." Irizadan noted.
"It would absolutely be." Halvdan agreed with him. "We think we are technically their guests as of now."
"Yes, they tend to welcome strangers in a tad peculiar way."
Was Irizadan making a reference to other travellers who had made contact with the Forsaken? Halvdan's curiosity soared but then a new snowball from the doorway rangers – which he managed to skilfully dodge by a hair – demanded his full attention.
"Is talking all you are going to do?" Marrah complained.
"In civilised realms I am quite sure that diplomatic immunity covers errant snowballs. And currently I find myself woefully overdressed and overarmed for sportily pursuits." Irizadan argued with patient ease over his shoulder. "But I suppose we could try to at least come up with some sort of inane and pointless insults to humour them." he suggested to Halvdan.
"Yeah, how about – you could threaten that you would cut off my head, if it stood but a little higher above the ground?"
"Exquisitly dull-witted. And a casual allusion to slurs of short-legged dwarves on top of everything. What if you countered by a similar extreme, and pointed out how we brittle and flimsy elves are easily broken in twain?"
"Indeed. I would cut you down to size before your stroke fell."
"Very droll. I must take care not to step on you and squash you like an overripe apple under my boot."
"A tall order, for pointy-ears who have their noses in the air and their heads in the clouds."
Irizadan maintained an expressionless face for the count of two, before he snorted and broke out into a bark of laughter.
"I give up! A tall order, that is horrendous. So awful. And pointy-ears?"
"A long established jibe." Halvdan grinned.
"Really? I would just as readily have thought it a term of affection. We shall have to delve further into these finer points of culture some other time."
"This world is upside-down…" Halvdan mumbled as Irizadan disappeared into the keep.
Their ranger audience were not quite pleased with the outcome.
"If you want something done you have to do it yourself…come Cyndia, let us arrest this snowball-tossing brigand at once and bring him before the queen! Naras, on me!"
"Not a chance!" Mira shouted. "The dwarven honour guard will stop you!"
Pandemonium reigned as dark rangers rushed to reinforce Runar and Halvdan and unleash quick volleys from behind the multitude of covers found in the nearby ruins. Halvdan wondered where this would end. You could never quite know with the dark rangers, was his distinct impression that was quickly reaffirming. On the one hand you had the heartbreaking things that had been done to them and all the other of these undead Forsaken, and all the scars it had left. On the other was unyielding curiosity (he had only with the greatest effort prevented his sacks of personal clothes from being raided), currently displayed craziness and undeniable care and comfort they showed one another.
Now, if Halvdan had honestly had best intentions and only made a slight oversight when hitting Irizadan, then the same could not be said when the ranger captain and the commander of the dwarf-arresting side of them appeared in the doorway.
POFF-POFF-POFF!
Three consecutive snowballs had given Ranger Lieutenant Kalira a majestic white beard. Slowly and deliberately she shaved it off with a finger while fixing the perpetrators with a worrying glare. Halvdan had the distinct impression that she was quite good at those, and had had a lot of reasons to practice.
Kalira and Areiel looked at one another.
"Send in everyone." Kalira said ominously.
"Are you really sure?" Areiel asked, and did not manage quite the same level of ominous.
"Everyone."
"Come on, let's show these summer-dwellers how a real snowball fight is fought!" Areiel called out to someone behind them.
It was a lot of someones. Forsaken children of all statures followed two of the rarer male dark rangers in a long column behind each.
"Line up, and no pushing, and lastly pay no heed to what Rishk says!" one of the team captains reminded.
"We are supposed to be on the same team, moron." his colleague retorted. "Hands up all who agree that Vile is a moron!"
A great deal of small hands were quickly raised.
"There, an overwhelming majority vote. I dare say it is unanimous."
"That's a rigged vote if ever there was one."
The female dark rangers had ceased throwing for the moment and watched the new arrivals expectantly.
"Stop bickering and start throwing!" Lenara shouted.
"You are one to talk!" Vile retorted and turned to his little army. "Get those rangers!"
At once, all the Forsaken children scooped up a snowball and peppered Vile and Rishk so that they were instantly more white than black despite their ranger uniforms.
"You are rangers too." one of the children explained brightly to the pair of snowmen.
Halvdan's life had taken strange turns at times and he and Runar had seen some stranger sights along the way. But a snowball fight with a score of living dead children – against which the hurriedly combined ranger-dwarf side found itself outnumbered and outmatched – trumped most things he could quite possibly imagine. He learned a score of names, of which he hoped to remember a third if lucky, and that for the most part they had to remain underground in the real Undercity lest the Scourge or Scarlet knights would get them. That curfew had eased lately however after the Banshee Queen and her mage princess had kicked the Scourge's tails off the city walls when they came earlier in the autumn.
"You have to come and fly here more times so we are allowed to have more snowball fights!" one skeletal girl with only one hand and brightly glowing yellow eyes insisted to Runar. Runar looked at Halvdan, who recognized the same awkwardness he felt. It was not easy to know whether to cheer with the downtrodden people they seemed to have managed to almost inadvertently entertain with their return, or weep buckets for their plight.
"We thought we would stay for a time, and unfortunately I think we are out of both fuel and spare parts for any flying. But important things like snowball fights we will always push strongly for." Runar promised.
Speaking of strange things it was also usually not he and Runar who people called inside because breakfast was ready, and scores of children around them who were not. They were shadowed by a snowy crowd of pointy-eared dark cloaks.
Inside the library was a pleasantly warming fire in the hearth and a table set with a towering breakfast.
"Your table is certainly richer than it was in the summer…" Runar said with astonishment.
"You can come upon all sorts of things when you're looking for lost Cyndias…" was Velonara's cryptic explanation. Halvdan made a note to himself of finding out more about that and the Banshee Queen's mage princess, and a dozen more things. After he had decided whether smoked sausages or fried fish was the better starter course, that was.
"Thank Clea and Kitala." Velonara added. "They readied all this. They've kind of got the hang of tending to living guests. No skipping on the vegetables!"
"Our compliments then to Lady Clea and Kitala." Halvdan said and dutifully took a bite off a carrot that tasted a bit stale but was quite edible.
They were both too busy eating to talk much for a while but then Runar broached a subject that piqued the interest of everyone around.
"Maybe we should tell them about the chest?"
"That might be a good idea."
The chest was nothing other than one of their boxes, thoroughly bound up with rope and meticulously stowed with very specific, and very precious in their own way, goods.
Runar and Halvdan had scoured the markets of Khaz Modan and several other places for the best they could think of to brighten the days of a dreary kingdom where almsot everything was broken. But they were still not totally sure if it was an appropriate gift when they brought the chest forward and proceeded to unlock and open it.
"What is that?" Mira and Marrah asked as one.
"Just a few things we guessed would be in short supply in Lordaeron…" Runar cleared his throat. "We reckoned that since you can't eat for example there would be no point in offering something like pastries or the like –"
"We don't need to eat like you do, but some of us can." Lenara said.
"Right. So we asked around a bit and, well…it's a few card decks, some sets of dice, some board games –"
"Open up!"
"The thing is, we had this idea when we packed for this expedition…" Halvdan did not get any further when half a dozen eager elves swarmed them and proceeded to unpack the contents like it was an actual treasure chest.
"We weren't sure if it maybe was a stupid thing to bring those." Runar tried to pick up unsurely. "We wouldn't want to, how to say…trivialise the Forsaken's situation."
Nara Pathstrider gave him a sceptical eye, which was telling because on other side of her nose was only a deep scar.
"Is that another game, like 'think up the stupidest question' competition?"
"You can play that while we play Hearthstone." Velonara scoffed. "Dibs!"
Ashenvale became magical after dark.
That was maybe a silly opinion to have for an archmage versed in weaving complex magics herself but in Jaina's opinion there were spells and there were the glowing lights everywhere in a forest full of spirits and mysterious creatures that a few months' worth of visiting only let you catch the briefest glimpse of.
Jaina and her night elves had stopped for dinner, or so Jaina thought. She had found her thoughts drifting in a strangely distracted manner the last hours and not cared much at all about what time it was. Like she did not have to be so alert anymore today. Tyrande would keep a sharp lookout and Pained and Malfurion wouldn't let anything happen to her. It was almost embarrassingly pleasant to be able to only look and listen to the woodland around.
"Jaina? Can we take a look at your back?"
"Hm?" It took a little time for Jaina's mind to fully collect itself and return to the present. "Uhm, it's very kind but –"
"But I am the resident archdruid and reserve the prerogative to make judgement of healing matters, thank you." Malfurion firmly interrupted.
"Well…" Jaina looked around for nothing specific. "It isn't a nice sight. Pained, I don't think you have seen how it looks."
"No, I have not. And now you worry me greatly, Jaina."
"Yes, I always manage to worry people I try not to worry, don't I…" Jaina sat down and started to pull up her robes. Even in Ashenvale the late time of the year made itself known and Jaina was at least wearing pants underneath, but still.
Night elves were something quite different than high elves sometimes. They could be quite tall, and with broader shoulders and hips and longer ears they appeared a good deal wilder. Not least those that sported antlers or were best friends with gigantic feline beasts. It was easy to feel a bit smaller than you really were in their company, in Jaina's opinion, and then there was of course also that fact that some of them could count their age in millennia.
Malfurion remained perceptive as ever and did not miss out on Jaina's shyness.
"My Love, could you sit with your cloak on Jaina's left? And Pained to the right, just in case the wind should turn chilly."
The wind would be extremely unlikely to reach down into the sheltered spot they had picked. Wild druids could be very smooth sometimes.
"It's alright." Jaina said, but appreciated the thought very much all the same. "Here goes, then…"
"My Lady!" Pained exclaimed.
"Who did this to you?" Tyrande asked with deep sadness.
"A foul woman in scarlet robes who wanted to make me understand that I was wrong to show kindness to the living dead, and thought that a whip would be a good instrument to instruct with."
"Excuse me for just a moment." Malfurion said through clenched teeth and strode with long steps away from their little encampment. Jaina was confused but Tyrande did not seem to be. Just then she heard a terrible roar and nearly jumped off her seat.
"It is alright. There is no danger." Tyrande reassured her.
No danger? If Jaina had not been much mistaken that had sounded like a rather huge bear in a terrible mood. Was Malfurion about to make it go somewhere else?
He appeared just then from behind a tree, in a blur of druidic magic.
"Pardon me. I felt the need to say a few choice words I shall not repeat in polite company." He took his seat again next to Jaina, now calm and collected. "Let us see what we can do about this."
"It's just scarring by now." Jaina couldn't help but sound dejected.
"And good scarring at that. Your body heals well, Jaina." Malfurion was looking closer so Jaina could feel the warmth from his nostrils. "But this time it had good help also. Unless I am much mistaken someone cared a great deal for you to become whole again."
"Yes…" Jaina whispered. "Lyana… Anya…"
Saying Anya's name hurt inside.
"I heard of something that humans use to do when something hurts. They called it blowing on a wound… I think I should give it a try."
Jaina was about to argue that it was just a joke, that it was only an expression of comforting, that…several other things, that could probably wait now that Tyrande offered her arm for Jaina to lean against and held her head in place so she could relax her neck. Her bare back did not feel cold, on the contrary there was a comforting warmth in the air. If there was an anathema to a chill and to stiff and sore limbs, it was this.
Tranquility.
Pained grabbed her boots – her superb dark ranger boots – and inched them off together with her socks so Jaina's feet could rest solely in fluffy frostsaber fur. It was just like the slippers she had found in the Undercity market. Fluffy probably wouldn't mind if she burrowed her toes a little deeper.
Fluffy didn't mind. She turned to pat and lick Jaina's toes with the huge brush of a tongue she had, that seemed made to tickle while a conscientious frostsaber tidied your up in her own way.
Living or dead, no one knew how to cosset like elves did. Jaina wanted to ask if they had actually seen any of the undead high elves when they were in Lordaeron but she was too tired to formulate a question, and next thing she knew the sounds of the forest grew fainter and she was falling asleep against Tyrande.
She was almost sure that the moon priestess was signing.
When the morning came Jaina woke up on her own wrapped In Tyrande's cloak and with only the moon priestess in sight over a small campfire where something was cooking. Both the cloak and the pot smelled nice, in different ways.
"You can stay down a little while longer, Jaina." Tyrande said kindly without looking up. "Our breakfast is not quite ready."
Jaina looked around from her bed. She was not cold but not overly warm either without anyone near her.
"Where is everyone?"
"Pained has gone with Malfurion to visit her family who mysteriously happened to be in the vicinity for the next few days. She is currently riding at breakneck speed with a stormcrow cawing instructions from above, I believe."
"Mysteriously happened to be in the vicinity, hm? Very mysterious." Jaina sat up halfway with the cloak still over her legs. "That was very kind of you to arrange. Thank you. Pained deserves all the time off she can have."
"Do not worry yourself over her. I can not quite say she knew what she got herself into when she accepted the assignment, but now I would pity anyone who would dare suggest she abandon it."
"I don't want her to. Ever. Pained is much more than my bodyguard."
"Calling her home is the last thing I would want to do. And she would bite my head off if I tried."
"Where's Fluffy?" Jaina wondered, speaking of biting someone's head off.
"Out looking for her breakfast, or the leftovers of her supper. She insisted on putting her cub to bed before she went out hunting tonight."
"Everything always happens when I am asleep…" Jaina half muttered, half jested, while she took her place next to Tyrande to eat. Tyrande looked very amused.
"Remember who you have been hanging out with lately. We are not called the night elves for nothing. And the restless dead are not known for staying quiet during the night."
"You may have a point there… Hey! You said 'hang out'!"
"Yes? Just because I am past fifteen thousand does not mean I can not pick up a new expression or two. I happen to have spent time with the younger races of Azeroth lately, I will have you know." Tyrande grinned at her. "I thought that you and I could hang out for the next few days. And Fluffy of course. She agreed to let you sit in the front so I can teach you how to ride a frostsaber properly."
"I would like that… Can I try to shoot from the saddle some time like you do?" Jaina added and felt like she was ten years old and begging to take the wheel on her father's flagship.
"You know how to handle a bow?" The moon priestess sounded pleasantly surprised and approving.
"Only a little. I suppose I should better keep up practicing."
"That you absolutely should! Oh, this I will want to see, definitely."
"And I suppose that in return you will want to hear everything about my stay in Lordaeron?" Jaina glanced suspiciously at Tyrande who tried to look innocent but could not stop herself from smiling back. "Am I correct, hm?"
"You know me too well, Jaina."
"I've had a lot of experience with elven nosiness these last months."
"Really? In my humble defense immortality is of no help against dying from curiosity and I think I have a bad case. But apart from that I understand that a day may also come when my people will need to be well aware of the difference between Forsaken and the thralls of the Burning Legion."
"I sort of expected nothing less. But it is a bit of a long story, honestly."
"I thought it might be. But we have time, Jaina, so take your time. And do not feel obliged to speak of anything you do not wish to."
Fluffy came back a little later and Jaina and Tyrande were just ready to leave. Tyrande helped her sit properly and keep her knees tucked in and follow along the movements when Fluffy walked. In a way it was no different than riding the waves in a small boat, and in another it was like nothing else. But if anything happened Jaina was sure that Tyrande would catch her before she had blinked, so she tried to relax and enjoy the scenery and the feeling of actually riding on a frostsaber, almost by herself.
They took it slowly initially and it suited Jaina just fine. It was a good time to start retelling of her time with the Forsaken. Harder was to know how to begin, so Jaina did it with a question.
"Tyrande, when you were in Lordaeron, did you encounter any dark rangers? They are the undead elven rangers of Quel'thalas, they would have appeared as archers cloaked in black with white or grey-blue skin mostly. And red eyes."
"No, we never saw anything like that. Just as well, for there was one time when I was separated and very exposed after Teluria and I had been swept away down a river. I would not have relished encountering skilled archers in such a position."
"That's…that's good."
"You care a great deal for them, do you not?"
Jaina nodded.
"Are Lyana and Anya, who treated your wounds, among these dark rangers?"
"They are."
"Then I am all the happier we never had to fight them."
Before Jaina knew it she kept telling about the dark rangers, both in general and of those that she personally knew. And from there she kept going and described the other undead and what she knew about their ways and they themselves. It was the wrong end of the tale to start with but at the same time it was the right one. Jaina was not telling her story, not yet at least, but the story of the Forsaken.
Tyrande only interrupted by low reminders and commands about the riding, and a question here and there of terms in Common that she was less familiar with. Like yesterday, Jaina felt like time slowed or faded to be less important. It was only her and Tyrande and Fluffy, and the serenity of the forest around them.
She was glad that she had been able to do something for Pained by coming here, and the very fact that for all that had gone wrong during the year at least her friendship with the Kaldorei remained strong. Even her back felt better than in a long time. More…relaxed, somehow.
They rode through dense and winding paths in the lowlands and narrow trails and no trails at all along mountainsides with breathtaking views over the rest of Ashenvale and the scarred Mount Hyjal.
"It is healing. Slowly but surely. All the land is." Tyrande said as they looked out from the perch high up where they had stopped to make a break.
Jaina thought about the battle they had thought, in truth more like a desperate delaying than an actual defence of the mountain, until Malfurion had completed his trap for the demon lord Archimonde. They had been so close to losing completely. Alliance, Horde and Kaldorei alike.
"How are you?" Jaina asked the moon priestess thoughtfully. Tyrande heard her tone and took her time answering.
"It is good to have Malfurion back, awake and with me I mean." was the first thing she said. "Despite every hardship my people face and despite how scarred and broken our land is, I find myself looking towards the future with hope that it will be better. Archimonde is not defeated, but destroyed. Mannoroth as well. And my people have found allies of the most unlikely kind. However brief that was, it could maybe be again one day."
"I'm happy that you have each other. I think you're actually kind of cute together." Jaina bit her lip, trying to keep her face even.
"Ha! Ancient priestesses of the moon are 'cute' these days? Well, I would rather be that than many other things."
"Pained doesn't seem to think moon priestesses should be like that." Now Jaina failed to stop herself from snorting and huffing in repressed giggles.
"Pained needs to learn to loosen up a little bit. Perhaps you should introduce her to some of your dark rangers one day."
Jaina truly wondered how that would turn out. She sure would want to be there to see it if it ever happened.
"We are in a perilous position. More unforgiving kin than Pained would also prefer if I maintained a stricter demeanour. The war against the Scourge and the Burning Legion weakened us severely and now another looms on the horizon in the worst case."
"Is it the naga?"
"No, fortunately not, though no one can predict where and why the naga will appear next. No, our greatest concern is the orcs."
"The Horde? But why? What is it about?"
"What is it always about?" Tyrande asked rhetorically and it was like she was sick of the whole thing. "Wood."
She signed to Jaina that they should sit down and while they both ate Tyrande elaborated.
"The reason the orcs first intruded on our forests was timber. That was even before they were fuelled by their renewed pact with Mannoroth the Destructor and their skin was green like today instead of red. Their need for building materials for their dwellings was as great as yours but they were closer to us and paid little heed to what trees they set their axes against. That dilemma was not solved by us joining forces against the demons, and it is not solved to this day."
"Humans generally make better stonemasons I suppose. Though I can't promise we would not have cut down your forest either." Jaina admitted with some discomfort.
"Your honesty always do you credit, Jaina." Tyrande paused to drink. "It is not that I do not understand the orcs' need. A part of me can admire their tenacity and ability to thrive in such an unforgiving place as the badlands they have made their new home. But Ashenvale is ours, ours to guard and watch over. We do so with respect and care for the nature of our realm and it gives back to us. The orcs do not see that. They see a greedy race of elves laying claim to much more timber than they could possibly make use of just for the sake of laying claim to it. And meanwhile the orcish families suffer without proper shelter from the sun and the night's cold."
"You...you are very understanding, Tyrande. Even if you are on opposite sides."
"We have learned from our recent mistakes, or some of us have tried to. Our isolation made us blind to the threats from outside that finally became reality. That must not happen again. If I can not maintain this fragile peace along our borders I will at least endeavour to learn what I can of the foe we will have to fight."
"Do you think that will happen?" Jaina's heart sank. Orcs and elves butchering each other next to Theramore was a nightmare. Had they not come to Kalimdor, or remained in Kalimdor at least, to be rid of that sort of senseless bloodshed?
"Thrall does not desire it, no more than I do. Of that at least I am convinced. Yes, I have spoken at length with him, but it was some time ago." Tyrande added with a wry look at Jaina's surprise. "I warned him against allowing his people to encroach further and he accepted my view. But he also told me what I just described and warned me in turn that if forced to choose between his people's lives and Ashenvale's trees, any Warchief would make the same choice."
"But what about other places? Or what if you could harvest wood for them? In ways that do not harm the trees, I mean?"
"I know what you mean. As far as I know Thrall is scouting every border and doing what he can to steer his people towards gathering materials elsewhere, but Durotar is not a fertile land and orc dwellings require a lot of materials and preferably large and sturdy pieces. I have raised the issue of offering wood, and so has Malfurion, but the responses remain cold and understandably so."
"Won't druids at least wish to preserve lives if possible? Have I misunderstood that completely?"
"Not at all, but it is unfortunately far more bitter and tangled, the whole thing. The orcs, to start with, are a nation of raiders and proud of taking what they need from their enemies. Accepting scraps from us, and depending on our good will, is something a great deal of them view as weak and demeaning."
Jaina rolled her eyes and probably made a great deal of other frustrated grimacing.
"Quite." Tyrande dryly agreed. "And for our part...we live in the trees more than from them. Our dwellings depend on a living forest more than timber we build from. But we can coax the spirits to grow it for us, things like our bows and bolts, furniture and shafts for tools. That is why our bows are of such supreme strength. To demand, let alone force, our kindred spirits to grow more and faster things of wood for us would be an affront, at least to many of us and many of the spirits. A tree is not meant to grow quicker than it does, after all."
"So there won't exactly be lines of druids lining up to cheer on a field of saplings, I take it?"
Tyrande chuckled at the idea, and then she sighed.
"We see ourselves as caretakers of our woods, not farmers. But we also have time to be that. When a carefully nurtured oak has grown to its fullest we will be there to see it, but the orc who witnessed the acorn from which it sprouted will be long gone. In the same way we grow slowly as a population and can grow in tune with the forest we guard, in a harmony that holds little appeal for the Horde whose races burn bright and hot for so short a time."
Jaina looked down. It was true, humans as well as orcs lived for a fraction of the time elves did, unless something happened to them. But it wasn't pleasant to be reminded.
"Jaina, forgive me, I should have worded that better. Or not at all." Tyrande turned away from the precipice in front of them and gently drew Jaina into an embrace. "All life is precious, however long it lasts." She whispered it into Jaina's ear and held her close. "And this one very much to me."
The moon priestess led Jaina back from the lookout spot to sit down where Fluffy was resting and cleaning her paws.
"There is so much bitterness between us." Tyrande bemoaned. "I am prey to it as well. There are times when I think that the orcs can all rot for what they did to Cenarius and we would all be better off without them. But that is only my anger talking. Because life is precious, and my kind ought to have learned to treat it with care."
They had traded places, in a manner of speaking. Jaina was comforting Tyrande, who appeared almost distraught over having the idea that she had made Jaina upset. She wondered how many people a priestess of the moon had that she could confide in, who she would not have to be strong and inspiring to.
"The saddest thing is that had not the orcs slain Cenarius, if he had survived to be here for us today, I think he would have taken pity on the their plight. He could have made Durotar blossom. We could have cleared the tainted Felwoods together and let the orcs cut that down instead."
"Like the cherry trees you planted for us." Jaina gratefully reached for something else, and less tragic, for them to talk about for a bit.
"Are they still thriving?"
"Are you kidding? It's snowing petals in spring. And candied cherries is practically a national dish of Theramore at this point. We keep them under arcane preservation wards all year long."
"Do you, now? I am happy for you." Tyrande appeared to appreciate the change of subject too. "Although..."
"And if you so much as think of saying something about me brushing my teeth afterwards I am going to polymorph you to a frostsaber kitten for Fluffy to fuss over." Jaina added threateningly.
"I would never dream of it." Tyrande promised.
The night elves were really like certain cats sometimes, Jaina concluded some time later. They were quite active at night but preferred to make up for it in the afternoon. Tyrande on her part preferred a nap after noon when they'd had lunch and Jaina was happy to (for once!) be able to keep watch over someone else who was resting. She had a lot of things to think about in the meantime, and cuddle with Fluffy and scratch the frostsaber's ears.
"Is she purring?!" Jaina couldn't help it, she almost squealed it in delight. The sound was a rumbling almost like Fluffy had swallowed a small thundercloud.
"Well, it certainly was not me." Tyrande mumbled from the cloak she had rolled herself into. "Elves do not purr, I will have you know."
"Are you sure?" Jaina teased while she thought of Kitala. "Maybe I ought to ask the moon goddess about it?"
"Elune is crystal clear on the matter. Who would think of such a thing…" Tyrande yawned.
They had descended from the Moonglade Mountains and were again in the deep forest. There was comfortable moss for each and everyone. Jaina had stretched herself out resting against a tree and listened to the rustling of leaves and the birds who nested in them. This part of Ashenvale was a little wilder, where night elven influence held less sway she reckoned.
They really had to find a way to keep this together. There just couldn't be nothing that could be done to stop the Horde and the Kaldorei from going to war. They needed to unite and stand together against the Lich King instead, not fall to this kind of folly that would only leave Ashenvale as well as Durotar burning wastelands just like Lordaeron. Although that wasn't quite apt, Lordaeron was in ruins but the woods were dead but otherwise mostly intact, and...and...
Lordaeron's woods were dead.
But mostly intact.
"TIMBER!" Jaina shouted out loud and sat up straight with a wild stare in her eyes.
"What?!"
Tyrande had rolled out of her cloak and onto her feet immediately and now looked around for whatever danger Jaina would have warned about.
"Timber is the answer! We can fix this! We can fix this, Tyrande!"
"Wha..." the moon priestess blinked and massaged her forehead. "A little slower if you please, girl. Some of us were just sleeping."
"You need timber from somewhere else to keep the Horde out of Ashenvale without having to fight them. Thrall needs timber from somewhere else to build them a kingdom and not be dependant on you. Lordaeron is full of it! Dead and dried trees, just waiting to be cut down so new ones can grow in their place one day. But they're alright, they're mostly preserved because the blight killed off everything even the beetles and maggots that feast on dead wood!"
"Lordaeron...is on the other side of the sea."
"The Forsaken built field fortifications all over from the wood, but they could gather it instead and trade to the Horde for all the other things they need, and trade is honourable and equal so nobody needs to feel diminished from it! And Thrall can tell his raiders to go look for something more heroic than grumbling about timber tariffs."
"Jaina, I can practically hear the cogs in your head grinding. Sit back down and let them, and you can tell me when you have thought it all out instead..."
Jaina did as she said, distractedly. This was it! They could tie the Horde, the Forsaken and Theramore together and the Kaldorei and Dalaran along with them. A chain of alliances for mutual help and aid, to preserve peace between them just as much as to fight the Scourge together.
Azeroth would not have to be a miserable world of only warcraft.
Now, they just needed a fleet...
The door creaked only ever so slightly, but it was enough for the Dark Lady to notice and look up from her desk. Someone had let in this newest intruder in without consulting or even alerting her. Had she finally slipped and ignored warning signs of something far worse than what she could have anticipated? Was fate or misfortune going to finally catch up to her?
With a face set in stone, Ranger Lieutenant Kalira stepped inside her room.
"Sylvanas Windrunner, the time of reckoning has come."
Sylvanas rose cautiously. Whatever this was she would not go down without a fight.
"Today the black queen falls."
Kalira slowly raised her arm and displayed the chessboard box she carried with her.
Sylvanas broke into a predatory grin and swept the neatly stacked reports off her desk.
"Your rooks will be mine."
Author's Note
Fluffy white materials abound both here and there in this snowy update. Merry Christmas! 🐿️🌨️☃️🎄Jaina visits Tyrande while the proper and correct dwarven envoys make themselves at home. Beware of dwarves bearing gifts…if you try to maintain order and a tight shift, that is.
The elven rangers have typically lived their lives in the eternal summer of Quel'thalas and with extremely little experience with snow and their general disposition and manners, anyone can understand how they will act with reserved dignity in case of such weather.
The mechanically minded dwarves do of course use slang like "screwing up" and similar expressions. Together with local Azerothian quirks they may have picked up on their travels, like impertinent reminders to keep ones feet on the ground.
The teleportation spell faded away from Jaina's view and the wood and stone of her tower was replaced by mossy rocks and colossal tree trunks around them. Jaina blinked to get used to the different light. There was so much to take in but right before her were first and foremost the night elves' archdruid and finest – in Jaina's opinion at least – priestess of the moon. And also –
"Fluffyyy!" Jaina cried and spread her arms wide with a big smile.
The second after she was bowled over when a hurricane of thick white-and-black fuzziness leapt on her and turned midway in the air to shield her from the ground with its front legs. Theramore's archmage proceeded to return the hug and burrowed her face into the soft fur of the frostsaber's throat.
"Hello to you as well, Jaina." Tyrande Whisperwind said warmly from somewhere behind them. She sounded very amused. "Surely you do remember her proper name?"
"Yes, She-Who-Has-A-Chilly-Nose." Jaina looked up and put her own nose against that of the frostsaber. "But she hasn't – hey!"
Fluffy looked just as amused as her elf when she cut Jaina's speaking short by licking her over the chin.
"Teluriathenelle'ricanor." Tyrande intoned. "Which in Common translates roughly to She-Whose-Nose-Is-Caressed-By-The-Chilly-Night-Breeze."
"It's obvious how she prefers 'Fluffy'." Jaina said and in all fairness tried to get up again and out of the frostsaber paws.
"Teluria, let your cub get up so I may greet her properly."
Fluffy finally set Jaina down on the ground and rolled back on her feet. Jaina tried to brush herself off and straighten out her robes. On second thought maybe she hadn't quite acted like city rulers were supposed to act when visiting foreign states. Even though Jaina's view of diplomatic conduct could maybe be said to have been somewhat skewed by recent events.
"Hello, Tyrande. Hello, Malfurion." she said almost shyly. She was aware of the incredulous way Pained looked at her.
But Pained had not been around last time.
Tyrande embraced her hard enough that it was almost like she had been a dark ranger captain.
"Jaina, how good it is to see you."
"What has happened to your back?" Malfurion whispered when it was his turn.
"L-later." Jaina stammered. She could not believe this – she had meticulously picked a high collar robe that would not reveal so much as a patch of damaged skin. Was it something in her posture? The posture you held when wrestling with the priestess' frostsaber, that is.
Or maybe it was just fifteen thousand years' worth of druid experience talking. Yes, that maybe could play a tiny part. An inconvenient part.
"Of course. Whenever you feel is the right time." Malfurion said as the personification of patience. Jaina looked for something else to talk about.
"You have something in your hair..." she noted and picked out a bough from the long dark blue curtain hanging from the archdruid's head. "Is that a druid thing?"
"No, perish the thought, boughs are completely out of season." Jaina was sure that Malfurion picked up on her insistent wish to change the subject. "In autumn it is of course leaves that we adorn ourselves with. And twigs, those always work."
He put his arm around Jaina's shoulder – carefully avoiding coming into contact with her back – and bowed close to her ear like someone about to share a secret in confidence.
"Can you believe that I was pounced by a wild beast on the way here?" Malfurion looked between Jaina and Pained like they would obviously agree with him that there was no end to what the woods were becoming like these days. "Fierce and feral, it must have been in heat or something like that…"
Tyrande jabbed him in the stomach and Jaina tried not to giggle or blush. She was not quite successful. Pained meanwhile looked…pained, and a little like she wanted to silently excuse herself to Jaina on behalf of her kin.
"I am not apologising for anything. We got here on time." Tyrande concluded primly. "With all the beauty sleep my fair druid has accumulated over the years I have better make the most of it while there is time."
"It is these early risers that cause so much trouble in the world – would you not agree, Jaina?" Malfurion countered blithely while they walked together along a mossy pathway.
"Yes, absolutely!" Jaina nodded fervently while Pained scoffed.
"Sleepy spellcasters…" Tyrande agreed with the bodyguard. "Lazy, aren't they?"
"Quite right, priestess."
The location where Jaina had landed herself and Pained was nothing special in terms of buildings or otherwise. It was simply an open spot that Jaina knew she could describe accurately to the others. On one side was a cliff and a wide view over forested ridges below. The other side led deeper in underneath the canopy of trees through lush grass and moss. It was oddly warm for the season considering what Jaina knew of the latitude of Ashenvale.
Their path took them to a clearing where another striking creature waited. It was an enormous stag with majestic horns who trotted over to Malfurion and Pained.
"I have to keep up with Tyrande somehow, she gets insufferable when she always gets somewhere the fastest." Malfurion joked while speaking in Darnassian to his mount.
Pained did so too, and from the smattering of the language Jaina knew she thought it was something along the lines of 'how you have grown'. Apparently Pained and the stag knew each other from before because she stroked with familiarity along his head while he craned it half over and half around Pained like he was protecting her.
Jaina's stalwart guardian looked so much softer than when Jaina otherwise saw her. Except possibly for the times when Jaina had been having nightmares and disturbed Pained with her troubled sleep. Never a word of complaint.
Just like Sylvanas had been.
"Hop on." Malfurion suggested, and took no refusal. "You need to work on your riding skills."
Jaina for her part needed no coaxing to climb onto Fluffy's back.
Tyrande and Malfurion led the way with their respective mounts trailing behind them.
"So, Tyrande, do you now have a stag party?" Jaina said and couldn't stop herself.
Three confounded faces turned in her direction.
"It's a very human expression." she explained while looking at Malfurion's antlers. "Hard to translate precisely."
Ashenvale was filled with ruins, and memories of the ancient Kaldorei empire. In that it was similar to Lordaeron. But Ashenvale had made peace with its ruins and its past. Moss climbed the overturned columns and found a place to flourish in the withering stone. Rodents made their home under old masonry overgrown with vines.
The night elves had not been pushed away by their forest but voluntarily taken a step back and let it regrow. Works of nature and of elven craftsmanship grew into one another and out of one another. There was a hard-to-define serenity over everything that Jaina had grown fond of from the first moment.
Unfortunately Jaina's stupid mind would note that now would be an excellent time to bring Tyrande and Malfurion up to date on all every sad and hard-to-speak-of thing that had happened since they last saw each other. Since they were riding calmly and alone on the path and Jaina ample opportunity to go through the past year at her own pace.
"You…er…maybe Pained…wouldn't happen to have written about what happened in Theramore earlier this year? In spring?" Jaina begun glumly.
"She did." Tyrande dropped back so she walked right next to Jaina and Fluffy. Malfurion followed on his side.
"I was concerned and I did not know you as well as I do now. I had little experience with humans so I was unsure of how to act or best help you." Pained confessed. She sounded uncomfortable. "I am sorry if I overstepped My L – Jaina."
"No, no, it's common knowledge anyway…" Jaina sighed.
She breathed deeply a few times and blinked a few others. And hoped in vain that no one would notice it.
A small thud was all that announced that Tyrande had effortlessly jumped onto Fluffy's back behind her.
"I am not looking." the priestess of the moon whispered tenderly, which only made it twice as hard to blink that thing in her eyes away.
"My father and his fleet had been searching for me all across Lordaeron the year before. At the earliest possible time after the winter he set sail towards Kalimdor. They discovered Theramore in early March." Jaina broke to search for words. "I was overjoyed at first. I was so proud of what we had built there, of what we had accomplished, and how we had managed to make allies out of the orcs of all peoples. I wanted to show him everything. But he wouldn't listen. He never listened to what I actually said, or cared. As soon I mentioned the orcs it was like…like some door closed…"
"Much ill will against their kind lingers among our people. I can only imagine that your father must have found those of similar mind, given your people's long conflict with the orcs." Malfurion said.
"Yes. My father…the thing is, he was a hero. A legend of the Second War. People cheered in the streets at the sight of the crest on his sails. And when…when I told him we lived next to the new home of the Horde he just nodded grimly, like if I had told him we were beleaguered or starving from a blockade or something. He considered them to be vermin, a plague. But they aren't like that. And the general view of the Kirin Tor that they are dumb brutes easily and willingly misled by demonic overlords…that one isn't true either. There is so much more to it."
"It took a courageous archmage, and a persistent prophet, to bring us all together in the end. For however brief that moment was, it was a proud moment."
"Yes. And I can't honestly say I would ever have thought of reaching out in earnest to the Horde if it hadn't happened like it did. But it did, and I'm glad I met Thrall if nothing else. And Cairne and all his rumbling tauren." Jaina sighed. "But none of it matted to my father. To him, finding me was good, and finding the hidden nest of the Horde was even better. Now he could stamp out the infestation of the world and exterminate them all."
Jaina realised how bitter she sounded and stopped herself. There was no reason to be unpleasant to Pained or Tyrande or Malfurion. It wasn't their fault. Tyrande, all too perceptive, started drawing slow circles on Jaina's back with her palm.
"At your own time, Jaina…"
"You can guess the rest. I suppose that my words had at least moved my father enough that when he begun hunting the orcs down he did not tell me and I learned the full extent of what was going on only when Thrall and Rexxar – Thrall's scout and aide – brought news to me and I investigated myself. Every word I said fell on deaf ears and my city would not side with orcs against the Alliance. So I did that on my own, and my help allowed Thrall to sabotage and sink the greater part of the High Sea Fleet – Kul Tiras' pride – and storm Theramore and kill Admiral Daelin Proudmoore."
Jaina had nothing more to say. She tried to make a half-hearted shrug but it became more like some vague cringing movement.
"You aided Thrall on the condition that he would spare as many as he could and do as little damage to your city as possible." Pained reminded her. "From what I have understood he honoured that bargain."
"Bargain…" Jaina mumbled. Factually right, but such…such a crude term. Dealing in lives like they were shipments or wagonloads of simple goods.
There. Now it was out. And now Tyrande and Malfurion could express their disgust or disappointment with her and the rest of the outlander savages that they must seem like.
Or not.
"Poor child." Tyrande spoke quietly and not even Jaina could detect any judgement in her tone.
"You did your best to preserve as many lives as you could in an impossible situation."
"At the cost of my own father's life."
"Yes." Malfurion simply said.
Jaina wanted to pick something up and throw. Was that all there was to it? Could people just…just accept everything like that? Wasn't that making all the loss and all the sorrow and all the injustice of those deaths lesser? Like a negligible, insignificant thing?
Instead of reaching for a rock or stick she found warm frostsaber fur against her palm.
She couldn't grab and throw Fluffy of course.
She smoothed out the patch of fur. None of this was Fluffy's fault.
The forest stood high and still and calm around them, not minding whoever was walked under its colossal branches.
It was not indifferent. It was just there. It made no judgement of those that passed through it.
"Jaina. We wrote to you early in the year, warning you about the naga we had begun to encounter close to the coast. Did that letter reach you?" Malfurion disturbed her sullen silence.
"The – yes, it did. We've not seen anything like the naga in Theramore though."
"I hope you never will. What followed shortly afterwards was far more dire and dangerous than we had any idea of. Instead of an internal feud we found ourselves on a wild and tangled hunt across the sea along with our senior warden, Maiev Shadowsong, that took us all the way to Lordaeron of all places."
"Wh – what?! You have been to Lordaeron?"
"Indeed. A sorrowful place, it was. Had that journey not kept us occupied we would of course have helped you, if we could."
Jaina slumped. She didn't know what a delegation of night elves could really have done to change her father's mind, but perhaps they could have bought herself more time. Trapping the ships in heaps of kelp and the marine infantry in roots, perhaps. And Tyrande could have tracked them and warned the orcs in the vicinity. Who could say for sure?
It was not their fault. Just as little as anything was Pained's fault.
And just maybe it wasn't quite so much Jaina's fault either.
She had messed upp Fluffy's fur coat again. But she thought that Fluffy probably didn't mind after all. Because she was the kindest frostsaber you could ever imagine.
Jaina's past just…it just was.
But right now no one else was judging her for it. And if she should keep herself from doing that she needed something else to talk about.
"I didn't know there were things like feuds between night elves. Not in the way that would lead to fighting."
"Our own people are not without its fair share of internal strife. You should hear the tale of Queen Azshara one day."
"That was long ago, wasn't it?"
"Yes, rather long ago. I think your race may have discovered fire at the time but I am not sure." Tyrande tried to tease and Jaina tried to wave it away. "Speaking of more recent things I personally violated some of our most ancient laws when I set Illidan Stormrage free again, and when doing so raised arms against his wardens. Earlier this year Illidan shook the very bedrock of Azeroth with his schemes, yet still Malfurion let him escape after he had helped save me. So there is some Kaldorei lawbreaking for you, that pains my heart deeply to have comitted but which I can not say I would not do again if faced with similar circumstances."
While Jaina had gotten to know enough to be aware that the night elves were not always the way they appeared outward, she still had a hard time picturing Tyrande as some sort of renegade. The priestess of the moon was wise and kind and her people admired her, anything else was hard to imagine at the very least.
"Who knows, Maiev probably wants to chain me up in her dungeon along with my badly behaved brother by now." Malfurion suggested.
"Only I get to do that." Tyrande stated fiercely while Jaina blushed and tried to think of anything except whatever badly behaved thoughts that leapt into her mind just then.
"You would be claimed by her too, that woman is quite a collector in fact and would surely love to have the whole scandalous set."
Tyrande reached down to grab him by the ear.
***
Halvdan woke up slower and drowsier than in many days. Ever since they set out on the last and hardest leg of the return journey to be precise, flying west from the Aerie Peak and making camp under canvas and the metal fuselage most nights.
This time he did mysteriously not have to wake up to his calves cramping from the cold or the ground oversaturated with rain water. He was warm and dry and a fire was crackling nearby. There wasn't any need to hurry up to light a fire or boil water or pack up because they dared not stay longer than absolutely necessary in any single spot. He could just stretch his legs and go back to being just half awake.
They had made it. They had made it back here to this ruined strange kingdom with Alina's present and she had been so happy that it had been worth every trouble twice over.
Then there was of course the related more embarrassing episode where Halvdan had rushed to embrace her in front of practically everyone and made a complete idiot of himself. Probably. He nearly felt like crawling under his blankets and hide just thinking about it. But at least nobody was watching right now, in case it would somehow show when you remembered screwing up.
Or so Halvdan assumed when he heard whispering. Elven whispering.
Slowly and discreetly he turned his head. The moment he could catch a glimpse over his shoulder, four books were immediately raised in front of four faces presumably as white as the hands.
They had been eerily quiet. He hadn't heard so much as a breath…
Right. Undead.
This would take some time to get used to.
Halvdan was sure he caught a suppressed giggle or very dubious snort however.
"The denizens of this castle are a studious lot indeed." Halvdan said out loud to nobody in particular.
"This is a library after all. You're supposed to be reading." said the leftmost book.
"Shhh!" the centre-right book hissed. "I am trying to read here."
"It is very hard nowadays, with passing vagrants sleeping on the floor and what not." said the rightmost book.
"You're holding your book upside-down." the centre-left book pointed out.
"It gives me a new perspective."
Halvdan started to recognize these whispering books. That was Velonara, who was one third of the Naras, and Cyndia who was always with her. And Mara and Mirrah – no, Mira and Marrah, and the Mirrahs as a plural.
They were actually right in this instance. Runar and Halvdan had been allotted the space closest to the hearth in the Lordaeron Keep's library because very little else was in one piece and even less was fit to keep the cold out. Their luggage was stowed in the corridor outside and the room across.
It was in every way a decent and pleasant library but like most libraries it did not come with things like kitchens and baths. Halvdan sniffed uncomfortably at the shirt he had slept in. For several days. Being on the road – or in the air as it were – for weeks took its toll. He wondered what would be a polite, and not laugh-inducing, way to ask about these kinds of mundane things to a flock of elven rangers. Hopefully Runar would be waking up soon. He always managed to know what to say.
Conscious of the hidden glances thrown over the cover of different editions of the Lordaeron Royal Taxation Calendarium, Halvdan turned his back on them and made sure to drape his blankets over himself while getting dressed. Say what you will about the long-legged peoples, but their bedclothes were spacious enough if nothing else.
Runar, that lazy sod, was still asleep further inside their corner between the hearth and the wall and a tattered couch. Halvdan wondered if he could somehow enlist the rangers' help in waking him up in a suitably entertaining manner when the issue was settled by the other two Naras – Nara and Lenara – bursting through the door.
"It's snowing!"
Halvdan leapt to his feet, catching at the last moment his yet unbelted trousers, and looked around expectantly for a window.
"Runar, wake up!"
"Huh?!" Runar sat up in his bed in alarm, looking around for the expected pack of ravenous ghouls or other emergency.
"It's snowing!"
Halvdan had to admit that the speed with which Runar leapt out of his bed and into his clothes was elf-watch-avoidance of high level.
"Here, come look." Lenara had politely snatched up one of the small ladders belonging to the taller bookshelves and placed it under one of the inconveniently highly placed windows. Outside was a dreamy landscape. It had not begun to snow, it must have been going on throughout the night and large starry flakes kept adding to the white drifts.
"That was a pretty storm that chased you here." Mira remarked, but Runar and Halvdan were already out of room.
The Keep was reasonably well planned and they only took one wrong turn on the way.
Halvdan had skilfully remembered to slide to a halt immediately outside the door and not keep running unnecessarily far. His foresight was rewarded when he scored a fine hit just below Runar's collar. He was sure that a bit of snow would have sprayed inside it.
"Ha! First hit of the season to Halvdan Blacksilver!"
"Knave. Brigand. Attacking passing peaceful travellers like a lowlife crook."
"Certified rogue, yes. Any other questions?" Halvdan quickly bent down to reload while Runar's counterattack hit his thigh. It was not early as fine a hit in Halvdan's opinion. He would follow up with a quick volley of three and hurriedly scooped up enough snow. While he bent down he spotted something in the corner of his eye. Perhaps a sneaky close range assault or attempt to push him into the snow, but such a move was terribly unstylish and rather unsportsmanlike in a snowball fight.
In any case, Halvdan was ready and whirled up and around and threw his first snowball before anyone had time to react.
POFF.
It was a fine hit, right into the eye slit of the helmet of the Forsaken elven soldier who had just appeared between them.
He was quite…tall. And armed to the teeth with armour and an imposingly elegant helmet, a long-bladed spear or pole arm of some kind, and an also very long shield.
Halvdan searched his mind for the politest excuses he had ever overheard while the elven warrior shifted his spear to the other hand and brushed and wiped snow from the right half of his face.
"Ah. I see." he noted before anyone else had time to say anything. "Well, this is a little embarrassing."
Halvdan could only silently agree.
"I was passing by and heard some sort of commotion." the elf continued in a very even tone. "And obviously I mistook it for something considerably more alarming than a game of wintry sports."
"And I, hm, in my haste to retaliate obviously mistook you for my esteemed opponent in a considerably more embarrassing manner." Halvdan said while clearing his throat. As far as fully armed elves went, this one seemed quite reasonable so far.
"I had just had my shield repaired after a rather unfortunate encounter." the elf said matter-of-factly. "It can with every right be argued that I should then have made proper use of it. As a matter of fact, there was one rather eccentric infantry captain in the seventeenth century – Evewind – who made it a habit of throwing pebbles and gravel at his troops at odd moments to instruct them in the merits of unceasing vigilance. I must conclude that snowballs are a considerably more civilised alternative."
"I do not doubt that I would swiftly agree with you if I ever encountered someone with similar ideas. My name is Halvdan, by the way. Halvdan Blacksilver."
"Irizadan. My closer friends, and certain irrepressible rangers, tend to call me Ire."
"This is my colleague Runar. We are, our present debatably diplomatic conduct notwithstanding, envoys of Khaz Modan in Lordaeron."
"I am aware. Along with most of the rest of the city I assume. Your manner of arrival and of strengthening the morale of the dark rangers have left very few unmoved I believe –"
"Boring!" A bright voice from the shadow of the door cut him short. "Ire, you should arrest him!"
"Ah. That would be the mentioned irrepressible rangers." Irizadan noted.
"It would absolutely be." Halvdan agreed with him. "We think we are technically their guests as of now."
"Yes, they tend to welcome strangers in a tad peculiar way."
Was Irizadan making a reference to other travellers who had made contact with the Forsaken? Halvdan's curiosity soared but then a new snowball from the doorway rangers – which he managed to skilfully dodge by a hair – demanded his full attention.
"Is talking all you are going to do?" Marrah complained.
"In civilised realms I am quite sure that diplomatic immunity covers errant snowballs. And currently I find myself woefully overdressed and overarmed for sportily pursuits." Irizadan argued with patient ease over his shoulder. "But I suppose we could try to at least come up with some sort of inane and pointless insults to humour them." he suggested to Halvdan.
"Yeah, how about – you could threaten that you would cut off my head, if it stood but a little higher above the ground?"
"Exquisitly dull-witted. And a casual allusion to slurs of short-legged dwarves on top of everything. What if you countered by a similar extreme, and pointed out how we brittle and flimsy elves are easily broken in twain?"
"Indeed. I would cut you down to size before your stroke fell."
"Very droll. I must take care not to step on you and squash you like an overripe apple under my boot."
"A tall order, for pointy-ears who have their noses in the air and their heads in the clouds."
Irizadan maintained an expressionless face for the count of two, before he snorted and broke out into a bark of laughter.
"I give up! A tall order, that is horrendous. So awful. And pointy-ears?"
"A long established jibe." Halvdan grinned.
"Really? I would just as readily have thought it a term of affection. We shall have to delve further into these finer points of culture some other time."
"This world is upside-down…" Halvdan mumbled as Irizadan disappeared into the keep.
Their ranger audience were not quite pleased with the outcome.
"If you want something done you have to do it yourself…come Cyndia, let us arrest this snowball-tossing brigand at once and bring him before the queen! Naras, on me!"
"Not a chance!" Mira shouted. "The dwarven honour guard will stop you!"
Pandemonium reigned as dark rangers rushed to reinforce Runar and Halvdan and unleash quick volleys from behind the multitude of covers found in the nearby ruins. Halvdan wondered where this would end. You could never quite know with the dark rangers, was his distinct impression that was quickly reaffirming. On the one hand you had the heartbreaking things that had been done to them and all the other of these undead Forsaken, and all the scars it had left. On the other was unyielding curiosity (he had only with the greatest effort prevented his sacks of personal clothes from being raided), currently displayed craziness and undeniable care and comfort they showed one another.
Now, if Halvdan had honestly had best intentions and only made a slight oversight when hitting Irizadan, then the same could not be said when the ranger captain and the commander of the dwarf-arresting side of them appeared in the doorway.
POFF-POFF-POFF!
Three consecutive snowballs had given Ranger Lieutenant Kalira a majestic white beard. Slowly and deliberately she shaved it off with a finger while fixing the perpetrators with a worrying glare. Halvdan had the distinct impression that she was quite good at those, and had had a lot of reasons to practice.
Kalira and Areiel looked at one another.
"Send in everyone." Kalira said ominously.
"Are you really sure?" Areiel asked, and did not manage quite the same level of ominous.
"Everyone."
"Come on, let's show these summer-dwellers how a real snowball fight is fought!" Areiel called out to someone behind them.
It was a lot of someones. Forsaken children of all statures followed two of the rarer male dark rangers in a long column behind each.
"Line up, and no pushing, and lastly pay no heed to what Rishk says!" one of the team captains reminded.
"We are supposed to be on the same team, moron." his colleague retorted. "Hands up all who agree that Vile is a moron!"
A great deal of small hands were quickly raised.
"There, an overwhelming majority vote. I dare say it is unanimous."
"That's a rigged vote if ever there was one."
The female dark rangers had ceased throwing for the moment and watched the new arrivals expectantly.
"Stop bickering and start throwing!" Lenara shouted.
"You are one to talk!" Vile retorted and turned to his little army. "Get those rangers!"
At once, all the Forsaken children scooped up a snowball and peppered Vile and Rishk so that they were instantly more white than black despite their ranger uniforms.
"You are rangers too." one of the children explained brightly to the pair of snowmen.
Halvdan's life had taken strange turns at times and he and Runar had seen some stranger sights along the way. But a snowball fight with a score of living dead children – against which the hurriedly combined ranger-dwarf side found itself outnumbered and outmatched – trumped most things he could quite possibly imagine. He learned a score of names, of which he hoped to remember a third if lucky, and that for the most part they had to remain underground in the real Undercity lest the Scourge or Scarlet knights would get them. That curfew had eased lately however after the Banshee Queen and her mage princess had kicked the Scourge's tails off the city walls when they came earlier in the autumn.
"You have to come and fly here more times so we are allowed to have more snowball fights!" one skeletal girl with only one hand and brightly glowing yellow eyes insisted to Runar. Runar looked at Halvdan, who recognized the same awkwardness he felt. It was not easy to know whether to cheer with the downtrodden people they seemed to have managed to almost inadvertently entertain with their return, or weep buckets for their plight.
"We thought we would stay for a time, and unfortunately I think we are out of both fuel and spare parts for any flying. But important things like snowball fights we will always push strongly for." Runar promised.
Speaking of strange things it was also usually not he and Runar who people called inside because breakfast was ready, and scores of children around them who were not. They were shadowed by a snowy crowd of pointy-eared dark cloaks.
Inside the library was a pleasantly warming fire in the hearth and a table set with a towering breakfast.
"Your table is certainly richer than it was in the summer…" Runar said with astonishment.
"You can come upon all sorts of things when you're looking for lost Cyndias…" was Velonara's cryptic explanation. Halvdan made a note to himself of finding out more about that and the Banshee Queen's mage princess, and a dozen more things. After he had decided whether smoked sausages or fried fish was the better starter course, that was.
"Thank Clea and Kitala." Velonara added. "They readied all this. They've kind of got the hang of tending to living guests. No skipping on the vegetables!"
"Our compliments then to Lady Clea and Kitala." Halvdan said and dutifully took a bite off a carrot that tasted a bit stale but was quite edible.
They were both too busy eating to talk much for a while but then Runar broached a subject that piqued the interest of everyone around.
"Maybe we should tell them about the chest?"
"That might be a good idea."
The chest was nothing other than one of their boxes, thoroughly bound up with rope and meticulously stowed with very specific, and very precious in their own way, goods.
