My Dread Lady [Warcraft III fanfiction]

[Maltacus]

Mere weeks have passed since Arthas Menethil set sail for Northrend, racing towards the Frozen Throne. Sylvanas Windrunner, from being mere moments from claiming her vengeance, finds herself further away from that goal with each passing day. Shunned, distrusted and hated, her Forsaken are without friends in a world that has no place for them. Beset by the Scourge and the rising Scarlet Crusade and with far too few resources, the Dark Lady grows increasingly desperate. She would ally with almost anyone if it would give her people a chance. The sudden arrival of two unlikely visitors inadvertently leads her to consider a small city state across the sea, reputedly ruled by an archmage with a certain history with a certain prince.

A Warcraft III fanfiction about the Forsaken undead and their allies and enemies.

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

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

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

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

Who is who?​

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



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

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

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



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

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

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

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



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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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



Amora's squadron:

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

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

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

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



Kalira's squadron:

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

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

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

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

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



Sylvanas' squadron:

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

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

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

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

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 1. Awakening and Arrival


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

You only got to bury your father once.

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

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

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

And Jaina had no father.

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

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

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

"Memory." Jaina whispered, numb and distant.

Blood, betrayal, infamy. What memory?

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

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

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

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

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

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

***​

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

Her body.

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

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

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

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

No longer.

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

But she was empty.

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

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

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

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

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

That would have been interesting. For someone that cared.

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

Her banshee form.

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

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

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

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

"Alina."

Alina turned around.

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

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

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

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

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

Arthas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You are not alone anymore, Dark Ranger."

***​

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

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

Movement – Trees – Hidden – Advance to investigate.

Kalira signed back.

Affirmative. Friend or foe?

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

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

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

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

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

The reaction was…not quite what they had expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kalira was not to be trifled with.

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

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

Cyndia could practically see Kalira raising an eyebrow in disbelief.

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

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

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

"And…not in Midgard I assume?"

"Azeroth."

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

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

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

***​

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

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

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

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

Kalira stiffened slightly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

***​

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

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

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

Cyndia didn't particularly like it.

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

The place felt so insanely cramped.

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

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

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

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

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

But of course, not quite empty.

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

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

"Greetings. I am Sylvanas Windrunner."

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 2. Diplomacy and Delegates

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

Click to shrink...

"They are spies!" the banshee queen snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes, but not much." Kalira replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Varimathras?" Velonara suggested.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But in truth, what other reasonable explanation was there?

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

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

***​

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

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

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

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

So, they still persisted with this inane tale.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Acceptable."

Then the dwarf held out his hand.

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

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

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

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

Runar was apparently not done.

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

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

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

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

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

It was logical, that couldn't be denied.

Curse his logic.

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

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

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

***​

Alina wandered the Keep, off duty.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Marriage contract? What the…" Halvdan mumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She could hear the dwarves whisper something.

Halvdan approached her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nobody is angry.

We understand.

You are not on your own.

We will help you.

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

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

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

Sylvanas regarded them silently for a moment.

"Anya. Tell them. Preferably not here!"

Anya rolled her eyes and turned to the dwarves.

"We'd better take a walk."

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

Oh.

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

 

[Korttihai]

Oh I love this. The Forsaken are my favourite race in WoW and having a look into the lives of sane undead is just the thing I want.

Strange to have dwarves from LotR appearing in Azeroth but maybe some outside perspective is needed. In WoW canon the Forsaken only allied themselves to the Horde because they think of them to be primitive and easily manipulated for their revenge against the Lich King and the living. With some neutral messengers maybe they can have friendlier relations with the living humans.

 

[AgentWho007]

So are the Nine Realms somehow connected to Azeroth? Since they are asking about Midgard. Also why are the chapters put under spoiler?

 

[Maltacus]

Oh I love this. The Forsaken are my favourite race in WoW and having a look into the lives of sane undead is just the thing I want.
Strange to have dwarves from LotR appearing in Azeroth but maybe some outside perspective is needed. In WoW canon the Forsaken only allied themselves to the Horde because they think of them to be primitive and easily manipulated for their revenge against the Lich King and the living. With some neutral messengers maybe they can have friendlier relations with the living humans.

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Runar and Halvdan have travelled a lot and can certainly provide their very own and unique persepctive on many things. They will however keep their origins very quiet so do not expect any more mentions of their home ground. Discretion is a virtue among both spies and diplomats...

So are the Nine Realms somehow connected to Azeroth? Since they are asking about Midgard. Also why are the chapters put under spoiler?

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No, it is probably a very unique one-time exceptional event that brought them here and neither Kirin Tor nor Burning Legion sages are aware of any such connections. I use spoilers out of habit mostly, since I find it much easier to scroll through a lot of posts to find the ones I look for. The threadmarks will serve the purpose for a reader I suppose but if I need to go back and double-check on something I've found the spoilered content helps me.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 3: Forsaken and Families

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



"My Lady,

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

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

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

Pained"



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

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

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



"Jaina,

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

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

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

You are no daughter of mine.

Lord Admiral Katherine Proudmoore"



Jaina would never see her home again.

She would never see her father.

She would never see her mother.

She would never see Tandred.

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

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

Oh.

Pained deserved better.

***​

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

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

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

"Report!"

"All good!" Kalira answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Although Alina hadn't actually been alone.

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

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

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

***​

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

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

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

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

Sylvanas silenced her with a gesture.

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

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

Kalira was the first to speak up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***​

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Kalimdor?

The Horde?

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 4. Baths and Beds

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you still with us, Lady Proudmoore?"

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

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

"Am I boring you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"This entire city must be purged!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jaina stared at her, too tired to retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was Pained any less kind and gentle than Tyrande?

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

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

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

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

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



***



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

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

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

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

"Dark Lady?"

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

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

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

"You."

"Me?"

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

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

Anya had heard more than enough of that hated litany.

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

Sylvanas' jaw seemed to clench a bit.

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

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

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes.

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

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

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

But now Anya was the one getting irritated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That at last seemed to pick Sylvanas interest.

"The water?"

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

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

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

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And what is that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sylvanas snorted and shook her head.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sylvanas looked at the broken jar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Anya said nothing. She knew when she had lost.

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

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

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

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

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

Stupid scar. Stupid stubborn Sylvanas. Stupid damned everything.

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

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

Huh, so apparently she could do that too.



***



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

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

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

Vereesa.

Little Moon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Marriage contract.

Jaina Proudmoore.

Arthas Menethil.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do we know where they are currently?"

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

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

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

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

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

Areiel scowled at the dismaying situation indicated on the map.

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

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

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

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

Areiels eyebrows rose almost to the ceiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hopefully, far away by then."

"No, my lady."

"No?" Sylvanas smooth tone was dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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



***



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And if the wind is with us?"

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

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

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

Neither could Sylvanas but she refrained from mentioning that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 5: Dwarves and Detours

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

And Alina is not staring or anything.

Click to shrink...

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

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

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

Could the dead have friends?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Amora was just overinterpreting things.

Wasn't she?



***



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have a hearing problem, mister…"

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

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

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

"Esteemed guests?" the sergeant parroted.

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

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

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

"But…"

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

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

"Please call me Rhonin."



***



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"May we take a moment to discuss that?"

"Of course."

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

Runar turned to face him again.

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

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

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

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

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

But reality was sometimes not so accomodating.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rhonin laughed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

True enough.

Vereesa did not need to look to know.

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

She whispered in the saddest voice Rhonin had ever heard.

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



***



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yaaaaaaaaaah!"

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

"You did that on purpose!" Runar accused.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



***



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

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

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

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

Ironforge.

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

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

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

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

But it did not sit well with any of them.

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

And it mirrored Halvdans mood perfectly.

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

A long moment of silence followed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Utter lunacy."

"Insanity in its purest form."

They both sipped on their ale.

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

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

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

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

"For the sake!" Runar snarled defiantly.

"Of the Forsaken!" Halvdan growled.

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

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 6. Waves and Wails

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


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

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

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

Try not to kidnap foreign heads of state."

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

Click to shrink...

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

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

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

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

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

Sylvanas the inadequate.

Sylvanas the failure.

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

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

Was there a point of even trying?

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

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

Was there no real hope for them at all?

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

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

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

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

"Our ruin."

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

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



"Shadows to the right of me

Shadows to the left of me

Dancing flame, withered tree

Death ahead of me



Sword and shackle wait for me

Guarding shadows shelter me

In the darkness I am free

Death ahead of me



Shadows calling back for me

Shadows lie ahead of me

What they hide I can not see

Death ahead of me"



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

"How can you still hope, Anya?"

"How can you?"

"Who says I do?

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

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

"Hope fails."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She did not expect Anya to smile.

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

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

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

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

One small chance.

One last chance.



***



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

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

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

And yes, Areiel was still being Areiel.

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

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

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

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

Areiel produced a list.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Precisely!" Areiel grinned.

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

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

Sylvanas almost laughed.

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

Areiel raised an eyebrow.

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

Areiel grinned and nodded. Then she grew more serious.

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

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

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

Sylvanas flinched.

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

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

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

Areiel waited for Sylvanas to gather herself.

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

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

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



***



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

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

Some ruler she was, too.

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

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

Disowned by her own homeland and family.

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

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

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

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

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

There seemed to be a storm coming.



***



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

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

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

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

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

Sylvanas nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold it!"

"Stay right there!"

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

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

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

"Or a spy, sergeant!"

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

"Sergeant! They're undead!"

"They undead! The undead are here!"

"To arms!"

No…

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

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

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

What?!

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

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

"…call for support…"

"Back off!"

"…we need mages!"

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

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

The guards were shouting, there was a commotion now.

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

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

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

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

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

Not for Sylvanas.

Not for her rangers that she had led here.

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

Not for Anya.

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

And Sylvanas Wailed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ooops…

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

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

Click to shrink...

 

[mirananight]

Love Sylvanas, thanks for the chap!

 

[Maltacus]

Love Sylvanas, thanks for the chap!

Click to shrink...

Nice to hear! Mind if I borrow Mirana as a dark ranger name some time? Mirana Night-something sounds quite dark ranger-like.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 7. Sleeping and Sailing

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

Click to shrink...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Resistance is futile.

Click to shrink...

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

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

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

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

What a complete and utter failure this was.

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

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

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

What a complete and utter failure she was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"No…don't do it…don't hurt them!"

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

"…can not watch you… …do th… …thas…"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

Wait one Sun-blessed bloody moment.

It couldn't be, could it?

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

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

"What is your name?"

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

"J…Jaina…" she mumbled sleepily.

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

For once in her unlife she needed air.

***​

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

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

"Is the little sweetheart asleep?" she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What for?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

An archmages staff.

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

Clea nodded.

"Why did we bring her with us?"

"What's the plan now?"

"How are we going to guard an archmage?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her mage.

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

***​

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

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

Aouch!

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

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

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

It was all Jaina could muster to put the bucket back in a corner and crawl back into her hammock. Had she said – thought - her hammock? It wasn't like she was moving in here, was it? Her head was splitting in two, it was like one of those migraines that weeks of overworking brought on her. Maybe she had gotten drunk last evening and abdicated or something... Oh, this was intolerable, she had to reorder her thoughts. Jaina tried to breathe heavily through the headache and mentally list what she knew.

She remembered working late. Well, when was she not working late?

She had gone to bed, when it was pitch dark outside. There had been a storm outside.

She had not fallen asleep because she had been disturbed by sounds from outside and a strange feeling in the air, one of strange magic?

Jainas tower was overlooking almost everything in Theramore and she had seen some sort of commotion by the new docks, in the middle of the night. She had wrapped a robe around her and teleported there.

The events of last night came back to her in vivid clarity. Arriving in the middle of an argument. Weapons raised. Dark, lithe shapes on one side, Theramorian city guards on the other. And then that horrible, horrible scream. Her head almost hurt from the memory of it. She had thrown up a shield and without thinking teleported her guards away from it. She had stood her ground – why had she done that? – until she passed out. Her night was filled with troubling dreams she could barely recall, but also that voice and those red eyes.

Jaina looked up at the cracks and flaking paint of the ceiling while she tried to think. Who were the dark shapes? What kind of creature could scream like that? She went over all the monstrous, peculiar, fascinating beings of Azeroth that she knew about – the last year had certainly been educational if nothing else – but it was like her thoughts had been glued together.

But then the cabin door was quietly opened and the answer to her question stepped inside.

It was an elf woman, that much was quite clear by the ears sticking out of her hood and the, well, buckles of her armour. Jaina tried not to stare, but then what else in the room was she supposed to look at? And the elf was captivating. She had light blue-grey skin to start with, and was dressed in what looked like an elven rangers attire except that instead of the blue or green tones she had seen amongst those that had journeyed to Kalimdor with her, it was dark red bordering on purple, with grim silvery ornaments where graceful patterns mixed with skulls. And her eyes… They were those eyes. They were red, and they actually shone, just like in the dream that Jaina was beginning to wonder about how much of it that had really been a dream.

The elf somehow managed to make the couple of steps to Jainas side seem like a demonstration of balance and grace. Unfair elves… She leaned forward slightly and seemed somehow even taller than she already was – definitely one of the tallest elven women Jaina had met – and somehow the room felt a shade darker.

"Good morning, Lady Proudmoore."

The simple and altogether reasonable words momentarily made Jainas brain cease to function completely. First and foremost, the voice…was that voice, and it sent a shiver down Jainas spine and made her long to hear more delicious words that dripped like melted chocolate into her ears and…wait! One of those delicious words had been 'Proudmoore'. She knew Jainas name. How did she know Jainas name? Had they met, and she didn't remember? And why couldn't the room stop spinning like that?

"W…What are…" Jaina tried.

"I said; 'Good morning, Lady Proudmoore'." the elf repeated herself slowly as if questioning whether Jainas ears were functioning as they should.

"Oh, that… I mean, good morning too! To you." Jaina blurted out. Tides, she was already making a mess out of this. "I must apologize deeply if this comes across as very rude, but you obviously know my name and I am not sure if I should know yours."

The red eyes regarded Jaina for a moment, and she couldn't turn her gaze away from them. They were mesmerising, like ruby red fires waiting deep inside to flare up and consume her.

"No. We have not met previously but I can understand your confusion. The nights incidents must have been…disorienting." the elf continued in an even tone. "My name is Sylvanas Windrunner. I am the queen of Lordaeron and of the Forsaken, the free undead no longer under the Lich Kings control."

Jaina could only stare. Queen of Lordaeron? Queen of a nation of free undead?

"I'm sorry to say I'm not really in any shape to bow, or curtsy, or however you do it in Lordaeron these days, your majesty." Jaina said with an apologetic smile. "I am, well, not quite well."

"Of course." the queen nodded. "And in the interest of formal courtesy you my address me as Lady Windrunner as one head of state to another.

"Well, Lady Windrunner, how did I end up here? I remember arriving at the docks in Theramore just in time to stop everyone from losing their heads and attacking each other, but then there was a terrible scream that really went through my bones."

The Lady Windrunner regarded Jaina silently for a second. Jaina felt like the red gaze bored into her mind and went through every thought that she had been thinking since yesterday afternoon.

"I am a banshee and possess several ways to incapacitate an adversary. What I hit you with was a banshees Wail, after your guards had proven Theramore's hostile intentions."

A banshee! Jainas brain ran through all her mentally catalogued knowledge of banshees, which was not too much but still creatures that the Scourge had employed during the fighting in Ashenvale. She was so intrigued by the revelation that she almost missed the other bit of crucial information.

"Wait, what?! Theramore's hostile…we've no hostile intentions to you!"

"The actions of your city guard speaks otherwise, Lady Proudmoore."

"But what happened? What did they do?"

"I arrived by boat with my escort, disembarking openly with the intention to seek out the city's rulership to negotiate safe passage for my ship into Theramore Bay and the opening of negotiations between our respective factions. I was met by a guard patrol whose commanding officer insulted me and demanded that I would surrender myself and my bodyguards. You arrived about the next moment. As you are aware of I unleashed a Wail and you were wise to teleport your guards away. I must commend your quick action in that regard. I assume you lost consciousness after maintaining your shield for so long and I had you brought to my ship."

Jaina felt her face redden slightly. It was absolutely silly, but she had a profound weakness for being praised and hearing someone so impressive as Lady Windrunner recognizing her quick thinking and the strength of her spells made the blood rush to her cheeks. And there was that voice as well. It had a peculiar otherworldly echoing quality to it, sometimes almost imperceptible and sometimes very clear.

"As for now, you are in my custody onboard my ship. So long as you do not attempt to escape or attack me or anyone else under my command you will not be harmed. You may go where I allow it onboard the ship and you will have food and water brought to you."

"Hm, well, regarding that…you probably already know that I am a mage…" Jaina began. Then she wanted to slap herself. Of course she new she was a mage, she had just commented on her teleporting people away, for Tides' sake!

Lady Windrunner nodded.

"We are aware of that, and you will be under constant watch. Any attempt to cast a spell without prior permission would be…inadvisable. You would also be wise to keep in mind that the dead do not require sleep."

"For now it's not like I could conjure so much as a snowball for my head, and I don't think I'd make it through the door without falling, but I can let you know when I'm feeling better and more dangerous." Jaina promised, a tiny bit cheeky. It was maybe – probably – not very wise to provoke the queen of Lordaeron but she didn't want to appear too intimidated either, and a very unwise part of her wondered what would happen if she actually did that and if those eyes could in fact burn even hotter than they already seemed to do. In that moment, Jainas stomach made a very undignified growl to remind her that she had in fact not eaten since yesterday evening and that the concept of breakfast had more to its merit than just satisfying the whims of stubborn night elf bodyguards.

Lady Windrunner raised an eyebrow, which was enough to make Jaina want to disappear under her pillow.

"I will have food and water brought to your cabin as soon as it is available. My crew has gathered limited quantities of drinking water during the night but otherwise we did not expect to be carrying living passengers."

"As soon as I'm able to cast again I could conjure some mana-bread or something like that, but some water would be very nice, thank you." Jaina said gratefully and noted that her throat was in fact starting to feel very dry.

Lady Windrunner nodded.

"Is the hammock to your liking?"

"Yes, it's actually been quite comfortable." Jaina nodded.

"Then you may continue to make use of it as well as this cabin."

"May I ask, where am I? On the ship, I mean?"

"This is the captains cabin, which now serves as my quarters for as long as I am onboard. You may continue to use it at your leisure as I do not sleep and require little light to work. Do not mistake my occupying myself with other tasks for dropping my guard."

Jaina fell back into her hammock, too tired and too thirsty to ask any more questions for the moment. Her mind was spilling over with questions – they thought Theramore was an enemy, what a Tides-damned utter mess – and things she wanted to know more about as well as clarify. But that would have to wait. She had to get her head back under control first.

Perhaps she was too exhausted to worry as much as she probably should, but for some reason Jaina did not feel nearly so ill at ease as when she'd woken up. She did not doubt that her captor meant what she'd said, and on the one hand she was freaking scary. But on the other…Jaina could not help but long to hear more of that voice and as much as the queen of Lordaeron frightened her – which she did – Jaina also felt intrigued by her. As far as being captured and technically in enemy hands went it could certainly be considerably worse and the thought of Lady Windrunner watching over her and lending her room made Jaina feel inexplicably warmer for some reason.

Although, it didn't actually fit to think of the elf as Lady WIndrunner, or as the Queen of Lordaeron either. Those were titles she bore but not who she were. Titles were for stiff, formal people doing stiff, formal things and the graceful and doubtlessly quite deadly Sylvanas Windrunner was anything but that, even though the way she spoke Common was a little old-fashioned at times.

Sylvanas. That name was what she were, Jaina was sure of it. Sylvanas with the burning eyes and the voice that made her shiver.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 8. Knives and Knaves

Anya welcomes Jaina aboard in her own way and Jaina makes some new friends.

Click to shrink...

Jaina had not had time over to wonder overly much about what kind of crew the queen of Lordaeron commanded before one of them introduced herself by a brief knock on the door and entering upon Sylvanas' order. She was evidently another Forsaken elf but her skin was light grey, almost white. Apart from that she had the same red eyes as Sylvanas but they were not the same flaring fires. They were glowing more akin to the eyes of a night elf, except for being red of course, and indeed there was something of Pained across the scarred features of her face. Jaina had never been good at guessing the age of elves, tending to find the lot of them unfairly elegant regardless and somewhat grudgingly leaving it at that, but she had the impression that this one was older than most and that there was very little on Azeroth that could unbalance her in life or in death.

The new elf saluted Sylvanas with her hand over her chest.

"Lady Proudmoore, may I introduce Areiel, captain of my Dark Rangers." The way Sylvanas said Dark Rangers hinted at great significance and Jaina made a note to herself to ask her more about them later. Certainly Areiel appeared like a darker version of an elven ranger, with sparse armour very similar to Sylvanas but less elaborate and black rather than dark red.

Areiel bowed formally to Jaina, who hurriedly managed a "Good morning, ranger captain Areiel." in response.

The ranger captain, still silent and with an even expression that betrayed no emotion, held out a flask with the flourish of a waiter presenting a particularly exquisite and expensive wine. Jaina only hesitated for a second before she greedily snatched it up and downed the most delicious pint of rainwater she could imagine at the moment, eagerly enough to spill some over her nightgown.

"The crew is currently fishing for something to serve for breakfast." Areiel stated.

Jaina was about to express her gratitude when her stomach rumbled again, quite loudly.

"I'll tell them to hurry up." Areiel said in the same even tone and made Jaina want to sink through every deck of the ship and to the seas bottom. Areiels voice was something like what one might guess from seeing her face, a little hoarse and rough from untold years of trials but still carrying.

"Dark Lady." Areiel nodded to Sylvanas before leaving, bringing with her the bucket Jaina had borrowed. It did not make Jaina feel any more dignified.

Sylvanas had watched her without a word and her expression betrayed as little as Areiels. If Jaina wanted to appear as more than a bumbling girl she would evidently have some work cut out for her, she noted with an inwardly sigh.

Briefly clenching her eyes, Jaina put her mind to work instead by going over all se knew of Sylvanas, trying not to look too much at her as that was proving to be utterly distracting. Dark Lady, to start with. The Queen of Lordaeron Lady Windrunner was apparently a woman of many titles. This was certainly an intriguing one and Jaina was going to ask more about it later.

Speaking of names, though. Windrunner… Her friend Rhonins wife Vereesa was also named Windrunner. Was she and Sylvanas perhaps related? How common could the surname be? It was surely more elaborate than the ever-present human Lanes, Fords, Hills, Lakes and so on but weren't all elven names that? Perhaps Windrunner was a commonly used name. Jaina thought of Vereesa and Sylvanas. Both were tall and fit, and actually rather similar apart from the hair colour with Vereesas being silvery and Sylvanas a faded blonde, which might have been less faded in life. Then again Jaina thought most elves were looking quite alike, each more handsome than her than the other with their elegant features, so maybe Jaina wasn't a very good judge at that. But Vereesa was also an elven ranger, which was a noteworthy coincidence at the very least, so chances were she and Sylvanas would know about each other if nothing else.

She had met the adventurous Vereesa several times and she had been quite nice to Jaina, eagerly trading embarrassing stories about Rhonin and regaling Jaina with the unlikely tale of their grand first mission together and their heart-warming rescue of Alexstraza and the other red dragons. Jaina and Rhonin had managed to find time and opportunity to write to one another a few times since she had settled in Theramore and Jaina was immensely relieved to know that both he and Vereesa had survived the Scourge and the ensuing turmoil around Dalaran. Jaina promised herself she would write more often to both Rhonin and anyone else she could think of as soon as she got the opportunity. And she really had to ask about Sylvanas' last name at some point.

Right now was not a good time, though. Jainas thoughts were turning increasingly towards all the fat and juicy fishes that she knew could be caught around Theramore – the primary source of food for her city – and didn't want to be more distracted than necessary when conversing with her intimidating captor. Besides, Jaina was fairly comfortable now apart from her hunger. Having something to drink along with Sylvanas opening the small windows of the cabin to let in fresh air was starting to do wonders for Jainas headache, even though her limbs still felt like lead. True to her word, Sylvanas was sitting by her desk and writing, and the familiar sound of a quill against paper was as comforting for Jaina as that of a crackling fire was for the majority of Azeroths peoples.

Now that she had resolved to leave the talking for some time later, Jaina decided that it wouldn't interrupt anything if she tried to steal a few glances of Sylvanas while waiting for her crew to get lucky with their fishing.

***​

Anya had knocked on Sylvanas' cabin door countless times by now. So she shouldn't really hesitate to do that one more time. It should be just the same as reporting last morning.

Should be.

If Anya had a mirror she would have double-checked every little detail about her appearance. It wouldn't do for them to appear like a band of scruffy-looking thugs when you were dealing with a foreign ruler, whether Sylvanas wanted to appear sympathetic or intimidating to her.

She knocked briskly and was immediately told to enter.

Lady Proudmoore was awake, and looked newly awake in a beautiful sort of way with tangled hair spilling across her pillow and clear, curious eyes that fixed on Anya. They were distractingly blue little oceans that Anya tried not to look too much at.

"Anya, good. I need to see to some things with Areiel, stand guard over Lady Proudmoore in the meantime." Sylvanas said without further ado.

"Dark Lady." Anya saluted and took up a position next to the door in full view of Lady Proudmoore. She'd caught the hint and wouldn't act as if guarding archmages was anything but routine for the dark rangers.

"This is lieutenant Anya Eversong." Sylvanas mentioned to Lady Proudmoore. "I would avoid antagonizing her. Rangers do not command my personal guard for no reason." she said curtly and walked out without another word or a second look, projecting the supreme confidence that only Sylvanas could. Anya had never quite figured out how she did it. It was as if the idea of everything not turning out like the Dark Lady had just ordered was completely alien, ridiculous even.

Anya could see that the posturing had made an impression on Lady Proudmoore, but the mage eyed her with interest none the less. She looked very tired, Anya thought and guessed that she should perhaps be pleased by it. Tired mages would be less prone to cause trouble and more easy to intimidate. But she didn't feel pleased at all. There were dark spots under Lady Proudmoores eyes and her dishevelled nightrobe could not hide a certain sense of frailty about her, almost like malnourishment as if she hadn't eaten enough for a long time. But how could that be, if she was the ruler of a city? Was Theramore running out of food?

Anya stood as still as she could, which was like a statue, with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Are you going to make some sort of threat too?" asked Lady Proudmoore. Not unkindly, more like a tone of wry amusement in her voice. Her eyes were still locked on Anya and taking in every detail about her.

Anya initially showed no sign of having heard the question. Then she walked over to the desk and picked up a paper she knew Sylvanas had long since read.

"Would you please throw this into the air, Lady Proudmoore?" Anya asked politely and put the paper in her left hand that was closest to the port side wall.

The mage frowned but did as Anya had asked, throwing the paper with a little spin.

In one rapid movement Anya drew one of her daggers and threw it, nailing Areiels summary of the Undercitys blacksmithing capacity to the wooden wall over the cabins fixed bed. It drew a satisfying startled gasp from Lady Proudmoore who looked between the impaled wall on her left and Anya standing nonchalantly on her right.

In that moment Sylvanas entered the room again. She took in the scene in a moment and quirked an eyebrow. She seemed decidedly amused.

"Have you been playing with your prey again, my dear lieutenant?" Sylvanas almost purred.

Anya could have sworn that those little round ears peaked up a little, and damn her if Lady Proudmoore wasn't blushing a bit. It was rather sweet.

Sylvanas leaned over the hammock and its occupant and made a show of examining the dent in the wall.

"If you are going to ruin my cabin walls you might as well do it for real, Anya." she scoffed, frowning and pretending to be displeased by the too shallow indenture. Anya could tell she was pretending but she wondered if Lady Proudmoore could. This was starting to get fun.

"One has to start slowly so the beginners have a chance to keep up, right?" Anya said as evenly as she could.

Sylvanas hummed affirmatively. Then, without any kind of warning, she grabbed two other pages from her desk and threw them randomly in the direction of the cupboards in the starboard side wall.

Anya drew the second dagger from her belt and was already kneeling as she let it fly, drawing the smaller knife hidden in her right boot and impaling the second sheet a tad lower than the first.

Lady Proudmoores eyes were big as teacups and her breath had hitched. Anya could see Sylvanas smirk and there was pride in that, she noticed and felt lighter than she had for days as she dodged under the hammock to retrieve her first dagger.

"Perhaps you should practice on a live target..." Sylvanas mused with a downright evil smile that showed just a little too much teeth, and glanced at Lady Proudmoore.

If Lady Proudmoores eyes had been large before they grew even larger now. Teapots instead of teacups, perhaps.

"Hey, hold up now! This is a joke, right?! I know this is a joke! You're not seriously going to…" she rambled in a terrified voice.

Anya fingered her daggers edge thoughtfully, looking between Sylvanas by the desk and Lady Proudmoore in the hammock from her spot next to the door.

Fixing Lady Proudmoore with her glare, Anya threw her dagger at Sylvanas as fast as she could, who snatched it out of the air just as rapidly.

Lady Proudmoore let out a loud gasp, or choked scream.

Sylvanas picked up the other two daggers form the cupboard wall, and then threw all three at Anya in rapid succession.

"Stop it! Stop! Please stop it, have you lost your minds?!" Lady Proudmoore shouted frantically as Anya caught them just as rapidly.

"Hm, you don't think I should be playing with the knives, Lady Proudmoore? Do you want me to return them?" Anya inquired threw all three back at Sylvanas as fast as she possibly could without waiting for an answer.

Lady Proudmoore screamed.

"NOW you have to make up your mind, Lady Proudmoore!" Sylvanas demanded, raising her voice to carry over Lady Proudmoores fading scream. Then, taking one in each hand, she threw both of Anyas daggers at her at once. Anya barely managed to catch one in each hand, staggering a little but still slashing the following boot knife aside to send it clattering against the cupboard wall. And Sylvanas was all but beaming at her, looking proudly from behind the view of Lady Proudmoore who panted heavily. And for just one wonderful moment Anya was a ranger recruit again who had just scored her first good hit at the archery range and was looking up at Sylvanas' bright and sunny smile over her shoulder.

"Lay off this at once, you knaves! Bloody crazy pirates!"

Sylvanas flashed a predatory grin at Lady Proudmoore, looking genuinely amused.

"Pirates, Lady Proudmoore?" she asked so smoothly that even Anya shivered. "And I think it was knives involved rather than knaves. Anyway, I came to tell you that my crew has caught some fish which should be properly grilled by now. Do you think you are rested enough to come out and eat?"

"Sadly not. And this was not exactly a peaceful display, Lady Windrunner." Lady Prudmoore huffed and managed an impressive tinge of indignation under the circumstances. "You sure know how to make a girl relax…"

Sylvanas flinched at the last ironic statement and looked at Anya with an apologetic look she struggled to conceal. Anya knew exactly why.

She raged inwardly at Lady Proudmoore for bringing up that miserable earlier episode and ruining this precious rare moment. Then she calmed herself. Lady Proudmoore had no way of knowing about that and it was unfair to blame her. Anya still would have wanted to kick Lady Proudmoores shin if she had been standing. But only a little.

The mage had spotted their exchanged glances, Anya noticed, and made a mental note that they would have to watch themselves in her presence. Not much escaped those attentive eyes. They were not unfriendly though, on the contrary.

"I trust I can get your fish without you giving Anya any trouble now?" Sylvanas asked wryly.

Lady Proudmoore rolled her eyes and then rolled over into her blanket as Sylvanas went to fetch her breakfast. Anya could see Sylvanas' eyes sparkle, like if the red fires deep inside danced merrily for just once. It hadn't been a completely ruined moment, then.

"I believe I still owe you a death threat, Lady Proudmoore…" Anya said, still feeling mischievous.

"Don't you think you've made you point already?" Lady Proudmoore asked dryly, gesturing from her hammock at the dent in the wall to Anyas amusement.

Anya looked down on her resting form. Right now Lady Proudmoore appeared like the last thing in the world that needed guarding against. But Anya had still seen her block a point blank Wail from the most powerful banshee on Azeroth. The archmage had not been fighting back that time, perhaps unwilling to believe that mortal enemies could have appeared in the middle of her city, or perhaps that if they were enemies they would already have attacked her soldiers.

Next time, they would not be so fortunate.

Next time ice and fire would rain on them. Forsaken would die and Sylvanas would grieve.

"I will do it if I have to, Lady Proudmoore." Anya whispered. "But I think that I will not enjoy it."

"All too kind." the mage mumbled dryly. "I hope you'll make it quick at least."

"I promise." Anya said solemnly and sadly.

A black tear ran down her cheek and dropped on Lady Proudmoore. She didn't appear to notice.

If Sylvanas ever ordered Lady Proudmoores death it should be Anya, because doing so would be wrong, and Anya would rather have it be herself doing something so wrong than Sylvanas. It would be very, very wrong to harm Lady Proudmoores slender neck. Anya would much rather fight to keep it whole, she decided. In fact Anya would fucking kill to keep it whole, because the beautiful Lady Proudmoore had made Sylvanas smile.

Another tear dropped, and this time the mage noticed it.

"Anya" she said in a kind but saddened voice "do you think we are bound to end up fighting each other?"

"I don't think you are our enemy, but I believe we may end up on opposite sides of a battlefield one day." Anya almost sighed. "And I don't think I would like that."

"I don't think I would like that either. I think I would rather have you as a friend."

Anya thought that she would like that very much.

She reached down to tentatively stroke Lady Proudmoores hair. It was soft and welcoming between her fingers, and didn't feel like the hair of an enemy.

***​

Sylvanas had never considered humans to be particularly complex creatures, but she was finding her mage more and more difficult to place, for lack of a better word. On the one hand Proudmoore had demonstrated magical prowess that doubtlessly would have rivalled the most senior magisters of Quel'Thalas, and despite being captured by an undead queen in the middle of the night the mage appeared to be in inexplicably good spirits, even after Anyas outrageous antics. On the other hand the woman was blushing, awkward and in many ways the perfect picture of shyness and naivety. Perhaps it played a part that she was technically in bed dressed in only her nightrobe with complete strangers going about in the same room. Most people tended to be more squeamish than the rangers about those kinds of things. Sleeping on bare ground with tents being a luxury and your comrades as the most reliable source of warmth tended to do away with overbearing feelings of propriety after a while.

The way Proudmoores eyes lit up at the sight of a slightly burnt mackerel was nothing short of endearing. Nobody had schooled her in the art of masking her emotions it would seem, but all the better if it made her easier to read and to manipulate.

The mage had swung her legs over the side of the hammock and was eating her fish eagerly bent over a tin plate, her modesty yielding before her distaste of getting pieces of fish amongst her bedclothes. Sylvanas frowned at the worn appearance of her mage. She was way too thin, and modest or not no woman should shrink away from another's gaze like that, even if Sylvanas' in all honesty was something out of the ordinary.

She shouldn't care. But then, a hostage needed to be kept alive in order to be useful after all.

"Are you not getting enough food in Theramore, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas asked with a raised eyebrow.

The question caught her mage in the middle of a particularly large bite. She struggled visibly to chew and swallow quickly to be able to answer.

"Mno, nosching like at." Proudmoore denied and looked rather self-conscious. "It's just me I'm afraid, I tend to overwork and, hm, not always eat so much."

Sylvanas could relate to that. When she had stepped up as Ranger-General and tried to fill the all too big boots left by her mother she had mistreated herself for years with too late nights and too little nourishment. It was not a pleasant position to be in. Sylvanas forced down a wave of sympathy. At least she had had a long time to get used to the thought of eventually succeeding Lireesa Windrunner. Theramore had not even existed two years ago.

Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into Proudmoores demeanour and seeing herself where she had no reason to. And damn all such thoughts. The Ranger-General of Silvermoon was a figure of the past and she would never be that woman again, or anything close by.

"That never works in the long run." Sylvanas said firmly.

"You're sounding like Pained."

"Who is?"

"My bodyguard. She likes to point out when I'm not eating or resting as much as she would like."

"I can understand how she came by her name then." Sylvanas smirked, and noted that Pained and a certain ranger captain would probably be able to find common ground.

Her mage looked down and cleared her throat slightly before she continued to assault her fish. She had quite adorable eyelashes, Sylvanas noted.

After finishing her meal, Proudmoore leaned back into her hammock and turned her gaze on Sylvanas again.

"You know, speaking of names, may I ask if Windrunner is a common name among elves?" she suddenly asked.

"Not anymore.". Sylvanas' tone was curt.

"Oh. I'm really sorry." Proudmoore apologised as the grim implications dawned on her. Of course it was no longer a common name, just as no other elf name was common anymore after the fall of Quel'Thalas. "The thing is, I have a friend whose wife – well, she is quite nice so I hope I can count her as my friend too – is named Vereesa Windrunner. Is she a relative of yours? She is quite tall, with light blue eyes and silvery hair."

Sylvanas froze.

Little Moon.

Little Moon.

Little Moon.

She lived.

Sylvanas did not want that thought in her head. She wanted to tear out everything that tied her to the world of the living that she was forever shut out from. And deep down she wanted to keep Vereesa from ever having to find out what became of her. She would be far better off without that ugly knowledge to mar whatever brighter memories she had of Sylvanas. Forcing her voice to remain steady, Sylvanas answered her mages question, after a far too long time.

"Vereesa Windrunner was my sister."

Sylvanas could not tell if she had answered in an even tone or outright barked at Proudmoore. Speaking the words felt like a curse, a judgement where Sylvanas relinquished every remaining right to call a living soul family again. Her words rang inside her head, inside her soul, or whatever was left of it.

Sylvanas did not look up but she could just feel Proudmoores eyes on her, staring and piercing. She wanted to shrink and hide before them. She did absolutely not wish to share what they might see inside of her, and it surely felt like Proudmoore could see right into Sylvanas' torn soul, through the evidently too fresh wound that was Vereesa.

Or, wait. Was she looking at her scar? Of course she was, what else would it be? Sylvanas really ought to have some less revealing set of armour fashioned, but she also enjoyed the familiar and comforting mobility of a rangers outfit and there were so many things of endlessly higher priority to be ordered from their armouries.

Perhaps she had made a tactical error in letting Proudmoore remain close to her for extended periods of time. She could practically see the mages mind working its way through everything Sylvanas had told her since she woke up.

No. This was just a temporary setback, caused by her surprise of the mages mention of her sister, nothing more. She would order her rangers to observe strict discretion in their interactions with the Lady Proudmoore and lead by example in that regard from now on. And it was high time that she started to study her dossier in earnest to form a strategy. She would wait for the right moment to truly break that irritating mage. The journey was still long and there would be many opportunities left for that.

Sylvanas browsed through her stacked reports to find the folder of information about the rooms other occupant that Areiel had prepared. Then she leaned back slightly in the uncomfortable seat and begun to read it again while trying to block out every annoying hunch that her mage knew exactly what it was she was reading.

***​

Later in the afternoon Jaina finally felt rested enough to get up. Truth be told she also wanted to get out of the cabin that had started to feel very cramped after her blunt inquiry about Vereesa and Sylvanas' grim manner of answering. Jaina needed space to process that before she committed any more hurtful blunders, no matter how tempting it was to keep asking questions just to get to hear Sylvanas' voice.

Vereesas sister!

What would Vereesa say, if Jaina could get a chance to talk to her about all this? And what if she could bring Sylvanas with her to meet Rhonin and Vereesa?

That would have to be a thought for another time. Jaina needed to focus on the present and first and foremost get her bearings, in more than one way actually.

Jaina cleared her throat.

"Lady Windrunner?"

Sylvanas looked up.

"With your permission I would very much like to catch some fresh air on the deck."

"Very well. You should certainly enjoy that luxury a much as you can for as long as it lasts, Lady Proudmoore."

Morbid woman, Jaina thought.

"The deck is straight ahead and up the stairs. I will be right behind you." Sylvanas' tone was neutral but Jaina did of course catch the underlying meaning of Sylvanas watching her every move.

The cabin door led to a small corridor with the stairs up straight ahead. Jaina did not see anyone else but she half expected the darker corners left and right to be filled with dark-clad pale elves itching to unburden themselves of various sharp and pointy objects.

It was more than Jaina managed not to shiver at the thought of Sylvanas' presence right behind her neck. She did as instructed however and stepped out into a bleak and gloomy grey afternoon. The wind was still strong and large frothing waves crashed into the bow while a heavy rain kept blowing into her face. Jaina pulled her ludicrously flimsy robe even tighter around her and thought longingly of every kind of greatcoat and cloak she had ever worn. The wind and rain made her squint and lower her head but she could spot someone approaching them.

"Lady Proudmoore, meet captain Davey Bonecarver!" Sylvanas called out over the howling wind.

Jaina looked up into a dead mans face.

Skin stretched over the upper half of a face with gleaming yellow eyes, leaving the jaws bare and perpetually grinning like a skull. Skin of a sickly grey colour that Jaina had seen far too close far too many times on the wretched victims of the plague of undeath that had ravaged Lordaeron.

Jaina recoiled. Her legs moved on their own accord and her mind unconsciously reached for the mana that coursed through her body. Sylvanas hand clamped down with an angry hiss from her and held Jainas arm in an iron grip, and Jaina dimly realised she had been about to raise it to cast…what she didn't know, but nothing pleasant. Panic and the overwhelming need to get away overtook her and she stumbled backwards, somehow avoiding falling headfirst back down the stairs.

Jaina collapsed in a pile at the foot of the stair and wrapped her arms around her knees while trying to get her breathing to slow down and think of something, anything, that wasn't this cursed ship and its cursed crew.

Heavy steps, meant to be heard, brought her attention back and Jaina looked up to see Sylvanas' burning glare. She couldn't look away from those eyes. Jaina could practically feel the disapproval radiating off the elf. Disapproval and disappointment. Some part of her wanted to turn her eyes away but another, the greater part, wanted to keep looking at Sylvanas because even though it did not exactly bring Jaina comfort in the normal meaning of the word she was coming back to her senses. Her fears of other things melted away until there was only Sylvanas before her.

"Do you find us repulsive, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina cringed at the acid bitterness in her voice. She opened her mouth to deny it, to assure that she didn't find Sylvanas repulsive, or her dark rangers. And that was all true for Jaina found them unsettling of course, at times downright frightening, but not repulsive. But then she thought better of it. That wasn't the issue here.

"I just… I…" Jaina tried and sighed in defeat. "Yes."

She cringed inwardly at hearing herself, and braced for a tongue-lashing without peer – perhaps even rivalling Katherine Proudmoores, for who knew what a banshee was capable of – or worse. She was well aware that she was in no shape of fighting the banshee queen. But Sylvanas stood still with her arms crossed, as if waiting for something more from Jaina. Or demanding it, more like, because she was the banshee queen after all.

Jaina inhaled a ragged breath.

"It is so terrible, the state they are in. So wounded, so…decrepit. Is everyone else like the captain?" she asked with a trembling voice.

"More or less. Everyone but my rangers."

"It…It was like I could see all the deaths of all those poor people by the plague in front of me. Andorhal. Stratholme. I can almost hear Arthas in my head again, ordering them to be…culled."

A flash of terrible rage passed over Sylvanas at the mention of Arthas, so quickly that Jaina nearly wondered if she had not imagined it. A colossal wave of shame was beginning to well up inside her when she considered her own words. How selfish she sounded. Tides! She had founded Theramore instead of returning home because she wanted it to be a safe haven open to everyone. She had turned on her own father in order to protect the orcs who wanted to get away from decades of cyclic bloodshed, orcs that Daelin Proudmoore would slay just for being orcs. How was Jaina any better if she turned away the undead, the Forsaken, merely for being undead? Some ruler of Theramore she was.

The Forsaken was a frighteningly fitting name. They were truly forsaken by each and everyone in the world. And not even for their personal deeds committed under the Lich Kings control either, but simply for the way they now were. It was like turning your back on a revoltingly ill or old person just for the way they looked. Sure, there were sicknesses where you had to keep your distance but that did not mean you still couldn't offer help. And undeath as such was not contagious, not in itself.

"Lady Windrunner, I am sorry for the way I acted. With your permission I will go and apologize to your captain."

"Do not make promises you can not keep, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas sneered.

Sylvanas' tone was hard as stone but she did not stop Jaina from rising and taking a step towards the stair.

"Dark Lady. Lady Proudmoore. If you have a moment?"

Areiel was standing behind Jaina with a pile of clothes in one hand and a pair of sailors boots in the other. Jaina gratefully accepted them and after a confirming nod from Sylvanas began to put them on with her back turned to the two elves and hung her night clothes on the hammock to dry. It felt woefully indiscreet to do so right in front of the two all too perfect elves, and Jaina couldn't shake off the feeling of a thrown dagger making its way towards somewhere between her shoulder blades, but right now she felt the discomfort only served her right.

The boots were too large by far and the trousers and shirt were almost in tatters, complete with a tar-stained sailors jacket with the most frayed cuffs imaginable. It must all have been leftovers or spares dug up from some obscure shelf or sea chest but at the moment Jaina couldn't be more thankful to the ranger captain. She tied the piece of old rope that served as belt and tried not to stomp too much in her unwieldy boots when she ascended the stairs.

The rain was dying down when Jaina came back on deck and the ships captain was standing where she had left him. He turned around and Jaina swallowed and fought down her rising fear. She was better than this. She had to be.

"New garb, eh? Wouldn' wan't to brave this sorry weather in yer night shift, aye." he begun in a raspy voice before Jaina had managed a single word. It grated like, well, bones upon bones Jaina reckoned.

Wait. Tides, he was offering her a way out of having to apologise? If Jainas conscience had been bad before it now plummeted. She felt beyond criminal for the way she had conducted herself. But she would own up to it at the very least.

"I apologize for the way I acted previously, captain. It was unfair and unbecoming of me and I can only say that I'm sorry for it." she forced out and tried to only look at his eyes that shone a dim yellow just like the elves' red. "Captain Bonecarver, was it? I am Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore. It's…it's an honour to meet you."

She held out her hand. For a brief, awkward moment the undead captain just stood still but then he grasped it and Jaina failed to suppress a shudder. His hand wasn't all bone but it was cold as ice and clammy. But she steeled herself and shook it all the firmer.

"Welcome aboard, Lady Proudmoore." he said hoarsely, loud enough to carry to the closest undead sailors.

"Thank you, captain." Jaina managed a small smile. "Would it be alright for me to introduce myself to the rest of your crew?"

Captain Bonecarver regarded her for a moment, and appeared reluctant even if it was hard to guess with the state he was in.

"Better lay low on that fer a while. Some of the lads're none too used to meetin' with the living either. Might wanna give it some time ' let 'em come forth who so wishes it."

"I understand." Jaina said. Tides, she could hardly blame anyone after the first impression she had made.

"Although, there may be one o' 'em ye'll wanna meet." the captain chuckled dryly.

He led Jaina to the main mast and whistled, which Jaina found surprising that he was able to but also comfortingly human.

"Hey! Haley! Get your bony hide down 'ere!"

"Why should I?" a lighter voice answered impishly from somewhere above.

"Because I'm yer captain an' I'm gonna keel-haul you before I use you as shark-bait otherwise, that's why!"

"You'll have to catch me first!"

"I'll tell the dark lasses they can use you as target practice! Free drinks for the winner!"

"Vel' won't let them. And none of them drink."

The source of the snarky comments form above was now made apparent as what must be a young Forsaken, a girl of perhaps thirteen if Jaina had to guess, swung down onto the deck from a rope. She was slightly more intact than Captain Bonecarver but also had a kind of perpetual grin. Her cheerful mood, and perhaps her size and flamboyant dress, managed to somehow take the edge off it though. She was dressed fairly similarly to Jaina with boots, pants and a shirt, but all in proper size and good fit, and a much better cut and sleeker jacket. Her hair was tied back with a broad red ribbon that together with a few earrings made for a very roguish appearance.

"Lady Proudmoore, meet Haley Quinnivere Bonecarver." the captain said with irritation but also an unmistakeable fondness in his voice.

"Huh, so you're the living one." she greeted Jaina, with a most refreshing lack of excitement.

"A notorious delinquent, I understand." Jaina said and smiled without having to force herself.

"Delinquent? Worse. Daughter. And I'm never getting rid of her now."

The comment was cheerful but of course there was a monstrous truth to it. She would never grow up and he would never age. Jaina tried not to think of that right now.

"You could always give her a ship to captain. Then you would be Commodore Bonecarver, right?" Jaina suggested.

"That's what I'm talking about!" the younger Bonecarver cheered. "Velonara will be my first mate. But you've gotta drop this 'Bonecarver' crap, lady. It's Davey and Haley Bones to those who know us, and you better get on knowing us 'cause I'm not gonna put up with anything else."

"Watch yer tongue." her father muttered. Jaina almost wanted to laugh. At least some behaviours were apparently so human that not even death could erase them.

"Have you given her a tour 'round the ship yet?"

***​

"Aye, she's a fine vessel indeed." Captain Bonecarver, or Bones as Jaina dutifully corrected herself, concluded proudly. "Old King Terenas 'ad the right idea but lacked the coin to see it through. He combed his shores for an'one with a bit of sailing experience an' commissioned her from Boralus itself. But then 'is coffers dried up an' the year after we all ate that grain from Andorhal an', well… So she was just a hulk laying there waitin' for 'er masts 'til the Dark Lady came an' wanted to set sail. Bloody marvellous sight, her an' those rangers of hers raisin' the masts by themselves. No cranes or anything."

"What's she called?" Jaina asked.

"Well, with all the dark 'n secret stuffs 'n all, we never got around…"

Jaina considered herself a fairly rational person but sometimes sense of tradition and superstitions could overtake even her.

"You didn't name your ship?!"

The captain shrugged and looked almost ashamed before Jainas indignation. Granted, it wasn't her ship but still. This was a matter of principle, for Tides' sake!

"And another thing, captain Bones, what in all sandwich-thieving seagulls is that supposed to be?"

"What, the forecastle?"

"It's a travesty. Here you have a perfectly good frigate – lovely lines, truly – and who in their right mind will put an imbalancing, wind-catching lump like that on the fore deck?! What was Terenas thinking?"

"Well, those things tend to come on handy when the boarding actions get going."

"But she's a frigate, she's not supposed to ever get close enough to a larger vessel for that. That's what the c…"

Jaina looked around in slight disbelief.

"Where are the main deck cannons, captain?"

"What cannons?"

"Don't tell me… Don't tell me there is a whole gun deck below us without any guns."

Captain Bones chuckled heartily, or a heartily as an undead man could.

"Dear lady, why would the king waste good iron on cannons for a ship he couldn't afford to finish?"

"Common decency." Jaina muttered. "A frigate without cannons, that's… 'Nothing like a stiff broadside to get your point across.'" she quoted both her parents.

"Well, we'll have to take that up with the Dark Lady. Who knows, if the armourers can spare enough iron, one day maybe."

"Bronze, captain Bones. Iron cannons are for amateurs, they never hold up." Jaina said dismissively.

Captain Davey Bones regarded her with such amusement that it finally gave Jaina pause.

"I got a little carried away, didn't I?" she mumbled.

"You've got spirit, my lady, an' that's a precious gift." he grinned. "An' you're not wrong, I reckon."

"You…really think I should talk to the Dark Lady, I mean to Lady Windrunner?"

"Talk to me about what, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina let out a startled gasp and literally jumped on the spot and spun around. How could someone so imposing and dressed in full battle gear – light or not – move without a sound?

"I hear my paltry navy is due for considerable reforms in the near future, Lady Admiral Proudmoore?" Sylvanas drawled.

"I just think the ship would benefit from some adjustments. And perhaps a few cannons…" Jaina managed weakly. Tides, it was hard to even think when Sylvanas was standing so very close to her.

"Well, you shall have to take it up with my blacksmiths once we are home then."

"How long will that take, if I may ask?"

"That you may, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas husked and a shiver coursed through Jaina. "Captain?"

"About two weeks. I think it'll be a good time to set course east in a couple o' days or so."

Sylvanas nodded but Jaina frowned. A couple of days or so?

"Not that I want to sound alarming now, but we are sure about our current position, right?" Jaina asked and tried to keep her voice as level as possible.

"The east coast of Kalimdor." Sylvanas answered while keeping her expression completely even.

Jaina rolled her eyes.

"I hope you are aware of the existence of this rather unpleasant maelstrom in the middle of the ocean. Whatever differences we have, or imagine having, I am sure none of us wish to end up close to that. So in the mutual interest of continued survival, are we quite sure about when and where to set course east?"

Captain Bones grimaced and actually looked quite troubled.

"Tell the truth, we never 'ad a lot to go by from the start. Lordaeron's never been much interested in seafarin' 'n exploring, that's something we're happy to leave to Kul Tirans, an' I reckon the same goes for me. I plied me trade 'tween Lordaeron 'n Kul Tiras, 'n I know the reefs 'n banks back home like the back of my hand – though I suppose both're a bit worse for wear now – but I wasn' intendin' to cross oceans anytime soon."

"Neither was I, actually. All I ever wanted was to study." Jaina said and swallowed the melancholy that admission had conjured. "But Theramore can not survive without its trade and fishing so we mapped the coast closest to us and I have it in pretty good memory. May I have a look at your sea charts, captain?"

With three people later bent over it the desk in the captains cabin seemed even smaller than before. Jaina was soon biting her lip and furrowing her brow worse than ever this day. As experienced as the captain was on deck, the navigational logs left a lot to be desired. Did they really intend to chance it on basically following previous course changes backwards to Lordaeron? What about currents and drift and… Jaina bit back any exasperated sighs that threatened to come out. This wasn't their fault. Captain Bones did what he could with the knowledge he had, but he hadn't grown up being the Lord Admirals daughter. And he was quite right in that only Kul Tirans had the yearning for maritime exploration to invest vast resources in the kind of oceanic navigation that remained a quite abstract concept for most traders and fleets focused on traversing the coasts of the eastern kingdoms. If you saw no land you simply turned east again until you had the shoreline back in view and that was that.

It was in a way very telling. This had to be the normal state of things for the Forsaken. They had to make do with what they had and what they had was almost certainly never enough.

"With all respect, captain, I am not quite sure following the opposite course back to Lordaeron will be enough to ensure we don't end up wrong." Jaina begun hesitantly when they were back on the quarterdeck. Was she really going to do this? "Even though I will not deny that the most becoming method of navigation for the Forsaken fleet is without a doubt 'dead reckoning', so to say..." Jaina couldn't help herself.

Captain Bones guffawed while Sylvanas made a sound that sounded very much like a suppressed groan and "Not another one...".

Jaina straightened her back and stepped forward. She raised her hand in an impeccable Alliance sailors salute.

"Navigator Jaina Proudmoore reporting for duty, captain!"

Davey Bones: Ye better start believing in ghost stories, miss Proudmoore, 'cause you're in one of 'em! Arrrr!
Jaina: Set course for Booty Bay and let's pillage ourselves some cannons, me mateys!
Haley Quinn' Bones: Dibs for the Fun Gun, you jokers!
Sylvanas: Five minutes. I leave them unsupervised for five bloody minutes and...

Comments are very much appreciated as always.

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 9. Portals and Promises

Sylvanas has trust issues, dark rangers conduct themselves unbecomingly and Jaina makes a big decision.

Teleportation magics are depicted a bit different in Warcraft III and World of Warcraft but as Jaina herself has proven time and again any constraining rules of those are meant to be bent when the situation calls for it. So in this story I am going for something inbetween, I think you could say, and teleporting and portal magics are not a fully explored branch of magic but more like a set of known general principles that are very dangerous to deviate too much from.

Another thing I will go with is that spellcasting takes mana but also taxes the body and mind as the concentration needed to keep your focus and willpower bent on shaping arcane magic will exhaust the caster. As in real life, too much work and too little rest will drain you sooner or later no matter how good you are at said work.

Incidentally, on the topic of magic, Jainas very first appearance in Warcarft III is when she is eavesdropping on Antonidas when he is receiving a certain mysterious prophet. Her masters resignation before the fact when he informs her that she can reveal herself now is most telling. Jaina is without a doubt as proficient in sneaky ways to utilize invisibility spells as she is endlessly curious.

Click to shrink...

Spending the better part of the day in bed did not prevent Jaina from feeling, aptly enough, bone tired by the evening, and it was telling that not even the prospect of going over captain Bones' notes about the earlier journey managed to prevent her eyelids from slowly dropping. Jaina knew well enough that she would have to study the log meticulously later on but for now she was itching to just skim through it and see what life was like onboard a Forsaken ship. She stretched out to put it back on the desk but found her reach to be just a book-length too short. Not at all wanting to get out of her warm and cosy nest under the blankets Jaina tried to will her arm to temporarily grow just a little more but the uncooperative appendage showed no sign of obliging her.

Without looking up from her own reading by the desk, Sylvanas reached out and put the book on the desk.

"You're welcome, Lady Proudmoore."

"Thank you." Jaina said and felt a little sheepish. She burrowed herself a little deeper into her hammock and enjoyed the pleasant scent of salt and ships timber and a trace of metal and leather she was starting to recognize from Sylvanas' armour. The elf had removed her shoulder pauldrons but were otherwise unchanged from earlier. She was reclining in the one chair of the cabin with a stack of documents in her hand, illuminated by the warm glow from a single lamp. Her legs were stretched out and the silver and dark red armour lacquering went exceedingly well with them, Jaina had to admit. She wondered if Sylvanas carried knives hidden in those boots like Anya.

Anya was such a piece of work that Jaina could not even begin to place her. Who in their right mind greeted visitors with a knife throwing contest across their bed? But Jaina hadn't been able to help herself from being a little moved by the obvious enjoyment shared between Anya and Sylvanas, and she would bet her last mana potion that there was a great deal she was unaware of between those two. For a moment Anya had looked just like Jaina felt after her first frost bolt had cleaved Master Antonidas' desk, and his hearty laughter and applause had shaken Jaina out of her momentary fear of being promptly expelled form Dalaran. Anya looked up to Sylvanas in that very same way, was Jainas distinct impression, and Sylvanas was obviously proud of her. Sylvanas' apprentice, or Sylvanas' protégé, but more than that. Her trusted comrade, and confidant maybe.

At least enough to be entrusted with dangerous archmages, Jaina noted, and almost wished that Anya would be with them right now. There was something so heart wrenching over how the delicate elf had solemnly declared that she would end Jaina if she had to and wept at the thought – that had been a tear, Jaina was sure of it – at the next moment that Jaina found herself most of all wanting to comfort Anya, deadly enemy assassin or not. And it would probably feel quite nice if Anya were to card her hair like that right now. Not having asked Pained to do so sometimes was starting to seem like an outright dumb decision, Jainas pride be damned.

Or she could be reading far too much into it and Anya could have reacted to a surfacing memory of something entirely different for all Jaina could tell. Tides knew the Forsaken probably had more than enough traumatic experiences to last anyone a lifetime, and beyond in their case. And Anyas fingers running through her hair might as well have been her method of calming her hostage from having a nervous breakdown and not any particular sign of affection.

Perhaps she could ask Sylvanas? Jaina laughed inwardly at the thought. "Lady Windrunner, I believe your lieutenant is in acute need of a hug, please summon her now. I would also like to request that she comb my hair until I fall asleep." Jaina might as well ask Sylvanas to rock her hammock while she was at it.

Jaina returned her focus to Sylvanas, which came easy enough. Her thoughts were just going around and she needed to think of something else.

"What are you reading, Lady Windrunner?" Jaina asked drowsily.

"Reports."

"What about?"

"Are you in the habit of sharing your military correspondence with heads of hostile nations, Lady Proudmoore?"

"I hardly have any, as of now. If they asked really nice, maybe…" Jaina mused, too tired to care if she sounded ridiculous. "But it is rather note…I mean moot…isn't it?"

"How so?"

"Well, I am here as your prisoner and can hardly do anything with the knowledge" Jaina yawned "and since it must have taken you a few weeks to sail here the information will soon be quite outdated anyway."

Sylvanas had shifted her full attention to Jaina, who felt pleasantly warm under her gaze. The elf tilted her head slightly as if Jainas sleepy reasoning amused her.

"But there must be a limit to how much paperwork your Forsaken can produce, and I would guess that you have already had time to go through it all on the way here." Jaina continued.

"And what would you deduce from that reasoning then, Lady Proudmoore?"

Tides, Jaina was getting tired.

"That…that the report would be about, or connected to, a recent development that you want to check on. Obviously something related to Theramore…but you would surely have studied it extensively already since you intended to establish diplomatic relations with us… So, if it's about something that has happened recently and not about Theramore itself…" Jainas shutting eyes widened a little. "Are you reading about me?"

Jaina was too tired to tell, but it was almost like Sylvanas had stiffened a little.

"If you…hypothetically of course…were reading reports about me, what would they say?" Jaina mumbled.

"They would say that the hour is growing late and if you intend to serve as my navigator I would prefer to have you rested enough not to plot a course straight into the maelstrom. Good night, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas said dryly and blew out the flame in their lamp.

"Good night, Lady Windrunner…" Jaina was already dozing off.

Sylvanas' red eyes glowed in the dark above her and Jaina dreamt that the banshee queen was in fact rocking her hammock.

***​

Sylvanas did not consider herself a scholar in any sense of the word. She could, like any commander worth her salt, be said to be a student of military strategy in a more practical sense but elven academics rarely managed to hold her interest. There was a distancing sort of indifference, bordering on condescension, that permeated Quel'Thalas' scholarly works.

Proudmoore was an entirely different breed, she had noticed. Over the last couple of days she had practically glued herself to Captain Bonecarver and interrogated him about the ships specifications, construction, rigging, supplies, crew organisation and most of all every conceivable detail he could recall about their previous crossing of the ocean. She had just about fallen asleep with the captains log in her arms and her own notes scattered across her lap. When she reported her conclusions and calculations she did it eagerly and hell-bent on making her listeners understand her reasoning for themselves. As far as Sylvanas could tell it all made a good deal of sense, but she was prepared to trust her captains assessment in any case, and if nothing else it would in the end be Proudmoore herself who would starve to death if she got them lost at sea.

While Proudmoores thoroughness in navigation was respectable, admirable even, her enthusiasm when speaking of magical matters was nothing short of captivating. The mages eyes lit up like little lanterns and the words tumbled out of her mouth when she delved into her favourite subjects. But the biggest difference between her and the scholars that had formed most of Sylvanas' opinion of academics was how Proudmoore genuinely cared for her listeners. She didn't want to impress, she wanted to be understood.

"Strictly speaking there are no clear cut boundaries of where and how you can teleport." her mage explained, looking out from the reeling towards the barely visible coastline. "It's more of a slippery slope toward greater and greater risks of disaster. To put it short you want something to latch on to, something that is visible or can be sensed in some other way, such as with the portal anchors. You can teleport blindly but it is extremely risky unless it is to a location you know intimately. Master Antonidas always likened it to walking around in a completely dark, great mansion filled with steep stairs and trapdoors. You can maybe find your way to your own bedroom in the dark but otherwise it's better to bring a light with you."

"Does distance play a part?"

"Yes, certainly. Technically it's not harder to pinpoint an intended destination far away, it's just that most times your well-known locations tend to be those nearer to you. But the amount of mana and mental effort required increases with distance, unless you can draw upon a leyline or some similar source of energy. It's rather like the difference between rowing your boat on a still lake compared to rowing with the current of a river."

Sylvanas did not let anything reveal that she was well aware of the things Proudmoore explained. Teleportation magics' uses and limitations were crucial knowledge for a general of such a magically gifted people as the high elves. But she had to admit that none of the stiff elven magisters had explained things nearly as eagerly and with such colourful metaphors as her mage.

"You would make a fine teacher it would seem, Lady Proudmoore."

The mage actually blushed at that simple comment. Sylvanas had to admit that it was quickly becoming a pleasant distraction to see how flustered she could make that delightfully impressionable woman. Who would have thought that human ears turned red along with their cheeks and throat?

"We will be coming upon a place with a stream and some of us will disembark to provision." Sylvanas continued in a serious tone. "The drinking water we have gathered will not last you to Lordaeron and we can not rely solely on fishing during the crossing to keep you fed. I am extending my invitation to you to go ashore with us. However, your magical abilities present a complication."

"You are afraid I will teleport away at the first available opportunity."

"Indeed."

"And you would like to have safeguards against that."

"Naturally."

The mage sighed a little and suddenly looked unhappy.

"There are no foolproof ways of ensuring that that I know of, short of throwing me into some kind of dungeon heavily warded against arcane magic I suppose. You have some options. You can keep me blindfolded, which would make it harder for me to teleport to a spot within sight. You or a ranger could keep holding my arms to make it harder for me to cast and theoretically it would also make me teleport you along with me if I succeeded, so you could kill me upon arriving. You could force me to lie on the ground or something, as most mages are unaccustomed to casting complicated spells from strange positions, and it's likely going to be harder for me to maintain my sense of direction when lying down. That's what I can come up with right now."

Sylvanas had watched her intently and as far as she could tell Proudmoore appeared sincere. If anything, she seemed genuinely disappointed with the fact that she could not come up with more ideas to keep herself secured, as if it was all some test given by her Master Antonidas.

But Proudmoore seemed to have something more on her mind. She looked down and swallowed, her hesitation obvious.

"Is there something else, Lady Proudmoore?"

"I could give you my word that I will return to the ship with you, Lady Windrunner. Would you trust that?"

"No." Sylvanas tone was curt, unnecessarily so she admitted. But asking her to blindly put her trust in the head of an enemy nation was ludicrous. It was insulting. And Proudmoore should understand that and not look so damned beaten down for it. It was insufferable.

"Very…very well. I give you my word anyway, in the hope that it will be good enough one day, Dark Lady."

Sylvanas flinched, momentarily rendered speechless. A small smile played at the corner of her mages mouth.

"Nobody has ever broken a promise made to the Dark Lady, have they? So long as you don't hurt me I promise to return to the ship with you."

"I have already said that you will not be harmed as long as you do not attempt to escape or attack anyone." Sylvanas said very stiffly. "I do not break my word."

Proudmoore had the audacity to look at her meaningfully.

Irritated, Sylvanas turned on the spot and stormed off, assured that the half dozen rangers in close proximity would be enough of a deterrent if her mage got any reckless ideas.

Her rangers were starting to take after Sylvanas in keeping Proudmoore on her toes by suddenly appearing in close proximity to her and subtly revealing themselves. Sylvanas wouldn't be surprised if they had made it into some sort of contest of who could elicit the most shocked reaction out of her.

She found her lieutenant hiding – probably out of habit as much as anything else – behind the main mast.

"You heard it all, I presume." Sylvanas said and motioned for Anya to come with her towards the relative privacy by the bow.

Anya nodded.

"Do you think I should trust her, Anya?"

"Would you like to trust her, Dark Lady?"

Sylvanas reflexively tensed up. It didn't matter what she would like, you didn't get to choose if you were betrayed or shunned by the world. And after all the…

Anya lightly brushed her thumb across Sylvanas' lips and silenced her inner rant with a single steady look. Tension bled out from her through Anyas hand when it cupped her cheek.

"I can practically hear your inner voices telling you what you are allowed or not allowed to do. But that is not what I asked." Anya gently stroked her fingertips along Sylvanas' jawline. "Would. You. Like. To trust her, Sylvanas? Would it be worth something if you were able to truly depend on at least one living person?"

Sylvanas sighed and looked away. It was not that she… No. That was not what Anya had asked.

With Anya by her side she needed to look neither left nor right. She was safer in battle with Anya at her back than in her own quarters alone. There were rangers who had many centuries of experience on her lieutenant, rangers who were better shots, quicker fencers and one or two who could match her in stealth. But it was Anya who meant the world to Sylvanas.

What would it be like if she could one day trust Proudmoore like that? Her ranger at one side and her mage at the other. What a strange thought. And nothing but a stupid fantasy. A…not unpleasant fantasy.

"If I could trust Proudmoore or anyone else the way I trust you, Anya, I would count myself very fortunate."

"Then my answer to your question is yes. And I will keep watch over Lady Proudmoore for you."

***​

Sylvanas and her rangers had taken Jainas advice to heart and as they lowered a rope ladder to the waiting longboat below she found herself blindfolded by Anya. Climbing a ladder down a ships side was nothing new to Jaina but doing it without seeing and with another person beside her proved to be quite impractical. Sylvanas' ghostly lieutenant was however very attentive and made sure Jaina had a firm grip with the arm she held her by before taking another step down herself. Jaina was led to the aft of the longboat where Anya handed her arm over to another ranger.

"Clea, you have the watch while we row."

Apart from when they were sneaking up on Jaina the dark rangers had kept largely to themselves, always near but never close to her. She didn't know which one that was Clea, who held her much firmer than Anya so that Jaina almost winced in discomfort. The ship had anchored far from the shore, not daring to take any chances with the rocky Kalimdorian coast. It would be a long rowing.

"Ranger Clea, do you think you could lighten your grip a little? I'm sorry, but it hurts my arm." Jaina said as politely as she could.

Clea said something but she spoke so low that Jaina did not catch it. She did however release her grip a bit to Jainas relief.

The trip ashore was progressing less than pleasantly though, for along with Jaina being blindfolded and unable to enjoy the scenery Clea tightened her grip time and again, until Jaina started to remind her with a gentle tap on the knuckles from her other free hand. She couldn't figure out why until it dawned on her that Clea tended to do that as the longboat rolled in especially strong waves. To Jaina it was second nature to shift her weight and parry the movement, it even made her relax. Boats and ships were Jainas cradles, rocked by the sea and lulling her to sleep. But maybe the ranger did not share her comfort.

"Clea…are you seasick?"

Clea whispered something Jaina couldn't hear.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Tiny human ears, you know." Jaina excused herself.

She could feel Clea leaning closer to her.

"I am sorry, Lady Proudmoore. My death and undeath stole my voice from me." Clea whispered so close to Jainas left ear that she could feel her breath. "We do not get sick like the living do. But I will admit that I am not comfortable at sea. It was not my intention to grab you overly hard."

Clea spoke Common in the same formal way Sylvanas did, as if she had learnt it a long time ago. Her whispering voice was slightly hoarse, but Jaina found it gentle. Even the ghostly echo was very toned down. Perhaps it was exactly that, an echo, and tied to the owners actual voice in some way.

"You should be rowing." Jaina said with conviction. "The best cure for seasickness is having something to occupy yourself with."

"Perhaps Anya thought that keeping watch over an archmage of formidable skill should keep my thoughts occupied enough." Clea mused, and Jaina could swear there was a smile behind those words.

"Well, better keep that archmage close at hand then. You never know with those." Jaina suggested.

Very slowly, careful not to alarm the dark ranger, Jaina put her right wrist against Cleas hand. She understood Jainas meaning and allowed her right wrist to replace the left in her grip. Jaina resolutely put her freed arm around Cleas back, and almost wanted to whistle or something equally immature upon feeling the toned muscles of the elf.

To Jainas dismay Clea stiffened at the touch.

"Lady Proudmoore, remove your left hand from my back now." she whispered sternly.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to…"

"No. Not that."

Realisation dawned on Jaina.

"You're afraid I would cast something behind your back?

"In your own words, you never know with those formidable archmages, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina almost felt like laughing. The whole situation was absurd on so many levels. She gently wrapped her arm around Cleas instead, and tried not to be too distracted by the flexing biceps against her hand when she pulled the elf a little closer.

"There. Better?"

Clea didn't answer. But Jaina could feel her leaning a bit more into Jainas side, and she didn't hold Jainas wrist so hard when the next wave hit them.

She could smell it in the air when they were nearing the shore, the scent of salt and seaweed and wet earth. The weather was clear and it was turning into a warm day, perfect for a little picnic Jaina thought ironically.

Clea wasted no time getting her and Jaina off the boat. In one move she stepped into the water and before Jaina had time to react in any way she found herself lifted under her arms without further ado and carried ashore like a child. Just as Jaina was about to argue that she was neither child nor damsel someone took hold of her shoulders and spun her around on the spot. It was all so ridiculous – the grim, silent and obviously lethal undead rangers playing with her as if she was their tiny little sister – that Jaina couldn't stop a nervous, bubbling fit of giggles from overtaking her and sit down in a heap as her wobbly legs gave out.

"Archmage on the ground." Jaina gasped eventually and lay back on the smooth rock. "Well done, top marks for everyone in archmage keeping it seems."

"We have taken your advice seriously, Lady Proudmoore." It was Anyas voice, so pleasantly melodic. "You have been most forthcoming."

"Ah, but it seems you have forgotten to gag me, lieutenant Eversong. What if I utter some terrible old troll curse at you that I've picked up from my Horde neighbours?"

Jaina started to declaim in her best dark and ominous voice, which was unfortunately ruined by her lingering fits of giggles.

"Meeny, miny, magic mood…Anya shall become a toad!"

Jaina pointed forward at random.

"A little bit to your right." Cleas amused whisper told her.

"Traitor." Anya muttered.

"Clea" Jaina said more earnestly in the direction of her voice. "I was thinking, if you'd like I could show you how to splice rope when we get back. It might help to keep your thoughts from the waves."

"So, Lady Proudmoore, you intend to both curse my rangers and press them into your service?" There was no mistaking that voice.

"I find myself quite outnumbered, Lady Windrunner, and forced to resort to shameful methods. Divide and conquer, as they say."

"They do indeed, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas drawled. Tides, how did someone manage to sound like a purring cat when pronouncing Jainas last name? "Shall I need to worry about how you intend to…conquer us all, perhaps?"

"You never know, maybe all that has happened is part of my master plan to do just that."

"And maybe I have you exactly where and how I want you, Lady Proudmoore…" Sylvanas' voice caressed her ears and sent a shiver along Jainas spine, midday sun notwithstanding.

Jaina was suddenly very reminded of the fact that Sylvanas and a half dozen or so of her almost equally perfect elves were standing over her prone form. Her prone blindfolded form.

And there it was. Jaina blushing from head to toe, or at least she felt like that. Heat was certainly pooling somewhere in her middle, but it might be due to the sun.

"Please sit up, Lady Proudmoore. I will remove your blindfold now." Jaina could swear Anya was at least half singing when she spoke Common. Jaina couldn't wait to hear what Thalassian would sound like from her.

She blinked in the sudden light as Anyas deft hands freed her eyes from their constraint.

"We can't have you blinded for the entire day without robbing your trip ashore of any meaning. Be warned however, that the woodlands around are patrolled and that two rangers will keep watching you with their bows drawn at all time, Lady Proudmoore."

"Charming as always, Anya." Jaina sighed. She hadn't talked to Anya since her crazy way of introducing herself and scaring Jaina half to death in the process, but Jaina found that she wanted to. Although preferably without any knife throwing this time. "Feel free to join me for lunch if any of you tire of skulking in the shadows all the time." she added dryly to the dark rangers and sat down to open the wrapped up fried Kalimdorian redfin filet.

Of the rangers Jaina did know the names of she found it easiest to recognize Velonara. The elf was definitely young – which could mean she might be only slightly older than Jainas late grandmother – and had an impish manner which probably accounted for her getting on well with captain Bones' daughter.

"Tell me, Lady Proudmoore, what's your preference when it comes to dinner? Eel or clam?" Velonara asked and sat down next to Jaina.

"Eel or clam? They're both good, I guess." Jaina said a little absent-mindedly while munching on her lunch. "Pretty much anything from the sea works for me. We Kul Tirans have at least a quarter of sea gull in us in that regard."

"Is that so?" Velonara asked, deceptively innocent.

"Mhm…actually there's a rather nice soup you can make with clams, button mushrooms, tomatoes, onions and a sprinkle of lemon juice."

"Ah, so you prefer your clams warm and wet then, Lady Proudmoore?"

Jaina opened her mouth to point out that it was rather obvious if the dish in question was a soup, but faltered when she noticed Velonaras too wide and too sweet smile. Jaina was obviously missing something.

Before Jaina could ask Velonara to elaborate Sylvanas had called her up.

"Velonara, go and see what you can find of shellfish by the shore since clams appear to be firmly on your mind. I am going hunting in the hills ahead. I would hate to run into someone who was not supposed to be there." she added in Jainas direction.

"Thank you for your kind invitation Lady Windrunner, but as it happens I prefer the beaches for my time off." Jaina said and tried to match Velonaras smirk in sweetness. "Would it be acceptable for me to take a bath in the lake? As you know the living prefer to be able to wash up from time to time."

Sylvanas stood silent and her features gave no hint of what went through her head.

"The water will hardly hide me" Jaina indicated the crystal clear surface "and I will likely be even less inclined to escape without my clothes on, wouldn't you agree?"

"Very well, Lady Proudmoore."

The rangers appeared to be organized into some kind of shifts, which meant that three of them were for the moment without assignments, or perhaps they were standing by as a reserve force in case Jaina would attempt to escape. Whatever the reason, it meant that apart from Jainas two guards there were four more elves lingering close to her, as Velonara apparently had yet to get going with her fishing.

It also meant that Jaina would have to undress virtually in front of six uncomfortably fit rangers who had nothing better to do than watch her.

Jaina sighed. She normally kept herself too busy to pay much heed to how she looked but she couldn't help thinking that in the present company she would somehow manage to stand out as both skinny and flabby at the same time. Ever since settling in Theramore, and especially the last months when she had practically hidden herself away in shame and grief, Jaina realised she had spent far too much time behind her desk. Tides, she really had. But there was nothing to be done about it at the moment and she could really use a bath.

Jaina did honestly appreciate how Sylvanas' dark rangers were going out of their way to gather food and water for her, it was in fact a little touching even if she was their captive. But she would have appreciated it a lot more if they could have kept their comments to themselves as Jaina tried to get in the water as fast as she could, and in her haste just entangled herself even more in her clothes.

"Not a bad view on this trip."

"Who knew mages had so much to show?"

"I feel enchanted already."

"Clea would probably have liked to be here and hold onto more of her."

"A shame to hide such pretty things under those rags, wouldn't you say?"

"I can see why the Dark Lady would want to capture that one."

Jaina knew they were mocking her, they were even speaking Common, and it shouldn't bother her but somehow it still did and she felt her face burning by the time she was far enough out to submerge in the pleasantly warm water. The lake was a kettle-like large hole that the adjoining stream had dug out in the sandstone over untold ages. It even had a miniature island in the middle made up of a few boulders of varying size, and was deep enough for Jaina to swim comfortably in. She was starting to feel a bit better. Swimming was one of the things apart from magic that Jaina was actually good at and it was a relief to be able to stretch her arms and legs in the water.

Jaina could faintly hear Anya shooing Velonara off to her tasks.

"Be careful Anya, don't let yourself be dragged down by the sirens. I hear they are especially alluring in this lake." was Velonaras parting remark.

"I make no promises." Anya answered.

Something was different, Jaina noticed, and realised the next second that they were now speaking Thalassian for some reason. Jainas grasp of the language was decent, good enough to get through elven magic literature but she had rarely had reason to practise speaking it.

The next thing she noticed was that her clothes were gone.

Jaina cursed under her breath, damning all rangers and their twisted ideas of humour and normal courtesy. Well, if that was it she might as well keep swimming for a while and let them waste more time squinting at the sunny water surface. Although she wasn't sure if undead eyes were as bothered by it as living ones. The thought gave Jaina an idea however, a much more dangerous one.

She started to repeatedly swim out underwater, surface to catch some air and then swim back to the shoreline as if following some kind of exercise, making sure to kick up lots of splashing water when diving. When she stole a glance at her watchers they appeared slightly wary at first but the settled back into their usual postures.

Teleportation was a spell that relatively speaking took a lot of effort, time and concentration to cast.

Invisibility was not, and together with frost and portal spells it was one of Jainas best fields.

The next time she dove, she kicked up as much water as she could and headed for the bottom of the lake. Letting herself slow down she focused her mind, drew upon her mana, and disappeared from sight.

Jaina wanted to cheer but being underwater that was of course less than optimal. Instead she tried to aim as best she could for the far side of the small isle and took off, keeping below the surface and being careful to disturb it as little as possible. Invisibility was highly useful but there were countless tales of mages who squandered the benefits by their inability to stay discreet. Footsteps in the snow or ripples in the water would reveal anyone no matter how cloaked.

Her lungs were crying out for air by the time Jaina crawled halfway out of the water and tried to breathe as quietly as se could while listening for any signs that she had been spotted. She thought she could hear fragments of rapid Thalassian and suddenly a large splash. That had to be good, at least one ranger had bought into the idea that Jaina had disappeared deep into the lake. Now was the time. She drank in as much mana as she could hold and reached out with her mind across leylines and the obscure arcane signatures of Kalimdor, leading her to the familiar ones of Theramore and her own tower and her own bedroom in front of the desk. There. Jaina kept her focus on that specific spot as she weaved her portal spell. A portal was almost similar to a teleportation spell but the fact that you stepped through the portal instead of instantly being moved by the spell itself made it a little slower to use and a little safer if you were unsure if you had targeted the right destination. Walking into a cliffside was after all marginally safer than hurling yourself into it, to put in bluntly.

Jaina let the portal grow to half her height. If she was right she could crawl across it well enough but if she was wrong it would perhaps not alert the rangers. Portal spells were many things but discreet were not among them. It was ready. She just had to move now. She would hardly get another chance like this again.

The sun was warming Jainas back. In the distance she could hear the waves rolling over rocks and the calls of the gulls. And more than that, unless the birds had suddenly learned to speak Thalassian in frantic voices.

"…supposed to watch…"

"…swear we saw no portals or flashes!" Anya cried out.

"Damn the portals! What about the woods?! What about the river?! What if she's fucking drowned!" That was Sylvanas' voice. And she was furious. And…worried?

"I'll check again!" Velonara did not sound the least bit smug or mischievous this time. And there was a second splash.

Jaina was wasting precious time. The dark rangers could find her at any moment and there was no telling how Sylvanas would react to finding her hiding from them. Slamming Jaina into a wall with her clawed gauntlet at her throat and eyes burning through her would probably be the least. Jaina shook her head. Where had that image come from?

"Jaina!"

Jaina froze. That was Anyas voice and it cut through Jainas heart.

Jaina stretched across the portal and found that she had done everything right. She snatched up a paper from her desk and her ever-ready pen and scribbled hurriedly with horrible penmanship and big splotches from the dripping water. Then she withdrew herself and let the portal close.

Jaina dove and swam out around the other side of the isle, heading for the shore. She was met by Sylvanas who looked just as fuming as Jaina had imagined. Tides, she looked impressive from below.

"He-hello, Lady Windrunner. I hope your hunt was successful?" Jaina stuttered, and prayed that her shakiness would be attributed to being winded from swimming.

"Indeed it was. I hope your swim was satisfactory, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas said with icicles growing from every word.

"Indeed it was. Lovely day for a swim." Jaina said flippantly just as Velonara and another ranger were crawling out of the water a little to her left, looking somehow like wet dogs with their tails between their legs.

"Apparently." Jaina added with a raised eyebrow towards the pair.

"Dark Lady." the taller one acknowledged Sylvanas with a hoarse whisper.

Clea.

"You are…nimble in the water, Lady Proudmoore." Velonara said slowly, as if she didn't quite know what to say. "I would be inclined to trace your lineage from seals rather than gulls."

"However that may be I retain my very human need for clothing and would require mine returned promptly." Jaina pointed out, rather sternly.

Sylvanas ceased her scrutiny of Jaina and looked around irritably.

"Anya?" she demanded.

Anya hesitated. Jaina looked closer at her. She did look tense. And there was a thin, faint dark line running down from one eye.

"Dark Lady. Lieutenant." another ranger begged their attention. Jaina could see little of her except the hood of her cloak that was pulled forward and two curtains of shiny dark hair, black like ink so it appeared almost blue. "Lady Proudmoore, I have your clothes here."

The ranger set them down carefully in front of Jaina, neatly folded, and the jacket looked like it had been brushed a bit. And the shirt and pants now sported well sewn stitches where there had before been tears and holes.

"Thank you…I don't know your name, dark ranger." Jaina said, surprised and not needing to pretend to sound grateful.

"Lyana. And you're welcome, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina only caught a glimpse. But somewhere behind those curtains there was a small smile.

Clea and Veonara were shaking off the worst of the water and retrieving their bows and quivers. As eager as Jaina was to try out whole clothes for a change she was less inclined to have them soaked the first thing she did.

"I didn't know seals needed towels when there are so many sunny rocks to lie on." Velonara smirked, back to what seemed to be her usual self Jaina noticed. Anya however knelt and removed her cloak, and held it out for Jaina to wrap herself in.

***​

Jaina leaned against the mizzen masts shrouds and watched Kalimdor disappear beneath the horizon. The afternoon was turning into evening and the sun was setting all quicker each day. Autumn was approaching, which meant that the weather here was warm rather than scorching hot.

Had she done the right thing? It would have been so very, very easy to crawl through that portal and be back into her tower like nothing had happened. It would have been wise, probably, and safe, and proper, and in every way what Jaina should have done.

Except.

Except things could not be like nothing had happened because something had happened and Jaina was in the middle of it. And she had given Sylvanas her word. Her Dark Lady, Jaina smiled to herself. No, the Dark Lady of course, she corrected herself. Just a minor mental typographical error after a long day, nothing more.

Sylvanas still frightened her, of course. But she had stayed true to her own promises and in her own demanding way she had cared for Jaina, and the same had to be said of her rangers despite all their antics. They were still wary of her, and their hands never seemed to linger far from their weapons, but perhaps there were more than Anya who would not relish drawing them.

About half the regular crew had approached at some time to mutter their names so far and Jaina had returned their greetings with all the politeness she could muster. She'd had little time to get to know anyone except the captain as they were always busy with something, but Jaina had decided that she wanted to rectify that.

There was no denying it. Jaina was curious of the Forsaken.

Whatever captain Bones lacked in off-shore experience he made up for in deck work. Jaina had seldom seen a better drilled crew weighing anchor and readying the ship for their departure. There were some differences from living sailors that stood out. One was how the Forsaken would double up when pulling ropes, even if they did not seem too heavy to pull and Jaina had seen them all carry burdens with an ease that matched the brawniest human deckhands. The captain had explained how most Forsaken had difficulties healing their injuries without help, and even minor scratches or bruises were troublesome of they piled up. Pulling ropes was one of those everyday task that now presented a risk and not just a hassle. Jaina had suggested gloves for them, custom-tailored and lined with silk or something of equal strength and smoothness. Sylvanas had nodded at the idea but dryly told her that she would have to get in line before the Forsaken leatherworkers.

Be that as it may, tomorrow Jaina would ask if she could teach Clea how to splice and help the crew fix up some of the ropes at least. It was a long time since Jaina had tried out that kind of work but she was sure she could catch up and she would need something to occupy herself with during the journey. Maybe Clea and Anya could become friends in time. Maybe Lyana too – Jaina really appreciated not having to feel like she was dressed in a sieve when the wind was blowing – and even Velonara if she could get used to her teasing. Jaina would just have to grit her teeth and endure the jabs at her human clumsiness she guessed.

There was a certain word that brash and reckless mages like Rhonin or Master Antonidas in his younger days (not Jaina of course because she would never even think of sailing across half the world to battle demons alongside orcs and night elves) would use in her situation. They would call it an adventure, Jaina thought, and a small smile tugged at her lips.

***​

"Dear Pained

Am alright. Gone on mission I believe vital for peace and safety of Theramore Azeroth. Will contact you report when able. Keep desk area clear.

Tell people not to worry. Delegate tasks.

Jaina"



Pained put down the letter for latest of…how many times she couldn't say. Jaina was alive, and unharmed enough to open a portal and drop this atrociously scribbled and splotchy note. That was what was important. And if she had opened a portal it meant that she was able to cast, and if she was able to cast she would not be kept wherever she was against her will. Anyone attempting that would soon have cause to regret it.

Pained bared her teeth. If she found out that Jaina had so much as scraped a knee, or worse been allowed to malnourish and mistreat herself further, she would rend whoever was behind this limb from limb. But Pained also knew how impossible it was to stop Jaina from doing what she had set her mind upon, and perhaps a ludicrously dangerous diplomatic quest was what she actually needed instead of caging herself inside her tower.