Runar and Halvdan had scoured the markets of Khaz Modan and several other places for the best they could think of to brighten the days of a dreary kingdom where almsot everything was broken. But they were still not totally sure if it was an appropriate gift when they brought the chest forward and proceeded to unlock and open it.
"What is that?" Mira and Marrah asked as one.
"Just a few things we guessed would be in short supply in Lordaeron…" Runar cleared his throat. "We reckoned that since you can't eat for example there would be no point in offering something like pastries or the like –"
"We don't need to eat like you do, but some of us can." Lenara said.
"Right. So we asked around a bit and, well…it's a few card decks, some sets of dice, some board games –"
"Open up!"
"The thing is, we had this idea when we packed for this expedition…" Halvdan did not get any further when half a dozen eager elves swarmed them and proceeded to unpack the contents like it was an actual treasure chest.
"We weren't sure if it maybe was a stupid thing to bring those." Runar tried to pick up unsurely. "We wouldn't want to, how to say…trivialise the Forsaken's situation."
Nara Pathstrider gave him a sceptical eye, which was telling because on other side of her nose was only a deep scar.
"Is that another game, like 'think up the stupidest question' competition?"
"You can play that while we play Hearthstone." Velonara scoffed. "Dibs!"
***
Ashenvale became magical after dark.
That was maybe a silly opinion to have for an archmage versed in weaving complex magics herself but in Jaina's opinion there were spells and there were the glowing lights everywhere in a forest full of spirits and mysterious creatures that a few months' worth of visiting only let you catch the briefest glimpse of.
Jaina and her night elves had stopped for dinner, or so Jaina thought. She had found her thoughts drifting in a strangely distracted manner the last hours and not cared much at all about what time it was. Like she did not have to be so alert anymore today. Tyrande would keep a sharp lookout and Pained and Malfurion wouldn't let anything happen to her. It was almost embarrassingly pleasant to be able to only look and listen to the woodland around.
"Jaina? Can we take a look at your back?"
"Hm?" It took a little time for Jaina's mind to fully collect itself and return to the present. "Uhm, it's very kind but –"
"But I am the resident archdruid and reserve the prerogative to make judgement of healing matters, thank you." Malfurion firmly interrupted.
"Well…" Jaina looked around for nothing specific. "It isn't a nice sight. Pained, I don't think you have seen how it looks."
"No, I have not. And now you worry me greatly, Jaina."
"Yes, I always manage to worry people I try not to worry, don't I…" Jaina sat down and started to pull up her robes. Even in Ashenvale the late time of the year made itself known and Jaina was at least wearing pants underneath, but still.
Night elves were something quite different than high elves sometimes. They could be quite tall, and with broader shoulders and hips and longer ears they appeared a good deal wilder. Not least those that sported antlers or were best friends with gigantic feline beasts. It was easy to feel a bit smaller than you really were in their company, in Jaina's opinion, and then there was of course also that fact that some of them could count their age in millennia.
Malfurion remained perceptive as ever and did not miss out on Jaina's shyness.
"My Love, could you sit with your cloak on Jaina's left? And Pained to the right, just in case the wind should turn chilly."
The wind would be extremely unlikely to reach down into the sheltered spot they had picked. Wild druids could be very smooth sometimes.
"It's alright." Jaina said, but appreciated the thought very much all the same. "Here goes, then…"
"My Lady!" Pained exclaimed.
"Who did this to you?" Tyrande asked with deep sadness.
"A foul woman in scarlet robes who wanted to make me understand that I was wrong to show kindness to the living dead, and thought that a whip would be a good instrument to instruct with."
"Excuse me for just a moment." Malfurion said through clenched teeth and strode with long steps away from their little encampment. Jaina was confused but Tyrande did not seem to be. Just then she heard a terrible roar and nearly jumped off her seat.
"It is alright. There is no danger." Tyrande reassured her.
No danger? If Jaina had not been much mistaken that had sounded like a rather huge bear in a terrible mood. Was Malfurion about to make it go somewhere else?
He appeared just then from behind a tree, in a blur of druidic magic.
"Pardon me. I felt the need to say a few choice words I shall not repeat in polite company." He took his seat again next to Jaina, now calm and collected. "Let us see what we can do about this."
"It's just scarring by now." Jaina couldn't help but sound dejected.
"And good scarring at that. Your body heals well, Jaina." Malfurion was looking closer so Jaina could feel the warmth from his nostrils. "But this time it had good help also. Unless I am much mistaken someone cared a great deal for you to become whole again."
"Yes…" Jaina whispered. "Lyana… Anya…"
Saying Anya's name hurt inside.
"I heard of something that humans use to do when something hurts. They called it blowing on a wound… I think I should give it a try."
Jaina was about to argue that it was just a joke, that it was only an expression of comforting, that…several other things, that could probably wait now that Tyrande offered her arm for Jaina to lean against and held her head in place so she could relax her neck. Her bare back did not feel cold, on the contrary there was a comforting warmth in the air. If there was an anathema to a chill and to stiff and sore limbs, it was this.
Tranquility.
Pained grabbed her boots – her superb dark ranger boots – and inched them off together with her socks so Jaina's feet could rest solely in fluffy frostsaber fur. It was just like the slippers she had found in the Undercity market. Fluffy probably wouldn't mind if she burrowed her toes a little deeper.
Fluffy didn't mind. She turned to pat and lick Jaina's toes with the huge brush of a tongue she had, that seemed made to tickle while a conscientious frostsaber tidied your up in her own way.
Living or dead, no one knew how to cosset like elves did. Jaina wanted to ask if they had actually seen any of the undead high elves when they were in Lordaeron but she was too tired to formulate a question, and next thing she knew the sounds of the forest grew fainter and she was falling asleep against Tyrande.
She was almost sure that the moon priestess was signing.
***
When the morning came Jaina woke up on her own wrapped In Tyrande's cloak and with only the moon priestess in sight over a small campfire where something was cooking. Both the cloak and the pot smelled nice, in different ways.
"You can stay down a little while longer, Jaina." Tyrande said kindly without looking up. "Our breakfast is not quite ready."
Jaina looked around from her bed. She was not cold but not overly warm either without anyone near her.
"Where is everyone?"
"Pained has gone with Malfurion to visit her family who mysteriously happened to be in the vicinity for the next few days. She is currently riding at breakneck speed with a stormcrow cawing instructions from above, I believe."
"Mysteriously happened to be in the vicinity, hm? Very mysterious." Jaina sat up halfway with the cloak still over her legs. "That was very kind of you to arrange. Thank you. Pained deserves all the time off she can have."
"Do not worry yourself over her. I can not quite say she knew what she got herself into when she accepted the assignment, but now I would pity anyone who would dare suggest she abandon it."
"I don't want her to. Ever. Pained is much more than my bodyguard."
"Calling her home is the last thing I would want to do. And she would bite my head off if I tried."
"Where's Fluffy?" Jaina wondered, speaking of biting someone's head off.
"Out looking for her breakfast, or the leftovers of her supper. She insisted on putting her cub to bed before she went out hunting tonight."
"Everything always happens when I am asleep…" Jaina half muttered, half jested, while she took her place next to Tyrande to eat. Tyrande looked very amused.
"Remember who you have been hanging out with lately. We are not called the night elves for nothing. And the restless dead are not known for staying quiet during the night."
"You may have a point there… Hey! You said 'hang out'!"
"Yes? Just because I am past fifteen thousand does not mean I can not pick up a new expression or two. I happen to have spent time with the younger races of Azeroth lately, I will have you know." Tyrande grinned at her. "I thought that you and I could hang out for the next few days. And Fluffy of course. She agreed to let you sit in the front so I can teach you how to ride a frostsaber properly."
"I would like that… Can I try to shoot from the saddle some time like you do?" Jaina added and felt like she was ten years old and begging to take the wheel on her father's flagship.
"You know how to handle a bow?" The moon priestess sounded pleasantly surprised and approving.
"Only a little. I suppose I should better keep up practicing."
"That you absolutely should! Oh, this I will want to see, definitely."
"And I suppose that in return you will want to hear everything about my stay in Lordaeron?" Jaina glanced suspiciously at Tyrande who tried to look innocent but could not stop herself from smiling back. "Am I correct, hm?"
"You know me too well, Jaina."
"I've had a lot of experience with elven nosiness these last months."
"Really? In my humble defense immortality is of no help against dying from curiosity and I think I have a bad case. But apart from that I understand that a day may also come when my people will need to be well aware of the difference between Forsaken and the thralls of the Burning Legion."
"I sort of expected nothing less. But it is a bit of a long story, honestly."
"I thought it might be. But we have time, Jaina, so take your time. And do not feel obliged to speak of anything you do not wish to."
Fluffy came back a little later and Jaina and Tyrande were just ready to leave. Tyrande helped her sit properly and keep her knees tucked in and follow along the movements when Fluffy walked. In a way it was no different than riding the waves in a small boat, and in another it was like nothing else. But if anything happened Jaina was sure that Tyrande would catch her before she had blinked, so she tried to relax and enjoy the scenery and the feeling of actually riding on a frostsaber, almost by herself.
They took it slowly initially and it suited Jaina just fine. It was a good time to start retelling of her time with the Forsaken. Harder was to know how to begin, so Jaina did it with a question.
"Tyrande, when you were in Lordaeron, did you encounter any dark rangers? They are the undead elven rangers of Quel'thalas, they would have appeared as archers cloaked in black with white or grey-blue skin mostly. And red eyes."
"No, we never saw anything like that. Just as well, for there was one time when I was separated and very exposed after Teluria and I had been swept away down a river. I would not have relished encountering skilled archers in such a position."
"That's…that's good."
"You care a great deal for them, do you not?"
Jaina nodded.
"Are Lyana and Anya, who treated your wounds, among these dark rangers?"
"They are."
"Then I am all the happier we never had to fight them."
Before Jaina knew it she kept telling about the dark rangers, both in general and of those that she personally knew. And from there she kept going and described the other undead and what she knew about their ways and they themselves. It was the wrong end of the tale to start with but at the same time it was the right one. Jaina was not telling her story, not yet at least, but the story of the Forsaken.
Tyrande only interrupted by low reminders and commands about the riding, and a question here and there of terms in Common that she was less familiar with. Like yesterday, Jaina felt like time slowed or faded to be less important. It was only her and Tyrande and Fluffy, and the serenity of the forest around them.
She was glad that she had been able to do something for Pained by coming here, and the very fact that for all that had gone wrong during the year at least her friendship with the Kaldorei remained strong. Even her back felt better than in a long time. More…relaxed, somehow.
They rode through dense and winding paths in the lowlands and narrow trails and no trails at all along mountainsides with breathtaking views over the rest of Ashenvale and the scarred Mount Hyjal.
"It is healing. Slowly but surely. All the land is." Tyrande said as they looked out from the perch high up where they had stopped to make a break.
Jaina thought about the battle they had thought, in truth more like a desperate delaying than an actual defence of the mountain, until Malfurion had completed his trap for the demon lord Archimonde. They had been so close to losing completely. Alliance, Horde and Kaldorei alike.
"How are you?" Jaina asked the moon priestess thoughtfully. Tyrande heard her tone and took her time answering.
"It is good to have Malfurion back, awake and with me I mean." was the first thing she said. "Despite every hardship my people face and despite how scarred and broken our land is, I find myself looking towards the future with hope that it will be better. Archimonde is not defeated, but destroyed. Mannoroth as well. And my people have found allies of the most unlikely kind. However brief that was, it could maybe be again one day."
"I'm happy that you have each other. I think you're actually kind of cute together." Jaina bit her lip, trying to keep her face even.
"Ha! Ancient priestesses of the moon are 'cute' these days? Well, I would rather be that than many other things."
"Pained doesn't seem to think moon priestesses should be like that." Now Jaina failed to stop herself from snorting and huffing in repressed giggles.
"Pained needs to learn to loosen up a little bit. Perhaps you should introduce her to some of your dark rangers one day."
Jaina truly wondered how that would turn out. She sure would want to be there to see it if it ever happened.
"We are in a perilous position. More unforgiving kin than Pained would also prefer if I maintained a stricter demeanour. The war against the Scourge and the Burning Legion weakened us severely and now another looms on the horizon in the worst case."
"Is it the naga?"
"No, fortunately not, though no one can predict where and why the naga will appear next. No, our greatest concern is the orcs."
"The Horde? But why? What is it about?"
"What is it always about?" Tyrande asked rhetorically and it was like she was sick of the whole thing. "Wood."
She signed to Jaina that they should sit down and while they both ate Tyrande elaborated.
"The reason the orcs first intruded on our forests was timber. That was even before they were fuelled by their renewed pact with Mannoroth the Destructor and their skin was green like today instead of red. Their need for building materials for their dwellings was as great as yours but they were closer to us and paid little heed to what trees they set their axes against. That dilemma was not solved by us joining forces against the demons, and it is not solved to this day."
"Humans generally make better stonemasons I suppose. Though I can't promise we would not have cut down your forest either." Jaina admitted with some discomfort.
"Your honesty always do you credit, Jaina." Tyrande paused to drink. "It is not that I do not understand the orcs' need. A part of me can admire their tenacity and ability to thrive in such an unforgiving place as the badlands they have made their new home. But Ashenvale is ours, ours to guard and watch over. We do so with respect and care for the nature of our realm and it gives back to us. The orcs do not see that. They see a greedy race of elves laying claim to much more timber than they could possibly make use of just for the sake of laying claim to it. And meanwhile the orcish families suffer without proper shelter from the sun and the night's cold."
"You...you are very understanding, Tyrande. Even if you are on opposite sides."
"We have learned from our recent mistakes, or some of us have tried to. Our isolation made us blind to the threats from outside that finally became reality. That must not happen again. If I can not maintain this fragile peace along our borders I will at least endeavour to learn what I can of the foe we will have to fight."
"Do you think that will happen?" Jaina's heart sank. Orcs and elves butchering each other next to Theramore was a nightmare. Had they not come to Kalimdor, or remained in Kalimdor at least, to be rid of that sort of senseless bloodshed?
"Thrall does not desire it, no more than I do. Of that at least I am convinced. Yes, I have spoken at length with him, but it was some time ago." Tyrande added with a wry look at Jaina's surprise. "I warned him against allowing his people to encroach further and he accepted my view. But he also told me what I just described and warned me in turn that if forced to choose between his people's lives and Ashenvale's trees, any Warchief would make the same choice."
"But what about other places? Or what if you could harvest wood for them? In ways that do not harm the trees, I mean?"
"I know what you mean. As far as I know Thrall is scouting every border and doing what he can to steer his people towards gathering materials elsewhere, but Durotar is not a fertile land and orc dwellings require a lot of materials and preferably large and sturdy pieces. I have raised the issue of offering wood, and so has Malfurion, but the responses remain cold and understandably so."
"Won't druids at least wish to preserve lives if possible? Have I misunderstood that completely?"
"Not at all, but it is unfortunately far more bitter and tangled, the whole thing. The orcs, to start with, are a nation of raiders and proud of taking what they need from their enemies. Accepting scraps from us, and depending on our good will, is something a great deal of them view as weak and demeaning."
Jaina rolled her eyes and probably made a great deal of other frustrated grimacing.
"Quite." Tyrande dryly agreed. "And for our part...we live in the trees more than from them. Our dwellings depend on a living forest more than timber we build from. But we can coax the spirits to grow it for us, things like our bows and bolts, furniture and shafts for tools. That is why our bows are of such supreme strength. To demand, let alone force, our kindred spirits to grow more and faster things of wood for us would be an affront, at least to many of us and many of the spirits. A tree is not meant to grow quicker than it does, after all."
"So there won't exactly be lines of druids lining up to cheer on a field of saplings, I take it?"
Tyrande chuckled at the idea, and then she sighed.
"We see ourselves as caretakers of our woods, not farmers. But we also have time to be that. When a carefully nurtured oak has grown to its fullest we will be there to see it, but the orc who witnessed the acorn from which it sprouted will be long gone. In the same way we grow slowly as a population and can grow in tune with the forest we guard, in a harmony that holds little appeal for the Horde whose races burn bright and hot for so short a time."
Jaina looked down. It was true, humans as well as orcs lived for a fraction of the time elves did, unless something happened to them. But it wasn't pleasant to be reminded.
"Jaina, forgive me, I should have worded that better. Or not at all." Tyrande turned away from the precipice in front of them and gently drew Jaina into an embrace. "All life is precious, however long it lasts." She whispered it into Jaina's ear and held her close. "And this one very much to me."
The moon priestess led Jaina back from the lookout spot to sit down where Fluffy was resting and cleaning her paws.
"There is so much bitterness between us." Tyrande bemoaned. "I am prey to it as well. There are times when I think that the orcs can all rot for what they did to Cenarius and we would all be better off without them. But that is only my anger talking. Because life is precious, and my kind ought to have learned to treat it with care."
They had traded places, in a manner of speaking. Jaina was comforting Tyrande, who appeared almost distraught over having the idea that she had made Jaina upset. She wondered how many people a priestess of the moon had that she could confide in, who she would not have to be strong and inspiring to.
"The saddest thing is that had not the orcs slain Cenarius, if he had survived to be here for us today, I think he would have taken pity on the their plight. He could have made Durotar blossom. We could have cleared the tainted Felwoods together and let the orcs cut that down instead."
"Like the cherry trees you planted for us." Jaina gratefully reached for something else, and less tragic, for them to talk about for a bit.
"Are they still thriving?"
"Are you kidding? It's snowing petals in spring. And candied cherries is practically a national dish of Theramore at this point. We keep them under arcane preservation wards all year long."
"Do you, now? I am happy for you." Tyrande appeared to appreciate the change of subject too. "Although..."
"And if you so much as think of saying something about me brushing my teeth afterwards I am going to polymorph you to a frostsaber kitten for Fluffy to fuss over." Jaina added threateningly.
"I would never dream of it." Tyrande promised.
The night elves were really like certain cats sometimes, Jaina concluded some time later. They were quite active at night but preferred to make up for it in the afternoon. Tyrande on her part preferred a nap after noon when they'd had lunch and Jaina was happy to (for once!) be able to keep watch over someone else who was resting. She had a lot of things to think about in the meantime, and cuddle with Fluffy and scratch the frostsaber's ears.
"Is she purring?!" Jaina couldn't help it, she almost squealed it in delight. The sound was a rumbling almost like Fluffy had swallowed a small thundercloud.
"Well, it certainly was not me." Tyrande mumbled from the cloak she had rolled herself into. "Elves do not purr, I will have you know."
"Are you sure?" Jaina teased while she thought of Kitala. "Maybe I ought to ask the moon goddess about it?"
"Elune is crystal clear on the matter. Who would think of such a thing…" Tyrande yawned.
They had descended from the Moonglade Mountains and were again in the deep forest. There was comfortable moss for each and everyone. Jaina had stretched herself out resting against a tree and listened to the rustling of leaves and the birds who nested in them. This part of Ashenvale was a little wilder, where night elven influence held less sway she reckoned.
They really had to find a way to keep this together. There just couldn't be nothing that could be done to stop the Horde and the Kaldorei from going to war. They needed to unite and stand together against the Lich King instead, not fall to this kind of folly that would only leave Ashenvale as well as Durotar burning wastelands just like Lordaeron. Although that wasn't quite apt, Lordaeron was in ruins but the woods were dead but otherwise mostly intact, and...and...
Lordaeron's woods were dead.
But mostly intact.
"TIMBER!" Jaina shouted out loud and sat up straight with a wild stare in her eyes.
"What?!"
Tyrande had rolled out of her cloak and onto her feet immediately and now looked around for whatever danger Jaina would have warned about.
"Timber is the answer! We can fix this! We can fix this, Tyrande!"
"Wha..." the moon priestess blinked and massaged her forehead. "A little slower if you please, girl. Some of us were just sleeping."
"You need timber from somewhere else to keep the Horde out of Ashenvale without having to fight them. Thrall needs timber from somewhere else to build them a kingdom and not be dependant on you. Lordaeron is full of it! Dead and dried trees, just waiting to be cut down so new ones can grow in their place one day. But they're alright, they're mostly preserved because the blight killed off everything even the beetles and maggots that feast on dead wood!"
"Lordaeron...is on the other side of the sea."
"The Forsaken built field fortifications all over from the wood, but they could gather it instead and trade to the Horde for all the other things they need, and trade is honourable and equal so nobody needs to feel diminished from it! And Thrall can tell his raiders to go look for something more heroic than grumbling about timber tariffs."
"Jaina, I can practically hear the cogs in your head grinding. Sit back down and let them, and you can tell me when you have thought it all out instead..."
Jaina did as she said, distractedly. This was it! They could tie the Horde, the Forsaken and Theramore together and the Kaldorei and Dalaran along with them. A chain of alliances for mutual help and aid, to preserve peace between them just as much as to fight the Scourge together.
Azeroth would not have to be a miserable world of only warcraft.
Now, they just needed a fleet...
***
The door creaked only ever so slightly, but it was enough for the Dark Lady to notice and look up from her desk. Someone had let in this newest intruder in without consulting or even alerting her. Had she finally slipped and ignored warning signs of something far worse than what she could have anticipated? Was fate or misfortune going to finally catch up to her?
With a face set in stone, Ranger Lieutenant Kalira stepped inside her room.
"Sylvanas Windrunner, the time of reckoning has come."
Sylvanas rose cautiously. Whatever this was she would not go down without a fight.
"Today the black queen falls."
Kalira slowly raised her arm and displayed the chessboard box she carried with her.
Sylvanas broke into a predatory grin and swept the neatly stacked reports off her desk.
"Your rooks will be mine."
Author's Note
Anya: After 10 000 years of beauty sleep, no wonder she finds Malfurion irresistible.
Malfurion: For the forty-eleventh time; the emerald dream is no picnic! It is more like…business travelling.
Velonara: And, I mean, being an arch-druid and having slept for so long, just think of that morning w –
Tyrande: This used to be a private forest. My Love, do we have any other psychotic wardens who have too little to do, now that Maiev is off her rocks?
Voice of Reason: Jaina's wounds are healed, you can't 'reheal' them in a smoother way afterwards!
Malfurion: Archdruid. Life finds a way.
Voice of Reason: That is not an argument, that is plain smeg! I mean smug.
Malfurion: Ever heard of the rejuvenation spell? Learnt by druids of the claw after the roar spell which I also demonstrated previously.
Voice of Reason: That is a massive regeneration boost but it wouldn't have any effect on scarring.
Malfurion. Says who? Argument three: Tranquility. That one can even heal magic immune dryads.
Malfurion: For the forty-eleventh time; the emerald dream is no picnic! It is more like…business travelling.
Velonara: And, I mean, being an arch-druid and having slept for so long, just think of that morning w –
Tyrande: This used to be a private forest. My Love, do we have any other psychotic wardens who have too little to do, now that Maiev is off her rocks?
Voice of Reason: Jaina's wounds are healed, you can't 'reheal' them in a smoother way afterwards!
Malfurion: Archdruid. Life finds a way.
Voice of Reason: That is not an argument, that is plain smeg! I mean smug.
Malfurion: Ever heard of the rejuvenation spell? Learnt by druids of the claw after the roar spell which I also demonstrated previously.
Voice of Reason: That is a massive regeneration boost but it wouldn't have any effect on scarring.
Malfurion. Says who? Argument three: Tranquility. That one can even heal magic immune dryads.
Dark rangers: Mere theory will not suffice for any academic worth her mana buns. Field studies and practical tests are needed.
Chapter 42: Inquiry and Indiscretion
Chapter 42: Inquiry and Indiscretion
Jaina finishes her vacation with her acting mo…ahem, state visit to her wise allies of course, while Anya is being miserable and the dark rangers make the distinguished guests feel at home in their unique way.
Anya is thinking very dark thoughts at the moment and is not in a reliable narrator mood.
"Ready-nock-draw! Ready-aim-loose! One-two-three!"
Tyrande's sharp instructions came in rapid bursts from just behind Jaina's ear as she hurried with the bow, the arrow, and just keeping herself sitting straight with her knees clamped against Fluffy's sides. She drew back the bowstring, concentrated, and…
THWOCK!
Shooting a bow from a mounted position, how hard could it possibly be?
Endlessly so, it had turned out. Sitting in the saddle, or what counted as saddles on frostsabers, was not comfortable as much as it was frantically hanging on with your legs' full strength to start with. Actually handling a bow with about half the available space as when standing was the next challenge, and on top of everything the tremors of even Fluffy's padded paws threatened to shake the bow out of your hands and the arrow from the bowstring. So you simply had to nock the arrow, draw, be ready, and aim and loose when Fluffy was between two steps at the gallop.
Simply.
Fluffy leapt from stock to stone and turned with some gravity-defying move that had Jaina and Tyrande leaning down almost sideways, which Tyrande balanced with practiced ease with one hand around Jaina.
"Some improvement." The moon priestess noted when Fluffy had returned with them. "Though I seem to recall us waging war against the elms to the south of the trail."
Jaina turned red as an apple.
"But perhaps this was a sneaky flanking manoeuvre by our nefarious opponents that you wisely anticipated?"
"Exactly. You never know with those elms."
Tyrande chuckled while she leaned down acrobatically and retrieved Jaina's practice arrow, with a blunted tip for the safety of everyone in the forest.
"I think that will be enough for today. We have some way to travel still, to where I thought we should make camp tonight."
"Where is that?"
Tyrande did not answer – of course she didn't, because everyone seemed to derive a twisted amusement from not telling you things you were genuinely curious about – but urged Fluffy forward at a breakneck speed which forced Jaina to devote all her concentration to staying onboard.
They rode past the trails of the nefarious elms and lush leaves and thick grass was all you could see in every direction. Their direction was north or west though where exactly in Ashenvale they were, Jaina was happy to leave to Tyrande to keep track of.
The stay in the forests had been mesmerizing just like the last time. Tyrande had taken Jaina with her and Fluffy to see all the wonders of Ashenvale that one could possibly make room for in only a few days, and nights because the forest was really magical at that time. They had even climbed Mount Hyjal to watch the scorched plateau where small new roots could still be seen here and there amid everything that was burned and torn. Slowly but surely like Tyrande had said, the forest was recovering after the Burning Legion's ravages.
Jaina had even found a colony of ants that lived somewhere amid the soot-blackened roots, and she had spent an inordinate amount of time tracking their highways and paths to see if she could locate their nest. Eventually she had conjured a little bit of pastry as compensation for the intrusion which the ants had greedily bitten pieces of to carry home, wherever it was. There was no need to be needlessly impolite after all. Somewhere below there was a queen after all and queens could sometimes have a bit of a temper.
And speaking of queens with a temper, it would be high time for Jaina to finish her story about her stay in Lordaeron. Tomorrow they would rejoin Malfurion and Pained, and she and Jaina would return to Theramore. So she had better get on with it sooner rather thn later.
There was no point though in attempting that until they had arrived wherever Tyrande was taking them, or at least until they had slowed down. Deep forest was flying by and giving way to wilder cliffs and colder air, and the Tides knew if there wasn't the smell of sea water in it too!
Just as the sky started to burn in the light of the setting sun they came out of the canopy of the woods and up onto the edge of a steep sloping cliff. A long plateau, stretching like a naturally formed shelf below which lay more broken cliffs and grooves of trees, until far below by the shoreline was a broader stretch of more lush ground where clutches of Kaldorei roofs could be seen here and there. They were evidently coming upon one of the more densely populated parts of the night elves' realm.
And beyond, stretching everywhere before their eyes, lay the sea.
Tyrande looked almost too knowingly at Jaina when they dismounted and stood to take in the serene view.
"How beautiful." Jaina simply said.
"The view is not bad from inside either."
"Inside?"
The moon priestess nodded over her shoulder. Behind them, halfway hidden beneath vines and trees, was an elven tower that looked like it was nearly growing out of the rock it was built against. It had a balcony and wide windows on the top floor, the third floor Jaina would guess.
"Something tells me that this particular tower should be fairly well stocked." Tyrande continued casually. "I have a hunch that some priestess even hid a secret cache of sugarleaves in the cupboard under the stairs…"
"What are we waiting for, then?"
Exquisite bows and druidic lore were all well and good, but the foremost expression of Kaldorei wisdom was, and would in Jaina's opinion forever be, those delicious pastries.
While Jaina and Tyrande explored the watch tower and found the supplies in good order, Fluffy snuck off to hunt.
The bottom floor was for storage and the top one held the only proper room, the rest was all stairs. There was even a ladder leading up to a loft-like platform under a small dome on the roof, under which there were windows and a glowing crystal of some kind set in a holder against a mirror.
"This is a lighthouse?!" Jaina realised with joy. She had always been fond of lighthouses. They made the dark less lonely and showed you the way home.
And then, after they had eaten and the chill of the evening showed very clearly that they were now far from the warmer heart of Ashenvale, there was no putting it off anymore. Jaina sighed more audibly than she had intended.
"Jaina. You are not obliged to tell me anything, you know." Tyrande had spread out a couple of bedrolls together with blankets from the house that would keep the cold away. Dried pieces of dead wood crackled in the fireplace behind them.
"It's not that, I just…I want to tell you but I'm ashamed to, too. It's as simple as that. We had done so good and everything went wrong when we came to Dalaran."
"And we night elves have never done anything that have gone completely and terribly wrong, of course." Tyrande agreed with mild irony. "We all stray. We all make mistakes, Jaina."
"I ruined it. Then she ruined it. And then we both did... And still I miss her." Jaina whispered.
"Who?"
Sylvanas.
Anya.
Both.
"We shouldn't have been like that to each other! We should have managed better! For…for everyone's sake."
And especially Anya's.
"What happened in Dalaran? You had told me that you and the Forsaken had cleared a path to the city. And then I understand that something went terribly wrong."
"There were Forsaken prisoners. Traitors. They had sold out the others to the kind that gave me the scars on my back. I…"
"At your own pace, Jaina. Start from the beginning, or from where you left off more precisely. You were nearing Dalaran?"
And Jaina did just that. Mechanically at first, but then the words flowed easier as they watched the last of the sun disappear below the horizon and the first stars pop out against the dark blue.
Tyrande listened, ever patiently. She made no judgement, but Jaina made all the more.
How could they have been so stupid? Both of them. Let alone that they had acted outrageously towards one another, that was bad enough but somehow in a way she could not quite explain, Jaina thought that was the lesser of it. Maybe because that part was personal, but their lack of forethought had put other people at risk and that was inexcusable.
Fear bred that stupidity.
And also rash actions.
And misunderstandings.
And far too hasty words.
When they had nearly gotten to the end it was pitch dark outside. Jaina was just about to recount the return from Windrunner Spire when Tyrande halted her.
"I think there is someone by the door…"
Jaina frowned. Who would that be? Had Tyrande asked someone to come here. Then she remembered herself and strained her ears to detect the scraping sounds from below. No, not exactly scraping. Scratching.
Jaina hurried heedlessly down the stairs to let in Fluffy. The frostsaber took the stairs in great leaps but had to squeeze through the narrowest parts, with what looked like apparent familiarity.
"Well, I didn't clean my teeth tonight either…" Jaina muttered as she caught the scent of whatever had been Fluffy's dinner. "I hope you ate something very unfriendly. Maybe a satyr."
When they were back at the top floor Tyrande was making tea. It was not such a bad time either because the interruption gave Jaina some time to sit quietly and just reflect on what she had said. And maybe what she wanted to say. Fluffy had meanwhile had the audacity to put her giant head in Jaina's lap. Jaina obliged her and had found two twigs and some sort of sticky seed nestled behind the ears by the time the moon priestess was finished.
"This is quite the tale." Tyrande said as they sipped on the tea. "I can understand how it must upset you."
"Yeah…" Jaina braced herself for the last part.
"Sometimes a tale flows like a river even when it is one of sadness. And sometimes it is a trickle that can only be forced out by the greatest effort."
Jaina couldn't argue with that. And folks said she was the one sprinkling her language with maritime likenings?
"Has your tale ceased to flow, Jaina?"
"Seems so. But it's not much more to say, it's just the –"
"Your attempt to appease the Banshee Queen did not go as you had hoped, and you left Lordaeron in another manner, and perhaps sooner, than you would otherwise have wanted. Am I close in my guessing?"
"Pretty much that, I guess. Am I that transparent?"
"To those who care about you and whom you have been so forthcoming with, yes you are. And that is not a bad thing, nor is it a sign of a simple mind or whatever else you may think of telling yourself. Thank you, Jaina, for trusting me with this tale. Trust is a precious gift and I am honoured to receive yours."
Jaina took the hint and let it be. Tyrande was probably right. There was not so much more to say about what had happened. Not when Jaina did not fully understand it anyway.
"What do you want to do now?" the moon priestess asked then.
"Fix it. But I don't exactly know how…"
A drawn out moment of silence followed. Fluffy rose and stretched her back and started to clean her front paws while those all too knowing night elven eyes held Jaina in their thoughtful gaze.
"What would mending this exactly entail?"
The way she worded it was confusing. Wasn't the question how to…?
"What I am trying to express is…" Tyrande elaborated "…that when I listen to you I hear you speak of retaining the peaceful relations, and indeed the budding alliance, between Theramore and the Forsaken as if it was a foregone conclusion, something inevitable. I am not in disagreement with you there, I shall say before I say anything else. It does seem like the only sensible choice in that regard and you can very evidently achieve much together against the Scourge. But what is really troubling you seems to essentially be your own relationship with the Forsaken Queen."
"W-we don't have a relationship."
Had Tyrande paused to look at her, or was Jaina just imagining it?
"A figure of speech, semantics. But she and the dark rangers of hers are firmly on your mind, are they not?"
"Yes…"
"Have you traded any words? Since your return to Theramore, I mean?"
"I wrote to her. But there was no reply. Although, I realised that she may not have been aware of how I intended for her to be able to reply."
Jaina explained briefly about the portals she had used to drop her letters on Sylvanas' desk. In other company she realised it might not have been the smoothest thing to do, delving into details of this possibly flippant use of arcane powers. The Kaldorei had a bit of a history with such practices after all, one could say. But Tyrande was not just anyone.
"You…won't have to tell on me to Elune, will you? I mean, she's probably very busy with all sorts of more important things…?" Jaina said, and hoped it was jokingly. The moon goddess wouldn't really be cross with minor spells cast by other peoples far away from the night elf realm, would she?
Tyrande first looked at her quizzically, but then she broke out in pearly laughter.
"…Jaina, you are too lovely sometimes! Oh, if gossiping about the latest antics of foreign mages was what we priestesses had to occupy ourselves with, my people would be blessed indeed." Tyrande shook her head. "Rest assured that so long as you are not sinking cities or seeking to move continents, Elune will have more pressing concerns. I dare say our past would have made any goddess slightly jaded when it comes to such things. And if not, I will have to remind her that without that very magic this world would now be a drained husk under the Burning Legion's dominion."
"Oh, uh, well… Had to ask. I mean, she sort of lives here." Jaina made a vague gesture indicating the realm around them. "Or dwells, or how you say it."
"Elune keeps a close watch over Ashenvale, that is true. Though if she ever held an interest in meddling in the personal affairs of its creatures, she must have grown tired of it long before my time."
They both sat quietly for some time. Only the rustling of trees outside and the sounds of a frostsaber finishing with tidying herself up could be heard along with the snapping and crackling from the fireplace.
"Do you fear that Sylvanas would harm you if you went to see her again?" Tyrande finally asked.
"What – no. No, no she wouldn't."
"Then I think you should do just that. Somewhere outside your city at first, or hers, where no one is at a disadvantage."
"I would…very much like to see her, I think." Suddenly there was this thing in Jaina's throat that made words come out choked and with difficulty. "Do you…do you think she would want to see me?"
"That I can not know. But I think that you are not the kind to let such matters rest, Jaina Proudmoore, and will find the need to at least try. And that is all we can ever do."
"I want to shout at her. Too. I am still furious with her. And I want her to shout at me, if she needs to. And…and I want us to be friends again…"
It was getting late.
On a silent request from Tyrande, Fluffy stretched herself out on the rug next to them and sheltered Jaina inside the warm wall that was the frostsaber's legs and belly. Jaina couldn't stop herself from curling up with her back against Fluffy. You only got to sleep next to a friendly giant tiger so many times after all.
"Would you…sing to me tonight?" Jaina asked and felt hopelessly small for doing it.
But Tyrande only smiled in response, and held out her arm for Jaina to rest on like she had done at other times.
Tyrande sang, and Jaina dreamed of red eyes that were kind again.
"It is without doubt one of the finest properties in the entire city."
"Aye. Heh. Much as that says…"
Alina watched the Forsaken foreman as he grudgingly accepted the compliments of the two new tenants. Runar and Halvdan were doing their best to be very kind, Alina thought. It could not be very easy when you found yourself in the middle of a nation full of grieving undead. It was not easy even when you were a grieving undead yourself.
"It still competes with that –" Runar pointed at the Lordaeron Keep "and comes out on top I would say."
"Hm. You have a solid point." The foreman stroked his fleshless chin. A royal castle was still a royal castle, even if it was battered.
Alina thought that the dwarves were rather good at sneaking in these kinds of small comments to make other people feel better. Or Forsaken at least. It was a little like they were having a never-ending debate on their behalf and taking every opportunity to hammer in the point that undeath did not make you all the kinds of monstrous that you thought it did.
The house in question was one of those few of the most intact houses that the Forsaken had rebuilt for use as storage or workshops around the upper city. It should be the Upper City Alina thought, if it was the Undercity below. Calling it the Overcity would sound far too smug.
It was a good thing. They no longer needed to be consigned to the underground for fear of imminent attacks. But how it would go without an archmage in their ranks now, nobody could tell. Definitely much worse, Alina was sure.
She could not understand what had happened. Lady Proudmoore had seemed so happy with them, and been a storm on every battlefield that nothing but those new foul destroyers could stop. And then she had just disappeared, which a lot of her sisters blamed Sylvanas for.
Alina was playing. She did that a lot now, admittedly. Her violin and bow had been bathed in every protective enchantment that their mages knew, and the red mage Edwin had boasted that the bow could now be used to cut logs with. Be that as it may, that would not be allowed to be tested out.
The dwarves and the foreman had now proceeded to delving into the specifics of architecture and construction, which Alina was moderately interested in. A tent could be made to be just as homely in her opinion, and you could pack it up with you if you needed.
Much more practical.
"…we have been experimenting but mortar remains hard to produce in sufficient quantities. Otherwise we could have twice as many shops up and running here."
"So this – is it clay?"
"Aye, it's mostly for insulation than anything else, and to keep the gravel in place to fill out the gaps."
"I'm sure we'll come to greatly appreciate that." Halvdan was rubbing his gloved hands.
"Yeah, well… To tell the truth, we might not feel the chill like we used to but some o' us don't say no to a bit o' heat now an' then." Then he looked like he remembered himself and straightened up and got back to business. "Hrm, anyways, you should find the living quarters in fairly good condition but the larder is a bit of a sorrier sight."
"Speaking of that, are there…undead rats around here? If the plague of undeath was spread through infected grain, I mean…?"
"Hah! Never thought of it…but you're right, some o' those rascals should've gotten their teeth in that grain. Ne'er seen any here though, since we became ourselves or what'ya call it."
"That is a relief. I wouldn't feel to comfortable about having to get a cat in the same house as a squirrel."
"And the same should be true for the lice an' other infestations." the foreman pointed out with a smirk. "Ain't been anything around her for years for the little buggers to live on."
"Splendid!"
"Can't say for sure about elves, though."
On that, Alina took the opportunity to interject an ominous section from the overture of one of the classical Silvermoon operas.
"What are we doing?" Lyana asked.
"We're spying, of course?" Kitala answered in hushed whispers.
"Yes, I know that, but why are we spying on the dwarves? They are friends now, aren't they?"
"We are dark rangers, of course we spy."
Anya did not bother. Neither with keeping track of the banter or engaging in questioning the practicality or the accuracy of Kitala's claim. She just tagged along, and was happy enough if her squadmates found something to amuse themselves with. Or, 'happy' was stretching it.
Anya's squadron – the two thirds of what it should have been if things had been good – was hiding among the uncountable rubble of one broken section of the south wall. Their city was so torn down at this side that it was difficult to make out what parts had been the actual wall and what parts had been the houses closest to it.
All was broken. All was in ruins.
Ruins was what all would ever be in the end.
"I spy with my little eye, rangers afraid to say 'hi'."
A kind and also mischievous voice that Anya knew by heart pulled her back to the present. Velonara waved from underneath a cracked vault. Cyndia and the other Naras lurked in the shadows further behind.
"Hi, Vel'."
"Why are you skulking around here?"
"We're dwarf-watching." Clea informed her. "Apparently it's an important and highly recreational pastime."
"Yes it is." Kitala waved them over to her lookout spot. "Take a gander at that!"
Runar and Halvdan were walking along the road that ran next to the city wall and from the other direction was a shockingly…meaty…creature lumbering in the opposite direction. Fresh stitches of coarse and greasy rope held the towering construct together and a crudely bolted together cleaver was wielded in each of the three arms.
"Shouldn't we, intervene or something?" Velonara hesitated. "I don't want to have to tell Alina that her favourite dwarf got smashed into jelly by that."
"They are supposed to be house-trained…kind of."
"We're not in a house." Lyana argued, very logically.
But before any disaster had time to unfold, the dwarves took matters into their own hands pre-emptively and shouted with their hands formed to trumpets around the mouth.
"GOOD DAY!"
The gigantic form stopped. It looked around and managed to appear confounded, but then remembered that it could angle its prodigious neck slightly downwards too.
"HRRRAGH! GORDO SMASH!"
"Good day to you too, Master, ah, Gordo!" Runar shouted back.
"HUH? GOO-DAY! GORDO GREET PUNY THINGS!"
"We are Runar and Halvdan! We are friends of the Banshee Queen!"
"ARE YOU BAD GHOULS? GORDO SMASH BAD GHOULS FOR QUEEN!"
"No, no, we are two of the good ghouls! Sort of."
"YOU GOOD GHOULS! GORDO NOT SMASH YOU!"
"Right! Just that! Otherwise the queen will be very angry!"
"ANGRY QUEEN BAD!" Gordo wisely warned his new acquaintances. "GOOD GHOULS REMBER!"
"We will remember that, you can be sure! Angry queen bad!" the dwarves nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Gordo! Have a good day!"
"YOU HAVE GOO-DAY! GORDO LOOK FOR MORE BAD GHOULS! GORDO SMASH!"
With that, the two parties went their separate ways along the road.
Anya and her squadron, still hidden out of sight, looked at each other and did not really know what to think or say.
"Honestly, what does Gordo the Abomination have that we don't?"
Mira and Marrah led the advance from cover to cover in quick bursts to minimize exposure. Following them came Alina and Cyndia and the Naras in quick succession.
They communicated with the ranger hand signs to maintain their silence as they came upon the front door. Velonara would take her squadron to scout out the surroundings in a precautionary sweep.
Alina rolled her eyes. You could do this thing known as knocking, also. Either the dwarves would be up and they would answer the door, or they would be resting and not answer it and you would know that you had to come back later. It was honestly very simple.
None of them had seen anything through the window except that the curtains – actually one large blanket – were closed, probably against the cold.
Just as the rangers were forming up along both sides of the door, they heard a voice. A dark, deep voice, and loud enough to be heard by all of them.
"Aahaha, just like that, My Exquisite Queen…"
Seven dark rangers traded incredulous stares with one another. Alina could not believe her ears. Surely…surely that couldn't be Varimathras, with the Dark Lady? Although, did any of them know for sure what that unsettling demon actually sounded like? They did not exactly seek out the chancellor's company.
"…that is what horns are for, they give you something to hold on to…"
Alina pushed herself closer between the Mirrahs, and the Naras bunged up over each other from the other direction with Cyndia in the middle of everything when all tried to find a spot with their ear against the door.
"…and THIS is how we do the negotiating where I come from. Our admirers are LEGION and BURNING for more!"
Alina blinked. No. No, there was simply no way in all of Azeroth that this could be true. And suddenly she had a strange, unaccustomed feeling like her stomach was bubbling even if she did not eat things or anything like it, and the bubbling wanted to spread throughout all of her and escape. She looked at her dear sisters pressed tightly against the wood with their confounded faces and ears that bobbed up and down when they strove to find the better spot. And she thought that they all looked ridiculous, and the bubbling inside escaped her in a long and unexpected fit of giggles that never wanted to end, and only grew the more she thought of how absurd they all were when they persisted in haunting their esteemed guests as some kind of fixed idea instead of just greeting them.
She suddenly noticed a low hissing from behind. A very peculiar sound, for it was not the kind you expected to come from large barrels like the one placed just under the window.
Alina felt that she wanted to smile again. She discreetly withdrew herself from the crowd by the door and walked aimlessly a few steps so that she just happened to stand just next to the odd barrel.
"Hi." it whispered, and sounded just like a dark-haired dwarf in fact.
"Hi." Alina whispered back, and bit down on her lower lip to not make any more noise. "What is going on?"
"Nothing unusual, it looks like." the barrel said, and Alina had a very distinct feeling that it was looking at the six more dark rangers who were frantically listening just a little bit away.
"Is that really the Dark Lady and Varimathras inside?"
"Maybe." Halvdan said. "Or it could be Runar and an empty mug."
This time Alina huffed and completely forgot herself, and her laughing finally attracted the attention of her ranger sisters.
"I'm sure it is warmer to spy on us from the inside." Halvdan said while he peeked out of the barrel with his hands on the edge. He looked so funny doing that. "And the view is probably better, too. If you hurry you may catch the Dark Lady and her chancellor before they sneak out through the chimney."
Halvdan had just woken up and stretched his legs comfortably. Say what you will about the tall folks, but you did get a lot of space length-wise in most beds. Truly luxurious. He blinked, and reflected on this bemusing circumstance. He had slept excellently and was truly in no hurry to get up…because it was already warm and a fire was crackling in the fireplace.
Had Runar gotten up already and decided to be unusually decent today? No, that did not make sense. Halvdan was often the lightest sleeper and woke earlier.
He listened intently, and then decided to roll out of bed and be on his feet in one smooth motion. Dangerous intruders did usually not light a fire in your fireplace as far as Halvdan knew but it never hurt to be discreet when you were the spy of the party.
He snuck a peek through the doorway. Nothing so far in the living room.
The larder or the hall, that was the question. Or Runar's room, though his lazy companion could be allowed to sleep for a bit longer. Unless…
Halvdan turned on the spot and looked behind his bedroom door. Empty, as expected, but it didn't hurt to look. Hiding in plain sight and all that…
He chanced it on the hall first. Tactically sound to cut off escape routes first. There was no one there so he proceeded to the larder. There were two doors separating it from the living room, which did something to keep the warmth in.
Just as Halvdan opened the second creaking door he thought he heard something muffled behind him. Quick, light steps and something shuffling.
The living room was empty. Mysteriously empty, the kind that gave you the feeling that someone had just been there. Especially since the couch table was on second thought not empty. It now sported two mittens and three socks laid out to form a smiling face.
Very suspicious, Halvdan noted that Runar was awake and emerging with a yawn from his room.
"…morning…" he said. "What's this?"
"It seems our house is haunted."
"I noticed. Someone has kept the fire going throughout the night." Runar inspected the woolly display. "This would where all the socks go."
"How do you mean?"
"You know when after laundering there are always socks missing like no other pieces of cloth? Or when there are just odd socks in your drawer for some inexplicable reason."
A chitter and a muffled snort cut through the silence. Runar and Halvdan looked at each other.
"I think I read that sock-thieving ghosts thrive behind couches."
"I have heard the same."
With united effort they rapidly pulled out their couch from the wall. A high yelp erupted as several tightly packed bodies toppled into a heap.
"Ow, warn a poor girl before you rearrange furniture like that." Velonara said from the top with Rattletusk sitting on her stomach and protectively cradled in her hands.
"Kindly move you elbow away from my nose, Vel'." Lenara said from underneath her.
"And you could very much get your knee out of my ear." Nara groaned from underneath her.
"You're one to bloody talk." Cyndia huffed from the bottom of the pile.
Rattletusk was the only one who did not complain.
"Do you usually haunt the drawers of the guests in your city?" Runar asked some time later when they were all seated around the table and the dwarves had retrieved the rest of their clothing and the dark rangers had conjured a pot of porridge that they had had to warm a bit.
"We were bringing breakfast as a welcome gift to your new home! But then you were still sleeping so we had to amuse ourselves as best we could while we waited."
"Of course."
Halvdan was not the greatest admirer of porridge but a warm meal of any kind went a long way after what they had contended themselves with on their travels, and with jam (where had they got that from?) it was quite edible.
While Runar did most of the talking on their part Halvdan was thinking. There was something that was not adding up about the Forsaken. When he and Runar arrived the first time the dark rangers had been wary to the point of bordering on open hostility. And now…now they were making jokes and pranks like almost no one he had ever met, but underneath it all there was something else and much sadder that was thinly veiled. It was hard to put into words. But he had a feeling that it was important.
"Cain I ask you something?" Halvdan finally decided to say.
"You mean something so serious that it warrants a question of whether you can ask about it before go and ask about it? Sure, go ahead. Doom and gloom for all." Lenara invited.
"Yes, it was just about that…" Halvdan paused to consider his words while the dark rangers showed signs of curiosity. Why couldn't Alina be here? She was actually easier to talk to even if he felt like he made a fool of himself half the time.
"It's like…" Halvdan begun again. "…when we came here last time you were all on edge. Those of you that we met. You were like hunted beasts, ready to either hide or fight in the blink of an eye. And I suppose you still are. But now you can make jokes and it is like you have remembered what it is like to have fun again, or allowed yourselves to, but between all those moments you seem, I don't know, unsure? Or maybe not unsure but like something troubles you enormously despite the things that have very evidently gone your way."
The reaction was complete silence, and Halvdan thought he had not managed to make his point very well. It was much easier when Runar did the talking. Then Nara whistled lowly.
"Phew…"
"There's really gonna be no wriggling out of this one, will there?" Cyndia sighed.
"Curse all bloody perceptive dwarves." Velonara sounded annoyed. "You're supposed to be ale-sodden blockheads with only mines and metals on your head, hasn't anyone taught you that?" she admonished.
"Uh, sorry…?" Halvdan managed. "We'll try to do better next time."
Cyndia and the Naras were not appeased.
"But what is going on? Why does it feel like some lingering unspeakable doom is hanging over this city, when you so obviously can laugh too? What are me and Runar so obviously missing?"
"Vel', are you up to explaining?" Cyndia asked her ranger partner.
"Me? You better be damned kidding." Velonara said disbelievingly.
"She is your best friend. You know her like none of us do. You know what would be alright to say, and what would not."
"Oh. Aw, Cyndia, that is fucking unfair."
"I know." Cyndia smirked.
"Fine. But I don't know the exact details like these gals seem to think I do just because I know Anya. Just so you keep that in mind."
Halvdan nodded. This was sure to become very interesting, that much you needed not be a seasoned diplomat or spy to grasp.
"Alright, the gist of all is, I guess, that we've lost our archmage…"
"You know, Vel' –"
"What the heck, now you interrupt me when I've agreed to be the storyteller her?!"
"Yeah, and not to disparage your noble sacrifice, but I was just thinking – is there any reason we shouldn't go looking for Anya and her squad and let them decide what they want to share in the first place? That might give Anya something to do too, wouldn't it?"
"Huh. We may wriggle out of this one still, then."
"Just like last time, we find our search for answers eventually leading us to Anya Eversong." Runar pondered.
"She is the wisest of us." Velonara said with hidden pride. "Everyone knows it except Anya."
A quarter of an hour later they were on their way through the Forsaken capital city, searching for the ranger squadron commanded by Velonara's dearest friend and however much she would see fit to divulge of their current predicament and what events were casting such a lingering gloom that not even the wittiest roguery could dispel it.
There were Forsaken patrols and watches here and there, mostly the elite guards in heavy armour. Runar and Halvdan could not help but nod with approval. The dark rangers surely knew their trade too but…wouldn't any commander want such precious troops wrapped in a little more iron?
They had gotten a lead on where Anya might be from asking about, and were just making their way past a few of these watches.
POFF.
The snowball hit Halvdan's neck expertly. Just above the collar, so that some of the melting snow would be bound to trickle down his back if he didn't brush it away.
He glanced around. The guards were still as statues. Both the human Forsaken ones and the elven one with the tall shield and double-bladed spear.
Author's Note
Jaina finishes her vacation with her acting mo…ahem, state visit to her wise allies of course, while Anya is being miserable and the dark rangers make the distinguished guests feel at home in their unique way.
Anya is thinking very dark thoughts at the moment and is not in a reliable narrator mood.
"Ready-nock-draw! Ready-aim-loose! One-two-three!"
Tyrande's sharp instructions came in rapid bursts from just behind Jaina's ear as she hurried with the bow, the arrow, and just keeping herself sitting straight with her knees clamped against Fluffy's sides. She drew back the bowstring, concentrated, and…
THWOCK!
Shooting a bow from a mounted position, how hard could it possibly be?
Endlessly so, it had turned out. Sitting in the saddle, or what counted as saddles on frostsabers, was not comfortable as much as it was frantically hanging on with your legs' full strength to start with. Actually handling a bow with about half the available space as when standing was the next challenge, and on top of everything the tremors of even Fluffy's padded paws threatened to shake the bow out of your hands and the arrow from the bowstring. So you simply had to nock the arrow, draw, be ready, and aim and loose when Fluffy was between two steps at the gallop.
Simply.
Fluffy leapt from stock to stone and turned with some gravity-defying move that had Jaina and Tyrande leaning down almost sideways, which Tyrande balanced with practiced ease with one hand around Jaina.
"Some improvement." The moon priestess noted when Fluffy had returned with them. "Though I seem to recall us waging war against the elms to the south of the trail."
Jaina turned red as an apple.
"But perhaps this was a sneaky flanking manoeuvre by our nefarious opponents that you wisely anticipated?"
"Exactly. You never know with those elms."
Tyrande chuckled while she leaned down acrobatically and retrieved Jaina's practice arrow, with a blunted tip for the safety of everyone in the forest.
"I think that will be enough for today. We have some way to travel still, to where I thought we should make camp tonight."
"Where is that?"
Tyrande did not answer – of course she didn't, because everyone seemed to derive a twisted amusement from not telling you things you were genuinely curious about – but urged Fluffy forward at a breakneck speed which forced Jaina to devote all her concentration to staying onboard.