Just not alone.

Pained looked miserably around the little room. How empty the desk and bed looked without Jaina in it. How quiet the towers upper floor was.

"Come home soon, my lady" Pained whispered.

Clam soup á la Jaina
Clams.
1 can of button mushrooms.
1 tomato.
1 yellow onion.
1 lemon.
Slice the vegetables and boil together with clams and button mushrooms on low heat. Flavour with lemon juice and a touch of white pepper. Use salt sparingly.

Clam soup á la Velonara
1 elven ranger.
Stir.

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 10. Tides and Trust

The dark rangers continue their never-ending quest to make Jaina blush and Anya and Areiel their struggle against Sylvanas' mistrust. Jaina is allowed to demonstrate what it means to have the Daughter of the Sea as the ships archmage.

Click to shrink...

"So you need to go pretty far up in order to make the two halves hold properly, and make sure you pull the whole length through, like this. Don't hold back with the fid, this rope is supposed to be strong enough to be a halyard so you will have to be firm."

Jaina was sitting with Clea and a ranger called Kitala Starshadow in a partly sheltered corner of the main deck with a heap of torn ropes in front of them and rolls of twine at her side. The rangers were, to her secret relief, paying attention to what Jaina was showing them and soon matching her movements deftly with callused but nimble fingers.

"Good! Now, put the cord like this and keep it pulled tight all the time as you wind it and tie the whipping knot."

When Kitala reached down to pick up more cord Jaina noticed that the left side of her hood was sewn shut instead of having the usual slit for the long elf ears. She averted her eyes, not wanting to stare, but Clea apparently noticed all the same.

"I can hardly speak and Kitala only has one ear. We make a fine pair, would you not say, Lady Proudmoore?" she whispered.

"One and a half." Kitala corrected her. It sounded like a long recurring routine between the two.

Seeing Jaina's momentary confusion Kitala turned her head and to Jaina's surprise pulled back her hood, which was something the dark rangers seemed to almost never do publicly. Kitala had unusually protruding ears, making her almost a little cat-like, and one had been cut about the middle and was as Kitala had stated, half an ear. The edge was slightly jagged and while it appeared to have healed properly a long time ago Jaina found the sight so pitying that she instinctively reached out to brush her knuckles against it, but Kitala shuddered at her touch and jerked her head away.

"Oh! I'm so sorry Kitala, did I hurt you? I wasn't thinking." Jaina apologized, utterly shame-faced at the thought of her pawing at someone else's ears like that without asking. What had gotten into her?

"No…not like that, just… It is a very…close thing to do. Elven ears are very sensitive." Kitala seemed slightly at loss for words.

"And my partner's more than most." Clea smirked.

Jaina wanted to sink through the deck.

"I, I do apologize, deeply…" Jaina stuttered, turning red as a beet.

"Your touch was not…unpleasant." Kitala whispered, but Jaina had been so struck by another revelation that she barely registered it. A pair. "My partner's more than most."

"You're not…Are you two…Kitala, are you and Clea…partners?" Tides, this couldn't be happening, had Jaina just barged in to stroke her ear in front of – Tides!

To Jaina's astonishment, Kitala started to laugh. A light, merry, bright chuckle completely unexpected from one of the dark rangers.

"Clea and I are ranging partners, Lady Proudmoore. We have been for decades. Every ranger is paired with another, we watch each others backs all the time, we scout together, eat together, make camp together. Two lone rangers will fail many times over where a trusting pair will prevail."

"But we are not - what do you humans call it - "engaged" to one another." Clea added, also amused. "So you need not worry about coming between an elf and her possessive mate, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina breathed a sigh of relief inside. No eleven blood feuds would be looming it would seem, that was good, so now she only had to deal with having acted like a tactless moron. Though Kitala didn't exactly appear insulted, in fact she was still in fits of laughing.

"None the less, there are still quite a few misconceptions and myths about rangers and their partners and we have attracted our fair share of romantic recruits who have ended up sorely disappointed."

"Although not always." Clea smiled. "And on occasion, ranging partners have been known to hunt in packs…"

Jaina cleared her throat, thinking frantically about another subject that would not contribute to her imminent immolation from the inside.

"While we are on the subject of…rangers…some of you have rather, ah, grim surnames and some are more…" Jaina's question ran out as she realised that this line of inquiry was perhaps not the best way to appear more culturally sensitive.

"More what, Lady Proudmoore?" Kitala teased with a wide smile, clearly seeing Jainas distress and thriving on it. Along with her ears she had expressive large eyes and a broad mouth, and what Jaina supposed you called quite full lips, which all became very notable when set in the typically narrow elven face. Perfect features for the teasing of a poor archmage. Only Velonara matched her in natural talent.

Luckily Clea took pity and came to Jaina's rescue.

"Some Forsaken choose to discard their former family names, some to keep them and some to take new ones. It is a personal choice and everyone has his or her own reasons for it. So you will find both grim Deathstriders and poetic Starshadows among us." she added with almost a wink at Jaina.

Jaina's curiosity was gaining on her embarrassment and she wanted to ask a dozen more questions, but before she could proceed with her interrogation Clea and Kitala were called away, to be replaced by captain Bones who came by to have a look at the splices.

"Ye've all got some things t' work on but I've seen worse from firs' time tries. Nice work showin' the dark lasses the ropes so to say, Lady Proudmoore." he complimented as he sorted through the fruits of their labours. "Looks like ye 'ave a good hand with 'em." he grinned.

"I don't know about that." Jaina refuted, thinking that she had so far mostly managed to stumble through their conversation and make a fool of herself.

"Those rangers, they're a secretive bunch. Few o' us 'ave the opportunity to get close to 'em but everyone knows they're always out there for us. Always watching for danger, 'n always the first to strike." he mused thoughtfully. "An' they might look more whole 'an the rest o' us, but…tha's just on the outside."

Captain Bones sat down next to her.

"It's got to take some special kind o' bastard to do that sort of number on someone's soul…we've all heard their screams 'n…anyway. I don't know all 'bout the politics 'n circumstances around his journey but…seein' you care 'bout 'em like you have despite bein' supposed to be on the other side of things means a damn lot 'n I for one will drink to the day you first stepped onto my ship, Lady Proudmoore."

"I maintain that this is all a misunderstanding and we should rightfully be allies against the Scourge." Jaina said with conviction, partly to dodge thinking up an answer to the unexpected recognition from captain Bones, especially so in light of how Jaina had acted at first when they had met.

"An' deep down I think all of us knows that, even our Dark Lady. But give it time."

"You care about the dark rangers too." Jaina concluded rather than asked.

"Aye. They may be centuries my senior but I still see my Haley in half o' 'em…" he admitted, his voice hoarser than usual.

"Clea and Kitala told me how some Forsaken changed their names. Is Bonecarver a new name in that way?"

"Hah! It fits right in, doesn' it? No, it's these bloody Lordaeronian landlubbers who can' pronounce 'Scrimshander'! See, it used to be somethin' of a family business, scrimshawing, an' stuck to us as a name. But when I moved to sail the Lordaeron waters I tired of everyone goin' dumb as a post an' changed it to somethin' they'd understand. But ghostly enough it be, hah!"

"You're Kul Tiran?!"

"Aye, born and raised. Actually" he added with an unsettling grin "I remember seein' old admiral Proudmoore running around the docks looking for his wee daughter climbin' every box 'n crane while all the dockworkers 'n sailors laughed themselves half to death an' shouted at him to put ye in the crows nest or spare himself the trouble an' give ye a commission righ' away." Captain Bones chuckled. "I can still see him 'fore me, all red in 'is face with his hat blown off 'n huffin' 'n puffin' at you while you lectured him on every vessel in the harbour. An' he tried to seem stern but everyone could see him beamin' with pride at ye."

Jaina swallowed. And swallowed. And swallowed. And the lump in her throat would still only grow.

"It's been some time since an'one of us have been able to hear somethin' from the isles, with all the…" Captain Bones cleared his throat. "How's the old admiral doin' these days?"

"I led the survivors from Lordaeron across the sea to Kalimdor to fight the demons of the Burning Legion who controlled the Scourge." Jaina begun in a low and hollow voice. "We succeeded but at great cost. And we only succeeded because we made peace with the orcs and then with the night elves and stood together. We settled in Theramore after that, to live in peace next to the orcs and trolls in Durotar. I wanted this to be something new, something better for everyone. I wanted us to build a city that could be open to all. And we needed each other, to trade and cooperate, and I think we still do. But then my father came with his fleet."

Jaina's breath hitched. She couldn't hold her tears back.

"He wouldn't listen to me. He wouldn't listen. He hunted the orcs like beasts – worse, like monsters! Everyone! Their old and their children too! I begged him to stop it!" Jaina sniffed. "His fleet had made Theramore its headquarters and effectively taken control over my city. In the end I choose to warn Thrall, the Hordes warchief, and to stand aside to let them attack Theramore and kill my father in exchange for their promise to spare my people if they could."

Jaina was shaking now, clutching her knees as ragged sobs wracked her body.

"The orcs just wanted some fucking peace!" Jaina slammed her fist into the deck, where a flowery pattern of frost bloomed out. "Why couldn't he leave us all the hell alone! I was handling it! We could have built something instead." Jaina took a few ragged breaths to calm herself. "So there you have it. Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was betrayed by his own daughter." she finished with corrosive bitterness.

Captain Bones said nothing for a while, neither condolences nor condemnation.

"It'd appear the good man who was the Lord Admiral died a long time ago then… It's a shame to hear what he turned into." he said quietly.

"The day we lost Derek. My eldest brother." Jaina croaked. "My father saw it happen, they said. He never laughed again after that."

"Tale as old as time, ain't it…" Captain Bones sighed. "In my humble opinion, ye're allowed to miss the dad ye had without agreein' with who he became. Seems plain obvious to me which admiral had the right idea of things…" he grunted and rose to let Jaina grieve alone. "If I was alive, it would've been my honour to sail under the flag of Theramore, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina reached inside her shirt and felt her fathers silvery anchor pendant – no, her pendant now – in her hand.

"You were wrong, and I will show you that. This time I will make it right." she whispered and curled up in her corner with her head against her knees, crying months worth of pent-up tears and longing for the father of her childhood.

A shadow moved on soundless feet behind her. It reached down, and then it was gone again without a trace, save for the dark ranger cloak that lay draped around Jaina's shoulders.



***



Becalmed. Sylvanas had quickly learned to hate the word. A painted ship upon a painted ocean was what they might as well be. Worse, even. At least a painting could be pleasant to look at and serve some form of purpose.

They had a week to Lordaeron if her mage and her captain were correct. A week. It felt like a year now, and every day, every hour, was one more for the Scourge or Scarlets to creep closer to the Undercity.

Sylvanas had been staring angrily at the unyielding sky for the better part of the morning. By midday she was pacing, and everyone in her crew gave her a wide berth. With every sail hanging limp the crew busied themselves with whatever maintenance they could and she had heard some sailors muttering about bad luck from one source or the other, not least the ship lacking a proper name. On another day it would have been comical how maritime superstitions transcended even such concrete experiences as actually dying and being raised again but Sylvanas was in no mood for nonsense this day.

"Rangers! One squad to the longboat with me, we're getting this barge home!"

She had to do something before she exploded, or Wailed.

The remaining longboat was quickly lowered and captain Bonecarver's crew fastened a mooring cable between the ship and its meagre boat. Three pairs of oars, to move a vessel weighing tonnes. Sylvanas grabbed one of the foremost oars and gave the order to row.

The ship would not move. The mooring cable stretched, only to contract and pull the longboat back in, or at least that was all that seemed to happen.

"Lay into it!" Sylvanas barked as the oars creaked, boding ill to anyone with the mind to listen to them. "Clea, Kitala, pull!"

The last two were standing, or rather leaning back now, at the aft and bracing their feet against the longboats hull while holding the cable. Sylvanas did not trust any part of the longboat to bear the full load without aid. Furiously, she doubled her own efforts as well…and was rewarded with the splintering crack of her oar breaking in two. The sorry thing reminded her in a sickening way of a broken arm, with bone pointing at the wrong angle.

Biting back a litany of curses and a Wail that was starting to boil deeper inside Sylvanas broke the oar completely and put the stumps down beside her.

"Vel', scoot. I'll take yours." Sylvanas growled between clenched teeth. She wanted nothing more than to get this miserable journey underway and be done with it. "Again!"

They lasted a dozen strokes this time, and maybe the ship had moved a handbreadth or so. If she squinted. It cost them another two oars, one breaking right after the other.

Sylvanas really wanted to scream now.

"Dark Lady." Velonara simply said next to her and forced Sylvanas to look up. "Hey."

Velonara did not deserve to be yelled at. Well, not this time anyway. Sylvanas closed her eyes and forced down her anger bit by bit.

"We'd better save those remaining oars in case we need to actually row the longboat itself somewhere, don't you think, Dark Lady?" Velonara was an irredeemable brat but she knew when to be serious.

"Fine." Sylvanas acquiesced. "Get me some damned planks then that won't break…" she muttered.

"Look, Areiel is waving at us. She's signing to come aboard." Kitala called.

They turned the puny longboat around and Sylvanas kept her hands off any oar this time. Being back on deck did nothing to improve her mood.

"What is it, Areiel?" she demanded.

"Lady Proudmoore has a suggestion that I believe you need to hear, Dark Lady."

Her mage was waiting on the quarterdeck together with captain Bonecarver and a couple of other sailors. Her sunny hair and slightly tanning skin under her clumsy clothes could not have contrasted more with how Sylvanas looked and felt.

"Lady Windrunner, we have noticed something important." Proudmoore begun, looking wary of her mood but continuing after Sylvanas waved at her to do so. "We have no wind but there is a current here, and we're drifting approximately south to southwest. It might be connected to the maelstrom, or a separate one, and it isn't very strong at all. However, with no wind whatsoever and only six oars…"

"Three, as it is." Sylvanas interjected tonelessly.

"Yes, well, I think there is a strong possibility we won't make any progress to speak of while rowing."

Sylvanas took an unneeded breath, making her body calm itself from the memory of deep breathing.

"Yes, the thought has crossed my mind as well, Lady Proudmoore." she said impatiently. "Would you happen to have a better idea?"

"Yes, I think I do." the mage answered eagerly. "My best area is frost magics but frost spells are essentially water spells, it's just water conjured and formed at a certain temperature."

"I will not allow you to summon water elementals to tow my ship if that was your idea." Sylvanas remarked, and briefly watched a spark of interest flash in the clear blue eyes.

"That would be a sight, but it wouldn't be very efficient I think. Summoning spells are pretty mana intensive and I wouldn't be able to maintain them long enough for it to be worthwhile. But I think I could create a smaller local current centred around the ship and pull us all along, if you would let me, Lady Windrunner."

"Meaning that I allow you to cast something quite powerful and do it over a prolonged period."

"Yes exactly, channelling rather than casting you might say."

"Out of the question."

"I would…like to help."

Was Proudmoore actually giving her doe eyes, just like Vereesa had used to? No, Sylvanas waved the thought away. She had just allowed herself to be momentarily distracted by those eyes, that was all.

Areiel tugged at her shoulder and nodded to their side. Sylvanas followed her, with Anya in tow.

"Dark Lady, I am inclined to let Lady Proudmoore try." Areiel said, dead serious to Sylvanas' surprise.

"Have you lost your wits? We would allow an enemy archmage to cast freely among us?"

"Yes - and please hear me out now. First, Lady Proudmoore is no fool and we have already established that holding her by force alone will be more than this flimsy vessel can take. If this situation persists, how long will it be until she is driven to enough desperation to try something on her own? Something that will surely end in confrontation and in disaster. Second, even if she remains calm, if our food runs out she will die and this whole journey will have been in vain."

"It already has!" Sylvanas snapped, her thoughts returning to the docks in Theramore and their doomed attempt at negotiating.

Areiel shot a glance in Proudmoores direction and quirked an eyebrow at Sylvanas, who shied away from it.

"We both know you do not mean that." Areiel stated evenly. "As I see it there are three probable outcomes here. If our provisions run out our mage definitely dies. If she casts something forbidden and is shot she dies. If she casts and holds true she lives. What would you rather chance?

"Anya? Your opinion?"

"If Lady Proudmoore planned to escape or resist us, why would she wait until now to act?" Anya hesitated for a moment. "When we were ashore at the lake there was a moment when we had lost track of her. I take full responsibility for that. But Lady Proudmoore came back to us."

They were both right, however it galled Sylvanas. Yet again, she was simply running out of options.

"One entire squad around her with arrows nocked at all time. One ranger holding her arm at all time."

Areiel and Anya nodded.



***



"Nice to see you all here, I'm glad so many could make it. Although usually when someone claims to perform magic in front of an audience they have a little stage with curtains and such, but I suppose we will have to make do with the quarterdeck." Jaina joked nervously to the six drawn bows in front of her. She had wanted an opportunity to get to know the dark rangers after all and here they were, she reminded herself. Weapons threateningly raised in her honour and all. Except of course for Anya who stood by her side and held her forearm, but with Anya being Anya that was not necessarily reassuring.

"At your convenience, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas said dryly and gestured ahead as if inviting someone to enter a banquet hall.

Jaina had to take several deep breaths to focus. Not only did she of course wish to avoid having the rangers turn her into a fletched porcupine, she also found that she really wanted this to work. She didn't want to let them all down.

With a welcoming familiarity her mana coursed through her, ready to be formed and shaped at her will. Jaina closed her eyes and drank in the far too alluring sensation of her arcane magic singing inside – Tides, she was becoming as addicted to her magic as the Blood Elves. She felt the water beneath her, a still surface as seen from above but in truth a mosaic of currents, temperatures, depths and waves. Jaina had not been called the Daughter of the Sea for nothing.

At her mental command the water started to flow under and around the ship. There was a faint tug, and they were off.

"Helmsman!" Jaina cried out as the ship began to tilt too much from her course.

A quick apology followed as their helmsman corrected himself.

"Merry mother of tides…" captain Bonecarver muttered reverently.

Jaina opened her eyes to look into half a dozen red gazes in smooth, long-eared and all so handsome pale faces under dark hoods. And surely there was a little less tension among them.

The rest of the day passed all too slowly. Channelling a spell, simple or not, for hours drained every drop of Jaina's mana and energy. Nor could she lay back – figuratively speaking – and let the magic channel by routine for the sea they traversed shifted subtly and with it the direction in which Jaina had to aim their current if she wanted a maximum return of her efforts. Had it not been for Areiel's and Anya's reminders to take some breaks for eating and resting Jaina would most likely have rooted herself behind the helm.

Jaina held out until sunset by which time she was swaying slightly where she stood, sea legs notwithstanding. She noted absent-mindedly that the six rangers had assumed a kneeling position sometime during the day and that Anya's cool hand had slid down from her forearm into Jaina's own. It felt…right. Like their hands fitted together.

Sylvanas naturally had to choose that very moment to repeat the rangers main prank of sneaking up on her.

"Thank you, Lady Proudmoore." she whispered right into Jaina's ear, causing Jaina to jolt and make the ship careen wildly to port. "Gently now…" Sylvanas purred.

As if that was a secret cue, a deluge of comments began to rain on her from her ranger guard detail.

"You were so good with us today, Lady Proudmoore."

"So gentle and steady."

"You blew us so well ahead."

Jaina protested half-heartedly that she had not blown the ship forward but more like waved or flooded it ahead, or whatever you called it when crafting your own private current.

"But of course" Velonara agreed with the smooth sugary voice that Jaina had learned spelled immediate danger. "Flooded is the word. Don't you currently feel positively flooded, sisters?"

"I'm sure she will do an equally good job tomorrow, don't you think so Lady Proudmoore?" Anya asked just as sweetly.

Jaina yawned something about doing her best in response. Tides, she just wanted to go to bed right now.

"Did you hear, sisters? Lady Proudmoore has promised to give us an equally good job tomorrow to blow us until we're just as flooded as today."

Jainas poor head tried and failed miserably to keep track of every illogical jump and double meaning Anya and Velonara was hurling at her. Couldn't she just be allowed to deal with that in the morning instead?

"That's enough. Behave." Sylvanas growled at the rangers. She offered Jaina her arm and Jaina gratefully took it, almost too tired to spare a thought for the fact that she was actually walking arm in arm with Sylvanas. The banshee queen escorted Jaina down the stairs and around her corridors and into their cabin.

"Save some of your strength tomorrow evening and you may use it to conjure water or food for yourself if you so wish, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas said as Jaina was crawling into her hammock.

Jaina nodded, and was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.



***



The wind had not returned the next day, or the next.

Jaina took her station early in the mornings and held it until she felt she was leaning on Anya for support as much as Anya was guarding her from teleporting. That tended to be the signal for lunch, and the short rest that Anya and Areiel kept insisting on. Jaina was slowly beginning to get more comfortable in the ranger captains presence. They had not shared many words, honestly, but there was a solid directness about Areiel that inspired confidence. Jaina felt somehow sure that she was not the kind of person who would waste time on being spiteful when decency would get the job done. Areiel did keep Jaina's guards alert – it had been secretly relieving to learn that Forsaken could in fact become just as bored and lazy as the living – but tended to soften the impact of her admonishment with jokes or ironic comments about what their terrifying and apparently quite vicious archmage might do to them if they didn't keep their guard up. Jaina had seldom heard such a gruesome list of how her magic could apparently be misused and what repugnant changes to their physiology the dark rangers were apparently risking simply by being in Jaina's vicinity, if she understood the ranger captain correct.

Jaina actually appreciated Areiel's crude sense of humour a lot when she had to keep almost all her attention on the water and the hull it was flowing around. It was certainly less tiring than keeping track of all the dark rangers' ridiculously far-fetched innuendos and twisting of just about every word she said. After a while she was getting caught up in it and beginning to pass the time making up more home-brewed troll curses, which the rangers immediately and gleefully adopted.

"Tauren bawls and goblin whistles…Clea's bow will now grow thistles!"

"Hoaxes and hexes, spite and ire…Lyana shall be breathing fire!"

"I summon a banshee, floating and fickle…beware its ghostly hand that tickle!"

Upon uttering that particular one Jaina felt something poke at her side and almost folded over, for Jaina was, unfortunately, quite ticklish. Anya held her up by the hand while Jaina corrected the momentary wobble in her arcane current.

"It must have been the ghostly banshee." Anya said with a blank expression. "Clearly this ship is haunted."

Jaina cast her a stern glare. Or at least she tried to. She found it awfully hard to even pretend being cross with Anya and even harder not to melt a little before the tiny trace of a smile lurking in the corner of that delicate mouth. That particular adjective came more and more to Jaina's mind when she thought of Anya. The ranger was not uncommonly short or small for an elf, if anything Jaina would guess that Anya was of middle height, but it was something with all her features and, well, everything about her really that Jaina just wanted to wrap her arms around and hold close.

She wondered if it was the way Anya had cried her name when she had disappeared. It was probably foolish, but it felt important that she had spontaneously used Jaina's first name, and the way she had cried it made Jaina feel a little bit guilty inside. Anya had sounded so distressed, afraid even. But why, exactly? That question tugged at Jaina's mind. Was it fear of the Forsaken's whole idea of keeping Jaina as their prisoner falling apart? That was possible of course, and it fit the ranger being Sylvanas' trusted lieutenant, but it didn't quite feel like Anya somehow. Had she been afraid of failing her assignment, and letting Sylvanas down on a more personal level? That seemed more like the Anya Eversong picture Jaina was painting. Or, maybe, had it been the thought of Jaina leaving them in itself that had terrified the elf?

Jaina knew that was improbable, and a little presumptuous of her to think that. But not so improbable that it stopped her from squeezing Anya's hand a little harder.

The rest of the day went by in what passed for the usual manner for an archmage driving forward a frigate crewed by undead. But when Jaina had to call it off the sun was still far too high for her taste. She slammed her fist at the reeling that she had gone to lean over, panting and slumping forward and disappointed in herself. She was an archmage, Tides damn it, not a fumbling second year student who lost her focus past two o'clock in the afternoon!

The rangers kept a respectful distance and for once they were quiet, Jaina noticed. But Sylvanas approached to stand next to her, straight as a ramrod with her hand resting lightly on the reeling and undeterred by Jaina's foul mood.

"I once again owe you my thanks for single-handedly propelling my ship forward, Lady Proudmoore, a feat of magic unheard of. Yet I find you displeased with yourself."

Keep talking, Jaina thought. Sylvanas' tone was neutral and even, but she still found herself relaxing into the wonderfully compelling voice.

"I guess I'm just disappointed in myself. I'm sure you would feel the same if you found yourself suddenly too tired to draw you bow, Lady Windrunner.

Sylvanas was quiet for a time and seemed deep in thought.

"Let us take a seat, Lady Proudmoore, and please conjure some refreshments for yourself."

Jaina turned around and sat down against the reeling, with Sylvanas gracefully stretching her legs and leaning back next to her.

"Can I get you something, Lady Windrunner?" Jaina asked politely.

"No, thank you, Lady Proudmoore. I do not need to eat."

"But can you?" Jaina asked curiously and conjured a couple of mana buns with a simple spell.

"There are ways I can…sustain myself and regain my health and on occasion my energy."

"Like the ghouls?"

"Essentially yes, though with somewhat refined table manners." Sylvanas smirked. "But I do not enjoy food like the living do."

"Can no Forsaken do that?"

"It is different for everyone." Sylvanas pondered. "I can taste and smell some things. Blood. Salt. Extremely sharp and repugnant smells. Little more."

"Well, how fortunate that you aren't completely tasteless at least, Lady Windrunner." Jaina smiled, already feeling better from her mana bun and becoming intrigued by the subject.

"I may find myself developing a taste for you, my little mage…" Sylvanas husked in such a smouldering whisper that Jaina swallowed and almost dropped her remaining mana bun. The banshee queen flashed her a broad smile, where her tongue just happened to caress the tip of one of the pointy fang-like teeth at the corner of her upper jaw. "Eat up, while I fetch something that may help you."



***



Sylvanas should rightfully be tense and nervous but found herself in inexplicably good spirits instead as she hurried down the ladders to one of several storage areas that remained unused by a crew that did not require food or water. Or almost did not, she corrected herself, which brought her to the object of her visit that awaited at its place underneath a spare sheet of sailcloth.

Her mage's staff. Sylvanas felt a small stream of…something…when she grasped it. For a moment she fantasized that the staff felt the scent of Proudmoore on her, as if it had been a horse or a dragonhawk.

The look on Proudmoore's face had been so delightful that for a moment Sylvanas debated whether to shelf – quite literally – this idea for now and go back to fluster her mage some more. But they had to reach Lordaeron as soon as they could and Proudmoore was right in that she had been tiring sooner than yesterday.

Back on the quarterdeck the sight of Sylvanas carrying her mage staff produced a look of near childish joy on her mage.

"You have it! How…"

"My rangers retrieved it from the docks as you were brought onboard." Sylvanas said with the strictest tone she could muster at the moment. It was harder than it should be with Proudmoore looking at the staff like Vereesa had looked at her first bow. "In light of the current circumstances I will return your staff to you in exchange for your word that you relinquish it again when the day is done and do not use it against us in any way."

"I promise!" She was nearly bouncing on her toes.

Sylvanas held out her staff and Proudmoore examined it closely and then clutched it tenderly to her cheek.

"I can see you two are quite close." Sylvanas remarked dryly.

The mage stuffed the last third of her mana bun in her mouth and rose eagerly.

"On deck, ye scabrous sea-dogs!" she yelled at the seven rangers who had been resting on one knee close to the wheel. She sounded quite like captain Bonecarver and Sylvanas assumed it had to be Kul Tiran accent. The accent was, she decided, an acquired taste.

Proudmoore held her staff in her left hand and Sylvanas took up position on her right, arm in arm. This was her decision and consequently her responsibility to be close by if things went badly. She noticed that her mage felt hot, and her warmth was seeping into Sylvanas' arm. It was…a strangely pleasant sensation.

Proudmoore was looking up at her, questioningly. Sylvanas smiled inwardly at the act of deference in the middle of magely eagerness and inclined her head.

The next moment Proudmoore was positively glowing. Her eyes shone with arcane energy and the crystal on her staff even more so. In the distance Sylvanas could hear a strange rushing sound, until she realised it was the water flowing under them, only much more powerful than before.

"Captain! What speed did we make earlier?" Proudmoore's voice rang out as if her magic amplified it. Gone were all traces of the awkward, blushing, girlish woman who had woken up and fallen asleep in Sylvanas' hammock and giggled between the arms of her rangers. The woman now before her was an archmage to the bone.

"Five, maybe six knots I'd say."

"Six knots? Get your log out, captain Bones!" Proudmoore tightened her grasp around her staff and Sylvanas could feel the ship tug, and pick up speed.

"You heard the lady." Sylvanas smirked at her captain.

One of the sailors hurried up to them with the log and associated sandglass.

"In ye go…" captain Bones muttered as the chip was thrown into the water. "Four, five, six… Ten! Ten knots, Lady Proudmoore! Ye bloody marvel of an admiral!"

A choir of cheers and whistles greeted the news and Sylvanas looked down to see the main deck filling with every remaining member of the crew, sailor and ranger alike looking up at her and her mage. And her rangers looked happier than she ever remembered seeing them since before they became dark rangers. Areiel was eyeing her meaningfully with a lopsided smirk and Anya with eyes wide with pride. Sylvanas knew she could likely expect an earful later about how good she had been to show such trust in her mage and whatever more.

But Belore, this felt right. Sylvanas straightened her back. Kel'Thuzad and all the rest of Arthas' senile old liches could crawl back into whatever stinking crypts they had sprung from. They had nothing on Proudmoore, she thought with contempt.

Had she even contemplated fighting this? The ship would be turned to splinters before the count of ten. And her rangers…Sylvanas would be lucky to have half of them left if it came to that. She almost shuddered at the thought.

But she hadn't had to fight her mage. On the contrary, Sylvanas had to admit to herself that Proudmoore had proven herself trustworthy in every way, and more. And the mage was good to her rangers. She made Clea talk and Anya smile. She even put up with Velonara.

"Rangers!" Sylvanas called out to the six posted with half drawn bows next to Proudmoore. "At ease!" she smiled at them. At that Proudmoore shifted slightly so their arms brushed against each other. Had it been intentional? She glanced at her discreetly.

To Sylvanas' surprise her mage was humming something.



"Ahoy, ahoy, sweet Daughter of the Sea

Ahoy this child of mine

The Admirals girl, his whole entire world,

For as long as stars do shine"



"What song is that?" Sylvanas asked, curious.

"My father used to sing it to me when I was little."

"Daughter of the Sea?"

"A nickname."

"One well-earned it would seem."

Sylvanas was quiet for a moment.

"My sister used to…never mind. What I mean is…you have a pleasant singing voice, Lady Proudmoore."

"Why, thanks Lady Windrunner."

"Above average. For a human."

Proudmoore snorted at that.

"It is nice, isn't it?" The whisper into her right ear was barely audible. Somehow Anya had managed to sneak up on her now. Sylvanas should be angry at herself, or frustrated at least, but for now she couldn't bring herself to care. Because Anya was without peers at stealth and Anya was her best.

"What is nice?" Sylvanas whispered back from the corner of her mouth.

"Trusting Lady Proudmoore. It feels nice, doesn't it?" Anya breathed into her ear as she ran her knuckles slowly along Sylvanas' arm.

Sylvanas looked out across Forsaken sailors and rangers alike, seeing awe, approval and maybe even tiny glimmers of hope. Her mage was at her one side and her ranger at the other.

It did feel nice.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 11: Magics and Misconceptions

As the journey across the sea is nearing its end Sylvanas finds herself less and less eager for it to do so, Jaina just wanting a nap and a decent meal and Anya wishing everyone could stop being idiots.

Click to shrink...

Of all the unusually frivolous thoughts that seemed to invade her mind lately this was undoubtedly the silliest. But walking slowly arm in arm with her mage down from the quarterdeck before the gathered crew still made Sylvanas think of some sort of wedding ceremony. Although such occasions did of course tend to involve two parties who were of similar race, opposite sex, alive and not exhausted to the point of needing the other one to actually stay upright.

Exhausted or not it took a direct order from her to make Proudmoore let go of her staff and call it a day. It was not that she tried to resist or in any way violate Sylvanas' conditions as such, if anything her mage was just loathe to give up and seemed almost close to pouting. Velonara had received the mage staff for safe keeping with the flourish of a fresh squire, but her reverence ended there. The ranger proceeded to point Proudmoore's staff in random directions and perform a wholehearted imitation of an archmage's spellcasting.

"'Fwooom'! Slow!" Velonara pointed at midshipman Gray, who played along and pretended to move at half speed most convincingly.

"Polymorph!" Velonara pointed at Haley.

"Ba-a-a-ah!" their lookout bleated.

Proudmoore sighed and leaned a little closer.

"To think that you all worry so much about me wielding that staff." she mumbled.

Sylvanas couldn't stop herself from smiling.

It was early in the evening still and Sylvanas lit a couple of lamps in the cabin while Proudmoore rested in her hammock, appearing tired but not yet sleepy. She had hung her jacket by the door and leaned back in her too large shirt and pants, yawning.

She had gotten freckles.

It was a completely irrelevant observation but it still stuck to Sylvanas' mind. Elves hardly ever had such marks, and were overall in fact somewhat bland in their unbroken uniform smoothness that humans seemed to prize so much.

Sylvanas returned to her reading material, or rather the notes of her mage in question that she pretended to busy herself with, but her eyes still wandered to Proudmoore from time to time. It was not just the freckles; she had changed over the week and a half since Sylvanas had brought her aboard. Her skin was not as pale and looked a good deal healthier, and she didn't seem quite so thin and frail anymore. If Sylvanas didn't know better she would say that being abducted like this appeared to have actually been good for her mage. At least the woman was in no immediate danger and would remain a very much alive hostage for them, and it couldn't hurt for the Forsaken to appear magnanimous enough to treat their prisoners well, could it? So Sylvanas had every reason to be quite pleased with what she was seeing. So far she had managed to keep a highly dangerous enemy spellcaster in confinement without any major incidents and without her antagonizing the crew, on the contrary in fact.

To tell the truth, Sylvanas caught herself forgetting more than once that Proudmoore was at the end of the day the head of an enemy nation and someone to be rightly feared by any Forsaken. Her non-ceasing vigil had gradually shifted from readiness to counter escape attempts towards watching over her mage to make sure that she had what she needed. Even the nights had turned out different than Sylvanas had planned. Leaving a lamp lighted was usually inadvisable at best because Proudmoore would keep herself awake studying Sylvanas until her yawns threatened to dislocate her jaw. So Sylvanas, or sometimes Anya, kept watch in the dark and listened to the creaking of the ship and her mage's steady breaths. It was oddly calming, and Sylvanas found that she did not particularly mind the lost opportunity to work as she usually did during the dark hours. It was in all honesty not like she had much to go over anyway in the way of paperwork.

There still remained the question of how she would deal with Proudmoore once they reached the Undercity. As much as the mage seemed to thrive, bloom even, at sea Sylvanas held no illusions that the sight of the ruined country and the decrepit state of the Forsaken, and many of them also far more bitter than her sailors, would not be utterly disturbing to her. Add to that the proximity to Alliance lands and the very concrete prospect of Forsaken doing battle against other humans, and who could tell if her mage would be as cooperative anymore?

The issue was not unsolvable in the Undercity. The Lordaeron crown had warded some of its dungeons against spellcasters in the same way Quel'Thalas or other human nations of note had. In an ironic twist of fate those dungeons were currently some of the most intact areas of the city and also technically akin to the top floors of their subterranean capital. She could quarter Proudmoore there, it would hardly be more unhealthy than the damp catacombs and sewers where the Forsaken mostly dwelled. They could give her a proper bedroll and maybe some sort of brazier or makeshift fireplace to keep her warm.

Next question was how to bring a presumably less than enthusiastic archmage from the ship into the city's deepest dungeons without ending up with a fireball in the face.

Sylvanas resisted the urge to sigh. It all came down to the same damned conundrum as always. Proudmoore was too powerful to overpower without extreme risk and too important to let go. The option of assassinating the mage had of course crossed Sylvanas' mind several times but the thought made her dead insides twist in disgust. She may already be a monster and a murderer until eternity thanks to Arthas but damn if she would voluntarily add to that bloody list. She had not torn the shredded remnants of her soul free from the Lich King only to remain a mindless tool of death on her own!

So, with neither agreement nor force being reliable options Sylvanas would have to fall back on her original idea. She would have to break Proudmoore's will to such an extent that she would allow herself to be imprisoned and she would have to do it shortly after they had made landfall. It stood to reason that anyone with their wits about them, particularly such a curious and intelligent woman as her mage, would want to familiarize themselves somewhat with their new surroundings before making an escape attempt. And while Proudmoore was doing that it would be a good time to confront her with Arthas' crimes and whatever connection between him and her that the recovered marriage contract implied. Guilt, even misplaced – especially misplaced such – was a powerful emotion and in the face of Lordaeron's devastation and the full extent of the Forsaken's miseries even a seasoned ruler might just be shocked into feeling incriminated by even the vaguest affiliation with the treacherous prince responsible for it. And Proudmoore was anything but that.

It was likely to be effective, when her mage was so impressionable and seemed so easily affected by her. It was the best solution for the safety of all involved.

But the thought of having to hurt her mage did still not sit well with Sylvanas.

"A silver for your thoughts?" the very same mage asked, making Sylvanas aware that she had been frowning. "Though I don't actually have any coin on me of course, but perhaps a promise-to-pay note from the hostile nation of Theramore's treasury for your thoughts, Lady Windrunner?"

"Mages." Sylvanas smirked, unable to help herself and secretly grateful for the reprieve.

"Still worried about my dastardly arcane powers? And here I was thinking the elves were the ones accustomed to magic and us humans the superstitious barbarians."

"All a compliment to your powers, Lady Proudmoore."

Sylvanas shifted her chair and stretched out so she faced her mage. Proudmoore lay on her side with her head resting against her hand and looked decidedly unthreatening. Almost absent-mindedly she raised her other hand slightly and a small line of arcane blue-white light appeared between her thumb and forefinger, turning into a large and unnaturally perfect snowflake that seemed to glow faintly blue and glittered in the light from the lamp as it danced over Proudmoore's fingers.

"There. That's all the blizzards you will get out of me for today." her mage mused thoughtfully.

She slowly raised her upturned palm before her and pursed her lips and blew softly. It was a strangely tender gesture, like the blowing of a kiss. The snowflake twinkled through the air and settled in Sylvanas' palm.

This was the sort of moment where Areiel would have tripped over herself to declaim how Sylvanas appeared to have suffered a brain-freeze.

The banshee queen sat still like a statue. If she had been able to breathe she would have held her breath. She felt that it was absolutely imperative that she did not move her hand the slightest and in no way disturb or, Belore forbid, damage this precious, beautiful object.

"It…it is certainly a well-crafted blizzard, Lady Proudmoore…" Sylvanas' words stumbled out of her mouth, stiff and unsteady.

At that her mage tilted her head a little, and an odd little smile played at her lips.

"About that" Sylvanas cleared her throat "if I may ask, what is it that a mage's staff actually does? It is obviously of great use to you."

"Each has its own enchantments for one thing or the other, but their main function is to help the caster focus the magical energy more easily. It essentially gives me more mana and lets me use it more effectively."

"So you can last longer when channelling a spell like that?"

"I don't think so, but my staff will let me get more out of the time I last. In most cases, a mage's mana runs out long before anything else but when you have reached a certain level of magical ability" here the mage blushed slightly "you can many times find the physical and mental exhaustion that comes form the casting to be the most limiting. Imagine a woodcutter with a new saw, for example. He might be able to finish seven logs during the day instead of five, but it is still a days work and just as tiring."

Ever the engaged teacher, her mage was. But Sylvanas frowned at another question that this explanation raised.

"The exhaustion from spell casting you describe, how does it affect you, Lady Proudmoore?"

"Oh, well, you've seen most of it I suppose. I eventually begin to fall over where I stand. Apart from that it is my usual charming personality quirks in the form of acute migraines, nausea, lethargy and a rather bad mood I have been told." Proudmoore's eyes widened. "Wait, is that why you ask? Is it something I've said to your dark rangers, Lady Windrunner?"

Sylvanas had to stop herself forcefully from laughing. Was that what her mage worried about, of all things?

"Not at all, and you need not worry about my rangers' state of mind, Lady Proudmoore. I assure you they are a hardened lot, and besides they do on the contrary appear quite taken with you. You have been very graceful towards them, and all other things aside I am in your debt for that."

"I like them." she blurted out. "Even if they make fun of how I look. I don't think it is ill-intentioned."

Sylvanas' brow furrowed. The rangers' directness and honesty was a valuable thing and it came together with a long list of odd behaviours that had transcended death, but she would not stand for them insulting a foreign dignitary in their custody and least of all Lady Proudmoore.

"Would you please elaborate, Lady Proudmoore? I do tolerate the rangers' eccentricities to a certain extent but insults are in no way acceptable."

At her request Proudmoore looked embarrassed. Her eyes were downcast and showed off her extremely pleasant looking eyelashes as she explained hesitantly.

"It's just that…you have noticed how they like to…pretend to…well…to be flirting with me. To make me embarrassed. I know they don't mean anything by it - I know I'm not any lithe and graceful elf – and it's no big deal… Please let them have their fun if it amuses them, Lady Windrunner."

What in Belores name…? Sylvanas sat silent, too perplexed to think of what to say. Did Proudmoore actually believe the rangers' banter to be jabs at her human physique? And the wording may be casual but her dismay was written all over her face.

Her mage was clearly uncomfortable with the subject as well as Sylvanas' silence and made a plain attempt at changing the subject to something else.

"May I ask a thing about Forsaken elves, Lady Windrunner?"

"Naturally, though I do not guarantee an answer, Lady Proudmoore."

"The elves in Theramore suffer from deprivation of the magic of the Sunwell, which I understand was destroyed by the Scourge. No one is keen on talking about it but I understand that they grieve it deeply and being cut off from the Sunwell has affected them terribly. Are Forsaken elves affected in the same way?"

"That is an interesting question, Lady Proudmoore, but I think it is based on an incorrect assumption. We may retain a similar appearance but undeath has changed us to the point where we can no longer rightfully call ourselves elves. We have not lost the Sunwell so much as we have lost our ability to at all connect with it, along with the other things of the living."

That answer did not sit well with her mage.

"Lady Windrunner, that can simply not be true." Proudmoore almost admonished her. "You do all most certainly feel things and don't you dare pretend to be indifferent to it all." Her small outrage was almost adorable. "The queen who choose to cross the sea blindly with a handful of guards and a single ship for the sake of her people – and we will have to talk about that in earnest – is not a queen who feels nothing for them. Besides, you said yourself that there are still things you can taste and you and the other rangers evidently sense touch. And you are very much capable of acts of kindness." Her tone had shifted from indignant to sincere. "So I will kindly have to ask you to present any substantial proof of your claims, Lady Windrunner, and until proven otherwise I shall regrettably have no choice but to regard you as elves."

Her mage sounded so very, very much like Anya. Was she wrong? Was Anya wrong?

"I fear that only an utter fool would dare to risk your wrath by disagreeing with you right now, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas smiled and bowed her head in feigned deference.

"You mean the kind of woman who would entrust an archmage's staff to someone whose first instinct was to polymorph the next person? Perhaps I should be more concerned about whether there actually is a spark of arcane magic lingering in any of you." Proudmoore's eyes glittered.

"I have no idea what you are referring to, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas flashed a grin back.

Later in the evening when Proudmoore had at last turned in, or more precisely turned over, Sylvanas sat and looked at her, with the lamp still lit but dimmed.

Was her mage really so unsure of herself that she actually believed her rangers were mocking her looks with their constant teasing? How could someone with an intellect so apparent be so utterly mistaken?

But that was not how things worked, Sylvanas knew that well enough. Humans could have some really strange ideas of elves – she guessed she should have to yield to her stern mage and think of herself as an elf still – and perhaps their own ideals of beauty were equally strange. Moreover, Proudmoore's confidence in herself did not always match her abilities from what Sylvanas could deduce. She remembered their conversation over her mage's first meal onboard and how she had shied away and admitted to not eating enough. If Proudmoore really was working herself too hard and thinking herself insufficient Sylvanas knew perfectly well how easy it was to let self-depreciation spill over into all aspects of life.

The truth of the matter, strictly objectively speaking of course, was that Proudmoore was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was spirited, generous and compassionate, astoundingly competent in what she did and unflinchingly honest. She had overcome her lingering fear of the undead in less than a day to treat the crew as persons instead of monsters, and Sylvanas already regretted how harsh she had been to her mage at the time. If things could have turned out differently, Sylvanas no longer doubted that Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore would have heard them out.

And this was the woman Sylvanas planned to bully and break down once they made landfall. The mere thought of it sickened her.

The banshee queen looked down into her still unmoved hand. Only water remained in her palm, the snowflake having melted from the warmth of the lamp.

With a last glance at her sleeping, precious mage Sylvanas rose and walked out with quiet but heavy steps.



***



Jaina did not know why she had woken up. She couldn't hear anything specific that explained it, nor did she remember hearing anything that would have awakened her. It was almost pitch dark so it had ot be in the middle of the night still. She should probably try to roll over and go back to sleep but something just felt…off.

Wait.

There was nobody beside her.

Jaina sat up, at once fully awake. No one was watching her, she could…she could…

She could do what, really?

She could – probably – leave Sylvanas and her rangers that she was growing more and more fond of every day, and Davey and Haley Bones, and midshipman Gray who turned out to like fast sailing ships just as much as herself and reminded her so much of both Derek and Tandred at once, and the rest of the crew that had made her feel so proud of herself yesterday.

Out of the Tides-damned question.

But Jaina was still curious if she could do it. And if it was possible she could always leave another note for Pained. The night elf was probably rather worried…oh…

Correction: she absolutely had to leave a note for Pained!

Jaina rolled out of her hammock and double-checked the door. She saw or heard nothing. Well, if this was some kind of hidden test of her loyalty so be it. She stretched out after the leylines across the ocean, across Kalimdor, and found her own tiny corner of the vastness that was Azeroth. Between her hands formed a small portal over the floor, just out of sight from the doorway.

She had done it.

Jaina hurriedly bent over and once again scribbled a hasty note on the other side of the sea, but this time without water dripping from her. There was no message from Pained apart from one of Jainas sailcloth bags standing on her desk. Knowing Pained, it no doubt held some immensely practical content that she would be very cross if Jaina did not bring with her.

In much higher spirits Jaina conjured a small light in the air before her and sat down to go through what Pained had packed for her. She almost immediately started to laugh. The small bag held a couple of tunics – those would be divine – and a weeks worth of Jaina's underwear – Tides, that was embarrassing but she was thankful to her bodyguard even as she blushed from head to toe at the thought of Pained going through Jaina's drawers. Or Jaina's chest of clothes as it were, her room did not actually have any drawers. Wrapped safely inside the bundle of clothes was at last Jaina's toothbrush and a box of Kaldorei tea.

Jaina promptly complemented her current attire and put the rest of the clothes back in the bag and stowed it away in a drawer under the ordinary bed to her side. After the rush of excitement she was starting to feel what time it was and creating a portal over such a distance was no picnic. After sneaking off to the privy down the aftmost gallery, for once without the discomfort of an undead ranger guard waiting outside, she decided to go and look for Sylvanas. It felt silly, but it was also very unlike her to leave Jaina unattended and by now she had gotten so used to the quiet presence of deep red eyes to her side that she found herself missing them.

Up the stairs, Jaina was met with a blanket of wet fog. Not even her arcane light provided much illumination.

"Hello?" she called out.

"Hello? Lady Proudmoore?" It was Kitala.

"Yes. I couldn't sleep. Ehm, where are you?"

In answer Kitala's hand appeared from the mist to Jaina's right and rubbed at her arm.

"Here."

"Is something the matter?" Jaina asked and shivered in the wet air. "There's always one of you keeping watch. Usually, or whatever you call it." she yawned.

"Hm, you are right. That is odd." Kitala frowned. "I believe the Dark Lady is at the bow, we should go and ask her."

"Ask me what, Kitala?" Sylvanas appeared in the mist before them. Jaina thought her eyes were somehow dimmer than usual, but it was hard to say for sure in the dark and the fog.

"Is everything alright, Lady Windrunner?" Jaina asked. "I just woke up and nobody was around so I worried something had happened." Now that she said it, it felt like she was overreacting. Maybe Sylvanas was just trusting her more, like yesterday when she had allowed Jaina access to her staff.

"Yes, I can understand that." Sylvanas sounded so different, as if something weighed heavily on her. And of course a great deal of things did, and Jaina could only guess what it must be like to be responsible for such a mistreated people as the Forsaken, but Jaina had never heard her sound…resigned? Weary? "There is no need for concern, Lady Proudmoore, we are fine. In fact, my captain expects us to have some wind tomorrow. He says he can feel it in his…bones."

"Awful one." Jaina snorted.

"In that we are doubtlessly in agreement."

Sylvanas tone was like a smile that did not reach the eyes. Jaina looked closer at her.

"Are you sure there's nothing wrong, Lady Windrunner?"

"A great many things are wrong, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas still sounded absent, like her thoughts were elsewhere.

"Do you…wish to talk to Areiel about it? Or Anya?" Jaina tried. She didn't really know what to say but perhaps Sylvanas' rangers would.

At last Sylvanas looked up and seemed to focus on something else than what weighed on her.

"It's just my impression, and I don't mean to pry or anything, but you seem to trust them very much so I thought that maybe could help." Jaina tried to explain without sounding too awkward. "I mean, I could listen too of course but I guess with the whole enemy archmage thing I'm not exactly the first choice to share sensitive information with." she shrugged.

To Jaina's surprise Sylvanas laughed, but even that sounded wrong. A short and mirthless laugh. Ironic. Bitter.

"Far too kind." Jaina heard Sylvanas whisper in Thalassian. "Too kind for your own good."

She wondered if the words were intended for her but decided not to comment in case they were not.

"I…I guess I'll go back to sleep then. Do you want to keep watch, so I don't turn your crew into frogs during the night?"

"Yes, I will watch over you." the banshee queen almost sighed.

Jaina was yawning wide before they had reached the bottom of the stairs. She would probably fall asleep within minutes even if she racked her brain over what it might be that weighed so heavily on Sylvanas. On a whim, Jaina let her hand hang out a little over the edge of the hammock, as if she had let it rest there unconsciously.

As she drifted off to sleep Jaina noticed something cold carefully placing her hand back onto her. Perhaps the wind captain Bones had predicted had started to blow, for it felt like the ship was rocking a bit, or at least Jainas hammock was.



***



The next day the wind had indeed returned just as captain Bones had predicted. Unfortunately the wind was easterly.

"Of all the worm-ridden Tides-damned keel-breaking miser'ble shark-buggering…" Davey Bones were blaspheming loud enough from the foremast to be heard all across the deck.

"…crab-brained mutineering barnacle-blistering bloody directions this bloody wind has to choose it has to bloody pick the bloody opposite of our bloody course!" a rising clear voice added from astern. For someone so disinclined to shout at people Lady Proudmoore knew an astounding amount of swear words. And now she did appear to be in a profoundly bad mood for a change, Anya noticed.

"Aye, couldn't 'ave said it better meself!" the captain acknowledged Lady Proudmoore. "Hope ye had a better night than us, my lady. Tangling with that mizzen in the dark gets no more fun when ye're dead, I tell you."

"We're not getting to Lordaeron any time soon on the mizzen and foresails."

"No, we're not." captain Bones sighed. "Gray! Get over here for a minute!"

Anya stayed within hearing distance as midshipman Gray approached. She liked listening to people talking and guessing what they would say next. And she liked watching Lady Proudmoore. As usual a few other rangers kept a close watch on her too without having been explicitely ordered to.

"Gray, we're moving like a dismasted Stormwind carrack in this wind. Can you jury rig a spanker for us like on one o' those brigs ye've been on?"

Anya could hear a series of less than discreet giggles following that comment, and apparently so could the officers and Lady Proudmoore.

"What's up with them?" Gray asked and nodded towards the amused rangers, and Velonara in particular which Anya didn't find especially surprising.

Lady Proudmoore rolled her eyes.

"They're being landlubbers." she said dismissively. "Yes it is called a 'spanker sail', just as hilarious as 'poop deck'! If you find it so funny I'm sure Areiel could flog you all if you asked her nicely!" she shouted at the rangers and shook her head.

"Yes, well, I guess I could, captain, but I don't think it would do her much good. No good tacking if we put it up there." Gray pointed. "Maybe it would add some stability but we already have the fore-an-aft sails for that."

"Dammit." captain Bones muttered while Lady Proudmoore sighed.

"I guess it's back to the quarterdeck for me today then."

"Hmm, if ye've got anything like yesterday to give I won't say no to it." the captain mused. "But, correct me if I'm wrong 'ere, this current of yours has been something you've had to adjust on the fly to keep the ship steady, right?"

Lady Proudmoore nodded.

"An' that's been takin' a lot of juice out of you, right?"

Another nod.

"Well, we 'ave some wind today after all. Would it help if you let us handle the steering on our own an' just focus on thrusting forward with all ye've got?" he asked.

"SHUT UP!" Davey Bones, Gray and Lady Proudmoore shouted the next moment in unison at Velonara.

Anya smiled at that but followed Lady Proudmoore as she made her way astern. Something didn't feel quite right.

"Good morning, Lady Proudmoore." Anya revealed herself at a polite distance.

"Morning, Anya." Lady Proudmoore answered with an unusual lack of enthusiasm.

"Is something the matter?" Anya tried to sound as neutral as she could.

"I didn't see you back there but I will assume you heard everything, right?"

"I think so. Is that what's bothering you, Lady Proudmoore, channelling the current spell?"

"'Current spell'…" Lady Proudmoore smirked and Anya realised she had unwittingly taken a step towards Areiel territory. "In a manner of speaking. I guess I had just hoped we would actually be sailing for real today. I'm just more tired than I expected to be, probably slept badly or something."

"You have been doing this for several days now and you allow yourself very little rest. Is it unreasonable to expect that you should tire more quickly now?"

Lady Proudmoore sighed.

"No, no it is not. You are right. Prolonged casting does drain you, everyone knows that."

Anya went rigid.

"Wait a moment, Lady Proudmoore. Drain you? What does that mean?"

The mage looked at her quizzically for a moment.

"Oh, sorry, just a poor figure of speech. What I mean is that it exhausts your body and mind to the point that it can take a long time of recovery before you are at your full potential again as a mage. Maybe a bit like straining your shoulder or something like that, nothing serious."

"Don't let Areiel hear you talk like that, Lady Proudmoore." Anya commented with a smile. "Or Lyana." But she was not at all satisfied with that answer, for it felt far too much like what a certain Dark Lady would say when it concerned herself. And speaking of which, it was unusual and unexpected not to see the Dark Lady at the mage's side and Anya decided that it was worth looking into.

She found Sylvanas still in the cabin she and Lady Proudmoore shared, for lack of a better word.

"Dark Lady?"

Sylvanas looked up.

"Lady Proudmoore considers it necessary to channel her magic today as well since the ship sails so badly against the wind."

"I will not raise any argument if that's what she thinks."

Sylvanas sounded distant and Anyas concern grew. When it came to matters concerning Lady Proudmoore, Sylvanas had so far been anything but that.

"I am concerned for her. She complains of prolonged exhaustion and describes it as a side-effect of channelling her magic for so long during the last days. May I suggest we let her make use of her staff the whole day today?"

"Agreed."

"I believe this isn't good for Lady Proudmoore. I think she will drive herself too hard if she isn't already."

Sylvanas nodded slowly, as if the thought was not news to her.

"I think so too but for now the need to get home quickly takes precedence. But…keep an eye on her, please, Anya?"

Sylvanas almost sounded pleading. Keep an eye on her yourself, Anya wanted to say. What had gotten into Sylvanas? The way she spoke almost sounded like she was about to leave the ship or something.

"Sylvanas?" Anya asked hesitantly, and continued when the use of her first name made Sylvanas nod. "Have you two been arguing?"

"Arguing? Why would you ask that?"

"You both seem so down today, and you are hiding down here while Lady Proudmoore is up on deck cursing the wind and snapping at Velonara. Yesterday you both seemed so well. What is wrong?"

"I can't speak for Lady Proudmoore but as for me…" Sylvanas shrugged. "I…do not relish what will happen when we reach Lordaeron and the Undercity. Regarding her. What will she do when she's no longer confined by the distance of the ocean? When nothing but deadly force can truly stop her from teleporting to Dalaran? I will have to find a way to keep her from turning on us or attempting to escape at the sight of our, admittedly, ghastly realm until she is safely under lock and key in the Undercity's dungeons."

Anya wanted to kick something. She wanted to turn the wheel around and sail back to Kalimdor, to cruise the seas indefinitely for all she cared, for at least here they had found some small little corner of the world that was something else than grief and pain and death. But of course they could not do that because Sylvanas was the Dark Lady and Anya was her lieutenant and their sisters and all other Forsaken relied on them and Lady Proudmoore was for some right now incomprehensible reason the enemy and everything good and hopeful that practically fucking radiated from that woman had to fade away.

"Anya? Anya, what's wrong?"

At least now there was something more than hollowness in Sylvanas' voice. Always something, Anya thought bitterly.

"Must it really come to that? Throwing Lady Proudmoore into some hole without warmth or daylight?"

As she spoke, Anya realised that the thought was plain disgusting to her now. Beyond criminal, sacrilegious perhaps. And Sylvanas did flinch at her words and harsh tone.

"I have no better option." she said quietly. "To keep us safe from her. And to keep her safe from us…"

The silence between them was painful.

"The keeps dungeons are not necessarily worse that the rest of the rest of the Undercity. Or what if they wouldn't have to be, at least?" Sylvanas finally said, slowly.

Anya reckoned she probably looked at Sylvanas rather surly.

"Because I find it all the more reasonable that the comfort of a foreign head of state in our capital city should be of utmost priority. And since I unfortunately will have to be elsewhere for extended periods of time it would only be proper of me as queen of Lordaeron to put the safety and comfort of Lady Proudmoore in the hands of a ranger lieutenant without equal. Particularly one who I knew could be counted upon to conjure a hot bath out of gravel and rubble."

"The wards of those dungeons are not disturbed by the presence of a doorway. So it stands to reason that a fireplace and chimney would not necessarily pose a problem either." Anya suggested slowly.

"A sound theory that I will expect to be tested. If necessary, the rest of the structure apart from Lady Proudmoore's quarters is expendable. And in fact it need not have to be a permanent solution. There are shackles warded to prevent spellcasting as well and once we have acquired or crafted a pair we can move Lady Proudmoore to accommodations befitting her."

"I bet she would be at home in the keeps library." Now Anya was almost, almost smiling.

"Lieutenant Eversong, can I count on you to guard Lady Proudmoore's life and see to her every need once we reach Lordaeron?" Sylvanas asked with her most commanding voice.

Anya straightened her back and answered with a perfect ranger salute.

"My personal ranger squadron is at your disposal." Sylvanas was also almost smiling. "I will rest easier, knowing you are with her. Now I just need to find a way to keep her from turning us to cinder as we present the idea to her."

"I'm sure you will think of a way." Anya leaned forward. "You can be…quite persuasive, my Dark Lady." she whispered as she softly kissed Sylvanas' cheek.

Sylvanas made no motion, but her eyes were fires again and Anya drank in every little detail of that welcome sight.

"Come, let's go outside. Our mage needs her Dark Lady."



***



The sight that met Sylvanas when she stepped onto the deck was one she had not once imagined seeing since her mage had stepped onto her deck for the first time. The woman had the steadiest sea legs she could ever have imagined but none the less Sylvanas found her bent over the reeling, retching and coughing.

"What is going on here?" she ordered rather than asked.

Proudmoore waved at her with her hand, as if asking for time to explain. With a visible shudder she straightened herself somewhat and turned around.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I can't eat this."

Sylvanas' eyes were drawn to a plate of fried fish at Proudmoore's feet. It did not take a genius to deduce what had prompted the reaction.

"Just how old is that fish?" Sylvanas demanded from the crowd of concerned, and by now increasingly shame-faced crewmembers gathering behind Proudmoore.

"I'm very sorry, my lady. We can't smell the difference anymore." one of them answered solemnly.

Proudmoore did, of course, wave the apology away. "Just take it away and toss the rest overboard. I'll conjure some mana bread, or something…"

Her mage had sunk down on the deck, leaning back with her eyes closed and pinching her nose. Anya was right. She really did not look well.

"I do hope the food is better in your lands, oh queen of Lordaeron." she mumbled.

"To be fair none of us have really bothered to find out lately." Sylvanas knelt next to her mage. "But my people do swear that tasting the famous Lordaeronian grain is nothing less than a life-changing experience..."

"Oh, spare me please, it's too early in the day for morbidity."

"I would normally advice against taxing yourself without proper sustenance but since I can regrettably not provide anything better in that regard I think it would be more becoming of me to keep quiet."

"So abducting innocent archmages and making them run your ships is normal procedure but in this particular case you just happened to be short on victuals, Lady Windrunner?"

"Oh, you have no idea, Lady Proudmoore."

"Seriously though, is there any food in Lordaeron?"

"Yes. It is hard to find and nowhere near to support any notable living population, but not everything is blighted or devastated. Rest assured that I will not let you starve, Lady Proudmoore."

"I'll look forward to you inviting me for dinner when we arrive then, Lady Windrunner." Her mage groaned and rose up. "Let's get this ship underway."

Jaina: Are you actually telling me that my meals have been prepared by a chef with no sense of smell or taste?
Sylvanas: It's called fast food. You were very hungry a couple of chapters back and we had to improvise.
Jaina: Attempted poisoning.
Sylvanas: May I tempt you with a wholly homemade cookie from Andorhal then?
Jaina: I'm begining to see why you lack living allies...

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 12: Tears and Touches

Upon arriving in Lordaeron Sylvanas tries to unsettle Jaina by having the big talk about Arthas which doesn't quite work out, but then somehow works out anyway.

This chapter is notably darker than the recent ones as Jaina, and in a way Sylvanas, are confronted by the scars left by the Scourge upon Lordaeron and its people.

Click to shrink...

For the final time, Sylvanas walked arm in arm with her mage down to the main deck before the entire crew. They had lined up all along the way towards the gangplank now laid out and properly secured. Proudmoore looked outright terrible but she held her head high and Sylvanas kept her pace adjusted to her out of respect just as much as concern.

"Captain Bonecarver and all the crew of the 'Banshees Wail'…" Sylvanas began. Yes, they had finally given the poor vessel a name, suggested by the captains daughter Haley after finally dropping the alternative "Windrunner", "Tiderunner" or "Seas Daughter", because as she put it "things only got interesting aboard after you started to Wail a little, banshee Lady". Sylvanas hadn't know what to answer to that but her mage had laughed for the first time in two dreary days and that settled it as far as she cared.

"…I salute your hard work and unquestionable skill. Let lesser nations be in awe of a ship whose maiden voyage consisted of crossing an ocean, and let Scourge and Scarlets look upon her prow with fear!"

And may they all tremble before the Daughter of the Sea. Sylvanas thought quietly as the crew cheered.

Each day had drained Proudmoore more and more, causing her to display all the symptoms she had previously alluded to. Still she would yield to neither wind nor rain nor exhaustion and her rebukes of the rangers' suggestions that she should rest grew all testier until Velonara remarked that Proudmoore now sounded like the Dark Lady. When her mage had been ready to snap at that Sylvanas had run her clawed fingers down along her back, and that at least had seemed to make her mage relax quite a bit. It made Sylvanas feel marginally less bad for putting the woman through this.

Her rangers were largely relieved of guard duty during these day shifts of her mage, but they found all possible reasons to linger. Now that Proudmoore no longer needed to focus on directing the ship she could find cover from the increasingly cold wind behind them. While they had no warmth to share, the rangers would hold out their cloaks in a ring around and over their ward and form an improvised tent for her. Proudmoore did not snap at them any more after that.

"Captain Bones." her mage saluted like Kul Tirans did.

"Navigator Proudmoore." he returned it, grinning.

"Scrap that blasted forecastle."

"Hey mage lady, when ya not falling asleep where ya stand you've gotta come back and race with me in the longboat! With me at the tiller and you doing your streamy current tricks we're gonna own everyone!" Haley Bones exclaimed.

"Do I still get to be yer first mate, captain Haley?" Velonara asked as she threw the girl high in the air.

"Aye!"

Clea carried Proudmoores staff, oddly fitting as she was the one who had brought it aboard. Anya held a small sailcloth bag that contained the mages almost pitifully meagre luggage. Sylvanas had no idea where or how she had acquired the things but had little worry to spare on such trifles. When the rangers had asked her mage had just shrugged and remarked how mages, as everyone was aware of, were known to conjure all sorts of strange things out of thin air.

Sylvanas cast a last glance around the deck of the Banshees Wail. She was secretly starting to like the name.

Actually, that was always an option she supposed, but one glance at Proudmoore made her ashamed of even thinking about it. It was bad enough what she intended to do. But there was no putting it up any longer.

Her lack of enthusiasm for the art nothwithstanding, Sylvanas' current form brimmed with necromantic energy and she was able to perform some limited yet highly useful feats of the dark arts, one being to Raise simple skeletons for a short period of time. She rarely practised it though, as it was invariably an inefficient use of her time and energy on or off the field of battle. She could move faster on her own if she needed and her bow and blades were infinitely more lethal than a few mindless puppets. Now however could have been a time to actually make use of that talent and call forth a mount for her mage, but Sylvanas decided to leave it for another time. She had one of her escort ranger squads out ahead to scout and going too fast would defeat that purpose. Besides that, a long walk towards the Undercity would be a convenient opportunity to have a very unpleasant talk with Proudmoore.

She also tried her best not to think too much about how a long walk would conveniently drain her mage's energy even further to make her less able to escape.

As they passed out of the Lordaeron docks and into the countryside Sylvanas pondered how to broach the subject of Arthas. It was, after all, not her favourite one. In the event however Proudmoore beat her to it.

"What happened around here…?" she looked around at the ashen trees, leafless despite it being only early in the autumn.

"Blight. It has receded, but it has killed off everything that once grew or could have grown here. Every tree, every straw of grass, every seed waiting to grow. There are some areas not too far away that are still afflicted by it but as far as we can tell it takes some kind of actual Scourge presence to maintain the blight."

"I saw the blight at work in Ashenvale when the demons were advancing. And earlier when…" At that Proudmoores voice trailed off.

They kept walking, with their escort of rangers spread out in a wide circle around them. It suited Sylvanas fine. She preferred not to have their eyes upon her right now.

The road between the docks and the city had been well travelled and shops, inns and some villages had sprung up close by. They were all ruins now, broken walls and soot-blackened beams sticking out at odd angles or sometimes forming a burned out skeleton of the barn or granary that had once stood there. Here and there the devastation was underlined by the presence of the odd intact object, an overturned wheelbarrow that lay where it had been left a year ago, or a clay cup dropped in the mud.

Proudmoore would stop to gaze at the bleak reminders of the kingdom that had once been, but did not speak about what she looked at. Not until they came upon a burnt out windmill, or perhaps it had been a granary, that appeared to have collapsed in on itself on one side as the fire consumed it.

"Lady Windrunner…what is that?" Proudmoore pointed at something among the rubble.

Sylvanas followed her direction and had no difficuly discerning what it was or reading the grim scene.

"Skeletons." she said tonelessly.

Proudmoore looked in mute horror for a moment, and then rushed blindly through the dry, withering grass, hindered by her ill-fitting boots and too large clothes. Sylvanas had no trouble keeping pace with her.

Before them was a pile of burned beams and spars, and partly underneath them the charred remains of two humans.

Her mage had fallen to her knees before them, staring quietly at the blackened skulls and bones.

"A man, judging by the size" Sylvanas commented "and a child. Perhaps his son or daughter seeking shelter with him in the granary when the Scourge found them?"

Prudmoore looked up at her, and she appeared paler than usual. The dark patches that had formed under her eyes during the last days stood out atrociously against the whiteness.

"That is how I interpret it." Sylvanas continued, still with the even tone of a ranger delivering her report. "It would have been a tall structure, reasonably defensible, and their pursuers set it on fire. Perhaps it collapsed upon them and trapped them here, perhaps they were succumbing to the smoke and the building toppled over them afterwards. Although…"

There was a small detail that had caught Sylvanas' attention, a dent in one of the bones that seemed to have otherwise avoided the collapsing building.

"What is it?" Proudmoore almost whispered, her voice thick.

"This indenture here" Sylvanas pointed "may be the mark of a weapon, which would suggest that whoever started the fire was waiting for them down here."

"Did that…did it…?"

"Kill them? Possibly. Or perhaps he was only wounded and left to suffer and his child with him, maybe the child would not abandon its father and stayed to die from the smoke. It happens more often than you might think, like children hiding inside a closet as the building burns."

It did actually look a little like the smaller skeleton was leaning over the larger one. Sylvanas furiusly fought down whatever small, foolish voice inside that tried to cry out that even a banshee queen was allowed to feel something before such a miserable sight.

Her last sentence had caused her mage to stare at Sylvanas in shock.

She nodded slowly.

"We were his slaves, Lady Proudmoore. Fettered by the Lich Kings will and incapable of even trying to resist his commands."

"Were you…" her mage had to cough to find her voice. "Were you…aware?"

"I do not know for sure about everyone but as for me and for the rest of the rangers yes, we were perfectly aware of what we were doing."

She looks at me in horror now. Will she bolt, or lash out at me? I had better keep talking to keep her focusing on something else than panicking.

"It is not a subject we are keen to dwell upon, but the most formidable of the undead are always those that have enough of their mind, or perhaps their soul, left to function independently and put their innate skill and reaction to use. As a consequence the most intact and powerful among the Forsaken are invariably also the ones left with the most vivid memories of what they have done in the Lich Kings name."

"What did he make you do?"

There is fear in her voice. She wants to know but dreads what she will hear all the same.

"Come, walk with me, Lady Proudmoore. There is still a long road ahead of us to the Undercity."

Proudmoore followed her out from the dismal ruins and as they resumed their walk Sylvanas delved into her darkest moments as a banshee shackled to anothers will.

"When Arthas returned from Kalimdor with news of the Burning Legions defeat it was a surprise to the dreadlords who had until that point commanded the Scourge on the Legions behalf. They fled before him but Arthas' first order as 'King Arthas' of Lordaeron was to scour his grand realm of any remaining living inhabitants. He, I and his pet lich Kel'Thuzad each commanded separate forces to cut off the escape routes leading to the mountains and highlands around central Lordaeron. I commanded most of the dark rangers and banshees, Kel'Thuzad the available necromancers and Arthas the heaviest infantry, or what passes for that in the Scourge. I obeyed fully, writhing and screaming as much as I may in the small tortured corner of my mind that remined my own there was no way to resist the Lich Kings will. Not at that time."

She could see her mage taking in the information, her revulsion not stopping her analytical mind from sorting, cataloguing and filing it away for later.

"Our designated sector was not here but what you have seen so far is representative. We set fire to every dwelling, tainted every well and despoiled every edible thing in our path. Me and my sisters killed all that moved without hesitation. Man, woman, old, young. I suppose we were allowed to do it quickly and efficiently this time, since the good king was too busy elsewhere to amuse himself with thinking up new exciting atrocities for us to debase ourselves with." Sylvanas spat. "A dark ranger would not have done what you saw back there. She would have set fire to the structure and killed both of them with a precise strike and moved on to track down their kin without wasting time." She didn't know if it was contempt or a tint of twisted pride lacing her voice.

Why is she quiet? Why doesn't she condemn me as the monster I am? What are you waiting for, my mage?

"A banshee is not created to be allowed to rest, or be at peace. Our anger, our grief, our shame will burn inside us until it consumes every conscious thought and we lash out in muderous rage or a banshees Wail at whatever is near. Every moment of our existence is at some level an inner battle against that happening."

Sylvanas hesitated for a moment.

"My rangers are well respected among the Forsaken for their deeds but have few friends and even fewer of them close. They keep to themselves, for…several reasons. Arthas used to enjoy placing those of us who were Raised as banshees with elven captives as a punishment for our defiance when he attacked Quel'Thalas. In our rage and distress at what we had become, and before we had learned how to keep it under control to the extent we do know, it rarely took long before we would Wail and kill our former people, on our own you might call it. I can still hear him laughing at me most days whenever I close my eyes."

But that is not strictly true. Not anymore. Now I hear your heart beating at night and the breaths you draw and can think of nothing else. Now I see you reminding my rangers every day how they are not the monsters Arthas turned them into.

"Did you know it…what he was becoming?" Sylvanas asked lowly.

What a low blow. No, there are really no such rules in battle. But what an unworthy, ugly thing to say.

And Proudmoore did flinch. Confused? Affronted? Hurt?

"No, no..." She shook her head. "That's not why I left, I never thought he would…but I should have…"

She was trailing off. Sylvanas frowned. Proudmoore had left Arthas at some point? How and when and why the hell had she done that? She cursed her incomplete foreknowledge, it was clearly more fragmentary than she had hoped.

Nothing to do but push forward and hope to keep her reeling from sheer discomfort then.

"Would you care to clarify, Lady Proudmoore? You are not making much sense right now." Sylvanas said brusquely.

"At Stratholme. When Arthas…when he ordered the city to be…purged… And I left to heed the prophets warning and gather the people for the expedition to Kalimdor." Proudmoore frowned. "You didn't know about that?" she thought aloud as much as asked. "What was you referring to, Lady Windrunner?"

In response, Sylvanas reached inside a pocket to procure the old marriage contract drafted for the crowns of Lordaeron and Kul Tiras.

What a strange document that is. It prompted the entire expedition to Theramore in a way yet we have never talked about it until now, just as we have never properly talked about the night I brought her aboard. And if it hadn't been for the dwarves being so thorough and, in all fariness, unintimidated by me we would most likely never had found it.

She let Proudmoore read through it in silence, watching for how her mage would react.

"It appears like you were quite close." Sylvanas commented, doing her best to sound indifferent.

"We…we were…but not at this point. I think I know when this would have been written. Anyway… We were lovers once."

She spoke it quietly, guiltily, as a confession of a serious crime. Which should have been perfect, and exactly what Sylvanas had aimed for, and all according to plan.

Should have.

"We met when I was travelling to Dalaran to begin my studies. We were just children them, nothing serious. But then he visited Dalaran and I visited Lordaeron and we became a couple. Lovers. A pair. Whatever you call it. We snuck away. Took walks. Had dinner. Rode through the countryside. …slept together." she almost whispered.

Sylvanas wanted to recoil, perhaps not from Proudmoore as such but the thought of…

Why the hell is she telling me this? Wait. She is…confessing her crimes. She is so damned stubbornly honest that she would do that.

"I thought we would marry at that time, I suppose I even hoped we would, and Arthas did propose to me but then he broke off the engagement and I went back to studying and he to squiring for Sir Uther. I think that marriage contract would have been drafted around that time. Someones wishful thinking, maybe… Then, when the plague hit Lordaeron, Master Antonidas sent me to investigate and me and Arthas met up again."

Proudmoore was looking down, not daring to meet her gaze.

Well, this is what the plan was, I should be celebrating really.

"I…I think some part of me hoped that we could pick up where we had left or something of the sort. I…you must think I'm very silly. Or…very horrible. At first things went well, we tracked the distributed infected grain and managed to halt the onslaught of that Cult of the Damned of Kel'Thuzad's. But we were always too late, the grain had been shipped out. So when we marched to Stratholme, where that dreadlord in command of the undead was supposed to reside, we found the plague spreading and the people…they were becoming undead before our eyes."

Her mage was trembling now, swallowing and curling into herself like if she didn't deserve to take up any space in the world. It was pitiful.

Good. Almost there.

Sylvanas was sickened by the thought and by herself for thinking it. But it was true in more than one way. Timbered ruins were giving way to broken down stonework and the torn walls of the capital city were becoming visible behind a wooded hill where the road turned.

"What happened at Stratholme?"

"He…he ordered that the people infected, or believed to be infected, were to be killed. Culled, to save the rest. Like their lives did not matter on their own. I told him not to do it. He was angry with me, shocked I think, and kept insisting that there was no other way. I don't know if he meant no other way to save the city or no other way to defeat the Scourge at work there amassing an army."

Her mage was crying.

"I told him that I could not…could not…" Proudmoore sniffed, visibly trying to regain control of herself. "Could not watch him do this."

Something immediately fell into place in Sylvanas' memory. The first night. Her mage had been plagued by nightmares, waking up to scream at one point, and thrashed in her sleep while she mumbled something that now became terribly clear.

"…can not watch you… …do th… …thas…"

I can not watch you do this, Arthas.

So you returned to Stratholme in your sleep that night and Belore knows how many others, my poor mage. And now I have dragged you back there yet another time.

"And that is when you left." Sylvanas concluded.

"Yes." Proudmoore whispered. "I told Sir Uther about it and he confronted Arthas but he wouldn't listen to anything. And Arthas sailed to Northrend to pursue that dreadlord and I returned to Dalaran to report what had happened to Master Antonidas and convince him that we should prepare for an expedition to Kalimdor as the prophet had predicted."

Ahead of them, Sylvanas could see Kitala signing to her that it was clear to advance. She must have conferred with the scouts ahead. Sylvanas nodded at her. Her mage seemed to distressed to have noticed.

Just through the city now, and then I can let you be.

There had been a grand gatehouse flanked by solid towers guarding the northern gate. An almost whole arch was all that remained now.

"We used to walk here." Proudmoore sounded hollow.

"Apparently so did he, or so I am told. As a death knight he always fought mounted on that skeletal horse of his, so the last time he walked here would have been when he returned from Northrend to murder his father and betray the entire kingdom to the Scourge." Sylvanas mused.

"Terenas. He was…he was always kind to me. I think he would have been a good king. Patient."

Somehow that incensed Sylvanas. A good king? Good enough to let his accursed son run rampant and good enough to let himself get killed and have that same son proceed to desecrate Quel'Thalas and…

No. Focus.

"What a pity his son shared so few of those admirable traits then." Sylvanas sneered venomously. She could not help herself. It was Arthas' fault that she was what she was, Arthas' fault that she had to stand here and mistreat a woman infinitely better than him. She currently had no wish to hear a single positive word about the Menethil family.

Proudmoore curled into herself worse than ever and had her eyes so firmly fixed on Sylvanas' feet one could be led to believe that those had suddenly been polymorphed into hooves.

"I wish he had never picked up that cursed sword…" she breathed, almost inaudible.

"Frostmourne."

Even speaking the name made Sylvanas perpetually cold chest feel colder.

"You know about it?"

Sylvanas wanted to scream at her and laugh madly at the same time. She was seeing black at the edges of her vision. Her physical form was bleeding black smoke now, the banshee inside her fuming and boiling. In one furious motion Sylvanas grabbed hold of her upper body armour and pulled it down by the middle to expose the jagged, icily discoloured, and unendingly hated scar between her breasts.

"Trust me" the banshee queens voice crackled with power as she sneered through her clenched teeth "I am well acquainted with it."

Proudmoore stared, transfixed by Sylvanas' chest. Under other circumstances that could have been associated with a profoundly different kind of reaction but now her eyes widened in shock as realisation dawned on her of just how personally the banshee queen had suffered at the hands of her former lover.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…" She illogically clutched her mouth as she continued to apologise. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry…"

It would seem Proudmoore had finally been broken.

I have reduced a good-hearted and courageous woman to a rambling wreck. A woman who toiled for weeks to get me here. And all in a days work. Good job, Sylvanas.

"Please forgive me I should have stopped him I should have done…"

Tears were running freely down her cheeks from clear blue eyes that never left the jagged wound over Sylvanas' heart. Was that what she would be now in her mage's eyes? Nothing but the scar tissue left by the cruelty of a petty and spiteful death knight?

I am not what you have made me, Arthas! I am not!

But the state of her mage in front of her told a different story.

Proudmoore was crying.

For Arthas' sake.

Because of her.

Her mage.

Her Lady Proudmoore.

Her Jaina.

TO HELL WITH THIS!

"Lady Proudmoore."

Her words elicited no response.

"Proudmoore!"

Did her lovely human ears even register a word Sylvanas was saying?

"Snap out of it!"

Sylvanas' hand came down faster than the eye could see.



***



Jaina recoiled. Her cheek was burning. What had happened…

Sylvanas had slapped her?

Jainas jaw trembled and new tears welled up in her eyes. Was Sylvanas that angry with her?

She felt the banshee queens cold hand grasp her chin and tilt her head upward to meet her eyes that Jaina had avoided with all her ability. She flinched at the chilling touch and the feeling of those pointy claws on Sylvanas' gauntlets against her skin, but at the same time she felt drawn to it and wanted to lean closer into her hand, into anything that was not Sylvanas resenting her completely.

"Lady Proudmoore."

Her voice was so deep, like in Jainas dreams, and the ethereal echo also more prominent than otherwise. Jaina melted before it even as she looked up at the smoking form and furiously burning eyes of Sylvanas. The banshee queen was utterly frightening in this state, and yet she was not. Somehow, Jaina didn't fear that Sylvanas would actually harm her.

"Enough of this nonsense. Arthas' actions were his own."

Like before, when the visage of captain Bonecarver had made her panic, Jaina felt herself calm before Sylvanas' gaze. Her guilt and shame and anxiety slowly evaporated into smoke under the banshee queens uncompromising glare until the only things in the world were Sylvanas' eyes, Sylvanas' voice and Sylvanas' clawed hand upon her.

The banshee raised her other hand to brush slowly and carefully over Jainas cheeks and wipe her tears away.

"You are not his." Sylvanas whispered, so gently that Jaina sighed and closed her eyes when all tension came out of her. In her dishevelled state she must have misheard Sylvanas whisper something more, or just imagined hearing more of that wondrous voice.

"You are mine."

Whatever the words, Sylvanas' whisper was intense enough to make her shiver all the same.

"Come. Let us proceed to the keep, shall we?"

Sylvanas held out her arm, and Jaina hooked hers around it. Her chin already missed Sylvanas' hand on it. She leaned a little against the banshee queen, who glanced sideways but made no mention of it. Jaina was starting to feel her lingering exhaustion now, and how drained she was after being so emotional previously. They walked quietly for a while along broken cobblestone and torn walls towards the looming walls of the former seat of the Lordaeron crown.

Clea was signing to them from ahead. Even Jaina could see it. Or perhaps Clea wanted her to see her signing?

"What's she saying? With the hand signs?"

Sylvanas smirked slightly.

"All clear. Friendly unit near. Explore cave."

"Explore cave?"

"The 'cave' in this case would be the actual Undercity, but somehow elven ranger hand signs had not accounted for us dwelling in murky catacombs." Sylvanas explained.

"Is that where we're going?"

"Not strictly speaking. I intend to quarter you closer to the surface, on our upper floors you might call it."

At the entrance to the keep Jaina could finally see Anya and Velonara standing on guard at each side. It was strangely comforting to have them within her sight again. Anya looked at her intently when they passed inside and came upon the once magnificent throne room.

Or, it still had a broken and solemn sort of majesty, in Jainas opinion. Like a withered grave monument of a venerated ancestor. The roof had collapsed enough to let in the pale autumn afternoon sun and it shone upon the cracked stone throne still on its dais.

Sylvanas irreverantly threw herself back on it, sprawled across the seat in the most un-royal manner.

"Welcome to my humble abode!" she spread her arms out magnanimously.

Jaina didn't really know what she was expected to do, so she followed Sylvanas and sat down on the steps in front of the throne. Beneath the queen. She wondered how Sylvanas would look in a finely wrought crown. Probably completely ridiculous.

Jaina found to her surprise that she was smiling.

"Are you expecting any more guests, my queen?" she asked suitably humbly.

"Who knows? I am sure my dark heralds are spreading the word of my triumphant return even as we speak. Someone is bound to turn up." Sylvanas drawled.

"Where do, ahem, where do people live around here? I thought we would have seen someone." Now that Jaina had time to think about it, it was a bit odd that they hadn't seen any other Forsaken, wasn't it?

"Ah, but the actual city lies far beneath us and we are but at it's gates, Lady Proudmoore. It is after all not called the 'Undercity' for naught."

Out of an alcove, and silent as a cat, Kitala appeared. She looked with interest at Sylvanas lazily stretched across the throne and Jaina seated beneath her, after which she hurriedly saluted Sylvanas.

"Dark Lady, I couldn't find Kalira but I've sent word for her." Jaina noticed she spoke Thalassian now and strained her ears to keep up. Thalassian in books were one thing – spoken and unrefined it was clearly a field where Jaina had a lot to learn.

"Keep searching! I want her reporting promptly."

Kitala nodded and was gone in a blink. How did they do that?

Jaina leaned back against the base of the throne. It wasn't the most comfortable but she appreciated having something to rest her back against. Now that she was sitting so close to Sylvanas, a part of her hoped that she would touch her again. She wondered how Sylvanas claws would feel against her skull if she carded Jainas hair like Anya once had.

"Who is Kalira?" Jaina asked, partly to have something to say and partly out of curiosity.

"A dark ranger lieutenant. She has held the overall command of the defense of the city in my absence."

"That's a huge responsibility. You must trust her a lot."

Sylvanas smirked at that, with something ironic about her.

"Sure, I do trust Kalira a lot."

"Tell me about her. Please? Just while we wait?"

Sylvanas regarded her with a trace of amusement.

"Fine then. Kalira is about as tall as I am, almost, broad-shouldered and dark-haired. She is fast and strong and utterly deadly with a blade. She is a better archer than me on a good day and both she and I know it. It galls her to no end."

"Why?" Jaina frowned.

"Because on every other day I best her and because I have the nerve to appear content with that." Sylvanas chuckled quietly. "Kalira is my rival. She trains as hard as anyone, drills her squadron until they are on the verge of mutiny, and will accept any assignment no matter how dangerous, all in order to best me and prove everyone wrong who ever cheered 'Sylvanas' at some moment in their lives."

Jaina tried to imagine what it would be like to have to work close to someone who disliked you to that point. Sure, she had seen some of the academic rivalry of Dalaran, but this?

"Nothing would please Kalira more than to be able to save my skin a dozen times over and be there to say 'I told you so' afterwards. I respect and admire her skill and dedication and she – most grudgingly – finds herself forced to return the sentiment. Kalira is unflinchingly honest. I can trust her to speak the blunt truth as she sees it before a hall of naysayers any day. There is no better councillor that I can think of to keep you honest. Velonara is normally part of her squad, partnered with a ranger named Cyndia Hawkspear – you are familiar with the concept of ranging partners, I take it?"

Jaina nodded, and secretly and stupidly felt a little proud with herself that she had picked that up.

Before Jaina could indulge in her curiosity further Velonara herself hurried inside as if the mention of her name had summoned her.

"Dark Lady, I think you'd better come. And…it might be best if you brouht Lady Proudmoore with you."

Jaina watched her eyes narrow, and then widen in understanding. It looked as if Sylvanas' ears peeked up slightly, listening to something Jaina could not distinguish. In a blink all languidness had left her and she stood up with smooth grace and regal bearing.

A crown would still have looked misplaced. Like a toy among expertly crafted tools.

The Banshee Queen of Lordaeron had no need for a crown.

"Come, Lady Proudmoore. It is time for you to meet my people at last."



***



Sylvanas had been silently berating herself ever since the walk from the gatehouse, after which she had truly not known what to do. She had screwed this whole plan up, and badly so, because she had not the rotten, black heart to see her mage suffer just a little longer. She truly hadn't. And now she had been sitting and waiting stubbornly for Kalira to arrive as if that would in some inexplicable way solve her mage problem. The truth was that Sylvanas was stalling. And now something all the more vexing was sure to be happening or Velonara would not have come to fetch her.