They rode past the trails of the nefarious elms and lush leaves and thick grass was all you could see in every direction. Their direction was north or west though where exactly in Ashenvale they were, Jaina was happy to leave to Tyrande to keep track of.
The stay in the forests had been mesmerizing just like the last time. Tyrande had taken Jaina with her and Fluffy to see all the wonders of Ashenvale that one could possibly make room for in only a few days, and nights because the forest was really magical at that time. They had even climbed Mount Hyjal to watch the scorched plateau where small new roots could still be seen here and there amid everything that was burned and torn. Slowly but surely like Tyrande had said, the forest was recovering after the Burning Legion's ravages.
Jaina had even found a colony of ants that lived somewhere amid the soot-blackened roots, and she had spent an inordinate amount of time tracking their highways and paths to see if she could locate their nest. Eventually she had conjured a little bit of pastry as compensation for the intrusion which the ants had greedily bitten pieces of to carry home, wherever it was. There was no need to be needlessly impolite after all. Somewhere below there was a queen after all and queens could sometimes have a bit of a temper.
And speaking of queens with a temper, it would be high time for Jaina to finish her story about her stay in Lordaeron. Tomorrow they would rejoin Malfurion and Pained, and she and Jaina would return to Theramore. So she had better get on with it sooner rather thn later.
There was no point though in attempting that until they had arrived wherever Tyrande was taking them, or at least until they had slowed down. Deep forest was flying by and giving way to wilder cliffs and colder air, and the Tides knew if there wasn't the smell of sea water in it too!
Just as the sky started to burn in the light of the setting sun they came out of the canopy of the woods and up onto the edge of a steep sloping cliff. A long plateau, stretching like a naturally formed shelf below which lay more broken cliffs and grooves of trees, until far below by the shoreline was a broader stretch of more lush ground where clutches of Kaldorei roofs could be seen here and there. They were evidently coming upon one of the more densely populated parts of the night elves' realm.
And beyond, stretching everywhere before their eyes, lay the sea.
Tyrande looked almost too knowingly at Jaina when they dismounted and stood to take in the serene view.
"How beautiful." Jaina simply said.
"The view is not bad from inside either."
"Inside?"
The moon priestess nodded over her shoulder. Behind them, halfway hidden beneath vines and trees, was an elven tower that looked like it was nearly growing out of the rock it was built against. It had a balcony and wide windows on the top floor, the third floor Jaina would guess.
"Something tells me that this particular tower should be fairly well stocked." Tyrande continued casually. "I have a hunch that some priestess even hid a secret cache of sugarleaves in the cupboard under the stairs…"
"What are we waiting for, then?"
Exquisite bows and druidic lore were all well and good, but the foremost expression of Kaldorei wisdom was, and would in Jaina's opinion forever be, those delicious pastries.
While Jaina and Tyrande explored the watch tower and found the supplies in good order, Fluffy snuck off to hunt.
The bottom floor was for storage and the top one held the only proper room, the rest was all stairs. There was even a ladder leading up to a loft-like platform under a small dome on the roof, under which there were windows and a glowing crystal of some kind set in a holder against a mirror.
"This is a lighthouse?!" Jaina realised with joy. She had always been fond of lighthouses. They made the dark less lonely and showed you the way home.
And then, after they had eaten and the chill of the evening showed very clearly that they were now far from the warmer heart of Ashenvale, there was no putting it off anymore. Jaina sighed more audibly than she had intended.
"Jaina. You are not obliged to tell me anything, you know." Tyrande had spread out a couple of bedrolls together with blankets from the house that would keep the cold away. Dried pieces of dead wood crackled in the fireplace behind them.
"It's not that, I just…I want to tell you but I'm ashamed to, too. It's as simple as that. We had done so good and everything went wrong when we came to Dalaran."
"And we night elves have never done anything that have gone completely and terribly wrong, of course." Tyrande agreed with mild irony. "We all stray. We all make mistakes, Jaina."
"I ruined it. Then she ruined it. And then we both did... And still I miss her." Jaina whispered.
"Who?"
Sylvanas.
Anya.
Both.
"We shouldn't have been like that to each other! We should have managed better! For…for everyone's sake."
And especially Anya's.
"What happened in Dalaran? You had told me that you and the Forsaken had cleared a path to the city. And then I understand that something went terribly wrong."
"There were Forsaken prisoners. Traitors. They had sold out the others to the kind that gave me the scars on my back. I…"
"At your own pace, Jaina. Start from the beginning, or from where you left off more precisely. You were nearing Dalaran?"
And Jaina did just that. Mechanically at first, but then the words flowed easier as they watched the last of the sun disappear below the horizon and the first stars pop out against the dark blue.
Tyrande listened, ever patiently. She made no judgement, but Jaina made all the more.
How could they have been so stupid? Both of them. Let alone that they had acted outrageously towards one another, that was bad enough but somehow in a way she could not quite explain, Jaina thought that was the lesser of it. Maybe because that part was personal, but their lack of forethought had put other people at risk and that was inexcusable.
Fear bred that stupidity.
And also rash actions.
And misunderstandings.
And far too hasty words.
When they had nearly gotten to the end it was pitch dark outside. Jaina was just about to recount the return from Windrunner Spire when Tyrande halted her.
"I think there is someone by the door…"
Jaina frowned. Who would that be? Had Tyrande asked someone to come here. Then she remembered herself and strained her ears to detect the scraping sounds from below. No, not exactly scraping. Scratching.
Jaina hurried heedlessly down the stairs to let in Fluffy. The frostsaber took the stairs in great leaps but had to squeeze through the narrowest parts, with what looked like apparent familiarity.
"Well, I didn't clean my teeth tonight either…" Jaina muttered as she caught the scent of whatever had been Fluffy's dinner. "I hope you ate something very unfriendly. Maybe a satyr."
When they were back at the top floor Tyrande was making tea. It was not such a bad time either because the interruption gave Jaina some time to sit quietly and just reflect on what she had said. And maybe what she wanted to say. Fluffy had meanwhile had the audacity to put her giant head in Jaina's lap. Jaina obliged her and had found two twigs and some sort of sticky seed nestled behind the ears by the time the moon priestess was finished.
"This is quite the tale." Tyrande said as they sipped on the tea. "I can understand how it must upset you."
"Yeah…" Jaina braced herself for the last part.
"Sometimes a tale flows like a river even when it is one of sadness. And sometimes it is a trickle that can only be forced out by the greatest effort."
Jaina couldn't argue with that. And folks said she was the one sprinkling her language with maritime likenings?
"Has your tale ceased to flow, Jaina?"
"Seems so. But it's not much more to say, it's just the –"
"Your attempt to appease the Banshee Queen did not go as you had hoped, and you left Lordaeron in another manner, and perhaps sooner, than you would otherwise have wanted. Am I close in my guessing?"
"Pretty much that, I guess. Am I that transparent?"
"To those who care about you and whom you have been so forthcoming with, yes you are. And that is not a bad thing, nor is it a sign of a simple mind or whatever else you may think of telling yourself. Thank you, Jaina, for trusting me with this tale. Trust is a precious gift and I am honoured to receive yours."
Jaina took the hint and let it be. Tyrande was probably right. There was not so much more to say about what had happened. Not when Jaina did not fully understand it anyway.
"What do you want to do now?" the moon priestess asked then.
"Fix it. But I don't exactly know how…"
A drawn out moment of silence followed. Fluffy rose and stretched her back and started to clean her front paws while those all too knowing night elven eyes held Jaina in their thoughtful gaze.
"What would mending this exactly entail?"
The way she worded it was confusing. Wasn't the question how to…?
"What I am trying to express is…" Tyrande elaborated "…that when I listen to you I hear you speak of retaining the peaceful relations, and indeed the budding alliance, between Theramore and the Forsaken as if it was a foregone conclusion, something inevitable. I am not in disagreement with you there, I shall say before I say anything else. It does seem like the only sensible choice in that regard and you can very evidently achieve much together against the Scourge. But what is really troubling you seems to essentially be your own relationship with the Forsaken Queen."
"W-we don't have a relationship."
Had Tyrande paused to look at her, or was Jaina just imagining it?
"A figure of speech, semantics. But she and the dark rangers of hers are firmly on your mind, are they not?"
"Yes…"
"Have you traded any words? Since your return to Theramore, I mean?"
"I wrote to her. But there was no reply. Although, I realised that she may not have been aware of how I intended for her to be able to reply."
Jaina explained briefly about the portals she had used to drop her letters on Sylvanas' desk. In other company she realised it might not have been the smoothest thing to do, delving into details of this possibly flippant use of arcane powers. The Kaldorei had a bit of a history with such practices after all, one could say. But Tyrande was not just anyone.
"You…won't have to tell on me to Elune, will you? I mean, she's probably very busy with all sorts of more important things…?" Jaina said, and hoped it was jokingly. The moon goddess wouldn't really be cross with minor spells cast by other peoples far away from the night elf realm, would she?
Tyrande first looked at her quizzically, but then she broke out in pearly laughter.
"…Jaina, you are too lovely sometimes! Oh, if gossiping about the latest antics of foreign mages was what we priestesses had to occupy ourselves with, my people would be blessed indeed." Tyrande shook her head. "Rest assured that so long as you are not sinking cities or seeking to move continents, Elune will have more pressing concerns. I dare say our past would have made any goddess slightly jaded when it comes to such things. And if not, I will have to remind her that without that very magic this world would now be a drained husk under the Burning Legion's dominion."
"Oh, uh, well… Had to ask. I mean, she sort of lives here." Jaina made a vague gesture indicating the realm around them. "Or dwells, or how you say it."
"Elune keeps a close watch over Ashenvale, that is true. Though if she ever held an interest in meddling in the personal affairs of its creatures, she must have grown tired of it long before my time."
They both sat quietly for some time. Only the rustling of trees outside and the sounds of a frostsaber finishing with tidying herself up could be heard along with the snapping and crackling from the fireplace.
"Do you fear that Sylvanas would harm you if you went to see her again?" Tyrande finally asked.
"What – no. No, no she wouldn't."
"Then I think you should do just that. Somewhere outside your city at first, or hers, where no one is at a disadvantage."
"I would…very much like to see her, I think." Suddenly there was this thing in Jaina's throat that made words come out choked and with difficulty. "Do you…do you think she would want to see me?"
"That I can not know. But I think that you are not the kind to let such matters rest, Jaina Proudmoore, and will find the need to at least try. And that is all we can ever do."
"I want to shout at her. Too. I am still furious with her. And I want her to shout at me, if she needs to. And…and I want us to be friends again…"
It was getting late.
On a silent request from Tyrande, Fluffy stretched herself out on the rug next to them and sheltered Jaina inside the warm wall that was the frostsaber's legs and belly. Jaina couldn't stop herself from curling up with her back against Fluffy. You only got to sleep next to a friendly giant tiger so many times after all.
"Would you…sing to me tonight?" Jaina asked and felt hopelessly small for doing it.
But Tyrande only smiled in response, and held out her arm for Jaina to rest on like she had done at other times.
Tyrande sang, and Jaina dreamed of red eyes that were kind again.
***
"It is without doubt one of the finest properties in the entire city."
"Aye. Heh. Much as that says…"
Alina watched the Forsaken foreman as he grudgingly accepted the compliments of the two new tenants. Runar and Halvdan were doing their best to be very kind, Alina thought. It could not be very easy when you found yourself in the middle of a nation full of grieving undead. It was not easy even when you were a grieving undead yourself.
"It still competes with that –" Runar pointed at the Lordaeron Keep "and comes out on top I would say."
"Hm. You have a solid point." The foreman stroked his fleshless chin. A royal castle was still a royal castle, even if it was battered.
Alina thought that the dwarves were rather good at sneaking in these kinds of small comments to make other people feel better. Or Forsaken at least. It was a little like they were having a never-ending debate on their behalf and taking every opportunity to hammer in the point that undeath did not make you all the kinds of monstrous that you thought it did.
The house in question was one of those few of the most intact houses that the Forsaken had rebuilt for use as storage or workshops around the upper city. It should be the Upper City Alina thought, if it was the Undercity below. Calling it the Overcity would sound far too smug.
It was a good thing. They no longer needed to be consigned to the underground for fear of imminent attacks. But how it would go without an archmage in their ranks now, nobody could tell. Definitely much worse, Alina was sure.
She could not understand what had happened. Lady Proudmoore had seemed so happy with them, and been a storm on every battlefield that nothing but those new foul destroyers could stop. And then she had just disappeared, which a lot of her sisters blamed Sylvanas for.
Alina was playing. She did that a lot now, admittedly. Her violin and bow had been bathed in every protective enchantment that their mages knew, and the red mage Edwin had boasted that the bow could now be used to cut logs with. Be that as it may, that would not be allowed to be tested out.
The dwarves and the foreman had now proceeded to delving into the specifics of architecture and construction, which Alina was moderately interested in. A tent could be made to be just as homely in her opinion, and you could pack it up with you if you needed.
Much more practical.
"…we have been experimenting but mortar remains hard to produce in sufficient quantities. Otherwise we could have twice as many shops up and running here."
"So this – is it clay?"
"Aye, it's mostly for insulation than anything else, and to keep the gravel in place to fill out the gaps."
"I'm sure we'll come to greatly appreciate that." Halvdan was rubbing his gloved hands.
"Yeah, well… To tell the truth, we might not feel the chill like we used to but some o' us don't say no to a bit o' heat now an' then." Then he looked like he remembered himself and straightened up and got back to business. "Hrm, anyways, you should find the living quarters in fairly good condition but the larder is a bit of a sorrier sight."
"Speaking of that, are there…undead rats around here? If the plague of undeath was spread through infected grain, I mean…?"
"Hah! Never thought of it…but you're right, some o' those rascals should've gotten their teeth in that grain. Ne'er seen any here though, since we became ourselves or what'ya call it."
"That is a relief. I wouldn't feel to comfortable about having to get a cat in the same house as a squirrel."
"And the same should be true for the lice an' other infestations." the foreman pointed out with a smirk. "Ain't been anything around her for years for the little buggers to live on."
"Splendid!"
"Can't say for sure about elves, though."
On that, Alina took the opportunity to interject an ominous section from the overture of one of the classical Silvermoon operas.
***
"What are we doing?" Lyana asked.
"We're spying, of course?" Kitala answered in hushed whispers.
"Yes, I know that, but why are we spying on the dwarves? They are friends now, aren't they?"
"We are dark rangers, of course we spy."
Anya did not bother. Neither with keeping track of the banter or engaging in questioning the practicality or the accuracy of Kitala's claim. She just tagged along, and was happy enough if her squadmates found something to amuse themselves with. Or, 'happy' was stretching it.
Anya's squadron – the two thirds of what it should have been if things had been good – was hiding among the uncountable rubble of one broken section of the south wall. Their city was so torn down at this side that it was difficult to make out what parts had been the actual wall and what parts had been the houses closest to it.
All was broken. All was in ruins.
Ruins was what all would ever be in the end.
"I spy with my little eye, rangers afraid to say 'hi'."
A kind and also mischievous voice that Anya knew by heart pulled her back to the present. Velonara waved from underneath a cracked vault. Cyndia and the other Naras lurked in the shadows further behind.
"Hi, Vel'."
"Why are you skulking around here?"
"We're dwarf-watching." Clea informed her. "Apparently it's an important and highly recreational pastime."
"Yes it is." Kitala waved them over to her lookout spot. "Take a gander at that!"
Runar and Halvdan were walking along the road that ran next to the city wall and from the other direction was a shockingly…meaty…creature lumbering in the opposite direction. Fresh stitches of coarse and greasy rope held the towering construct together and a crudely bolted together cleaver was wielded in each of the three arms.
"Shouldn't we, intervene or something?" Velonara hesitated. "I don't want to have to tell Alina that her favourite dwarf got smashed into jelly by that."
"They are supposed to be house-trained…kind of."
"We're not in a house." Lyana argued, very logically.
But before any disaster had time to unfold, the dwarves took matters into their own hands pre-emptively and shouted with their hands formed to trumpets around the mouth.
"GOOD DAY!"
The gigantic form stopped. It looked around and managed to appear confounded, but then remembered that it could angle its prodigious neck slightly downwards too.
"HRRRAGH! GORDO SMASH!"
"Good day to you too, Master, ah, Gordo!" Runar shouted back.
"HUH? GOO-DAY! GORDO GREET PUNY THINGS!"
"We are Runar and Halvdan! We are friends of the Banshee Queen!"
"ARE YOU BAD GHOULS? GORDO SMASH BAD GHOULS FOR QUEEN!"
"No, no, we are two of the good ghouls! Sort of."
"YOU GOOD GHOULS! GORDO NOT SMASH YOU!"
"Right! Just that! Otherwise the queen will be very angry!"
"ANGRY QUEEN BAD!" Gordo wisely warned his new acquaintances. "GOOD GHOULS REMBER!"
"We will remember that, you can be sure! Angry queen bad!" the dwarves nodded. "A pleasure to meet you, Gordo! Have a good day!"
"YOU HAVE GOO-DAY! GORDO LOOK FOR MORE BAD GHOULS! GORDO SMASH!"
With that, the two parties went their separate ways along the road.
Anya and her squadron, still hidden out of sight, looked at each other and did not really know what to think or say.
"Honestly, what does Gordo the Abomination have that we don't?"
***
Mira and Marrah led the advance from cover to cover in quick bursts to minimize exposure. Following them came Alina and Cyndia and the Naras in quick succession.
They communicated with the ranger hand signs to maintain their silence as they came upon the front door. Velonara would take her squadron to scout out the surroundings in a precautionary sweep.
Alina rolled her eyes. You could do this thing known as knocking, also. Either the dwarves would be up and they would answer the door, or they would be resting and not answer it and you would know that you had to come back later. It was honestly very simple.
None of them had seen anything through the window except that the curtains – actually one large blanket – were closed, probably against the cold.
Just as the rangers were forming up along both sides of the door, they heard a voice. A dark, deep voice, and loud enough to be heard by all of them.
"Aahaha, just like that, My Exquisite Queen…"
Seven dark rangers traded incredulous stares with one another. Alina could not believe her ears. Surely…surely that couldn't be Varimathras, with the Dark Lady? Although, did any of them know for sure what that unsettling demon actually sounded like? They did not exactly seek out the chancellor's company.
"…that is what horns are for, they give you something to hold on to…"
Alina pushed herself closer between the Mirrahs, and the Naras bunged up over each other from the other direction with Cyndia in the middle of everything when all tried to find a spot with their ear against the door.
"…and THIS is how we do the negotiating where I come from. Our admirers are LEGION and BURNING for more!"
Alina blinked. No. No, there was simply no way in all of Azeroth that this could be true. And suddenly she had a strange, unaccustomed feeling like her stomach was bubbling even if she did not eat things or anything like it, and the bubbling wanted to spread throughout all of her and escape. She looked at her dear sisters pressed tightly against the wood with their confounded faces and ears that bobbed up and down when they strove to find the better spot. And she thought that they all looked ridiculous, and the bubbling inside escaped her in a long and unexpected fit of giggles that never wanted to end, and only grew the more she thought of how absurd they all were when they persisted in haunting their esteemed guests as some kind of fixed idea instead of just greeting them.
She suddenly noticed a low hissing from behind. A very peculiar sound, for it was not the kind you expected to come from large barrels like the one placed just under the window.
Alina felt that she wanted to smile again. She discreetly withdrew herself from the crowd by the door and walked aimlessly a few steps so that she just happened to stand just next to the odd barrel.
"Hi." it whispered, and sounded just like a dark-haired dwarf in fact.
"Hi." Alina whispered back, and bit down on her lower lip to not make any more noise. "What is going on?"
"Nothing unusual, it looks like." the barrel said, and Alina had a very distinct feeling that it was looking at the six more dark rangers who were frantically listening just a little bit away.
"Is that really the Dark Lady and Varimathras inside?"
"Maybe." Halvdan said. "Or it could be Runar and an empty mug."
This time Alina huffed and completely forgot herself, and her laughing finally attracted the attention of her ranger sisters.
"I'm sure it is warmer to spy on us from the inside." Halvdan said while he peeked out of the barrel with his hands on the edge. He looked so funny doing that. "And the view is probably better, too. If you hurry you may catch the Dark Lady and her chancellor before they sneak out through the chimney."
***
Halvdan had just woken up and stretched his legs comfortably. Say what you will about the tall folks, but you did get a lot of space length-wise in most beds. Truly luxurious. He blinked, and reflected on this bemusing circumstance. He had slept excellently and was truly in no hurry to get up…because it was already warm and a fire was crackling in the fireplace.
Had Runar gotten up already and decided to be unusually decent today? No, that did not make sense. Halvdan was often the lightest sleeper and woke earlier.
He listened intently, and then decided to roll out of bed and be on his feet in one smooth motion. Dangerous intruders did usually not light a fire in your fireplace as far as Halvdan knew but it never hurt to be discreet when you were the spy of the party.
He snuck a peek through the doorway. Nothing so far in the living room.
The larder or the hall, that was the question. Or Runar's room, though his lazy companion could be allowed to sleep for a bit longer. Unless…
Halvdan turned on the spot and looked behind his bedroom door. Empty, as expected, but it didn't hurt to look. Hiding in plain sight and all that…
He chanced it on the hall first. Tactically sound to cut off escape routes first. There was no one there so he proceeded to the larder. There were two doors separating it from the living room, which did something to keep the warmth in.
Just as Halvdan opened the second creaking door he thought he heard something muffled behind him. Quick, light steps and something shuffling.
The living room was empty. Mysteriously empty, the kind that gave you the feeling that someone had just been there. Especially since the couch table was on second thought not empty. It now sported two mittens and three socks laid out to form a smiling face.
Very suspicious, Halvdan noted that Runar was awake and emerging with a yawn from his room.
"…morning…" he said. "What's this?"
"It seems our house is haunted."
"I noticed. Someone has kept the fire going throughout the night." Runar inspected the woolly display. "This would where all the socks go."
"How do you mean?"
"You know when after laundering there are always socks missing like no other pieces of cloth? Or when there are just odd socks in your drawer for some inexplicable reason."
A chitter and a muffled snort cut through the silence. Runar and Halvdan looked at each other.
"I think I read that sock-thieving ghosts thrive behind couches."
"I have heard the same."
With united effort they rapidly pulled out their couch from the wall. A high yelp erupted as several tightly packed bodies toppled into a heap.
"Ow, warn a poor girl before you rearrange furniture like that." Velonara said from the top with Rattletusk sitting on her stomach and protectively cradled in her hands.
"Kindly move you elbow away from my nose, Vel'." Lenara said from underneath her.
"And you could very much get your knee out of my ear." Nara groaned from underneath her.
"You're one to bloody talk." Cyndia huffed from the bottom of the pile.
Rattletusk was the only one who did not complain.
"Do you usually haunt the drawers of the guests in your city?" Runar asked some time later when they were all seated around the table and the dwarves had retrieved the rest of their clothing and the dark rangers had conjured a pot of porridge that they had had to warm a bit.
"We were bringing breakfast as a welcome gift to your new home! But then you were still sleeping so we had to amuse ourselves as best we could while we waited."
"Of course."
Halvdan was not the greatest admirer of porridge but a warm meal of any kind went a long way after what they had contended themselves with on their travels, and with jam (where had they got that from?) it was quite edible.
While Runar did most of the talking on their part Halvdan was thinking. There was something that was not adding up about the Forsaken. When he and Runar arrived the first time the dark rangers had been wary to the point of bordering on open hostility. And now…now they were making jokes and pranks like almost no one he had ever met, but underneath it all there was something else and much sadder that was thinly veiled. It was hard to put into words. But he had a feeling that it was important.
"Cain I ask you something?" Halvdan finally decided to say.
"You mean something so serious that it warrants a question of whether you can ask about it before go and ask about it? Sure, go ahead. Doom and gloom for all." Lenara invited.
"Yes, it was just about that…" Halvdan paused to consider his words while the dark rangers showed signs of curiosity. Why couldn't Alina be here? She was actually easier to talk to even if he felt like he made a fool of himself half the time.
"It's like…" Halvdan begun again. "…when we came here last time you were all on edge. Those of you that we met. You were like hunted beasts, ready to either hide or fight in the blink of an eye. And I suppose you still are. But now you can make jokes and it is like you have remembered what it is like to have fun again, or allowed yourselves to, but between all those moments you seem, I don't know, unsure? Or maybe not unsure but like something troubles you enormously despite the things that have very evidently gone your way."
The reaction was complete silence, and Halvdan thought he had not managed to make his point very well. It was much easier when Runar did the talking. Then Nara whistled lowly.
"Phew…"
"There's really gonna be no wriggling out of this one, will there?" Cyndia sighed.
"Curse all bloody perceptive dwarves." Velonara sounded annoyed. "You're supposed to be ale-sodden blockheads with only mines and metals on your head, hasn't anyone taught you that?" she admonished.
"Uh, sorry…?" Halvdan managed. "We'll try to do better next time."
Cyndia and the Naras were not appeased.
"But what is going on? Why does it feel like some lingering unspeakable doom is hanging over this city, when you so obviously can laugh too? What are me and Runar so obviously missing?"
"Vel', are you up to explaining?" Cyndia asked her ranger partner.
"Me? You better be damned kidding." Velonara said disbelievingly.
"She is your best friend. You know her like none of us do. You know what would be alright to say, and what would not."
"Oh. Aw, Cyndia, that is fucking unfair."
"I know." Cyndia smirked.
"Fine. But I don't know the exact details like these gals seem to think I do just because I know Anya. Just so you keep that in mind."
Halvdan nodded. This was sure to become very interesting, that much you needed not be a seasoned diplomat or spy to grasp.
"Alright, the gist of all is, I guess, that we've lost our archmage…"
"You know, Vel' –"
"What the heck, now you interrupt me when I've agreed to be the storyteller her?!"
"Yeah, and not to disparage your noble sacrifice, but I was just thinking – is there any reason we shouldn't go looking for Anya and her squad and let them decide what they want to share in the first place? That might give Anya something to do too, wouldn't it?"
"Huh. We may wriggle out of this one still, then."
"Just like last time, we find our search for answers eventually leading us to Anya Eversong." Runar pondered.
"She is the wisest of us." Velonara said with hidden pride. "Everyone knows it except Anya."
A quarter of an hour later they were on their way through the Forsaken capital city, searching for the ranger squadron commanded by Velonara's dearest friend and however much she would see fit to divulge of their current predicament and what events were casting such a lingering gloom that not even the wittiest roguery could dispel it.
There were Forsaken patrols and watches here and there, mostly the elite guards in heavy armour. Runar and Halvdan could not help but nod with approval. The dark rangers surely knew their trade too but…wouldn't any commander want such precious troops wrapped in a little more iron?
They had gotten a lead on where Anya might be from asking about, and were just making their way past a few of these watches.
POFF.
The snowball hit Halvdan's neck expertly. Just above the collar, so that some of the melting snow would be bound to trickle down his back if he didn't brush it away.
He glanced around. The guards were still as statues. Both the human Forsaken ones and the elven one with the tall shield and double-bladed spear.
Author's Note
Hi everyone,
My Dread Lady was supposed to be updated twice during last month but my, now former, work got in the way. More precisely a department manager who is Priscilla Ashvane in mind and spirit as well as in appearance.
That thing is now mostly settled and I have a new and much more promising job waiting. I was just getting back into writing when at the start of january I lost the USB stick on which I had kept all the notes on the rest of the story and the drafts of two mostly finished coming chapters. All in all 12-17k of words gone I guess. And there is no backup.
I have carried the thing around daily for about a year, and now of all times something like that happened. So that put this story back by quite a lot. It is not impossible to rewrite those chapters but it sucks having to do it. And as with all things creative, it isn't a linear process. Sometimes you manage something one day that you wouldn't be able to replicate the next.
This chapter is most of the finished material that I have now redone from scratch. I have decided to cut it shorter than originally intended with this small cliffhanger to ease back into writing and posting and also because it will allow a long expected reunion to come about in next chapter without it or the following growing too long.
My Dread Lady was supposed to be updated twice during last month but my, now former, work got in the way. More precisely a department manager who is Priscilla Ashvane in mind and spirit as well as in appearance.
That thing is now mostly settled and I have a new and much more promising job waiting. I was just getting back into writing when at the start of january I lost the USB stick on which I had kept all the notes on the rest of the story and the drafts of two mostly finished coming chapters. All in all 12-17k of words gone I guess. And there is no backup.
I have carried the thing around daily for about a year, and now of all times something like that happened. So that put this story back by quite a lot. It is not impossible to rewrite those chapters but it sucks having to do it. And as with all things creative, it isn't a linear process. Sometimes you manage something one day that you wouldn't be able to replicate the next.
This chapter is most of the finished material that I have now redone from scratch. I have decided to cut it shorter than originally intended with this small cliffhanger to ease back into writing and posting and also because it will allow a long expected reunion to come about in next chapter without it or the following growing too long.
Ouch, sorry to hear it's been a rough month. Hopefully it's uphill from here?
This...is not something I want to hear Varimathras saying. I suspect Sylvanas would agree with me. But hey, Gordo makes a cameo!
I think I hope so too. It's a bit of an oddity that uphill as a metaphor is hard but downhill as a metaphor is calamitous
Starting the new job tomorrow...
Varimathras: Ah, but there is so much to discover about demonic culture and sophistication...just wait until my fandom explodes and erupts which will surely be any day 😈👿
That is me and a suitable leading lady as smilies, by the way.
Gordo: GORDO SMASH! AND GORDO SELLS ELFY TABLOID MAG'ZINES!
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Chapter 43: Query and Quarrel
Chapter 43: Query and Quarrel
Even foreign diplomats join the legions of bothersome botherers who pester Lordaeronian queens in the middle of their brooding, these days.
Sometimes enlisting the aid of outside consultants can enlighten an organisation by contributing to the bringing up of hitherto neglected points of view.
Sometimes they manage to say out loud what everyone already knew had to be said.
Sometimes they are just jokers bumbling around who seem to manage what they manage mostly by accident.
It is perhaps a matter of viewpoint.
Sylvanas was seeing Areiel and Kalira. A small meeting, like the ones that had preceded her proper council and then council of war. It was comfortable, even if there was little left of the normal old familiarity between them. Both were sensible enough to do what needed to be done regardless of what they personally felt about the situation, and brutally honest when they needed to.
Areiel, once her anger and disappointment had cooled, would always be there for the general if nothing else. Kalira was too strict to allow personal biases to tarnish her integrity, and would give her honest council no matter what she thought of the person receiving it. She was also not as familiar with why they had lost their archmage and reserved her judgement until she would be.
"The question remains, Dark Lady. We have the initiative still but it will slip between our fingers if we do not move soon. Either we move or we fall back and consolidate our positions but we need to come to a decision."
Belore, Kalira was all too right. But Sylvanas had no answer.
Hunt the Scourge, decimate the scattered remnants with the small scale raids and engagements that the Forsaken wanted to have? Any day.
Strengthen the trail to Dalaran and give her army the respite offered by fortifications and actual control over areas so that the defence could be planned and prepared and not a haphazard affair cobbled together on the spot? That should preferably have been done months ago.
"What of the Kirin Tor? They are ready to do their part, they tell us, but what is their part? What can we count on in practice?" Areiel raised the question to either of them.
It was a most relevant question, both of them were, and the answer to each was of course dependant on the other. Only Sylvanas did not have them.
She missed Anya. She always did but she buried herself in work yet now she even found herself missing Anya when at work. Her dark ranger would have said something that made everything seem so much clearer and plainer, or something with another angle completely of her own.
And Jaina…Jaina would have solved it all in a blink.
The truth was that there was no clear answer. Both options had strong reasoning behind them and it was the queen's call to make, which one they should choose and which dangers they would risk.
It was at that inopportune moment that they were disturbed by the firm knocks of her deathguards at the door.
"What?!" Sylvanas yelled.
"Apologies, My Queen. The dwarven emissaries request to see you. They are escorted by dark rangers."
What the hell was this now?
Whatever it was it would not leave her mind before she dealt with it anyway, so she may as well hope to get the issue out of the way here and now.
"Send them in!"
The dwarves looked unexpectedly well for living beings staying with a throng of living dead. Or strictly speaking they did not for that list only numbered four people so far and the Forsaken had in the end managed to keep each and every one healthy and fed, in spite of everything.
"Greetings, My Queen." Runar bowed elegantly with Halvdan following. "We would like to speak with you. Is this a suitable time?"
"No. Go ahead."
"You most generously offered us the choice of a reward in thanks for bringing Lady Alina her violin, so long as it did not harm or endanger your people or your allies."
Sylvanas, Areiel and Kalira had been sitting around a table in the small council chamber. Both of the others shifted their chairs so they could view the newcomers. Even Sylvanas found herself wondering what they would be playing at.
"And now we have decided what we would most of all like to ask for, and wish to cash in that reward."
"Being?"
"The same commodity as last time. Information. Knowledge is worth its weight in gold, or would be if it actually weighed something, correct?"
Sylvanas braced herself.
Not Jaina. Not Jaina. Not Jaina.
"We do, as any emissaries worth their salt and their malt, strive to get to know our graceful hosts and their predicament so as to more effectively aid our mutual interests. Naturally, the recent developments of Lordaeron have our full and awed attention. Consider us effectively astounded at the progress you have most evidently made. There are however things we do not quite grasp, which appear to us to be of great importance. And like the last time we find the missing piece of the puzzle that all others lead to in a certain name. We wish to hear everything there is to tell about Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore."
Sylvanas clenched her teeth together.
"That would concern strictly personal matters that are not for anyone outside to know about." Areiel made a good attempt at rebuffing the request even when caught by surprise. But even excluding strictly private details there were all too many that could very much be said to not be of exclusively personal interest.
"Dark Lady?" Kalira asked, perhaps whether Sylvanas wanted her troublesome visitors thrown out.
"So be it." Sylvanas agreed darkly. "I am a woman of my word. It will not harm my people to speak of this."
Only me.
Actually, Sylvanas had to admit that seeing the seasoned – or just slightly insane – dwarven envoy sputtering and gasping for air was a little bit entertaining.
"You kidnapped a foreign head of state?!"
"I did not kidnap her, Master Runar. The diplomatic mission to Theramore simply got a little out of hand and I ended up carrying her to my bed…I mean my hammock. Onboard. I could not leave her alone and unconscious on the docks in a stormy night."
"And the kid needed a nap anyway…" Areiel's voice was tinted with unmistakeable fondness as well as regret.
"You kidnapped a foreign head of state…" Runar echoed weakly. The way he leaned back in his chair brought to mind someone overcome with too much heat. "I need some air…"
"Indeed, a common trait of the living, I hear." Sylvanas said dryly.
"Let us take a break." Areiel suggested, and Runar and Halvdan marched out of the room to wrap their bearded heads around the finer points of Forsaken foreign relations.
Kalira, who had probably not heard the entirety of the sea journey retold except through Velonara's whimsical anecdotes, had listened with great interest too. She was harder to read than Areiel when it came to her opinion of what she was hearing.
"I am sorry, Dark Lady…" she begun with a strange wry face "…but my judgement is leaning towards that of our dwarven guests. I am inclined to agree that you seem to have indeed have kidnapped Lady Proudmoore. How you so managed to befriend her afterwards mystifies me."
Wasn't this…odd? Where had their habitual rivalry gone, Sylvanas wondered? Kalira only exuded genuine interest, and she did not lie. She was far too tough to have to and too honest to want to. In fact, come to think of it, it had been a long time now since Sylvanas had thought of her as a competitor first and a dependable comrade second.
More than that. A trustworthy friend?
Further reflection was cut short when the dwarves barged inside again.
"Alright. Instead of holding an audience the intended ally was carried unconscious aboard your ship. Well. These things happen." Runar said, still somewhat strangled. "Evidently. So let us continue. What happened next?"
It took a couple of hours, several dropping jaws and a pair of steadily rising eyebrows before Sylvanas had recounted the general chain of events that had led them to where they now were. Her listeners asked few questions, which were mostly about circumstances or terms they were unused to. They displayed a rather impressive, and loud, repertoire of swearing when Sylvanas told of the debacle of the Hearthglen negotiations and what had transpired with Cyndia, which she had to admit made them rise in her esteem.
The conclusion, though, was not easy to bring herself to share with them even in curt and sweeping terms. While she maintained that the blame rested squarely on her for how that disastrous conversation with Jaina had gone, she could not escape the unease that sharing anything intimate about Jaina brought her.
At least Runar and Halvdan did not nose around in that overly much, but stuck to more relevant particulars.
"May I ask…where do the two of you stand now, and what are the relations between Lordaeron and Theramore like after these events?"
Sylvanas remained silent. Brooding and dark.
Good question. Good luck discovering an answer to it.
"Have you had any contact at all?"
She could see Areiel and Kalira on the cusp of answering negatively and raised a hand to call for silence.
"She has written to me. I have not answered her letters."
The dwarves blinked, looked at each other, and back at her.
"But…why?"
"As for how our nations stand I will not relinquish the alliance with Theramore and I will strive to maintain peaceful relations with the Kirin Tor and preferably cooperation in defence against the Scourge." Sylvanas stated in a tone that brokered no disagreement. "I am fully convinced that Lady Proudmoore is of a similar mind."
"But why won't you bloody talk to her?!"
"It is for the best." Sylvanas let know that the discussion was over.
Areiel was watching her intently. Sylvanas was just about bracing herself for more admonishment, for further criticism. But there was none to be had from her ranger captain this time. Areiel looked…compassionate. Understanding.
Sylvanas bit down on her teeth. She did not want compassionate. She did not want understanding. She did not know how to deal with those right now.
And to tell the truth she was getting mighty fed up with dealing with these bearded interrogators who seemed to have such a difficulty grasping simple facts such as that Jaina Proudmoore should be kept at a safe distance from unreliable undead that would only hurt and disappoint her.
"…the best? How could it possibly be for the best?" Halvdan was looking at her like she was a moon that had turned green.
"If you necessarily must pry, I treated her badly and will not burden her with my company more than necessary." Speaking the words was like stone grating against stone. A wiser interlocutor would have taken the hint.
"So apologise and treat her good, then! Explain yourself, explain what happened, whatever you do –"
"You have had your answers as you have been promised. Was there anything else on behalf of Ironforge? Otherwise this audience is over."
The Dark Lady's tone was dangerous now. And both the dwarves made motions to rise.
"Coward." Halvdan said.
"Excuse me?" The icy whisper would send chills down the spine of anyone.
"You screwed up and now you are too afraid of worsening it to do what needs being done to set things right. Who wouldn't be? Still, coward."
"Jaina Proudmoore is a noble woman with a heart that Azeroth does not deserve! And I will die before I see it hurt again!"
"Is that what ye're waiting fer, holed up in here? I hope not, when so many loyal people are out there waiting fer you."
"You overstep!"
"Probably. The perks of diplomatic immunity, one needs to enjoy it while it lasts, right?" Halvdan grinned.
"Where such customs are honoured the ambassadors also tend to be less rude. Do not push your luck."
"Runar would heartily agree with ye. Although, one can also say, ye aint' heard nothing yet, Oh Queen."
"Oh, is that so?" Velonara and Kitala were not the only ones who could switch to a frightening amiability in a blink. "Well then, allow me to introduce you to an established local custom which all dark rangers could enlighten you about. In the Undercity everyone, even the queen, can be challenged to a round on the sand. We live in dangerous times as you know and even those whose trade is statecraft need to be prepared for all eventualities." Sylvanas growled.
Now she was really angry. She would do right for her people, she would put her own feelings aside and do her best to forget her personal wants and wishes as she was always prepared to do – but there were fucking limits to what she could endure! And the rangers were one thing but being subjected to steadily broader Loch Modan accents and insults of a pair of half-sized jesters like these two was more than a queen should have to stand for!
"Half an hour. No weapons." Sylvanas hissed. "Let us see whether that expensive outfit you dragged with you is just for show. Areiel can show you the way."
"I will be there promptly. Just need to change into something rougher." Halvdan smirked.
His appointed guide and Kalira glanced at each other.
"Dark Lady, don't you tend to need ambassadors in one piece to maintain the embassy?" Kalira cautioned.
"One will suffice. We have dwarves to spare." Sylvanas retorted with her gaze still fixed on Halvdan. "Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Half an hour had done little to soothe Sylvanas, quite the opposite in fact.
Write to Jaina.
What gave him the bloody right to so much as think of what she should do or not?!
The benches of her arena were filled almost to the brim despite the short notice. Rumours travelled fast among bored and gossip-hungry Forsaken apparently, especially ranger squadrons shadowing irritating foreign dignitaries.
She did not see Anya among them. It was no surprise, and in a way it was a relief. And it was also an aching hole inside her.
She rarely, no, hardly ever, saw Anya now.
A bitter loss that she would delight in taking out on that black-bearded fool! The dwarf was just appearing by the other side in a loose and long dark shirt.
Sylvanas would teach him a lasting lesson in royal courtesy.
"Ladies and gentlemen…" Areiel called out at this opportune moment. "…this is a friendly sparring match between allies to hone our skills to use against mutual enemies. Therefore, for those yet new to the practice, I would like to remind anyone that we do of course refrain from fatal or permanently crippling strikes. Since we are comrades-in-arms who may need one another's strength when we least expect it."
She managed to cast a very pointed look at Sylvanas while offering this introductory briefing.
"Begin!"
Sylvanas stalked her prey. Those short legs would suffice little against a Windrunner.
"Bring it on, beardling." she hissed at him.
"Show me what you've got, pointy –ear!"
Pointy-ear?
Sylvanas planted a kick against his shoulder. Halvdan grimaced but stayed otherwise unaffected.
"Half-Brain Blacksilver!"
The audience…cheered? Wild whistles and hooting had broken out, whether over the first hit of the match, the promising insults or the sheer audacity of a foreigner to challenge the Dark Lady. Whichever it was, it was good. A pointless distraction, but…it felt good. At least it was not scorn and detesting silence.
Sylvanas moved in for another attack but the dwarf was much quicker to react than she had honestly expected. Rather than dodging and avoiding like her rangers were trained to he crouched to take the quick succession of kicks on his arm, angled to deflect, and followed up by a serious attempt to grapple her foot.
Wasn't this getting almost interesting?
"Sylvanas Windbag."
Now just WHAT the heck was THAT?
The crowd roared with laughter while Halvdan stormed forward and let wild punches fly. But they were not so wild as to leave a lot of gaps in his guard either. Sylvanas danced out of reach like Anya would have – not now – and then she whipped up a sharp kick against his thigh for the trouble.
Legwork was undoubtedly the most convenient against targets of low stature.
"Carpet face!" Sylvanas shouted.
"Carpet muncher!"
For the shortest moment between moments everyone in the room doubted whether they had actually heard correctly. Then all the rows exploded and, well, dwarfed their previous bouts of merriment.
She was the Dark Lady. She was the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken and of Lordaeron. How dared that insolent, outrageous, scruffy-looking brigand of a –
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"Yes, that is also one way to put it." Halvdan grinned broadly.
Sylvanas lunged at him. Technique and style be damned, she needed no style to hammer that thug into the ground! But she was no less dangerous when she gave in to pure instinct and the dwarf back-pedalled before her with both arms raised in guard against the flurry of royal fists connecting from all directions.
"…or perhaps you have neglected your duties lately and that is why they are all so stiff and glum?" Halvdan panted. "Come on, if the thought has never crossed yer mind in this lovely company then ye're truly as dead as ye claim."
"There will be no need to tell Miniel of this conversation." he added quickly towards Runar.
Miniel?
Sylvanas' rangers laughed and clapped and whistled from the benches. And the noise was music to her. What did she fight and strive and suffer for if not for that?
Apart from putting uncouth scoundrels like that in their place, that is.
"Keep yer feet on the ground."
Sylvanas kicked his guard up into the air and followed up with a crushing punch right in the gut.
"CRACK."
"CLANG!"
She registered the two sounds at the very same time as her hand broke on the breastplate hidden inside the impractically loose shirt of her opponent. It rang like a bell as the dwarven rogue collapsed with a groan.
"Uuuh… That's more like it…"
Aching pain was beginning to shoot out from her hand. Sylvanas was just beginning to take notice. Belore damn that…
Then Areiel was there sticking a healing potion into her other hand and waving Lyana over to administer a similar one to Halvdan, who had managed to sit up and clutch his head with a pained expression. It gave Sylvanas just a little bit of satisfaction to see.
"In spite of common sense and reason, I still think we may need both of you idiots intact." The ranger captain shook her head at them while Sylvanas raised her flask in a toast and Halvdan unsteadily mimicked the gesture.
To be honest she actually felt calmer, as the potion coursed through her and at the very least dampened the ache considerably. She poured the last of it onto her knuckles and enjoyed its blissful chill and the strange sensation of her body regenerating as only the undead Sylvanas could. A lot of the anger had bled out of her and with it a good amount of ugly emotional strain and tension of other kind, if just for a moment.
It was almost like – but no, foreign dwarves were not supposed to know her, or any other of her people for that matter, well enough to predict what she needed. Or? Had they actually listened that much and that well to her dark rangers? They weren't supposed to want to come flying back to you across half of Lordaeron either after all.
How much of a pair of fools were really those two?
Sylvanas was not so sure anymore.
She still had a score to settle with them, but… Her mind was working swiftly as a devious thought formed. Since these fine gentlemen had voiced such a concern for her rangers' wellbeing…
"Well fought, Master Blacksilver." Sylvanas declaimed curtly. "For this remarkable feat of underhandedness and moving display of concern for my dark rangers, I name you Honorary Ranger Champion and order you to instruct them in the same. Effective immediately."
Areiel looked very, very oddly at her.
"Two conditions." Halvdan grunted, still sitting on the sand but not the least bit dazed anymore. He held up two fingers as he named them. "Hurt Runar, and I will remove the un in your un-death. Break Alina's violin, and I will break your bones."
He eyed her hand most pointedly.
Sylvanas stared at him.
"Why the hell would I do something like…"
She looked around, at all her rangers and the few guardsmen who had caught wind of the event in time.
Was this how they saw her these days?
"Rulers that deny themselves too much, they tend to start denying it to others too."
Nice. A week in my company and they fear me turning into a spiteful tyrant already. At least with my mage I retained the benefit of doubt for a couple of months.
The irony was sharp but it brought her no joy, thinking of her mage and what had transpired between them. Inconveniently enough she found herself looking right at Areiel, or if it was the other way around, before she struck the notion from her mind. She had ordered Alina's precious instrument enchanted and protected with all that her mages could muster, had she not? And she was only half done with these bearded jokers.
"Further…" Sylvanas retook control with just a little raising of her voice. "…since it is out of commission thanks to you two, I name you my acting right hand until further notice."
She pointed at Runar, and grinned inside at the shock that elicited.
Sylvanas' smile was predatory as he approached uneasily.
"We would do well to present a unified front if we are to earn the confidence of onlooking realms beyond our borders. In order to defeat our mutual enemies everyone has to pull their own weight. There is little room for any freeloaders in my city as you know…"
The dwarves looked worriedly at each other.
"First order of business will be...many."
Well, if that did not put them in their place suitably, Sylvanas noted with satisfaction. The eyes of all the crowd was on her now. She was in control. She was the Banshee Queen.
"Accepted. But I would like a ranger squadron as guard for something like that I think." Runar answered, still bewildered.
"Deal. Do not think you would have gone without one to keep watch over you in any case."
"And I also have one condition."
"Is there no end to it… Yes?"
"Write to her."
The Banshee Queen cast him a long glare. How long would they keep pestering her? And now Areiel was looking at her in that particularly discomforting way as well.
"Prepare to make yourself available to meet your assigned squadron tomorrow at noon." Sylvanas commanded.
"If at all possible, I would humbly request Kalira's squadron." Runar lowered his voice. "Now go answer those blasted letters from the nice lady in Theramore."
Sylvanas lengthened her stride a couple of corners away from the arena. So did the one following her.
"I know you are there, Ranger Captain. What do you need?" she said out loud.
"I need to talk to you. We need to talk to each other."
"You are right. I will send someone to fetch Kalira and we can – "
"Sylvanas. Stop." Areiel said with long-suffering patience.
Sylvanas let her catch up, not looking forward to anything that would be coming at all.
"Let's go to your quarters, shall we?" Areiel suggested.
They did that. It was not far anyway. Sylvanas took her usual seat at her desk – it was too rickety for her to really be sitting behind any desk – and Areiel sank down in one of the chairs in the sparse but still cramped little room.
"Sylvanas…I am sorry and I wish to apologise."
What?
Sylvanas was the one who apologised for things. Not Areiel to her.
"I am sorry for leaving you alone. When Jaina left I was furious with you, angry and disappointed. I may have had reason to be that, but that does not justify me staying away like this."
"I do not recall inviting you."
"No."
An empty bit of silence, it was.
"I am not convinced a greater dose of your personal company would have been overly healthy for me. Or so the left side of my ribcage tells me." Sylvanas shrugged, but even irony came out half-hearted.
"And you could have blocked that one with ease – don't pretend to be able to fool me – but you didn't. And that is where I should have broken that spectacle up. Blowing off steam or settling disputes on the sand is one thing, but when one of the parties lets herself take the hits she thinks she deserves to take it is another, and something that has no place in my ranger corps. Not even when it comes to thick-skulled Dark Ladies."
"Thick-skulled?" Sylvanas at least glared at Areiel.
"Quite." Areiel said carelessly. "And I if anyone should not be surprised."
Again they sat and looked at each other without words.
"What was it that happened, between you and Jaina?"
Areiel was not unkind.
And Sylvanas no longer had the energy to argue. There was no respite in anything any longer. She was so tired.
"I was looking everywhere for her. When we noticed that she was gone. And that Anya was gone."
Areiel nodded.
"And then, when I had just got back here, she just…just…stood there at the door like nothing had happened! I was sure she had died!"
"Why?"
"Because they were gone. Because anything could have happened to both of them in this wretched city!"
"And especially when you wanted so very much to reconcile with Jaina that you had spent the better part of the day rebuilding the library for her."
"Yes! And then she just sauntered in and –" Sylvanas had to stop herself. She was unravelling, she was coming too close to the wrong sort of anger.
"I understand." Areiel just said. And Belore, she was smiling? Resigned, but still.
"You…understand?"
"For goodness' sake, I know you, Sylvanas Windrunner. Who the hell wouldn't have been out of her mind at such a time?"
"They had been at Windrunner Spire, Areiel." Sylvanas said weakly. "To bring me a present."
"Windrunner Spire?! How did they – no, stupid question, archmages go where archmages will…" Areiel still massaged her forehead fervently. "Anya barged in and started spouting all sorts of things about Loralen being found and Scourge or rogue banshees, that I must confess stole my attention fully. That…there were more of us, or perhaps could be. One day."
"They could have been killed!" Sylvanas nearly yelled, completely undeservedly at Areiel but she did it anyway. "They could have gotten themselves killed for a stupid, pointless trinket!"
"Your old necklace?" Areiel only just now caught the golden glimmer by Sylvanas' throat.
"Yes! And of course… Belore, it is no small thing, but what do I care about it if –"
Once again, Sylvanas bit down on the rest of what she wanted to scream out.
"…if one of them would have gotten hurt getting it." Areiel finished the sentence for her. "Those two… Sometimes it's like seeing Anya and Velonara at their worst again. With magic powers."
Sylvanas did not correct her on the wrongful use of present tense. Seeing Anya and Jaina together was a joy of the past.
"I didn't shout at her." Sylvanas spoke with some difficulty, hoarse and dry in her throat. "I didn't Wail. I told myself I mustn't Wail at her. It was all I could not to. I…I did not know what – which ones of all the scattered words that rushed through my mind that I spoke out loud and which ones I only said in my head. And then – I said – I did –"
"Oh, bloody hell…"
"I thought in my mind how – how those closest to me held meaning, not the gifts they brought. Like her. That Alleria's necklace meant nothing to me. In comparison. And instead -"
Sylvanas clenched her fists, she dug her nails into her palms beyond the point where it hurt. She spoke numbly, like every word was a verdict sealing her own doom.
" – instead I said, I think I said, that my own mage meant nothing to me…"
"Oh, Sylvanas…" Areiel sighed deeply, closing her eyes momentarily. "Is that what Jaina thinks now?"
"Not entirely. I can not know for sure." Sylvanas opened the most private of drawers and gave Areiel five much too read letters. "She caught on."
"She did…" Areiel mumbled as her brows rose when she read through the first. "You will have a great deal to explain to her. But we'll give you a hero's funeral."
"I'm not going to…"
"I am with our impertinent guests in that matter. Sylvanas. You need to make up with her, and with Anya. You will go mad if you do not, and you will eventually become a cruel queen I fear."
"I let –"
"You let the other band of turncoats go too. And if Jaina was not on your mind when you were making that decision you can call me a toad-headed gnoll." Sylvanas wanted to shy away from the way Areiel was looking at her. "You want to have Jaina and Anya back. Deep down I know you do. And they will want it too. Trust me, they will."
"I miss them…so much." The Banshee Queen's whisper was now barely audible. "I miss them so it hurts, even more than my scar. But I am afraid – I am terrified – that I will make everything worse and hurt either of them even more. I can not seem to do anything right."
In spite of it, she watched herself reaching for a sheet of paper. She was too weak to hold herself back. She was so very tired.
Jaina. Forgive me.
"You are doing it right just now."
Anya was sewing. She was not as good as Lyana with thread and needle, but what did it matter? The stitches would keep the hooded cloak from tearing more. It would hold together enough. Long enough to be of use.
Long enough to be of use.
For something.
Whatever that would be.
She thought she had found herself a suitably hidden and undisturbed nook. And she knew her way around the nooks of the Lordaeron Keep. So when the door creaked – deliberately, so someone wanted to announce his or her presence, because you only had to lift that door up to keep it quiet – she was almost becoming close to annoyed. But only almost.
For it didn't really matter.
Anya looked up, and saw Sylvanas of all people had come to disturb her. She tried her best to stare daggers at Sylvanas, and also at the stupid traitorous part inside her that tried to cry out false things that were very obviously not true.
Anya did not want Sylvanas to come here.
She did not.
"Hey." The Dark Lady was whispering. Like she was afraid of Anya.
"What do you want?"
"I have written a letter."
"So?"
"I am afraid that I will have said something wrong in it and that I will make it all worse when trying to make it better."
"What's that got to do with me?"
"I would…just want to beg you if you could proofread it for me." Sylvanas said, so low and faded that she was nearly inaudible.
Anya was about to bite again but Sylvanas offered her the letter and the intended words died on her lips.
"I could…I could finish the cloak while you are reading. If…you want?"
Jaina dumped her travelling pack on the upper floor. She was not especially tired for one who had just covered all those weeks of journeying across rough terrain. Or through it perhaps, however you should classify arcane portalling.
She was fretful. She could admit that and be honest with herself.
She really should unpack her things first. At least air those clothes and put her valuable items back where they belonged so she wouldn't step on anything by accident.
And she could do those things later too. And go straight to her study and close the door instead.
Jaina breathed in deeply. Her heart was hammering against her chest. How silly she was being.
The most…the most likely alternative was that there would be nothing. Like the previous times.
Once more she reached out with her mind and followed the lines and currents and paths she knew and could not explain completely to anyone else, further and further away. The long and winding path was becoming almost familiar to her. And there, so far away, shone Lordaeron with a small light that she had learned to recognize. It was a small dot in the wide world of Azeroth, not at all like the arcane beacon that was Dalaran atop its nexus of leylines. Like Theramore.
Just a half-sized portal. Set atop Jaina's own desk, for she thought that was suitable.
She looked into a dark room wherein she could see the paltry desk that the Banshee Queen had to contend herself with and the wall right next to it. Anything else was out of Jaina's view and the small light cast from her own room so far away. All was still and quiet.
But on that table stood a sack of sailcloth and next to it, so that someone looking at the desk should have a good chance to see it, a folded letter. The light was barely enough to illuminate the long and elegant handwriting of just two words.
To Jaina.
Jaina reached through to snatch the letter, quickly, for what if it would disappear into thin air the very next heartbeat, and hesitantly, for what if it would crumble to dust at the first touch? She put it on her own desk so very carefully and reached again for the sack of clothes that Pained had packed for her several months ago.
Only when she felt its weight against her leg and held the letter against her chest with both hands so nothing could happen to it dared Jaina let the portal close. She kept holding on to it while she opened her clothes sack. On top of everything, in a nest made of a spare shirt, lay a bundle of the finest square-patterned wool wrapped around something small and precious that Jaina knew exactly what it was. She put that on the bed next to her and managed to only tremble a little bit when she opened the letter.
The refined letters mirrored those on the address.
"Dear Lady Proudmoore,
Jaina ,
To my most admirable Ranger Mage ,
Dear Jaina,
I write to you to I wish to explain myself There is no beginning to this that
I do not know how to beginas you can see. Let me assure you first of all that I have received all five of your letters and keep them close at hand. I have read them until they risked falling apart and I knew them word by word.
I have not replied It is only out of concern fear of
I have not replied, solely out of fear that I would hurt you even more. Even as I write these words I dread that I will do so.
You deserve of course an explanation for thehideous despicable way I acted when we last spoke if one can call that speaking at all. You have every right reason to be angry with me. When you and Anya had gone missing I lost all sense and reason. I did not know if not know how long you had been gone and I feared you had both died in an accident inside the city or alone in some ambush in the wilderness around. I ran looking for you, everywhere in the Undercity that I could think of, and sent anyone I met to look elsewhere. Eventually I ran out of places to search and went back to my quarters to wait for the instance that someone would bring word about you. I was sure that I would never see you again and the last thing I had done would have been to betray and poison you. Then when you returned and just appeared as if out of the magic you wield it was all I could think of that I must not Wail or shout at you. And instead I only managed to utter some small and broken fragments of what I was thinking and which turned out more horribly wrong than any Wail could shouting could ever have been.
What I meant to say, what I was thinking more than anything and what I want to say now more than anything else, is that you do not mean nothing to me. My necklace, precious heirloom as it is, is what means nothing to me, in comparison to those I hold closest.
Like you.
And that, is what I believe I said backwards and wrong in every possible way and threw in your face when you have just risked your life to bring me a rare and thoughtful gift. I was raging inside over the danger you had put yourselves into for my sake and questioning whether my previous actions had provoked such a reckless course of action from the both of you. And instead of welcoming you back and cherishing the fact that you were alive and well I treated you in the coldest and cruellest way.
There is no excuse.
I do not think I deserve to ask for your forgiveness but I am truly, deeply sorry for all I have done to you. I would do anything I can to make it up to you but I fear to even put down these words here and now lest I cause you more misery.
Despite everything I still most humbly beg you to return if just for one more time to Lordaeron. Anya is inconsolable.
All that remains of my wretched heart breaks at seeing her so.
With my highest and most sincerely meant regard
Sylvanas"
Below was a line in a much simpler, almost childish, handwriting. At its end the ink was smeared into two splotches as if something had dripped on it before it dried.
"Please come back to us. I miss you so very very mu*h Ja*a"
It took all of Jaina's self-discipline not to conjure a second portal then and there. She held the letter reverently and read it again, and again, and again, until she finally allowed herself to give in to the realisation that it was not a mistake, that she had not misread or misunderstood.
She hardly even noticed the steps coming up the stairs and the cautious opening of her bedroom door. Not even the lingering scent of forest from Pained's hair.
"My Lady? Is something wrong?"
"No. Something is right. Something is right."
There was a difference in daytime between Lordaeron and Kalimdor. Jaina was not sure how great it was exactly but with Pained's help she had deduced that it should be nearly a day. Morning was evening and noon was night on the other side of Azeroth.
It was a good thing regular travelling took such a long time, so you had the chance to get used to the difference!
Be at the oaks on the west side by the third hour past noon.
Now it was early in the morning, so early that really only lunatics (Pained, Tyrande, Areiel) actually called it morning, and Jaina was up and fully awake and dressed and anything but her usual self.
She stood with her bodyguard in thick clothes by the docks where they had gauged the coming dawn and guessed what Lordaeron time would be like at this hour.
"I go first." Pained reminded her for the eleventh time.
"Yes." Jaina patiently agreed once more. "Don't trip on any root or something now. That would look silly."
Pained huffed and drew the sword she carried on her back. She nodded at Jaina who begun casting a portal, a big and nice and comfortable portal to go through even for night elves who were tall as trees.
Pained stepped through it at once. Jaina barely had time to catch a glimpse of anything but white, though whether it was more than the portal's sheen on the surroundings she could not say. The wait, even for the shortest of time, was excruciating.
"My Lady. You can come through. This place is safe."
Pained's tone let know that 'safe' was a view that was open to prompt amendment.
Jaina was through before she had finished her sentence and the portal closed behind her.
It was not the portal's light. The world itself was bright white.
Jaina stepped into a dream landscape of glimmering snow and glittering frost. It was the finest Lordaeron winter anyone could ask for, and judging by the low light it was past the afternoon.
Yet Jaina could not care less at the moment, for in front of her were eight shapes in dark cloaks who stood up to meet her. Jaina's ranger squadron together with Areiel and Cyndia and Velonara, without a single bow or blade between any of them. They were so still that they made Pained look outright harsh the way she kept her gaze fixed on all.
Who needed fire magic to become warm when all of them were here to meet her?
Sylvanas took a step forward and waited there. Waited for Jaina.
"Clea…my staff has missed your gentle touch." Jaina spoke almost absently as she let her mage staff fly into the dark ranger's hands.
Now they were both unarmed. And it mattered equally little. They could still destroy each other in the blink of an eye, should they ever want to.
"Sheathe your sword, Pained. We are safe here."
Jaina kept her eyes on Sylvanas. Then she knelt and bowed, slowly and deeply.
I am your friend, Sylvanas. Whatever else you do, do not fear me again or my magic. Please do not fear me.
Sylvanas mirrored her. Deadly serious.
What now? Shall we compare notes from the fascinating study of our boot-clad toes? Unless we are going to propose to one another? No, Tides, focus! You have one chance to set things right here and now!
Jaina wanted so much to say what she wanted to say, and now she faltered from lack of words.
Just like Sylvanas had.
Then she would do without them.
Jaina stood up, and took up Sylvanas' hand in hers. The Banshee Queen did not resist her, and Jaina placed it against her neck. Exposed. Vulnerable. Able to be snuffed out with just a squeeze from those fingers of unworldly strength. And safe.
Sylvanas' hand was so cold against her. Poor Dark Lady. Jaina clasped it with hers and looked up into Sylvanas' eyes. Now it did not feel so in a hurry to find those words. So of course they were at once easier to find.
"Someone wrote me a very nice letter." Jaina pressed Sylvanas' palm against her cheek where it was warmer. "I think that she was very brave in doing so. And I am very thankful that she did."
"Are you not…angry with her?" Sylvanas whispered.
"I have been and perhaps I am still. But I am infinitely more happy to see her again and I want to invite her to come to me in Theramore. With all her friends."
Sylvanas…shook. On a living woman her lower jaw may have trembled. This was something like it, but all of Sylvanas did. The Banshee Queen could smoke and blur with rage, when her banshee form wanted to consume her, but she never trembled. Until now.
"I think also that what I most of all will want to do is to forgive her and become friends again. But before I do anything else, there is a question that I have wanted to ask her from the first day we met."
"An-n-ything."
"Lady Windrunner, I believe your lieutenant is in acute need of a hug. Do I have your permission?
"Permission grant –"
Anya flew into Jaina's arms with a wounded scream.
Tides, did dark rangers have no one to keep them warm around here?! Anya burrowed into her, underneath her chin, into her winter robes. Jaina wanted her nowhere else. She wrapped her own ranger cloak around the precious elf in her arms and let arcane heat course through them.
Somewhere behind her, a Kaldorei blade finally slid back into it's sheath.
"Pained, this is Anya. She is…"
"…the sweetest thing I could imagine, I believe your exact words were."
Author's Note
Even foreign diplomats join the legions of bothersome botherers who pester Lordaeronian queens in the middle of their brooding, these days.
Sometimes enlisting the aid of outside consultants can enlighten an organisation by contributing to the bringing up of hitherto neglected points of view.
Sometimes they manage to say out loud what everyone already knew had to be said.
Sometimes they are just jokers bumbling around who seem to manage what they manage mostly by accident.
It is perhaps a matter of viewpoint.
Sylvanas was seeing Areiel and Kalira. A small meeting, like the ones that had preceded her proper council and then council of war. It was comfortable, even if there was little left of the normal old familiarity between them. Both were sensible enough to do what needed to be done regardless of what they personally felt about the situation, and brutally honest when they needed to.
Areiel, once her anger and disappointment had cooled, would always be there for the general if nothing else. Kalira was too strict to allow personal biases to tarnish her integrity, and would give her honest council no matter what she thought of the person receiving it. She was also not as familiar with why they had lost their archmage and reserved her judgement until she would be.
"The question remains, Dark Lady. We have the initiative still but it will slip between our fingers if we do not move soon. Either we move or we fall back and consolidate our positions but we need to come to a decision."
Belore, Kalira was all too right. But Sylvanas had no answer.
Hunt the Scourge, decimate the scattered remnants with the small scale raids and engagements that the Forsaken wanted to have? Any day.
Strengthen the trail to Dalaran and give her army the respite offered by fortifications and actual control over areas so that the defence could be planned and prepared and not a haphazard affair cobbled together on the spot? That should preferably have been done months ago.
"What of the Kirin Tor? They are ready to do their part, they tell us, but what is their part? What can we count on in practice?" Areiel raised the question to either of them.
It was a most relevant question, both of them were, and the answer to each was of course dependant on the other. Only Sylvanas did not have them.
She missed Anya. She always did but she buried herself in work yet now she even found herself missing Anya when at work. Her dark ranger would have said something that made everything seem so much clearer and plainer, or something with another angle completely of her own.
And Jaina…Jaina would have solved it all in a blink.
The truth was that there was no clear answer. Both options had strong reasoning behind them and it was the queen's call to make, which one they should choose and which dangers they would risk.
It was at that inopportune moment that they were disturbed by the firm knocks of her deathguards at the door.
"What?!" Sylvanas yelled.
"Apologies, My Queen. The dwarven emissaries request to see you. They are escorted by dark rangers."
What the hell was this now?
Whatever it was it would not leave her mind before she dealt with it anyway, so she may as well hope to get the issue out of the way here and now.
"Send them in!"
The dwarves looked unexpectedly well for living beings staying with a throng of living dead. Or strictly speaking they did not for that list only numbered four people so far and the Forsaken had in the end managed to keep each and every one healthy and fed, in spite of everything.
"Greetings, My Queen." Runar bowed elegantly with Halvdan following. "We would like to speak with you. Is this a suitable time?"
"No. Go ahead."
"You most generously offered us the choice of a reward in thanks for bringing Lady Alina her violin, so long as it did not harm or endanger your people or your allies."
Sylvanas, Areiel and Kalira had been sitting around a table in the small council chamber. Both of the others shifted their chairs so they could view the newcomers. Even Sylvanas found herself wondering what they would be playing at.
"And now we have decided what we would most of all like to ask for, and wish to cash in that reward."
"Being?"
"The same commodity as last time. Information. Knowledge is worth its weight in gold, or would be if it actually weighed something, correct?"
Sylvanas braced herself.
Not Jaina. Not Jaina. Not Jaina.
"We do, as any emissaries worth their salt and their malt, strive to get to know our graceful hosts and their predicament so as to more effectively aid our mutual interests. Naturally, the recent developments of Lordaeron have our full and awed attention. Consider us effectively astounded at the progress you have most evidently made. There are however things we do not quite grasp, which appear to us to be of great importance. And like the last time we find the missing piece of the puzzle that all others lead to in a certain name. We wish to hear everything there is to tell about Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore."
Sylvanas clenched her teeth together.
"That would concern strictly personal matters that are not for anyone outside to know about." Areiel made a good attempt at rebuffing the request even when caught by surprise. But even excluding strictly private details there were all too many that could very much be said to not be of exclusively personal interest.
"Dark Lady?" Kalira asked, perhaps whether Sylvanas wanted her troublesome visitors thrown out.
"So be it." Sylvanas agreed darkly. "I am a woman of my word. It will not harm my people to speak of this."
Only me.
***
Actually, Sylvanas had to admit that seeing the seasoned – or just slightly insane – dwarven envoy sputtering and gasping for air was a little bit entertaining.
"You kidnapped a foreign head of state?!"
"I did not kidnap her, Master Runar. The diplomatic mission to Theramore simply got a little out of hand and I ended up carrying her to my bed…I mean my hammock. Onboard. I could not leave her alone and unconscious on the docks in a stormy night."
"And the kid needed a nap anyway…" Areiel's voice was tinted with unmistakeable fondness as well as regret.
"You kidnapped a foreign head of state…" Runar echoed weakly. The way he leaned back in his chair brought to mind someone overcome with too much heat. "I need some air…"
"Indeed, a common trait of the living, I hear." Sylvanas said dryly.
"Let us take a break." Areiel suggested, and Runar and Halvdan marched out of the room to wrap their bearded heads around the finer points of Forsaken foreign relations.
Kalira, who had probably not heard the entirety of the sea journey retold except through Velonara's whimsical anecdotes, had listened with great interest too. She was harder to read than Areiel when it came to her opinion of what she was hearing.
"I am sorry, Dark Lady…" she begun with a strange wry face "…but my judgement is leaning towards that of our dwarven guests. I am inclined to agree that you seem to have indeed have kidnapped Lady Proudmoore. How you so managed to befriend her afterwards mystifies me."
Wasn't this…odd? Where had their habitual rivalry gone, Sylvanas wondered? Kalira only exuded genuine interest, and she did not lie. She was far too tough to have to and too honest to want to. In fact, come to think of it, it had been a long time now since Sylvanas had thought of her as a competitor first and a dependable comrade second.
More than that. A trustworthy friend?
Further reflection was cut short when the dwarves barged inside again.
"Alright. Instead of holding an audience the intended ally was carried unconscious aboard your ship. Well. These things happen." Runar said, still somewhat strangled. "Evidently. So let us continue. What happened next?"
It took a couple of hours, several dropping jaws and a pair of steadily rising eyebrows before Sylvanas had recounted the general chain of events that had led them to where they now were. Her listeners asked few questions, which were mostly about circumstances or terms they were unused to. They displayed a rather impressive, and loud, repertoire of swearing when Sylvanas told of the debacle of the Hearthglen negotiations and what had transpired with Cyndia, which she had to admit made them rise in her esteem.
The conclusion, though, was not easy to bring herself to share with them even in curt and sweeping terms. While she maintained that the blame rested squarely on her for how that disastrous conversation with Jaina had gone, she could not escape the unease that sharing anything intimate about Jaina brought her.
At least Runar and Halvdan did not nose around in that overly much, but stuck to more relevant particulars.
"May I ask…where do the two of you stand now, and what are the relations between Lordaeron and Theramore like after these events?"
Sylvanas remained silent. Brooding and dark.
Good question. Good luck discovering an answer to it.
"Have you had any contact at all?"
She could see Areiel and Kalira on the cusp of answering negatively and raised a hand to call for silence.
"She has written to me. I have not answered her letters."
The dwarves blinked, looked at each other, and back at her.
"But…why?"
"As for how our nations stand I will not relinquish the alliance with Theramore and I will strive to maintain peaceful relations with the Kirin Tor and preferably cooperation in defence against the Scourge." Sylvanas stated in a tone that brokered no disagreement. "I am fully convinced that Lady Proudmoore is of a similar mind."
"But why won't you bloody talk to her?!"
"It is for the best." Sylvanas let know that the discussion was over.
Areiel was watching her intently. Sylvanas was just about bracing herself for more admonishment, for further criticism. But there was none to be had from her ranger captain this time. Areiel looked…compassionate. Understanding.
Sylvanas bit down on her teeth. She did not want compassionate. She did not want understanding. She did not know how to deal with those right now.
And to tell the truth she was getting mighty fed up with dealing with these bearded interrogators who seemed to have such a difficulty grasping simple facts such as that Jaina Proudmoore should be kept at a safe distance from unreliable undead that would only hurt and disappoint her.
"…the best? How could it possibly be for the best?" Halvdan was looking at her like she was a moon that had turned green.
"If you necessarily must pry, I treated her badly and will not burden her with my company more than necessary." Speaking the words was like stone grating against stone. A wiser interlocutor would have taken the hint.
"So apologise and treat her good, then! Explain yourself, explain what happened, whatever you do –"
"You have had your answers as you have been promised. Was there anything else on behalf of Ironforge? Otherwise this audience is over."
The Dark Lady's tone was dangerous now. And both the dwarves made motions to rise.
"Coward." Halvdan said.
"Excuse me?" The icy whisper would send chills down the spine of anyone.
"You screwed up and now you are too afraid of worsening it to do what needs being done to set things right. Who wouldn't be? Still, coward."
"Jaina Proudmoore is a noble woman with a heart that Azeroth does not deserve! And I will die before I see it hurt again!"
"Is that what ye're waiting fer, holed up in here? I hope not, when so many loyal people are out there waiting fer you."
"You overstep!"
"Probably. The perks of diplomatic immunity, one needs to enjoy it while it lasts, right?" Halvdan grinned.
"Where such customs are honoured the ambassadors also tend to be less rude. Do not push your luck."
"Runar would heartily agree with ye. Although, one can also say, ye aint' heard nothing yet, Oh Queen."
"Oh, is that so?" Velonara and Kitala were not the only ones who could switch to a frightening amiability in a blink. "Well then, allow me to introduce you to an established local custom which all dark rangers could enlighten you about. In the Undercity everyone, even the queen, can be challenged to a round on the sand. We live in dangerous times as you know and even those whose trade is statecraft need to be prepared for all eventualities." Sylvanas growled.
Now she was really angry. She would do right for her people, she would put her own feelings aside and do her best to forget her personal wants and wishes as she was always prepared to do – but there were fucking limits to what she could endure! And the rangers were one thing but being subjected to steadily broader Loch Modan accents and insults of a pair of half-sized jesters like these two was more than a queen should have to stand for!
"Half an hour. No weapons." Sylvanas hissed. "Let us see whether that expensive outfit you dragged with you is just for show. Areiel can show you the way."
"I will be there promptly. Just need to change into something rougher." Halvdan smirked.
His appointed guide and Kalira glanced at each other.
"Dark Lady, don't you tend to need ambassadors in one piece to maintain the embassy?" Kalira cautioned.
"One will suffice. We have dwarves to spare." Sylvanas retorted with her gaze still fixed on Halvdan. "Don't be late."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
***
Half an hour had done little to soothe Sylvanas, quite the opposite in fact.
Write to Jaina.
What gave him the bloody right to so much as think of what she should do or not?!
The benches of her arena were filled almost to the brim despite the short notice. Rumours travelled fast among bored and gossip-hungry Forsaken apparently, especially ranger squadrons shadowing irritating foreign dignitaries.
She did not see Anya among them. It was no surprise, and in a way it was a relief. And it was also an aching hole inside her.
She rarely, no, hardly ever, saw Anya now.
A bitter loss that she would delight in taking out on that black-bearded fool! The dwarf was just appearing by the other side in a loose and long dark shirt.
Sylvanas would teach him a lasting lesson in royal courtesy.
"Ladies and gentlemen…" Areiel called out at this opportune moment. "…this is a friendly sparring match between allies to hone our skills to use against mutual enemies. Therefore, for those yet new to the practice, I would like to remind anyone that we do of course refrain from fatal or permanently crippling strikes. Since we are comrades-in-arms who may need one another's strength when we least expect it."
She managed to cast a very pointed look at Sylvanas while offering this introductory briefing.
"Begin!"
Sylvanas stalked her prey. Those short legs would suffice little against a Windrunner.
"Bring it on, beardling." she hissed at him.
"Show me what you've got, pointy –ear!"
Pointy-ear?
Sylvanas planted a kick against his shoulder. Halvdan grimaced but stayed otherwise unaffected.
"Half-Brain Blacksilver!"
The audience…cheered? Wild whistles and hooting had broken out, whether over the first hit of the match, the promising insults or the sheer audacity of a foreigner to challenge the Dark Lady. Whichever it was, it was good. A pointless distraction, but…it felt good. At least it was not scorn and detesting silence.
Sylvanas moved in for another attack but the dwarf was much quicker to react than she had honestly expected. Rather than dodging and avoiding like her rangers were trained to he crouched to take the quick succession of kicks on his arm, angled to deflect, and followed up by a serious attempt to grapple her foot.
Wasn't this getting almost interesting?
"Sylvanas Windbag."
Now just WHAT the heck was THAT?
The crowd roared with laughter while Halvdan stormed forward and let wild punches fly. But they were not so wild as to leave a lot of gaps in his guard either. Sylvanas danced out of reach like Anya would have – not now – and then she whipped up a sharp kick against his thigh for the trouble.
Legwork was undoubtedly the most convenient against targets of low stature.
"Carpet face!" Sylvanas shouted.
"Carpet muncher!"
For the shortest moment between moments everyone in the room doubted whether they had actually heard correctly. Then all the rows exploded and, well, dwarfed their previous bouts of merriment.
She was the Dark Lady. She was the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken and of Lordaeron. How dared that insolent, outrageous, scruffy-looking brigand of a –
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"Yes, that is also one way to put it." Halvdan grinned broadly.
Sylvanas lunged at him. Technique and style be damned, she needed no style to hammer that thug into the ground! But she was no less dangerous when she gave in to pure instinct and the dwarf back-pedalled before her with both arms raised in guard against the flurry of royal fists connecting from all directions.
"…or perhaps you have neglected your duties lately and that is why they are all so stiff and glum?" Halvdan panted. "Come on, if the thought has never crossed yer mind in this lovely company then ye're truly as dead as ye claim."
"There will be no need to tell Miniel of this conversation." he added quickly towards Runar.
Miniel?
Sylvanas' rangers laughed and clapped and whistled from the benches. And the noise was music to her. What did she fight and strive and suffer for if not for that?
Apart from putting uncouth scoundrels like that in their place, that is.
"Keep yer feet on the ground."
Sylvanas kicked his guard up into the air and followed up with a crushing punch right in the gut.
"CRACK."
"CLANG!"
She registered the two sounds at the very same time as her hand broke on the breastplate hidden inside the impractically loose shirt of her opponent. It rang like a bell as the dwarven rogue collapsed with a groan.
"Uuuh… That's more like it…"
Aching pain was beginning to shoot out from her hand. Sylvanas was just beginning to take notice. Belore damn that…
Then Areiel was there sticking a healing potion into her other hand and waving Lyana over to administer a similar one to Halvdan, who had managed to sit up and clutch his head with a pained expression. It gave Sylvanas just a little bit of satisfaction to see.
"In spite of common sense and reason, I still think we may need both of you idiots intact." The ranger captain shook her head at them while Sylvanas raised her flask in a toast and Halvdan unsteadily mimicked the gesture.
To be honest she actually felt calmer, as the potion coursed through her and at the very least dampened the ache considerably. She poured the last of it onto her knuckles and enjoyed its blissful chill and the strange sensation of her body regenerating as only the undead Sylvanas could. A lot of the anger had bled out of her and with it a good amount of ugly emotional strain and tension of other kind, if just for a moment.
It was almost like – but no, foreign dwarves were not supposed to know her, or any other of her people for that matter, well enough to predict what she needed. Or? Had they actually listened that much and that well to her dark rangers? They weren't supposed to want to come flying back to you across half of Lordaeron either after all.
How much of a pair of fools were really those two?
Sylvanas was not so sure anymore.
She still had a score to settle with them, but… Her mind was working swiftly as a devious thought formed. Since these fine gentlemen had voiced such a concern for her rangers' wellbeing…
"Well fought, Master Blacksilver." Sylvanas declaimed curtly. "For this remarkable feat of underhandedness and moving display of concern for my dark rangers, I name you Honorary Ranger Champion and order you to instruct them in the same. Effective immediately."
Areiel looked very, very oddly at her.
"Two conditions." Halvdan grunted, still sitting on the sand but not the least bit dazed anymore. He held up two fingers as he named them. "Hurt Runar, and I will remove the un in your un-death. Break Alina's violin, and I will break your bones."
He eyed her hand most pointedly.
Sylvanas stared at him.
"Why the hell would I do something like…"
She looked around, at all her rangers and the few guardsmen who had caught wind of the event in time.
Was this how they saw her these days?
"Rulers that deny themselves too much, they tend to start denying it to others too."
Nice. A week in my company and they fear me turning into a spiteful tyrant already. At least with my mage I retained the benefit of doubt for a couple of months.
The irony was sharp but it brought her no joy, thinking of her mage and what had transpired between them. Inconveniently enough she found herself looking right at Areiel, or if it was the other way around, before she struck the notion from her mind. She had ordered Alina's precious instrument enchanted and protected with all that her mages could muster, had she not? And she was only half done with these bearded jokers.
"Further…" Sylvanas retook control with just a little raising of her voice. "…since it is out of commission thanks to you two, I name you my acting right hand until further notice."
She pointed at Runar, and grinned inside at the shock that elicited.
Sylvanas' smile was predatory as he approached uneasily.
"We would do well to present a unified front if we are to earn the confidence of onlooking realms beyond our borders. In order to defeat our mutual enemies everyone has to pull their own weight. There is little room for any freeloaders in my city as you know…"
The dwarves looked worriedly at each other.
"First order of business will be...many."
Well, if that did not put them in their place suitably, Sylvanas noted with satisfaction. The eyes of all the crowd was on her now. She was in control. She was the Banshee Queen.
"Accepted. But I would like a ranger squadron as guard for something like that I think." Runar answered, still bewildered.
"Deal. Do not think you would have gone without one to keep watch over you in any case."
"And I also have one condition."
"Is there no end to it… Yes?"
"Write to her."
The Banshee Queen cast him a long glare. How long would they keep pestering her? And now Areiel was looking at her in that particularly discomforting way as well.
"Prepare to make yourself available to meet your assigned squadron tomorrow at noon." Sylvanas commanded.
"If at all possible, I would humbly request Kalira's squadron." Runar lowered his voice. "Now go answer those blasted letters from the nice lady in Theramore."
***
Sylvanas lengthened her stride a couple of corners away from the arena. So did the one following her.
"I know you are there, Ranger Captain. What do you need?" she said out loud.
"I need to talk to you. We need to talk to each other."
"You are right. I will send someone to fetch Kalira and we can – "
"Sylvanas. Stop." Areiel said with long-suffering patience.
Sylvanas let her catch up, not looking forward to anything that would be coming at all.
"Let's go to your quarters, shall we?" Areiel suggested.
They did that. It was not far anyway. Sylvanas took her usual seat at her desk – it was too rickety for her to really be sitting behind any desk – and Areiel sank down in one of the chairs in the sparse but still cramped little room.
"Sylvanas…I am sorry and I wish to apologise."
What?
Sylvanas was the one who apologised for things. Not Areiel to her.
"I am sorry for leaving you alone. When Jaina left I was furious with you, angry and disappointed. I may have had reason to be that, but that does not justify me staying away like this."
"I do not recall inviting you."
"No."
An empty bit of silence, it was.
"I am not convinced a greater dose of your personal company would have been overly healthy for me. Or so the left side of my ribcage tells me." Sylvanas shrugged, but even irony came out half-hearted.
"And you could have blocked that one with ease – don't pretend to be able to fool me – but you didn't. And that is where I should have broken that spectacle up. Blowing off steam or settling disputes on the sand is one thing, but when one of the parties lets herself take the hits she thinks she deserves to take it is another, and something that has no place in my ranger corps. Not even when it comes to thick-skulled Dark Ladies."
"Thick-skulled?" Sylvanas at least glared at Areiel.
"Quite." Areiel said carelessly. "And I if anyone should not be surprised."
Again they sat and looked at each other without words.
"What was it that happened, between you and Jaina?"
Areiel was not unkind.
And Sylvanas no longer had the energy to argue. There was no respite in anything any longer. She was so tired.
"I was looking everywhere for her. When we noticed that she was gone. And that Anya was gone."
Areiel nodded.
"And then, when I had just got back here, she just…just…stood there at the door like nothing had happened! I was sure she had died!"
"Why?"
"Because they were gone. Because anything could have happened to both of them in this wretched city!"
"And especially when you wanted so very much to reconcile with Jaina that you had spent the better part of the day rebuilding the library for her."
"Yes! And then she just sauntered in and –" Sylvanas had to stop herself. She was unravelling, she was coming too close to the wrong sort of anger.
"I understand." Areiel just said. And Belore, she was smiling? Resigned, but still.
"You…understand?"
"For goodness' sake, I know you, Sylvanas Windrunner. Who the hell wouldn't have been out of her mind at such a time?"
"They had been at Windrunner Spire, Areiel." Sylvanas said weakly. "To bring me a present."
"Windrunner Spire?! How did they – no, stupid question, archmages go where archmages will…" Areiel still massaged her forehead fervently. "Anya barged in and started spouting all sorts of things about Loralen being found and Scourge or rogue banshees, that I must confess stole my attention fully. That…there were more of us, or perhaps could be. One day."
"They could have been killed!" Sylvanas nearly yelled, completely undeservedly at Areiel but she did it anyway. "They could have gotten themselves killed for a stupid, pointless trinket!"
"Your old necklace?" Areiel only just now caught the golden glimmer by Sylvanas' throat.
"Yes! And of course… Belore, it is no small thing, but what do I care about it if –"
Once again, Sylvanas bit down on the rest of what she wanted to scream out.
"…if one of them would have gotten hurt getting it." Areiel finished the sentence for her. "Those two… Sometimes it's like seeing Anya and Velonara at their worst again. With magic powers."
Sylvanas did not correct her on the wrongful use of present tense. Seeing Anya and Jaina together was a joy of the past.
"I didn't shout at her." Sylvanas spoke with some difficulty, hoarse and dry in her throat. "I didn't Wail. I told myself I mustn't Wail at her. It was all I could not to. I…I did not know what – which ones of all the scattered words that rushed through my mind that I spoke out loud and which ones I only said in my head. And then – I said – I did –"
"Oh, bloody hell…"
"I thought in my mind how – how those closest to me held meaning, not the gifts they brought. Like her. That Alleria's necklace meant nothing to me. In comparison. And instead -"
Sylvanas clenched her fists, she dug her nails into her palms beyond the point where it hurt. She spoke numbly, like every word was a verdict sealing her own doom.
" – instead I said, I think I said, that my own mage meant nothing to me…"
"Oh, Sylvanas…" Areiel sighed deeply, closing her eyes momentarily. "Is that what Jaina thinks now?"
"Not entirely. I can not know for sure." Sylvanas opened the most private of drawers and gave Areiel five much too read letters. "She caught on."
"She did…" Areiel mumbled as her brows rose when she read through the first. "You will have a great deal to explain to her. But we'll give you a hero's funeral."
"I'm not going to…"
"I am with our impertinent guests in that matter. Sylvanas. You need to make up with her, and with Anya. You will go mad if you do not, and you will eventually become a cruel queen I fear."
"I let –"
"You let the other band of turncoats go too. And if Jaina was not on your mind when you were making that decision you can call me a toad-headed gnoll." Sylvanas wanted to shy away from the way Areiel was looking at her. "You want to have Jaina and Anya back. Deep down I know you do. And they will want it too. Trust me, they will."
"I miss them…so much." The Banshee Queen's whisper was now barely audible. "I miss them so it hurts, even more than my scar. But I am afraid – I am terrified – that I will make everything worse and hurt either of them even more. I can not seem to do anything right."
In spite of it, she watched herself reaching for a sheet of paper. She was too weak to hold herself back. She was so very tired.
Jaina. Forgive me.
"You are doing it right just now."
***
Anya was sewing. She was not as good as Lyana with thread and needle, but what did it matter? The stitches would keep the hooded cloak from tearing more. It would hold together enough. Long enough to be of use.
Long enough to be of use.
For something.
Whatever that would be.
She thought she had found herself a suitably hidden and undisturbed nook. And she knew her way around the nooks of the Lordaeron Keep. So when the door creaked – deliberately, so someone wanted to announce his or her presence, because you only had to lift that door up to keep it quiet – she was almost becoming close to annoyed. But only almost.
For it didn't really matter.
Anya looked up, and saw Sylvanas of all people had come to disturb her. She tried her best to stare daggers at Sylvanas, and also at the stupid traitorous part inside her that tried to cry out false things that were very obviously not true.
Anya did not want Sylvanas to come here.
She did not.
"Hey." The Dark Lady was whispering. Like she was afraid of Anya.
"What do you want?"
"I have written a letter."
"So?"
"I am afraid that I will have said something wrong in it and that I will make it all worse when trying to make it better."
"What's that got to do with me?"
"I would…just want to beg you if you could proofread it for me." Sylvanas said, so low and faded that she was nearly inaudible.
Anya was about to bite again but Sylvanas offered her the letter and the intended words died on her lips.
"I could…I could finish the cloak while you are reading. If…you want?"
***
Jaina dumped her travelling pack on the upper floor. She was not especially tired for one who had just covered all those weeks of journeying across rough terrain. Or through it perhaps, however you should classify arcane portalling.
She was fretful. She could admit that and be honest with herself.
She really should unpack her things first. At least air those clothes and put her valuable items back where they belonged so she wouldn't step on anything by accident.
And she could do those things later too. And go straight to her study and close the door instead.
Jaina breathed in deeply. Her heart was hammering against her chest. How silly she was being.
The most…the most likely alternative was that there would be nothing. Like the previous times.
Once more she reached out with her mind and followed the lines and currents and paths she knew and could not explain completely to anyone else, further and further away. The long and winding path was becoming almost familiar to her. And there, so far away, shone Lordaeron with a small light that she had learned to recognize. It was a small dot in the wide world of Azeroth, not at all like the arcane beacon that was Dalaran atop its nexus of leylines. Like Theramore.
Just a half-sized portal. Set atop Jaina's own desk, for she thought that was suitable.
She looked into a dark room wherein she could see the paltry desk that the Banshee Queen had to contend herself with and the wall right next to it. Anything else was out of Jaina's view and the small light cast from her own room so far away. All was still and quiet.
But on that table stood a sack of sailcloth and next to it, so that someone looking at the desk should have a good chance to see it, a folded letter. The light was barely enough to illuminate the long and elegant handwriting of just two words.
To Jaina.
Jaina reached through to snatch the letter, quickly, for what if it would disappear into thin air the very next heartbeat, and hesitantly, for what if it would crumble to dust at the first touch? She put it on her own desk so very carefully and reached again for the sack of clothes that Pained had packed for her several months ago.
Only when she felt its weight against her leg and held the letter against her chest with both hands so nothing could happen to it dared Jaina let the portal close. She kept holding on to it while she opened her clothes sack. On top of everything, in a nest made of a spare shirt, lay a bundle of the finest square-patterned wool wrapped around something small and precious that Jaina knew exactly what it was. She put that on the bed next to her and managed to only tremble a little bit when she opened the letter.
The refined letters mirrored those on the address.
"
Dear Jaina,
I do not know how to begin
I have not replied, solely out of fear that I would hurt you even more. Even as I write these words I dread that I will do so.
You deserve of course an explanation for the
What I meant to say, what I was thinking more than anything and what I want to say now more than anything else, is that you do not mean nothing to me. My necklace, precious heirloom as it is, is what means nothing to me, in comparison to those I hold closest.
Like you.
And that, is what I believe I said backwards and wrong in every possible way and threw in your face when you have just risked your life to bring me a rare and thoughtful gift. I was raging inside over the danger you had put yourselves into for my sake and questioning whether my previous actions had provoked such a reckless course of action from the both of you. And instead of welcoming you back and cherishing the fact that you were alive and well I treated you in the coldest and cruellest way.
There is no excuse.
I do not think I deserve to ask for your forgiveness but I am truly, deeply sorry for all I have done to you. I would do anything I can to make it up to you but I fear to even put down these words here and now lest I cause you more misery.
Despite everything I still most humbly beg you to return if just for one more time to Lordaeron. Anya is inconsolable.
All that remains of my wretched heart breaks at seeing her so.
With my highest and most sincerely meant regard
Sylvanas"
Below was a line in a much simpler, almost childish, handwriting. At its end the ink was smeared into two splotches as if something had dripped on it before it dried.
"Please come back to us. I miss you so very very mu*h Ja*a"
It took all of Jaina's self-discipline not to conjure a second portal then and there. She held the letter reverently and read it again, and again, and again, until she finally allowed herself to give in to the realisation that it was not a mistake, that she had not misread or misunderstood.
She hardly even noticed the steps coming up the stairs and the cautious opening of her bedroom door. Not even the lingering scent of forest from Pained's hair.
"My Lady? Is something wrong?"
"No. Something is right. Something is right."
***
There was a difference in daytime between Lordaeron and Kalimdor. Jaina was not sure how great it was exactly but with Pained's help she had deduced that it should be nearly a day. Morning was evening and noon was night on the other side of Azeroth.
It was a good thing regular travelling took such a long time, so you had the chance to get used to the difference!
Be at the oaks on the west side by the third hour past noon.
Now it was early in the morning, so early that really only lunatics (Pained, Tyrande, Areiel) actually called it morning, and Jaina was up and fully awake and dressed and anything but her usual self.
She stood with her bodyguard in thick clothes by the docks where they had gauged the coming dawn and guessed what Lordaeron time would be like at this hour.
"I go first." Pained reminded her for the eleventh time.
"Yes." Jaina patiently agreed once more. "Don't trip on any root or something now. That would look silly."
Pained huffed and drew the sword she carried on her back. She nodded at Jaina who begun casting a portal, a big and nice and comfortable portal to go through even for night elves who were tall as trees.
Pained stepped through it at once. Jaina barely had time to catch a glimpse of anything but white, though whether it was more than the portal's sheen on the surroundings she could not say. The wait, even for the shortest of time, was excruciating.
"My Lady. You can come through. This place is safe."
Pained's tone let know that 'safe' was a view that was open to prompt amendment.
Jaina was through before she had finished her sentence and the portal closed behind her.
It was not the portal's light. The world itself was bright white.
Jaina stepped into a dream landscape of glimmering snow and glittering frost. It was the finest Lordaeron winter anyone could ask for, and judging by the low light it was past the afternoon.
Yet Jaina could not care less at the moment, for in front of her were eight shapes in dark cloaks who stood up to meet her. Jaina's ranger squadron together with Areiel and Cyndia and Velonara, without a single bow or blade between any of them. They were so still that they made Pained look outright harsh the way she kept her gaze fixed on all.
Who needed fire magic to become warm when all of them were here to meet her?
Sylvanas took a step forward and waited there. Waited for Jaina.
"Clea…my staff has missed your gentle touch." Jaina spoke almost absently as she let her mage staff fly into the dark ranger's hands.
Now they were both unarmed. And it mattered equally little. They could still destroy each other in the blink of an eye, should they ever want to.
"Sheathe your sword, Pained. We are safe here."
Jaina kept her eyes on Sylvanas. Then she knelt and bowed, slowly and deeply.
I am your friend, Sylvanas. Whatever else you do, do not fear me again or my magic. Please do not fear me.
Sylvanas mirrored her. Deadly serious.
What now? Shall we compare notes from the fascinating study of our boot-clad toes? Unless we are going to propose to one another? No, Tides, focus! You have one chance to set things right here and now!
Jaina wanted so much to say what she wanted to say, and now she faltered from lack of words.
Just like Sylvanas had.
Then she would do without them.
Jaina stood up, and took up Sylvanas' hand in hers. The Banshee Queen did not resist her, and Jaina placed it against her neck. Exposed. Vulnerable. Able to be snuffed out with just a squeeze from those fingers of unworldly strength. And safe.
Sylvanas' hand was so cold against her. Poor Dark Lady. Jaina clasped it with hers and looked up into Sylvanas' eyes. Now it did not feel so in a hurry to find those words. So of course they were at once easier to find.
"Someone wrote me a very nice letter." Jaina pressed Sylvanas' palm against her cheek where it was warmer. "I think that she was very brave in doing so. And I am very thankful that she did."
"Are you not…angry with her?" Sylvanas whispered.
"I have been and perhaps I am still. But I am infinitely more happy to see her again and I want to invite her to come to me in Theramore. With all her friends."
Sylvanas…shook. On a living woman her lower jaw may have trembled. This was something like it, but all of Sylvanas did. The Banshee Queen could smoke and blur with rage, when her banshee form wanted to consume her, but she never trembled. Until now.
"I think also that what I most of all will want to do is to forgive her and become friends again. But before I do anything else, there is a question that I have wanted to ask her from the first day we met."
"An-n-ything."
"Lady Windrunner, I believe your lieutenant is in acute need of a hug. Do I have your permission?
"Permission grant –"
Anya flew into Jaina's arms with a wounded scream.
Tides, did dark rangers have no one to keep them warm around here?! Anya burrowed into her, underneath her chin, into her winter robes. Jaina wanted her nowhere else. She wrapped her own ranger cloak around the precious elf in her arms and let arcane heat course through them.
Somewhere behind her, a Kaldorei blade finally slid back into it's sheath.
"Pained, this is Anya. She is…"
"…the sweetest thing I could imagine, I believe your exact words were."
Author's Note
Halvdan: But, but I don't WANT to be grumpy and demeaning to all new recruits! It's really not my…style!
Areiel: Sorry, but regulations are regulations. Ranger Lords and Champions are required to maintain the regimented mannerisms and decorum at all time.
Runar: Now I feel like I got off lightly.
Velonara: Yeah, a dwarven Hand to an impulsive and grouchy Queen in geopolitically volatile circumstances, what could POSSIBLY go wrong…?
Miniel is an elf from far, far away that Runar and Halvdan met during earlier adventures. At first when she was rather small. Halvdan thinks of her as something of a pointy-eared niece.
I have been looking forward to writing this duel of words and fists for a looong time. Dwarven diplomacy for all!
Also, I note that there are now 300 subscribers to My Dread Lady. I hope that wherever you are you will keep enjoying it.
Kalira: Dark rangers! What is your profession!
Velonara: Carpet munching and bareback riding of wild stallions!
Cyndia: Oh, shut it…just friends…
Naras: AHU-AHU-AHU!
Kalira: "Facepalm"
Irizadan: Leave antiquated spear fighting to the professionals.
Last of all, I hope you will excuse me for the slightly spoilering action when I now state that this chapter marks the definite end of the Lordaeron arc of the story and the definite beginning of the Theramore arc, where there will be no more emotional disasters between Jaina and Sylvanas because this story has definitely had its fill of those.
Now they can instead look forward to the delightful supreme awkwardness of tiptoeing around each other in fear of doing or saying the wrong thing.
Areiel: Sorry, but regulations are regulations. Ranger Lords and Champions are required to maintain the regimented mannerisms and decorum at all time.
Runar: Now I feel like I got off lightly.
Velonara: Yeah, a dwarven Hand to an impulsive and grouchy Queen in geopolitically volatile circumstances, what could POSSIBLY go wrong…?
Miniel is an elf from far, far away that Runar and Halvdan met during earlier adventures. At first when she was rather small. Halvdan thinks of her as something of a pointy-eared niece.
I have been looking forward to writing this duel of words and fists for a looong time. Dwarven diplomacy for all!
Also, I note that there are now 300 subscribers to My Dread Lady. I hope that wherever you are you will keep enjoying it.
Kalira: Dark rangers! What is your profession!
Velonara: Carpet munching and bareback riding of wild stallions!
Cyndia: Oh, shut it…just friends…
Naras: AHU-AHU-AHU!
Kalira: "Facepalm"
Irizadan: Leave antiquated spear fighting to the professionals.
Last of all, I hope you will excuse me for the slightly spoilering action when I now state that this chapter marks the definite end of the Lordaeron arc of the story and the definite beginning of the Theramore arc, where there will be no more emotional disasters between Jaina and Sylvanas because this story has definitely had its fill of those.
Now they can instead look forward to the delightful supreme awkwardness of tiptoeing around each other in fear of doing or saying the wrong thing.
*Jaina, thinking to herself three seconds later*
"Huh, the Undead can get warmer if you make them blush hard enough. Wait, how is she blushing at all? Necromancy is so weird..."
Yay for the return of warm fluffies! Actual communication for the win! Clearly Sylvanas should punch diplomats more often! Wait, what? Anyway, thanks for the chapter!
Sylvanas is an expert of Aggressive Negotiations after all.
Pleased to be of service!
Sylvanas: 'Rubs hands'
Dwarves: Ahem, let us not tarnish the experience by exchanging the deliciousness of novelty with the mundanity of repetiotion and routine...
Anya: Come on now, we have to go packing to go and see Jaina. Bring lots of dark purple.
Areiel: I hope this actual communication thing will get easier with time...
Sylvanas: It is called Diplomatic Solutions, I will have you all know!
Ah yes, The Negotiator!
Ranger-General Sylvanas Windrunner, we've been expecting you!
And Jaina Proudmoore, for someone of your reputation, I expected you to be a little... older.*
*Her appearance post-Theramore mana bomb gives off the look of Jaina becoming an old lady, a very cranky old lady.
Chapter 44: Olympics and Overlords
Chapter 44: Olympics and Overlords
Jaina wants to make everything right when inviting the Forsaken to Theramore. The first step is to make sure the Horde neighbours do not get any funny ideas about it, and while she is at it she could make a point of re-establishing the badly damaged relations between them. Not to mention what a brilliant opportunity it would be to talk timbers.
How though, can she make a gathering of hotheads play nice? That last visit of the Forsaken to Theramore ended in a Wail after all…
Perhaps a bit of games for champions eager to put their peers into place and the hooting hooligans who cheer on them?
Let the Kalimdor Olympics begin!
It is winter in Lordaeron, windy in Theramore, but the sun shines over inland Kalimdor.
Sylvanas had heard many astonishing things from Jaina but she wondered if this one would not trump them all.
Jaina wanted them to come to Theramore. A lot of them anyway, whoever wanted to. Sylvanas intended to oblige her. She would hardly deny Jaina anything right now and in all honesty there was not much she was good for in Lordaeron right now. She guessed it showed and that her rangers and councillors would have noticed by now. All she wanted was to truly make things right again, somehow, for Jaina and for Anya. Everything else could wait.
But of course it could not really wait because the world had the bad habit of not leaving you alone when it needed to. But maybe even the queen could allow herself to get away with delegating a bit.
"Dark Lady? You wanted a word?" Kalira asked.
"Yes, Kalira. You are aware of Lady Proudmoore's invitation. I intend to accept it and visit Theramore...properly..." At that Kalira to hide a smirk. "...along with those who wish to accompany me, within reason. I am going to take a full ranger company with me as guard."
"Something tells me you will not have to look far for volunteers there at least."
"While I am gone I need to delegate vital tasks. I am going to put the Baron as overall commander of our armies, but in practice it will be the northern half of our territory and forces that can be coordinated within any reason. As things stand now."
"Without portals when and where we need them." Kalira spelled it out. "One could get used to that convenience."
"Yes." And to the company of those that cast them, which one should never start taking for granted. "Our southern holdings need independent governance in close cooperation with Dalaran if possible, and with our main force of course. I require someone who can command by herself and has experience working with our general as well as meeting the wizards."
"That sounds reasonable...WAIT -"
"Excellent." Sylvanas interrupted her. "You are on."
"What about Areiel?"
"She will never let me go alone, and I need her to command the rangers as they hopefully lend aid to Theramore."
"Ah. I...see." Kalira obviously wrestled with something difficult. "I am ready to serve of course, Dark Lady. But my recent stewardship of our capital may be called into question."
"I threw you into an untenable position with lacking resources, meagre ground to manoeuvre on and faulty intelligence. You held as well as anyone could. That is exactly the sort of ability we will need in the south if the Scourge moves and I will reserve the right to throw any questions of your leadership into the nearest midden heap."
How strange it was, in a way, to be defending Kalira of all people against herself.
"I can only hope this will end better, then. I stand ready if that is your will, Dark Lady."
"You will have some reinforcements for your squadron for this assignment. Our dwarven diplomat ought to come with you. As a living front and middle sized middle man to present if needed."
"That should amuse my rangers if nothing else. Though I do not begrudge them that. When do we set out? Tonight?"
"Not quite yet. Lady Proudmoore has a...rather specific event planned that intended to ask you to be part of."
Kalira looked quizzically at her.
"The situation between Theramore and the Horde in neighbouring Durotar is somewhat strained. In order to avert any suspicions and brewing mistrust that me coming there would spark, and to take the opportunity to bridge diplomatic gaps, she intends to call their Warchief as well as a delegation from us to a preceding meeting."
"That does indeed sound like Lady Proudmoore. I hope they prove more worthy of her trust than the Scarlets did."
"If not, they will learn to regret it. But she wishes for each of the three sides to come with a retinue of a dozen. I would like to invite you and your rangers, along with the Mirrahs I think."
"An honour guard?"
"Only partially. She has a very particular idea of how to bring our three sides closer together and open the door for more serious negotiations. She is meeting their Warchief right now."
As Sylvanas begun to explain Kalira begun to grin, wider and wider.
Sylvanas couldn't quite manage to be caught up in her expectant mood.
Jaina was away again. Not gone. Not gone like that.
Sylvanas would not hinder her. She would trust Jaina, always from now on. But she still already missed her mage enough for it to hurt inside. Somewhere close to where her heart had once beat.
Just until tomorrow if all went according to plan.
Sylvanas should follow the example of her own squadron.
Anya was not sad anymore. She was packing. Packing everything she could think of that an archmage on the other side of the world might have need of. Which was a lot in Anya Eversong's opinion.
Things...were not exactly good between them yet. But Sylvanas could still go and ask if there was something Anya wanted her to bring. That she could do.
The sun could still make the air of Durotar dazzle even if Jaina Proudmoore was used to regard this time of year as winter. The climate of central Kalimdor meant that they were now in the stormy season of the year and it was an apt description of the relations between the nations on the western side of the sea.
Orcs craved lumber for their cities and settlements, night elves craved that that lumber be harvested somewhere that was not Ashenvale. Taurens wanted Mulgore for themselves, or at the very least for anyone who was not a centaur. Centaurs wanted Mulgore for the opposite reason and razormane tribes all across the land wanted every interloper kicked out into the sea they came from. Trolls wanted a place of their own and to absolutely not have anything to do with legendary arch-enemies of their distant cousins who would shortly be arriving. That they were now undead and shunned by the living elves would not go far in making the Darkspear tribe friendlier.
And the Forsaken wanted allies.
Jaina was sitting on a rock by the roadside, flanked by Pained. He night elf bodyguard did rarely let her out of sight for a moment nowadays. Jaina considered herself lucky that she was allowed to use the bathroom on her own. Being a head of state did not grant you all the decision-making powers you might be fooled into thinking it did.
"I still think you could have brought your parasol, My Lady." Pained commented with a wary look at the midday sun.
"Don't coddle me, I can deal with the heat perfectly well." Jaina underlined her point by insulting the local elements with a most unseasonally cool conjured gust of wind. Even Pained relaxed and leaned forward into it.
"I do not doubt your arcane abilities of heat regulation, but they will not spare you from the rays of the sun. I have been told that the native races of the Horde tended to call you humans 'pinkskins', however you are well on your way to changing that moniker to 'redskins' instead. Or at the very least 'redcheek' or 'redneck'."
Jaina gave her a long look but ruined it completely by blushing and inadvertently proving Pained's point. It was true that she had been going redder and redder these last couple of days, but the sun had only a small bit to do with it. She had been pursued by dream after dream of the most outrageous kinds that did not bear repeating in public.
Or in the company of your bodyguard in the middle of the Kalimdorian desert for that matter.
"That would be them." Pained noted calmly.
She pointed at a dust cloud that appeared out of a bend of the road ahead. Out of the cover of a ridge of sandstone cliffs appeared half a dozen blurry shapes that grew into riders, with the added detail of being twice the size of any usual riders and their mounts being particularly huge wolves.
Jaina rose and stretched her arms eagerly. She sent up a spell of frost that coalesced into a gigantic, glittering snowflake that exploded in a cascade of ice dust above her. The wolf riders were the Horde's scouts and she should not expect them to have any trouble spotting her, but it never hurt to be extra polite. Rarely hurt, anyway.
The orcs reined in their mounts at a safe distance from her and only the middle rider proceeded. Jaina likewise started to walk with Pained watching her like a very uncomfortable hawk behind her.