Outside, facing Anya and seven more rangers with Velonara, were dozens upon dozens, hundreds of Forsaken. Forsaken all kinds and trades, from almost human with ghostly skin to wretched ghouls with twisted backs and missing jaws, from artisans to apothecaries to dreadguards.

They were not happy.

No deathguards were present. Those would have joined ranks with the rangers without a sliver of hesitation.

Sylvanas strode forward to the top of the stairs. She did not hesitate. Nor did she attempt to give a speech or deflect the sentiments with some witty joke. No, she would at the very least be more honest than that.

"Speak your mind."

At first there was no responce. Only silence. Then…

"You left us!"

"Coward!"

"Runner!"

Abandoned. Betrayed. It was not unexpected words. Sylvanas had told herself the same many times over. She stood her ground in silence, accepting whatever condemnation her people apparently wanted to throw at her. She had promised them free will and she would stand by her word.

"Why did you come back?"

"How dare you show yourself!"

"Where did you run to?"

"What do you have to show for it?"

As if to answer that, Proudmoore stepped in sight, flanked by Anya and Lyana on one side and Clea, Kitala and Velonara on the other. Their unimpressed demeanour made it clear that as much as they guarded the mage they would also guard her from whoever would challenge them for her.

Unfortunately it only seemed to incence the crowd even further.

"Is that a joke?"

"What business does the living have in our city?"

"She brought back a little pet for her rangers, is that it?"

"Death to the living!"

"Ranger cunts!"

Sylvanas growled, and black smoke started to trail from her.

Yes, she understood well their sentiments about her abandoning her post to chase a fleeting hope across the sea only to return with nothing but a hostage to show for it. Yes, she did admittedly keep her rangers very close to her and yes, no matter how many dangerous assignments she gave them it would inevitably outward appear like the favouritism it perhaps was.

But that.

The offender was a Forsaken soldier, not a dreadguard but one of the better equipped. Sylvanas itched to crush those cheap iron plates between her hands with the wearer still in them. Yet before she had the chance to do anything he stumbled, and a jet of icy cold water shot out from Proudmoores hand and hit him squarely in the face.

"I think you had best wash your mouth after speaking such foul words." her mage said, and had the nerve to say it innocently, as the armoured infantryman slid on the spot of ice that had mysteriously formed right under his feet, smooth like a polished mirror. He cursed, and the surrounding crowd was starting to edge away slightly.

"You filthy little piece of…"

Another jet of water knocked him off his feet this time, the iron-shod boots finding little purchase against the magical ice.

"It seems like he was in deep waters already…"

Proudmoore snapped her fingers theatrically and at once his heavily armoured feet were frozen to the ice.

"…but maybe he got cold feet and preferred to lay off?"

True enough, Proudmoores magical frost had now also fused his cuirass and one of his arms to the icy ground where he lay. Belore, it sounded like her mage was close to laughing. She was quietly giggling. Giggling.

"SILENCE!" Sylvanas shouted and her ethereal voice echoed across the city.

"Yes! I. Did. Fail. I left you all to fend for yourselves and sailed off in search for one last chance for an alliance with another realm. I was met with hostility and drawn weapons before I had a chance to plead our case. I returned with nothing to show for it except for the mage now in my custody. My custody. There you have it! And if anyone, anyone, thinks that makes me unworthy to lead you then step forward now or shut up!"

The crowd was silent as the grave. No, no, the crowd was deathly silent. No, the crowd was just silent and Sylvanas was not becoming Areiel and that was that.

"And you, little mage…" Sylvanas turned to take Proudmoore by the ear and drag the mage towards her, who yelped and stumbled. Sylvanas roughly grasped a fistful of her golden hair to pull her head back so that her mage was staring right up at her with clear, blue eyes. "…will learn to behave yourself, is that understood?"

Her mage nodded. "Yes, Dark Lady." she mouthed breathlessly. Her eyes were still fixed on Sylvanas, not teary this time but shiny. Glazed, almost.

Insufferable woman. Had she no sense of caution or self-preservation at all?

Still furious, Sylvanas marched off without sparing the mob a second glance. She dragged Proudmoore with her, the mage's head forced forward by Sylvanas' hand in her hair and stumbling and yelping as she tried to keep up. Down corridors and stairs Sylvanas dragged her, with her rangers in tow, all the way to the lower levels of the keep until they reached the largest magically warded cell.

Sylvanas threw open the door and hurled her mage inside, still fuming.

"Ow! What the hell!" Proudmoore exclaimed and clutched the ear Sylvanas had previously grabbed. "There's no need to drag my ears out to elven ones, I am perfectly fine with human sized!"

"Do you" Sylvanas stormed across the room until she was right in front of and looming over her mage "have any idea how close you were to instigating a riot?!"

"I was trying to deflect their anger! Better that people are angry at me who is their enemy anyway than you!"

"They would not have dared to harm me, but you are a different matter."

Proudmoore rubbed her ear. "Damn it." she muttered.

"If you want to act the disobedient pet like you just did I will have to act my part, and pray that people think more about me reprimanding you, than about you making a fool of that guardsman."

"He was making a fool of himself just fine…"

"Proudmoore!"

Her mage looked up at her with big eyes.

"I'm sorry I've caused you trouble, Dark Lady." she whispered.

Sylvanas sighed.

"For the time being you will have to stay down here for your own safety as much as theirs, until I know more about the sentiments in the city."

"So you're not going to reprimand me any more now?" her mage asked in a small voice but still with that odd glazed look.

Sylvanas slowly brushed her thumb across her mage's lips and further down along the captivating womans chin, making her breath hitch.

"Not until you give me reason to, little mage…"

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 13: Snares and Squirrel

Among the snowy peaks of Khaz Modan two dwarves prepare to begin their adventuring careers. The game is on!

It might be prudent to point out that Runar and Halvdan have a long history of dealing with grim dangers as well as complex politics and have developed a rather deeply rooted habit of sarcasm and irony. While they may have an opportunity or three in this particular chapter to make fun of, shall we say certain game elements, they remain extremely serious and dedicated to their mission underneath their veneer of routine bickering.

Click to shrink...

"Name?"

"Halvdan Blacksilver."

"Class?"

"Pardon?"

The balding and bored Guildmaster and Administrator of Ironforge's Contracted Irregular Forces looked up from his ledger for the first time during the conversation.

"Yes, your class. What's your occupation, your specialty, your area of expertise?

"Ah, discreet scouting of hidden locations and acquisition of hard-to-acquire information."

"Alright…I'll put you up as a rogue then…" Jondor Steelbrow added some lines in the prodigious list of champions operating under the scrutiny of the dwarven realm and proceeded to fill out a printed form that he then handed over to Halvdan. "This is not a formal license to operate within Ironforge but signifies that you've reported to the crown with all due process. It'll be up to the respective contracting parties within the realm to form their own opinions of your competence."

"That sounds good. So I am free to take on whatever quests the people of Khaz Modan need help with now?"

"That's right! Better stay clear of the more gruesome ones until you've gotten some experience under your belt, though, and always have a word about the expected skill level for the job. We don't want to see any more foolish wipes around here."

"Wipes?"

"When a patrol or raiding party goes missing in its entirety and we have to wipe their names from the list. And we can't afford to have any more of that, so make sure you bring some healer or potions with you, and keep a sharp lookout! Remember, if you wake up something nasty you better be prepared to deal with it – you pull it, you tank it!"

"Indeed. How do you mean, 'tank', by the way?"

"Uh, you know, 'tank', 'contain', 'hold'…like a fuel tank of the flying machines. Someone in the party needs to keep the bastards occupied while the rest support or attack from the side."

"Alright, acting the heavy infantry, hammer-and-anvil, got it! I think my stalwart colleague will be thrilled to take on that honourable task and we shall take every precaution to prevent any unbecoming, ah, 'wipes'."

"You might want to pick up a journal too to keep track of your quests, these things tend to pile up before you know it."

"You really think so?"

"Aye, you should see those really snowed-in guilds of raiders out there…not a thought left for anything but the latest enchanted pauldrons or the next epic expedition. They're dedicated, sure, but there's something to be said for taking a night off at the tavern to keep your feet on the ground too. Well, off you go! Next!"

Halvdan passed by Runar outside the office and discreetly offered a vaguely encouraging nod. But he was a master spy for a reason and decided that he should keep tabs on how the rest of the party was doing. It was a matter of professional pride, after all.

Runar had just introduced himself when Halvdan came within earshot.

"…class? Means profession, if that needs explaining."

"Diplomat. Although I assume you are referring to how I prefer to handle the less diplomatic encounters we are sure to experience… I prefer a crossbow if possible. Always convenient to settle things from a distance. So…dwarven ranger."

There was a small but distinct tinge of pride when Runar made the last statement. Their homeland had ranger units that depended heavily on their crossbows, and from whom Runar had learned to handle the weapon long ago, but Halvdan had a very poignant feeling that his best friend had a quite different kind of rangers on his mind right now.

"Huh, what is it with all these names people make up today… Right, hunter it is then. So, a real purist I see! Don't want any blunderbuss noise and smoke giving you away, right? Make sure you get yourself some solid fellow between you to tank the buggers while you reload and all will be well. And if you need any gear repaired be sure to check with Skolmin Goldfury, he's always well stocked. Or so I've been told. Objectively speaking…ahem…"

Halvdan grinned. He could practically see before him how the unimpressed raised eyebrow and expressionless face of Runar was making the apparently slightly less than objective administrator squirm. While diplomats were of course expected to be discreet about their own opinions, Halvdan knew very well how little understanding Runar had for officials who did not do their best to keep personal interests and biases from influencing their professional conduct, and he could be eerily good at delivering subtle but no less unnerving hints about that. While Halvdan generally shared the opinion on an ideological level it was also an established fact that the spying profession benefitted from unscrupulous corruption among other factions to a greater degree than the diplomatic profession.

When they were on their way out of the administrative wing Halvdan decided to broach the subject of tactics. There was, after all, a bit of a rather large hole in their planning.

"…so anyone can see the logic in you being our outward face and representing our main one-man battle line in an impeccable way for sure." he finished a well-thought and – in his opinion – concisely presented argument.

"Why, thanks so very much, but I'm quite sure that any enemy of not will be wanting to catch a notorious and doubtlessly soon-to-be infamous dwarven rogue before they do anything else. A grander bait – meaning of course decoy – could not be imagined."

"Come on, how am I supposed to sneak around in full plate?"

"How am I supposed to reload a crossbow with a shield in one hand?"

"You could strap it to your back."

"And you could cover yourself in a cloak."

They glared at each other in only half sincere irritation for a moment until both begun to find it hard to suppress a smile.

"Aren't we supposed to be smart enough to come up with something a little better than this crude 'tanking' thing?" Runar asked.

"Hmm, I find myself in agreement. Actually…"

"I know that look. You are cooking up something of questionable sanity and unquestionable danger to the public and society as we know it."

"I have a plan. Timed and ready to the smallest detail. We will need eight rolls of rope, two shovels and picks, one standard size barrel of nails, a smithy…



***



One load of umbral ore, six copper axes and ditto chain belts, an odd number of reports and a set of honorary picks delivered later, Runar and Halvdan pocketed another days earnings and proceeded toward their rooms at Firebrew's Inn.

"I swear, if I have to hear one more of these ridiculous requests to keep our feet on the ground… As if we would accidentally soar to the skies like kites if we weren't careful or something just as stupid."

"I think it's just a form of well wishing."

"We should buy one of those flying machines just to spite them, gyrocopters or whatever they're called." Halvdan suggested vengefully.

"Are you completely out of your mind?"

Runar did not get an answer as they both became busy with more important things such as the late dinner menu and positioning their armchairs at the optimal spot before the fireplace. The inn was a comfortable place that had so far exceeded expectations and only the outrageous prices marred the overall impression of it. The dwarves did after all have many expensive projects planned that would require substantial amounts of gold coins. These simple jobs they had been able to be entrusted with so far were not especially lucrative and combing Dun Morogh for pelts or tusks felt like something of a grind.

As Runar and Halvdan were laying into a stout serving of Loch Modan longjaw mud snapper and fried potatoes each a visitor emerged from the general crowd seated along the louder tables more to the middle of the room. It turned out to be none other than the administrator Jondor Steelbrow.

"Evening." he nodded.

"Oh, good evening master Steelbrow."

"How's the questing of yours going?"

"No wipes so far it would seem" Runar commented dryly "but my party members seem to be pulling out each and every of these sour trogg fellows of the whole forest." he continued with a grin.

"Only because my party members are too dense to actually do their jobs as hunters and track the blasted creatures." Halvdan immediately added between two bites of mud snapper filet. "But it might be just as well because at least we're more prepared than some poor merchant along the road to Thelsamaar – with all the troggs around it beats me how you manage to have any sort of regular trade going on here."

"They've certainly become a nuisance lately, and I've heard you are becoming popular among some of our shopkeepers and artisans which is all well and good of course. Although…" Steelbrow took a sip of from his tankard and scratched his ear. "…there have been some talk among the quest administrators. Some of your, ahem, tactics, are a tad bit unorthodox."

Runar and Halvdan looked at each other and then turned their equally frowning faces towards Steelbrow.

"How so?" asked Runar.

"I have been told that you are in the habit of luring troggs and such to elevated positions where you take shelter out of their reach and shoot at them from above. Very unsportsmanlike."

"Unsportsmanlike? I was under the impression that this was a military assignment, not a game! Those creatures prey on dwarves and attack on sight, I would very much like to point out."

"Yes, well, that is by all means true but there are traditions, and sense of propriety to observe here in Ironforge."

"If these nuisances are too daft to climb rocks or trees it is – or should be at least – a wonder how Ironforge could need any help at all against them. It is not our fault if troggs are to thick to climb, if that is supposed to be a fault at all. But our contracted parties pay for success and results and not any special effort invested and that is all we have to say on the matter."

"Ahem, I see… I suppose that will have to do for the time being. There is in fact a matter you could look into that might be suited to your…unusual…methods. There is a farmstead, Amberstill Ranch, with a herd of rams that has been thinning steadily these last months. Folks talk about a particularly nasty and frightening wendigo living far up the mountainside above. If you could lend a hand there are quite a few who would be grateful."



***



"Next one. Nail, please!" Halvdan called out, bent over one of the public forges in the middle of the dwarven capital. Beside him were a number of increasingly decent shaped caltrops made from four nails each, joined together in the middle so that one would always point up no matter how it fell or rolled.

"Coming!" Runar handed another nail to his friend. "But… Halvdan, isn't the point with these to always prepare the ground before we engage any nasty monster so we can lead them over the pointy area?"

"Yes."

"Then why can't we just hammer them into planks or something instead and leave them upturned in the snow?"

"Because…because…I've just gotten the hang of this, blast it!"

"And you're doing great, and I'm sure there is a blacksmithing apprenticeship with your name on it waiting somewhere, but in the interest of expediting things maybe we could modify our plans to only forge half of them into caltrops and nail the rest through some poles or something?"

"Heh, 'pole arms' again?"

"Always a sound option in the mountains during winter." Runar grinned back.

While learning a new craft, or improving an existing one, is often a joyous thing in some regard it is also just as often the result of long hours of toil and repetition. Before long, Halvdan conceded that crafting caltrops from nails was a learning experience that could suffer to be postponed for a time until he really could approach it with the dedication that the noble art of smithing deserved.

Therefore, both dwarves were soon underway with their new materials loaded on a small sled to ease transportation throught he snow. They had received a number of amused looks, as apparently the size or model was supposedly intended primarily for very young dwarves as a means of transportation downhill, but it suited their needs very well. Their backpacks would always be harder to drop at a moments notice than the handle of a sled and it was surely less cumbersome to pull the sled than carry everything on their backs. Despite the constant need to be ready for ambushes, both Runar and Halvdan felt that the realm of Khaz Modan had a somewhat lacking appreciation for the noble art of skiing and thought longingly of traversing the snowy landscape in that effective way instead.

Despite the primitive logistics they eventually found themselves greeting Rudra Amberstill who met them outside Amberstill Ranch in just a green dress despite the cold and a lantern in her hand. She needed little prompting to go into details about the fierce and hungry wendigo who lurked in the mountains above.

"We heard the cries in the middle of the night. Then this morning, sure enough, the herd was missing two rams. That dastardly beast known as Vagash has been preying on our livelihood. With most of King Magni's army off in distant lands fighting with the Alliance, there is no one to keep Vagash at bay. Perhaps you are brave enough to seek out the beast and slay him. Bring me one of his fangs and I will reward you. Vagash lurks just above the ranch here, but be warned, he is deadly."

It was late in the afternoon and she was all but happy to invite Runar and Halvdan to stay for the night for the promise of being ready in case Vagash would appear again. While neither of them slept well there was no sign of any wendigo and come morning they begun the trek upward that soon became almost a climb. They had left most of their packs at the ranch but were now just as burdened by coils of rope and bundles of pointy and unpleasant objects that were neither easy nor safe to bring with you when mountaineering.

It was not without a growing sense of worry that Runar and Halvdan studied the uncomfortably broad tracks in the snow and the ominous cave they were leading up to. Halvdan peeked out from behind a spruce – also a thing that gave rise to fond memories of another nerve-wracking expedition of the past – and took note of the cliffside with every available care before edging back to Runar.

"It could work. There are rocks near the side, and the snow is powdery. I suggest you do the work of setting it up and I scout, as I am the obvious choice as a spy when we are in enemy territory."

"I agree, but I must point out that it is apparent to anyone that it is the rangers job to keep watch when we are in the wilderness, which we indeed are."

A moment of silence followed.

"Fifty-fifty split?"

"Deal. You take the first watch."

When they were done the sun was lowering and it was well past noon. It was high time to commence their attack because none relished facing a hungry wendigo in the dark in its home territory.

Runar reluctantly made his way up towards the cave. It presented a complication that none knew exactly how deep the cave was. He had no wish at all to explore deep and dark tunnels with this kind of inhabitants waiting behind the next corner.

Hoping for the best, Runar picked up a stone and hurled it as far as he was able into the dark opening. It clattered quite noisily against the stone.

"Vagash! Eater of adorably woolly rams! Come out, ye gluttonous bastard!" he shouted and heaved another rock for good measure.

At first there was only silence as the echo of his voice slowly faded.

And then a bloodcurdling roar.

Runar nearly tripped over himself in his haste to turn on the spot and hurry as fast as possible down the slope towards the trees growing by the cliffside. As he turned around he beheld Vagash.

The monstrous creature was at least four times his height and seemed nearly as broad, with enormous horns and claws and far too notable teeth that he bared when opening his jaws to let loose another roar.

Runar took aim, and planted a crossbow bolt in Vagashs upper chest. It was not a bad shot, but it only seemed to enrage the wendigo further. Runar hurriedly dropped his crossbow and readied a long-hafted, halberd-like axe, hoping that the increased range could keep some distance between them. Unfortunately Vagash did not appear intimidated by it's blade or spear tip and barrelled into Runar who had to threw himself to the side to avoid being trampled by the charging wendigo.

Vagash turned to the side and roared again, and Runar felt his limbs grow cold as if the bitterest winter winds had all just hit him from every side. Vagash was a dark-furred beast with scars criss-crossing his massive frame all over and the stench of rotting meat reeked from his mouth. He charged again across the evenly groomed patch of powdery snow that Runar had been circling and swiped widely with his one claw which forced the dwarf to quickly duck and jump to the side to avoid the return slash.

Some distance behind them one of the snow-covered rocks rose and cast off it's cloak to reveal a dwarven rogue with half a dozen ropes in his hand.

"Now!" Runar shouted as he retreated even further back and around a deceptively even part of the snow-covered ground as fast as he could.

Vagash snarled and barreled after him.

The wendigo's heavy foot crushed right through the snow and into the pole that had been hidden underneath, a pole with nails hammered into it in every direction.

As Vagash roared another time and furiously shook the foot he had just impaled on several of the spikes to free it from the debilitating piece of wood now stuck to the foot, Halvdan pulled with all his strength on the six snares also hidden underneath the snow, overlapping so that every part of the spot next to the nailed poles was covered.

Vagash had stepped right into one and distracted as he was by the state of his other foot, or simply too wrathful over the puny bearded things audacity, he was not quick enough to prevent Halvdan from pulling the snare taut and hurry towards the cliffside and the opposite ends of the ropes. He would perhaps have rushed after Halvdan if not Runar had stepped forward to distract him with a quick slash against his paw.

Just as Vagash was about to retaliate a sudden tug made him lose his balance. Halvdan had pushed the rock tied thoroughly to the other end of one of the ropes, ropes which were also tied together, and proceeded to push the next one over the edge. They were all positioned so that each rock would help drag the one closest to it down the cliff and for each one that Halvdan kicked over the cliffs edge Vagash was more and more firmly yanked, until he lost his footing completely and was dragged backwards, clawing at the snow, by the weight of all six boulders hanging from his ankle. Runar and Halvdan rushed in to strike at Vagash's arms and paws until the strength of the great wendigo failed him and he slid over the edge to tumble down the steep mountainside below.

Panting, Runar and Halvdan looked at each other.

"Well, as Jondor Steelbrow would say, if we pull it, we tank it…" Runar huffed.

Halvdan let out a despairing sigh and hid his face in his palm.

It was only then that they realised the slight flaw in their otherwise successful plan. How would they now acquire one of Vagash's fangs?

The trek down the mountain was profoundly easier than up without the hindering amount of field fortification materials they had been forced to drag with them, but the prospect of having nothing to show for their efforts did dampen their spirits. There was no telling where Vagash's broken carcass would have ended up and if any fang was still at all salvageable.

However, when they arrived at Amberstill Ranch, Rudra laughed heartily at them as she ushered them in to share a most welcome dinner after a long day climbing in the snow.

"Hah! Think nothing of it, the whole valley heard him crashing down the mountainside if they didn't see it! And now we can skin the beast for the fur and mount his ugly head over the hearth. Very well done! Veron will be so happy when he hears the good news. To kill Vagash is no easy task. I imagine one day you'll be fighting alongside King Magni's men on the Alliance Front."

Runar and Halvdan privately found Rudra Amberstills idea of decorations of somewhat questionable taste, but her cooking was on the other hand unquestionably tasty.



***



Halvdan slowly pushed an oversnowed birch a little out of the way to view the sparse encampment below. He sometimes found it peculiar how all camps and dwellings seemed to be so conveniently situated for spying on them. Cover form the wind was of course always desirable but why did it not go hand in hand with cover from sight?

Him and Runar had spent the better part of an hour crawling through a series of low hills and ridges with flaring white cloaks draped over them and snow in their mouths. Especially the latter had made him bloody cold by now. He supposed it was still less uncomfortable than taking a spear through the skull from someone ahead of them.

Marginally, at least.

Halvdan signed quietly to Runar to fall back, who nodded and matched Halvdan's sluggish crawl back from the top of the ridge. Halvdan spat out his serving of "a scout's lunch" as the dwarven term was for the snow you chewed on to keep the breath cool and leaned back against the slope. He felt stiff and slow after the uncomfortable crawl.

"So these things really are trolls…" he mused.

"Yes. Not like home." Runar remarked thoughtfully.

"Not like home. When they wanted to send us against a camp of troll brigands I thought it was a bad idea of a joke or that someone had had way too much ale… Things are so different here sometimes."

"Not like the ghostly elves or anything, right? Those are completely every-day."

"Don't even think about calling A…them everyday, you diplomatic disaster." Halvdan admonished absent-mindedly. "But trolls that aren't large and thickheaded is the height of nonsensical things. I mean, what's next, green orcs?"

"Who knows, kind-hearted red dragons maybe? Those tusks look a bit nasty, though."

"How can they eat like that?"

"How may did you see?"

"Five."

"Where was the fifth?"

"The tree to the right of the fire. They're keeping watch. We need to approach from the pines to the west I think."

"Five is a bit many. How about if we could persuade them to each wait for their turn before hacking us to pieces, if things go badly?"

"And how exactly, oh master of negotiations, are we supposed to achieve that diplomatic feat after said things have gone badly?"

"Pointed arguments and webs of intrigue."

After a cold lunch fit for other dwarves than extremely stoic scouts Runar and Halvdan made a wide sweep around to approach from the lower ground west of the trolls' encampment. The Dun Morogh pines were relatively low and bushy, forming a snowy maze. There were plenty of spots to hide in, for good or ill.

"Here." Runar determined. "This is a good lane, we have a clear line of sight but it's not too wide."

"It will get ugly real fast here. For once I vote for heavy armour."

"For once I will agree."

"Alright then."

They got to work creating a half circle of unpleasant surprises hidden from view as best as possible until only the chosen approach of Runar was left. Even there the dwarves discreetly left a trail of spike traps in the snow on one side.

"Make sure you stay on track. You know I would never let you live it down if you stepped on one of your own traps…" Halvdan said cheerfully as he pulled down his wool-lined helmet.

"Be ready to move over when I get back, it wouldn't do if I had to waste time kicking you out of the way." Runar muttered and went going towards the open ground outside the canopy of the trees.

Halvdan strained to register every sound. Despite their constant jabs about baits and distractions he never was and never had been comfortable with staying hidden while Runar exposed himself to danger out of his sight. Too many images of roots and stones under the snow floated before him, of boots that got caught and spears and arrows that tore into the exposed neck between the helmet and the shield Runar carried strapped to his back.

In the distance there was a distinct sound of talking but Halvdan could not quite make out the words. At first.

"…Usurper! Stealer! Thief!" It was a strange variation of Common, gnarly and uneven somehow.

"Please, can we talk about this!" Runar's voice was rapidly coming closer.

"Murder-thing!"

There was Runar, running as fast as any dwarf in heavy mail could before five fur-clad Frostmane trolls. They carried spears and axes and looked altogether fierce enough to make up for what they lacked in size. Runar nearly crashed into their small free path while Halvdan took aim and shot the foremost troll in the shoulder which made him cry out and roll to the side. The rest spread out as the experienced hunters they were but among the dense pines they ran into the web of ropes that crisscrossed the entire place and underneath those lurked a multitude of various spike traps and caltrops buried under a thin layer of snow. Angry shouts and curses in a strange language resounded but the largest of them howled a battle cry and charged through the narrow passage directly towards the dwarves. It wasn't long before he had treaded on a spiked log and Runar and Halvdan had each put a quarrel through his chest. By now the rest of the trolls had begun to cut their way through the ropes, hobbling but furious.

"This way!" Halvdan called out.

He and Runar ran left and surprised the outmost of their hunters who had been about to climb over and under the impeding ropes. The trolls displayed impressive agility despite their crippling injuries and after they had succeeded with a surprising slash at the leftmost, the rest of the pack were bursting and cuting through the defenses and throwing themselves at the dwarves. Runar and Halvdan fought close together with Halvdan at the front with hammer and shield and Runar behind with his longer axe. Their mail and helmets took several hits but the craftsmanship withstood the test. After two more trolls had fallen the remaining two, one with the first bold embedded in the shoulder, ran and Runr and Halvdan breathed out. The chaotic battle had been short, far shorter than it felt.

"All…all in one piece?" Runar grunted.

"Uh, yeah…but next time we're building a tower to defend instead…"

Halvdan led their advance out of the forest. There was no sign of the remaining trolls as they were searching the encampment.

Runar was leaning over an upturned crate next to the campfire. He took hold of it with unusual care for moving such a thing.

Underneath was a small pile of bones, and the saddest thing Halvdan had seen since arriving in Khaz Modan. A reddish-brown squirrel, terrified and in pain, dragging itself frantically away from them on its front paws and one leg, the other bent at a very, very wrong place.

"Keep watch!" Runar commanded while he threw his gauntlets to the ground and fumbled with his girdle of potions. Neither of them had been unfortunate enough to have to try out these brews for themselves.

Runar scooped up the squirrel with one hand as gently as he could with the frightened creature struggling to get away and biting his thumb viciously in the process. Runar somehow managed to produce his wooden mug and pour a little of the potion into it, but it proved useless as the squirrel would not even deign to look and much less drink.

"I'm sorry, but you've got to get this in you somehow…" Runar mumbled apologetically and poured the vials contents over and into the squirrels mouth. It sputtered and twisted but suddenly, as if it had just caught a trace of a delicious taste, it started to lap and gulp down as much as it could of the red liquid.

"Halvdan…look…" Runar whispered.

The bent leg…straightened itself. A tiny creaking, and the squirrel raised its head in confusion at its now mended leg. It was painfully obvious how it relaxed and thrived from no longer feeling the pain and the sight was utterly heart wrenching.

Runar slowly lowered the squirrel to the ground, but it no longer thrashed to get away and if anything was curling up and holding on to his sleeve.

"He must think he will be hurting again if you put him down." Halvdan realised. "Poor thing. I'll go look for some pine cones or something."

The deeply frozen pine cones Halvdan could find did not interest the squirrel in the least.

"It's got to be too much bother in this cold. How about some bread?" Runar suggested.

"What would you like, normal bread or corrupted one with raisins and nuts?" Halvdan asked, and presented a piece of each alternative. He could see the nose twitch and the squirrel raised its head in the direction of the latter.

"Haha! A fellow of exquisite taste, wouldn't you say?" Runar declaimed in a smug voice.

"Bread with raisins is still a twisted idea." Halvdan protested, but not very sincerely.

"You're just uncultured. Looks like he likes it. Ha! Overruled! Bread with raisins rule the day!"

After he'd had his fill of their provisions, Runar tried to put the squirrel back on the ground. But he wouldn't move and buried his claws deep into the dwarf's sleeve and pressed himself flat against it.

Runar frowned a little.

"We're happy to help, but we need to go now." he tried. "Our home isn't very, ahem, homey, not a tree in sight anywhere and I don't think any other squirrels live there…"

"Either your squirrelish needs work or you seem to have gained an ally, or vassal even. Or maybe he considers you to have accepted vassalage?" Halvdan smirked.

"But we can't keep a squirrel… Or can we?" Runar hesitated. He actually hesitated a lot as he looked down on the tiny creature clinging to his arm.

"We're not keeping anyone, we're letting him tag along if he wants to. Heck, for all we know the trolls could have caught him miles away and he'll be lost in the cold without a nest and food if we leave him now."

Runar knelt and shouldered his backpack again, careful not to pinch any paw or tail underneath the straps. He then raised his arm and placed the squirrel on his left shoulder.

"Onward then, to discover all the nuts of Ironforge!"

The squirrel squeaked enthusiastically.

Halvdan half expected their new companion to bolt anywhere along the trek back to Ironforge but by the evening the three of them passed under the massive vaults and into the bustling Commons closest to the main entrance. Vendors were packing up the days merchandise here and there and packs of restless children would usually skirt the premises on the hunt for snacks and melon juice or other life's necessities. Runar and Halvdan had learned far too late to keep up a discreet appearance in that company and were as usual quickly swarmed.

"What is that?"

"It's a squirrel, you dunce."

"You moron."

"Now, now, please don't start another war of three hammers…" Runar yawned. "We rescued him from a band of trolls earlier and he followed us home."

"Is he your animal companion?"

"Did they break his legs?"

Halvdan frowned. How did they know that?

"Trolls take small beasts alive, and then they break their legs so they can't run and get all frightened, and then it makes them wet themselves and then afterwards the trolls eat them alive when they are still warm. Mom says they will eat my little brother if we stay out after dark." one of the young dwarves explained solemnly.

"No they won't! They will eat you instead!"

Halvdan thought of the overturned crate and the bones in the troll encampment and felt slightly sick. Did trolls around here really do that? What happened to just biting the head off everyone like a decent cave troll back home?

"What was that about an animal companion?"

A girl of maybe ten winters looked at him like it was the stupidest question ever asked in the history of Azeroth.

"A hunter has an animal companion." she lectured. "A big and strong animal that can track and guard him and such. Like a bear or a lynx or a wolf or something. Not a squirrel. That is dumb."

"Oh, I don't know…" Runar grinned. "What if this is secretly a Miniature Giant Space Squirrel, for example?"

The doubtful look he got in return did not speak highly of the credibility of that idea.

"Did you know, I actually had a squirrel years ago for a time. Sort of. Halvdan here was turned into one when we fought against a wicked wizard who had imprisoned a green fairy's little sister in a great jar of glass. They can be such nuisances sometimes... The rogue squirrels I mean. Wicked wizards too of course, for that matter."

"Yes, so long as you can refrain from feeding this one into the jaws of a hungry wolf like last time you should be doing great." Halvdan remarked acidly.

"Don't be like that, they only tossed you around a bit and then you got to toss them when you were returned to dwarf form." Runar dismissed the criticism. "And yes, I suppose he is my animal companion now and helps us negotiate." He offered the squirrel a nut. "This is what you call a trade rights agreement."

"More like an alliance in exchange for tribute." Halvdan snickered.

No matter the terminology, the children wished to see Runar's new animal companion at work and promptly decided that everyone should follow him and Halvdan back to Firebrew's Inn.

"Make him woo Gwenna so she gives us melon juice!"

"Woo Gwenna!"

"Woo Gwenna!"

Gwenna Firebrew was the barmaid of the inn. She was busying herself with wiping a set of tankards when Runar and Halvdan and their tail of followers entered.

"What have they put you up to?" she asked at once while absently scratching the squirrels ear.

"Blackmail and extortion, my lady." Runar promptly admitted.

"Let me guess, melon juice again is it?" Gwenna sighed as the squirrel leapt down on the bar and looked around and up into her eyes. Halvdan almost thought it looked like he tilted his head. "Alright then, but only one mug each!" She tried to sound stern but the corners of her mouth twitched when the horde of young dwarves rushed forward and lined up before the bar.

"Great woo!" they congratulated.

"Voo? Is that what they call you?" Gwenna asked as she handed the squirrel a couple of nuts. "Now remove those dreamy eyes from my bar before he makes me give away the entire larder." she told Runar.

Runar picked the content squirrel up and scratched his neck.

"That's my boy, go for the eyes Voo."



***



It was evening in Dalaran. Rhonin was reclining in his bed with Vereesa's head cradled in his arms. She almost appeared to be sleeping.

"There weren't any news today either, unfortunately."

It had become a dreary nighttime ritual of theirs. Rhonin would report how he had still no news about Vereesa's sister or about any concrete plans of the Kirin Tor to investigate the matter or to contact any other faction that might know more or to do anything at all in response to the introductory letter he had delivered what seemed like endless months ago despite being closer to two. Vereesa would report her shameful and unacceptable lack of energy and inability to do her part for her fellow elves in the city despite her privileged position as ranger captain and wife to a high ranking Kirin Tor mage.

Rhonin knew today had been a bad day.

There had been many bad days lately.

"The Scarlet Crusaders are not too talkative. I actually don't know for sure if they keep secrets from us or if they actually don't know. I get the feeling of some sort of disarray among them but then again they were not very stable people to begin with."

"Thank you for trying, love. I know you do all you can." Vereesa whispered.

Rhonin stroked along her eyebrow with the hand that was not holding up her head.

"I'm so sorry I can't be of any help to you." Vereesa continued. "I'm not of any help to anyone."

"Stop apologising."

"If I can't apologise to you then to who should I apologise! I'm useless."

"You are not useless, you're enduring magic withdrawal and the greatest grief of millennia." Rhonin protested vehemently. "And so is Spitzamina and all the others and if anyone has anything to say about it, it will be my pleasure to turn them into toads. Knobbly ones. With warts. And three eyes."

Vereesa sniffed, something that may have counted as a sad laugh these days.

"What is wrong with people anyway who expect someone to let things like that just slide? Are we just pieces on someone's chessboard? Dibs on being a rook by the way."

Vereesa had once gifted Rhonin with a very finely crafted set of pieces, with mounted archmagi as knights, mage towers as rooks and so on. Rhonin had loved it and to this day he could become distracted by the masterly craftsmanship in the middle of a game, and his own creative ideas of how the pieces could be enchanted to enhance the immersion of the game. Vereesa had strictly forbidden any such experiments at home after listening to some of those ideas.

Vereesa moved a little.

"I'm so tired, Rhonin. So tired." Her voice was not exactly a whisper but it was so dreadfully heavy somehow. As if every word was made of lead. "I can't help my rangers anymore, or their close ones. I have no ideas. I can't think of anything."

Rhonin had long since run out of counter-arguments to that. And he felt very much the same most days. What was the point of being an archmage if your magic couldn't do anything to ease your wife's suffering? He would trade every knowledge of every spell he knew for something that helped against this bottomless lethargy and, more and more, melancholy of Vereesa.

"Sylvanas always did her best to look out for everyone. Every single ranger. She would have known what to do."



***



Throughout their travels, Runar and Halvdan had faced many intimidating sights. But the vast throng now arrayed before them could give pause to the bravest of champions.

"I was thinking…" Halvdan began.

"You were?! The time of wonders has not yet come to an end!"

"That comment is an annoying and immature habit unbecoming of any diplomat worth the title. Yes, I was thinking that if you could pull your wits out of your backside for a minute, should we try to find the same colours and patterns for all or should we vary them?"

"Ah, yeah…team colour versus individual tastes?"

Halvdan nodded.

"Hm, to start with, do we even know their, ah, favourite colour? I mean, what if dark red is universally considered deeply offensive for instance?"

"I guess scarlet is out of the question at least…"

"Yeah, that would be pretty embarrassing… Besides, maybe it would be prudent to not have something uniform that could look like some inner circle marker or similar thing for a select few either?"

"Fair point, we'll go with varying colours then. Might be a good thing actually to encourage people to remember to be individuals and not just a bunch of fiends lumped together. So, I scour the stalls to the right and you the ones to the left and we meet up then?"

Runar watched the Loch Modan autumn market ominously. Vast swathes of a labyrinth of market stalls spread out before them and seemingly uncountable hordes of shouting vendors and elbowing buyers.

"Good luck. See you on the other side."

"If I fall, save yourself."

Even for an experienced spy, the mission presented substantial complications. Halvdan had to use every bit of his slyness and agility to avoid being bumped into, having his toes stepped on or becoming the target or various pieces of greasy or sticky, but doubtlessly tasty, pieces of food and refreshments that were dropped or spilled by an overenthusiastic visitor.

It was especially paramount that the spoils of their effort would not be, so to say, despoiled in such a manner. It would not do to send anything but the finest.

After nearly an hour of gruelling wandering among decorated cups, newly sharpened pickaxes, jars of eleven variants of marmalade and forests of knitted shirts Runar and Halvdan rendezvoused on the other side inspecting the fruits of their labours and lightened purses in Thelsamar's thriving tavern. The finest wool that Khaz Modan could produce lay neatly folded in a sturdy wooden box before them, in a dozen different colours and square-like patterns.

"So…time to finally put this postal service of presumably legendary reputation to the test." Runar concluded.

"With all the extra fees and tips we have invested it had better deliver." Halvdan muttered.

Runar snorted. "Deliver..."

"Yes, yes, and I am sure the couriers need to be armoured in mail too and whatever… By the way, we should write something. Apart from the report I mean. Like a gift card."

"To my dark sweetheart Alina whose eyes put the reddest of roses to shame…" Runar pretended to recite until Halvdan's boot connecting with his shin put an end to any further poetic obnoxiousness.

"Kindly leave sensitive matters in the hands of the professionals. And it's supposed to be addressed to all of them, in case you've forgotten."

"Right."

As the sun was setting outside and Voo constructed a nest among dwarven mittens, Runar joined Halvdan in earnest in finding a suitable phrase that would move hearts that no longer beat.

"…maybe something other than 'warm'? Gentle?..."

"…no, 'warm' is good, don't change that…"

"…'in a world that offers too few'…"

Runar: I am obviously a ranger, that hunter thing is just a formal technicality to appease the Khaz Modan bureaucracy.
Halvdan: But of course. Why is Voo pointing at that purple dye all the time, though?

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 14: Ears and Embraces

Jaina makes herself at home, or more precisely the dark rangers make her at home, while Sylvanas returns to work. The previous chapter is obviously spread out over a longer period of time and in essence shows some of what the dwarves have been up to during the Forsaken's maritime endeavours. The story now returns to the Undercity and the present situation.

This chapter is mostly pleasant but has some references to implied domestic abuse, and the Scarlet Crusade are being, I suppose, themselves.

Magically warded dungeons actually appear in the Frozen Throne campaign in Dalaran, so it's not unreasonable that the other kingdoms would have similar areas. Where else would they keep unruly sorceresses who had gone on a polymorphing spree?

The Forsaken set sail late in the summer and their journey took about a month so it is now early autumn, around the later half of September.

And dark ranger Lyana does actually canonically quite like spiders.

Click to shrink...

"…not until you give me reason to, little mage..."

Anya realised too late that perhaps she should have waited a moment longer before entering, but on the other hand she wasn't sure whether time was essential or not. And she also didn't quite like the raised voices a moment earlier. It should have been no trouble for any decent elven ear to pick up, but the echoing stone walls of the dungeons distorted sound a lot and it seemed the arcane warding muffled it to some extent too.

Sylvanas turned on the spot when Anya came in and stood at attention. She had a feeling that this was one of the moments when the Dark Lady might need to stand on ceremony. To her relief Sylvanas looked irritated, certainly, but also relieved and maybe even a little bit amused.

"Lieutenant Eversong, I need to find Kalira and Varimathras. You have the watch over Lady Proudmoore. Ensure her safety and comfort while I am gone." Sylvanas ordered.

Anya saluted her.

"I have sent the other squad out to gather food and water, they are instructed to return before nightfall, Dark Lady."

"Very good. Once things have returned to order I will assign a mage I trust to conjure water and basic refreshments at your convenience." Sylvanas turned to the mage. "Until later, Lady Proudmoore."

"Until later, Da…Lady Windrunner."

When Sylvanas passed by Anya there definitely was something in her eyes and in Lady Proudmoore's that Anya had a hard time placing. At least they didn't seem to have been arguing, or if they had it must have been short.

And Lady Proudmoore was finally here and she was safe and sound and that was really what mattered for the time being.

Anya looked closer at her. She seemed a little absent somehow, but maybe that was just tiredness after the ordeals of the latest days.

"So now I am in your custody again, lieutenant Eversong. Is this where you tell me to 'be good' while you are keeping watch?" Lady Proudmoore asked with a strange small smile. Anya could not tell if she was ironic or vacant.

"You're always good to us, Lady Proudmoore, whether anyone tells you to or not." Anya answered without thinking. It earned her an amused look and the mage shook her head a little.

"Anya, are the others outside?"

"Lyana, Clea and Kitala. The rest are foraging."

"If it's alright, could you ask them to come in? I have something I want to say."

Anya whistled, and the three other rangers were inside in a blink.

"I…I'm very sorry for putting all of you in danger out there. It was irresponsible of me to act the way I did outside the keep."

There was a short silence, until Kitala burst out laughing.

"That was hilarious! 'Cold feet'…" she snickered.

"I think you handled it well. I would probably have put an arrow through his knee…" Clea whispered.

"You're not…angry with me?"

Anya was suddenly quite sure she could guess what Sylvanas and Lady Proudmoore had been talking about before she entered, and what Sylvanas had had to say about it.

"Lady Proudmoore" Anya said gently "you stood up for every dark ranger out there. None of us are going to be angry with you for that."

"You all formed up around me like that, instantly. You were all so protective, even though I'm not even Forsaken. Would…would you have fought hundreds of your own people over me?" She sounded like she couldn't believe that.

"Thousands."

"Nobody touches our mage." Lyana said with conviction.

"I will tell the others that you apologised, but I don't think anyone can be bothered to think less of you. But do warn us beforehand next time please, Lady Proudmoore." Anya smiled. "I will want to grab a seat with a good view."

"I really hope there won't be any next time but I promise I will. And thank you for…guarding me."

"Rangers, attention!" Anya called out and felt herself brimming with eagerness. They were actually going to do this. "We're going to clean up this hovel. Clea and Kitala, your first priority is bedrolls and blankets. After that, find me a couple of tents or tent canvas, preferably one of them smaller, and iron pegs that we can hammer into the walls to suspend them. Lyana, find me a brazier or something similar. The nights are getting chilly. Leave your cloaks here in the meantime – no, Lady Proudmoore, I will have no argument. We don't feel the cold but you do and down here you can't use your magic to help you."