She had had her misgivings about this, but they quieted when she could make out the details of her counterpart.
As if the sight of the average orc warrior was not awe-inspiring enough, the black armour of absurd weight and the maul – which orcs stubbornly insisted on calling a hammer – of legendary and quite concrete power hanging by the belt should be, and was, quite enough to send seasoned veterans and ferocious beasts running. But Jaina only smiled. Ever since they had been brought together on that strange and unforgettable day at Stonetalon Peak, she had never been afraid of Thrall. And she found just now how much she had missed him. They had parted as allies last time but with Jaina left fatherless and perceived a traitor by a great part of the Alliance and Theramore, including her remaining family.
People had fallen out over less.
The Warchief dismounted and only caused a small tremor when her landed on the ground.
"Jaina." he rumbled in the orc version of wishing 'good day'. "It is an honour."
Was he going to be like that again? It was understandable of course. But Jaina wouldn't have it. She threw out her arms wide and walked briskly up and hugged the orc's belly.
"Thrall. I've missed you."
Even through the thick layer of steel, she could feel how something, some all-encompassing tension, left the orc and he breathed out long and hard.
"And I you. I had feared that the last spring would have claimed our friendship along with everyone else it took from us."
"I don't want it to have."
A huge pair of arms very gently returned her embrace and held her protectively close.
"I swore that we would leave your city in peace. I can only imagine the hardships you must have endured since that day."
"You were right to stay away." Jaina nodded against his chest. "Anything else would only have stirred up the bad blood again."
"Yet today is another day?"
"Perhaps not really. But things are about to change and we can not afford to be constrained by old feuds and past deeds. I will have to trust my people to either see that or trust me to do the right thing."
"Even your night elven bodyguard?"
Jaina glanced back at Pained.
"I didn't say she was my personal bodyguard."
Thrall chuckled.
"There is that special way that aged retainers reserve for those placed in their charge. Or concerned parents, I am told."
Jaina was about to retort with something snappy but hesitated. Thrall was casual enough but Jaina knew that underneath it lay a bleak truth. He had never gotten to know his parents.
Thrall released his hold of her and held out his hands in plain visibility at either side.
"See? No Doomhammer here."
Jaina snorted.
"That would be more reassuring coming from someone who could not crush me with his bare hands or call lightning from the sky."
"The Earth-Mother would smite me with a lightning bolt to the head for even contemplating harming you." Thrall smiled.
"Hmm… How about your side then? How do people in the Horde feel about you meeting me?"
"Why don't you ask my closest advisor?" The Warchief grinned, which was somewhat ominous when you had teeth of that magnitude, and nodded towards the great black wolf sitting nearby and keeping careful watch over them.
Jaina had to lean to the side to get a good look.
"B… Blacknose!" She beamed with all her face at the grim beast and knelt down with her arms wide open.
"'Blacknose'…" Thrall huffed. "Of all possible nicknames that is what the brightest of archmages comes up with?" He shook his head and grinned while his wolf growled threateningly as he stalked closer and closer towards Jaina.
It only made Jaina's smile widen.
"You don't fool me, I can see your tail wagging!"
The wolf jumped for her throat.
The next moment Jaina was lying on the ground and laughing while Blacknose sniffed and licked her over the face while she tried in vain to counter by scratching his ears.
"Help! Thrall, you need to feed him more, he's eating me whole!" she screamed and giggled. Jaina finally managed to wrestle herself to a position where she could pull Blacknose down and bury her own nose into the fur of his neck. Maybe the wolf was letting her win just a tiny bit.
"Seems like more than me have been missing you…" Thrall grunted and sat down. "Why were we really supposed to meet in the middle of the day out in the open like this?"
"Uhm, I guess I thought I wanted you to see me as easily as possible. You know, the opposite of making it look like some kind of ambush." Jaina eyed his heavy plate a little guiltily. "Sorry."
"Ha! We don't sweat and shiver as easily as you humans." Thrall leaned back against a stone and Jaina against the other side of it with Blacknose's huge head in her lap. She conjured a fresh breeze for the three of them while finally getting to give him a good scratching.
"Well, that's good to hear since you insist on lugging this iron mine around." Jaina reached out with her free hand to knock on his breastplate. It rung a bit like a town bell.
"This armour is a piece of my people's history. You can not even begin to make me imagine you would have forgotten about that." Thrall propped one foot up on the other and clasped his hands over his iron-clad stomach. "Things are changing, you said?"
"You have read my letters? About the Forsaken?"
"I have. Are they coming here?"
"Their queen is. And her retinue."
"Sylvanas Windrunner… I understand you know her?"
"Something like that, yes."
"What is she like?"
"She… Not like your ordinary queen. I think you need to meet her to get the idea."
"Forgive me, Jaina, but what is an 'ordinary' queen of the undead like?"
"Point taken. You know, Thrall, you don't seem nearly as shocked by the idea as I had feared. If you don't mind me saying?"
The Warchief let some time pass before he answered.
"We were once like them. Pawns to be moved and used and discarded by our demon overlords. And Grom, he was one of the very worst of us when it came to that. And still he was a good friend and like a brother to me. And still he freed us all in the end." Thrall sighed, sounding only like a small bellows. "I would not mourn if I never had to lay eyes upon anything undead for the rest of my days, but if they are now truly their own again after being the Lich King's slaves, they deserve a fair chance. If I would be fool enough to cast away someone who may become our allies because of their past, then Grom's death has taught me nothing."
It sounded so simple. Maybe it truly could be that simple.
"I will not pretend I don't have a stake of my own in this. I would like it to be the beginning of something new, and better, between Theramore and the Horde too. We can't keep pretending the other one does not exist, even exempting the new development that the Forsaken represent and our mutual need to stand united against the Scourge. The Lich King will come for us all. One day."
"My people will not relish more contact with the Alliance anytime soon…" There was a moment of silence again. "Rexxar, when he asked you to remember your father as the proud warrior he was, I am starting to think that he spoke to all of us. And perhaps he had the right of it."
Jaina held Blacknose tightly and blinked. And blinked some more.
"I can never condone or forgive what he did, hunting and persecuting my kind. But I can recognise that he was also the man that gave rise to someone like you and he can not have been altogether bad. For that alone I wish it could have ended in a better way and we could have taken him alive." Thrall turned to her. "The Horde, so long as I remain Warchief, will not be dragged down by its past. We will seek common ground with you, Jaina. Anything else will lead to ruin."
"Thank you, Thrall." she said lowly.
"That said, how do you propose we make either side refrain from hacking the other to pieces long enough to actually listen to anything? We will need more people than you and me getting used to the idea of talking to each other. And to the Forsaken for that matter."
"Well, I was having this idea…"
"No! That one goes there and that one goes there!" Jaina called out to her scurrying staff of Theramorian champions. She was stressed, there was no question about it. "And someone take that command tent down! We are going to emanate equality here."
Jaina's command tent, or rather the staff tent of Theramore's guard, was an elaborate elven pavillion of high quality as well as artistry. Tides, if her soon-to-be-here Horde guests caught sight of that thing...
"And please arrange these benches around the fire pit, not in some isolated little archipelago of separate islands! Seriously, we can't have more of this kind of bullshit and -"
Jaina breathed out and rubbed her forehead vigorously as her eleven retainers took a step back with alarmed looks at her while steadily rising tremors in the ground caught her notice.
"- and Cairne Bloodhoof is standing right behind me, isn't he?"
Lieutenant Hornblower nodded with a slightly quasy look while Pained grimaced. Jaina turned around and prepared to offer some suitable apology. Her head on a silver platter perhaps.
"Ishnu'porah, Jaina!" the ancient tauren chieftain rumbled. "I fully agree! We would not want any bullshit around here if we can avoid it!"
"Hello, Cairne." Jaina said apologetically and half wished she could evaporate into some discreet puff of smoke.
Cairne leaned in closer with something of a haunted gleam from his eyes as he mumbled through clenched jaws.
"Grand-nephews... My old bones ache!"
Jaina cleared her throat.
"Ahem, greetings. Welcome, everyone. It is an honour to meet you all here."
Thrall tried to keep a straight face but the trouble with orcs raised - for lack of a better term - among humans was that they tended to catch on to human quirks a little too well.
"It is good to be here, Jaina. I look forward to this meeting with great interest."
"You're not the only one..." Jaina mumbled out of the corner of her mouth.
With Thrall were a couple of tauren, and orcs and trolls of all sizes. On second thought that meant large to huge sizes, and all of them managing to pack even more than the already nigh ridiculous amount of muscle of their kinds. Apart from Thrall and Cairne were new tusked faces everywhere. Most were lightly clad and armoured - Kalimdor was unsafe at the best of times - apart from Thrall and a senior orc that he introduced as High Overlord Varok Saurfang.
"What is that, an elven outhouse?" the high overlord chuckled at Jaina's pavillion just as she had started to hope that she might be off the hook.
"Quiet, Varok." Thrall grunted.
Jaina had (intended to) grouped the makeshift benches made of rocks and logs so that each contingent would face each other around the centre where they could light fires and cook food for the two thirds who ate. Jaina's contingent, or Theramore's rather, consisted of herself and Pained and a certain guard patrol that had had the honour of being the first to encounter the Forsaken during their previous visit. Lieutenant Hornblower would take no refusal and Pained had pointed out that it was a sound choice. They were far from the worst at their trade and also, if they could be swayed to look upon the undead a little kinder it would do a lot as an example to the rest of the city. Furthermore in her team were a few other prominent Theramorians, among them Master Oddricht who would not want to miss this promising curiosity for anything.
Jaina had underlined very thoroughly that this was to be a civil gathering. There would be no rematch of the dockside debacle nor harsh words about the matter, which was closed. She had however then instructed him to pick his team with care because they would show all the hoarders and scream queens during this and the coming day. To that, Hornblower had saluted most eagerly.
And he had done his job, Jaina thought as she looked at her team. Her Theramorians. Human, elf, dwarf and gnome even, they were each tough as nails and had proven their worth uncountable times. They had raised a city of stone from bare rock and marshlands in the middle of nowhere. They had wrought a better future for themselves and all who would want to come. And, well, while they may not be as tall as their neighbours, it showed. Not least when the majority had dispensed with shirts and tunics while setting up the small campsite.
Introductions, or presentations, of Theramore and the Horde went alright which meant no weapons were drawn and no blood feuds declared. Now they just awaited the third party which Jaina had asked to wait a little further away and out of sight. Since the sight of them could be a tad overwhelming.
It was a tad overwhelming. Though not as Jaina had anticipated.
Sylvanas had brought only dark rangers. Jaina was not sure if that was good or bad but it was Sylvanas' decision and she was sure the Dark Lady had good reasons for it.
It was obviously good in that all the rangers were the most intact Forsaken and the least likely to induce shock my mere appearance. And her Theramorian team had met only rangers last time after all, and it was perhaps a good idea then to sort out any aversion to them first and foremost. As for the Horde they had equal reason to despise humans, elves and undead so, well...
Perhaps the most important thing was that Sylvanas knew all her rangers well. She would be able to take appropriate steps to make them all act...
"Tastingo! Da spirits be telling me I be spying da big bad Warchief over there, mon."
...appropriately?!
Jaina nearly fainted, or thought she would. Even disregarding the small fact that they were at a sensitive diplomatic meeting between otherwise technically almost hostile nations, that was the cringiest imitation of darkspear troll accentuated Common she had possibly ever heard.
"Dat big and mighty armour of his be making it clear as da witchy doctor's tea, mon. You should be getting one too, Dark Chieftain Lady. You be asking da big bad Warchief if you could trade garments, yes?" Velonara continued to suggest.
Jaina's knees buckled. This would be the shortest negotiations in history.
She turned around to look straight at one dozen dark rangers burnished to a sheen, Banshee Queen and resident brat catastrophe included. Sylvanas glared at her irreverent subordinate and then met Thrall's gaze. It was completely out of place, idiotic, and plain wrong, but in her nervous and calamity-expecting state Jaina could not help but picture Sylvanas inside Thrall's armour, peeking out of the breastplate like a turtle out of its shell. Or if Thrall somehow would manage to fit into Sylvanas' pants and...chest buckles...
She couldn't help it. Tides, she couldn't.
Jaina collapsed in unstoppable giggles, but she was for once not alone in doing so. All across the three factions disbelieving astonishment gave way to snickering, and chuckling, and all the universal expressions of ill-timed but genuine and honest amusement.
Thrall weathered the storm patiently with crossed arms. Not even his high overlord made any attempt to cover his toothy grin.
"Queen Sylvanas Windrunner." Thrall greeted his peer.
"Warchief Thrall." Sylvanas bowed her head politely. "You are shorter than I expected."
For the love of mana!
But Thrall took the banter with good nature.
"You are just as short as I expected. I see your scouts are as unruly as mine."
"Barely house-trained, on the best of days. And that was before they all went and died on me." Sylvanas quipped without missing a beat. "Now there is no rest for the wicked in all of Lordaeron."
Well.
Now they were assembled. And in one piece still.
A dozen well tended pieces in the case of the Forsaken team. Every buckle and pauldron was glimmering, every boot was polished to a sheen. Jaina, who knew what to look for, could even trace the stitched tears and frays that Lyana would have been at on their cloaks.
And, ahem, Jaina was here to head an important gathering and not stare.
Not that she was.
She was just more conscious than usual of the state of her own ranger boots and how very...form-fitting the dark ranger uniform was.
That was all.
"Ladies and gentlemen! I am pleased to be able to greet you all here today and open the first day of Kalimdorian Games." Jaina declared. "Food and drinks for all who want it is available while Lady Windrunner, Warchief Thrall and myself decide on the order of today's contests."
Yes, games.
It was Jaina's master plan. They would meet and beat the sense out of each other in civilised ways on the field of games instead of battle. They had gathered here, in a sheltered groove with an actual river next to it and away from the winds of the coast as well as the blistering heat inland. It offered both good ground and good water for strenuous pastimes.
For two days the three teams would face off in in six competitions, each side nominating two, and one for each day, and being responsible for outfitting all with the gear needed for it. Between these competitions Jaina would obtain insurance that the Horde would neither interfere nor be alarmed when larger numbers of Forsaken arrived to Theramore, and that nobody would try to do anything catastrophically stupid about it. And once that was settled she could broach the subject of Lordaeronian timber for Durotar.
Jaina, Thrall and Sylvanas would not solve all issues around a table or a campfire this day. The point was to set a precedent, to show themselves and their peoples that they could meet under friendly forms and be sportsly rivals instead of bitter enemies.
It would be a start.
The first game of the day was a contest of paddling. Nominated by Theramore, which would perhaps not be too surprising. Absent boats that could be easily transported they had decided to compete on simple - but large - logs roped together. There was no limit to how many team members could crew one but the weight of those would be deciding.
The Horde held both the strongest and the heaviest and could consequently muster the fewest. Elves and humans were evenly matched. At least in size.
Jaina was hardly an expert but she joined the Theramorian crew to set a good example. The course was upstream, around a rock, and back to the starting point. The rest of the teams could follow the race from ashore and shout out encouragements while they struggled through Kalimdor's thorny bushes and rocky terrain.
It was a gruelling contest right from the start. The orcs and trolls put up a valiant effort but their weight compared to number of paddles proved decisively unfavourable. The dark rangers were much tougher opponents. Jaina's shoulders screamed in agony as her crew strained and struggled to match undead strength and stamina. Yet while the rangers were indefatigable they bickered and bothered one another so much that their paddle strokes fell out of synchronization whereas Theramore's crew worked much more as one, and as one they staggered ashore to touch the flagged boulder marking the finish.
The Horde contestants grumbled somewhat but the dark rangers did not appear very bothered by their second place, except for the vessel's captain Kalira. Jaina rolled her eyes when the somewhat (no, very) predictable deluge of compliments begun to rain down on her fellow paddlers.
Jaina, at least, ought to have expected something like it.
She knew what they could be like after all.
"Thanks for the nice view!"
"It was a pleasure chasing you!"
"Watching the rear is the supreme tactical position!"
Jaina's team exchanged rather confused looks as accompanying kisses where blown their way. Lieutenant Hornblower sought Jaina's gaze with obvious want for clarification or direction. On second thought Jaina ought to put a stop to this before things went to far.
"Vel' and Kitala, could you come over here, please?"
They approached Jaina looking distinctly like someone thinking about flooding and current comments.
"Now..." Jaina whispered insistently to them. "...while I have gotten to know this side of you all, last time you met them my team was Wailed at. Could you and your squadmates please try to...go a little easy on my fellow citizens?"
"How do you mean, Lady Proudmoore?" Velonara asked with far too innocent eyes.
"I mean that you will spare my poor lieutenant any sort of semantic schemes involving horns, horny or any sort of blowing of anything at all. Am I clear?"
Both dark rangers grinned widely.
"But Lady Proudmoore, is that what occupy the minds of upstanding Theramorians? Such a rakish thought!" Kitala pretended to be shocked and clutched her heart. "It is called 'rakish', right? Like the cannon shots to the stern?"
Jaina had to smile.
"Yes, very good, that is exactly so. Just...just let us get used to you a little bit first, alright?"
"Is this like... I mean, do all of you think mean things about yourselves?" Kitala didn't tease anymore, now she had shifted to being concerned in an instant like only she could.
"Like... Oh." Jaina reddened at the thought of her own misinterpretations of the rangers' banter and teasing. "No, I wouldn't think so. But I think it was very kind of you to wonder."
Kitala still did not look completely reassured. When she passed Jaina's teammates she slowed down as if thinking something over, and then turned towards them.
"Theramore team, you did great. Really excellent log-paddling. And you manage to look good doing it too. For real. Promise."
Few could be as adorable as they were lewd the way the dark rangers could. It led to no fewer confused looks, though.
"The currents are ever with you, Lady Admiral Proudmoore." a low voice complimented Jaina.
"Why, thank you, Lady Windrunner." Jaina said with pretended over-courteousness. Then she faltered. "Ehm...you wouldn't seriously think I would cast something, I hope...?
"What?" Sylvanas seemed so genuinely lost that Jaina immediately regretted asking that. Everything was still so fragile. "No, of course I would never think something like that."
So brittle like the thinnest porcelain. A path of porcelain and glass was what they walked together.
"Oh. Ehm, good." Jaina managed while Sylvanas huffed.
"If nothing else it was plain to see that you were quite occupied with propelling your ship in the mundane way and would have had little focus left for anything else."
That was true enough, Jaina had to admit. She stretched her shoulders apprehensively.
There would be no respite for either shoulders or arms this day. The next game was throwing, courtesy of the Horde who would now be hungering for revenge. Anything sharp that could be tossed into a target went. Jaina decided to not tempt fate and sit this one out.
They had not come up with much of a scoring system or any sort of series of competitions. Instead the contests took on an air of spontaneous challenges and duels between participants. More often than not with a cluster of interested spectators around them. Jaina shuddered at the thought of what some of that...ordinance...must be weighing but trolls and orcs handled those overgrown axes and throwing spears with unnerving ease.
Hailing mostly from Dalaran and Lordaeron, the dwarves of Theramore tended to belong to the more modern and open-minded of their kind. That was a boon when it came to all sorts of civic issues and ensured a reliable handling of black powder in dire circumstances (if they could only get around to casting some proper cannons for it some day) but right now Jaina concluded that they would have been in sore need of a thoroughly traditional mountain king or stubbornly purist gryphon rider. Humans, elves and dwarves were getting hideously thrashed.
Jaina should be sportsmanlike about it and set a proper example.
"Just so you know, we're letting you win because we're feeling sorry for you after the log race." Jaina mumbled to Thrall who watched the feats of accuracy of his chosen with approval.
"Uh-huh. So not because you seek to lull us into a false sense of security before your comeback?" Thrall was unusually smug. One could wonder if it really became him.
"That too, of course." Jaina took in the whole spectacle and sighed. "Your people are hideously good at this."
Despite the sorry state the scoring must be in for her side, the whole affair had a novelty about it that so far overshadowed any hidden resentment, and that was all good so far. Though some of the orcs looked a bit too happy to sneer at their less successful opponents who were becoming rather flushed. Jaina did not dare hope it was solely from the warm weather.
"Care to give it a try?" Thrall surprised her.
"Yes, actually." Jaina at once decided and promptly made her way into the middle of the souring group of contestants which parted ways before her and the Warchief. "Show how it's done."
Thrall looked around and picked up a more slender javelin from one of the stacks. He handed it to Jaina.
"A little bit like your pointy staff, ain't it?"
Jaina huffed at him.
"Mages don't throw their staves away."
"Maybe you should try. An unexpected trick to surprise your enemy." Thrall picked up a couple of javelins for himself. "Now, positioning. Balance, mind and eyes on what you aim for. Mindful of your breathing."
He hurled the shaft into the lower side of the target, which was a dried tree stump that splintered with a loud crack.
The Horde spectators were merciless.
"Is that all Grom managed to teach you, pup?" Varok shook his head in mock lamentation.
"Bah, warm-up." Thrall grunted. He rolled his shoulders like he tried to get the plate armour adjusted and then made his second throw. It hit notably better and earned less scorn.
"Nice!" Jaina in any case would be supportive. "My turn."
She mimicked the stance and gripping she had seen Thrall use while he pointed out some obvious faults. Jaina's thoughts wanted to wander into thinking about her first archery practice with the dark rangers and their queen - not now. Focus.
She could honestly say that she tried her very best to keep that stub in her mind but her javelin fell short and hit the ground ignominiously. Jaina offered it a dark glare.
"What the heck did I do wrong?"
"Your spear plummeted. It means you released it not in a straight line forward but with the head coming down, against the ground." Thrall illustrated with his arm.
Jaina sort of understood the idea of it. It was in a way similar to archery - except that archery was damned hard and javelin throwing was impossible - that you could mess it all up with the slightest twitch when you released you projectile.
One of the orcs retrieved the three spears and Thrall handed them to Jaina without a word but a knowing look at her unenthusiastic face.
She made one of them hit the target, technically. It didn't stick but clattered to the ground.
"We'll sharpen that one before the next games." Thrall chuckled.
"Make sure you do." Jaina said primly.
But he had said it would be a next time. So that all could hear him.
Varok had retrieved another couple of javelin stacks, offering one to Thrall.
"Warmed up yet, Warchief? First to three?"
"Bring it, Overlord."
The growing audience, which now had swelled, cheered and the trolls were shamelessly making bets between them.
Jaina offered all her hopes and prayers for Thrall but unfortunately the contest ended with a resounding three-to-one in Varok's favour. The crew applauded both in any case.
Speaking of the spectators, Jaina knew instinctively that she should go and look in on how the dark rangers were doing. You were often wise to keep doing so regularly.
To her mild surprise they were doing rather fine. None seemed to take the competition nearly as seriously as the Theramorians, perhaps because the rangers knew they were masters of the bow and scoffed at other forms of missile combat, Jaina guessed. Several of the undead elves had however with high glee interrogated a trio of the Horde's wind riders and adopted what they interpreted to be the ways - and most importantly the battle cries - of the riders of wyverns.
"Un-dabo!"
"To the winds!"
"Onward and upward!"
"Yeehaa!"
"Death from above!"
"Victory for the Horde!
Six javelins clashed against each other and a nearby target and ended in a complete mess. Though Jaina had to admit they showed a greater affinity for throwing things than she did.
Speaking of dark rangers with an affinity for throwing things, where was Anya? She should be competing here!
A quick look around turned up Anya standing by the side with Sylvanas. It looked like Sylvanas was whispering something and she seemed and insistent, but at the same time not. She held herself back. That was the thing and that was strange, and that was why it stood out to Jaina. Sylvanas and Anya could lack initiative, but when they wanted to say something they did not stop themselves. There was a difference between those things, between that of not being in the mood and that of consciously holding back.
Jaina debated with herself whether she should approach them. What if she intruded? But what if she did not, and they wondered why she hesitated to speak to them?
They had talked too little much more than they had talked too much, lately. She would err on that side of caution.
"Am I disturbing you?" Jaina tried her best to sound considerate.
"No." Sylvanas and Anya answered i unison.
"I was wondering. This hasn't been going so well for either of us. Maybe someone could take that smart-mouthed high overlord down a notch?"
"Here I was standing thinking the same thing." Sylvanas said most casually.
Jaina put two and two together while Anya squirmed.
"Not that good..." she mumbled.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Jaina countered. "But that isn't the point! They are the snowed-in maniacs in this field, just as Kalira and Irizadan are in fencing. No one can expect a hobby enthusiast to hold up to a professional but I bet you throw way better than any orc in the Horde shoots a bow."
That actually managed to draw out a shy smile from Anya, when she mentioned her snowed-in colleagues.
"How about you, Lady Windrunner?" Sylvanas had so far showed no inclination to participate.
"Not yet. A queen can not afford to be seen losing."
Jaina wished that Areiel could have been there. She was sure the ranger captain would have known how to goad the Dark Lady into taking part but Areiel was busy preparing for the visit to Theramore. On the other hand maybe she should actually trust Sylvanas to know best about this. She wasn't like Jaina in the Horde's eyes, she had not yet established herself as a capable - whatever else anyone may think of her - ally or former ally.
Instead Jaina looked all the more to Anya and tried her best to seem encouraging, and eventually the dark ranger yielded.
Jaina watched, not without some surprise, as the shy elf approached and challenged Varok to a contest. The orc looked her over a bit questioningly but hefted a shorter spear. Anya had drawn one of her daggers and held it ready. Jaina wasn't sure if she should be using that. Daggers weren't good for throwing at long distances, were they? But on the other hand Forsaken elves had a tendency to defy convention.
Varok hurled his javelin, and Anya moved so fast that she was barely even a blur to Jaina. She thought she heard a small, sharp knock before the louder thud when the javelin impacted close to the middle of their target.
The onlookers murmured appreciatively, for it had been a good throw, and Varok nodded to his competitor. But as it turned out, Anya was empty-handed.
Jaina frowned, but then one and then another of the audience caught sight of a peculiar detail on Varok's spear and soon they were all following him towards it.
Embedded in the wood of the shaft was a long and slender elven dagger.
"It hitched a ride." Anya said shyly, like she was not quite sure if it was allowed to find it funny.
Varok blinked, and scratched his head. Then he broke out in a roar of a laughter.
"HA! Cunning little warlord, aren't you?!" he barked and patted Anya on the back, which made her stumble.
"Now we switch. So that it's fair." Anya hurriedly added and pulled out the other twin and offered it to him.
The high overlord weighed it in his comparably very large hand while Anya went to get a javelin of her own.
"Ready?" she asked and Varok took her knife between his thumb and forefinger. When Anya threw the spear he did manage to hit it but not so the dagger stuck. The impact was however hard enough to knock Anya's spear off course.
"I call that a draw." Thrall judged.
Anya most unexpectedly found herself in the centre of everyone's attention. She quickly slipped away back into the cloaking mass of her ranger sisters who however offered her no less praise.
"Now, wasn't that some delightful quick thing?" Sylvanas hummed contently.
Anya blushed without blushing. She could not redden but Jaina knew that she would have blushed if she was alive when she looked like she half tried to look away like that. Maybe undead were un-blushing?
"It was brilliant!" Jaina butted in.
"I don't tend to…be very brilliant." Anya mumbled.
Jaina wanted to tell on her to Sylvanas, before she remembered that they were not there. Not yet. And that Sylvanas had most likely heard anyway.
"Don't ever say that." Jaina pointed at her and pretended to be firm. "I wouldn't want to have to report to the Dark Lady that her rangers are lying to me."
"You're the brilliant one."
No, Anya. No. You are not getting out of getting into your head how special you are. None of us would be here today if not for you.
Jaina looked her deep in the eyes.
"I am the one on which candle eyes shine. Of course I am brilliant."
Just then any further conversation was cut short by Thrall.
"Jaina!" he called. "Come here and shut these kodo-headed fools up!"
Jaina found Thrall in some sort of debate with some of his selected champions.
"These warriors seem to have trouble grasping the elementary. They call my word to question when I tell them that in a real fight you would not go as easily on them or anyone else."
"Oh, do they? Because I would for some weird reason be fighting with oversized sticks rather than magic, is that it?"
Thrall shrugged.
"One last round, what do you say? How about that?" Thrall pointed beyond the line of targets they had been at for a couple of hours by now, of which most were reduced to splinters. There was a pillar of rock, of brittle, porous rock.
It would do just fine.
"I'm on it. Nothing barred, is that what you intend?"
"Indeed. Show my warriors some of the real thing." Thrall took a step back and looked on with crossed arms and absolute assurance. Jaina had the distinct impression that he looked forward to seeing his sceptics proven wrong.
Tiresome Horde. Always fighting in one way or another over who was the biggest and best and whatever else. Jaina wanted to shake her head at them all.
But Thrall was completely right. This was the whole point of the games, to instil respect and test your mettle in a peaceful way. The Warchief of the Horde had to work with the hard-hitting and unruly hand he had been given just as Jaina and Sylvanas had to make the best they could with theirs.
Well, if everything was allowed then…
Jaina reached for her mana, which unlike sticks and stones obeyed her every command, no, her every wish and thought.
She let ice coalesce into a wicked-looking lance in her hand. Or strictly speaking on her hand for she had of course no real need to hold it.
The rock was cracked and withering.
The ice lance flew just as she wanted it with ridiculous and effortless ease. Could this be how it truly felt to be an archer of the dark rangers' skill? Jaina couldn't quite believe that.
It might as well had been a boulder of dried old bread. Jaina's ice lance went neatly through it and stayed there, steaming and dripping in the warm weather.
She very politely gestured to Thrall that he could take his turn. She wondered what he would do, though? Just throw a common spear, or something flashy to impress his people like Jaina had? Maybe call lightning on the rock?
The Warchief had looked around at his fellow orcs with a good deal of 'I-told-you-so' about him. Now he stepped up into position…pulling out the Doomhammer of his belt.
With a roar, Thrall stepped forward and heaved the entire lump of iron forward like a bloated cannon shot. It flew true all the way and hit the porous stone with the sound and flash of a small strike of thunder and throwing up a great cloud of dust. When it settled, only a stump was left of the piece of rock and probably nothing of Jaina's ice.
Thrall grinned and Jaina snorted at him. But she was probably looking a bit the same, apart from tusk size and such.
Because they were no longer really competing about anything.
Even Warchiefs and archmages had to have their fun some times.
"Look at our Warchief, he thinks tossing his Doomhammer away will get him out of the job." Varok teased.
"Don't you also find that sometimes a hammer is needed to get things through thick skulls?" Thrall rumbled towards everyone looking on, whether they were Horde or Forsaken or Theramorian.
"I have heard someone say the same thing." Cyndia said. "A dwarven emissary."
Thrall looked quizzically at her.
"Dwarven diplomacy." Sylvanas spoke out loud with grim warning. "Pray you do not have to encounter it."
Author's Note
Jaina wants to make everything right when inviting the Forsaken to Theramore. The first step is to make sure the Horde neighbours do not get any funny ideas about it, and while she is at it she could make a point of re-establishing the badly damaged relations between them. Not to mention what a brilliant opportunity it would be to talk timbers.
How though, can she make a gathering of hotheads play nice? That last visit of the Forsaken to Theramore ended in a Wail after all…
Perhaps a bit of games for champions eager to put their peers into place and the hooting hooligans who cheer on them?
Let the Kalimdor Olympics begin!
It is winter in Lordaeron, windy in Theramore, but the sun shines over inland Kalimdor.
Sylvanas had heard many astonishing things from Jaina but she wondered if this one would not trump them all.
Jaina wanted them to come to Theramore. A lot of them anyway, whoever wanted to. Sylvanas intended to oblige her. She would hardly deny Jaina anything right now and in all honesty there was not much she was good for in Lordaeron right now. She guessed it showed and that her rangers and councillors would have noticed by now. All she wanted was to truly make things right again, somehow, for Jaina and for Anya. Everything else could wait.
But of course it could not really wait because the world had the bad habit of not leaving you alone when it needed to. But maybe even the queen could allow herself to get away with delegating a bit.
"Dark Lady? You wanted a word?" Kalira asked.
"Yes, Kalira. You are aware of Lady Proudmoore's invitation. I intend to accept it and visit Theramore...properly..." At that Kalira to hide a smirk. "...along with those who wish to accompany me, within reason. I am going to take a full ranger company with me as guard."
"Something tells me you will not have to look far for volunteers there at least."
"While I am gone I need to delegate vital tasks. I am going to put the Baron as overall commander of our armies, but in practice it will be the northern half of our territory and forces that can be coordinated within any reason. As things stand now."
"Without portals when and where we need them." Kalira spelled it out. "One could get used to that convenience."
"Yes." And to the company of those that cast them, which one should never start taking for granted. "Our southern holdings need independent governance in close cooperation with Dalaran if possible, and with our main force of course. I require someone who can command by herself and has experience working with our general as well as meeting the wizards."
"That sounds reasonable...WAIT -"
"Excellent." Sylvanas interrupted her. "You are on."
"What about Areiel?"
"She will never let me go alone, and I need her to command the rangers as they hopefully lend aid to Theramore."
"Ah. I...see." Kalira obviously wrestled with something difficult. "I am ready to serve of course, Dark Lady. But my recent stewardship of our capital may be called into question."
"I threw you into an untenable position with lacking resources, meagre ground to manoeuvre on and faulty intelligence. You held as well as anyone could. That is exactly the sort of ability we will need in the south if the Scourge moves and I will reserve the right to throw any questions of your leadership into the nearest midden heap."
How strange it was, in a way, to be defending Kalira of all people against herself.
"I can only hope this will end better, then. I stand ready if that is your will, Dark Lady."
"You will have some reinforcements for your squadron for this assignment. Our dwarven diplomat ought to come with you. As a living front and middle sized middle man to present if needed."
"That should amuse my rangers if nothing else. Though I do not begrudge them that. When do we set out? Tonight?"
"Not quite yet. Lady Proudmoore has a...rather specific event planned that intended to ask you to be part of."
Kalira looked quizzically at her.
"The situation between Theramore and the Horde in neighbouring Durotar is somewhat strained. In order to avert any suspicions and brewing mistrust that me coming there would spark, and to take the opportunity to bridge diplomatic gaps, she intends to call their Warchief as well as a delegation from us to a preceding meeting."
"That does indeed sound like Lady Proudmoore. I hope they prove more worthy of her trust than the Scarlets did."
"If not, they will learn to regret it. But she wishes for each of the three sides to come with a retinue of a dozen. I would like to invite you and your rangers, along with the Mirrahs I think."
"An honour guard?"
"Only partially. She has a very particular idea of how to bring our three sides closer together and open the door for more serious negotiations. She is meeting their Warchief right now."
As Sylvanas begun to explain Kalira begun to grin, wider and wider.
Sylvanas couldn't quite manage to be caught up in her expectant mood.
Jaina was away again. Not gone. Not gone like that.
Sylvanas would not hinder her. She would trust Jaina, always from now on. But she still already missed her mage enough for it to hurt inside. Somewhere close to where her heart had once beat.
Just until tomorrow if all went according to plan.
Sylvanas should follow the example of her own squadron.
Anya was not sad anymore. She was packing. Packing everything she could think of that an archmage on the other side of the world might have need of. Which was a lot in Anya Eversong's opinion.
Things...were not exactly good between them yet. But Sylvanas could still go and ask if there was something Anya wanted her to bring. That she could do.
***
The sun could still make the air of Durotar dazzle even if Jaina Proudmoore was used to regard this time of year as winter. The climate of central Kalimdor meant that they were now in the stormy season of the year and it was an apt description of the relations between the nations on the western side of the sea.
Orcs craved lumber for their cities and settlements, night elves craved that that lumber be harvested somewhere that was not Ashenvale. Taurens wanted Mulgore for themselves, or at the very least for anyone who was not a centaur. Centaurs wanted Mulgore for the opposite reason and razormane tribes all across the land wanted every interloper kicked out into the sea they came from. Trolls wanted a place of their own and to absolutely not have anything to do with legendary arch-enemies of their distant cousins who would shortly be arriving. That they were now undead and shunned by the living elves would not go far in making the Darkspear tribe friendlier.
And the Forsaken wanted allies.
Jaina was sitting on a rock by the roadside, flanked by Pained. He night elf bodyguard did rarely let her out of sight for a moment nowadays. Jaina considered herself lucky that she was allowed to use the bathroom on her own. Being a head of state did not grant you all the decision-making powers you might be fooled into thinking it did.
"I still think you could have brought your parasol, My Lady." Pained commented with a wary look at the midday sun.
"Don't coddle me, I can deal with the heat perfectly well." Jaina underlined her point by insulting the local elements with a most unseasonally cool conjured gust of wind. Even Pained relaxed and leaned forward into it.
"I do not doubt your arcane abilities of heat regulation, but they will not spare you from the rays of the sun. I have been told that the native races of the Horde tended to call you humans 'pinkskins', however you are well on your way to changing that moniker to 'redskins' instead. Or at the very least 'redcheek' or 'redneck'."
Jaina gave her a long look but ruined it completely by blushing and inadvertently proving Pained's point. It was true that she had been going redder and redder these last couple of days, but the sun had only a small bit to do with it. She had been pursued by dream after dream of the most outrageous kinds that did not bear repeating in public.
Or in the company of your bodyguard in the middle of the Kalimdorian desert for that matter.
"That would be them." Pained noted calmly.
She pointed at a dust cloud that appeared out of a bend of the road ahead. Out of the cover of a ridge of sandstone cliffs appeared half a dozen blurry shapes that grew into riders, with the added detail of being twice the size of any usual riders and their mounts being particularly huge wolves.
Jaina rose and stretched her arms eagerly. She sent up a spell of frost that coalesced into a gigantic, glittering snowflake that exploded in a cascade of ice dust above her. The wolf riders were the Horde's scouts and she should not expect them to have any trouble spotting her, but it never hurt to be extra polite. Rarely hurt, anyway.
The orcs reined in their mounts at a safe distance from her and only the middle rider proceeded. Jaina likewise started to walk with Pained watching her like a very uncomfortable hawk behind her.
She had had her misgivings about this, but they quieted when she could make out the details of her counterpart.
As if the sight of the average orc warrior was not awe-inspiring enough, the black armour of absurd weight and the maul – which orcs stubbornly insisted on calling a hammer – of legendary and quite concrete power hanging by the belt should be, and was, quite enough to send seasoned veterans and ferocious beasts running. But Jaina only smiled. Ever since they had been brought together on that strange and unforgettable day at Stonetalon Peak, she had never been afraid of Thrall. And she found just now how much she had missed him. They had parted as allies last time but with Jaina left fatherless and perceived a traitor by a great part of the Alliance and Theramore, including her remaining family.
People had fallen out over less.
The Warchief dismounted and only caused a small tremor when her landed on the ground.
"Jaina." he rumbled in the orc version of wishing 'good day'. "It is an honour."
Was he going to be like that again? It was understandable of course. But Jaina wouldn't have it. She threw out her arms wide and walked briskly up and hugged the orc's belly.
"Thrall. I've missed you."
Even through the thick layer of steel, she could feel how something, some all-encompassing tension, left the orc and he breathed out long and hard.
"And I you. I had feared that the last spring would have claimed our friendship along with everyone else it took from us."
"I don't want it to have."
A huge pair of arms very gently returned her embrace and held her protectively close.
"I swore that we would leave your city in peace. I can only imagine the hardships you must have endured since that day."
"You were right to stay away." Jaina nodded against his chest. "Anything else would only have stirred up the bad blood again."
"Yet today is another day?"
"Perhaps not really. But things are about to change and we can not afford to be constrained by old feuds and past deeds. I will have to trust my people to either see that or trust me to do the right thing."
"Even your night elven bodyguard?"
Jaina glanced back at Pained.
"I didn't say she was my personal bodyguard."
Thrall chuckled.
"There is that special way that aged retainers reserve for those placed in their charge. Or concerned parents, I am told."
Jaina was about to retort with something snappy but hesitated. Thrall was casual enough but Jaina knew that underneath it lay a bleak truth. He had never gotten to know his parents.
Thrall released his hold of her and held out his hands in plain visibility at either side.
"See? No Doomhammer here."
Jaina snorted.
"That would be more reassuring coming from someone who could not crush me with his bare hands or call lightning from the sky."
"The Earth-Mother would smite me with a lightning bolt to the head for even contemplating harming you." Thrall smiled.
"Hmm… How about your side then? How do people in the Horde feel about you meeting me?"
"Why don't you ask my closest advisor?" The Warchief grinned, which was somewhat ominous when you had teeth of that magnitude, and nodded towards the great black wolf sitting nearby and keeping careful watch over them.
Jaina had to lean to the side to get a good look.
"B… Blacknose!" She beamed with all her face at the grim beast and knelt down with her arms wide open.
"'Blacknose'…" Thrall huffed. "Of all possible nicknames that is what the brightest of archmages comes up with?" He shook his head and grinned while his wolf growled threateningly as he stalked closer and closer towards Jaina.
It only made Jaina's smile widen.
"You don't fool me, I can see your tail wagging!"
The wolf jumped for her throat.
The next moment Jaina was lying on the ground and laughing while Blacknose sniffed and licked her over the face while she tried in vain to counter by scratching his ears.
"Help! Thrall, you need to feed him more, he's eating me whole!" she screamed and giggled. Jaina finally managed to wrestle herself to a position where she could pull Blacknose down and bury her own nose into the fur of his neck. Maybe the wolf was letting her win just a tiny bit.
"Seems like more than me have been missing you…" Thrall grunted and sat down. "Why were we really supposed to meet in the middle of the day out in the open like this?"
"Uhm, I guess I thought I wanted you to see me as easily as possible. You know, the opposite of making it look like some kind of ambush." Jaina eyed his heavy plate a little guiltily. "Sorry."
"Ha! We don't sweat and shiver as easily as you humans." Thrall leaned back against a stone and Jaina against the other side of it with Blacknose's huge head in her lap. She conjured a fresh breeze for the three of them while finally getting to give him a good scratching.
"Well, that's good to hear since you insist on lugging this iron mine around." Jaina reached out with her free hand to knock on his breastplate. It rung a bit like a town bell.
"This armour is a piece of my people's history. You can not even begin to make me imagine you would have forgotten about that." Thrall propped one foot up on the other and clasped his hands over his iron-clad stomach. "Things are changing, you said?"
"You have read my letters? About the Forsaken?"
"I have. Are they coming here?"
"Their queen is. And her retinue."
"Sylvanas Windrunner… I understand you know her?"
"Something like that, yes."
"What is she like?"
"She… Not like your ordinary queen. I think you need to meet her to get the idea."
"Forgive me, Jaina, but what is an 'ordinary' queen of the undead like?"
"Point taken. You know, Thrall, you don't seem nearly as shocked by the idea as I had feared. If you don't mind me saying?"
The Warchief let some time pass before he answered.
"We were once like them. Pawns to be moved and used and discarded by our demon overlords. And Grom, he was one of the very worst of us when it came to that. And still he was a good friend and like a brother to me. And still he freed us all in the end." Thrall sighed, sounding only like a small bellows. "I would not mourn if I never had to lay eyes upon anything undead for the rest of my days, but if they are now truly their own again after being the Lich King's slaves, they deserve a fair chance. If I would be fool enough to cast away someone who may become our allies because of their past, then Grom's death has taught me nothing."
It sounded so simple. Maybe it truly could be that simple.
"I will not pretend I don't have a stake of my own in this. I would like it to be the beginning of something new, and better, between Theramore and the Horde too. We can't keep pretending the other one does not exist, even exempting the new development that the Forsaken represent and our mutual need to stand united against the Scourge. The Lich King will come for us all. One day."
"My people will not relish more contact with the Alliance anytime soon…" There was a moment of silence again. "Rexxar, when he asked you to remember your father as the proud warrior he was, I am starting to think that he spoke to all of us. And perhaps he had the right of it."
Jaina held Blacknose tightly and blinked. And blinked some more.
"I can never condone or forgive what he did, hunting and persecuting my kind. But I can recognise that he was also the man that gave rise to someone like you and he can not have been altogether bad. For that alone I wish it could have ended in a better way and we could have taken him alive." Thrall turned to her. "The Horde, so long as I remain Warchief, will not be dragged down by its past. We will seek common ground with you, Jaina. Anything else will lead to ruin."
"Thank you, Thrall." she said lowly.
"That said, how do you propose we make either side refrain from hacking the other to pieces long enough to actually listen to anything? We will need more people than you and me getting used to the idea of talking to each other. And to the Forsaken for that matter."
"Well, I was having this idea…"
***
"No! That one goes there and that one goes there!" Jaina called out to her scurrying staff of Theramorian champions. She was stressed, there was no question about it. "And someone take that command tent down! We are going to emanate equality here."
Jaina's command tent, or rather the staff tent of Theramore's guard, was an elaborate elven pavillion of high quality as well as artistry. Tides, if her soon-to-be-here Horde guests caught sight of that thing...
"And please arrange these benches around the fire pit, not in some isolated little archipelago of separate islands! Seriously, we can't have more of this kind of bullshit and -"
Jaina breathed out and rubbed her forehead vigorously as her eleven retainers took a step back with alarmed looks at her while steadily rising tremors in the ground caught her notice.
"- and Cairne Bloodhoof is standing right behind me, isn't he?"
Lieutenant Hornblower nodded with a slightly quasy look while Pained grimaced. Jaina turned around and prepared to offer some suitable apology. Her head on a silver platter perhaps.
"Ishnu'porah, Jaina!" the ancient tauren chieftain rumbled. "I fully agree! We would not want any bullshit around here if we can avoid it!"
"Hello, Cairne." Jaina said apologetically and half wished she could evaporate into some discreet puff of smoke.
Cairne leaned in closer with something of a haunted gleam from his eyes as he mumbled through clenched jaws.
"Grand-nephews... My old bones ache!"
Jaina cleared her throat.
"Ahem, greetings. Welcome, everyone. It is an honour to meet you all here."
Thrall tried to keep a straight face but the trouble with orcs raised - for lack of a better term - among humans was that they tended to catch on to human quirks a little too well.
"It is good to be here, Jaina. I look forward to this meeting with great interest."
"You're not the only one..." Jaina mumbled out of the corner of her mouth.
With Thrall were a couple of tauren, and orcs and trolls of all sizes. On second thought that meant large to huge sizes, and all of them managing to pack even more than the already nigh ridiculous amount of muscle of their kinds. Apart from Thrall and Cairne were new tusked faces everywhere. Most were lightly clad and armoured - Kalimdor was unsafe at the best of times - apart from Thrall and a senior orc that he introduced as High Overlord Varok Saurfang.
"What is that, an elven outhouse?" the high overlord chuckled at Jaina's pavillion just as she had started to hope that she might be off the hook.
"Quiet, Varok." Thrall grunted.
Jaina had (intended to) grouped the makeshift benches made of rocks and logs so that each contingent would face each other around the centre where they could light fires and cook food for the two thirds who ate. Jaina's contingent, or Theramore's rather, consisted of herself and Pained and a certain guard patrol that had had the honour of being the first to encounter the Forsaken during their previous visit. Lieutenant Hornblower would take no refusal and Pained had pointed out that it was a sound choice. They were far from the worst at their trade and also, if they could be swayed to look upon the undead a little kinder it would do a lot as an example to the rest of the city. Furthermore in her team were a few other prominent Theramorians, among them Master Oddricht who would not want to miss this promising curiosity for anything.
Jaina had underlined very thoroughly that this was to be a civil gathering. There would be no rematch of the dockside debacle nor harsh words about the matter, which was closed. She had however then instructed him to pick his team with care because they would show all the hoarders and scream queens during this and the coming day. To that, Hornblower had saluted most eagerly.
And he had done his job, Jaina thought as she looked at her team. Her Theramorians. Human, elf, dwarf and gnome even, they were each tough as nails and had proven their worth uncountable times. They had raised a city of stone from bare rock and marshlands in the middle of nowhere. They had wrought a better future for themselves and all who would want to come. And, well, while they may not be as tall as their neighbours, it showed. Not least when the majority had dispensed with shirts and tunics while setting up the small campsite.
Introductions, or presentations, of Theramore and the Horde went alright which meant no weapons were drawn and no blood feuds declared. Now they just awaited the third party which Jaina had asked to wait a little further away and out of sight. Since the sight of them could be a tad overwhelming.
It was a tad overwhelming. Though not as Jaina had anticipated.
Sylvanas had brought only dark rangers. Jaina was not sure if that was good or bad but it was Sylvanas' decision and she was sure the Dark Lady had good reasons for it.
It was obviously good in that all the rangers were the most intact Forsaken and the least likely to induce shock my mere appearance. And her Theramorian team had met only rangers last time after all, and it was perhaps a good idea then to sort out any aversion to them first and foremost. As for the Horde they had equal reason to despise humans, elves and undead so, well...
Perhaps the most important thing was that Sylvanas knew all her rangers well. She would be able to take appropriate steps to make them all act...
"Tastingo! Da spirits be telling me I be spying da big bad Warchief over there, mon."
...appropriately?!
Jaina nearly fainted, or thought she would. Even disregarding the small fact that they were at a sensitive diplomatic meeting between otherwise technically almost hostile nations, that was the cringiest imitation of darkspear troll accentuated Common she had possibly ever heard.
"Dat big and mighty armour of his be making it clear as da witchy doctor's tea, mon. You should be getting one too, Dark Chieftain Lady. You be asking da big bad Warchief if you could trade garments, yes?" Velonara continued to suggest.
Jaina's knees buckled. This would be the shortest negotiations in history.
She turned around to look straight at one dozen dark rangers burnished to a sheen, Banshee Queen and resident brat catastrophe included. Sylvanas glared at her irreverent subordinate and then met Thrall's gaze. It was completely out of place, idiotic, and plain wrong, but in her nervous and calamity-expecting state Jaina could not help but picture Sylvanas inside Thrall's armour, peeking out of the breastplate like a turtle out of its shell. Or if Thrall somehow would manage to fit into Sylvanas' pants and...chest buckles...
She couldn't help it. Tides, she couldn't.
Jaina collapsed in unstoppable giggles, but she was for once not alone in doing so. All across the three factions disbelieving astonishment gave way to snickering, and chuckling, and all the universal expressions of ill-timed but genuine and honest amusement.
Thrall weathered the storm patiently with crossed arms. Not even his high overlord made any attempt to cover his toothy grin.
"Queen Sylvanas Windrunner." Thrall greeted his peer.
"Warchief Thrall." Sylvanas bowed her head politely. "You are shorter than I expected."
For the love of mana!
But Thrall took the banter with good nature.
"You are just as short as I expected. I see your scouts are as unruly as mine."
"Barely house-trained, on the best of days. And that was before they all went and died on me." Sylvanas quipped without missing a beat. "Now there is no rest for the wicked in all of Lordaeron."
Well.
Now they were assembled. And in one piece still.
A dozen well tended pieces in the case of the Forsaken team. Every buckle and pauldron was glimmering, every boot was polished to a sheen. Jaina, who knew what to look for, could even trace the stitched tears and frays that Lyana would have been at on their cloaks.
And, ahem, Jaina was here to head an important gathering and not stare.
Not that she was.
She was just more conscious than usual of the state of her own ranger boots and how very...form-fitting the dark ranger uniform was.
That was all.
"Ladies and gentlemen! I am pleased to be able to greet you all here today and open the first day of Kalimdorian Games." Jaina declared. "Food and drinks for all who want it is available while Lady Windrunner, Warchief Thrall and myself decide on the order of today's contests."
Yes, games.
It was Jaina's master plan. They would meet and beat the sense out of each other in civilised ways on the field of games instead of battle. They had gathered here, in a sheltered groove with an actual river next to it and away from the winds of the coast as well as the blistering heat inland. It offered both good ground and good water for strenuous pastimes.
For two days the three teams would face off in in six competitions, each side nominating two, and one for each day, and being responsible for outfitting all with the gear needed for it. Between these competitions Jaina would obtain insurance that the Horde would neither interfere nor be alarmed when larger numbers of Forsaken arrived to Theramore, and that nobody would try to do anything catastrophically stupid about it. And once that was settled she could broach the subject of Lordaeronian timber for Durotar.
Jaina, Thrall and Sylvanas would not solve all issues around a table or a campfire this day. The point was to set a precedent, to show themselves and their peoples that they could meet under friendly forms and be sportsly rivals instead of bitter enemies.
It would be a start.
***
The first game of the day was a contest of paddling. Nominated by Theramore, which would perhaps not be too surprising. Absent boats that could be easily transported they had decided to compete on simple - but large - logs roped together. There was no limit to how many team members could crew one but the weight of those would be deciding.
The Horde held both the strongest and the heaviest and could consequently muster the fewest. Elves and humans were evenly matched. At least in size.
Jaina was hardly an expert but she joined the Theramorian crew to set a good example. The course was upstream, around a rock, and back to the starting point. The rest of the teams could follow the race from ashore and shout out encouragements while they struggled through Kalimdor's thorny bushes and rocky terrain.
It was a gruelling contest right from the start. The orcs and trolls put up a valiant effort but their weight compared to number of paddles proved decisively unfavourable. The dark rangers were much tougher opponents. Jaina's shoulders screamed in agony as her crew strained and struggled to match undead strength and stamina. Yet while the rangers were indefatigable they bickered and bothered one another so much that their paddle strokes fell out of synchronization whereas Theramore's crew worked much more as one, and as one they staggered ashore to touch the flagged boulder marking the finish.
The Horde contestants grumbled somewhat but the dark rangers did not appear very bothered by their second place, except for the vessel's captain Kalira. Jaina rolled her eyes when the somewhat (no, very) predictable deluge of compliments begun to rain down on her fellow paddlers.
Jaina, at least, ought to have expected something like it.
She knew what they could be like after all.
"Thanks for the nice view!"
"It was a pleasure chasing you!"
"Watching the rear is the supreme tactical position!"
Jaina's team exchanged rather confused looks as accompanying kisses where blown their way. Lieutenant Hornblower sought Jaina's gaze with obvious want for clarification or direction. On second thought Jaina ought to put a stop to this before things went to far.
"Vel' and Kitala, could you come over here, please?"
They approached Jaina looking distinctly like someone thinking about flooding and current comments.
"Now..." Jaina whispered insistently to them. "...while I have gotten to know this side of you all, last time you met them my team was Wailed at. Could you and your squadmates please try to...go a little easy on my fellow citizens?"
"How do you mean, Lady Proudmoore?" Velonara asked with far too innocent eyes.
"I mean that you will spare my poor lieutenant any sort of semantic schemes involving horns, horny or any sort of blowing of anything at all. Am I clear?"
Both dark rangers grinned widely.
"But Lady Proudmoore, is that what occupy the minds of upstanding Theramorians? Such a rakish thought!" Kitala pretended to be shocked and clutched her heart. "It is called 'rakish', right? Like the cannon shots to the stern?"
Jaina had to smile.
"Yes, very good, that is exactly so. Just...just let us get used to you a little bit first, alright?"
"Is this like... I mean, do all of you think mean things about yourselves?" Kitala didn't tease anymore, now she had shifted to being concerned in an instant like only she could.
"Like... Oh." Jaina reddened at the thought of her own misinterpretations of the rangers' banter and teasing. "No, I wouldn't think so. But I think it was very kind of you to wonder."
Kitala still did not look completely reassured. When she passed Jaina's teammates she slowed down as if thinking something over, and then turned towards them.
"Theramore team, you did great. Really excellent log-paddling. And you manage to look good doing it too. For real. Promise."
Few could be as adorable as they were lewd the way the dark rangers could. It led to no fewer confused looks, though.
"The currents are ever with you, Lady Admiral Proudmoore." a low voice complimented Jaina.
"Why, thank you, Lady Windrunner." Jaina said with pretended over-courteousness. Then she faltered. "Ehm...you wouldn't seriously think I would cast something, I hope...?
"What?" Sylvanas seemed so genuinely lost that Jaina immediately regretted asking that. Everything was still so fragile. "No, of course I would never think something like that."
So brittle like the thinnest porcelain. A path of porcelain and glass was what they walked together.
"Oh. Ehm, good." Jaina managed while Sylvanas huffed.
"If nothing else it was plain to see that you were quite occupied with propelling your ship in the mundane way and would have had little focus left for anything else."
That was true enough, Jaina had to admit. She stretched her shoulders apprehensively.
There would be no respite for either shoulders or arms this day. The next game was throwing, courtesy of the Horde who would now be hungering for revenge. Anything sharp that could be tossed into a target went. Jaina decided to not tempt fate and sit this one out.
They had not come up with much of a scoring system or any sort of series of competitions. Instead the contests took on an air of spontaneous challenges and duels between participants. More often than not with a cluster of interested spectators around them. Jaina shuddered at the thought of what some of that...ordinance...must be weighing but trolls and orcs handled those overgrown axes and throwing spears with unnerving ease.
Hailing mostly from Dalaran and Lordaeron, the dwarves of Theramore tended to belong to the more modern and open-minded of their kind. That was a boon when it came to all sorts of civic issues and ensured a reliable handling of black powder in dire circumstances (if they could only get around to casting some proper cannons for it some day) but right now Jaina concluded that they would have been in sore need of a thoroughly traditional mountain king or stubbornly purist gryphon rider. Humans, elves and dwarves were getting hideously thrashed.
Jaina should be sportsmanlike about it and set a proper example.
"Just so you know, we're letting you win because we're feeling sorry for you after the log race." Jaina mumbled to Thrall who watched the feats of accuracy of his chosen with approval.
"Uh-huh. So not because you seek to lull us into a false sense of security before your comeback?" Thrall was unusually smug. One could wonder if it really became him.
"That too, of course." Jaina took in the whole spectacle and sighed. "Your people are hideously good at this."
Despite the sorry state the scoring must be in for her side, the whole affair had a novelty about it that so far overshadowed any hidden resentment, and that was all good so far. Though some of the orcs looked a bit too happy to sneer at their less successful opponents who were becoming rather flushed. Jaina did not dare hope it was solely from the warm weather.
"Care to give it a try?" Thrall surprised her.
"Yes, actually." Jaina at once decided and promptly made her way into the middle of the souring group of contestants which parted ways before her and the Warchief. "Show how it's done."
Thrall looked around and picked up a more slender javelin from one of the stacks. He handed it to Jaina.
"A little bit like your pointy staff, ain't it?"
Jaina huffed at him.
"Mages don't throw their staves away."
"Maybe you should try. An unexpected trick to surprise your enemy." Thrall picked up a couple of javelins for himself. "Now, positioning. Balance, mind and eyes on what you aim for. Mindful of your breathing."
He hurled the shaft into the lower side of the target, which was a dried tree stump that splintered with a loud crack.
The Horde spectators were merciless.
"Is that all Grom managed to teach you, pup?" Varok shook his head in mock lamentation.
"Bah, warm-up." Thrall grunted. He rolled his shoulders like he tried to get the plate armour adjusted and then made his second throw. It hit notably better and earned less scorn.
"Nice!" Jaina in any case would be supportive. "My turn."
She mimicked the stance and gripping she had seen Thrall use while he pointed out some obvious faults. Jaina's thoughts wanted to wander into thinking about her first archery practice with the dark rangers and their queen - not now. Focus.
She could honestly say that she tried her very best to keep that stub in her mind but her javelin fell short and hit the ground ignominiously. Jaina offered it a dark glare.
"What the heck did I do wrong?"
"Your spear plummeted. It means you released it not in a straight line forward but with the head coming down, against the ground." Thrall illustrated with his arm.
Jaina sort of understood the idea of it. It was in a way similar to archery - except that archery was damned hard and javelin throwing was impossible - that you could mess it all up with the slightest twitch when you released you projectile.
One of the orcs retrieved the three spears and Thrall handed them to Jaina without a word but a knowing look at her unenthusiastic face.
She made one of them hit the target, technically. It didn't stick but clattered to the ground.
"We'll sharpen that one before the next games." Thrall chuckled.
"Make sure you do." Jaina said primly.
But he had said it would be a next time. So that all could hear him.
Varok had retrieved another couple of javelin stacks, offering one to Thrall.
"Warmed up yet, Warchief? First to three?"
"Bring it, Overlord."
The growing audience, which now had swelled, cheered and the trolls were shamelessly making bets between them.
Jaina offered all her hopes and prayers for Thrall but unfortunately the contest ended with a resounding three-to-one in Varok's favour. The crew applauded both in any case.
Speaking of the spectators, Jaina knew instinctively that she should go and look in on how the dark rangers were doing. You were often wise to keep doing so regularly.
To her mild surprise they were doing rather fine. None seemed to take the competition nearly as seriously as the Theramorians, perhaps because the rangers knew they were masters of the bow and scoffed at other forms of missile combat, Jaina guessed. Several of the undead elves had however with high glee interrogated a trio of the Horde's wind riders and adopted what they interpreted to be the ways - and most importantly the battle cries - of the riders of wyverns.
"Un-dabo!"
"To the winds!"
"Onward and upward!"
"Yeehaa!"
"Death from above!"
"Victory for the Horde!
Six javelins clashed against each other and a nearby target and ended in a complete mess. Though Jaina had to admit they showed a greater affinity for throwing things than she did.
Speaking of dark rangers with an affinity for throwing things, where was Anya? She should be competing here!
A quick look around turned up Anya standing by the side with Sylvanas. It looked like Sylvanas was whispering something and she seemed and insistent, but at the same time not. She held herself back. That was the thing and that was strange, and that was why it stood out to Jaina. Sylvanas and Anya could lack initiative, but when they wanted to say something they did not stop themselves. There was a difference between those things, between that of not being in the mood and that of consciously holding back.
Jaina debated with herself whether she should approach them. What if she intruded? But what if she did not, and they wondered why she hesitated to speak to them?
They had talked too little much more than they had talked too much, lately. She would err on that side of caution.
"Am I disturbing you?" Jaina tried her best to sound considerate.
"No." Sylvanas and Anya answered i unison.
"I was wondering. This hasn't been going so well for either of us. Maybe someone could take that smart-mouthed high overlord down a notch?"
"Here I was standing thinking the same thing." Sylvanas said most casually.
Jaina put two and two together while Anya squirmed.
"Not that good..." she mumbled.
"I wouldn't be too sure about that." Jaina countered. "But that isn't the point! They are the snowed-in maniacs in this field, just as Kalira and Irizadan are in fencing. No one can expect a hobby enthusiast to hold up to a professional but I bet you throw way better than any orc in the Horde shoots a bow."
That actually managed to draw out a shy smile from Anya, when she mentioned her snowed-in colleagues.
"How about you, Lady Windrunner?" Sylvanas had so far showed no inclination to participate.
"Not yet. A queen can not afford to be seen losing."
Jaina wished that Areiel could have been there. She was sure the ranger captain would have known how to goad the Dark Lady into taking part but Areiel was busy preparing for the visit to Theramore. On the other hand maybe she should actually trust Sylvanas to know best about this. She wasn't like Jaina in the Horde's eyes, she had not yet established herself as a capable - whatever else anyone may think of her - ally or former ally.
Instead Jaina looked all the more to Anya and tried her best to seem encouraging, and eventually the dark ranger yielded.
Jaina watched, not without some surprise, as the shy elf approached and challenged Varok to a contest. The orc looked her over a bit questioningly but hefted a shorter spear. Anya had drawn one of her daggers and held it ready. Jaina wasn't sure if she should be using that. Daggers weren't good for throwing at long distances, were they? But on the other hand Forsaken elves had a tendency to defy convention.
Varok hurled his javelin, and Anya moved so fast that she was barely even a blur to Jaina. She thought she heard a small, sharp knock before the louder thud when the javelin impacted close to the middle of their target.
The onlookers murmured appreciatively, for it had been a good throw, and Varok nodded to his competitor. But as it turned out, Anya was empty-handed.
Jaina frowned, but then one and then another of the audience caught sight of a peculiar detail on Varok's spear and soon they were all following him towards it.
Embedded in the wood of the shaft was a long and slender elven dagger.
"It hitched a ride." Anya said shyly, like she was not quite sure if it was allowed to find it funny.
Varok blinked, and scratched his head. Then he broke out in a roar of a laughter.
"HA! Cunning little warlord, aren't you?!" he barked and patted Anya on the back, which made her stumble.
"Now we switch. So that it's fair." Anya hurriedly added and pulled out the other twin and offered it to him.
The high overlord weighed it in his comparably very large hand while Anya went to get a javelin of her own.
"Ready?" she asked and Varok took her knife between his thumb and forefinger. When Anya threw the spear he did manage to hit it but not so the dagger stuck. The impact was however hard enough to knock Anya's spear off course.
"I call that a draw." Thrall judged.
Anya most unexpectedly found herself in the centre of everyone's attention. She quickly slipped away back into the cloaking mass of her ranger sisters who however offered her no less praise.
"Now, wasn't that some delightful quick thing?" Sylvanas hummed contently.
Anya blushed without blushing. She could not redden but Jaina knew that she would have blushed if she was alive when she looked like she half tried to look away like that. Maybe undead were un-blushing?
"It was brilliant!" Jaina butted in.
"I don't tend to…be very brilliant." Anya mumbled.
Jaina wanted to tell on her to Sylvanas, before she remembered that they were not there. Not yet. And that Sylvanas had most likely heard anyway.
"Don't ever say that." Jaina pointed at her and pretended to be firm. "I wouldn't want to have to report to the Dark Lady that her rangers are lying to me."
"You're the brilliant one."
No, Anya. No. You are not getting out of getting into your head how special you are. None of us would be here today if not for you.
Jaina looked her deep in the eyes.
"I am the one on which candle eyes shine. Of course I am brilliant."
Just then any further conversation was cut short by Thrall.
"Jaina!" he called. "Come here and shut these kodo-headed fools up!"
Jaina found Thrall in some sort of debate with some of his selected champions.
"These warriors seem to have trouble grasping the elementary. They call my word to question when I tell them that in a real fight you would not go as easily on them or anyone else."
"Oh, do they? Because I would for some weird reason be fighting with oversized sticks rather than magic, is that it?"
Thrall shrugged.
"One last round, what do you say? How about that?" Thrall pointed beyond the line of targets they had been at for a couple of hours by now, of which most were reduced to splinters. There was a pillar of rock, of brittle, porous rock.
It would do just fine.
"I'm on it. Nothing barred, is that what you intend?"
"Indeed. Show my warriors some of the real thing." Thrall took a step back and looked on with crossed arms and absolute assurance. Jaina had the distinct impression that he looked forward to seeing his sceptics proven wrong.
Tiresome Horde. Always fighting in one way or another over who was the biggest and best and whatever else. Jaina wanted to shake her head at them all.
But Thrall was completely right. This was the whole point of the games, to instil respect and test your mettle in a peaceful way. The Warchief of the Horde had to work with the hard-hitting and unruly hand he had been given just as Jaina and Sylvanas had to make the best they could with theirs.
Well, if everything was allowed then…
Jaina reached for her mana, which unlike sticks and stones obeyed her every command, no, her every wish and thought.
She let ice coalesce into a wicked-looking lance in her hand. Or strictly speaking on her hand for she had of course no real need to hold it.
The rock was cracked and withering.
The ice lance flew just as she wanted it with ridiculous and effortless ease. Could this be how it truly felt to be an archer of the dark rangers' skill? Jaina couldn't quite believe that.
It might as well had been a boulder of dried old bread. Jaina's ice lance went neatly through it and stayed there, steaming and dripping in the warm weather.
She very politely gestured to Thrall that he could take his turn. She wondered what he would do, though? Just throw a common spear, or something flashy to impress his people like Jaina had? Maybe call lightning on the rock?
The Warchief had looked around at his fellow orcs with a good deal of 'I-told-you-so' about him. Now he stepped up into position…pulling out the Doomhammer of his belt.
With a roar, Thrall stepped forward and heaved the entire lump of iron forward like a bloated cannon shot. It flew true all the way and hit the porous stone with the sound and flash of a small strike of thunder and throwing up a great cloud of dust. When it settled, only a stump was left of the piece of rock and probably nothing of Jaina's ice.
Thrall grinned and Jaina snorted at him. But she was probably looking a bit the same, apart from tusk size and such.
Because they were no longer really competing about anything.
Even Warchiefs and archmages had to have their fun some times.
"Look at our Warchief, he thinks tossing his Doomhammer away will get him out of the job." Varok teased.
"Don't you also find that sometimes a hammer is needed to get things through thick skulls?" Thrall rumbled towards everyone looking on, whether they were Horde or Forsaken or Theramorian.
"I have heard someone say the same thing." Cyndia said. "A dwarven emissary."
Thrall looked quizzically at her.
"Dwarven diplomacy." Sylvanas spoke out loud with grim warning. "Pray you do not have to encounter it."
Author's Note
Jaina may wonder why the Banshee Queen would bring exclusively dark rangers as her retinue, but knowledgeable scholars of Azeroth will remember what the dark ranger's ultimate skill is. Sylvanas would not allow any rookie below level six to accompany her on this sort of mission.
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Anya: People should learn more from beastly Horde wolves. They may fight or they may cuddle but the really really settle their issues at least. But cuddle negotiations are the best and should always be the method of choice for civilised nations.
Jaina: Double honey-pot tactics.
Pained: I am not quite sure what that means but it certainly calls for some tea to go with all that honey.
Chapter 45: Bows and Bonds
Chapter 45: Bows and Bonds
The Dark Lady has more things on her mind than winning as the Forsaken wipe the floor with the opposition in their chosen contests.
Author's Note
Pained had looked far too knowing when Jaina's belly started to growl. It wasn't her fault, Tides blast it, and besides it was more than past proper lunch time in any civilised state.
The three sides, or in practice the two sides who made use of it, shared the central space for cooking and preparing whatever meal rations they had packed. It was curious how similar it was. Regardless of race and customs they all needed to eat. They all needed to dry things to keep them from spoiling, to wash it down with a good deal of water, and to preferably come up with any trick they could to season and flavour the otherwise boring grub.
Maybe she should invite her neighbours to a festival of cooking another time? The hotheads could set each others' guts on fire with needlessly spicy stews and Jaina could throw down some ice blocks nearby for chilled dishes and drinks.
She had the mad thought of herself and Thrall in aprons running a makeshift tavern together.
With the Dark Lady as waitress…
Or with dark rangers let into the kitchen…
Jaina almost spat crumbs from the loaf of bread she was chewing on when she thought of the insanity of two squadrons' worth of rangers throwing flour at each other or worse.
"My Lady? Is something wrong?" Pained asked.
"Mmf...no…" Jaina forced down both laugh and bread. "Just thinking of…the baking of bread."
Pained eyed her a little bit oddly.
The break for lunch allowed all teams some time to digest the day's events as well as their food. Jaina was full of witticisms today. She longed for being back to better, surer ground with Sylvanas so she could have bothered the Dark Lady with them all.
Sylvanas had been almost secretive the way she kept back so far. But now that would be done and over with, for the Forsaken game of the day was running. Plain and simple, and quite sporting towards both other factions since running was something they all did.
It did not take a great deal of genius to predict what the other nomination from a band of dark rangers would entail.
Despite a good deal of gentle nudging from the Forsaken team, Jaina would actually not be competing. She knew her limits, but she promised that she would keep working on this particular one.
She would not be idle though, far from it. Jaina and a few other members of each team would be teleported around by her as spectators and judges to oversee that nobody cheated or played foul during the race. It was a cross-country track over trackless rock, sand and scrub, thorny bushes and one or two ravines.
Kalimdor's picturesque landscape.
All participants were to choose any path they so preferred but must reach and round a flag marking the far end of the track and then make it back past a finishing line between two boulders, similarly draped.
She hoped everyone could give each other as much space as possible. She did not relish ending the first day with some kind of injuries or brawling because runners had tripped one another.
Luckily she had Pained out there with her own team and the Horde would be under the gaze of one high overlord and two chieftains.
Indeed.
"Don't even try to lecture me, Young Warchief!" Cairne rumbled. "I crossed the plains of these lands since thrice as long since you short-legged ones were born!"
"Alright, alright!" Thrall held up his palms placatingly. "I just wondered if you really have to carry those totems on your back for the whole time. Is that not unfair?"
"The spirits are with me and I with them." Cairne finished the discussion.
Sylvanas was finally stepping onto the field too, absent armour like the rest of her rangers. Jaina wondered if it was not out of politeness more than anything else. Their sparse protective gear had never appeared to be much of a hindrance to any of them as far as she had seen.
"Attention!" Jaina called out. "Good luck every one and mind your footing on the road ahead! Ready! GO!"
"GO!"
In rapidly growing clouds of dust, the champions of Azeroth charged ahead.
All except the Banshee Queen.
Jaina did not understand a thing. Wasn't she going to compete after all? Why had she lined up with her rangers, then?
"What's the mat…" Jaina begun but Sylvanas only looked smugly at her.
"…four, five, six…"
For Tides' sake, was she being serious?
"Have to give the others a fair chance…eight, nine…see you!"
And a Windrunner she was. Jaina could only look on in awe. Athletic as Clea, lithe as Anya, and all too soon a smaller and smaller speck in the distance. Not that Jaina had been absorbed by the sight or so, not completely. But she had never before gotten to watch Sylvanas run like this.
Perhaps she ought to have checked the Banshee Queen's boots for hidden wings, as a prudent judge?
And was it in accordance with the rules to have such long legs?
"Lady Jaina? Should we maybe…relocate?" Master Oddricht broke her out of her musings.
"Oh, of course."
Jaina teleported the group to the first selected observation post, a cliff with good view over the first quarter of the track. Below was rocky terrain, sloping upwards and excellent for getting the spirits down of any runner Jaina thought.
"Spread out around the obstacles, do not clump together! How many times do I need to tell you!"
Jaina nearly fell off the rock. Here, like blurry little black-and-white clouds, came the dark rangers running together like a true team, and chasing them was Sylvanas who shouted out instructions like it was a common training exercise for them all.
Clea waved at her while the Forsaken contingent leapt from stone to stone and over cracks and thorny shrubberies past the spectators.
In hot pursuit though came Pained and the swiftest of the Theramorians and the Horde. Indeed Cairne strode purposefully with gigantic steps along with them and even if he was not the swiftest on the field the ancient tauren had an inspiring aura of endurance about him and encouraged ally and opponent all the same.
Even the Horde's great wolves had been allowed to take part. It had lead to some discussion but eventually the matter had been resolved in a generous way. In the event of a tie all wolves would count as a team of their own but the running race was set to be an individualistic contest in any case. They now ran fleet-footed at the head of their masters who huffed and struggled on only two legs.
Jaina teleported to the next lookout spot. From here they could view the turning point with the flag. On the other side would be an interesting stretch with rougher ground along the straighter path and more open and sandy terrain further out.
"You are a unit! Run as one! Move as one!"
Sylvanas was giving her rangers no respite halfway through the race either, apparently. The dark rangers took running seriously on a whole other level than they took log paddling.
"Great form, Kitala! Excellent balance, Marrah!" The Dark Lady praised as her team passed a particularly nasty outcropping while maintaining cohesion and coordination. Jaina was not even sure it was the swiftest way forward.
At least not for the four-legged competitors. Five wolves were rapidly catching up, with green-, red- and purple-skinned contestants following close after.
So far Jaina had not seen anything out of place from any participant. Hopefully the track was too exhausting to leave room for foul play.
She cast her spell once more and moved to a spot a good deal out of the way of the third quarter of the track, where the ground evened out but vegetation was more plentiful.
"Good work! Now give each other space across the flat ground!"
Jaina wanted to run with them. Even if she would have no chance to keep pace for long, she longed to run with them anyway.
Even to hear Sylvanas shout instructions at her.
"Come on, come on!"
"Hiyah! Woof!"
Velonara, Cyndia and the Mirrahs were lagging behind slightly because they were turning and cheering on the Horde's wolves who were nearly catching up with them.
And by the far away Tides, they would soon be close to the finish! Jaina nearly scrambled her spell casting. It would not do to miss the end of the race!
They flashed onto the sand right next to the finishing line and Jaina hurried everyone well out of the way. Some dark dots were approaching quickly.
"You are my dark rangers! Nothing stops you! Nothing escapes you!"
One of those blurring dots managed to make herself heard even when sprinting at her fullest across the outermost track so as not to get in the way of her team mates.
Jaina could make out individuals now. She knew all those dark rangers by heart after all.
Clea, leaping like a frostsaber across the ground. Anya, who was gone before the dust had even begun to blow up.
They were first and second if Jaina saw correctly, but from the side and veering across the inner tracks approached on too long legs or borne by the winds of her surname, Sylvanas. She was insane. Unreal.
By a fleeting margin the Dark Lady flew across the finishing line followed by Clea tumbling past her towards one of the stone pillars, and in the last moment managing to turn and catch Anya so she would not have to crash into something in the same way.
Sylvanas mussed up their hair affectionately. Then, although Jaina had a hard time telling from a distance, it was like she remembered herself and stepped back again. But just then Kitala, Lyana and a couple of Naras barrelled across the finishing line and into the group.
Then just after them a tangled heap of fur coats and cloaks and thundering feet and hooves in hot pursuit that made the ground quake.
Was Jaina supposed to have kept score?
She decided that she was not. Master Oddricht would surely have done that if it was terribly important. Surely the top three or five or so sufficed? It was no question to which team this racing track (if it really deserved that term, and not trail) belonged at the end of the day.
But Kalira was missing. Where was she of all people? Jaina remembered how the Dark Lady had described their age-old rivalry, would she not have gone out of her way to defeat Sylvanas?
Jaina had almost contemplated worrying for real when the stragglers – if it was really polite to use that term – of the Horde and Theramore parted to make way for the last competitors to make it across the line. There was Kalira, supporting one of the trolls who hopped on one foot with her arm slung over the dark ranger's shoulders and a murderous look in the eye.
"Sprained ankle." Kalira reported curtly and killed any possible brewing levity at her expense. "A shame. Good sprinter."
You did not mess with Kalira. She did the right thing and let nothing stand in the way of doing that. Not even unsettled scores with orcs or queens.
Jaina saw Sylvanas seek Kalira's eyes and nod respectfully, like at a job well done.
What a day. Anya was exhausted.
Not in her body, but in her mind. There were so many things to keep track of and to worry about and to deal with. And so many very new and very strange people most of all.
Anya liked Pained, because Pained took care of Jaina and was Jaina's friend, so how could she not like her? Anya still hadn't dared nor had the opportunity to speak much to Jaina's bodyguard. What if the night elf would not approve of her? Jaina had been so kind when she introduced Anya, but Pained could still think she wasn't a very good friend to her ward. Not with how the Forsaken had behaved. The night elf looked like she could be awfully strict and stern if she wanted to.
And tall. Night elves were very tall.
Anya actually liked Thrall too even if he was an orc and had awful tusks. He as well was Jaina's friend since earlier, and if the Horde had not helped out the Legion would have won, and there would be no more Jaina or free Forsaken. Thrall didn't seem quite like the kind of the first and second Horde. He wasn't being demeaning or telling others to shut up and bow and all other things you'd come to expect from a Warchief of the orcs. It could be just for show here and now of course but Anya didn't think it was, because Thrall was playing with his huge black wolf when everyone was watching, even when it made him look very…un-scary, and if he was a brutal and mean Warchief he wouldn't do that.
If Anya was braver she would have asked if she could pet Blacknose like Jaina did.
Anya was sitting with Sylvanas and Jaina when they were talking about timber with Thrall. Anya was Sylvanas' bodyguard commander. And at the same time squadron commander of Jaina. And of Sylvanas when she wanted to.
A little confusing.
Thrall was not altogether taken with Jaina's ideas. It was a shame, Anya thought, because then she could have said that Thrall was enthralled by them.
The Warchief was not against trading for timber per se but he doubted how practicable it could be.
"Have you seen the size of our dwellings, Jaina? Even the smallest burrow is going to take loads, even if we are learning to build more of rock and stone too."
"Have you seen the cargo holds of Alliance ships? Even a lumbering Stormwind carrack could take on loads! Sorry… Unintentional." Jaina quickly added while she was biting her lip.
Thrall was not accustomed to puns and how they tired Sylvanas so he had to frown and think it over first.
"Uhu, lumbering…right." The Warchief didn't fully seem to get the hang of how funny they were." My people set sail on some of those ships I think."
He cleared his throat.
Jaina tried to look sternly at him. It was quite funny because neither she nor Thrall managed to keep their faces in check.
"They were just lying there. Probably forgotten ever since the second war or so. And I'm pretty sure it was Grom's idea too."
"Oh, is that so?"
"That is all, what do you humans say, water under the bridge? Or should I say…keel. Hah."
Anya decided that orcs had way to big teeth to flash you a grin.
"I do not see how any of this is supposed to work. We currently possess one and only one serviceable ship, but I have learned not to underestimate Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas spoke with a bit of a pale smile. "If she can find a way she can have all the timber she can carry from Lordaeron for all I care."
Anya did not see how they would do it either but she frankly did not care much right now. Jaina was back with them and she and Sylvanas were talking. Even if they were stiff. Even if they were nervous. Even if it was practical and stately things only.
They were talking.
All other things could wait.
Though apparently nobody had informed her fellow dark rangers of that. Namely Cyndia, the Naras and the Mirrahs who now barged into the negotiations around the campfire. Though they knew two thirds of the heads of state personally and Jaina had tried to encourage the different sides to actually try to speak to each other.
"What do you want?" Sylvanas asked while she looked them over. Anya understood her suspicion because the six of them appeared like they had something planned, in the sort of way where you would do well to keep on your toes and double-check your tent and your bedroll.
"Food."
"Food?"
"We haven't eaten in over two years. Well, with some exceptions." Lenara glanced mischievously at Cyndia and yelped when Cyndia kicked her shin from the side without remorse.
"We want bones, and meaty bones." Nara elaborated. "Could we have some, please, Lady Proudmoore?"
"So that it's fair." Mira added.
"Uh, of course you can…if you want?" Jaina was quite bewildered. She was really cute to look at when she was that so Anya couldn't blame her friends for trying to be confusing. On second thought maybe she shouldn't think that way of Jaina when she had to be Lady Proudmoore. Anya wasn't sure if Archmage Ladies were allowed to be cute. But at least no one could hear you think things even when they were inappropriate.
She hoped.
Though sometimes both Jaina and Sylvanas made a real good impression of being able to do just that.
"I thought they did not eat?" Thrall wondered.
"They do not." Sylvanas rose and brushed off some dust. "I actually think I had better go and take a look to be on the safer side."
Jaina jumped to her feet too and Thrall followed, grunting as he rose from the weight of the iron shell he dressed himself in.
They followed Sylvanas, not to the Theramorian supply tents but further, where the tracks and distinct sounds of dark rangers lead them to the Horde's spot in the encampment. They were met by a very peculiar scene.
And at least you had to be allowed to think that that was cute, Anya decided to herself.
Six dark rangers and close to a dozen dire wolves were spread out in a great pile before half a dozen greatly confused orc champions. The wolves were happily chewing on their evening snacks, shamelessly bribed by their new friends who were fervently scratching and rubbing them, half buried in the piles of warm fur.
Sylvanas, Thrall, Jaina and Anya took in the scene.
"Just so you know, I will want all of my wolves accounted for come morning." Thrall mumbled to Sylvanas while he scratched his neck.
"Just so you know, I will want all my rangers accounted for come morning." Sylvanas mumbled back.
"Mathematics at this hour?" Jaina huffed. "I'm going to bed!"
The next day Jaina bounced out of her bed in the early morning. She had slept like a rock in spite of the proximity of two dozen warlike diplomatic disasters in the making and being in a tent but having no single dark ranger keeping watch over her as it rightly should be. She put it down to all the exercising done yesterday and quite a few days worth of worrying herself sick. Unless the calm outside was the silence of a camp slaughtered in its sleep, things were looking up.
Her grim anxieties were put to shame when the sight greeted her of Pained and a couple more Theramorians making breakfast. A very wholesome porridge by the smell of it, along with bread and the hard cheese that could last for a longer time without going bad from the warmth.
Jaina could not help but notice the scent of roasting meat on a stick that just then and there wafted in from another corner of the shared campsite. Apparently the Horde were making breakfast too.
Maybe they even had onions to put between? It could nearly match grilled fish on some occasions…
Before she could help it Jaina's stomach made a sound worthy of Fluffy.
"Patience, My Lady, patience. The oats are almost cooked." the chef of the morning misinterpreted her.
"Hm? Ah, aha, very good…"
Jaina was not quite as sure that Pained had not caught her slightly absent tone however. Sometimes Pained was right inconveniently attentive of the wrong things.
Perhaps she could expand on the idea of culinary exchanges from yesterday and ask the Horde if they wanted to trade?
"Anya and Lyana came by an hour ago to pass the report that all had been clear throughout the night. Did you ask them to act as sentries around the camp, My Lady? Because then I seem to have missed it."
"No, I didn't. But I shouldn't be surprised either. When they decide to keep watch over someone they are very thorough."
"I see. I suppose that explains why Anya tried so hard to not look at your tent, My Lady."
Jaina found herself struck by an unexpected fit of coughing that required her to clear her throat. It lasted so long that Pained had time to move to the next question.
"Their numerous antics do not fool me. Are they really as formidable as they look?"
"Take what they look like and picture it three times worse. If a wandering army of centaurs had come across us in the night I would pity it."
"Then I will look forward to seeing what they can really do today."
Pained did not have to wait long. The first game of the second day was the Forsaken's and it would of course be archery.
Jaina had high expectations for this one. Not because she held any illusions of being able to keep up with the hosting team, but the throwing contests yesterday had proven to be very suitable for mingling in-between and it would likely be beneficial for the dark rangers' standing if they could create something with a similar atmosphere today. A running track offered decidedly lesser opportunity for small talk.
The dark rangers had prepared a multitude of targets very neatly and brought a large number of spare bows. It was no small concession, for Jaina knew they did not have many things to spare and especially not quality weaponry. While the draw weight would offer a good challenge to most – Jaina could only manage a few shots before her muscles would tremble so much that she could no longer aim accurately – the fact remained that there were regrettably none in the larger orc, not to mention tauren, sizes.
Spreading out Jaina caught not a little muttering from the Horde champions about the flimsy implements.
"These toys offer no real grip! Don't you ghosts have any ballistae?" one of the grunts…grunted.
"We'll be sure to pack some next year." Marrah promised.
"Yeah, that would be neat!" Mira agreed. "Ballista shooting in teams! And we should set some up in the keep to nail the Scourge's abominations too next time they come."
If the orcs were unimpressed by their bows, the casual allusion to the warring state of Lordaeron hit home. It was a tad hard to look down on someone who had hacked off probably ten times as many skulls the last year as yourself, or so Jaina knew from what she had learned of the general orc warrior mentality. Some aspects of it presented an undeniable objectivity. When it came to piles of conquered lich skulls, biggest would always be best.
The trolls snickered evilly at the troubles of their bulkier brothers. While they preferred throwing weapons they could handle bows deftly in a pinch and this morning it would be the Darkspear tribe that held the Horde banner high.
No one had started up any true contest yet and in truth Sylvanas' team was kept busier with setting everyone up with bows, quivers and targets than with anything else.
Jaina followed the development with great interest. More than interest, she realised. Dark rangers who were allowed to hurry back and forth among their living peers unmolested, that was a great and memorable sight. How it all should really be.
And they definitely looked like they were enjoying themselves, with half again as many new enthusiasts taking interest in their profession and chief pastime. Jaina smiled at the sight. Each of them deserved it so very much.
Thrall bided his time in the background this morning and contended himself with keeping a wary look on the event together with Varok. Cairne was far more encouraging even if his hands were by far too big for him to handle a bow by himself, and commended both his own trolls and competing Theramorians for their more successful shots.
Jaina noted that her team and the Horde were reasonably evenly matched. Both were familiar with archery but neither of them were experts.
Well, correction, almost none of them were experts.
Holy Tides, how was it that Jaina had never gotten around to watching Pained shoot?
Within two arrows' time she had attracted a delighted crowd of dark rangers swarming about her. Within three she had told them to cease milling around and get their own bows out instead, and probably before they knew it the dark rangers had obeyed her.
"Anya, would you like to join me?" Jaina heard her bodyguard ask. "I would very much like to test my mettle against Jaina's own squadron commander."
Jaina warmed up inside when Pained said that like it was a position of the highest honour and familiarity at the same time. The rest of the competition could wait, she decided. She just had to watch this.
Anya was a crack shot. She was not good, she was masterful like the rest of the dark rangers. But Jaina would be a soup-eating murloc if Anya was not close to the top among her sisters as well. Soon they had also unofficially joined in the contest and shot at their targets at the corresponding distance.
Pained was giving them all a run for their (non-existent) money.
Jaina found herself deeply impressed. Not only because the night elf handled her bow expertly and could hold her own against dark rangers in their home territory, but by how completely calm and relaxed Pained managed to remain in their company. When she had finally sheathed her sword before them she had done it for real. She was debating archery tactics and bow-making like there was nothing to it and endured the Naras naming her 'Miss Pained' (in the manner of a schoolmistress) with good grace.
So absorbed was Jaina that she of course completely missed Sylvanas approaching.
"Ranger Proudmoore. I think it is high time you fell in with your squadron and resumed your practicing."
Jaina twitched and blushed terribly before she could help herself. She and Sylvanas were here in stately capacity and Jaina was acting as Lady Proudmoore rather than Ranger Proudmoore as a matter of fact.
Much good that did when the Dark Lady used that kind of tone.
"Ehm…I don't know, with us being on opposing teams and all…I think maybe my city would be wise to cut its losses…"
To be honest she now felt very conscious of how many days had passed since her last real archery practice or any other ranger exercise.
"Rubbish. Take position, Ranger Proudmoore. We can not have Theramore being conquered too easily." She lowered her voice and added a remark that made Jaina outright ashamed of hesitating. "And my rangers would like nothing better than to have you train with them once again."
"Yes, Dark Lady."
Jaina hurriedly picked up a bow and quiver. It felt like so long since last. All the terrible things that had happened since the campaign for Dalaran lay between today and the last time she had practiced with her ranger squadron. The last of their happy days.
"Dark Lady? It…has been a while. Could you correct my stance for me?"
"Of course. Any time."
Sylvanas did not let the slightest reaction betray how much it meant to hear Jaina's humble request.
My ranger mage. My irreplaceable Ranger Proudmoore.
I treated you so badly and you would rather take poison than have me kick you out of my squadron. How could I even think of something like that?
I dare not swear it so you can hear it but I will not let you be harmed. Not ever again as long as I draw… Even if it would take my true death to prevent it, I mean.
You would have every right to recoil in fright but you do not. That you allow me to be close to you – that you allow me to stand near you I meant to say – means the world to me.
And your stance has slacked off something terrible. And that is my fault. But…but I will help you work on that. If you will let me.
I will treat you better.
Overly cautiously, Sylvanas nudged Jaina's elbow up and shoulder slightly back. She handled Jaina like she was made of brittle glass and Sylvanas jagged rock and spiked metal. At least she had remembered to leave her clawed gauntlets off unlike so many other times.
And now keep your precious eyes forward, my little mage.
"There now. Gently. Breathe in. Breathe out."
I find it so curious how those words can calm you so.
"And loose."
But I would be happy to tell your lungs to do their work however often you wanted it. In fact they had better not so much as think of doing anything else under my watch for then we will have serious words!
"Yes!" Jaina cried out. She had scored a hit, only in the outermost ring maybe but it was a fine and beautiful hit.
"Well done, Ranger Proudmoore." Sylvanas did not care if the slightest reaction betrayed how much it meant to hear joy in Jaina's voice again. "Keep going."
"Sylvanas! Are you just gonna stand there like a zombie? Come join the fun."
It was Anya, but the rest of the squadron followed suit.
"Yes, don't be such a bore!"
"Show us what you can do, Dark Lady!"
"If you dare."
So, these ungovernable scoundrels wanted a match? She would match them twice over! Sylvanas had her bow drawn before anyone could blink. Time to let insurgent subordinates, Theramorian greenhorns, Pained and the Horde ruffians know how it was really done.
Sylvanas had allowed far too little time for herself to enjoy the few remaining good things she had to enjoy. That also had to change. There was a marvellous escape in doing something where every moment flowed after the other with only the barest conscious effort on her part. To have only her bow, her arrow and the painted rings before her. To do something that truly, undeniably, just…just worked when she was doing it.
And trust her rangers to interfere with the slowly settling tranquillity at the first available opportunity! As if they had not themselves argued for her to join them mere minutes ago?
"I bet our squad leader can out-shoot yours with one eye closed." Velonara bragged.
"Well, I bet our squad leader can thrash yours with one arm tied behind her back!" Kitala retaliated.
"Ours can beat yours with both hands tied together with her toenails!" Lenara said this time.
"Ours can beat yours blindfolded and locked into a dwarven treasure vault!" Anya crowed.
"Actually it is Lieutenant Eversong who is the squadron commander, I would like to remind anyone who may have forgotten." Sylvanas pointed out.
"Highest-in-rank, whatever!" Nara dismissed her objection.
But Jaina was smiling at them, and her belly was shaking like when she tried to stop herself from laughing overtly.
You are a bunch of incorrigible rebels, the whole lot. And I could not imagine going on a single day without you. Let us go get Kalira, who has of course been keeping the rest of the field in check, outstanding ranger commander as she is, and we will give you a spectacle worth watching.
The morning had progressed into day in a very untroubled manner. Each team had, by design or happenstance, been left to ease into the archery contests at their own pace instead of being pitted at once against each other. The result was a leisurely, almost casual, atmosphere and even if the current pace of things may not impress the presumed hotheads back in Orgrimmar or Theramore, Sylvanas was sure that this was just what Jaina wanted.
Kalira was just offering some pointers to a part of the Theramorian team, every bit as conscientiously as if they had been on her own.
"Kalira. I am being hounded by yours and mine all together who claim to want entertainment. Should we show these rookies what real archery looks like?
"What? Oh, those rookies." She made a show of measuring her ranger squadron up and down. "Some days I am still astounded how they manage to tie their own bootlaces."
Two Naras stuck their tongues out at their squadron commander.
"What do you say, a hundred paces?"
"Better make it fifty. We want the crowd to be able to see what we're hitting."
"Fifty it is. I hope you will not make it too easy for me."
"I hope that Lady Proudmoore has warmed you up. I would hate to give our allies-to-be a bad showing."
Their respective eavesdropping squadrons had set up targets at the chosen distance in no time.
Velonara put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. It was quite the horrible shrill sound.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Gather around all ye studded studs and join or witness the breathtaking – for those that be having one – finals! A merciless meeting and calamitous contest of five arrows per round! The one with the closest arrow wins and faces the next terrifying opponent until only one remains!
Sylvanas supposed this was Vel's twisted interpretation of the proverbial human town crier or something of the sort. 'Calamitous contest', for Belore's sake…
With a bit of nudging encouragement from their leaders, the Theramorian and Horde teams produced about a matching number of contestants as the rangers. Velonara proved to be uncharacteristically orderly and rather effective as the self-appointed organiser. She had each team's champions face each other in the first round, which was courteous so that none would be knocked out of the contest at once. It also added a dramatic flair to the whole thing, or Vel' grabbed the opportunity to do so when she declared that the chosen champions now faced the nefarious opposing teams in gruelling trial.
Their numbers were uneven so Velonara had magnanimously opted out of competing and instead acted as full time hostess and master of the games. Pained breached the gap by facing Kitala in the first round.
Sylvanas defeated Lyana in the same but it was very unsatisfactory.
"Lyana, your bow has become bent." she frowned when they were done.
"I know. But I didn't think it was that noticeable?"
"It is not. But I happen to know that you usually shoot better than this. Tell Areiel to find you a replacement first thing when we get back to the Undercity."
The next round saw Sylvanas facing Cyndia and making it through with considerably less margin. Pained and Anya – who had won against Clea – met in the most even contest of this round. Sylvanas was greatly pleased when Anya put the last arrow perfectly in the centre to the vocal appreciation of the spectators.
In the third round it was time to brush off the other teams, one troll and two human champions. It so happened that Sylvanas' opponent was Lieutenant Hornblower of Theramore, whose patrol she had nearly Wailed at during the brief previous visit before Jaina intervened.
Sylvanas admitted that he was entitled to certain…reservations.
"I will be quiet. You have my word." she said and honestly did her best to keep an even tone.
Lieutenant Hornblower exhaled a long breath and did not answer.
He had experience, there was no doubt about that, but he had the tendency to draw his bow too hard. It would do for quick volley shooting over long distances but it impaired his accuracy. Sylvanas would have to ask Jaina at some suitable time for how she could pass that note by in a diplomatic manner.
Sylvanas could smell smoke in the air when she, Anya and Kalira took position for the second last round. Someone had been wise enough to start on an early lunch or supplementary breakfast.
"You seem to have gained yourself a Kaldorei admirer, Anya." Kalira noted matter-of-factly.
"Pained is really nice. I wish we could have met her sooner. And she shoots really well, it was awfully close."
"I saw that. I confess to being a little jealous, I would certainly enjoy facing Pained myself. I wonder what she is like with a blade."
"If My Ladies can find the time to make themselves available?" Sylvanas asked, dryly as the Kalimdorian ground. "Unless you wish to surrender immediately?"
Kalira glanced at Anya.
"It appears we need to teach the Dark Lady a lesson, don't you think, Anya?"
"Absolutely so."
Sylvanas grinned at her ranger.
"Do your worst."
Proud as Sylvanas was that Anya had made it to these finals of the finals, her ranger did not shoot as good this time as she had against Pained. Sylvanas and Kalira scored a far more even volley and ended with decisively closer hits.
They both shook hands so all could see it with Anya, who was very sporting but looked discontent and disappointed.
"Catch up while I catch up on the art of throwing daggers into thrown throwing spears." Kalira said, and the corner of Anya's mouth inched up a bit.
Sylvanas almost had to shake her head to clear it. Had she caught that right? Strict, almost dour, no-nonsense Kalira managing to cheer up Anya as smoothly as anyone. Since when?
Since her own squadron had come back to the capital to learn that Jaina was gone and Velonara's best friends wept her eyes out over it, of course. Kalira may not be as close to Anya but how could she possibly have missed hearing all about it from her own rangers? And it was Kalira's countenance that was of stone, not her heart.
Our rivalry is a waste. It always was. For Quel'thalas and for Lordaeron. For the ranger corps and for both of us.
Sylvanas exchanged a nod with her, and nocked her first arrow.
"Hold on to your hats, lads and lasses!" Velonara disrupted both their focus. "It is the final round, Fair Lady versus Dark Lady! Let us hope no one cheats because then we would have Foul Lady versus Dork L –"
"Behave yourself!"
Sylvanas and Kalira barked at Vel' before they realised they had done it in unison. Kalira rolled her eyes when they briefly exchanged equally exasperated looks.
Again, Sylvanas nocked her first arrow. Now – spared further outbursts of similar kind – she only wanted to draw, aim and loose. To be one with her bow and let all else fade away. To only exist in this almost-void.
She had made better shots. Many times in her life. Though of course only a smaller part of the transfixed audience knew that.
They were just about evenly matched until Kalira's fourth arrow. It was sublime.
Sylvanas should concentrate all the harder now, she should sharpen her senses until she could feel the smallest chip along the surface of her arrow, see the slightest discolouration along her bow, know the faintest tremor in her joints before it came. Instead, she only wished to sink deeper into the trance of what she was doing and lamented that the round would too soon come to its end.
Her last shot was excellent. But it was still not enough to beat Kalira's, that she knew before it had struck its mark.
"Congratulations, Ranger Lieutenant. Well shot."
"Likewise." Kalira shook her hand. She had had a good day today.
What did it matter?
Sylvanas knew fully well what she could do and what Kalira could do. She knew that when she went to Theramore she would have someone she could depend on completely to keep watch over the southern lands, and pity the Scourge or Scarlet interloper entertaining the thought of showing its ugly face anywhere near.
What was a petty competition against that?
In the next chapter:
"You failed!"
Varok Saurfang advanced against the Banshee Queen.
"You just – keep – failing!"
Sylvanas rose in triumph over Varok Saurfang's prone body.
"The Horde is nothing! You, are all, NOTHING!"
The Dark Lady has more things on her mind than winning as the Forsaken wipe the floor with the opposition in their chosen contests.
Author's Note
I have made certain changes and split the Kalimdorian Olympics into three chapters instead of two. That is a good thing because more things happen and, dare I say, more progress. It is a nuisance since it will take until next chapter until the circumstances regarding Sylvanas' hinted ominous exchange with Varok are revealed.
To do this I have moved two sections to this chapter from the previous one. Search for the three asterisks twice if you want to skip directly to the new content.
To do this I have moved two sections to this chapter from the previous one. Search for the three asterisks twice if you want to skip directly to the new content.
Pained had looked far too knowing when Jaina's belly started to growl. It wasn't her fault, Tides blast it, and besides it was more than past proper lunch time in any civilised state.
The three sides, or in practice the two sides who made use of it, shared the central space for cooking and preparing whatever meal rations they had packed. It was curious how similar it was. Regardless of race and customs they all needed to eat. They all needed to dry things to keep them from spoiling, to wash it down with a good deal of water, and to preferably come up with any trick they could to season and flavour the otherwise boring grub.
Maybe she should invite her neighbours to a festival of cooking another time? The hotheads could set each others' guts on fire with needlessly spicy stews and Jaina could throw down some ice blocks nearby for chilled dishes and drinks.
She had the mad thought of herself and Thrall in aprons running a makeshift tavern together.
With the Dark Lady as waitress…
Or with dark rangers let into the kitchen…
Jaina almost spat crumbs from the loaf of bread she was chewing on when she thought of the insanity of two squadrons' worth of rangers throwing flour at each other or worse.
"My Lady? Is something wrong?" Pained asked.
"Mmf...no…" Jaina forced down both laugh and bread. "Just thinking of…the baking of bread."
Pained eyed her a little bit oddly.
The break for lunch allowed all teams some time to digest the day's events as well as their food. Jaina was full of witticisms today. She longed for being back to better, surer ground with Sylvanas so she could have bothered the Dark Lady with them all.
Sylvanas had been almost secretive the way she kept back so far. But now that would be done and over with, for the Forsaken game of the day was running. Plain and simple, and quite sporting towards both other factions since running was something they all did.
It did not take a great deal of genius to predict what the other nomination from a band of dark rangers would entail.
Despite a good deal of gentle nudging from the Forsaken team, Jaina would actually not be competing. She knew her limits, but she promised that she would keep working on this particular one.
She would not be idle though, far from it. Jaina and a few other members of each team would be teleported around by her as spectators and judges to oversee that nobody cheated or played foul during the race. It was a cross-country track over trackless rock, sand and scrub, thorny bushes and one or two ravines.
Kalimdor's picturesque landscape.
All participants were to choose any path they so preferred but must reach and round a flag marking the far end of the track and then make it back past a finishing line between two boulders, similarly draped.
She hoped everyone could give each other as much space as possible. She did not relish ending the first day with some kind of injuries or brawling because runners had tripped one another.
Luckily she had Pained out there with her own team and the Horde would be under the gaze of one high overlord and two chieftains.
Indeed.
"Don't even try to lecture me, Young Warchief!" Cairne rumbled. "I crossed the plains of these lands since thrice as long since you short-legged ones were born!"
"Alright, alright!" Thrall held up his palms placatingly. "I just wondered if you really have to carry those totems on your back for the whole time. Is that not unfair?"
"The spirits are with me and I with them." Cairne finished the discussion.
Sylvanas was finally stepping onto the field too, absent armour like the rest of her rangers. Jaina wondered if it was not out of politeness more than anything else. Their sparse protective gear had never appeared to be much of a hindrance to any of them as far as she had seen.
"Attention!" Jaina called out. "Good luck every one and mind your footing on the road ahead! Ready! GO!"
"GO!"
In rapidly growing clouds of dust, the champions of Azeroth charged ahead.
All except the Banshee Queen.
Jaina did not understand a thing. Wasn't she going to compete after all? Why had she lined up with her rangers, then?
"What's the mat…" Jaina begun but Sylvanas only looked smugly at her.
"…four, five, six…"
For Tides' sake, was she being serious?
"Have to give the others a fair chance…eight, nine…see you!"
And a Windrunner she was. Jaina could only look on in awe. Athletic as Clea, lithe as Anya, and all too soon a smaller and smaller speck in the distance. Not that Jaina had been absorbed by the sight or so, not completely. But she had never before gotten to watch Sylvanas run like this.
Perhaps she ought to have checked the Banshee Queen's boots for hidden wings, as a prudent judge?
And was it in accordance with the rules to have such long legs?
"Lady Jaina? Should we maybe…relocate?" Master Oddricht broke her out of her musings.
"Oh, of course."
Jaina teleported the group to the first selected observation post, a cliff with good view over the first quarter of the track. Below was rocky terrain, sloping upwards and excellent for getting the spirits down of any runner Jaina thought.
"Spread out around the obstacles, do not clump together! How many times do I need to tell you!"
Jaina nearly fell off the rock. Here, like blurry little black-and-white clouds, came the dark rangers running together like a true team, and chasing them was Sylvanas who shouted out instructions like it was a common training exercise for them all.
Clea waved at her while the Forsaken contingent leapt from stone to stone and over cracks and thorny shrubberies past the spectators.
In hot pursuit though came Pained and the swiftest of the Theramorians and the Horde. Indeed Cairne strode purposefully with gigantic steps along with them and even if he was not the swiftest on the field the ancient tauren had an inspiring aura of endurance about him and encouraged ally and opponent all the same.
Even the Horde's great wolves had been allowed to take part. It had lead to some discussion but eventually the matter had been resolved in a generous way. In the event of a tie all wolves would count as a team of their own but the running race was set to be an individualistic contest in any case. They now ran fleet-footed at the head of their masters who huffed and struggled on only two legs.
Jaina teleported to the next lookout spot. From here they could view the turning point with the flag. On the other side would be an interesting stretch with rougher ground along the straighter path and more open and sandy terrain further out.
"You are a unit! Run as one! Move as one!"
Sylvanas was giving her rangers no respite halfway through the race either, apparently. The dark rangers took running seriously on a whole other level than they took log paddling.
"Great form, Kitala! Excellent balance, Marrah!" The Dark Lady praised as her team passed a particularly nasty outcropping while maintaining cohesion and coordination. Jaina was not even sure it was the swiftest way forward.
At least not for the four-legged competitors. Five wolves were rapidly catching up, with green-, red- and purple-skinned contestants following close after.
So far Jaina had not seen anything out of place from any participant. Hopefully the track was too exhausting to leave room for foul play.
She cast her spell once more and moved to a spot a good deal out of the way of the third quarter of the track, where the ground evened out but vegetation was more plentiful.
"Good work! Now give each other space across the flat ground!"
Jaina wanted to run with them. Even if she would have no chance to keep pace for long, she longed to run with them anyway.
Even to hear Sylvanas shout instructions at her.
"Come on, come on!"
"Hiyah! Woof!"
Velonara, Cyndia and the Mirrahs were lagging behind slightly because they were turning and cheering on the Horde's wolves who were nearly catching up with them.
And by the far away Tides, they would soon be close to the finish! Jaina nearly scrambled her spell casting. It would not do to miss the end of the race!
They flashed onto the sand right next to the finishing line and Jaina hurried everyone well out of the way. Some dark dots were approaching quickly.
"You are my dark rangers! Nothing stops you! Nothing escapes you!"
One of those blurring dots managed to make herself heard even when sprinting at her fullest across the outermost track so as not to get in the way of her team mates.
Jaina could make out individuals now. She knew all those dark rangers by heart after all.
Clea, leaping like a frostsaber across the ground. Anya, who was gone before the dust had even begun to blow up.
They were first and second if Jaina saw correctly, but from the side and veering across the inner tracks approached on too long legs or borne by the winds of her surname, Sylvanas. She was insane. Unreal.
By a fleeting margin the Dark Lady flew across the finishing line followed by Clea tumbling past her towards one of the stone pillars, and in the last moment managing to turn and catch Anya so she would not have to crash into something in the same way.
Sylvanas mussed up their hair affectionately. Then, although Jaina had a hard time telling from a distance, it was like she remembered herself and stepped back again. But just then Kitala, Lyana and a couple of Naras barrelled across the finishing line and into the group.
Then just after them a tangled heap of fur coats and cloaks and thundering feet and hooves in hot pursuit that made the ground quake.
Was Jaina supposed to have kept score?