"Well, you're right about that. I can't feel my mana. That is certainly strange."

Anya was very sure that "strange" was a polite way of saying "unsettling".

The dungeon was slightly below ground level and actually had a small opening set with multiple layers of iron bars. It did little to let in light but it did let in air and that was the most important thing. As far as Anya knew Lordaeron had handed most of it's magically gifted prisoners over to Dalaran, and seemed to in the meantime have treated them marginally better than average.

"We will set up a tent for you to sleep in to conserve your warmth, and one other to serve as your bathroom for now. In time it may be possible to tear out a portion of the wall and use the adjoining cell for that purpose. Later I also hope we can replace the brazier with a proper fireplace, and find some rugs for the floor. In the worst case we will heat up stones somewhere else and bring them in to warm your water and bed if nothing else. The door need not necessarily be closed all the time so ventilation should not pose a problem."

Anya realised that she might be getting slightly ahead of herself. Lady Proudmoore was looking at her with clear amusement. But she also looked happier than she had for days and that was worth everything.

"You are a strange dungeon keeper to offer to leave the door open, aren't you, Anya?"

"I think it would be fine if there are a couple of rangers with you inside – and I intend for it to always be two on guard. Or, if you would consent to be shackled to some sort of chain so that you couldn't run off I assume that would be enough of a safeguard for us to afford you some privacy without having to lock you up, Lady Proudmoore."

Lady Proudmoore tilted her head and looked at her so much like Velonara that it was downright eerie.

"Are you planning to chain me to the wall, lieutenant Eversong? Surely you would not be so harsh on a poor archmage?"

Belore, even the overly sweet voice was right.

"N-no, of course not, Lady Proudmoore. Not like that."

"Not like how?" the mage asked innocently.

"Not in any way that would make you uncomfortable. Though perhaps we will need to tie you to your bed from time to time to make sure that you actually get the rest you need." she added thoughtfully. "You are at times nearly as stubborn as the Dark Lady in your dedication to your tasks, Lady Proudmoore."

The mage laughed, and dead or not Anya's heart soared at the sound.

"Do you tie her to her bed as well?"

"Maybe I should have…" Anya muttered, too low to be clearly audible.

"Pardon?"

"Just something I remembered..."

"Well, while I appreciate the thoughtfulness, if it's alright I would very much prefer the company of dark rangers to that of chains and trust in the privacy of those tents you spoke of. So…where do you need a mana-less mage positioned, lieutenant Eversong?"

That was a good question. Anya hadn't spent too much time thinking about it, but what was Lady Proudmoore supposed to actually do in her waking time?

"So long as we aren't playing hide-and-seek we can do whatever you feel like, Lady Proudmoore." Anya said flippantly but immediately thought that it sounded extremely stupid. There was nothing in the room except a few bales of half-rotted straw in a corner that had served as a poor excuse for a bed. Anya was going to throw those out at the first available opportunity.

"No, I promise I do not want to hide from you, Anya." Lady Proudmoore suddenly had such a serious and sincere expression. Anya would bet her last arrow that there was something deeper that she was right now missing completely. "Since there doesn't seem to be much else to do right now I will take your subtle hint and get some rest all by myself. You'll have to tie me up some other time." the mage yawned and headed for the straw bed with the four ranger cloaks in hand.

"Do you want to be alone, Lady Proudmoore? I can keep watch by the door if you prefer it."

"No." Lady Proudmoore said in a low voice. "If it's all the same to you I would very much not like to be alone today."

As Anya helped Lady Proudmoore arrange two cloaks as bedsheets and the other two as blankets she almost wanted to tell her exactly how much it was not all the same to her. Right now, there was no other place on Azeroth where she would rather be than beside a bed of straw in a dimly lit dungeon beneath the Lordaeron Keep.



***



Sylvanas had found Kalira.

She was starting to wish that she hadn't.

"…so we have been pushed back to nearly within sight from the city walls or what's left of them. If it wasn't before, the Scourge is organised now. I have recalled our forces to prepare for a siege rather than attempt to hold territory for the sake of it, but that unfortunately means that the Scourge may be fortifying their positions close to us and assemble more of their local forces."

Kalira held nothing back, neither sugar coating nor exaggerating the things she had to say. Sylvanas knew that well enough. So when she did deliver bad news they came with a special weight to them.

Kalira's briefing was a summary, a quick overview of the developments of the last month. Sylvanas would have an imposing stack of reports to go through in detail later to absorb every excruciating aspect of their current predicament.

It was a mess.

Their diversion against the Scarlet Crusade had worked out well enough but the Scourge had missed the memorandum about nicely sitting still and letting it all play out before their bloodshot eyes. While the Forsaken exposed themselves to set the woods in the east aflame the Scourge launched an all-out attack from the south. Kalira had called for a retreat and conserved their manpower, but at the cost of territory painstakingly gained and kept. Sylvanas agreed with the decision though, it was the right call in Kalira's situation and she had been ordered to hold on first and foremost in preparation for Sylvanas' return and the good news that had been supposed to come with it.

While the Forsaken would not starve in the normal sense they needed herbs for the apothecaries' medicaments, raw materials for construction and metal for their blacksmiths. Without those their capabilities would diminish over time.

"What about the unrest among our people?" Sylvanas inquired.

"I believe you saw most of it at the keep."

"That was more than enough. I can not afford those kinds of spontaneous outbursts of idiocy. Gathering hundreds in a spot in the open like that is practically begging for someone to sneak artillery or a good spellcaster a little too close to the city. I need details."

"I see." Kalira paused for a moment. "I did not expect the reaction, not at that scale. So it stands to reason that I am not the best source of information about the sentiments of our people outside of the rangers. I think you should ask those questions to Varimathras."

Were it someone else, Sylvanas' might have had second thoughts about whether they were trying to dodge an uncomfortable question.

"I will have to do that, then."

Sylvanas' mind sorted through the information Kalira had given her and what to do next, what things could wait and what required her immediate attention, who she should speak to next and what she would have to inspect personally.

"I am putting Areiel back in charge of the rangers, report to her and resume command of your squadron for the time being."

"It shall be, Dark Lady."

"And Kalira…"

Kalira looked up.

"Thank you for holding the Undercity for us."

Kalira nodded, but remained on the spot.

"Is there something else?"

"Sylvanas… I am sorry."

Sylvanas froze. Kalira never, never used her first name when on duty.

"The Scarlets cut us off when we retreated in the smoke. They had paladins."

Kalira's voice had become hollow.

"I lost Cyndia."



***



Jaina woke up a couple of hours later, or so she would have guessed, and the rest of the day was a blur of activity. Clea and Kitala had moved a humongous pile of encampment materials to the middle of the room and Lyana had somehow managed to scrounge up not only a sooty iron brazier from a ruined tavern somewhere outside the city, but also a rusted pipe that they would be able to rig as a makeshift chimney through the bars of the window with only a few more unlikely feats of scavenging.

Anya's misplaced sense of propriety prevented Jaina – who apparently technically counted as a guest – from helping out with sweeping the floor, but she would not be turned away from rigging the tents and all rangers present did after all know from firsthand experience that she was at least as good as them with ropes and knots. Since she was not allowed to help out with the cleaning Jaina busied herself with arranging the bedrolls into a fairly luxurious floor bed for herself. She would sleep under the larger tent which acted as a canopy of sorts, placed close to the wall to catch the reflected heat from the brazier in front. All in all Jaina thought the setup mostly reminded her of an indoor tent castle she had helped Tandred build in his room when he was five.

With the unpleasant straw bales gone, the floor reasonably clean and a fire and some lanterns scattered to illuminate it, her dark dungeon felt like an entirely new room. Or technically rooms, she corrected herself, with all due respect to the efforts of putting up the smaller bathroom tent and the barrel of water beside it, coupled with the most precious clay bowl that was only a little dented. Anya had promised that she knew how to procure soap, but that it would take a little while.

Lyana and Clea had brought her some boiled roots and a few roasted rodents that Jaina thought looked like rats but decided not to ask about. Kitala had assured her that the other ranger squadron was still further out to hunt or fish in Lordamere Lake and Jaina's mood improved as she recounted all the sweetwater species of fish she knew to be found in Lordaeron while she downed her late lunch, or early dinner.

After she had eaten, Anya and Lyana left in search of more furniture and materials in accordance with Anya's extensive and specific plans. She was really being serious about renovating the keep's dungeons, Jaina noted.

Without anything else to occupy her mind with, Jaina had set herself a goal to at least take the opportunity in earnest to improve her Thalassian. When Clea and Kitala noted her aspirations they proved to be encouraging and enthusiastic teachers. Almost a little too enthusiastic, Jaina found herself thinking.

"You speak Thalassian like a book, Lady Proudmoore." Kitala commented without mercy.

"I am an archmage after all and therefore a licensed book-maggot…"

"Bookworm."

"…bookworm, so I must have drained it to the roots then. And as a matter of fact your Common is outdated by far." Jaina added snidely.

Kitala eyed her suspiciously.

"Quite ancient." Jaina continued. "There are cobwebs hanging from your adverbs and the dust is thickening on top of your intonation." She nodded sagely while trying to keep a straight face.

"How fortunate then that we are in civilised company and don't have to resort to the languages of barbarians and fools." Kitala huffed in such a perfectly snobbish Thalassian that Jaina's mask cracked at once.

"Seriously though" she continued once she had managed to get her giggles under control "shouldn't we teach each other then? You don't actually want to sound like grandmothers every time you address someone without pointy ears, do you?"

That hit home, she could tell.

"I can not talk loud, remember?" Clea's whisper reminded her.

"Come closer then." Jaina countered without hesitation and moved to sit down right next to Clea with Kitala on her other side. "Now, to start with I would recommend Professor Proudmoore's Introductory Course to Dalaran Slang, after which we will tackle Kul Tiran Sea Shanties for Beginners."

Both rangers were chuckling.

"And you, Lady Proudmoore, need to practice speaking Thalassian like you really mean it." Clea informed.

"How do you mean?" Jaina frowned.

"Speaking from your own heart and not only reading the words on a paper written by someone else." Kitala interjected. "Thalassian is more than it's words, it is melody and emotion. The wish to convey what you feel and not just what you say." She shifted to sit in front of Jaina and facing her. "Now, think of something nice to say to someone and try to focus on how it makes you feel to say it instead of the actual words."

Jaina thought she was getting what Kitala meant. It was just that she didn't think herself a very spontaneous person.

"Oh. Alright…" Jaina tried her best to concentrate on something suitable but it was hard to focus with Kitala's large eyes boring into her. "Kitala, you have very cute ears and I wish you were my cat." Jaina finally blurted out.

Right.

Great work, Jaina. A really suave and subtle example of Dalaran humour.

Clea burst out laughing. It was a bit of an odd experience since she did not make any more sound than a suppressed chuckle but her body shook with mirth all the same. But Kitala didn't so much as smile, and Jaina realised that she had managed to say something much worse than a silly or awkward compliment.

"Ear."

Kitala's tone felt so wrong all of a sudden. Stiff and just so devoid of emotion that she had instructed Jaina a moment ago that her language was not supposed to be.

"I'm sorry?" Jaina felt completely lost.

"Ear. Ears is the plural."

"Yes, I meant both. Mean." She suddenly caught on. "Because they are both cute."

"I see…"

"Kitala, please, what's the matter? What did I do wrong?"

"Nothing." Kitala sighed. "You did nothing wrong. Just…"

She shrugged.

Clea leaned over Jaina to take hold of Kitala's arm.

"Why don't you go and check on the corridor outside a bit? It's been a while since we had a look."

Kitala nodded and looked resigned as she rose and went outside. Jaina turned to Clea, now desperately wanting to know what it was all about.

"Clea, I'm so sorry but I can't figure out what I did that was so wrong. I always seem to make a mess out of things when I'm with you two. And I can never leave Kitala's ear alone. Is that the thing? I'm bothering her by always coming back to her ears, aren't I?"

What a nice way to repay someone who had stepped between herself and an angry mob the very same day.

"Lady Proudmoore, come and sit with me." Clea whispered softly. When Jaina leaned back against the wall next to her Clea gently pulled her closer and Jaina let herself be guided to sit down between Clea's spread legs and lean back against the dark ranger.

"First, you do not make a mess out of things when you're with us, or at least only slightly more than we do just as good on our own." It was actually very convenient to sit like this so that Clea was just about talking right into her ear. And…a lot more comfortable than leaning against the stone wall. "But is it possible that you actually do like Kitala's ears a little bit? Because you are a little fixated with them at times."

Jaina wondered if she could somehow will herself to turn into some sort of formless water elemental and quietly drip away through the cracks in the floor. She felt incredibly stupid, and far too warm.

"Maybe..." she whispered as quietly as Clea.

"Well, good. Then you did speak from your heart like Kitala asked you to, didn't you? But it might take a while before Kitala believes that."

"But why? Does she think I've been lying to her about something?"

"Don't be stupid, Lady Proudmoore, of course she doesn't."

Clea was silent for some time.

"What do you think happened to Kitala's left ear?" she asked slowly.

"Not sure, I suppose I'd guess a troll did it? A hungry lynx?"

"No. Elf."

Jaina stiffened and Clea sighed, or at least slumped a little as if she did.

"There was someone very close to Kitala, so close that you should be able to trust him or her without a second thought, that treated her very badly. That was before she was my ranging partner or in the same squadron. This person would keep telling her how useless and worthless she was and what a failure she was in everything she attempted. And it got to Kitala, deeply. At that time, she wasn't a great ranger and she did fail in some things that she took very hard, so she did not exactly need someone berating her further."

Clea shifted a little behind Jaina.

"She didn't share it with anyone. I understand she was too ashamed of herself and her situation, or she didn't trust anyone to treat her decently if she came clean. But being a ranger without fully trusting one another is hard. It didn't work out, and things escalated. Kitala and some of her squadmates got into fights. She got drunk, and made herself known as unruly and outright mean. Eventually she resigned. She made a living as a guard for hire – boring, lonely and thankless assignments where she had all the time in the world to brood and blame herself. And without the ranger exercises and patrols she had no respite from this other person. Kitala started drinking more and more and this person, well, didn't stop at abusing her verbally by that time."

"No…"

"Then there was one night when things got especially ugly and this person beat Kitala badly, and put a knife to her ear, telling her all the time how ridiculous she would look with half an ear and how everyone would either laugh or be repulsed by her. Ears are a prominent thing for us, it won't pass unnoticed if you lack one."

"But she was a ranger, why couldn't she…" Jaina began, unable to help herself. She knew she was being irrational in rooting for Kitala like a character in a play that had already been written.

"She could have defended herself. Pretty easily, I reckon."

"…but she thought she deserved it?" Jaina asked sadly. She thought of her mother's letter denouncing her and how that still hurt to even think about. What would it be like to hear those words spoken day by day?

She felt Clea nod into her hair.

"What happened then?"

"Sylvanas happened." There was a small tint of pride in Clea's whisper. "She was just about to become a ranger captain at that point, and not even in Kitala's company. At this time there was a lot of controversy about the rangers. A lot of people saw us as undisciplined irregulars, a band of wild thugs that couldn't work together with other units. So you understand how Kitala's outbursts and bad conduct could hardly have happened at a worse time. After she had been cut like that she became more violent, picking or starting fights and hurting people. Ironically, it wasn't until she actually hurt the person who had cut her in one of her fits of rage that she ended up behind bars. Most rangers hoped she would be locked away as quietly as possible and some wanted her judged harshly as an example, but Sylvanas thought the whole thing stunk. She made herself quite unpopular by questioning another company's rangers about Kitala and must have become convinced that something was off from what they told her. Sylvanas went to see her, and somehow managed to convince Kitala to tell her everything. She then threw every owed favour and every bit of influence she had into getting Kitala reinstated as a ranger under her. Some sort of penal servitude or community service thing that was most likely not by the book."

Jaina was getting so caught up in the story that she didn't pay any attention to how she relaxed against Clea and how Clea had put her arms around Jaina to keep her from sliding to the side.

"So, Sylvanas made a lot of people irritated and had to spend another year under Areiel until she could be promoted as she deserved. But Areiel was one of the very few who approved, and she's said that as far as she's concerned Sylvanas won her captaincy then and there. Sylvanas came to me and asked if I would take on Kitala as a ranging partner, and was transparent with how Kitala was a complete mess and the decision would not gain me any admirers."

"But you took her on?"

"We took on each other. I was a 'bow widow' at the time – a nickname for someone who has recently lost a very close ranging partner – and I had been assigned a green new ranger as an apprentice of sorts. And I wanted her to be my old ranging partner and act and grow and think like she had. It wasn't fair of me, and things weren't stellar between us. So when Sylvanas presented Kitala I felt like it might be best for everyone if I accepted. Sylvanas stressed the need for honesty between us and we took her by her word. Frankly, it was almost like Kitala and I attempted to scare each other off with our vivid descriptions of all our bad sides. But we stuck together despite arguing for the better part of a year until we got too tired of it and became friends. Kitala got better eventually and I had the new ranging partner I had needed."

"Not even death could keep you apart, then?"

Clea chuckled.

"No, neither death nor undeath kept us apart. Kitala is honest about what was done to her, and she can be ironic about it as you have seen, but actually believing that someone would sincerely like her ears is harder for her."

"How can I help? I really don't mean to, but it feels like all I do is stumble and step on people's toes."

"Perhaps we need someone to step on them from time to time to realise how much we are hurting, Lady Proudmoore. Do not try to change yourself. We need you the way you are."

Clea reached for the small knife that had served as Jaina's utensils earlier and threw it skilfully with the pommel first so it clattered noisily against the door.

"You too? I'll have to put up a sign." Jaina mumbled disapprovingly as Kitala appeared in the doorway with her cutlery, summoned by the noise.

"So, has Clea dragged you through the whole pitiful sob story of my past? I salute your patience Lady Proudmoore, it's an earful." Kitala greeted with corrosive self-irony. Jaina didn't quite know how to respond to that, but if Clea thought it was best that Jaina be herself she would answer as honestly as she could.

"If you happen to mean the absolutely ghastly horror story of someone who abused an elven woman in a terrible way, then yes. But I liked the happy ending very much at least." Jaina answered a little defiantly. "And for the record I think it was very thoughtful of Clea to share the story so that you wouldn't have to, and my opinion of your ears remains unchanged."

"So you still think I would make a better cat than elf?"

"NO, you silly ranger, just…" Tides, now Jaina was getting tired.

Kitala held up her hands placatingly.

"Sorry, forget it. I'm just acting weird. You must think us all a bunch of lunatics."

"Well, to tell the truth I've never heard of any other rangers known for making camp inside a dungeon." Jaina pointedly looked around and raised an eyebrow.

That, finally, made Kitala smile properly again. She sank down next to Jaina and Clea and they were silent for a while.

"When we were alive Clea used to stroke my ears when I got too sentimental." Kitala said. "Silly as hell. So maybe I would have made a decent cat."

"It's pronounced 'beautiful', not 'silly'." Jaina said cheekily. "Honestly, if you're going to teach me speaking Thalassian properly you will have to do better than that."

"Nice hit." Clea whispered in her ear, decidedly amused. Kitala just shook her head and looked… Tides, had Jaina finally managed to make a dark ranger feel embarrassed? That had to be a first.

"And why can't you do that now? It's not like you rangers let trifles like undeath stop you from doing anything else, is it?" Jaina suggested and tried to imitate Kitala's most innocent tone.

"Not a chance, I have my hands full." Clea smirked. "You'll just have to hope our archmage doesn't turn your ears into fluffy bunny ears while she's at it, I'm afraid." She teasingly beckoned at Kitala.

Kitala shook her head at them, but shrugged and layed down with her head in Jaina's lap. She lay facing the door so that her half left ear was up.

"Now" Clea whispered "I believe you were practicing how to speak Thalassian from your heart, Lady Proudmoore. Please say after me."

"Belore'Dorei."

"Belore'Dorei."

Kitala shuddered slightly when Jaina brushed her knuckles against the edge of her ear, as gently as she could.

"Vendel'o eranu."

"Vendel'o eranu."

Jaina looked down to see Kitala close her eyes and felt the elf become heavy against her. She was also almost sure that Clea hugged her a little harder now.



***



Sylvanas handed out orders, listened to reports, listened to complaints and listened to requests. Belore, had she been gone for a year instead of a little over a month? It certainly felt like that, and like her vengeful people had conspired to gather all of their most tangled and twisted issues and items to dump them on her in one overwhelming surprise assault. If that was the case she of course commended their tactical thinking.

Their losses…stung.

Sylvanas had gambled and failed, and in the meantime her people had died without her at their side.

There was no excuse.

She reached for the roll of dark rangers in her service, almost a ceremonial thing, but she couldn't bring herself to strike out the name of Cyndia Hawkspear. Not today.

The banshee queen had been able to work day and night for months but found herself unable to even pick up her quill.

Sylvanas rose from her desk. She was currently of no use here. Maybe she wasn't used to working through the nights anymore, strange though the thought may be. She had apparently gotten far too accustomed to following her mage's daily rhythm (somewhat irregular though it may be) and spending her nights in silent vigil over her.

Sylvanas walked briskly along the winding paths of the Undercity – her masons had managed surprisingly much in her absence, she really had to offer her compliments later – and the steep stairs and ladders leading up to the surface. She did not want anyone interrupting her with a new myriad of questions to find an answer to.

She came up close to the keep. It was silent and shadowy in the setting sun, with grim deathguards posted around. Sylvanas found herself staring longingly at it.

Well, now that she was here anyway it couldn't hurt to check up on her mage.

The streets were deserted apart from her guards and the same was true about the inside of the keep. Maybe it would actually be worthwhile to some day repair the structure. The Forsaken were mostly from Lordaeron, and national symbols could prove quite inspiring. She could start with the parts near the library and the archives for example, those were the most intact.

The door to Proudmoore's cell - or her room, more like - was open, and warm light illuminated part of the corridor outside. Sylvanas slowed down as she approached, curiously listening to the sound of low voices speaking in Thalassian.

Sylvanas hadn't thought much about what to expect from Anya's plans for making the room inhabitable but she was definitely not prepared for the sight of the two tents suspended from the walls and a glowing brazier and lanterns illuminating the room. Where did Anya find these things?

Sylvanas moved back from the light to take a closer look without disturbing anything.

Clea was reclining against the wall, seated on a couple of bedrolls under the canopy of the largest tent. Proudmoore was leaning against her with Clea's arms around her middle and Kitala resting with closed eyes against her thigh, and stroking Kitala's damaged ear. Sylvanas needed no help to realise the implications of that. Her mage was eyeing Kitala with the tenderest look Sylvanas had ever seen on her while repeating every expression of Thalassian affection from Clea like she meant it with all her heart.

The memory of Kitala's bruised and hopeless face and badly bandaged ear before her centuries ago flashed in front of Sylvanas. Of Clea and Kitala yelling at each other and immediately quieting the moment she threatened to put them in different squadrons. Of watching Clea spend her free evenings training Kitala out of her insecurities. Of undeath and the Scourge's tyranny scarring Clea and Kitala like it had anyone else and her own despair over being unable to help them.

But maybe Sylvanas had their cure right in front of her.

Perhaps she should just leave quietly and let them have their moment undisturbed. It was plain obvious that escaping was currently the last thing on her mage's mind.

She was on the verge of turning and walking quietly away when she heard two sets of steps approaching, one of them very quiet and very familiar to her.

"Dark Lady." Anya whispered. "Is everything alright?"

The answer to that question was of course no. It always was. But she couldn't bear to rob Anya and Lyana of the rare and precious gift of this peaceful evening, and besides she knew Anya wasn't literally inquiring about the state of every single thing concerning the Forsaken.

"I certainly looks that way." Sylvanas smirked with a look at the doorway.

"Belore, that's sweet!" Lyana whispered after taking a quick look around the door. She was carrying something in her hands, Sylvanas noticed.

"Shall we go inside?" Anya asked.

"There is no need for me to disturb them. You obviously have everything well in hand here, lieutenant."

Anya was, of course, not buying that.

"And what will Lady Proudmoore think if you do not even come to visit, Dark Lady? Hardly the sign of a courteous host, is it?"

Sylvanas bowed her head. She would not deny Anya anything tonight. And she had to admit that she desired to, for lack of a better word, treat Lady Proudmoore decently after what she had put her through earlier this day. And, since they would be barging in no matter how, she could always try to have a little fun with her easily flustered mage.

"No, you are right, it would not do to leave our mage unattended. Let us go inside."

Sylvanas demonstratively took the lead and briskly marched up to the middle of the room and assumed her strictest stance with her hands clasped behind her back.

"Rangers, report!" she said sternly, and had to force herself to keep a straight face when all three of the room's occupants jolted and scrambled to get to their feet with varying levels of alarm written in their faces and Proudmoore turning red as a beet. One could be led to believe that Sylvanas had walked in on a trio of first-year ranger recruits playing cards over pieces of their uniforms in the ranger captain's office. Not that Areiel had ever walked in on Sylvanas in that manner, of course. Especially not that time when Vereesa had visited and managed to unwittingly invite Areiel herself to the game.

"Ranger Starshadow, relay your observations from watching the room during the latest half hour. Ranger Deathstrider, give me a quick summary of the routines of the guard."

Clea and Kitala both begun to stutter but before any of them could figure out a reasonable answer Sylvanas silenced them with a gesture.

"Lieutenant Eversong?"

"Yes, Dark Lady?" Anya answered neutrally, clearly playing along.

"It would appear that the magical wards of this room are failing. Two of my best rangers already appear to have fallen under the spell of a devious archmage."

"Oh no. Is there no hope for them?"

"I fear they are both too far gone. The mage is clearly one of surpassing skill and power."

"How wicked. What will you do with her when you find her?"

"I have not decided yet. She must obviously be disciplined for having the gall to steal my rangers from me." Sylvanas mused. Clea and Kitala were exchanging a quick questioning glance while Proudmoore looked half worried and half incredulous.

Her mage's hair did really look lovely in the fiery light of the room.

Sylvanas looked deeply into the bright blue eyes that had widened noticeably and struggled terribly to keep her own face set in stone. She parted her lips just enough to show off her fangs and could hear Proudmoore breathe quicker, almost like a quiet gasp.

Sylvanas let her lips part into a predatory smile.

"Yes, what am I to do with you, Lady Proudmoore…" she purred.

Then, slowly and deliberately, Sylvanas winked at all three of them.

"As you were, my kittens, do carry on by all means." she smirked. If they had been able to, Sylvanas was sure that Clea and Kitala would right now have matched her mage's blushing.

Sylvanas turned to Anya.

"At this rate my dungeons will put my private quarters to shame in a weeks time." Sylvanas smiled sincerely at her ranger's happy look. "Well done, Anya."

She turned towards Proudmoore, who had once again sat down next to Clea and Kitala. "My rangers' astounding efforts notwithstanding I apologise for being unable to offer you the quarters you deserve, Lady Proudmoore. As you have seen things are rather out of shape in my city currently."

"Oh, this is actually larger than my room, I don't even have a wardrobe." Proudmoore reassured her. Clea was subtly reeling her back in to be seated between her legs again and the mage did not seem to pay much heed to it, and when Clea discreetly but firmly pulled Kitala down to rest her head against the pillow of their adjoining thighs Proudmoore absently resumed slowly stroking the elf's ears. "What about your rooms, Dark…Lady Windrunner?"

"They are also…rather frugal at the moment." Sylvanas found the admission unexpectedly embarrassing and tried to hide it by sitting down against the other wall. Anya quietly joined her side and Lyana squatted next to them.

"Really? Where in the city do you live? I mean…dwell. Rest." Proudmoore corrected herself nervously.

Sylvanas flashed her a big grin.

"I un-live in the deepest and darkest corner of the Undercity, a place of evil and wickedness without end, Lady Proudmoore."

"You will excuse me if I find that hard to believe, Lady Windrunner. Or, maybe just a tad wickedness." Her mage was running her fingers through Kitala's hair now, and seemed aware of neither that nor of the way Kitala was looking right up at her from her lap.

"To tell the truth my room is not much larger than yours." Sylvanas found that she wanted Proudmoore to know that. "I have little apart from my armour stand, a desk and a bed."

Anya coughed.

Well, Sylvanas' sorry cot was technically a bed.

"I hope you'll invite me to it some day."

Five pairs of crimson eyes locked themselves onto Proudmoore who looked confused and then paled almost to the point of matching a dark ranger.

"Your room! I hope you will one day invite me to your room, of course!"

Sylvanas evilly kept her face impassive and raised one of her eyebrows.

"For a friendly, polite visit! Not anything..." Sylvanas welcomed the sight of white giving way to red on her mage's cheeks. It really looked much healthier on her.

"Of course." Anya's expression and tone was the picture of innocence. "You are always so friendly with us, Lady Proudmoore."

"And very polite." Lyana added. "You would never do anything like, say, drenching someone in cold water in a public place."

"Oh, stop it, I know that you know what I mean." Proudmoore tried to grumble at them, still flushed.

"Yes Lady Proudmoore, that we do." Lyana nodded amiably from her darker corner, for once looking up from what she was doing.

"You are all terrible, do you know that?"

"It must have been that wicked mage." Kitala mumbled. "We were all such good girls until we fell under her spell."

Proudmoore reached down and pinched her nose.

"Ow!" Kitala startled, more out of surprise than pain.

"Nose-pinching charm. That's what every wicked mage learns after mastering troll curses."

"Kitala." Lyana admonished. "Now you woke him up."

"Wait, woke who up?" Proudmoore asked.

"Are you afraid of spiders, Lady Proudmoore?"

"Uh, I suppose I'm alright with them. So long as they're not crawling into my clothes or biting me."

"No, of course not! Kitthix is really well behaved. Look!"

Lyana lowered her hands to the floor. Out from them crawled an eight-legged and eight-eyed ball of fur about the size of a rabbit.

"Say hello, Kitthix." Lyana urged her spider. "There, shake paws with the nice Lady of Theramore. Good boy!"

Sylvanas watched Proudmoore swallow visibly but bravely put forth a finger to touch one of the outstretched legs of Lyana's pet. Lyana scratched what Sylvanas supposed counted as the spider's back and proceeded to encourage him to leap between the palms of her hands and up onto her head where he seated himself as some very misshaped fur cap while Lyana went to work to impart the crucial knowledge of all known and unknown facts about spiders and their many virtues and uses.

"…and did you know that not only can spiders choose to spin sticky or smooth threads, but the forest tarantulas are famous for the varying thickness of their threads. Spider silk is as you know a wonderful material and when freshly spun it is also very clean. If spiders could be trained to spin on request it would be a perfect material for surgical and medical uses like…"

Sylvanas tried to picture Lyana obliviously presenting the spider to some wounded and tired patient while blissfully going on in this manner. Nurse Kitthix, the thought…

The wall behind Sylvanas had warmed from the brazier and wasn't so cold and damp anymore. She found herself enjoying the reflected warmth, unnecessary though it may be. Sylvanas closed her eyes and leaned back, content with listening to Lyana's happy prattle and thinking of nothing in particular.

Apparently so was Anya. Though she was actually leaning against Sylvanas rather than the wall.

"Look." Anya whispered.

Her mage was snoring softly in Clea's arms, with one hand still nestled in Kitala's hair.

"Well done, Anya." Sylvanas used the arm halfway behind Anya to pull her closer and her other hand to cup her lovely cheek.

"Well done indeed." Sylvanas leaned forward, and captured Anya's lips with her own.



***



She wondered if her skull had actually cracked when the hammer swept her aside like nothing. Did she actually have a brain anymore or was her head just full of disordered threads of necromancy? That would explain why her thoughts were so tangled and tricky to follow.

No, not follow. Not follow the thoughts.

Only watch. Watch them from a distance.

Not think. Not feel.

Not hurt.

Not listen. No, not listen!

"I know you can hear us, thing. It is time for you to wake up now…"

Not think!

Not feel!

Cyndia screamed and in her scream opened her eyes wide.

There was faint smoke drifting in front of her eyes. Her smoke. Tangled smoke. Tangled threads of smoke.

Not follow the threads. Watch them. Watch them from a distance.

"See, Westley… This thing is a sly one. You can't let it disappear back inside that pretty little head again, then you'll have to start over…"

New name. Not heard it before.

Not think.

Only look. Watch from a distance.

Her vision was blurry. Why was it blurry? Maybe the hammer had cracked her skull after all. Then tangled thoughts could fly out of it and escape. Cyndia could escape.

Why could she not fly? Where was her banshee form?

No. Anger hurt. Not think. Not hurt.

Only watch. Watch from a distance.

Straw-coloured hair. Dirty shirt.

"Westley! I'm talking to you!"

Tall. Reaching over the one in red.

Little. Doubling over from the punch in his stomach.

"You will listen to me, you little shit! Get me brother Gessel and tell him he can have another go with his Light-forsaken attempts."

Forsaken. Funny. Not think. Only watch.

Big eyes. Staring. Disbelieving.

Funny. Scarlet Crusaders should be good at believing, shouldn't they?

"Or do you wanna warm it up instead? Or…is that it? You don't like it down here, do you, Westley?"

Bad. Bad voice. Bad sign.

Run.

Run, Bad-At-Believing Westley.

"You think that thing should be spared, is that it? Is that it?! SPEAK! No, don't actually. Take up the poker. Put the fear of the Light back inside it."

Little. Doubling over.

Sick. Retching.

"You disgust me. Worthless little rat. Keep to the muck in the stables then, boy. That's the only thing you're good for."

Watch. Watch from a distance.

Sylvanas: No Anya, I do not think it would be acceptable to post "Dark Lady indisposed. Slumber party" on my office door.

Anya: I promise, Dark Lady, working from home is the latest trend. Everyone does it these days. And don't mind us, we're just playing house…I mean tent.

Jaina: Bloody Scarlets, you killed the mood completely! If everyone keeps interrupting my rest like this my hair will turn WHITE in no time! …they did WHAT when I was asleep?

Thalassian:
Belore'Dorei = Child of the sun (in this context used as an affectionate term).

Vendel'o eranu. = Help me forget (in this context used as synonymous or interchangeable with "Help me not to think about it" or "Help me bear the memories").

There aren't many canonical translated Thalassian words and even fewer that are usable as comfort or compliments, but maybe Clea was meddling a little here and putting what she thought should be Kitala's words into Jaina's mouth?

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 15: Scarlets and Shackles

Anya comforts Velonara and Jaina gets back to work as Diplomatic Protector of Azeroth and sits Sylvanas down to have a serious talk long awaited. The Scarlet Crusade meanwhile continues to inspire pride and devotion in all it's well motivated members…not. Alzo, enter Baron Frostfel, Forsaken death knight and Lordaeronian nobleman of ze highest order.

Click to shrink...

Westley couldn't stop himself from trembling. He held onto the door post of the stable and his legs felt like they were held up by him rather than holding him up.

What had he gotten himself into?

Nick and Vicky knew something was wrong, and greatly wrong. They stomped and whinnied until Westley approached their stalls to lean on the wooden post separating them.

"Vicky…" Westley whispered "I…I can't do this anymore. I don't know what I'm doing anymore, I…" He tried to breathe in. "There are…there are some really bad creatures out there. Dead creatures. So I took you here, because here was the only safe place, you see. I didn't want them to harm you and Nick. I couldn't let anything happen to you. You know I couldn't. But now…now I don't know anymore…"

Vicky leaned forward to push softly against his cheek, her warm breath all around him. Westley patted her head and leaned on her. It always made things feel a little better, a little less terrible.

"Vicky…they have one of these dead creatures. Wroth has it in the cellar, in…that room. And the thing is, this dead creature…it's…it's not a creature…it's a girl. She's an elf. Wroth…he hurts her. He…burned her. She screamed. How can she be a monster? What did she do? What's the point?!"

Westley slammed his fist into the post so it shook. Nick snorted and huffed from beside them and Vicky pushed against the gate keeping her from Westley.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have frightened you. Shhhh…" Westley reached out so he could put his hand on Nick too. "I have to keep you safe. I know that. I just…I don't think I'm cut out for this."

Westley sighed deeply.

No, he wasn't cut out for this. He hated and feared the undead that had set fire to his home and taken all his friends and family from him, taken everything except Nick and Vicky. But mostly he feared them, and famine, and the plague. Everything that could take Nick and Vicky away.

"So we're here." Westley croaked. "They keep you fed here, and let me take care of you. And the undead don't come here. At least they haven't yet." He shook his head. "Except her. She's here. And I saw her and she…" He shuddered. He had no words left. They had run out.

No, he wasn't cut out for this.

Did he even want to be?

Westley couldn't stay too long, he had to report for an evening shift of some hard or dirty work that he'd welcome with open arms so long as it kept him as far away from Wroth as possible.

The stables lay next to the wall, built into it in a practical way so that it's roof served to support the wall as an improvised tower or storage area. Unfortunately it also meant that Westley would be reporting for his work on the other side of the courtyard and crossing it meant going right next to the tiny iron barred holes letting in dim light into the cellars.

He walked quickly, wanting to be on the other side as soon as possible. It was getting dark and there was a light coming from…no. He couldn't look that way. He couldn't…

A high scream tore through every desperate thought of what Westley could or couldn't do. He froze on the spot, literally feeling the blood drain from his face and cold enough to shiver. Without thinking he took a step and then another towards the cellar windows, drawn despite wanting nothing more than to put as much distance as possible between himself and that nightmarish place.

"Westley!"

Westley looked up. Rodoh, one of the servants like himself, hurried up to him.

"Good I caught ye, mate. Ye got a busy day tomorrow. Have ye fed the horses yet?"

"No, why?" Why was Rodoh here asking about that of all things?

"Well, don't. Just got word, they're goin' tomorrow. Gonna butcher 'em in the afternoon and they don't want their bellies full, you know. So, ah, guess ye're gonna be needed a lot then. Sorry, mate. Know ye like 'em."

Rodoh's words echoed. They turned to thunder in Westley's ears. His breaths echoed. His heartbeats echoed.

"Yeah, well, gotta go." Rodoh looked at him uncomfortably and backed away from Westley's blank stare.

"Who was it?" Westley almost coughed, he was so hoarse. "Who decided it?"

"Wroth. Uh, see ye…"

The world spun around him. Westley staggered, seeing only blackness, and grabbed at the cold stone surface of the wall. His vision slowly returned, hazy and dimmed, but his breaths still echoed in his mind.

Then another scream cut through the echo, so close. So very, very close. And the sound of something…hissing, and a putrid smell.

Westley fell to his knees, and threw up everything he had ever eaten.



***



Anya was. Positively. Bouncing.

It was early in the morning and almost foggy, damp and cold. And it was the prettiest and best of all possible mornings. Because Lady Proudmoore was still sleeping and hadn't had a trace of her nightmares or restless sleep like she had sometimes exhibited when Anya had watched her earlier, and she had looked so wonderfully peaceful that Anya had left a lantern lit throughout the night just to see her better.

And Sylvanas had kissed her.

She, and Anya, had done so at times before, ages ago when they were ranging partners and Sylvanas was not yet a captain and still allowed herself to joke and laugh and live to the fullest. But that had always been as a joke at rowdy nights or for sisterly comfort or good fortune before a dangerous task.

Not like this. This was the kind of kiss Anya had never dared to admit how much she had begun to long for. The kind she had dreamt about without ever telling anyone, not even Velonara. The kind that set her lips aflame and made her want to melt into Sylvanas' arms and drown in the very visibly blazing fires of her eyes.

They hadn't said anything afterwards. Not even when Lyana had left to take Kitthix for a walk and back to his lair and Kitala had dragged Clea along to accompany her, which she reluctantly did after pulling up Lady Proudmoore's blankets over her shoulder and whispering 'good night'. It suited Anya just fine. She wanted nothing more at the time than to rest in Sylvanas' arms and happily burn inside.

Sylvanas had changed. It was subtle, and Anya was sure Sylvanas herself was unaware of it and would adamantly deny it if asked. But it was there. It was there in the way she barked orders to find decent food and water for their living mage, it was there when she looked with pride upon the crew of the Banshee's Wail, and it was there in the scandalous humour that she exhibited to make Lady Proudmoore blush. She had even kissed Anya like that right in front of her own squadron!

There was no doubt in Anya's mind about who they owed their Dark Lady's improvement to. Lady Proudmoore had cracked that loathsome shell of guilt and duty that Anya and all the dark rangers combined hadn't managed to put more than a dent in. Anya might never come to terms with Sylvanas being the Banshee Queen, but perhaps the Dark Lady needn't be such a stifling office to hold after all. At least in Lady Proudmoore's presence Anya had decided that she rather liked Sylvanas being the Dark Lady.

In that sense it was actually grossly unfair that Lady Proudmoore of all people should have missed seeing Sylvanas kiss Anya, if that now had to be seen by anyone else. Anya would have liked to watch the look on her face. And…

And maybe someone ought to kiss Lady Proudmoore too. Because she bloody well deserved it.

And Anya would definitely like to watch the look on Lady Proudmoore's face if Sylvanas did that.

Anya tried to hide that thought away somewhere. It was a little bit too distracting. Sylvanas had left again during the night, reluctantly but also seemingly pleased. Anya was on her way to report to Areiel as per the daily routine. She would stop by the archery range to take a look at first. The wet weather was not kind to bowstrings but Areiel also had a twisted love for early morning exercises.

Anya did not find Areiel there but there was a lone figure shooting in the mist, one that Anya would know anywhere. But something was not right. Velonara was standing too stiffly and her movements were jerky and uneven.

Anya approached cautiously to stand at her side.

"Hey."

Velonara only huffed.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooling…" Velonara angrily loosed another arrow. "…down!" She reached for another one in her quiver but Anya gently stopped her with her hand on Velonara's. "Kalira sent me away until I 'cool down and find my focus again'." Velonara spat out. "We argued." she added darkly.

"About what? What's happened?"

"Oh, so now you fucking care?!"

Anya was taken aback. She and Velonara had been at each other's throats countless times but never with this kind of…contempt? She took a step back.

"Vel, what…"

"Because everyone isn't so damned lucky we get to sit in the keep playing with dolls while the rest of us are doing our damned fucking jobs! Some of us had to report back in yesterday and deal with all this miserable fucking shit!"

"Deal with what?! Just say it, Vel!"

"Cyndia's gone. The Scarlets took her."

"Took her?"

"The squad lost her in the smoke when retreating. But she wouldn't have been killed easily. Nara and Lenara think the Scarlets overpowered her and dragged her away but Kalira forbade anyone else from going back to look for her. She said Cyndia was dead or would be better off dead." Velonaras voice had lost all spirit, it was hollow and monotone.

Anya felt as if something had fallen on top of her. The Lordaeron keep perhaps.

"Noo… Vel, I'm so sorry..."

Anya instinctively stepped closer.

"Like you care!" Velonara turned on the spot and her fist sent Anya flying to the ground. "At least Cyndia never threw me away like an old pair of boots!" she cried out.

Anya stared at her, more out of shock than pain, although Velonara hit hard when she meant to.

"It wasn't like that! You know that! I was sabotaging you just as much as the other way around!" Anya rose slowly, careful not to spook her friend. "You know I love Cyndia – she's a great ranging partner to you, how could I not?"

"She's the best." Velonara suddenly screamed and kicked viciously at the ground. Then all her anger seemed to have run it's course and she slumped, with her head hanging. "W…was the best."

Anya took the final step forward to catch Velonara in her arms, who had no tears to shed but was shaking quietly. She held her up with an arm around her back and another keeping Velonara's head tight to her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I hit you…" Velonara whispered hoarsely.

Anya hugged her harder in response.

"I don't blame Proudmoore, she's not like them, not at all…"

"No, she isn't." Anya whispered back.

"Why can't the others be like her? We fucking kidnapped her and she's still friends with us…"

"Lady Proudmoore is one of a kind, I think." Anya stroked tenderly across Velonara's hair. "I could tell Areiel to let you come and visit. You can keep watch over her with me while she wakes up."

Velonara nodded hesitantly into her shoulder.