She decided that she was not. Master Oddricht would surely have done that if it was terribly important. Surely the top three or five or so sufficed? It was no question to which team this racing track (if it really deserved that term, and not trail) belonged at the end of the day.
But Kalira was missing. Where was she of all people? Jaina remembered how the Dark Lady had described their age-old rivalry, would she not have gone out of her way to defeat Sylvanas?
Jaina had almost contemplated worrying for real when the stragglers – if it was really polite to use that term – of the Horde and Theramore parted to make way for the last competitors to make it across the line. There was Kalira, supporting one of the trolls who hopped on one foot with her arm slung over the dark ranger's shoulders and a murderous look in the eye.
"Sprained ankle." Kalira reported curtly and killed any possible brewing levity at her expense. "A shame. Good sprinter."
You did not mess with Kalira. She did the right thing and let nothing stand in the way of doing that. Not even unsettled scores with orcs or queens.
Jaina saw Sylvanas seek Kalira's eyes and nod respectfully, like at a job well done.
***
What a day. Anya was exhausted.
Not in her body, but in her mind. There were so many things to keep track of and to worry about and to deal with. And so many very new and very strange people most of all.
Anya liked Pained, because Pained took care of Jaina and was Jaina's friend, so how could she not like her? Anya still hadn't dared nor had the opportunity to speak much to Jaina's bodyguard. What if the night elf would not approve of her? Jaina had been so kind when she introduced Anya, but Pained could still think she wasn't a very good friend to her ward. Not with how the Forsaken had behaved. The night elf looked like she could be awfully strict and stern if she wanted to.
And tall. Night elves were very tall.
Anya actually liked Thrall too even if he was an orc and had awful tusks. He as well was Jaina's friend since earlier, and if the Horde had not helped out the Legion would have won, and there would be no more Jaina or free Forsaken. Thrall didn't seem quite like the kind of the first and second Horde. He wasn't being demeaning or telling others to shut up and bow and all other things you'd come to expect from a Warchief of the orcs. It could be just for show here and now of course but Anya didn't think it was, because Thrall was playing with his huge black wolf when everyone was watching, even when it made him look very…un-scary, and if he was a brutal and mean Warchief he wouldn't do that.
If Anya was braver she would have asked if she could pet Blacknose like Jaina did.
Anya was sitting with Sylvanas and Jaina when they were talking about timber with Thrall. Anya was Sylvanas' bodyguard commander. And at the same time squadron commander of Jaina. And of Sylvanas when she wanted to.
A little confusing.
Thrall was not altogether taken with Jaina's ideas. It was a shame, Anya thought, because then she could have said that Thrall was enthralled by them.
The Warchief was not against trading for timber per se but he doubted how practicable it could be.
"Have you seen the size of our dwellings, Jaina? Even the smallest burrow is going to take loads, even if we are learning to build more of rock and stone too."
"Have you seen the cargo holds of Alliance ships? Even a lumbering Stormwind carrack could take on loads! Sorry… Unintentional." Jaina quickly added while she was biting her lip.
Thrall was not accustomed to puns and how they tired Sylvanas so he had to frown and think it over first.
"Uhu, lumbering…right." The Warchief didn't fully seem to get the hang of how funny they were." My people set sail on some of those ships I think."
He cleared his throat.
Jaina tried to look sternly at him. It was quite funny because neither she nor Thrall managed to keep their faces in check.
"They were just lying there. Probably forgotten ever since the second war or so. And I'm pretty sure it was Grom's idea too."
"Oh, is that so?"
"That is all, what do you humans say, water under the bridge? Or should I say…keel. Hah."
Anya decided that orcs had way to big teeth to flash you a grin.
"I do not see how any of this is supposed to work. We currently possess one and only one serviceable ship, but I have learned not to underestimate Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas spoke with a bit of a pale smile. "If she can find a way she can have all the timber she can carry from Lordaeron for all I care."
Anya did not see how they would do it either but she frankly did not care much right now. Jaina was back with them and she and Sylvanas were talking. Even if they were stiff. Even if they were nervous. Even if it was practical and stately things only.
They were talking.
All other things could wait.
Though apparently nobody had informed her fellow dark rangers of that. Namely Cyndia, the Naras and the Mirrahs who now barged into the negotiations around the campfire. Though they knew two thirds of the heads of state personally and Jaina had tried to encourage the different sides to actually try to speak to each other.
"What do you want?" Sylvanas asked while she looked them over. Anya understood her suspicion because the six of them appeared like they had something planned, in the sort of way where you would do well to keep on your toes and double-check your tent and your bedroll.
"Food."
"Food?"
"We haven't eaten in over two years. Well, with some exceptions." Lenara glanced mischievously at Cyndia and yelped when Cyndia kicked her shin from the side without remorse.
"We want bones, and meaty bones." Nara elaborated. "Could we have some, please, Lady Proudmoore?"
"So that it's fair." Mira added.
"Uh, of course you can…if you want?" Jaina was quite bewildered. She was really cute to look at when she was that so Anya couldn't blame her friends for trying to be confusing. On second thought maybe she shouldn't think that way of Jaina when she had to be Lady Proudmoore. Anya wasn't sure if Archmage Ladies were allowed to be cute. But at least no one could hear you think things even when they were inappropriate.
She hoped.
Though sometimes both Jaina and Sylvanas made a real good impression of being able to do just that.
"I thought they did not eat?" Thrall wondered.
"They do not." Sylvanas rose and brushed off some dust. "I actually think I had better go and take a look to be on the safer side."
Jaina jumped to her feet too and Thrall followed, grunting as he rose from the weight of the iron shell he dressed himself in.
They followed Sylvanas, not to the Theramorian supply tents but further, where the tracks and distinct sounds of dark rangers lead them to the Horde's spot in the encampment. They were met by a very peculiar scene.
And at least you had to be allowed to think that that was cute, Anya decided to herself.
Six dark rangers and close to a dozen dire wolves were spread out in a great pile before half a dozen greatly confused orc champions. The wolves were happily chewing on their evening snacks, shamelessly bribed by their new friends who were fervently scratching and rubbing them, half buried in the piles of warm fur.
Sylvanas, Thrall, Jaina and Anya took in the scene.
"Just so you know, I will want all of my wolves accounted for come morning." Thrall mumbled to Sylvanas while he scratched his neck.
"Just so you know, I will want all my rangers accounted for come morning." Sylvanas mumbled back.
"Mathematics at this hour?" Jaina huffed. "I'm going to bed!"
***
The next day Jaina bounced out of her bed in the early morning. She had slept like a rock in spite of the proximity of two dozen warlike diplomatic disasters in the making and being in a tent but having no single dark ranger keeping watch over her as it rightly should be. She put it down to all the exercising done yesterday and quite a few days worth of worrying herself sick. Unless the calm outside was the silence of a camp slaughtered in its sleep, things were looking up.
Her grim anxieties were put to shame when the sight greeted her of Pained and a couple more Theramorians making breakfast. A very wholesome porridge by the smell of it, along with bread and the hard cheese that could last for a longer time without going bad from the warmth.
Jaina could not help but notice the scent of roasting meat on a stick that just then and there wafted in from another corner of the shared campsite. Apparently the Horde were making breakfast too.
Maybe they even had onions to put between? It could nearly match grilled fish on some occasions…
Before she could help it Jaina's stomach made a sound worthy of Fluffy.
"Patience, My Lady, patience. The oats are almost cooked." the chef of the morning misinterpreted her.
"Hm? Ah, aha, very good…"
Jaina was not quite as sure that Pained had not caught her slightly absent tone however. Sometimes Pained was right inconveniently attentive of the wrong things.
Perhaps she could expand on the idea of culinary exchanges from yesterday and ask the Horde if they wanted to trade?
"Anya and Lyana came by an hour ago to pass the report that all had been clear throughout the night. Did you ask them to act as sentries around the camp, My Lady? Because then I seem to have missed it."
"No, I didn't. But I shouldn't be surprised either. When they decide to keep watch over someone they are very thorough."
"I see. I suppose that explains why Anya tried so hard to not look at your tent, My Lady."
Jaina found herself struck by an unexpected fit of coughing that required her to clear her throat. It lasted so long that Pained had time to move to the next question.
"Their numerous antics do not fool me. Are they really as formidable as they look?"
"Take what they look like and picture it three times worse. If a wandering army of centaurs had come across us in the night I would pity it."
"Then I will look forward to seeing what they can really do today."
Pained did not have to wait long. The first game of the second day was the Forsaken's and it would of course be archery.
Jaina had high expectations for this one. Not because she held any illusions of being able to keep up with the hosting team, but the throwing contests yesterday had proven to be very suitable for mingling in-between and it would likely be beneficial for the dark rangers' standing if they could create something with a similar atmosphere today. A running track offered decidedly lesser opportunity for small talk.
The dark rangers had prepared a multitude of targets very neatly and brought a large number of spare bows. It was no small concession, for Jaina knew they did not have many things to spare and especially not quality weaponry. While the draw weight would offer a good challenge to most – Jaina could only manage a few shots before her muscles would tremble so much that she could no longer aim accurately – the fact remained that there were regrettably none in the larger orc, not to mention tauren, sizes.
Spreading out Jaina caught not a little muttering from the Horde champions about the flimsy implements.
"These toys offer no real grip! Don't you ghosts have any ballistae?" one of the grunts…grunted.
"We'll be sure to pack some next year." Marrah promised.
"Yeah, that would be neat!" Mira agreed. "Ballista shooting in teams! And we should set some up in the keep to nail the Scourge's abominations too next time they come."
If the orcs were unimpressed by their bows, the casual allusion to the warring state of Lordaeron hit home. It was a tad hard to look down on someone who had hacked off probably ten times as many skulls the last year as yourself, or so Jaina knew from what she had learned of the general orc warrior mentality. Some aspects of it presented an undeniable objectivity. When it came to piles of conquered lich skulls, biggest would always be best.
The trolls snickered evilly at the troubles of their bulkier brothers. While they preferred throwing weapons they could handle bows deftly in a pinch and this morning it would be the Darkspear tribe that held the Horde banner high.
No one had started up any true contest yet and in truth Sylvanas' team was kept busier with setting everyone up with bows, quivers and targets than with anything else.
Jaina followed the development with great interest. More than interest, she realised. Dark rangers who were allowed to hurry back and forth among their living peers unmolested, that was a great and memorable sight. How it all should really be.
And they definitely looked like they were enjoying themselves, with half again as many new enthusiasts taking interest in their profession and chief pastime. Jaina smiled at the sight. Each of them deserved it so very much.
Thrall bided his time in the background this morning and contended himself with keeping a wary look on the event together with Varok. Cairne was far more encouraging even if his hands were by far too big for him to handle a bow by himself, and commended both his own trolls and competing Theramorians for their more successful shots.
Jaina noted that her team and the Horde were reasonably evenly matched. Both were familiar with archery but neither of them were experts.
Well, correction, almost none of them were experts.
Holy Tides, how was it that Jaina had never gotten around to watching Pained shoot?
Within two arrows' time she had attracted a delighted crowd of dark rangers swarming about her. Within three she had told them to cease milling around and get their own bows out instead, and probably before they knew it the dark rangers had obeyed her.
"Anya, would you like to join me?" Jaina heard her bodyguard ask. "I would very much like to test my mettle against Jaina's own squadron commander."
Jaina warmed up inside when Pained said that like it was a position of the highest honour and familiarity at the same time. The rest of the competition could wait, she decided. She just had to watch this.
Anya was a crack shot. She was not good, she was masterful like the rest of the dark rangers. But Jaina would be a soup-eating murloc if Anya was not close to the top among her sisters as well. Soon they had also unofficially joined in the contest and shot at their targets at the corresponding distance.
Pained was giving them all a run for their (non-existent) money.
Jaina found herself deeply impressed. Not only because the night elf handled her bow expertly and could hold her own against dark rangers in their home territory, but by how completely calm and relaxed Pained managed to remain in their company. When she had finally sheathed her sword before them she had done it for real. She was debating archery tactics and bow-making like there was nothing to it and endured the Naras naming her 'Miss Pained' (in the manner of a schoolmistress) with good grace.
So absorbed was Jaina that she of course completely missed Sylvanas approaching.
"Ranger Proudmoore. I think it is high time you fell in with your squadron and resumed your practicing."
Jaina twitched and blushed terribly before she could help herself. She and Sylvanas were here in stately capacity and Jaina was acting as Lady Proudmoore rather than Ranger Proudmoore as a matter of fact.
Much good that did when the Dark Lady used that kind of tone.
"Ehm…I don't know, with us being on opposing teams and all…I think maybe my city would be wise to cut its losses…"
To be honest she now felt very conscious of how many days had passed since her last real archery practice or any other ranger exercise.
"Rubbish. Take position, Ranger Proudmoore. We can not have Theramore being conquered too easily." She lowered her voice and added a remark that made Jaina outright ashamed of hesitating. "And my rangers would like nothing better than to have you train with them once again."
"Yes, Dark Lady."
Jaina hurriedly picked up a bow and quiver. It felt like so long since last. All the terrible things that had happened since the campaign for Dalaran lay between today and the last time she had practiced with her ranger squadron. The last of their happy days.
"Dark Lady? It…has been a while. Could you correct my stance for me?"
"Of course. Any time."
***
Sylvanas did not let the slightest reaction betray how much it meant to hear Jaina's humble request.
My ranger mage. My irreplaceable Ranger Proudmoore.
I treated you so badly and you would rather take poison than have me kick you out of my squadron. How could I even think of something like that?
I dare not swear it so you can hear it but I will not let you be harmed. Not ever again as long as I draw… Even if it would take my true death to prevent it, I mean.
You would have every right to recoil in fright but you do not. That you allow me to be close to you – that you allow me to stand near you I meant to say – means the world to me.
And your stance has slacked off something terrible. And that is my fault. But…but I will help you work on that. If you will let me.
I will treat you better.
Overly cautiously, Sylvanas nudged Jaina's elbow up and shoulder slightly back. She handled Jaina like she was made of brittle glass and Sylvanas jagged rock and spiked metal. At least she had remembered to leave her clawed gauntlets off unlike so many other times.
And now keep your precious eyes forward, my little mage.
"There now. Gently. Breathe in. Breathe out."
I find it so curious how those words can calm you so.
"And loose."
But I would be happy to tell your lungs to do their work however often you wanted it. In fact they had better not so much as think of doing anything else under my watch for then we will have serious words!
"Yes!" Jaina cried out. She had scored a hit, only in the outermost ring maybe but it was a fine and beautiful hit.
"Well done, Ranger Proudmoore." Sylvanas did not care if the slightest reaction betrayed how much it meant to hear joy in Jaina's voice again. "Keep going."
"Sylvanas! Are you just gonna stand there like a zombie? Come join the fun."
It was Anya, but the rest of the squadron followed suit.
"Yes, don't be such a bore!"
"Show us what you can do, Dark Lady!"
"If you dare."
So, these ungovernable scoundrels wanted a match? She would match them twice over! Sylvanas had her bow drawn before anyone could blink. Time to let insurgent subordinates, Theramorian greenhorns, Pained and the Horde ruffians know how it was really done.
Sylvanas had allowed far too little time for herself to enjoy the few remaining good things she had to enjoy. That also had to change. There was a marvellous escape in doing something where every moment flowed after the other with only the barest conscious effort on her part. To have only her bow, her arrow and the painted rings before her. To do something that truly, undeniably, just…just worked when she was doing it.
And trust her rangers to interfere with the slowly settling tranquillity at the first available opportunity! As if they had not themselves argued for her to join them mere minutes ago?
"I bet our squad leader can out-shoot yours with one eye closed." Velonara bragged.
"Well, I bet our squad leader can thrash yours with one arm tied behind her back!" Kitala retaliated.
"Ours can beat yours with both hands tied together with her toenails!" Lenara said this time.
"Ours can beat yours blindfolded and locked into a dwarven treasure vault!" Anya crowed.
"Actually it is Lieutenant Eversong who is the squadron commander, I would like to remind anyone who may have forgotten." Sylvanas pointed out.
"Highest-in-rank, whatever!" Nara dismissed her objection.
But Jaina was smiling at them, and her belly was shaking like when she tried to stop herself from laughing overtly.
You are a bunch of incorrigible rebels, the whole lot. And I could not imagine going on a single day without you. Let us go get Kalira, who has of course been keeping the rest of the field in check, outstanding ranger commander as she is, and we will give you a spectacle worth watching.
The morning had progressed into day in a very untroubled manner. Each team had, by design or happenstance, been left to ease into the archery contests at their own pace instead of being pitted at once against each other. The result was a leisurely, almost casual, atmosphere and even if the current pace of things may not impress the presumed hotheads back in Orgrimmar or Theramore, Sylvanas was sure that this was just what Jaina wanted.
Kalira was just offering some pointers to a part of the Theramorian team, every bit as conscientiously as if they had been on her own.
"Kalira. I am being hounded by yours and mine all together who claim to want entertainment. Should we show these rookies what real archery looks like?
"What? Oh, those rookies." She made a show of measuring her ranger squadron up and down. "Some days I am still astounded how they manage to tie their own bootlaces."
Two Naras stuck their tongues out at their squadron commander.
"What do you say, a hundred paces?"
"Better make it fifty. We want the crowd to be able to see what we're hitting."
"Fifty it is. I hope you will not make it too easy for me."
"I hope that Lady Proudmoore has warmed you up. I would hate to give our allies-to-be a bad showing."
Their respective eavesdropping squadrons had set up targets at the chosen distance in no time.
Velonara put her fingers in her mouth and whistled. It was quite the horrible shrill sound.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Gather around all ye studded studs and join or witness the breathtaking – for those that be having one – finals! A merciless meeting and calamitous contest of five arrows per round! The one with the closest arrow wins and faces the next terrifying opponent until only one remains!
Sylvanas supposed this was Vel's twisted interpretation of the proverbial human town crier or something of the sort. 'Calamitous contest', for Belore's sake…
With a bit of nudging encouragement from their leaders, the Theramorian and Horde teams produced about a matching number of contestants as the rangers. Velonara proved to be uncharacteristically orderly and rather effective as the self-appointed organiser. She had each team's champions face each other in the first round, which was courteous so that none would be knocked out of the contest at once. It also added a dramatic flair to the whole thing, or Vel' grabbed the opportunity to do so when she declared that the chosen champions now faced the nefarious opposing teams in gruelling trial.
Their numbers were uneven so Velonara had magnanimously opted out of competing and instead acted as full time hostess and master of the games. Pained breached the gap by facing Kitala in the first round.
Sylvanas defeated Lyana in the same but it was very unsatisfactory.
"Lyana, your bow has become bent." she frowned when they were done.
"I know. But I didn't think it was that noticeable?"
"It is not. But I happen to know that you usually shoot better than this. Tell Areiel to find you a replacement first thing when we get back to the Undercity."
The next round saw Sylvanas facing Cyndia and making it through with considerably less margin. Pained and Anya – who had won against Clea – met in the most even contest of this round. Sylvanas was greatly pleased when Anya put the last arrow perfectly in the centre to the vocal appreciation of the spectators.
In the third round it was time to brush off the other teams, one troll and two human champions. It so happened that Sylvanas' opponent was Lieutenant Hornblower of Theramore, whose patrol she had nearly Wailed at during the brief previous visit before Jaina intervened.
Sylvanas admitted that he was entitled to certain…reservations.
"I will be quiet. You have my word." she said and honestly did her best to keep an even tone.
Lieutenant Hornblower exhaled a long breath and did not answer.
He had experience, there was no doubt about that, but he had the tendency to draw his bow too hard. It would do for quick volley shooting over long distances but it impaired his accuracy. Sylvanas would have to ask Jaina at some suitable time for how she could pass that note by in a diplomatic manner.
Sylvanas could smell smoke in the air when she, Anya and Kalira took position for the second last round. Someone had been wise enough to start on an early lunch or supplementary breakfast.
"You seem to have gained yourself a Kaldorei admirer, Anya." Kalira noted matter-of-factly.
"Pained is really nice. I wish we could have met her sooner. And she shoots really well, it was awfully close."
"I saw that. I confess to being a little jealous, I would certainly enjoy facing Pained myself. I wonder what she is like with a blade."
"If My Ladies can find the time to make themselves available?" Sylvanas asked, dryly as the Kalimdorian ground. "Unless you wish to surrender immediately?"
Kalira glanced at Anya.
"It appears we need to teach the Dark Lady a lesson, don't you think, Anya?"
"Absolutely so."
Sylvanas grinned at her ranger.
"Do your worst."
Proud as Sylvanas was that Anya had made it to these finals of the finals, her ranger did not shoot as good this time as she had against Pained. Sylvanas and Kalira scored a far more even volley and ended with decisively closer hits.
They both shook hands so all could see it with Anya, who was very sporting but looked discontent and disappointed.
"Catch up while I catch up on the art of throwing daggers into thrown throwing spears." Kalira said, and the corner of Anya's mouth inched up a bit.
Sylvanas almost had to shake her head to clear it. Had she caught that right? Strict, almost dour, no-nonsense Kalira managing to cheer up Anya as smoothly as anyone. Since when?
Since her own squadron had come back to the capital to learn that Jaina was gone and Velonara's best friends wept her eyes out over it, of course. Kalira may not be as close to Anya but how could she possibly have missed hearing all about it from her own rangers? And it was Kalira's countenance that was of stone, not her heart.
Our rivalry is a waste. It always was. For Quel'thalas and for Lordaeron. For the ranger corps and for both of us.
Sylvanas exchanged a nod with her, and nocked her first arrow.
"Hold on to your hats, lads and lasses!" Velonara disrupted both their focus. "It is the final round, Fair Lady versus Dark Lady! Let us hope no one cheats because then we would have Foul Lady versus Dork L –"
"Behave yourself!"
Sylvanas and Kalira barked at Vel' before they realised they had done it in unison. Kalira rolled her eyes when they briefly exchanged equally exasperated looks.
Again, Sylvanas nocked her first arrow. Now – spared further outbursts of similar kind – she only wanted to draw, aim and loose. To be one with her bow and let all else fade away. To only exist in this almost-void.
She had made better shots. Many times in her life. Though of course only a smaller part of the transfixed audience knew that.
They were just about evenly matched until Kalira's fourth arrow. It was sublime.
Sylvanas should concentrate all the harder now, she should sharpen her senses until she could feel the smallest chip along the surface of her arrow, see the slightest discolouration along her bow, know the faintest tremor in her joints before it came. Instead, she only wished to sink deeper into the trance of what she was doing and lamented that the round would too soon come to its end.
Her last shot was excellent. But it was still not enough to beat Kalira's, that she knew before it had struck its mark.
"Congratulations, Ranger Lieutenant. Well shot."
"Likewise." Kalira shook her hand. She had had a good day today.
What did it matter?
Sylvanas knew fully well what she could do and what Kalira could do. She knew that when she went to Theramore she would have someone she could depend on completely to keep watch over the southern lands, and pity the Scourge or Scarlet interloper entertaining the thought of showing its ugly face anywhere near.
What was a petty competition against that?
In the next chapter:
"You failed!"
Varok Saurfang advanced against the Banshee Queen.
"You just – keep – failing!"
Sylvanas rose in triumph over Varok Saurfang's prone body.
"The Horde is nothing! You, are all, NOTHING!"
Chapter 46: Hordes and Handkerchiefs
Chapter 46: Hordes and Handkerchiefs
"Thrall, you who know about these human stuffs…" the High Overlord wondered. "…what sort of chief is a hanker-chief?"
More people than Anya have trouble knowing where to look from time to time, and Sylvanas gets below the belt with Varok Saurfang in this chapter, in fact.
International political meetings can become quite the mud pits.
"Cairne. Surely you have to be kidding?"
"Take heart, Jaina!" the tauren chieftain rumbled. "Everyone will work together."
"But, tossing the caber, is that a team game?"
"It is today. See, we will take the logs from yesterday and cut to a length that is half again the height of the member who is in-between the shortest and the tallest in each team. Then the thicker logs will gain you more points if you can make a successful throw but all the effort counts together."
"Or we could play tossing the mage staff instead?" Jaina suggested. "Maybe?"
She proved to be lucky to not have anyone tossing her staff away, for a bit of conveniently applied ice magic sped up the labour of cutting the logs to the right size considerably. Cairne and the two other tauren members of the Horde team went about and inspected the cabers and discussed how to apply the points to them.
What followed then soon became a very chaotic hour but it was also a good deal of fun. It quickly became apparent that neither orcs nor trolls had any considerable experience of this pastime so the three sides were mostly evenly matched in that. Cairne went about in high spirits – Jaina would spare Sylvanas that pun – and cheered on participants in every team. It quickly became apparent to Jaina that this game only looked deceptively simple and a good deal of technique was required to get somewhere. Even holding one of these wobbly masts steady was an adventure!
You were not only supposed to fling that beam as long as you could, it had to overturn like a capsizing boat in the air and land in a straight line ahead of you on top of everything.
Jaina and Thrall had claimed the positions between Theramore's and the Horde's contestants so that none other should risk stumbling into the adjoining team's ground and cause an argument. Pained was acting as a similar buffer on the other wing of the Theramorian line. She was a strong asset in this game but the general idea had not quite struck with her.
"You people have the strangest ways of planting trees…" she had said.
Jaina wondered if the general difficulty with balancing these unwieldy trunks was not the most bonding aspect of this activity. Apart from the tauren nobody looked quite like they knew what they were doing and it was hard to be sneering at your neighbours under those circumstances.
Jaina herself nearly staggered into Thrall, who helped her catch the dangerously leaning timber in time before it managed to escape her.
"It is fortunate that I am well armoured." he chuckled as he helped her get the caber back into position.
"Clearly you foresaw the need to guard yourself against falling beams today. Hrryah!" Jaina grunted and managed to make said beam almost turn over, only to veer half to starboard instead at the last moment.
"Of course. I am a far seer after all."
"And such a gentleman." someone chipped in from behind them. Someone in a dark cloak who would be accompanied by one or two fellows in the same, if Jaina was not imagining things.
"That must be why Lady Proudmoore is positively beaming today." Marrah concluded.
"The Warchief really knows how to handle such a huge pole, doesn't he?" Mira asked no one in particular.
"Don't you have your own tossing to get back to?" Jaina decided to rescue Thrall and cut this raid short while there was still time. "Off with you. Or should I say 'chop-chop' to you woodenheads?"
The three rangers disappeared with awed looks at Jaina and appreciative snickering.
"So, this is the…diplomatic exchanges between Theramore and Lordaeron?"
"Honestly, you are better off not knowing…" Jaina only half joked.
"You seem to take after them. Or they after you perhaps."
"Seriously?"
"I was not the one of us who stood before Archimonde asking him if talking was all that demons did." The Warchief grinned so that all his tusks and teeth showed.
"No, of course not. You gave him a lightning bolt to the nuts as a parting gift instead." Jaina smirked. "Very civilised."
"Bah." Thrall grimaced. "They were at eye level. Unfortunately."
"I hear you there."
"Eh, Lady Jaina?" The gruff voice belonged to Gromwell Gromfaeyr, the only dwarf in the Theramorian team. Though he was broad enough to count as two dwarves at the very least. While he no longer had a hair left on his head he made up for it with a mighty red beard, and all the tattoos that instead decorated his scalp. Jaina found it a damned shame they were now hidden under a scarf tied against the sun. They were downright fascinating to look at.
"Whatch'a ye longlegs talking about?" he asked. "Jaina knew that was the Gromwell way of inquiring if you were interrupting something.
"Just Archimonde's nu – ahem!"
"Nothing noteworthy." Thrall saved. "What's on your mind, Master Gromwell?"
"Me and this lass here –" He indicated Clea who was accompanying him. " – got bored with the wee sticks allotted to us. Ain't it time to let someone else have a go with the real ones you keep, hehe, hoarding?"
"How long is the team contest supposed to go on, Jaina?" Clea asked. "We have been going on for a while now. What's the score?"
Jaina looked at Thrall and Thrall looked at Jaina.
"Score? Right. We were supposed to keep score?"
"I kind of reckoned the tauren would? Cairne!"
The tauren chieftain materialised with two long strides.
"Young Warchief."
"Did you keep score between our champions?"
"That I did not."
Jaina and Thrall quickly decided that the team contests were concluded for the day and the Banshee Queen magnanimously assented and did not inquire further about the matter apart from a telling raised eyebrow.
By now there was – apart from the Forsaken – a bunch of sweaty and dusty participants who gathered to watch the final struggle between the most stubborn enthusiasts play out. Jaina found a rocky spot with less sand and after a fleet-footed dark ranger had fetched her a blanket she conjured a huge block of ice which Thrall then had the honour to shatter into tiny pieces.
"Fresh ice for all who crave it! Cool off before it melts!" Jaina announced.
By the Tides, magic was sweet to have sometimes…
Munching on a frozen pebble she watched Clea, Gromwell, a couple of orcs and the two tauren champions battle it out with the heaviest caber. It was a Horde victory but the other teams made a good account of themselves.
"Jaina! Should you not join us?" Cairne invited her.
"Thank you but that is a little out of my league. Maybe next year."
"What if you used your magic?"
Hm!
Could that be done?
The cogs of her head were turning already. If she could push a blasted ship on its way she should be able to handle a single log. The trouble was that there was no water to use in the same way here on dry land…
Jaina let arcane ice coat the bark of the caber and then tried to sense it…
"Tastingo! She be not following the rules!" one troll champion exclaimed as the caber rose from the ground.
"No, she rarely tends to do that." Thrall agreed amusedly.
Now then, just to push that ice away just like an ice lance…
The huge piece of wood soared forward through the air, but it landed with the tip first and Jaina had to push the other end deliberately to make it tip over.
"Hah! A fine toss!" Cairne rumbled.
"Alright then, Chieftain. All yours." Jaina said meaningfully. She was not falling for any innocent Bloodhoof's 'who, me? oh, I couldn't…' pretence.
Cairne squatted down to grab the largest caber. He tensed his mountain of a back, raised it higher, and thundered forward.
"MOOOOOH!"
The log shot up like it had been fired by a dwarven mortar. Soaring in a wide arc above the field is clattered to the ground on the other end.
Jaina just shook her head. What else could you expect from the people that carried totem poles on their backs?
"Oi!" Master Oddricht Mekkatorque-Jansen's high voice brought her out of any contemplating thoughts of tauren culture or otherwise. "You all have better not be wasting precious building materials! Throwing away quality timber like it grows on trees, or what?! If I do not see that gathered and collected I will have all of you clearing the sluice tanks with your handkerchiefs!"
Living and undead elves, orcs, humans, trolls, dwarf and tauren looked unsurely at one another before the gnomish admonishments that spared neither squire nor queen. Pained on the other hand nodded approvingly.
"We'd better do as he says." Jaina whispered. "It's also going to set a bad example not to, with all the timber issues and so."
A somewhat awkward troupe of champions dispersed across the field to retrieve the logs to where the master carpenter directed.
Jaina happened to walk next to Thrall and Varok Saurfang and overhear a hushed conversation between them.
"Thrall, you who know about these human stuffs…" the High Overlord wondered. "…what sort of chief is a hanker-chief?"
Jaina broke out into a giggle that overflowed into a laughter that made her fall to her knees.
"We'll, uh…later, Varok." Thrall said. "Let's eat, first of all."
When they were going to have lunch Jaina mysteriously disappeared. It was only for a short while, thankfully, but Anya was still puzzled. The late lunch that was cooking did not even have overly many vegetables in it. She had checked.
When Jaina got back she at least seemed happy, and expectant even. Humans called it being giddy. So that was good in any case.
"Anya? Is something the matter?"
"Well…" Anya tried to not look too troubled, but it never worked on Jaina anyway. "You just vanished. So I became worried."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I went to Theramore, it was just for a small errand. It is…for a present of sorts."
"That sounds very kind. But, well, last time when you went away to get a present…" Anya didn't really know how to say it.
"Oh, no, I swear it is not anything like that." Jaina was all crestfallen. "I explicitly told Sylvanas, Thrall and Hornblower where I was going and I did bring Pained with me. But I should have told you directly too."
Anya felt very, very stupid, before Jaina looked her in the eyes and forced her to meet her glimmering blue.
"I'm sorry." Anya mumbled. Then she whispered. "I was being scared."
Jaina pulled her close and hugged her.
"I understand that you were. I probably would have been that too. Everything is…far too sensitive right now." She whispered into Anya's ear and stroked her hair. Anya wanted that to never end.
"Anya. I promise I will do my very best to be more considerate. Very soon I will be able to just take you with me but today I could not be sure it would have been safe. But I promise this will be funny, just wait and see later today."
That had Anya's attention, just like Jaina had probably intended. She only put a finger to her lips and looked impish when Anya tried to glean any more insight into it.
They ate together, that is Jaina gathered her food and ate and Anya kept close to her all the time. When she hesitated Jaina took her hand and dragged her along to sit with her next to Sylvanas and Kalira and the Horde leaders.
They were almost done. No, Anya should not think of it like that because this was important and these Kalimdorian games were Jaina's idea, and a superbly successful one too so far. It was just that…that it was still dangerous even when everything looked to be going the way it should. Anya would not relax until all the guests that were not old friends with Jaina had gone home. Maybe Thrall and Cairne Bloodhoof could stay, for example.
She had to cease being so afraid. But where did you start? Anya didn't know where or how to start.
Only that she wanted Jaina and Sylvanas close to her, and talking to each other again.
Just then, her ears caught something. A deep rhythm of, yes, what was it? Anya could not quite place it, not steps on the ground but –
Drums?!
It had been…so long a time. She was not used to recognizing good sounds as what they were. Not used to believing that what she was hearing could be something good and kind and not threatening.
When Jaina was with her and these drums sounded, it was a little easier to not be afraid. Especially when Jaina was drumming the melody with her fingers on Anya's shoulder.
Tap-tappetitap-tappetitap-tappetitaptaptaptap…
"The Warsong Clan are fond of their battle drums. Catchy, aren't they?" Thrall leaned back against his log seat and stretched his arms out comfortably. They were really huge. Anya was sure he could carry anyone in his Horde if he needed to, just like Clea. Except for Cairne maybe.
That was a happy thought. Jaina had good taste in friends. She wouldn't have invited someone who she couldn't trust even if he was a Warchief. Thrall would keep everything in order and then they could come to Jaina in Theramore and stay with her there without anyone daring to cause trouble over it.
"Dark Lady! Lieutenant!" The Naras and Mirrahs managed to look out of breath somehow even if they didn't breathe when they barged into the meal. "We just have to get hold of some of those drums!"
"Join the Horde if we have to!"
Sylvanas had been leaning back languidly.
"Warchief, there you have the specified payment if we ever get this timber affair going." she drawled.
Thrall looked at Jaina, and Anya realised that orcs could really look wicked too.
"Is this where you'd say that you drum up an agreement, Jaina?"
Jaina snorted like she had had a fly flying into her nose and she bit her lower lip so hard that Anya almost worried she would hurt herself while looking at Sylvanas.
The Dark Lady managed to somehow give both Jaina and Thrall a long look even though they were seated on opposite sides of her. It was very impressive.
Kalira rose to probably put her rangers to work with something very necessary and very time-consuming. The conversation meanwhile slipped back to state matters, which it was supposed to if Anya understood the plan right.
"…I am pleased, too, no question of that." Thrall said. "The spirits or plain dumb luck are with us still and we may make it through another day without any bloodshed. Better than I truly expected."
"So if our dumb luck holds, what do we do next?"
"I brought the more malleable of my people just like you did. I will wait for the first blows between them and those who want war with you."
"That bad?"
"Hm. Shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Jaina. You know enough of my people's ways. There is pride involved. A significant part of the Horde does not care much for trade outside their own clan, or possibly the rest of the Horde. They will see dishonourable goblins cheating and extorting, or enemies to either exhort or pay tribute to in return for holding back outright conquest. That is the legacy from the chieftains before me and the roots go deep. But it is not the only way, and those who preach it got to sit at home and do nothing today and yesterday, while my champions gained great honour by wiping the floor with you in the two most important competitions."
Jaina made a face at him, but nodded too.
To Anya it sounded like Thrall would not have an easy time ahead or behind him as Warchief. And maybe it wasn't the same as what she knew, and Anya didn't really dare to, but…
"Warchief Thrall? Please try to not do all things yourself."
All eyes turned on Anya. She tried to fight off the impulse to hide on the other side of Jaina.
"You're damned right about that." Thrall nodded towards her. "I'm going to leave most of the dirty work to the High Overlord in fact."
"And I for my part won't have to debate whether the Warchief's ruling is sound just because I kick the wretches into line and into obeying it." Varok added maliciously.
"Sounds fun. I can hardly bear the thought of missing out on it." Jaina commented. "Can I do anything to make things easier for you?"
Thrall shrugged.
"In the end it will come down to results. Bring timber to our doorstep and the idiots will stand there looking like idiots while the rest of us start building. Until then, today is a small step on the long road ahead of us."
"So we are not out of the woods yet." Jaina rubbed her chin sagely.
Anya had to bite her own lip just as much in order not to giggle when it was not appropriate.
"Perhaps it is not my business to know, but why do you antagonise your ally so with plays on words, Jaina? Provided it is intentional."
"A question I have found myself asking…" Sylvanas growled, in the lovely way that had made Anya shiver. But then it was as if something caught up with her, as if the Dark Lady remembered herself and that she could no longer do that.
Don't. Sylvanas, please don't. Don't stop being our Dark Lady.
Jaina likes it.
"Thrall, how about a fight?" Sylvanas then continued, to the collective shock of all who listened.
The Banshee Queen made a point of inspecting her nails as the epitome of queenly disinterest, Anya thought, even if she hadn't really known many things about queens before Sylvanas became one.
"The real enemy, the lackeys of your former demon masters, reside in Lordaeron and Northrend. Whether in exchange for timber or for a suitable amount of gold in bounty for the severed skulls of the foe, would it help you if your worst raiders could burn off some heat away from home? If nothing else they would have better things to do than stay grumbling about the lack of wood in Durotar and their prestige would overshadow those who did."
"I will say that on some days, the idea would not be without its appeal."
"Do let us know. I can always find use for more meat shields to cover my rangers."
"Charming."
Jaina suddenly rose from her seat.
"Pray excuse me, this has been an interesting conversation but I think me and Anya need to go and rescue my bodyguard."
Pained was bravely holding on. She somehow managed to down her meal with Clea and Kitala flanking her, Lyana and the Mirrahs in front and The Naras cutting off any remaining paths of escape. They were interrogating her without mercy.
"Jaina has told us so much about the night elves! Do all of you ride on cats?"
"Are all of them fluffy like Fluffy?"
"Do you live in trees?"
"Do you have a tree, Miss Pained? Or do you live with someone?"
"Are you engaged with someone? Is he cute? Or is she cute?"
"Is it true that druids are half stags? Do elves they charm go for a ride? And what about the dryads?"
"Can you shapeshift to anything you want or do you have your own animal form? Which one is Malfurion's? Can he shapeshift Tyrande too?"
"What was the deal with Tyrande and Malfurion and Illidan long ago? Do you know any details, Miss Pained?"
"And what was Illidan and Maiev up to all those boring centuries cooped up in her dungeons? Nothing? Reaaaally?"
The afternoon was as hot and dusty as ever in the Kalimdorian inland, if not the scorching heat of the summer months. It was an excellent day for a nice little swim in Jaina's opinion.
But you had to wait until an hour after you had eaten, Jaina had habitually and adamantly enforced before she realised what a mother hen she sounded like. She blamed it on a Kul Tiran upbringing.
Ahem.
The swimming would be a true team contest, a relay race where each swimmer had to reach a rock formation upstream and then return to the finish line whereupon the next team member would take over. Eight champions per team doing two laps each, which should be easy enough to keep score of (hrm!) and would not become boring.
Sylvanas and Thrall were both being landlubbers but Jaina would be sporting and join her team in the water. An added bonus was that it would be quite pleasant to dip and cool off from the heat while she waited for her turn.
This time Jaina was at least better supplied with gear for such an endeavour, contrary to certain earlier occasions in the Kalimdorian wilderness. Her tunic and underwear would do fine and dry off quickly afterwards, especially after a touch of fire magic cheating. The Horde champions contended themselves with dropping their thick boots – Jaina secretly counted herself lucky that her nose maintained a comfortable distance – and headgear and one or two more or less spiky armour pieces and were ready to go. The dark rangers removed their armour in similar manner but kept their long and thick pants.
"Anya?" Jaina caught her and whispered a question, not wanting to be indiscreet. "Are you all going to swim with your pants on?"
"We should swim in something, shouldn't we? Otherwise we would be a bit rude. Since we don't all know each other and we aren't sure how you do it in Theramore and Durotar?"
"Yes, that is, uh, probably wise. But, can't you swim in your underclothes?" Jaina felt herself in acute need of a bath before her cheeks caught fire.
"But we don't have any."
"Wha…"
Anya looked quizzically, and a little bemused, at her. She was quite adorable when she did.
"We have half, our linen wrappings. But, well…" She looked uncomfortable and made a grimace. "…dying tends to be a messy business. And then we wore those rags as Scourge for over a year, so we had to throw them away. It was one of the first things we all did after breaking free, I think."
"Oh! I…uh…that…" Jaina stammered.
"Don't worry about us. We are more tough-skinned now than when we were alive. And you know what our ranger pants are like, all the seams are covered so they don't chafe."
"When we are in Theramore the seamstresses of the city will be at your beck and call. I'll pay for it if needed." Jaina's embarrassment over broaching the private subject battled fiercely with her sympathy for Anya and all the others, and eventually lost.
Perhaps she should not count on their garments stopping the opposing team too much, Jaina noted when the dark rangers stretched and flexed their legs in preparation. That leather was truly like a second, wet, glistening skin.
Not that she was staring.
Ahem.
She was just gauging the opposition, like people did at competitions. Perfectly normal.
Contrary to the previous games, the swimming was from the start a nail-bitingly even affair. Jaina screamed encouragements like at least half a banshee along with the rest of her team, to their swimmers who could not hear much with water running all over their ears.
She and Anya were last in line for their respective teams. It suited Jaina well but she also had to admit to being curious of what it would look like to see Anya swimming. It would nearly be worth being outclassed by the Forsaken to get to see it. But only nearly.
Jaina treaded water when Gromwell crossed the line like some humongous sea turtle. She was away!
And this stream was no more cooperative than yesterday. Every stroke was a struggle and while she had no time to spare a glance Jaina worried that she was not getting anywhere. She did not want to look like a fool in her own chosen contest.
Then she nearly bumped into the rocks marking the half way. Jaina raised a hand above the water to slap it and show herself, then turned underwater and catapulted herself off the stone. Just then she caught a glimpse of Anya on her left coming in the opposite direction.
If she was keeping ahead of Anya then she couldn't be doing that badly, Jaina thought as the current carried her downstream in no time at all.
She had just turned around when the dark ranger popped out of the water. She made the cutest seal. Or sea lion, with the dark coat.
Anya dove out of Lenara's way and then followed Jaina to wait in the shallows where they could stand.
"You look happy in the water." Anya said. "Were you thinking of something?"
"You as a sea lion."
"What is a sea lion?"
"Like a dark-furred seal. They live in Kul Tiras and have big black eyes and are the cutest things. Except if you are a fish."
"Do they live close to one another?"
"Very much so. The rocks are full of them on sunny days."
"Then I would like to be one."
Jaina anxiously followed the remaining race while at the same time imagining herself on smooth Kul Tiran seaside rock with the sun warming her fur and her long body curled around the smaller sea lion inside, almost a cub.
Theramore and the Forsaken were slowly outrunning the Horde – outswimming? – but between them it was ever tight. Hornblower chased ahead of Mira after a successful turning but when Lyana faced Gromwell she was nearly catching up.
Jaina was in perfect position. On top of wanting to win she had gotten an idea. One she would be unlikely to realise but she so very much wanted to try.
Jaina hurled herself forward as soon as Gromwell's fist bumped into hers. She was going to win this. And she was going to do more than win, she was going to finish with enough time to turn and catch Anya when she surfaced!
Because that was what she wanted to do now most of all.
I am the daughter of the sea.
I rule the currents, they do not rule me.
I will hold my sea lion for as long as she needs it. Until she is not scared anymore.
Jaina crashed fist first against the rock this time and banged her knuckles badly against it. Unimportant. All that counted was a quick surfacing to show her palm and then turn.
Faster, you slothful river! Faster! I have an Anya to catch!
Jaina turned to throw a glance forward. She had to time it now.
Seven strokes. Five. Four. Three. Two. One!
Jaina crashed through the surface and ignored the irritation to her eyes when she shifted to the side and turned around on the spot with the same movement. Where was –
A dark shadow sped rapidly at her under the water. The most precious little sea lion sailed through the surface and into Jaina and Jaina's arms from her own momentum. Anya stayed disoriented for less than a heartbeat, and then she glued herself hard to Jaina.
Jaina backstroked without hurry to the shore with the dark ranger on top of her while the last Horde champion reached the finish line to the cheers of the spectators on land and water.
"The next time we'll be swimming naked and crush you all!" Marrah threatened.
Jaina decided that she would deal with next year's threatening calamities next year.
This year she would deal with this year's dark ranger banter that experienced bathers like herself had learned to expect.
And she would deal with it well. For they meant it for real and there was no hidden malice in their words. There never had been. It had all been in Jaina's head.
That part of her head had grown quieter lately.
"You can take us swimming any day, Lady Proudmoore!"
"But drop the tunic, it only gets in the way!"
"Dibs on finishing the last lap next time!"
"And Kul Tirans are still half seals!"
"More like otters."
"No, shush! We weren't supposed to!"
Jaina had to smile.
"It is fine!" she approved over her shoulder, the one without Anya nestled on it.
"But are we allowed to tease your other Theramorians now?" Kitala asked.
"Yes, thank you Kitala, I guess we need to learn to get used to you sooner or later and you graciously gave us an easy start yesterday. Permission granted."
"Well, in that case… Oh, woe! My sisters haven't breathed since I pulled them out of the water! If only there were some strong champions around who could give them the kiss of life…"
"You sure make a lot of noise for people in that predicament." someone quipped back. Jaina nodded to herself. That was the spirit!
When she reached the shallow water and the high river bank, and regretfully had to put Anya down, she was met by Sylvanas. Tides, she looked just as impressive from below today as last time Jaina had emerged from Kalimdorian waters in front of her.
"I hope your swim was satisfactory, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas said. No icicles grew from the words this time.
"Indeed it was, Lady Windrunner. Lovely day for a swim."
Lyana did not need to stitch her clothes back together either this time, Jaina remembered fondly. How she missed how it was, how carefree it seemed in retrospect to sail with the Banshee's Wail even when there were the hardships and the exhaustion. She did not miss those things, she did not miss not knowing the rangers. But the way she and Sylvanas had been able to talk and finally tease and joke, and the care of the Banshee Queen that watched her fall asleep.
We have to find a way back to that. Find our way back.
Dark Lady, I…I miss you.
The Horde and Theramorian contestants did not need much time or effort to get dressed and the warm weather would quickly help dry everyone. None the less it left them exposed to ample interjections from their Forsaken colleagues. Sylvanas and Kalira even gave Jaina a long, telling look.
What? It wasn't like she had given them complete carte blanche to run amok. Besides, the champions were seasoned veterans who had stood up to the Burning Legion. They could take it.
Surely?
You could say that from a very large scaled and averaged sort of view today was something of a turnabout that evened the scales, when it was the living who were the target of staring from the undead instead of the other way around.
Jaina fumbled with her clothes when she hurried so she would be ready to be at hand, just in case. Even with arcane conveniences she felt a touch…spongy, but that was just what you had to account for when being out in the field like this.
"Theramorians are steaming hot today, aren't they, Anya?" Velonara grinned shamelessly when the vapours billowed out of Jaina's loose summer robes.
The dark rangers threw smouldering (even before taking into account that they had red eyes) looks left and right and engaged in a debate that would have constituted some form of public indecency had they been within any remotely civilised settlement, Jaina was sure. To be honest the rangers were picking between future allies like they were shopping for jewelry.
Or toys. Or pets. Jaina palmed her head with a sigh.
Wondering out loud if this or that piece of juicy Theramorian or Durotarian meat had an equally handsome best friend or spouse they could bring along in the bargain for good measure was of course not beyond them either.
Tides…
"Keep in mind that we are near water now so it's called mates."
"You're right! Mates."
"That is a very good word. It covers everything."
"Your mates are my mates!" the prospective new allies of Theramore and the Horde were graciously reassured.
Jaina decided it was high time to usher all foreign representatives to be seated in their open-air dining hall. She and Pained went away to one of the tents where Jaina discreetly threw open a portal to Theramore. Only Pained went through this time.
She returned soon enough, in a hurry with long strides, and handed a small package to Jaina.
"They're finished?" Jaina couldn't stop herself from unwrapping it at once and look. "Oh, this is perfect!"
She purposefully took the stage by the fire pits in the middle, and waved mysteriously with the small bundle to Anya on the way.
"If I may have your attention?!" Jaina shouted. She bubbled inside. This was going to be fabulous!
"Thank you all for stunning displays of skill and strength today and yesterday! Though I note that the games begun and ended with a Theramorian victory…" She was momentarily interrupted by the clamour from the other teams. "In my opinion every participant has done honour to his and her nation and I sincerely hope we will meet again to hold the next year's games."
At this, a round of clapping hands, beating of chests, various roars and other approving noises sounded.
"Now, would please Warchief Thrall, Chieftain Cairne and High Overlord Varok step forward?"
Two green and one brown brow furrowed in puzzlement. You easily felt a bit overshadowed when those three lined up in front but Jaina would not be distracted.
"While we have all scrupulously collected our timber for the day, I would not want my honourable neighbours to stand with empty hands the next time they face dread-inducing sluice tanks or any other cleaning assignment. As a token of our appreciation I therefore wish to present each mighty chief with nothing less than…" Jaina huffed and puffed and tried desperately to keep a straight face. "…a personal Horde handker-chief!"
Jaina opened the small package and flourishingly handed over one bright red piece of cloth to each of them. The silence was palpable when both hardened orcs and ancient tauren held up and inspected the smooth hem and artfully embroidered black Horde insignia in the lower right corner and overall managed to look like they only with difficulty could credit the testimony of their own eyes.
"PFFFTHA! HAHAHAHA!" Thrall burst out in booming laughter and bent double trying to stay on his feet. "JAINA! You are unbelievable!"
Jaina had stopped fighting the losing battle against her overwhelming giggles and the epidemic spread with huffs and snorts around most of the audience.
"Da Warchief's laughter be da thunder of storms, mon." Velonara persisted. "That because he be da big bad shaman now we all know dat there be many wisecracks in Orgrimmar in dis time of year."
Cairne and Varok still appeared slightly confused. Jaina noticed Thrall murmur something to Varok from the corner of his mouth and indicate his nose.
"You mean they blow their noses on these instead of the ground?" the High Overlord half whispered, overcome with incredulity. "And…and they walk around with their snot in keeping and…and they pocket it?"
Thrall made a grimace.
"Eugh."
Jaina almost made a grimace too. When he put it like that…
"As far as anyone in Orgrimmar is concerned, these are charms of good health, generously gifted, understood?" Thrall ordered his retainers.
"I could not have put it better myself." Jaina complimented.
Soon her Kalimdorian games would be over. For this time at least but Jaina would have hope.
Though the afternoon had not yet turned to evening.
Maybe, just maybe, there was time for just one more crazy idea.
If she would dare to.
"And, there was one other thing…"
If she would want to.
"Sylvanas! I challenge! Mud'gora!"
"JAINA! That is not something to take lightly!" Thrall was outraged.
"No, no, no, no." Jaina waggled her finger at him and all other listeners. "We are not having any horrible blood sport here. Not mak'gora. Mud'gora. An ancient Kul Tiran custom."
"Mud'gora?"
"Indeed. Age-old tradition proudly carried on by each generation of Boralus' children." Jaina waved and shooed Thrall and every other spectator back. "Now observe."
They were next to a river, and where there were rivers and growing things there was water. And where there was water a frost mage could call it forward, or up as it now was. Up, up through the soil, loosening caked mud and hard packed sand.
Gasps and impressed whistles accompanied the brown water springing forth through the ground in a depression that was almost like a bit of a hole, which became a puddle, which turned into a mud pit when she made the water flow this way and that and dig up and erode steadily more of the earth.
Jaina made a show of brushing off her hands as if she had been a farmer digging this hole through honest labour. Then she leapt down into it.
Sylvanas was standing by the edge and looking on with crossed arms and actually a hint of amused gleam about her look. It was there, Jaina knew it. She wanted more than anything to bring out more of it.
"So, would Lady Proudmoore please enlighten us about the rules of this no doubt subtle and sophisticated contest?"
"No beating or kicking, and no taking hold of the head and neck. First one to fall into the mud loses."
Sylvanas smiled, and her fangs showed, and Jaina's breath decided to hitch when the Dark Lady held her gaze with her own and unclasped her chest armour.
"I accept." Sylvanas strode confidently down the small slope with long, captivating steps, ignoring the mud her polished boots trod in. "Let us see how much you have kept in memory, my little ranger mage."
Jaina swallowed involuntarily as Sylvanas slowly begun to circle around her. This was the Dark Lady on the prowl, just like she had been on the sand in the Undercity's arena.
But that time she hadn't had spectators of the highest rank lining the ring expectantly.
Yikes…
What had she been thinking?
"I dislike having to repeat myself to my recruits. Footwork, Ranger Proudmoore!" Sylvanas commanded, sharp as a thunderclap.
Jaina nearly jumped on the spot and hurried to follow that instruction. Yes, just because they were supposed to be wrestling did not mean she should stand still. Right.
The crowd was caught up in the thrill of the contest – or chase – in no time. Theramore's team cheered loudly for Jaina, and she caught sight of Pained smiling widely with a look that said 'and just how were you thinking of getting out of this, My Lady?' and promised that she would not hear the end of this escapade any time soon.
The Horde shouted and clamoured for them to get on with it while the dark rangers whistled and cried encouragements to both Jaina and Sylvanas.
Sylvanas came for her with a monstrous leap and her fingers spread like talons. Jaina almost yelped and hopped to the side, and then they were at it. Jaina put her weight forward against Sylvanas' arms and pressed. The Banshee Queen matched her in force.