"Good. Come on. Come with me, Vel. Don't be alone today."



***



Sylvanas did not sleep and did not dream, but her night felt not a little like it anyway. A few hours of refuge from the bleak realities of being the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken. A few hours of warmth and…peace? By Belore, how could she ever have been in a hurry to get back to Lordaeron?

She picked up another report from the pile as she heard the change of guards outside her quarters. Ten o'clock in the morning, already.

They had captives.

Two of them, a dwarf and a human, held at some ruined farm outside Brill. The immediate question was whether to move them inside the Undercity and expose them to the foul air there or let them be and risk them harmed by potential Scourge incursions. Inscourgeons, Areiel would probably say. The more final question was what to do with them.

Sylvanas would have given a hundred captives for not losing Cyndia.

Who could have expected the Scarlets to suddenly rally and somehow manage to intercept her retreating central column of rangers and banshees in the middle of fire and smoke?

She could, because she was supposed to know better than to underestimate the fanaticism of the Scarlet Crusade. Their disregard for their own lives made them reckless and at times sloppy, but at times also unpredictable.

She heard the sound of rushed footsteps outside. A messenger? There was some hushed conversation with her deathguards before her door was slammed open without even a knock by a frantic-looking Kitala.

"Dark Lady, Lady Proudmoore is trying to escape!" she nearly yelled.

"What?! How?!"

A dozen terrible images of broken walls and dead rangers flashed before Sylvanas. How could this have happened? And by Belore, why? Why now? Kitala evidently caught on to her trail of thoughts for she shook her head quickly.

"We have Lady Proudmoore contained inside her room, we haven't harmed her and she hasn't attacked anyone. But she's been shouting at us for nearly two hours straight and tried to barrel her way through matter what we do or say. Anya's seriously considering just locking the door and waiting outside."

"But?"

"These dungeons were designed by the human mages, right? And Lady Proudmoore is one of their best, and we know she is freakishly powerful. Anya told me to ask you just how sure we are about those wards if someone like her would really set her mind to picking them apart, Dark Lady."

Sylvanas cursed.

"Walk with me, Kitala. And keep talking! How did this start?"

"Vel came to visit and we…learned about Cyndia."

Kitala's voice was heavy and Sylvanas could not find it in herself to blame whoever had dragged Velonara over and started this. Anya, most likely. She was Velonara's best friend after all. Sylvanas had a distinct feeling she could guess how this story would continue.

"Then Nara and Lenara came by looking for her and found her telling Lady Proudmoore everything and filled her in with their opinions that Cyndia could have been captured instead of killed but nobody knew for certain. Lady Proudmoore and Anya had sort of grabbed hold of Vel but when she heard that she flew up and demanded to see you and that we should use her as a negotiator to determine if Cyndia actually was captured and get her released. And the 'Naras sort of agreed. That's mainly how things have been since then. None of us want to hurt her but we don't know how to talk her out of this either. Lady Proudmoore can be quite stubborn as you know and I think she cares a lot for Vel even if she's such a tease."

That sounded just like her mage, Sylvanas had to agree as they both climbed hurriedly to the surface.

"New orders - find Kalira at once and send her to Lady Proudmoore's quarters!" she commanded as she marched as quickly as she could down towards the dungeons. Control was everything in this situation and she would not appear hurried or unbalanced. Besides, it was always useful with a few moments to take stock of the situation before you.

It was more or less as Kitala had described it. Anya and Lyana barred the doorway with their bodies while Clea restrained her mage from behind, all while they were engaging in what seemed like little more than a shouting match with one another. The three 'Naras, as they were usually called, stood beside mostly silent. Sylvanas felt a pang of guilt as she took in their forlorn appearances. She should have visited them during the night. Queen or not she was their Dark Lady and they were her rangers. But where the hell had Kalira been?

"Good morning, Lady Proudmoore!" Sylvanas raised her voice slightly as she strode inside the room. "May I ask the reason for this commotion?"

"Lady Windrunner, how extremely fortunate! I am merely entertaining some guests." Proudmoore's tone was as sharp as her own and made it clear that she knew fully well that Sylvanas knew the answer to her own question.

"I see. Am I to understand from this rather loud entertainment that you are now turning your linguistic studies from Thalassian to Banshee Wails?"

Under normal circumstances, that and a stern glare should have shut Proudmoore up. But now it only solicited a slight reddening of her cheeks, which may just as well have been irritation rather than embarrassment. Sylvanas realised that she was seeing her standing tall in just the same manner as when she had gripped her mage staff to channel her magical current at sea. Before her stood Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore, with her mind set upon someone other than herself.

"We have no time for that. One of your rangers is missing and we need to get her back if at all possible. I can help with that. The Scarlet Crusade may attack you all on sight but I can serve as your ambassador to negotiate with them to exchange prisoners."

Such as a certain dwarf and human mentioned in her reports, no doubt. Sylvanas glared harshly around the room.

"Since when are we in the habit of divulging military matters to foreign heads of state?" To their credit, her rangers had shame enough to at least shift uncomfortably.

"Seriously? And just how am I supposed to cause you harm with that information under watch inside a magically warded dungeon?" Proudmoore asked impatiently.

She had a point, after all. Sylvanas decided to drop the matter.

"Lady Proudmoore, I appreciate your willingness to help but ranger Cyndia Hawkspear was reported lost weeks ago and is presumed to be dead. What makes you think there would be something for us to negotiate over, even if we could?"

That did in fact give her mage pause.

"But…they tell me she got separated in the smoke from the fires. So if she was fighting she would have had a good opportunity to escape out of sight. But if she was surprised she could have been quickly knocked down and overpowered, and in that case the enemy would want to keep a valuable prisoner for questioning or ransom, right?"

It was not without logic, if also a far too simplistic reasoning. But her mage did not know the relentless hatred of the Scarlet Crusade. She hadn't seen the fanaticism in their eyes, their recklessness with their own lives in the name of eradicating undead. Just as Sylvanas prepared to answer a new voice interrupted her from the door.

"Dark Lady. I believe I should say something now." Kalira had apparently followed her example in familiarizing herself with the scene before announcing her presence.

Sylvanas waved her inside.

"I heard the latest bits" Kalira began without further ado. "and now that we are all standing here like wishfully thinking fools I understand that I need to make a public confession. During the retreat shortly after that Cyndia had not reported in, our path crossed the foot of a steep ridge that goes about parallel with the road east to Hearthglen. The road and a lot of ground around it is visible from the top. I abandoned my column to scale that ridge and look for Cyndia. I caught sight of Scarlet forces withdrawing east but saw no trace of her amongst them and no wagons or anything else that would have hidden her. I stayed put for nearly an hour until there was nothing in sight and returned to catch up with my column, which I did before we reached the Undercity."

Kalira turned to Velonara.

"I was in command and acted wrongly. I will accept the consequences of that. But I would not have abandoned Cyndia without a fight. If I had seen her I would have descended that slope to free her. Please believe that."

Velonara looked down into the floor but Sylvanas could see her make a small nod.

Sylvanas clenched her jaw and made a mental effort not to say anything too rash. It was damned hard. How were you supposed to lead when people didn't tell you things?

"We will talk about this later, Kalira. It does however change little. For all we know Cyndia could still have been incapacitated or perished somewhere out of sight."

"The smoke would have cleared now. If we find the place where Cyndia got separated we can search the ground…" Anya suggested.

A trail over a month cold. Sylvanas sighed inwardly.

But she could see that the idea had ensnared them. Everyone was talking at the same time.

Hope was a dangerous thing. Sometimes it could hurt you deeper than anything else.

Sylvanas looked at her mage. Proudmoore was standing next to Velonara, whispering something to her that made Velonara nod a little.

Hope was a precious thing. Sometimes it could keep you standing when no other thing would.

She looked at Kalira. Had it been Sylvanas in her place she might very well not have waited to seek a good vantage point but dived headlong back into the smoke.

It would be a fool's errand. But all military commanders of note soon learned that sometimes you were forced to make foolish decisions. And perhaps what her people needed right now was a reckless, foolhardy dash into enemy territory. Because her people were not mindless animated corpses. They were Forsaken, with thoughts and feelings of their own, and it was growing all too clear that morale was at an all-time low.

Sometimes…hope was worth a risk.

"Rangers! Attention!" Sylvanas barked. "This bickering is pointless. Kalira, you will prepare for a far ranging mission with your own squadron and one in support to determine the fate of Cyndia and anyone else not accounted for. Your secondary objective is to reconnoitre current Scarlet positions and activity in the area."

"Not good enough!"

All eyes turned on Proudmoore.

Sylvanas was fuming. Sometimes… The nerve of that girl.

But her mage met her with eyes that were the storm itself.

"EVERYBODY OUT!" Proudmoore shouted. "Lady Windrunner and I have something to discuss promptly."

Yes, how sure was Sylvanas now about those wards?

Sylvanas nodded towards the door and her rangers left the room, bewildered and in the case of her own squadron somewhat uneasily.

"So, Lady Proudmoore, we have something to discuss?" Sylvanas asked icily.

"Yes, Lady Windrunner, we certainly do. We have put this conversation off far too long." Proudmoore straightened herself to her full length and took a deep breath. "As ruler of Theramore it is my pleasure to invite you, Lady Sylvanas Windrunner, Queen of Lordaeron, to the first round of official diplomatic negotiations between our two realms."

Belore, how her mage shone. Her voice rang, clear as a bell, and she sounded…proud.

"As our first step towards the establishment of permanent diplomatic relations between our realms and subsequent military alliance against the Scourge, I suggest joint negotiations with the Scarlet Crusade with the immediate aim of obtaining the release of any Forsaken individual held captive, and the long term aim of effecting a cessation of all hostilities against Lordaeron and a treaty of mutual non-aggression."

Sylvanas' body could no longer shake, nor could her heart beat faster since it did not beat at all. But her eyes could widen slightly in disbelief and she could, apparently, still be rendered speechless.

This can not be. This is a cruel joke.

But just like several times when they had shared the cabin onboard the Banshee's Wail, Proudmoore seemed to look right into her soul, for she took a step closer, right in front of Sylvanas.

"This is for real. You are not alone in the world." her mage whispered. "Now, would Her Majesty like to take her seat on the cold, hard stone floor or the rumpled, uneven bedrolls?"

"Wherever My Lady prefers it."



***



Hours later, seated at the head of her Council of War, Sylvanas concluded that while perhaps overly trusting and naive Proudmoore knew her business as a negotiator. Her reasoning was sound and rational and Sylvanas had found herself agreeing on most details without much deliberation.

She had laid out the main details to her councillors and now leaned back in her chair and let them absorb it and raise questions. She considered her war council in the meantime. It was time for some alterations, she realised it more with each report she caught up with and each briefing she received.

She should change the leadership structure too as soon as possible. Her Council of War was too big and included too many rangers. While that gave Sylvanas many advisors she new she could trust it also aggravated a lot of her Forsaken. She should cut down on the number of members and limit it to strictly military matters, freeing up some ranger lieutenants and lessening the impression of favouritism. Areiel, Anya and Kalira would be enough.

Civic issues would be better handled by a city council and she could hardly wait to put Varimathras there and at an arms length from her army. When they needed his expertise – which they unfortunately did a lot – she could call upon him for that and nothing else. Most importantly, it would open up a place for the civilian Forsaken to take part in the governing and present their issues and grievances that now took up too much of her own time. Sylvanas would be free to focus on…what, exactly?

That would need some thinking. But the Undercity could not be allowed collapse into rioting the moment she went outside the door.

Perhaps offensive operations against the Scourge was the next step, to reclaim territory and open up for the eager masses of prospective new champions Areiel had briefed her on to begin gathering resources in earnest. Or undertake quests as the proper term was of course, as Sylvanas had after all suggested herself on the way to Kalimdor.

But first the Scarlets needed to be handled after all. It brought Sylvanas' thoughts back to the matter at hand.

Proudmoore had immediately suggested releasing the dwarf as a show of good faith. While giving away one of two assets as an opening move was not the most economical idea, her mage had raised some very valid points. It was unlikely that the Scarlets would believe anything less than a testimony from one of their own, or their allies in this case, about living prisoners in the clutches of the Forsaken and until they did their prisoners were worthless. Secondly, with the dwarves' sense of kinship and what they considered honourable it was also probable that their bearded prisoner would consider any lack of effort to save one of their own as foul play, which would sully the crusaders' reputation with Khaz Modan which Sylvanas guessed must be a major source of supplies and materials for them.

Her mage had not met the prisoners personally but Sylvanas counted on them having plenty of time to talk during the march east, which would give Proudmoore time to get a feeling for the Scarlet sentiments and perhaps work her charm on them. A definite strong point about their plan was that it did not rely on any particular secrecy, on the contrary it would probably be beneficial to inform both human and dwarf of their intentions.

But there were no guarantees. And even faced with the humiliating question of how an undead in their grasp could outvalue a Scarlet brother in captivity there was no telling how their leadership would react.

Sylvanas reached a decision.

She would give the Scarlets a chance, but she was not inclined to take one.

"Baron Frostfel."

The middle-aged, if such a term was truly applicable for an undead human, commander of the dreadguards turned to her at once. He was an imposing figure clad in dark grey full plate, and with a prodigious moustache and flowing hair the epitome of strong-jawed blustering Lordaeronian nobility. But for all his pompousness – which he had enough of for a company – the baron had proven himself both loyal and a very knowledgeable commander of heavy infantry, and Sylvanas and Areiel owed a lot of their revisions of tactics in order to better accommodate human Forsaken infantry to him.

"My Queen?"

"Ready the dreadguard and deathguard for march in two days."

"How many would you require, My Queen?"

"All."

"Zat shall be my pleasure!" he assured her and stretched his fingers eagerly. "If zere is nothing else, I shall get right to it."

Sylvanas nodded.

"Areiel, alert Amora Eagleye, Anthis Sunbow and Vorel after this meeting. I want their squadrons ready to march as well."

Areiel nodded, but did not hesitate to voice her concern.

"The guards and rangers are a small portion of our forces but the most crucial one. What of the defence of the city in the meantime?"

"The entire Undercity will be locked down in my absence with only minimal sorties to scout. Entrances will be trapped or sealed completely."

In the tight confines of their winding maze superior numbers would count for little and even average infantry would be able to cause great harm to a besieger.

"Now, there remains the small but crucial detail of escorting Lady Proudmoore to the Scarlet stronghold of Hearthglen where she can act as our representative. She will be under the guard of dark rangers but her magical prowess makes it imperative to restrain her spellcasting abilities. To that end I need every magic user of the city with any knowledge in enchanting to report to me immediately, regardless of current orders, for the task of crafting anti-magic shackles that fit her. Time is of the essence."

"My Queen, if I may, I believe I can solve that particular problem in little time, as it is of the essence as you say." Varimathras' claws touched each other the way someone else's fingertips might do when in deep thought and his eyes gleamed green deep inside their impenetrable blackness.

There was no change of tone or twitch of the face that hinted at anything at all. Sylvanas found herself nearly wishing there had been.

An hour later Sylvanas and Anya stood in Sylvanas' quarters bent over a set of brass-coloured shackles on the desk. Sylvanas had stared for minutes at every inch of them and had a junior mage and warlock of the Forsaken summoned to each try them on without any other immediate effect than the loss of access to their respective mana. The shackles were uncomfortably heavy but perhaps they were made to be able to contain demons and other uncommonly strong creatures, who could tell?

"I can not spot any inconsistencies." Sylvanas finally conceded. "These will have to do."

"Perhaps you should try them on yourself, Dark Lady? Just to be sure." Anya's voice was the personification of innocence. "Or maybe I could have a pair crafted for stubborn queens who won't take their baths…" she shrugged.

"Oh, would you now?" Sylvanas loomed threateningly over Anya.

"It's just something someone sort of suggested one time…" Anya grinned mischievously.

Sylvanas should really put her obnoxious ranger in her place and wipe that smirk off her face. She should put Anya in her proper place - her place being, more precisely, squeezed tightly between the wall and Sylvanas - and wipe that smirk off her face with another kiss. Because how dared she be such an aggravatingly lovely dark ranger and how had she the gall to always unerringly know how to take Sylvanas' mind off the troubles that plagued her?

Speaking of which, though…

"Anya, Lady Proudmoore is not to know about anything regarding this meeting." Sylvanas said seriously. "Inform her that we set out first thing tomorrow and see to it that we have supplies enough for her and our two Scarlet guests."

Anya nodded, attentive and focused again.

"What of the guards and the other squadrons?"

"They will have ample time to catch up. The living need their rest after all."

"Let's hope these are enough to keep her in bed, then." Anya smiled and disappeared through the door with her rattling burden.



***



Sylvanas had Raised three skeletal mounts for Proudmoore and the two prisoners. She had done so before meeting with her squadron and her mage, fearing that an open display of necromancy would upset her. Sylvanas could still scarcely believe that they had actually talked like they had, in their official capacities as heads of state, and that Proudmoore had not yet begun to laugh at her for believing the jest. The last thing she needed was to remind the woman of just how saturated with dark magic her very being was, Sylvanas reckoned.

Her rangers had bolted and heaped together mismatched saddles for all, little more than piles of cloth and padding, and tied the riders' hands to the neck of their mount. Lyana had suggested making an improvised bridle for each to give the impression that the skeletal horses were actually more than piles of animated bone and would become unruly if anyone tried to cause trouble. Now each had a dark ranger pretending to lead them, in a ghostly parody of a riding lesson for very young beginners. The comical side of it had not escaped her mage but Brokk Ironpick and Henry Turner behind her grumbled about unwieldy horses and glared darkly at their surroundings. It may have contributed to their mood that Anya and Velonara had quickly renamed them Broke Ironlick and Henry Turnip.

The journey initially proved uneventful and their nighttime rests gave Kalira's squadron ample opportunity to scout ahead. The land around them was sooted and ashy, but not completely burnt down. Here and there trees and bushes had weathered the fire and scattered new plants had sprouted on some spots.

The heavy shackles were a hindrance to her mage but she did not complain, although that had not stopped Sylvanas' ranger squadron from both fussing over and taunting her at every opportunity. Sylvanas had been forced to remind them on several occasions not to appear to familiar with Proudmoore in front of the dwarf they intended to release as messenger, lest she would be seen as too closely and eagerly connected to the Forsaken. The rangers had brought her tent with them too, leisurely sharing the burdens of a single sister and the two less appreciated retainers between themselves and the horses.

Proudmoore had stuck dutifully to their planning and had several conversations with the Scarlet dwarf and human. She appeared to have gained their ear but Sylvanas reckoned they may just as likely be pretending to listen out of a sense of self-preservation.

The road was still deserted when they neared the spot where Cyndia had been lost. Kalira, Nara and Lenara described what they could each recall and Sylvanas sent pairs to scout the area in a wide circle but nothing turned up. Every track had been smudged by the rains and every broken twig that could have offered a lead consumed in the flames. The discovery, or perhaps the lack of discovery of anything, led to Kalira and the 'Naras tensing visibly when Sylvanas ordered the group to continue towards Hearthglen. It was as if they had all embraced the possibility that Cyndia might still be found somewhere out there, unlikely as it may be.

By that point Sylvanas had already been notified that Anthis Sunbow and her rangers were ready just out of sight behind them.

The surrounding farmlands around Hearthglen lay in a low portion of land between the ridge to the south that Kalira had told about and hills and deeper forest to the north. It was a fertile part of Lordaeron but the town was a market town and not fortified. The local keep was a single stout tower, but Scarlet Crusade banners flew from the wooden town walls.

Sylvanas had accompanied Anya and Lyana to scout ahead. They had no difficulty surveying the Scarlet positions well out of range and sight of a human lookout.

"We can see patrols leaving and entering in three directions towards us." Anya whispered. "I will bet my boots that those relieve a sector of posted sentries. They are not keeping a sharp eye on their surroundings when they march, they are on their way to a specific destination without delay."

"Very good, Anya." Sylvanas whispered appreciatively. "We may yet make a captain of you…"

"Please don't start…" Anya mumbled while Lyana shook her head, all too used to the age old dispute between them.

Sylvanas carefully withdrew from her position.

"Lyana, send the dwarf ahead. Anya, relay their positions to Anthis."

Anya and Lyana nodded and left quietly, noiseless on the wet ground and melting into the shadows under the trees. Sylvanas meanwhile made her way back to where Clea and Kitala were waiting with Proudmoore and their packs behind some moss-covered boulders. Her mage was chewing on a piece of Lordamere pike. The rangers had noted that fishing was going to be both the easier and more appreciated way of feeding her even on land.

"Enjoying your meal, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas asked quietly when emerging without a sound from behind the stone.

Her mage yelped and almost dropped her lunch, her shackles clattering.

"Well, hello to you too, Lady Windrunner. I must have missed you knocking." she huffed and tried to look disapproving but the sight only made Sylvanas want to smile.

"How are you feeling?"

"I'm about to waltz down into a nest of reputedly bloodthirsty maniacs to negotiate the release of an elite member of their arch-enemy's army. Never been better!" Proudmoore chirped flippantly.

Sylvanas paid no heed to her strained tone. To expect anything else would be inhuman. But she did not look too good.

"You look pale, Lady Proudmoore. Are you unwell?" Sylvanas asked and watched her thoughtfully.

"No, I just… To be honest, I don't know. I feel slightly nauseous. Have for days. It's probably just my diplomatic stage fever."

Sylvanas frowned. She didn't like it, but after all Proudmoore had only gotten a single evening and night's rest after coming to the Undercity before throwing herself into this venture. It would take longer than that to recover from the strenuous work of propelling a frigate for days with nothing but mana buns to live on at the end.

She let her mage finish her meal and waited. Sylvanas had never gotten used to waiting. She wanted something to do in the meantime, big or small it didn't matter very much. Whenever she had been scouting or having to stay hidden she had always kept her mind busy by taking stock of her surroundings in minute detail or naming all the rangers in the company and their specialties, and every high elven military unit and it's equipment and whatever else she could come up with. People had called her considerate and thorough for those kinds of things but Sylvanas had never felt like she deserved it. She just had to pass the time with something. She was no Anya. Anya could remain still as a statue for hour after hour and then rise like it had been a minute.

"What about you, Lady Windrunner? How are you feeling?" Proudmoore interrupted her mental fidgeting.

"Impatient. Restless." Sylvanas answered truthfully.

"You? Really?"

"Me, really. Does that surprise you, Lady Proudmoore?"

Her mage tilted her head a little, thoughtful and peering at Sylvanas. Like other times, it felt like she could see every single thing Sylvanas would want to hide inside herself.

"I think it does. You are always confident when I see you, you manage to be in control no matter the situation. Sometimes I'd really like to know how to do that."

If only you knew, my mage… I feel like I barely rule my own city.

"Do not sell yourself short, Lady Proudmoore. You possess far more confidence than you give yourself credit for."

And you inspire it.

Do you see it, my mage? How my sailors stand straighter when you are around? How you make my rangers smile again?

"Well, I wouldn't dare to argue with a banshee over a question of possession…" Proudmoore's mouth twitched at the corners and Clea and Kitala looked like they tried very hard to keep themselves quiet.

Sylvanas' thoughts of a suitably caustic reply were interrupted by the whistle of Velonara close by.

"Time to get going and work your magic, Lady of Theramore." Sylvanas bowed with a flourish and indicated the path behind her. "After you."



***



When they came out of their hiding place, Jaina only stared. Before her stood not the one ranger squadron under Kalira, but four. And kneeling in front of them were no less than twenty men and women in dirty red garments and mail and leather armours. Their hands were tied together in a long line and their eyes had been covered by strips of cloth sheared from their shirts and cloaks.

"Twenty, Dark Lady." one of the new rangers reported in Thalassian. Jaina guessed she might be a lieutenant like Kalira and Anya. "One dead, one lightly wounded."

"Good work, Anthis." Sylvanas answered without any hint of surprise. "That makes our total twenty-one. That should even your odds a bit in the negotiations don't you think, Lady Proudmoore?" she added towards Jaina.

"Er…yes, ah, of course…" Jaina stammered. She didn't know if she was most taken aback by the sudden appearance of eighteen rangers that Sylvanas had kept her in the dark about, or how they had seemingly without any difficulty, or even much effort, been able to capture a matching number of armoured enemy soldiers. She didn't know what to quite think of what she saw. The rangers each held daggers or short swords ready, and their faces were impassive and their eyes on Sylvanas only. Jaina could see their prisoners' different state of mind. Clenched jaws on some, trembling chins on others. Shaking, laboured breathing. Bloody but shallow cuts here and there, dirt and mud. Dark stains on their trousers.

It was war and Jaina hated it.

But it was still war.

She closed her eyes briefly and tried to steady herself. Her mission remained the same. Negotiate. Find a solution that did not have to be paid for in blood, if she could. For the sake of both sides.

"Anya! Tell the guard to be ready if needed." Sylvanas called out. Was that what she had named Anya's squadron? Jaina shook off the thought, she had more pressing concerns.

Sylvanas walked up close to Jaina. She seemed to struggle with something.

"Lady Proudmoore…good luck." Sylvanas' jaws were working as if she debated whether to say something or not. "Cyndia matters greatly to me and all of us. But she is not alone in doing so." Sylvanas handed Jaina three gilded medallions. "Here. These are likely their officers' insignias, hand them over as proof that we have their scouts. You have one hour." Sylvanas said curtly, almost tense.

It was a strange sensation to be alone again.

Jaina walked across the open fields from the edge of the forest towards the town gates and felt…how did she really feel about this? She had been forced to adapt to being watched closely during just about every waking hour and most sleeping ones too she assumed. But the unnerving presence of emotionless rangers around her had turned into a comforting one of guardians and friends, and while Jaina would not deny that they were at times a bit too close by (she could do without someone standing guard outside her bathroom) she found herself missing her dark companions very much right now.

The terms for the negotiations that Brokk Ironpick had been sent with were simple. The Scarlets would meet her outside their walls and Jaina would relay the Banshee Queen's terms and then withdraw. It was almost as simple as it could be, and Jaina could not imagine herself appearing as a threat with the heavy brass shackles weighing down her forearms.

The weather was clear but the sky cloudy, and under other circumstances it would have been a fine autumn day to walk along a muddy road towards a Lordaeronian town. Jaina could see red-clad guards by the gate, and that they had spotted her. They looked like they were expecting her approach and Jaina dearly hoped Brokk had been earnest with them.

Like with most towns Jaina knew of, there were some houses outside the walls too. Farms, tanners, an outlying tavern that catered to thirsty peasants making camp outside the walls for market days, sometimes a sawmill. The same was true for Hearthglen.

When Jaina was nearing the gates a Scarlet soldier pointed to a small house to the side of the road.

"In there!" he ordered.

Well, Jaina hadn't exactly expected them to be friendly.

She swallowed and approached the door. Before she had gotten close enough to knock it was opened by a man in red robes and a hood. He stepped aside to let Jaina come in without a word.

The inside of the house, or cottage perhaps being more apt, was as sparse as the exterior. A low ceiling and a single table with crude benches on each side greeted Jaina. Opposite of her was seated a man and a woman in red robes and pieces of ornate armour, both older than Jaina and with deep furrows in their brows and coarse faces. She got a distinct impression that neither of them used to smile or laugh very much, or encourage others to do that.

"Ahem, greetings." Jaina made a small bow, careful not to bang her head against the ceiling when she rose. "I am Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore, representative of Queen Sylvanas Windrunner of Lordaeron."

"If that was true you would know that a lady curtsys, young miss." the woman told her condescendingly.

Jaina added a curtsy, but did it with an ironic half smile that signalled that she gave in to a request she thought silly or overly stubborn. The Scarlet priestess (at least Jaina guessed she would be) just huffed at her.

"Now, now, let us sit down and begin." the man began in a more kindly tone. "I am Brother Hans of the Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade and this is Sister Grete. My child, we tank the Light that you have been allowed to escape the tainted clutches of the undead and come back to us. Will you accept the Light's blessing?"

Jaina had to fight down an instinctive urge to ask if there also was an Un-Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade. She had a feeling that Brother Hans and Sister Grete would not appreciate that logic to the same degree as Areiel or Velonara would.

"Yes, I guess so?" Jaina answered. To her knowledge Light spells were rarely harmful - to the living – if that was the intention and not simply reciting something.

Brother Hans did indeed channel Light magic. Jaina could not detect what it was like she could with most arcane spells but she had seen enough priests at work and been healed enough times to note that it appeared more like an small wave washing over her than a lingering actual blessing. She ignored it for now, it wasn't why she was here.

"Well, Brother Hans and Sister Grete, since we meet here I take it that master Brokk Ironpick has briefed you on the premises of the negotiation. The queen holds in captivity one Henry Turner, a member of your armed forces." Jaina cleared her throat. Did the Scarlet Crusade actually have anything but armed forces? "She offers to exchange him in return for any Forsaken you hold captive."

"That much poor Brokk has told us." Brother Hans nodded sadly.

"Then I first need to inform you that the circumstances have changed on that point." Jaina carefully put the three medallions on the table. "The queen now holds twenty-one Scarlet Crusade soldiers to exchange."

"May the Light shelter their souls." Brother Hans bowed his head momentarily, solemn as if Jaina had told him they had all died.

"So the queen is ready to exchange them for the return for those of her people that you may hold captive. She has asked me to inquire specifically if you hold a formerly elven ranger by the name of Cyndia Hawkspear captive." Jaina asked as normally as she could. A bad feeling was growing in her.

"My child, I would like to believe the words you speak, but the Light is not fooled by trickery. It sees the truth in us all."

Jaina frowned. What did he mean?

"I do not follow, Brother Hans. I assure this is no trick of any kind."

He looked sadly at Jaina.

"Yet still I detect Fel magic about you, my child. So I must regrettably ask you, what manner of demon are you?"

As he spoke the last words Brother Hans just about lit up with channelled Light spells, rising from his chair with Sister Grete following suit.

"No! I am not a demon!" Jaina frantically tried to make sense of it all. "These are magically warded shackles, nothing else."

"Witchcraft." Sister Grete sneered. "Mages deal with corrupting powers that human hand were never meant to touch." she declaimed.

"No, I swear, it isn't like that…"

"Maybe you are human and your heart was once good, my child, but you are tainted by Fel magic and you openly consort with the vile undead without any sense of remorse or revulsion." Brother Hans said as if delivering a final verdict. "The taint of Fel and Undeath are like a plague, and must be purged from humankind at any cost. You must turn from it's dark ways, my child, and repent so that at least your soul may be redeemed."

Jaina recoiled, terrified and disbelieving.

"Find comfort in the Light…"

Creepy paternal-ish patronization, unabashed contempt, pathological rejection of anyone else's world views and blatant disregard for their own and their colleagues' lives…charming fellows, aren't they? Join The (Self)Righteous Order of the Scarlet Crusade today, and remember to check your conscience and empathy by the door!

Baron Frostfel is one of the ten possible random names of death knights in skirmish maps in Warcraft III. In Swedish "frost" means "frost" but "fel" means "error" or "fault". So, ladies and gentlemen, I give you…Baron Frost Error! Also, I urge anyone familiar with Medieval II Total War to now take hold of your noses and repeat in your most sneezing Holy Roman Empire accent:

"Begone! You are not mein Dark Lady!"

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 16: Rams and Rage
Negotiations have broken down in record time and the Forsaken storm Hearthglen.

Remember that some dark rangers are banshees in possession of their bodies, and generally able to shift into a ghostly and flying banshee form as well as hide in the shadows, while some are always corporeal darkfallen undead. And also how Anya likes to sing on occassion (such as when sailing out in chapter 6).

The depiction of Hearthglen varies somewhat but in this story it is a town with a smaller keep and wooden walls, and used to be basically a market town rather than a defensive strongpoint.

Click to shrink...

"Sylvanas!" Anya screamed.

"I see them, damn it, I see them!"

Sylvanas continued to curse in Thalassian interspersed with the tongue of the Amani trolls as she witnessed three Scarlet figures dragging a fourth away from the lone cottage towards the town gates. The fourth one had a sack or some kind of cloth covering the head but the clumsy pants and wide mariner's jacket stood out, as well as the shackled hands when she twisted and managed to elbow one of her captors and almost hammer down with her fettered hands before staggering forward after a blow to her stomach from another of them.

Sylvanas was already smoking, struggling with finding a reason not to sweep down over the city in her banshee form and personally rip each and every living thing in red to pieces. She had unconsciously taken a step forward she realised when Anya reached out to touch her shoulder.

"Dark Lady, we are with you wherever you go. But it's a long way and the sun is still up." Anya pointed out woefully.

She was right.

Sylvanas bit down a wordless snarl.

She had to be better than this. She was their Dark Lady. She could not afford to make decisions in this state. She could not afford another Cyndia.

But the Scarlets had her mage.

"Back to the camp."

Their camp was of course little more than an open patch next to the road overlooking Hearthglen. Sylvanas stormed through their sentries' line and her demeanour was enough to inform Kalira and the rest about the general state of things.

"They will not negotiate." Sylvanas growled through clenched teeth.

"And Lady Proudmoore?" Kalira asked, even though the answer was rather obvious.

"Taken by them."

Sylvanas' vision was reddening when her eyes fell on their pitiful prisoners, those pathetic stains upon the race of humankind not fit to breathe the same air as someone like Jaina Proudmoore, those loathsome, filthy vermin who would dare to even think about laying hands on a woman endlessly worthier than themselves that they were not even fit to lay eyes on!

There were dark rangers posted all around them with drawn blades with their eyes on her. Sylvanas angrily raised a clenched fist.

"Dark Lady!" Anthis Sunbow's clear voice cut through the air. "Forgive my obvious mistake, but for a moment it almost seemed like you were going to waste valuable assets just out of rage!" she called out sharply in Thalassian.

Sylvanas and Anthis stared at one another, neither so much as blinking. Sylvanas finally lowered her fist slowly. Anthis was right, of course, just as Anya. And now that she had mentioned it, Sylvanas could think of one or two uses for that human blight.

"Bring up the guard."

It took little time for Baron Frostfel to march the deathguard and dreadguard into position before her, their column stretching far along the road and each armoured soldier marching in perfect lockstep beneath the critical but undeniably proud and eager eye of the baron.

"Baron Frostfel, are the rams prepared?" Sylvanas inquired curtly. Her anger still simmered beneath the surface and only waited to boil over. It was likely evident for anyone who knew her the slightest, but it did nothing to deter the baron's enthusiasm.

"Zey are, My Queen! Give ze order and we will break those gates like dry twigs." He indicated three thick logs carried in roped slings by formations at the back of the column.

"How many torches?"

"Torches, My Queen? Let's see, I would guess around thirty. Why, do you think we will need them? I was under ze impression zat we aimed to surprise ze Scarlet rabble?"

"We will need more torches, baron. Much more. And do not worry, we will indeed have a surprise for them." Sylvanas instructed through gritted teeth.

"I shall see to it. Zere is a groove of pines up along zat ridge zat should do fine for firewood."

"Post dreadguards with the prisoners, and see to it that each one is given a torch. You may inform them that they will soon bring their holy Light into the darkness. Be ready to attack by sunset."

"Certainly, My Queen!"

"Anthis! You three are to take your squadrons and circle around out of sight of the walls. Kill everything in red you encounter, I want them blind and deaf when we advance!"

Her orders were being carried out and Sylvanas resolved herself to her least favourite part of warfare - waiting. There would be at least three hours left of daylight she reckoned. Enough for her three outer ranger squadrons to get a good look at the surrounding area and for Baron Frostfel's guards to hack down enough wood for a good number of torches.

And more than enough time for the Scarlet Crusade to do something despicable and permanent to Proudmoore.

When Sylvanas had been a new ranger Areiel had once tried to have a serious talk with the group about respect for the enemy, the enemy at that time being the Amani. She hadn't gotten through, at least not in the way she hoped to, of that Sylvanas had been sure. While the classical reminders of not underestimating your opponent - and in their case not mistaking the trolls' seemingly bestial ways for a lack of cunning and planning - had been received without comment Sylvanas had been sure that Areiel wanted to touch upon something deeper with her lecture. Too many elves had come to regard the trolls as simply evil, and something of a pest to be controlled, which was a dangerous path to walk without becoming complacent and without giving in to habitual brutality that over time turned commanders reckless and soldiers into the beasts they claimed to fight. At least that was her impression of the point Areiel had been trying to make.

She had made a comment then that came to Sylvanas as she waited. Areiel had pointed out that if captured, one should hope that the enemy would turn out to be a downright evil bastard. An honourable enemy would finish you off quickly, and maybe more likely not capture you in the first place, while a cruel one would want to take the time to toy with their prey. And that time meant more time to escape.

Which one were the Scarlets? When it actually came to a living human in their hands? Sylvanas could not know. Logic pointed towards them trying to get all information they could out of Proudmoore, but logic was not a defining feature of the Scarlet Crusade. Sylvanas knew too little of them to be able to accurately predict their intentions, she realised. On the one hand most of them hailed from Lordaeron and Proudmoore had a lot experience dealing with that kingdom and it's people, which even made up the majority of her own subjects in Theramore, and should be able to turn that to her advantage. On the other, what if the Scarlets in their twisted fanaticism would consider her former ties to Arthas as grounds to brand her as some sort of traitor? The similarities with Sylvanas' own rhetorics during their walk from the Lordaeron harbour did not escape her and it left a bitter taste.

Anya kept near her, and as usual read her like an open book.

"I've posted Clea and Kitala to keep watch, in case they bring Lady Proudmoore outside for some reason."

"Good." Sylvanas glared ahead of them. "Anya…do you think they will kill her?"

"No. Not now. I think they would do it publicly in daylight in that case, and make a show of it."

"Why are they doing this, why would they abandon twenty of their own like this?"

"Do they fear Lady Proudmoore being free more than they want their people back?" Anya suggested quietly.

"But she's one of the living, and a human as well. Why would they?"

"And she is a mage, what if they fear her magic?" When Sylvanas didn't answer Anya continued. "Like we do."

Sylvanas caught the hint of sadness and accusation and she did not object. Anya was right, wasn't she? Sylvanas had treated Proudmoore with only suspicion, fear even, despite everything she had done for them.

Hadn't she?

Keeping her mage locked up, no matter the potential risks of her wandering around in a hostile city, did not sit so well with her anymore.

A new and terrifying thought struck her. Sylvanas feared the Scarlets harming Proudmoore, but what if they were in fact not treating her badly and what if Proudmoore would…turn sides? Sylvanas wanted the idea to be absurd but it would not leave her and with it her older misgivings resurfaced.

The living did not trust the dead.

Proudmoore had not been unkind to any Forsaken but none of them had a beating heart and never would have. Sylvanas had worried about her exposure to the Forsaken in Lordaeron but should she have feared exposure to the remaining living of Lordaeron? She had seen one of them hit her with her own eyes, and she wanted to break every bone in his body for it, but Sylvanas had personally nearly killed her with a banshee Wail. What would they have to tell her about Sylvanas and the rest of them, not least her dark rangers, and would Proudmoore believe them? What people would she favour if it came to that, the dead or the living Lordaeronians? Who would her own people in Theramore prefer her to choose?

What would Sylvanas do if Proudmoore had really turned against them?

The thought would not leave her alone while she joined her squadron in keeping watch and waiting for the impossibly slow sun to sink beneath the tree tops behind her. She could not decide which frightened her the most, her mage coming to harm or her mage abandoning her.

Finally the last rays disappeared behind her and the shadows grew long until they fell over everything. Sylvanas rose, and saw that Kalira was already waiting with her squadron behind her.

"Forward." Sylvanas growled, and her banshee form boiled inside her.



***



Anthis, Amora and Vorel had done their job well and three separate columns of deathguard and dreadguard infantry were guided under what cover there was to be found to be in position facing the northern, western and southern of Hearthglen's town gates. The town was a market town and while the mostly open ground around it benefitted a defender it had neither moats nor reinforced gatehouses.

With each column were also seven red-clad torchbearers each escorted at swordpoint by a dreadguard, and more torches were distributed among dreadguards spread out behind them. When each column advanced within sight of the walls it gave the impression of a vast army spread out in the darkness, further reinforced by small groups of soldiers marching back and forth so they were visible coming in and out of the torchlight as if units were constantly forming up and regrouping.

True enough the town was soon filled with shouts and ringing bells, and the Scarlet garrison manned the walls quickly. Priests chanted and called on the Light but found themselves targeted by black arrows and forced to focus on protective spells for themselves and their allies closest to them. As of yet there were no paladins visible in the Scarlet ranks, or at the very least none of visibly high skill in Light spells.

None had noted the two dark ranger squadron coming from the east, where the Hearthglen keep was built into the town wall.

The keep was shaped like a large square tower, around four storeys high with a flat roof overlooking the walls and the town. Sylvanas led her and Kalira's rangers to the foot of the wall and then, effortlessly enough that it should be considered downright cheating, simply floated quietly up to the roof in her banshee form along with those of her sisters who could do that. Sylvanas had time to remember that Cyndia had been one of the few that actually liked to stay in her banshee form, hovering among the treetops to watch the moon on quiet nights. Anya and Clea had dispatched the tiring lookouts without a sound and it was quick work to throw down a rope and haul up the darkfallen rangers.

A hatch led down to the top floor of the keep and the dark rangers spread out in pairs to search them, Kalira at Sylvanas' side. Time was against them but they also could not risk alerting someone that might decide to use Proudmoore as a hostage against them.

Or…no. Sylvanas would not have that thought.

The upper floor and the next had been hastily evacuated when the human kingdom of Lordaeron fell and still held mostly the living quarters of some lord and lady that had once resided there. Moving downward the rangers met up with some stragglers of the garrison but with surprise and for once even the numbers being on their side they had little difficulty against common Scarlet soldiers. Servants' quarters and barracks gave way to the kitchens and storerooms as they descended. The keep had four storeys above ground. It had two below.

When finding no sign of either Proudmoore or Cyndia on the upper floors both Sylvanas and Kalira had quickened their pace in mute agreement, and they were the first to reach the dim and narrow stairs to the first level of the damp cellars. Only a lone lamp illuminated a long corridor lined with bolted doors but it was of little consequence.

"Keep watch." Sylvanas whispered and began to examine the doors. Some were barred but unlocked and contained various kinds of food kept cool beneath the ground, or tools and various spare materials. Even some barrels of arrows, she noted with contempt at the idiocy of leaving them inaccessible in the basement instead of near the rooftop where they could be put to use. But there were no empty rooms she could find on this level, and no sound came form the locked doors that Sylvanas did not dare to break open yet for fear of discovery. More and more her attention was drawn to the next stair that yawned as a dark maw at them from the other end of the corridor.

When the three 'Naras – Nara, Lenara and Velonara – tiptoed hurriedly down to join them Sylvanas beckoned to Kalira to follow her and hissed to the others.

"Keep searching this floor but do not break open any doors until I say so."

She and Kalira descended the last stair on quiet feet. The lowest level had fewer rooms and were quite clearly the keep's dungeons. A few doors had small barred windows, others not. The walls around them were coarser and dirtier than the floor above, and even with her dulled sense of smell Sylvanas could pick up a something foul ahead. She and Kalira stood still to listen and watch for movement. It was pitch dark apart from a faint light coming from something further down the corridor. It would be a lamp or a door. Sylvanas signed for them to move forward slowly, until the crack of a whip and something between a gasp and scream and sob sounded from the faintly lit opening ahead.

In the blink of an eye Sylvanas was at the door. In another she kicked it in and sent it splintering against the wall on the other side.

Her mage was slumping with her face against the hither wall, hanging by her shackles tied to something above her. Her frayed jacket had been cut in two and hung like limp broken wings from her arms. Her badly fitting shirt was ripped apart to reveal her back. And her back was covered in thick red stripes.

A Scarlet priestess of some kind just looked up and time seemed to slow as Sylvanas took in her frowning face, her harsh and disdainful appearance and the whip in her hand that dripped with blood.

Jaina's blood.