"Tell me, is it the lady or the lady who leads in this dance?" Sylvanas tilted her head while Jaina ignored the attempt to distract her and focused on pushing.
Suddenly Sylvanas twisted her weight and rocked their arms so Jaina nearly stumbled, with an impish smirk. Jaina countered by pulling Sylvanas towards her instead of pushing, but the elf caught it and put one foot forward and held so that it was Jaina who stumbled to one side.
"The seas are high in this little lake."
Then, just as Jaina was regaining her footing, Sylvanas pulled her left arm forward with overwhelming strength and Jaina stumbled after like a ragdoll.
"Now we are dancing! May I see a pirouette too, My Lady?"
Tides, how she was toying with Jaina!
"Now, try something new. Surprise me." Sylvanas ordered. "And mind your footwork. Move your whole body like Anya has taught you."
That comment made all of Jaina warm. Sylvanas, recalling her ranger exercising and praising Anya at the same time. But now she really had to figure out something good.
Those inordinately blocking and, hrm…toned…arms! Everything would be much easier if royal undead opponents kept them to themselves. But what if…
Jaina ran up on the side of the mud pit and then pounced on the Dark Lady, but instead of seeking to topple her right away Jaina sought out her right arm and grappled it. She was going to turn around and drag Sylvanas with her, slung over her shoulder like a sack, and keep her from doing more mischief…
It was just that when she had managed to get hold of Sylvanas' right arm and turned on the spot as planned, Jaina found her own left seized by the Dark Lady just when she needed both her hands to bend forward pull her royal burden with her. Next thing Sylvanas had somehow twisted her right hand out of Jaina's grip and snagged Jaina's wrist instead, and now it was Jaina who was caught with her arms tied in a knot, and forcibly bent backwards until she was all but leaning into the Banshee Queen's embrace.
And for one glorious instant Jaina was looking into blazing fires beyond which all else had dimmed and quieted. Then Sylvanas swept Jaina's legs out from underneath her and dumped her unceremoniously face first into the mud. Though to tell the truth Sylvanas did lower her a good bit before dropping her so the landing was gentle. Jaina still sputtered and blinked and tried to resist rubbing her eyes before she had cleaned up enough for it to do any good.
"Look at my new mud golem, isn't she pretty?!" Sylvanas announced. Pained reached down to hand her a handkerchief, probably without fancy embroideries.
"I want a bigger one." Sylvanas challenged while she wiped Jaina's face regardless of her feeble protesting. "Thrall!"
The Warchief laughed deeply. Cairne sighed and grunted something about all of them being such children.
"So, Sylvanas, you think you can hold your own in the Horde?" Thrall rumbled and showed his teeth.
"What I think is that you are just afraid of being put in your place, orc, and of going anywhere without that overgrown plate of yours. Is it just me, or does it look a little rusty along the edges?"
"Rusty? Bold words from the other side of the grave. I will show you rusty! Lok'tar!"
Aided by two grunts hastily called up by the snap of his fingers, the Warchief disarmoured at great speed. Normally someone would look less frightening without grim black plate armour on.
Please leave each other in one piece, that always helps negotiations I am told.
Sylvanas did not play around this time. Or at least not in the same way, for she dodged and feinted a great deal and sprung back and forth in every direction to find an opening to strike.
Thrall had learned to mind his footwork. He was not as nimble as Sylvanas, but by no means slow, and he was constantly on the move and shifting his position and his weight.
Eventually Thrall went on the offensive. Jaina suspected that the Horde would be bored with him if he did not and that Sylvanas was counting on it and waiting him out. The Warchief came at her with wide arms – which of course triggered a score of demands from the dark rangers to hug her – to prevent any escaping, and Sylvanas naturally countered with doing the exact opposite and pre-emptively attempting to push Thrall into the dirt. He was too steady on his feet for that, although it was close at one time, and he and Sylvanas pulled and pushed one way or the other with their arms locked.
To Jaina it appeared more stuck at first glance than it really was. After a few times she could recognize the back and forth between them where neither managed to overpower the other. But it did look like Thrall was slowly gaining the upper hand. He was likely the stronger, but definitely the heavier and could put the greater weight on Sylvanas in this static position. The Dark Lady was slowly losing ground and bending back, but then suddenly she had somehow put her foot forward and twisted on the spot, and in the same blur of a movement she had thrown Thrall halfway over her shoulder so he stumbled forward and landed sideways with a great splatter in the biggest puddle of water.
"Oof…" Thrall grumbled over the cacophony of the hooting and whistling audience. "Pfuit!" He spat out a mouthful of mud and got back to his feat, offering Sylvanas his hand to shake.
"Show me that trick when you get to Orgrimmar, will you?"
"Ask nicely and I may be persuaded to throw more orcs around." Sylvanas did not grin so much as bare her teeth, feral as any one of the Horde's dire wolves.
"Hah! You have a lot to learn yet, pup!" Varok laughed at him while Thrall glared back. "Let me tie that ghost into a knot for you, I know every foul trick!"
"Be my guest." Jaina had to say that as far as sounding dry went, that was positively arid.
"Bring it on, Underlord." Sylvanas wasn't staying any more chivalrous on her part.
Even though Jaina was a little cross with him for badmouthing his Warchief, she had to admit that Varok was as good as his word. He was not quite as big as Thrall, but twice as mean. He and Sylvanas grappled and struggled with every underhanded trick and unsportsmanlike move ever conceived and she was unable to find either counter, respite or opening. Where Sylvanas and Thrall had wrestled, with Varok it was more of a shoving match that ever changed direction.
One time the Dark Lady nearly pushed him back only for the High Overlord to swing around and counterattack with renewed vigour.
"You failed!" Varok Saurfang advanced against the Banshee Queen. "You just – keep – failing!"
"I mean falling!" He was boxing Sylvanas in, in the narrowest corner of the pit. Jaina bit her lip. How was she going to get out of there?
Varok was blocking the way, but Sylvanas came right at him. His technique or style, or rather several, had one flaw now when he did not immediately strike to grapple her. Jaina watched the Dark Lady hop down the small slope of the mud pit wall, crouch down in the movement and quick as running water take hold of the High Overlord's belt and use it to swing herself between his legs, just a handbreadth from sliding into the mud herself. She was back on her feet before anyone had barely registered her moving and grabbed Varok's belt from behind and pulled, so that the orc sat down right into the mud with a great splatter.
Sylvanas rose in triumph over Varok Saurfang's prone body.
"The Horde is nothing! You, are all, NOTHING!"
Jaina silently mouthed something shocked about tuning it down a bit or three before she caused a disaster.
Quiet, quiet, quiet, you banshee braggart! For Tides' sake Sylvanas, we are trying to be friends here!
"Has she always been like this when she is winning?" she asked the rangers so that everybody heard.
"Always!" they immediately answered. Jaina knew very well that that wasn't true.
"I'd hate to hear what she's like when she loses then…" Varok muttered while he attempted to brush the worst of the mud off him.
"Banshees are quite the screamers, aren't they?" Thrall noted with a nod to Jaina, who bit down on her lip and felt herself turning bright red. They certainly were, in the way of one ranger captain's jokes. And Jaina had no business knowing if Banshee Queens or any other banshees were, ahem, 'screamers' in any other sort of way in any other sort of circumstances.
She had best put hers and all others' mind on something else entirely. They all looked atrocious for being four (supposedly) dignified leaders of nations.
Jaina used a tried and tested spell and conjured a jet of splashing water aimed at Varok's backside, Thrall's right half, Sylvanas' legs and the front of her own robes whose mud stains proved to be already aggravatingly ingrained.
Her robes, light and airy and comfortable in hot weather, were hanging rather immodestly when they were soaked through. Jaina had not quite had reason to think about that particular fact until now. She should have worn her ranger pants instead, maybe…
Tides!
Sylvanas, you need to stand very still and not bend anywhere because then I wonder if yours will not tear apart. And leather is not even supposed to soak up water in the first place. Is that really pants or did the rangers paint all of you dark red before you went here?
Thrall, you need to put on pants. Another pair, over the ones you are now wearing which do not leave much to the imagination as they say, being of course the imagination that I do not have because I have in fact none at all of anything whatsoever.
"Shall we go and find some dinner? Anyone else hungry?" Jaina stammered.
Why did the dark rangers say yes? They did not even eat.
The day was coming to an end and Kalimdor's sun burned red close to the horizon while each and everything cast long shadows.
The Horde contingent was packing up. Jaina waited for Thrall as he flung his pack over Blacknose's back while the wolf gnawed on some delicious treat smuggled to him by long-eared friends.
"Well, we survived two days of –" Jaina started to say but a loud shout cut her off.
"Warchief! They – aah! – tricked me!" the High Overlord gasped between bouts of laughter. He was lying on the ground writhing with Lyana and Kitala holding one hand each in an iron grip and bracing against it to tickle him in the armpits with their toes. Their ranger boots they had apparently left beside.
"How can that be? The master of all foul tricks, or what was it? Felled twice by a move that is – how is it now the humans say? – below the belt?" Thrall grinned, and added something Jaina did not understand. "Be thankful their queen is not Lothar Anduin…"
"Bloody harpies! They – aah – said they had a new and – huh! – technique they were going to show me, and now this!"
"Take note! I would hate for you to fall prey to something like this if we encounter actual harpies on the way home."
"Ha!" Kitala boasted. "We have discovered the leader orcs' fatal weakness! They are ticklish!"
"Apparently high lords and ladies are." Lyana concluded. "Lady Proudmoore is very ticklish too."
"How would they know that?" Thrall asked.
"How would they not?" Jaina asked back.
Further out the tauren girl with the mane of dark hair that nearly hung over her eyes was playing 'tossing the ranger' with Velonara. She flew with a squeal through the air and landed in a sand dune.
"Point conceded." Thrall tightened the last strap of his pack. "Well. If you want to let them into your city I will not get in your way. Looks to me you'll have your hands full even without the Horde interfering."
"It has been…very nice meeting you again, Thrall. Do you really have to be leaving already?"
"Evening is a pleasant time to travel. May the spirits always keep good watch over you, Jaina."
"Have you accounted for how long it will take the rangers to say goodbye to your wolves?"
"Hm. Ah, night-time is not too bad either I suppose…"
Author's Note
"Thrall, you who know about these human stuffs…" the High Overlord wondered. "…what sort of chief is a hanker-chief?"
More people than Anya have trouble knowing where to look from time to time, and Sylvanas gets below the belt with Varok Saurfang in this chapter, in fact.
International political meetings can become quite the mud pits.
"Cairne. Surely you have to be kidding?"
"Take heart, Jaina!" the tauren chieftain rumbled. "Everyone will work together."
"But, tossing the caber, is that a team game?"
"It is today. See, we will take the logs from yesterday and cut to a length that is half again the height of the member who is in-between the shortest and the tallest in each team. Then the thicker logs will gain you more points if you can make a successful throw but all the effort counts together."
"Or we could play tossing the mage staff instead?" Jaina suggested. "Maybe?"
She proved to be lucky to not have anyone tossing her staff away, for a bit of conveniently applied ice magic sped up the labour of cutting the logs to the right size considerably. Cairne and the two other tauren members of the Horde team went about and inspected the cabers and discussed how to apply the points to them.
What followed then soon became a very chaotic hour but it was also a good deal of fun. It quickly became apparent that neither orcs nor trolls had any considerable experience of this pastime so the three sides were mostly evenly matched in that. Cairne went about in high spirits – Jaina would spare Sylvanas that pun – and cheered on participants in every team. It quickly became apparent to Jaina that this game only looked deceptively simple and a good deal of technique was required to get somewhere. Even holding one of these wobbly masts steady was an adventure!
You were not only supposed to fling that beam as long as you could, it had to overturn like a capsizing boat in the air and land in a straight line ahead of you on top of everything.
Jaina and Thrall had claimed the positions between Theramore's and the Horde's contestants so that none other should risk stumbling into the adjoining team's ground and cause an argument. Pained was acting as a similar buffer on the other wing of the Theramorian line. She was a strong asset in this game but the general idea had not quite struck with her.
"You people have the strangest ways of planting trees…" she had said.
Jaina wondered if the general difficulty with balancing these unwieldy trunks was not the most bonding aspect of this activity. Apart from the tauren nobody looked quite like they knew what they were doing and it was hard to be sneering at your neighbours under those circumstances.
Jaina herself nearly staggered into Thrall, who helped her catch the dangerously leaning timber in time before it managed to escape her.
"It is fortunate that I am well armoured." he chuckled as he helped her get the caber back into position.
"Clearly you foresaw the need to guard yourself against falling beams today. Hrryah!" Jaina grunted and managed to make said beam almost turn over, only to veer half to starboard instead at the last moment.
"Of course. I am a far seer after all."
"And such a gentleman." someone chipped in from behind them. Someone in a dark cloak who would be accompanied by one or two fellows in the same, if Jaina was not imagining things.
"That must be why Lady Proudmoore is positively beaming today." Marrah concluded.
"The Warchief really knows how to handle such a huge pole, doesn't he?" Mira asked no one in particular.
"Don't you have your own tossing to get back to?" Jaina decided to rescue Thrall and cut this raid short while there was still time. "Off with you. Or should I say 'chop-chop' to you woodenheads?"
The three rangers disappeared with awed looks at Jaina and appreciative snickering.
"So, this is the…diplomatic exchanges between Theramore and Lordaeron?"
"Honestly, you are better off not knowing…" Jaina only half joked.
"You seem to take after them. Or they after you perhaps."
"Seriously?"
"I was not the one of us who stood before Archimonde asking him if talking was all that demons did." The Warchief grinned so that all his tusks and teeth showed.
"No, of course not. You gave him a lightning bolt to the nuts as a parting gift instead." Jaina smirked. "Very civilised."
"Bah." Thrall grimaced. "They were at eye level. Unfortunately."
"I hear you there."
"Eh, Lady Jaina?" The gruff voice belonged to Gromwell Gromfaeyr, the only dwarf in the Theramorian team. Though he was broad enough to count as two dwarves at the very least. While he no longer had a hair left on his head he made up for it with a mighty red beard, and all the tattoos that instead decorated his scalp. Jaina found it a damned shame they were now hidden under a scarf tied against the sun. They were downright fascinating to look at.
"Whatch'a ye longlegs talking about?" he asked. "Jaina knew that was the Gromwell way of inquiring if you were interrupting something.
"Just Archimonde's nu – ahem!"
"Nothing noteworthy." Thrall saved. "What's on your mind, Master Gromwell?"
"Me and this lass here –" He indicated Clea who was accompanying him. " – got bored with the wee sticks allotted to us. Ain't it time to let someone else have a go with the real ones you keep, hehe, hoarding?"
"How long is the team contest supposed to go on, Jaina?" Clea asked. "We have been going on for a while now. What's the score?"
Jaina looked at Thrall and Thrall looked at Jaina.
"Score? Right. We were supposed to keep score?"
"I kind of reckoned the tauren would? Cairne!"
The tauren chieftain materialised with two long strides.
"Young Warchief."
"Did you keep score between our champions?"
"That I did not."
Jaina and Thrall quickly decided that the team contests were concluded for the day and the Banshee Queen magnanimously assented and did not inquire further about the matter apart from a telling raised eyebrow.
By now there was – apart from the Forsaken – a bunch of sweaty and dusty participants who gathered to watch the final struggle between the most stubborn enthusiasts play out. Jaina found a rocky spot with less sand and after a fleet-footed dark ranger had fetched her a blanket she conjured a huge block of ice which Thrall then had the honour to shatter into tiny pieces.
"Fresh ice for all who crave it! Cool off before it melts!" Jaina announced.
By the Tides, magic was sweet to have sometimes…
Munching on a frozen pebble she watched Clea, Gromwell, a couple of orcs and the two tauren champions battle it out with the heaviest caber. It was a Horde victory but the other teams made a good account of themselves.
"Jaina! Should you not join us?" Cairne invited her.
"Thank you but that is a little out of my league. Maybe next year."
"What if you used your magic?"
Hm!
Could that be done?
The cogs of her head were turning already. If she could push a blasted ship on its way she should be able to handle a single log. The trouble was that there was no water to use in the same way here on dry land…
Jaina let arcane ice coat the bark of the caber and then tried to sense it…
"Tastingo! She be not following the rules!" one troll champion exclaimed as the caber rose from the ground.
"No, she rarely tends to do that." Thrall agreed amusedly.
Now then, just to push that ice away just like an ice lance…
The huge piece of wood soared forward through the air, but it landed with the tip first and Jaina had to push the other end deliberately to make it tip over.
"Hah! A fine toss!" Cairne rumbled.
"Alright then, Chieftain. All yours." Jaina said meaningfully. She was not falling for any innocent Bloodhoof's 'who, me? oh, I couldn't…' pretence.
Cairne squatted down to grab the largest caber. He tensed his mountain of a back, raised it higher, and thundered forward.
"MOOOOOH!"
The log shot up like it had been fired by a dwarven mortar. Soaring in a wide arc above the field is clattered to the ground on the other end.
Jaina just shook her head. What else could you expect from the people that carried totem poles on their backs?
"Oi!" Master Oddricht Mekkatorque-Jansen's high voice brought her out of any contemplating thoughts of tauren culture or otherwise. "You all have better not be wasting precious building materials! Throwing away quality timber like it grows on trees, or what?! If I do not see that gathered and collected I will have all of you clearing the sluice tanks with your handkerchiefs!"
Living and undead elves, orcs, humans, trolls, dwarf and tauren looked unsurely at one another before the gnomish admonishments that spared neither squire nor queen. Pained on the other hand nodded approvingly.
"We'd better do as he says." Jaina whispered. "It's also going to set a bad example not to, with all the timber issues and so."
A somewhat awkward troupe of champions dispersed across the field to retrieve the logs to where the master carpenter directed.
Jaina happened to walk next to Thrall and Varok Saurfang and overhear a hushed conversation between them.
"Thrall, you who know about these human stuffs…" the High Overlord wondered. "…what sort of chief is a hanker-chief?"
Jaina broke out into a giggle that overflowed into a laughter that made her fall to her knees.
"We'll, uh…later, Varok." Thrall said. "Let's eat, first of all."
***
When they were going to have lunch Jaina mysteriously disappeared. It was only for a short while, thankfully, but Anya was still puzzled. The late lunch that was cooking did not even have overly many vegetables in it. She had checked.
When Jaina got back she at least seemed happy, and expectant even. Humans called it being giddy. So that was good in any case.
"Anya? Is something the matter?"
"Well…" Anya tried to not look too troubled, but it never worked on Jaina anyway. "You just vanished. So I became worried."
"Oh, I'm so sorry! I went to Theramore, it was just for a small errand. It is…for a present of sorts."
"That sounds very kind. But, well, last time when you went away to get a present…" Anya didn't really know how to say it.
"Oh, no, I swear it is not anything like that." Jaina was all crestfallen. "I explicitly told Sylvanas, Thrall and Hornblower where I was going and I did bring Pained with me. But I should have told you directly too."
Anya felt very, very stupid, before Jaina looked her in the eyes and forced her to meet her glimmering blue.
"I'm sorry." Anya mumbled. Then she whispered. "I was being scared."
Jaina pulled her close and hugged her.
"I understand that you were. I probably would have been that too. Everything is…far too sensitive right now." She whispered into Anya's ear and stroked her hair. Anya wanted that to never end.
"Anya. I promise I will do my very best to be more considerate. Very soon I will be able to just take you with me but today I could not be sure it would have been safe. But I promise this will be funny, just wait and see later today."
That had Anya's attention, just like Jaina had probably intended. She only put a finger to her lips and looked impish when Anya tried to glean any more insight into it.
They ate together, that is Jaina gathered her food and ate and Anya kept close to her all the time. When she hesitated Jaina took her hand and dragged her along to sit with her next to Sylvanas and Kalira and the Horde leaders.
They were almost done. No, Anya should not think of it like that because this was important and these Kalimdorian games were Jaina's idea, and a superbly successful one too so far. It was just that…that it was still dangerous even when everything looked to be going the way it should. Anya would not relax until all the guests that were not old friends with Jaina had gone home. Maybe Thrall and Cairne Bloodhoof could stay, for example.
She had to cease being so afraid. But where did you start? Anya didn't know where or how to start.
Only that she wanted Jaina and Sylvanas close to her, and talking to each other again.
Just then, her ears caught something. A deep rhythm of, yes, what was it? Anya could not quite place it, not steps on the ground but –
Drums?!
It had been…so long a time. She was not used to recognizing good sounds as what they were. Not used to believing that what she was hearing could be something good and kind and not threatening.
When Jaina was with her and these drums sounded, it was a little easier to not be afraid. Especially when Jaina was drumming the melody with her fingers on Anya's shoulder.
Tap-tappetitap-tappetitap-tappetitaptaptaptap…
"The Warsong Clan are fond of their battle drums. Catchy, aren't they?" Thrall leaned back against his log seat and stretched his arms out comfortably. They were really huge. Anya was sure he could carry anyone in his Horde if he needed to, just like Clea. Except for Cairne maybe.
That was a happy thought. Jaina had good taste in friends. She wouldn't have invited someone who she couldn't trust even if he was a Warchief. Thrall would keep everything in order and then they could come to Jaina in Theramore and stay with her there without anyone daring to cause trouble over it.
"Dark Lady! Lieutenant!" The Naras and Mirrahs managed to look out of breath somehow even if they didn't breathe when they barged into the meal. "We just have to get hold of some of those drums!"
"Join the Horde if we have to!"
Sylvanas had been leaning back languidly.
"Warchief, there you have the specified payment if we ever get this timber affair going." she drawled.
Thrall looked at Jaina, and Anya realised that orcs could really look wicked too.
"Is this where you'd say that you drum up an agreement, Jaina?"
Jaina snorted like she had had a fly flying into her nose and she bit her lower lip so hard that Anya almost worried she would hurt herself while looking at Sylvanas.
The Dark Lady managed to somehow give both Jaina and Thrall a long look even though they were seated on opposite sides of her. It was very impressive.
Kalira rose to probably put her rangers to work with something very necessary and very time-consuming. The conversation meanwhile slipped back to state matters, which it was supposed to if Anya understood the plan right.
"…I am pleased, too, no question of that." Thrall said. "The spirits or plain dumb luck are with us still and we may make it through another day without any bloodshed. Better than I truly expected."
"So if our dumb luck holds, what do we do next?"
"I brought the more malleable of my people just like you did. I will wait for the first blows between them and those who want war with you."
"That bad?"
"Hm. Shouldn't come as a surprise to you, Jaina. You know enough of my people's ways. There is pride involved. A significant part of the Horde does not care much for trade outside their own clan, or possibly the rest of the Horde. They will see dishonourable goblins cheating and extorting, or enemies to either exhort or pay tribute to in return for holding back outright conquest. That is the legacy from the chieftains before me and the roots go deep. But it is not the only way, and those who preach it got to sit at home and do nothing today and yesterday, while my champions gained great honour by wiping the floor with you in the two most important competitions."
Jaina made a face at him, but nodded too.
To Anya it sounded like Thrall would not have an easy time ahead or behind him as Warchief. And maybe it wasn't the same as what she knew, and Anya didn't really dare to, but…
"Warchief Thrall? Please try to not do all things yourself."
All eyes turned on Anya. She tried to fight off the impulse to hide on the other side of Jaina.
"You're damned right about that." Thrall nodded towards her. "I'm going to leave most of the dirty work to the High Overlord in fact."
"And I for my part won't have to debate whether the Warchief's ruling is sound just because I kick the wretches into line and into obeying it." Varok added maliciously.
"Sounds fun. I can hardly bear the thought of missing out on it." Jaina commented. "Can I do anything to make things easier for you?"
Thrall shrugged.
"In the end it will come down to results. Bring timber to our doorstep and the idiots will stand there looking like idiots while the rest of us start building. Until then, today is a small step on the long road ahead of us."
"So we are not out of the woods yet." Jaina rubbed her chin sagely.
Anya had to bite her own lip just as much in order not to giggle when it was not appropriate.
"Perhaps it is not my business to know, but why do you antagonise your ally so with plays on words, Jaina? Provided it is intentional."
"A question I have found myself asking…" Sylvanas growled, in the lovely way that had made Anya shiver. But then it was as if something caught up with her, as if the Dark Lady remembered herself and that she could no longer do that.
Don't. Sylvanas, please don't. Don't stop being our Dark Lady.
Jaina likes it.
"Thrall, how about a fight?" Sylvanas then continued, to the collective shock of all who listened.
The Banshee Queen made a point of inspecting her nails as the epitome of queenly disinterest, Anya thought, even if she hadn't really known many things about queens before Sylvanas became one.
"The real enemy, the lackeys of your former demon masters, reside in Lordaeron and Northrend. Whether in exchange for timber or for a suitable amount of gold in bounty for the severed skulls of the foe, would it help you if your worst raiders could burn off some heat away from home? If nothing else they would have better things to do than stay grumbling about the lack of wood in Durotar and their prestige would overshadow those who did."
"I will say that on some days, the idea would not be without its appeal."
"Do let us know. I can always find use for more meat shields to cover my rangers."
"Charming."
Jaina suddenly rose from her seat.
"Pray excuse me, this has been an interesting conversation but I think me and Anya need to go and rescue my bodyguard."
Pained was bravely holding on. She somehow managed to down her meal with Clea and Kitala flanking her, Lyana and the Mirrahs in front and The Naras cutting off any remaining paths of escape. They were interrogating her without mercy.
"Jaina has told us so much about the night elves! Do all of you ride on cats?"
"Are all of them fluffy like Fluffy?"
"Do you live in trees?"
"Do you have a tree, Miss Pained? Or do you live with someone?"
"Are you engaged with someone? Is he cute? Or is she cute?"
"Is it true that druids are half stags? Do elves they charm go for a ride? And what about the dryads?"
"Can you shapeshift to anything you want or do you have your own animal form? Which one is Malfurion's? Can he shapeshift Tyrande too?"
"What was the deal with Tyrande and Malfurion and Illidan long ago? Do you know any details, Miss Pained?"
"And what was Illidan and Maiev up to all those boring centuries cooped up in her dungeons? Nothing? Reaaaally?"
***
The afternoon was as hot and dusty as ever in the Kalimdorian inland, if not the scorching heat of the summer months. It was an excellent day for a nice little swim in Jaina's opinion.
But you had to wait until an hour after you had eaten, Jaina had habitually and adamantly enforced before she realised what a mother hen she sounded like. She blamed it on a Kul Tiran upbringing.
Ahem.
The swimming would be a true team contest, a relay race where each swimmer had to reach a rock formation upstream and then return to the finish line whereupon the next team member would take over. Eight champions per team doing two laps each, which should be easy enough to keep score of (hrm!) and would not become boring.
Sylvanas and Thrall were both being landlubbers but Jaina would be sporting and join her team in the water. An added bonus was that it would be quite pleasant to dip and cool off from the heat while she waited for her turn.
This time Jaina was at least better supplied with gear for such an endeavour, contrary to certain earlier occasions in the Kalimdorian wilderness. Her tunic and underwear would do fine and dry off quickly afterwards, especially after a touch of fire magic cheating. The Horde champions contended themselves with dropping their thick boots – Jaina secretly counted herself lucky that her nose maintained a comfortable distance – and headgear and one or two more or less spiky armour pieces and were ready to go. The dark rangers removed their armour in similar manner but kept their long and thick pants.
"Anya?" Jaina caught her and whispered a question, not wanting to be indiscreet. "Are you all going to swim with your pants on?"
"We should swim in something, shouldn't we? Otherwise we would be a bit rude. Since we don't all know each other and we aren't sure how you do it in Theramore and Durotar?"
"Yes, that is, uh, probably wise. But, can't you swim in your underclothes?" Jaina felt herself in acute need of a bath before her cheeks caught fire.
"But we don't have any."
"Wha…"
Anya looked quizzically, and a little bemused, at her. She was quite adorable when she did.
"We have half, our linen wrappings. But, well…" She looked uncomfortable and made a grimace. "…dying tends to be a messy business. And then we wore those rags as Scourge for over a year, so we had to throw them away. It was one of the first things we all did after breaking free, I think."
"Oh! I…uh…that…" Jaina stammered.
"Don't worry about us. We are more tough-skinned now than when we were alive. And you know what our ranger pants are like, all the seams are covered so they don't chafe."
"When we are in Theramore the seamstresses of the city will be at your beck and call. I'll pay for it if needed." Jaina's embarrassment over broaching the private subject battled fiercely with her sympathy for Anya and all the others, and eventually lost.
Perhaps she should not count on their garments stopping the opposing team too much, Jaina noted when the dark rangers stretched and flexed their legs in preparation. That leather was truly like a second, wet, glistening skin.
Not that she was staring.
Ahem.
She was just gauging the opposition, like people did at competitions. Perfectly normal.
Contrary to the previous games, the swimming was from the start a nail-bitingly even affair. Jaina screamed encouragements like at least half a banshee along with the rest of her team, to their swimmers who could not hear much with water running all over their ears.
She and Anya were last in line for their respective teams. It suited Jaina well but she also had to admit to being curious of what it would look like to see Anya swimming. It would nearly be worth being outclassed by the Forsaken to get to see it. But only nearly.
Jaina treaded water when Gromwell crossed the line like some humongous sea turtle. She was away!
And this stream was no more cooperative than yesterday. Every stroke was a struggle and while she had no time to spare a glance Jaina worried that she was not getting anywhere. She did not want to look like a fool in her own chosen contest.
Then she nearly bumped into the rocks marking the half way. Jaina raised a hand above the water to slap it and show herself, then turned underwater and catapulted herself off the stone. Just then she caught a glimpse of Anya on her left coming in the opposite direction.
If she was keeping ahead of Anya then she couldn't be doing that badly, Jaina thought as the current carried her downstream in no time at all.
She had just turned around when the dark ranger popped out of the water. She made the cutest seal. Or sea lion, with the dark coat.
Anya dove out of Lenara's way and then followed Jaina to wait in the shallows where they could stand.
"You look happy in the water." Anya said. "Were you thinking of something?"
"You as a sea lion."
"What is a sea lion?"
"Like a dark-furred seal. They live in Kul Tiras and have big black eyes and are the cutest things. Except if you are a fish."
"Do they live close to one another?"
"Very much so. The rocks are full of them on sunny days."
"Then I would like to be one."
Jaina anxiously followed the remaining race while at the same time imagining herself on smooth Kul Tiran seaside rock with the sun warming her fur and her long body curled around the smaller sea lion inside, almost a cub.
Theramore and the Forsaken were slowly outrunning the Horde – outswimming? – but between them it was ever tight. Hornblower chased ahead of Mira after a successful turning but when Lyana faced Gromwell she was nearly catching up.
Jaina was in perfect position. On top of wanting to win she had gotten an idea. One she would be unlikely to realise but she so very much wanted to try.
Jaina hurled herself forward as soon as Gromwell's fist bumped into hers. She was going to win this. And she was going to do more than win, she was going to finish with enough time to turn and catch Anya when she surfaced!
Because that was what she wanted to do now most of all.
I am the daughter of the sea.
I rule the currents, they do not rule me.
I will hold my sea lion for as long as she needs it. Until she is not scared anymore.
Jaina crashed fist first against the rock this time and banged her knuckles badly against it. Unimportant. All that counted was a quick surfacing to show her palm and then turn.
Faster, you slothful river! Faster! I have an Anya to catch!
Jaina turned to throw a glance forward. She had to time it now.
Seven strokes. Five. Four. Three. Two. One!
Jaina crashed through the surface and ignored the irritation to her eyes when she shifted to the side and turned around on the spot with the same movement. Where was –
A dark shadow sped rapidly at her under the water. The most precious little sea lion sailed through the surface and into Jaina and Jaina's arms from her own momentum. Anya stayed disoriented for less than a heartbeat, and then she glued herself hard to Jaina.
Jaina backstroked without hurry to the shore with the dark ranger on top of her while the last Horde champion reached the finish line to the cheers of the spectators on land and water.
"The next time we'll be swimming naked and crush you all!" Marrah threatened.
Jaina decided that she would deal with next year's threatening calamities next year.
This year she would deal with this year's dark ranger banter that experienced bathers like herself had learned to expect.
And she would deal with it well. For they meant it for real and there was no hidden malice in their words. There never had been. It had all been in Jaina's head.
That part of her head had grown quieter lately.
"You can take us swimming any day, Lady Proudmoore!"
"But drop the tunic, it only gets in the way!"
"Dibs on finishing the last lap next time!"
"And Kul Tirans are still half seals!"
"More like otters."
"No, shush! We weren't supposed to!"
Jaina had to smile.
"It is fine!" she approved over her shoulder, the one without Anya nestled on it.
"But are we allowed to tease your other Theramorians now?" Kitala asked.
"Yes, thank you Kitala, I guess we need to learn to get used to you sooner or later and you graciously gave us an easy start yesterday. Permission granted."
"Well, in that case… Oh, woe! My sisters haven't breathed since I pulled them out of the water! If only there were some strong champions around who could give them the kiss of life…"
"You sure make a lot of noise for people in that predicament." someone quipped back. Jaina nodded to herself. That was the spirit!
When she reached the shallow water and the high river bank, and regretfully had to put Anya down, she was met by Sylvanas. Tides, she looked just as impressive from below today as last time Jaina had emerged from Kalimdorian waters in front of her.
"I hope your swim was satisfactory, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas said. No icicles grew from the words this time.
"Indeed it was, Lady Windrunner. Lovely day for a swim."
Lyana did not need to stitch her clothes back together either this time, Jaina remembered fondly. How she missed how it was, how carefree it seemed in retrospect to sail with the Banshee's Wail even when there were the hardships and the exhaustion. She did not miss those things, she did not miss not knowing the rangers. But the way she and Sylvanas had been able to talk and finally tease and joke, and the care of the Banshee Queen that watched her fall asleep.
We have to find a way back to that. Find our way back.
Dark Lady, I…I miss you.
The Horde and Theramorian contestants did not need much time or effort to get dressed and the warm weather would quickly help dry everyone. None the less it left them exposed to ample interjections from their Forsaken colleagues. Sylvanas and Kalira even gave Jaina a long, telling look.
What? It wasn't like she had given them complete carte blanche to run amok. Besides, the champions were seasoned veterans who had stood up to the Burning Legion. They could take it.
Surely?
You could say that from a very large scaled and averaged sort of view today was something of a turnabout that evened the scales, when it was the living who were the target of staring from the undead instead of the other way around.
Jaina fumbled with her clothes when she hurried so she would be ready to be at hand, just in case. Even with arcane conveniences she felt a touch…spongy, but that was just what you had to account for when being out in the field like this.
"Theramorians are steaming hot today, aren't they, Anya?" Velonara grinned shamelessly when the vapours billowed out of Jaina's loose summer robes.
The dark rangers threw smouldering (even before taking into account that they had red eyes) looks left and right and engaged in a debate that would have constituted some form of public indecency had they been within any remotely civilised settlement, Jaina was sure. To be honest the rangers were picking between future allies like they were shopping for jewelry.
Or toys. Or pets. Jaina palmed her head with a sigh.
Wondering out loud if this or that piece of juicy Theramorian or Durotarian meat had an equally handsome best friend or spouse they could bring along in the bargain for good measure was of course not beyond them either.
Tides…
"Keep in mind that we are near water now so it's called mates."
"You're right! Mates."
"That is a very good word. It covers everything."
"Your mates are my mates!" the prospective new allies of Theramore and the Horde were graciously reassured.
Jaina decided it was high time to usher all foreign representatives to be seated in their open-air dining hall. She and Pained went away to one of the tents where Jaina discreetly threw open a portal to Theramore. Only Pained went through this time.
She returned soon enough, in a hurry with long strides, and handed a small package to Jaina.
"They're finished?" Jaina couldn't stop herself from unwrapping it at once and look. "Oh, this is perfect!"
She purposefully took the stage by the fire pits in the middle, and waved mysteriously with the small bundle to Anya on the way.
"If I may have your attention?!" Jaina shouted. She bubbled inside. This was going to be fabulous!
"Thank you all for stunning displays of skill and strength today and yesterday! Though I note that the games begun and ended with a Theramorian victory…" She was momentarily interrupted by the clamour from the other teams. "In my opinion every participant has done honour to his and her nation and I sincerely hope we will meet again to hold the next year's games."
At this, a round of clapping hands, beating of chests, various roars and other approving noises sounded.
"Now, would please Warchief Thrall, Chieftain Cairne and High Overlord Varok step forward?"
Two green and one brown brow furrowed in puzzlement. You easily felt a bit overshadowed when those three lined up in front but Jaina would not be distracted.
"While we have all scrupulously collected our timber for the day, I would not want my honourable neighbours to stand with empty hands the next time they face dread-inducing sluice tanks or any other cleaning assignment. As a token of our appreciation I therefore wish to present each mighty chief with nothing less than…" Jaina huffed and puffed and tried desperately to keep a straight face. "…a personal Horde handker-chief!"
Jaina opened the small package and flourishingly handed over one bright red piece of cloth to each of them. The silence was palpable when both hardened orcs and ancient tauren held up and inspected the smooth hem and artfully embroidered black Horde insignia in the lower right corner and overall managed to look like they only with difficulty could credit the testimony of their own eyes.
"PFFFTHA! HAHAHAHA!" Thrall burst out in booming laughter and bent double trying to stay on his feet. "JAINA! You are unbelievable!"
Jaina had stopped fighting the losing battle against her overwhelming giggles and the epidemic spread with huffs and snorts around most of the audience.
"Da Warchief's laughter be da thunder of storms, mon." Velonara persisted. "That because he be da big bad shaman now we all know dat there be many wisecracks in Orgrimmar in dis time of year."
Cairne and Varok still appeared slightly confused. Jaina noticed Thrall murmur something to Varok from the corner of his mouth and indicate his nose.
"You mean they blow their noses on these instead of the ground?" the High Overlord half whispered, overcome with incredulity. "And…and they walk around with their snot in keeping and…and they pocket it?"
Thrall made a grimace.
"Eugh."
Jaina almost made a grimace too. When he put it like that…
"As far as anyone in Orgrimmar is concerned, these are charms of good health, generously gifted, understood?" Thrall ordered his retainers.
"I could not have put it better myself." Jaina complimented.
Soon her Kalimdorian games would be over. For this time at least but Jaina would have hope.
Though the afternoon had not yet turned to evening.
Maybe, just maybe, there was time for just one more crazy idea.
If she would dare to.
"And, there was one other thing…"
If she would want to.
"Sylvanas! I challenge! Mud'gora!"
"JAINA! That is not something to take lightly!" Thrall was outraged.
"No, no, no, no." Jaina waggled her finger at him and all other listeners. "We are not having any horrible blood sport here. Not mak'gora. Mud'gora. An ancient Kul Tiran custom."
"Mud'gora?"
"Indeed. Age-old tradition proudly carried on by each generation of Boralus' children." Jaina waved and shooed Thrall and every other spectator back. "Now observe."
They were next to a river, and where there were rivers and growing things there was water. And where there was water a frost mage could call it forward, or up as it now was. Up, up through the soil, loosening caked mud and hard packed sand.
Gasps and impressed whistles accompanied the brown water springing forth through the ground in a depression that was almost like a bit of a hole, which became a puddle, which turned into a mud pit when she made the water flow this way and that and dig up and erode steadily more of the earth.
Jaina made a show of brushing off her hands as if she had been a farmer digging this hole through honest labour. Then she leapt down into it.
Sylvanas was standing by the edge and looking on with crossed arms and actually a hint of amused gleam about her look. It was there, Jaina knew it. She wanted more than anything to bring out more of it.
"So, would Lady Proudmoore please enlighten us about the rules of this no doubt subtle and sophisticated contest?"
"No beating or kicking, and no taking hold of the head and neck. First one to fall into the mud loses."
Sylvanas smiled, and her fangs showed, and Jaina's breath decided to hitch when the Dark Lady held her gaze with her own and unclasped her chest armour.
"I accept." Sylvanas strode confidently down the small slope with long, captivating steps, ignoring the mud her polished boots trod in. "Let us see how much you have kept in memory, my little ranger mage."
Jaina swallowed involuntarily as Sylvanas slowly begun to circle around her. This was the Dark Lady on the prowl, just like she had been on the sand in the Undercity's arena.
But that time she hadn't had spectators of the highest rank lining the ring expectantly.
Yikes…
What had she been thinking?
"I dislike having to repeat myself to my recruits. Footwork, Ranger Proudmoore!" Sylvanas commanded, sharp as a thunderclap.
Jaina nearly jumped on the spot and hurried to follow that instruction. Yes, just because they were supposed to be wrestling did not mean she should stand still. Right.
The crowd was caught up in the thrill of the contest – or chase – in no time. Theramore's team cheered loudly for Jaina, and she caught sight of Pained smiling widely with a look that said 'and just how were you thinking of getting out of this, My Lady?' and promised that she would not hear the end of this escapade any time soon.
The Horde shouted and clamoured for them to get on with it while the dark rangers whistled and cried encouragements to both Jaina and Sylvanas.
Sylvanas came for her with a monstrous leap and her fingers spread like talons. Jaina almost yelped and hopped to the side, and then they were at it. Jaina put her weight forward against Sylvanas' arms and pressed. The Banshee Queen matched her in force.
"Tell me, is it the lady or the lady who leads in this dance?" Sylvanas tilted her head while Jaina ignored the attempt to distract her and focused on pushing.
Suddenly Sylvanas twisted her weight and rocked their arms so Jaina nearly stumbled, with an impish smirk. Jaina countered by pulling Sylvanas towards her instead of pushing, but the elf caught it and put one foot forward and held so that it was Jaina who stumbled to one side.
"The seas are high in this little lake."
Then, just as Jaina was regaining her footing, Sylvanas pulled her left arm forward with overwhelming strength and Jaina stumbled after like a ragdoll.
"Now we are dancing! May I see a pirouette too, My Lady?"
Tides, how she was toying with Jaina!
"Now, try something new. Surprise me." Sylvanas ordered. "And mind your footwork. Move your whole body like Anya has taught you."
That comment made all of Jaina warm. Sylvanas, recalling her ranger exercising and praising Anya at the same time. But now she really had to figure out something good.
Those inordinately blocking and, hrm…toned…arms! Everything would be much easier if royal undead opponents kept them to themselves. But what if…
Jaina ran up on the side of the mud pit and then pounced on the Dark Lady, but instead of seeking to topple her right away Jaina sought out her right arm and grappled it. She was going to turn around and drag Sylvanas with her, slung over her shoulder like a sack, and keep her from doing more mischief…
It was just that when she had managed to get hold of Sylvanas' right arm and turned on the spot as planned, Jaina found her own left seized by the Dark Lady just when she needed both her hands to bend forward pull her royal burden with her. Next thing Sylvanas had somehow twisted her right hand out of Jaina's grip and snagged Jaina's wrist instead, and now it was Jaina who was caught with her arms tied in a knot, and forcibly bent backwards until she was all but leaning into the Banshee Queen's embrace.
And for one glorious instant Jaina was looking into blazing fires beyond which all else had dimmed and quieted. Then Sylvanas swept Jaina's legs out from underneath her and dumped her unceremoniously face first into the mud. Though to tell the truth Sylvanas did lower her a good bit before dropping her so the landing was gentle. Jaina still sputtered and blinked and tried to resist rubbing her eyes before she had cleaned up enough for it to do any good.
"Look at my new mud golem, isn't she pretty?!" Sylvanas announced. Pained reached down to hand her a handkerchief, probably without fancy embroideries.
"I want a bigger one." Sylvanas challenged while she wiped Jaina's face regardless of her feeble protesting. "Thrall!"
The Warchief laughed deeply. Cairne sighed and grunted something about all of them being such children.
"So, Sylvanas, you think you can hold your own in the Horde?" Thrall rumbled and showed his teeth.
"What I think is that you are just afraid of being put in your place, orc, and of going anywhere without that overgrown plate of yours. Is it just me, or does it look a little rusty along the edges?"
"Rusty? Bold words from the other side of the grave. I will show you rusty! Lok'tar!"
Aided by two grunts hastily called up by the snap of his fingers, the Warchief disarmoured at great speed. Normally someone would look less frightening without grim black plate armour on.
Please leave each other in one piece, that always helps negotiations I am told.
Sylvanas did not play around this time. Or at least not in the same way, for she dodged and feinted a great deal and sprung back and forth in every direction to find an opening to strike.
Thrall had learned to mind his footwork. He was not as nimble as Sylvanas, but by no means slow, and he was constantly on the move and shifting his position and his weight.
Eventually Thrall went on the offensive. Jaina suspected that the Horde would be bored with him if he did not and that Sylvanas was counting on it and waiting him out. The Warchief came at her with wide arms – which of course triggered a score of demands from the dark rangers to hug her – to prevent any escaping, and Sylvanas naturally countered with doing the exact opposite and pre-emptively attempting to push Thrall into the dirt. He was too steady on his feet for that, although it was close at one time, and he and Sylvanas pulled and pushed one way or the other with their arms locked.
To Jaina it appeared more stuck at first glance than it really was. After a few times she could recognize the back and forth between them where neither managed to overpower the other. But it did look like Thrall was slowly gaining the upper hand. He was likely the stronger, but definitely the heavier and could put the greater weight on Sylvanas in this static position. The Dark Lady was slowly losing ground and bending back, but then suddenly she had somehow put her foot forward and twisted on the spot, and in the same blur of a movement she had thrown Thrall halfway over her shoulder so he stumbled forward and landed sideways with a great splatter in the biggest puddle of water.
"Oof…" Thrall grumbled over the cacophony of the hooting and whistling audience. "Pfuit!" He spat out a mouthful of mud and got back to his feat, offering Sylvanas his hand to shake.
"Show me that trick when you get to Orgrimmar, will you?"
"Ask nicely and I may be persuaded to throw more orcs around." Sylvanas did not grin so much as bare her teeth, feral as any one of the Horde's dire wolves.
"Hah! You have a lot to learn yet, pup!" Varok laughed at him while Thrall glared back. "Let me tie that ghost into a knot for you, I know every foul trick!"
"Be my guest." Jaina had to say that as far as sounding dry went, that was positively arid.
"Bring it on, Underlord." Sylvanas wasn't staying any more chivalrous on her part.
Even though Jaina was a little cross with him for badmouthing his Warchief, she had to admit that Varok was as good as his word. He was not quite as big as Thrall, but twice as mean. He and Sylvanas grappled and struggled with every underhanded trick and unsportsmanlike move ever conceived and she was unable to find either counter, respite or opening. Where Sylvanas and Thrall had wrestled, with Varok it was more of a shoving match that ever changed direction.
One time the Dark Lady nearly pushed him back only for the High Overlord to swing around and counterattack with renewed vigour.
"You failed!" Varok Saurfang advanced against the Banshee Queen. "You just – keep – failing!"
"I mean falling!" He was boxing Sylvanas in, in the narrowest corner of the pit. Jaina bit her lip. How was she going to get out of there?
Varok was blocking the way, but Sylvanas came right at him. His technique or style, or rather several, had one flaw now when he did not immediately strike to grapple her. Jaina watched the Dark Lady hop down the small slope of the mud pit wall, crouch down in the movement and quick as running water take hold of the High Overlord's belt and use it to swing herself between his legs, just a handbreadth from sliding into the mud herself. She was back on her feet before anyone had barely registered her moving and grabbed Varok's belt from behind and pulled, so that the orc sat down right into the mud with a great splatter.
Sylvanas rose in triumph over Varok Saurfang's prone body.
"The Horde is nothing! You, are all, NOTHING!"
Jaina silently mouthed something shocked about tuning it down a bit or three before she caused a disaster.
Quiet, quiet, quiet, you banshee braggart! For Tides' sake Sylvanas, we are trying to be friends here!
"Has she always been like this when she is winning?" she asked the rangers so that everybody heard.
"Always!" they immediately answered. Jaina knew very well that that wasn't true.
"I'd hate to hear what she's like when she loses then…" Varok muttered while he attempted to brush the worst of the mud off him.
"Banshees are quite the screamers, aren't they?" Thrall noted with a nod to Jaina, who bit down on her lip and felt herself turning bright red. They certainly were, in the way of one ranger captain's jokes. And Jaina had no business knowing if Banshee Queens or any other banshees were, ahem, 'screamers' in any other sort of way in any other sort of circumstances.
She had best put hers and all others' mind on something else entirely. They all looked atrocious for being four (supposedly) dignified leaders of nations.
Jaina used a tried and tested spell and conjured a jet of splashing water aimed at Varok's backside, Thrall's right half, Sylvanas' legs and the front of her own robes whose mud stains proved to be already aggravatingly ingrained.
Her robes, light and airy and comfortable in hot weather, were hanging rather immodestly when they were soaked through. Jaina had not quite had reason to think about that particular fact until now. She should have worn her ranger pants instead, maybe…
Tides!
Sylvanas, you need to stand very still and not bend anywhere because then I wonder if yours will not tear apart. And leather is not even supposed to soak up water in the first place. Is that really pants or did the rangers paint all of you dark red before you went here?
Thrall, you need to put on pants. Another pair, over the ones you are now wearing which do not leave much to the imagination as they say, being of course the imagination that I do not have because I have in fact none at all of anything whatsoever.
"Shall we go and find some dinner? Anyone else hungry?" Jaina stammered.
Why did the dark rangers say yes? They did not even eat.
***
The day was coming to an end and Kalimdor's sun burned red close to the horizon while each and everything cast long shadows.
The Horde contingent was packing up. Jaina waited for Thrall as he flung his pack over Blacknose's back while the wolf gnawed on some delicious treat smuggled to him by long-eared friends.
"Well, we survived two days of –" Jaina started to say but a loud shout cut her off.
"Warchief! They – aah! – tricked me!" the High Overlord gasped between bouts of laughter. He was lying on the ground writhing with Lyana and Kitala holding one hand each in an iron grip and bracing against it to tickle him in the armpits with their toes. Their ranger boots they had apparently left beside.
"How can that be? The master of all foul tricks, or what was it? Felled twice by a move that is – how is it now the humans say? – below the belt?" Thrall grinned, and added something Jaina did not understand. "Be thankful their queen is not Lothar Anduin…"
"Bloody harpies! They – aah – said they had a new and – huh! – technique they were going to show me, and now this!"
"Take note! I would hate for you to fall prey to something like this if we encounter actual harpies on the way home."
"Ha!" Kitala boasted. "We have discovered the leader orcs' fatal weakness! They are ticklish!"
"Apparently high lords and ladies are." Lyana concluded. "Lady Proudmoore is very ticklish too."
"How would they know that?" Thrall asked.
"How would they not?" Jaina asked back.
Further out the tauren girl with the mane of dark hair that nearly hung over her eyes was playing 'tossing the ranger' with Velonara. She flew with a squeal through the air and landed in a sand dune.
"Point conceded." Thrall tightened the last strap of his pack. "Well. If you want to let them into your city I will not get in your way. Looks to me you'll have your hands full even without the Horde interfering."
"It has been…very nice meeting you again, Thrall. Do you really have to be leaving already?"
"Evening is a pleasant time to travel. May the spirits always keep good watch over you, Jaina."
"Have you accounted for how long it will take the rangers to say goodbye to your wolves?"
"Hm. Ah, night-time is not too bad either I suppose…"
Author's Note
Since this is the end of this round of have-fun-with-our-horde-neighbours I am going to contribute to that general setting by including two very old drawings I dug up (I think the colours have actually for real faded) from when I was trying to mimic the cartoon-like Warcraft style. Don't laugh (too much)! I was still learning to draw at that time and it may sound easy but like everything with colours it's freaking hard. Lead drawing is so much easier to make good even if you go all in with meticulous shading and so on.
Velonara: Someone is being overly serious. Let me add some colouring, it will practically scream 'why so serious?' instead as a fashion statement!
The Warsong Clan's drums is actually an item you can come across in Warcraft 3. Just as useable by Dark Rangers as by Far Seers*.
*Thrall's hero class. A wolf-riding shaman who can call forth lightning and earthquakes amongst other things.
Gromwell is a reference to the dwarven smith Cromwell in Baldurs Gate II who can forge epic items from less than easily obtained raw materials. So there won't be any uprisings of baldheads battling royalists in Theramore. Probably. Hopefully Anya scared the puritanical elements of Azeroth away for good.
In World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth Lyana is part of a group of rangers sent to assassinate Varok. Sylvanas later end up killing him with dark magic, thereby botching her victory in their mak'gora, and proceeds to call the entire Horde nothing and then fly away on her own to only now (as opposed to for example a few patches earlier) tear the current lich king's crown apart and open the way to World of Warcraft: Shadowlands. From an outside perspective I admittedly found the line of reasoning in her behaviour somewhat difficult to follow.
Lothar Anduin, a general of the times of Warcraft I, is said (meaning shown in the Warcraft movie) to once have duelled a ferocious, fell and Fel orc warlord in a mak'gora where he sprinted and slid on his knees between said orc's legs and cut him apart in the process. Without his boots on. Beware the bare-feet ones, ye orcs of every universe…
Velonara: Someone is being overly serious. Let me add some colouring, it will practically scream 'why so serious?' instead as a fashion statement!
The Warsong Clan's drums is actually an item you can come across in Warcraft 3. Just as useable by Dark Rangers as by Far Seers*.
*Thrall's hero class. A wolf-riding shaman who can call forth lightning and earthquakes amongst other things.
Gromwell is a reference to the dwarven smith Cromwell in Baldurs Gate II who can forge epic items from less than easily obtained raw materials. So there won't be any uprisings of baldheads battling royalists in Theramore. Probably. Hopefully Anya scared the puritanical elements of Azeroth away for good.
In World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth Lyana is part of a group of rangers sent to assassinate Varok. Sylvanas later end up killing him with dark magic, thereby botching her victory in their mak'gora, and proceeds to call the entire Horde nothing and then fly away on her own to only now (as opposed to for example a few patches earlier) tear the current lich king's crown apart and open the way to World of Warcraft: Shadowlands. From an outside perspective I admittedly found the line of reasoning in her behaviour somewhat difficult to follow.
Lothar Anduin, a general of the times of Warcraft I, is said (meaning shown in the Warcraft movie) to once have duelled a ferocious, fell and Fel orc warlord in a mak'gora where he sprinted and slid on his knees between said orc's legs and cut him apart in the process. Without his boots on. Beware the bare-feet ones, ye orcs of every universe…