Sylvanas had centuries upon centuries of battle experience and training with the finest swordmasters Quel'Thalas had produced, with legions of rangers that longed to bring their fabled Ranger-General down in the sand, with her wicked big sister and her farstrider friends. She forgot it all in an instant and hurled herself half in banshee form upon the vile excuse for a woman in front of her, bringing them both crashing into the stone tiles of the floor. But as much as her banshee form was harder to harm with common weapons it was also all the more vulnerable to the power of the Light. A shield shot up around the priestess and physically repelled Sylvanas, searing her very being. She crawled back and willed herself to resume her corporeal form.

I must not Wail.

Sylvanas' daggers were out in an instant and the Scarlet priestess hefted a mace to meet them, but Sylvanas sent her flying backwards almost contemptuously with a hard kick. Whatever protection the Light afforded did however dampen the fall enough for the priestess to raise her hand and send a bright flash of something out around her, momentarily blinding Sylvanas. Before her eyesight had fully returned the blurry shadow of Kalira flew past her shoulder with her sword drawn and cut the priestess' mace in two with a downward slash. Holy Light washed over Kalira who snarled, and met the lunge of a conjured glowing blade with her own, swatted it aside and with the return slash opened a deep gash across the priestess' throat.

The sneer gave way to wide-eyed terror as the woman sputtered and gurgled, in vain trying to stop the bleeding with her hand clasped tight over the laceration. She glowed with what was no doubt some manner of healing spell but Kalira's blade interrupted the attempt when she thrust it through the mail armour beneath the priestess' breast plate, with enough force to send her slamming against the wall behind.

"Where." Kalira made an upward thrust, further impaling the priestess who now thrashed in a last, terrified attempt to escape her. "Is." There was a grating sound and a sharp crack when the tip broke through her spine. "My." Kalira pressed close against her with both hands holding the sword hilt that was now right at the wound. "CYNDIA!"

But no answer came apart from a choked gurgle when the limp body of the Scarlet priestess fell over to collapse in a twitching and bleeding pile before Kalira, who spared it one last kick before she looked up again.

Sylvanas turned around. She took in the cut skin on Proudmoore's back in detail and the blood still trickling from some of the deepest gashes.

I must not Wail.

She slowly approached her mage's side, almost tentatively so as not to spook her.

Proudmoore looked up at her, and Sylvanas caught just a glimpse of the dark, swelling bruises on her cheeks and the look of utter despair and distress before the mage turned her face away again, shaking and breathing in short and shallow gasps that grew ever more frantic, as if she could not stand a moment more of being seen by Sylvanas in this state.

It was like the way Proudmoore had once shied away from her gaze and curled into herself, that first morning together when she had gotten her first meal onboard the Banshee's Wail. Only so very, very much worse. Sylvanas felt like something cracked and broke inside her upon seeing it.

How could she ever, ever, have had the despicable idea of imagining Proudmoore turning on them?

Sylvanas wanted to find the words to express how infinite the wrongness of her mage suffering like this and feeling ashamed for it was. She would give what twisted remnants that were left of her soul for something that could take away the crushing look of guilt in Proudmoore's eyes. But no words came to her, and all she could do was to haul herself up by one hand to reach to hack at the thick ropes that suspended her mage's shackles.

Kalira appeared near her while Proudmoore stumbled a little when her arms were cut loose. The ranger lieutenant had visible burns but just snorted dismissively when Sylvanas briefly looked her over. But at least Kalira's appearance made Proudmoore look up once again.

"Cyndia?" Sylvanas tried so hard to keep her voice soft and gentle but the banshee inside her boiled and wreathed and made her voice echo more than usual.

"I saw no one else." Proudmoore croaked, with her voice thick and hoarse. "It's just me." she added miserably, and seemed to shrink before Sylvanas and Kalira as if it was something she was to blame for. "Apart from the dear Sister Grete that you've just had the pleasure of meeting, that is." she remarked bitterly.

I must not Wail.

Sylvanas viewed the repulsive room, reflexively looking for any faint clue that could tell her something of Cyndia. There was a bed of coals still glowing in what seemed like a fireplace, and some iron pokers lay half embedded in it. Rusting chains hung from various places along the walls and different pieces of twisted mockery of furniture set with restraints and spikes – who came up with such things? – lay scattered across the floor after the fight with the Scarlet Sister Grete.

She did not trust herself enough not to Wail in Proudmoore's presence right now.

"Kalira." She could hear how otherworldly she sounded. "Escort Lady Proudmoore to the keep's gate. We'll meet up there."

Sylvanas hurried up through the stairs, calling up her rangers as she passed them. How long had it been? Was the battle already underway outside the keep?

The 'Naras and her own squadron had gathered by the gate when Kalira caught up with them, half leading and half supporting Proudmoore.

"Lady Proudmoore is alive but wounded and we have found no trace of Cyndia." Sylvanas had just informed them, cold and stony.

"How is she hurt?" Lyana demanded, because of course Lyana would not even think about shutting up about that.

Kalira wasted no time on answering but simply spun the mage around. Proudmoore made no motion to resist it, only hanging her head as far away from the others as she could with her tangled hair falling over her like a curtain.

Upon seeing her exposed back, the rangers cursed. All but Anya.

Anya cried.

It was a pitiful, anguished scream of hurt that was something between a sob and the cry of some wounded beast, and a pair of black tears trickled down her cheeks.

"Kalira, sweep the rest of the keep with your squadron and clear out any remaining Scarlets, then cover the south wall from the rooftop." Sylvanas commanded icily with a voice that now crackled with power.

"Clea, Kitala, guard the southern side of the gate.

"Lyana, keep watch over Lady Proudmoore. Clasp her ears."

Sylvanas started walking towards the thick oaken door of the keep.

"Anya… Kill."

With a resounding crack of splintering wood and clattering metal the keep's door flew across the outside street to impact against a nearby house.

The Banshee Queen stepped out to rise above the ground in swirling, boiling black mist.

And she Wailed.

From three directions around the town of Hearthglen rose the uniform metallic beating of weapons against shields and iron-shod feet marching as one when the deathguard advanced. In their middle came tight formations with their shields held up around the battering rams that were being moved into position.

Sylvanas stepped onto the ground again in time to catch Anya's quiver being thrown to her from somewhere to her right. She pulled her own bow from her back, nocked and drew, all in one deathly cold motion. There was no escape from black arrows coming from the wrong side of the battlements and all across the northern wall Scarlet soldiers huddled behind their raised shields in anticipation of the next one.

A little bit to their side shadows formed, hardly visible to anyone except the most keen-eyed dark ranger. Under the hail of arrows from the Banshee Queen, the shadows danced among the defenders and left only blood and death behind.

And the shadows sang.



"Shadows to the right of me

Shadows to the left of me

Only darkness I shall see

Death ahead of me…"



***



It may have been only minutes or it may have been hours that Lyana held her close with her own cloak draped over Jaina's shoulders and her hands clamped down over the hood covering Jaina's ears. Jaina could not recall. Eventually something happened that made Lyana rise and tug at her to follow the ranger out of the small guardroom where she had taken Jaina.

The town of Hearthglen was a slaughterhouse. Blood covered the streets and bodies were visible almost everywhere. Jaina absently registered what she had been taught and what she had seen for herself of sieges. A heap of bodies near the gate, heavy fighting once it had been breached. Bodies lining the ground next to the wall, shot or thrown down. Bodies in the streets facing away from the gate, a retreat turning into a rout.

It all sickened her. Jaina hoped it always would.

Lyana guided her towards the western gate of the town. Sylvanas was there, along with Kalira and a burly Forsaken knight with great white moustaches and flowing hair. He was complimenting her eagerly in thick eastern Lordaeron accent.

"…only a true hero of ze Forsaken could mastermind such a crushing victory! It is a true pleasure to fight at your side, Dark Lady." Then the knight looked like someone who suddenly remembers himself and turned at once to Kalira. "And at your side too of course, ah…Fair Lady. Ze swordplay of yours is a thing of beauty rarely seen!"

Another time Jaina might have smiled at someone calling hard, strict, no-nonsense Kalira 'Fair Lady'.

Sylvanas turned to her. There was blood on her arms and legs, and her eyes glowed in the darkness. Jaina averted her eyes. She could not bear to face Sylvanas right now.

"How is she?" Sylvanas asked Lyana.

"These wounds need cleaning." Lyana said determinedly. "I don't want to bring her back into the keep but I think our best options are the bedclothes and maybe some spares form the upper levels. And water. Lots of water. Clean. And wine or something to purge the wounds."

She was probably right. Jaina winced every time Lyana's cloak bounced against her stinging back and she was starting to shiver in the cold night.

"Lady Proudmoore." Jaina looked up towards Kalira. Cyndia's squadron commander. What would she have to say? "We found no trace of Cyndia, and I understand that you did not learn anything of her while you were captured." Jaina nodded regretfully. "You still did a brave thing for her sake and for my rangers. You have my gratitude for that."

Hard and harsh or not, Jaina decided then and there that she could probably learn to like Kalira.

Anya, Clea and Kitala had gathered around Sylvanas and Kitala was whispering something to her to which Sylvanas nodded.

"It would seem that most of our torchbearers actually survived the night." she noted dryly. "I would say, Lady Proudmoore, that they are all yours."

"I want to see them. Now!" Jaina blurted out, to her own surprise.

Sylvanas led her through the grisly street towards the western gate. There were seventeen Scarlet soldiers remaining, each kneeling with a dreadguard behind that looked like he was only waiting for Sylvanas to give the order to behead the lot of them.

Jaina breathed heavily. The patronizing, surreally calm voice of Brother Hans and the accusing eyes of Sister Grete came back to her. The contemptuous strike with the back of her hand that turned to beatings with a stick. Her cutting Jaina's clothes apart and baring her back. Jaina trying to stay quiet and unmoving when the first lash landed on her. Her own screaming and tears of pain when the next ones bit down into her flesh where it was already cut. Her fear of never leaving that awful place.

Kitala's fingertips brushing over her ear brought Jaina back to the present. Anya looked at her with wide eyes and smudged black lines running down from them. Clea and Lyana stood behind her, covering her from the light breeze just like the rangers had when she was exhausted at sea.

Jaina would be brave for them.

With as much dignity as she could muster, Jaina removed her cloak and handed it back to Lyana. She slowly approached the Scarlet Crusaders with her head held high, despite wanting to hide away.

Jaina regarded them silently.

"I was foolish to think that your order would respect an envoy like civilized people." Jaina swallowed. She tried to keep her voice clear and steady but it was hard.

One of them spat at her.

Jaina could hear Sylvanas hiss and knew she would be just about ready to give the order for the dreadguards to finish them all.

Jaina held out her hand to halt her.

"The Queen of Lordaeron considers you to be of no further use. But I came here with a very simple mission, so I will ask you one very simple question. Do one of you know of a dark ranger by the name of Cyndia Hawkspear?"

"Traitor! Traitor of all humankind!" The words came from the woman closest to Jaina. She was tall, and not very alike Sister Grete, but Jaina was suddenly sure that she would have received the same treatment from the one before her.

She met the eyes of the other prisoners. Sullen, hopeless looks and fervent anger was returned at her, but none deigned to answer.

"I came here with an offer of peace!" Jaina's voice quivered.

"Peace? There can be no peace with undead monsters!" a swarthy man with a bloody gash along his arm yelled at her. He sounded enraged, and at Jaina even more than the Forsaken dreadguards around him.

All around him, Jaina could see the others eyeing her with matching expressions. Disgust. Contempt. Loathing.

They hated the undead, but they hated Jaina even more for not sharing in that.

Jaina slowly turned around. She reached for the flapping rags that had been her shirt and pulled it aside.

"WHO…" she shouted, and hated herself for how she could not keep her voice steady. "…ARE THE MONSTERS HERE?!"

Jaina had briefly closed her eyes to hide her pathetic tears and steel herself against the stinging pain when her cuts were stretched by the movement of her arms and shoulders. When opening them, she found herself looking right into Anya's.

Beautiful, precious Anya.

Her cold and smooth fingers caressed Jaina's damp face and wiped away her tears, so gently that they may as well have been a light wind brushing against her cheeks.

"Whore!"

Jaina straightened herself. She faced the tall Scarlet woman reminiscent of Sister Grete without wavering.

"I would rather be a ranger's whore, than anything that you are." Jaina met her eyes without flinching. "And one day, the Dark Lady will trust me enough to no longer wear these." She raised her wrists slightly to display her shackles. "And then we will revisit that comment." Jaina said icily and then turned to the dreadguards in silent vigil. "Soldiers of the Forsaken! Your blades deserve better than to be sullied."

Jaina lifted up her sleeve-like remains of the jacket and spared the Scarlet men and women no further look when she walked demonstratively to Sylvanas and almost defiantly made a deep courtly bow before her.

"Dark Lady. I am finished here."

"As you wish, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas replied with equal formality. "Are you sure about this?" she added much lower, and in Thalassian. "You want me to let fanatical enemies of all undead just go?"

"Let them see for themselves what it is like to be alone out in the dark and the cold."

"They hurt you!" Sylvanas hissed and Jaina caught sight of the smouldering anger in her eyes, buried just beneath the surface. The battle, it seemed, had not sated Sylvanas' lust for Scarlet blood.

"But you rescued me. You're better than them. Be better than them. Please." Jaina whispered.

"I most certainly am not." Sylvanas almost sighed, in a way that Jaina couldn't interpret. "But I stand by my word and the decision is yours, however inadvisable I think it is. They will hate you all the more for this act of chivalry, I believe."

"If any of them dare to show their faces near the Undercity I swear I will shoot them myself, Dark Lady."

That actually made Sylvanas smile.

"You had best start practicing then, ranger Proudmoore. Perhaps we can arrange something one day."

Jaina was about to reply but could not hold back a shiver from the cold air and started to cough.

Sylvanas frowned and held out her cloak invitingly. Jaina would likely have blushed terribly any other day but she was too cold and tired to care right now, and she also found that she desperately wanted to be close to Sylvanas. The Banshee Queen held the garment up around Jaina with her arm so it wouldn't touch her back too much, and Jaina edged maybe a little bit closer to Sylvanas than she absolutely had to.

"I'm…" Jaina coughed again. "I'm sorry, Dark Lady. I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was totally wrong, and your people had to suffer for it." Jaina whispered and felt so very small before Sylvanas. "I feel so stupid."

Jaina shied away from the Banshee Queens gaze and looked down, but remembered herself when she realised that it would leave her staring more or less at Sylvanas' upper chest. Before Jaina could come up with a better direction to divert her gaze to she felt Sylvanas' other hand carding through her hair and carefully forcing Jaina to look up at her.

"I have already told you once to not talk nonsense or shoulder the blame that belongs to others, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas held her firmly, not so it hurt Jaina but enough to prevent her from looking away. "Do I need to repeat myself?" she whispered threateningly and Jaina let out a small and quiet, sad laugh.

"I failed you. And because of that all of those people had to die. And there were Forsaken among the dead too, I saw it."

"Deathguards. Devoted volunteers, our best heavy troops. They have found their true death in battle against our worst enemies and given my people their first victory. They do not deserve to be pitied, but respected." She eased her grip on Jaina's hair a little. "And Kalira is right. You did a brave thing and if the Scarlet Crusade fail to see reason when it is staring them in the face the fault is theirs and theirs alone, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina found that she was breathing easier. Calmer. Sylvanas frightened her something terrible when she was like this but Jaina was still calmed by her. At least for the moment, the Banshee Queen was frightening enough to scare her anguish and anxiety away.

"You're not...angry with me?" Jaina asked and still felt small against Sylvanas.

"Oh, I am furious with you for getting yourself hurt like this when being brave for me, little mage." Sylvanas whispered, like thick smouldering honey dripping into Jaina's ear. "But it is you who is owed an apology, Lady Proudmoore. I was wrong to move so early in the day, I should have sent you forward close to the sunset instead so there would have been no need to wait before attacking. Please forgive me."

Sylvanas' hand had left Jaina's hair and now cupped her cheek. Jaina felt more tears welling up, out of relief or exhaustion or lingering fear, she didn't now.

"I want to go home." Jaina whispered. "To the Undercity, I mean."

"So, you prefer my dungeons to those of Hearthglen?" Sylvanas asked wryly.

"I would rather have your dungeons and your rangers than a castle brimming with maids."

"Then we shall waste no more time out here. But I fear we must get you inside first to see your back tended to, or Lyana will have both our heads."

Sylvanas turned to look over her shoulder towards Kalira and the Forsaken baron.

"I will return to the Undercity with my squadron shortly. I want this hovel turned inside out and every scrap of supplies ferried home. Kalira, you have the command. See to it that the Scarlet prisoners are released as per Lady Proudmoore's request."

Still with her cloak held around Jaina, Sylvanas guided her to the nearest building, which ironically enough was the small cottage where Jaina had first met the Scarlet Crusade priests. Jaina could hear Sylvanas' rangers shout suggestions to Kalira of useful things to pillage as they followed Jaina and Sylvanas inside.

"Maybe some nightgowns from the upper floors of the keep, and bedclothes and pillows!"

"Some food from the cellars too! Not even Kul Tirans can live on fish alone!"

"New boots!"

"A cloak or a coat for the nights!"

"And a nice dress!"

"And herbs and potions if you can find it! And clean bandages if there are any!" Lyana was the last to add to the grocery list as she closed the door behind them all.

The building was just as cramped as last time but Jaina did not mind it. Clea lit a fire and Anya and Lyana went to make a quick inventory of the bedroom and kitchen. It quickly turned out to be unsatisfactory.

"We can't make do with this, I need something to cook in. And we have to find some bloody potions!" Lyana muttered loudly. "Lady Proudmoore, come into the light here, let me take a better look at you." she continued in a much kinder tone.

Jaina obediently sat down in front of Lyana. She wasn't quite comfortable with her body being the focus of so much attention but at the same time the dark rangers' care for her was comforting and Jaina would do as she was told. They had risked their lives to rescue her. It was the very least she could do for them.

Lyana's fingers were gentle when she folded away the tatters of Jaina's shirt but it still stung to have it touch the cut skin and Jaina winced and gasped from it.

"You poor thing…" Lyana's finger trailed the unbroken skin on Jainas's back. "Dark Lady, we have to rinse her back at least and bind the wounds. I'll need a better pot than this junk, and something to hold a lot of water and to use as bandages. And some wine or such."

"Clea and Kitala, search the nearest houses for what Lyana needs. I have to see to some things with Kalira and Anthis in the meantime. Lady Proudmoore, you will be in good hands. Lyana is extremely skilled."

Jaina nodded. She was starting to feel warm, maybe feverish even, and honestly too tired to have an opinion of much at all.

Sylvanas, Clea and Kitala left, and while Lyana sorted through whatever useful things she could find inside Anya carefully cut away the last bits of Jaina's ruined clothing from her arms. Jaina leaned forward on the table and rested her head in them. She closed her eyes, until Anya edged a folded blanket under her arms. She stroked Jaina over her hair.

"You're burning, Lady Proudmoore." Anya said tenderly, and Jaina could only manage a tiny nod. Equally tenderly, the dark ranger put her pleasantly cool hand against Jaina's forehead. "Try to sleep if you can. We'll watch over you."

Jaina suddenly noticed how Anya smelled of blood up close. Her dark attire didn't reveal much but Anya had obviously not spent the night fighting from a distance.

"Anya…are you…are you…alright?" Jaina whispered weakly.

"I am now."

Lyana: This is a travesty - we are NEVER taking the field without Kitthix again! What if I need to stitch someone up?
Jaina: Just out of curiosity, what would happen if Anya would one day actually laugh when going into battle?
Sylvanas: Just...do not speak of such things. "Shudder"

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[Maltacus]

Chapter 17: Sickness and Saving

Sylvanas offers Jaina a ride home and makes use of some of her experience with (other) traumatized banshees. Jaina is of course a rational and sensible person who is above petty distractions such as a random draft or a silly dream. And we finally get to learn where Cyndia is.

You know how sometimes if you have a really nasty fever and you are too tired to do anything but sleep but can't keep sleeping, and you can't really tell if you're awake or asleep? That's Jaina at the moment. Chronologically, the chapter begins just about where the last one ended.

I should mention that the inestimably pious Scarlet Brother Wroth appears at his finest in this chapter, as sickening as ever. And regarding him and his colleagues I could also clarify that none of the abuse Jaina or Cyndia or Westley suffered from them was sexual.

Click to shrink...

Westley would long since have lost count of how many times he had hefted yet another heavy and unwieldy shovel or pick or mallet from the corner of the stables, had he ever bothered to count in the first place. The large iron spit felt impossibly heavy in his hands tonight though. What did it matter how many times you had hammered out a hole for a fence post at a time like this?

The Scarlet Monastery was a fortified stronghold with limited space for anything but the bare necessities of normal life. Together with the strict hold of the order in, well, just about everything, that meant that there weren't many people out and about after nightfall when the lack of daylight prevented most outdoor chores.

Staying out of sight in the streets was easy. Westley had over a year of experience trying to stay out of sight as much as he could, after all. Crossing the courtyard was harder. He knew of no other way inside than the main gate of the monastery and there were no windows at ground level. There would be at least fifty long steps out of the shadows before he reached the dark entrance. The only bright side of it was that the gate was unlocked at all times unless enemies had been sighted from the monastery. Far too many errands needed to be carried out inside or outside the structure for it to be deemed worth bothering with.

Halfway across Westley stopped and listened. There were no screams to be heard this time. All was quiet.

As he took the first step inside the hall Westley realised his mistake.

"Where are you going?"

The gate was left unlocked at night. It was not left unguarded.

There were two of them, one on each side in the small gatehouse where they had some cover from the wind. A bearded middle-aged warrior in full plate and a younger in chain mail, both with swords and shields. A knight and his squire, most likely. While the oaths to the Scarlet Crusade supposedly superseded all previous standing and allegiance it was an open secret that most knights who had joined the order kept acting as knights and that it depended on the good graces of enough nobles in other human kingdoms to display a good deal of deference to their position.

All of that could have been fact or fable, it did not change the fact that they had asked Westley a rather obvious question he had not prepared an answer for.

"To the…eh…smithy." was the first thing he came to think about. He carried a metal tool after all. But no one with his wits about him would take an iron spit to the smithy unless it was about to break utterly. Or maybe if the iron was intended to be melted down to be reforged into something else but no such orders had been issued.

However, the man who had questioned Westley was not someone with his wits about him. He was a knight. His hands had grasped lance and sword from before he learned to talk properly, but never a shovel or scythe. He knew a hundred ways to deprive someone of his life but hardly a tenth of all things needed to sustain it over a hard winter and a hungering spring.

He was completely ready to believe than an uncouth and filthy peasant like the slow-witted stablehand before him would take a slightly rusty iron spit to the smithy for some unimportant reason or another.

"Off with you then, and stay out of the chapel. In the name of the Light!" The last greeting sounded more like an admonishment. Westley repeated the words and hurried inside and to the left where the stairs he had recently learned to dread led him to the underside of the monastery.

He had been to the actual smithy close by many times with a bent or broken thing of one kind or the other but he was not quite at home among all the winding paths leading to storerooms and work areas and most of all to Brother Wroth's abysmal cellar closest to the courtyard.

Westley was shaking. There was no denying it. He grabbed the spit with both hands as if that would steady him but it only made him think of the time he wasted. He did not have much time.

The door to the cellar was not locked, he knew that since before. But it was hardly any easier to open because of that. He found himself staring like in a dream at the small line of reddish light that seeped out from underneath the door. Was Wroth inside now? He should have heard something.

But what if he shouldn't? What if Wroth was toying with the undead elf girl and keeping quiet only to surprise her when she thought he would be gone?

What if he knew Westley was coming and was waiting just behind this door?

What would he do?

Westley could always make up some sort of lie, that he was sent to fetch something, that he had heard an unexplained sound. That he had reconsidered and wanted to give the undead 'thing' what it deserved like a true son of the Light. But he knew inside that Wroth would see through him. The man was terrifying not just in the way he displayed fervent zeal in torturing but just as much for how it was almost like Wroth could smell a persons fear on him.

Wroth was with him whether he was there or not. And maybe he would always be.

NO!

Westley closed his eyes and kicked the cursed door open with all his might. It swung open and crashed into the wall with an almost painful sound that seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet cellars.

Wroth was not there.

The coals were still red. Their cruel sheen left the room covered in long shadows and dark spots and corners everywhere. Westley's eyes adapted slowly to the gloom.

She was still there. But she didn't move.

He approached slowly, one hesitant step at a time. What could an undead elf do? Could she even speak Common, and was there anything he could say that she would listen to?

He could barely see in the gloom but he thought that her eyes appeared mostly closed, not as in sleep but as in rest, or disinterest. He could hear no breaths though. But then, she was supposed to be undead and they did after all not breathe.

Her arms and feet were fettered by heavy chains, inscribed by symbols of the Light that glowed white-yellow but were not enough to illuminate any other part of the room. She was stretched out along a thick bench that Wroth had adopted as his makeshift torture rack. It had acquired a good amount of scorch marks by now. The legs were as thick as the beams in the stable and the chains were bolted to each.

Westley hadn't prepared any detailed plan for how he would break either them or the chains without alerting the entire monastery, but what could he do? He raised the spit high in two hands, aimed for the chain link closest to the leg, and…

Her eyes opened in a crimson flash.

"Fucking idiot."

The spit clattered to the floor and Westley staggered back, with his own eyes fixed on hers.

They shone.

They actually shone, red like the still smouldering coals in the dark.

"He's hung the keys by the door." It was like her dry and tired, not to say outright bored, voice carried with it the rolling of a red pair of eyes. "The hook on the right side. So I can always see them hanging just out of my reach, you see."

Westley blinked.

She had spoken Common, quite clearly.

"Do you intend to stand there all night, or are you in fact here to have your share of the fun with me?"

Shit!

Westley scrambled for the door, reached up to get the keys but in his haste dropped them on the floor. He bent down and searched the pitch black part of the room with his hands, finding nothing until the light grew and he finally found them and…

The light grow from the lantern held aloft in the hand or Brother Wroth.

Westley turned on the spot like a hare before a wolf but Wroth was too quick for him. Westley's hand flew out as he felt his throat constrict from the hand grabbing his collar from behind.

"Little traitor boy." Wroth mused quietly in his worst kind of voice, the one that promised long and deliberate pain being inflicted. He sounded…pleased.

Westley felt himself pushed forward and he staggered and almost fell, hitting his knee on something and receiving a kick at his back that pushed all the air out of his lungs.

"You pathetic. Little. Shit." Wroth bent down to pick up a poker that had been left half buried in the coals as he approached Westley. The tip glowed faintly and Wroth seemed to tower over him beyond all sense and reason, like a demonic monstrosity that was made of fire and darkness and knew no mercy or compassion.

Which Wroth did not.

Westley crawled backwards on the floor while dozens of memories passed before him. Wroth that pushed him into the ground the first day he had arrived. Wroth that kicked his wheelbarrow of unremarkable but carefully harvested cabbage into a ditch and left him to explain a broken wheel axle and a mud-covered load to the quartermaster. Wroth that above all hated Westley for caring about his horses and called him a deviant for wasting his false compassion on something that was not a human, and therefore a 'something' and not a 'someone'.

Wroth who had given the order to…

Westley felt something hard and sharp on the floor behind him. The keys.

Wroth was coming closer, making no haste and smiling contently like at a bottle of exquisite wine or a delicious meal presented before him. Westley was crawling further back, bumping into the rack.

He reached blindly in the air behind him and found cold, statue-like, smooth skin and coarse iron and…

Wroth casually punched him in the stomach, and Westley groaned in pain.

"I will make you watch tomorrow, you know." Wroth smiled, still sounding immensely satisfied. "I will make them scream their lungs out. I will drive a spike into each of their hooves and watch them lie there on the ground where they rightly belong. I will gouge out their eyes and make you eat them, and then I will do the same to you, and the last sight you see will be your Light-damned horses as I cut open their bellies and drive a red-hot poker into them."

"Don't you fucking touch them!"

In response Wroth raised the iron poker in his hand, as if inspecting it.

"This one, maybe…" he grinned.

Click.

There was a rattling of chains and a metallic clatter.

Wroth raised his hand to strike down at Westley, oblivious to anything else.

A pale hand caught his arm in an iron grip and a voice unlike anything Westley had ever heard or imagined reverberated across the entire room.

"You will not touch him."

The elf squeezed and the iron poker fell out of Wroth's hand to the sound of bone cracking. Westley looked in disbelief as she lifted Wroth with a snarl and hurled him into the wall beside the door. He hit it with an audible thud and slid down to the floor.

A string of curses drew Westley's attention to the elf. She was struggling with the key and the lock keeping her feet fettered to the bench. The chains were as thick as the ones that had kept her arms bound and the lock was black and rusted. Both had been inscribed with symbols of the Light. They seemed to cause the elf great discomfort for she would retract a hand or a finger at times as if she had touched something hot that burned her.

"Let me." Westley said, unsteadily. "The Light will not harm the living."

The elf looked at him and quirked an eyebrow, but handed him the keys nonetheless.

The lock was rusty, and Westley suddenly became afraid that he would damage it further. What if he broke the key? He turned it back and forth, trying to soften up whatever corroded lump that was impeding the key.

"The Light…has forsaken you, boy!"

Wroth rose, furious and more terrible than ever. Blood and dirt was covering his face and in the darkness he appeared more undead than living on his own. He clutched a long knife in his hand.

Westley would never be free from him.

His breath echoed in his ears when he bent down. His heartbeat echoed in his ears when he absently, indifferently as if watching himself from a distance, picked up the still red-hot iron poker of Wroth.

Wroth had spent the last year making prisoners scream from the cellars and bullying the servants who were not sworn brothers or sisters of the order.

Westley had spent the last year hauling stones and digging ditches.

How surprisingly light that tiny rod of metal was in comparison to a woodsman's axe after half a day's gruelling work.

"You would stand against your own kind…for that thing?" Wroth hissed.

Westley's grip hardened.

He had broken his back and endured all the spite and all the humiliation for two things and two things only.

And Wroth would have them butchered and tortured for no reason at all but his own amusement.

How fucking dared he?

"You…are not my kind."

Wroth held up his knife but the tiny thing did not stop the iron rod. Wroth cried out and dropped the weapon. Westley struck down again, and again, but Wroth was at his core still a trained soldier, and old reflexes finally resurfaced for him to turn away and make Westley hit his shoulder and upper back with glancing blows rather than a bone-crushing impact.

He did however not turn fast enough when the rest of the chains clattered to the floor and the blurry shadow of the elf swept past Westley and slammed into the wall with Wroth's throat between her fingers.

Wroth…withered…in her grip, Westley could not describe it better. He shrunk and shrivelled, as if he suddenly aged decades worth or if all the fluids of his body evaporated, and his skin turned from red to pale to grey.

"I am Cyndia Hawkspear, dark ranger of the Banshee Queen and the Forsaken. And I am not a 'thing'."

As Wroth succumbed to whatever power the elf made use of, Westley could see burns and cuts and bruises all over her close and smoothen, torn skin reknitting itself, until she looked not completely healed but certainly far less injured.

"He should be proud. After all, you did learn to use that poker."

Westley could only stare at her. If he had ever had a plan for this moment it was hopelessly lost.

"…what…what now?"

"Run, Bad-at-believing Westley."



***



Anya's hand on her forehead was the first thing Jaina registered. Then she registered why Anya's cool hand was currently just about the worlds most valuable item.

Ow.

Who had set fire to her head when she wasn't looking? No, who had rebuilt her head into a baking oven when she wasn't looking?

Jaina whined from the pain of thinking and of just being, and tried desperately to remember where she was and just what she had been doing and where here was and… It was so hard.

"Shhh…" Anya cradled her head and put her other hand over Jaina's neck. It was calm and soothing and it was something real for her mind to latch on to. Anya was here. Anya was keeping watch.

The dark ranger seemed to read her mind without difficulty for she started to whisper softly into her ear and answer all the unbearably complicated questions that pestered Jaina's mind.

"You dozed off for maybe half an hour. We are still in the cottage and Clea and Kitala have brought some water and cloth for your back. They are out looking for herbs and potions for you right now and Sylvanas is ordering people around. Lyana is boiling water behind us and we are going to clean up your back properly. Do you want some tea?"

"No…too warm…"

"Then have some cold water." It was Lyana's voice, and a cup was placed in Jaina's hand on the table.

Right. Those stupid shackle things. And heavy.

Jaina tried to gather her strength and her fluttering, disobedient thoughts that escaped her. Water. Drink. Needed to sit up…

Three hands were carefully raising Jaina to a seated position, and a fourth placed the cup against her lips. She drank unsteadily, and probably spilled some over herself.

"Good. Now I need you to keep yourself upright like this. Can you do that, Lady Proudmoore?" Lyana asked while she swept Jaina's hair out of the way.

"Try…"

"Anya is next to you. Hold on to her. I'm going to wipe away the dirt and blood from your wounds as best I can and that will hurt a bit."

Lyana started gently enough by slowly dabbing and wiping around the stinging lines over her upper back. She kept talking while she did it and while Jaina was too exhausted to process what Lyana said the voice was comforting to listen to. But it still hurt when she started to work on the cuts in earnest.

"The wounds are dirty so I need to get the worst off. It hurts a lot because the blood has caked. Clamp down on Anya's hand. Crush it to powder."

"No… Anya is kind…"

"Sweet thing. Hold on to her now."

Lyana continued down Jaina's back, wiping her clean with almost painfully hot water. Jaina was starting to feel a little better from it. That quickly changed when Lyana moved on to the next stage of her treatment.

"Lady Proudmoore, I am going to clean your wounds with a wipe drenched in spirits now."

Jaina twitched at her words.

"What…spirits? Like necromancy? I don't…"

Both Anya and Lyana chuckled, and it was beautiful to hear, but Jaina was still confused.

"No, the kind you drink. Clea found a bottle of something strong in one house, it will help prevent infection."

"So my healers…get drunk. On the job…no less…" Jaina managed to quip, until her head reminded her harshly that she was still in no shape to string sentences together. Then she gasped when Lyana started to apply the wipe soaked in alcohol, and didn't actually stop herself from clenching Anya's hand for all she was worth.

"Good, just a little more." Lyana encouraged and Jaina thrived on the praise, too tired to care about whether or not that was silly of her. Lyana and the other rangers had saved her life, damn it, and currently the only way Jaina could show her gratitude was to do as she was told.

"There we are."

Jaina could hear Lyana and Anya whispering about something, too low for her to discern the words until Lyana spoke up again.

"Lady Proudmoore, I have cleaned you up as best I could but unfortunately we don't have any salves or potions available to help your skin healing. I am going to wrap you up now as best I can to keep the dirt out at least."

Anya kept her hands on Jaina's head and neck while Lyana guided her with little touches to lean back or forth while she bandaged Jaina with cut strips of someone's bedsheets. Lyana was deft and nimble and did not disturb Jaina any more than she had to, but she was also very thorough. Thorough enough to fix Jaina's bandages both above and below her breasts, and with a couple of strips crossed between them to keep it tight. And of course Jaina's Tides-damned nipples had to stiffen in the cold air while Anya was right beside her running her hand in small circles over Jaina's neck, and Lyana was leaning over her shoulder to tie the bandages together. Or, to tell the truth the air was rather warm by now because the rangers had kept the stove going, but there had to be a draft somewhere and it apparently hit Jaina right in the front when Lyana asked her to arch her back so she could tie the last knots together just below Jaina's breasts.

And of course Clea, Kitala and Sylvanas had to pick that exact moment to come back to the cottage.

Jaina could swear that her fever had increased. With a little luck it might be enough to make her evaporate into a discreet puff of smoke that could escape out through the chimney. She was immensely grateful that the present lamps had let Lyana work easier but she still couldn't help feeling a bit overly illuminated.

"I see that we arrive at just the right time…" Sylvanas noted smoothly, and Jaina blessed the fact that she was at least facing away from them. She felt like she would probably burst into a fireball if she had to come face to face with Sylvanas like this.

"Yes, we're just about done here." Lyana nodded and rose. "Any luck?"

"Just clothes." Kitala said regretfully. "We looked everywhere around the keep, I promise, and Kalira's squad had looked too. There's not even any herbs "

"Fucking savages!" Lyana cursed. "How can they be so stupid?!"

"Maybe they think all herbalism unclean - heresy and witchcraft and whatever - and choose to only allow healing from the Light?" Kitala suggested, which led to Lyana muttering something no doubt extremely foul.

"We brought these, anyway." Clea stepped forward to put a pile of various clothes on the table in front of Jaina. "There are some blankets and cloaks in there, and some shirts we could cut the sleeves on to put on while she's wearing those shackles." Clea whispered mostly to Lyana, but after looking at Jaina's tired eyes and seemingly without thought placing her hand against Jaina's forehead she withdrew it with a start. "Belore! We've got to get her home!"

"Lyana?" Sylvanas asked.

"I agree, Dark Lady. I may be able to cook up something from whatever is growing around here but we have no way of knowing what we can count on finding. Our best bet is getting Lady Proudmoore to the Undercity quickly and the stocks of the apothecaries even if they're dwindling. Besides, she will never rest easy anywhere in this town."

"Then I will ready the horses. Lady Proudmoore, we ride at once. You will have myself and my squadron as protection."

Sylvanas left as abruptly as she had entered and Jaina felt both relieved and missing the Dark Lady's presence. Having Anya and Lyana help her get dressed was marginally less embarrassing, at least the damage was already done anyway in regard to them, Jaina reckoned as she sluggishly got to her feet and let them help her. In all fairness she was probably not so much dressed as draped with clothes and blankets due to the hindering shackles. But eventually she was weighed down by enough layers that it should keep out the cold for quite some time.

"It's not a glittersky gown, but it will keep you warm at least." Lyana said almost apologetically.

"A what?"

"Glittery Skies sold the best silk gowns in Quel'Thalas. They used to cost more than we earned in a year."

Jaina swayed when she stood up too quickly, and a wave of nausea almost made her double over and throw up. Anya caught her in her arm and Jaina leaned heavily on the dark ranger until the room stopped spinning and her vision returned. She let Anya half lead her outside where Sylvanas waited with the three skeletal mounts that had carried Jaina and the two original Scarlet prisoners from the Undercity. To Jaina's small relief Sylvanas made no comment about her no doubt laughable appearance wrapped in layers of blankets. Instead she only beckoned to Clea to give her one of the spare ones and draped it across the saddle so it hung down on both sides like some sort of improvised barding.

Jaina blinked in the darkness and steeled herself for the ordeal of mounting up, which even with a ranger boosting her appeared like a ludicrously taxing effort at the moment. Sylvanas would have none of that however, and before Jaina had time to think the Banshee Queen had scooped her up in her arms and put her on the nearest horse like she weighed nothing. Sylvanas proceeded to wind the slung blanket around Jaina's legs, which her other attire had left relatively exposed, and then jumped into the saddle behind her while the other rangers secured their small packs of food and spare clothes for Jaina and mounted the two other of the skeletal steeds.

"We make for the Undercity without rest. We leave nobody behind and we stop for nothing. Anya and Lyana take point, Clea and Kitala behind me."

The dark rangers saluted her.

Jaina felt Sylvanas shift a little behind her.

"I will hold you up while we ride, Lady Proudmoore. Lean back against me and try to rest. Sleep if you can." She wrapped Jaina's cloak tighter around her and without any visible command their skeletal mounts took off into the night.

As tired as she was, Jaina tried her best to sit somewhat properly but without a real saddle - let alone a real horse – riding in the normal sense of the word proved impractical at best. Their mounts did not even move quite like living horses and their gait was quick but not as fluent. Jaina soon gave in to her tiredness and leaned back against Sylvanas, practically held in place by the Banshee Queen's arms around her when Jaina slowly began to relax and slump against Sylvanas. With no need for reins, and apparently perfectly able to keep herself steady by her legs and feet alone, Sylvanas could devote all her attention to keeping Jaina comfortable.

The vague silhouette of the surrounding forest passed by like something unreal in a dream. Only the sharp thuds of hooves on the ground and the rustle of the wind in the trees came to Jaina and she drifted in and out of some sort of half-slumber. The night air was a relief for her head and the thick layers of clothing she was wrapped in made her reclined position against Sylvanas mostly comfortable. There was however an unexpected drawback of sitting in such an improvised saddle on a mount that was made of only bones. Where a normal saddle and stirrups served to distribute the weight of the rider the padding over the skeletal horse's spine did not excel at that task, and the more Jaina tried to ignore it, the more aware did she become of how the rapid movement of their mount caused said spine to…impact…against Jaina's middle parts.

That in itself would have been mortifying enough on it's own, but with Jaina seated right in front of Sylvanas it was pure agony. Nor could she really gain any purchase to shift her position enough to relieve herself of the distraction, and if anything only succeeded in squirming in Sylvanas' arms.

Tides, she was half lying in the arms of the Banshee Queen of Lordaeron feeling…that.

"Sleep, little mage…" Sylvanas whispered into her ear. In that voice.

Tides, Jaina could never say no to that voice. And she was so, so tired…

Jaina slowly drifted away in Sylvanas' arms, dreaming strange dreams.



***



When riding out they had marched at similar speed as the quick march of the escorting rangers and also, as Jaina sluggishly realised, slow enough for the hidden ranger squadrons to keep scouting ahead and around them and bring up the deathguard reinforcements. Galloping without cease during night and day was something else entirely. Jaina had woken up in earnest somewhere after dawn when the world around her was grey with mist and hardly less dream-like than during the night. She was sore along the inside of her thighs and stiff in the wet cold that had slowly crept inside her despite the cloak and blankets.

When she felt Jaina stirring Sylvanas whistled sharply and the horses slowed down. Jaina could make out a groove of trees – somewhat bony without most of their leaves – but couldn't tell whether they were part of a forest or alone among fields and meadows.

"Slept well?" Sylvanas asked and hit the ground just as their horse stopped. She held up her arms to let Jaina ungracefully glide down into them and be lowered to the ground. Jaina found that so long as she didn't move or strain her shoulders too much the ache from her wounds stayed notably duller.

"Ye…yes, think so…" Jaina mumbled, still disoriented and unsteady. She had certainly slept better than she would ever have expected after last days horrible events but she wouldn't exactly have called her night peaceful. Jaina had been chased by one disturbing dream after the other. In one she had been riding bareback across Boralus with Sylvanas behind only to look down and realise that she had somehow – the way such things could happen in dreams - forgotten to put on her clothes. In another Jaina had been back in her own dungeons in Lordaeron with Anya and Sylvanas chaining her to the wall and Sylvanas admonishing her for running away. Then the wall was suddenly a luxury bed in a palatial suite that belonged to the Banshee Queen and Anya and Lyana were tending to her back in some way that felt extremely pleasant while Clea sat beside petting Kitala, who had become an actual cat.

Jaina yawned. It was of course easy to trace all the fragments that her stupid brain had mashed together into that ridiculous mess. Master Antonidas had once called dreams the "disordered preparatory committees of the High Council of Consciousness" and Jaina could at the moment quite agree with that assessment. She had felt very embarrassed about the way the saddle felt – Tides, it would be the more of the same all day – and of being half undressed when Lyana tended to her wounds. And being a prisoner of the Scarlets was probably enough to leave anyone with nightmares for years, so Jaina was only grateful that it had been Sylvanas and her rangers doing the capturing in the dream rather than Sister Grete. Maybe it was her and Anya's earlier jokes about how she would keep Jaina in captivity with the door open that had shone through. In the same way Jaina's mind had probably blended her earlier mis-speaking about being invited to Sylvanas' yet unknown rooms (not her bed!) with how Clea had urged Kitala to let Jaina comfort her and the way Anya and Lyana had taken care of her wounds last night. Silly and absurd, like the word games where each participant wrote a part of a sentence without seeing the rest.

Sylvanas was looking questioningly at her, and Jaina realised she must have appeared a little vacant when reminiscing.

"Sorry, I just had some odd dreams tonight, that's all…"

"Were they…unpleasant?" Sylvanas asked and appeared unusually hesitant.

Tides, what was Jaina going to say?!

"I, uh, d-dreamt about why I prefer my accommodations in the Undercity to those in Hearthglen." Jaina stuttered.

Sylvanas frowned and looked very displeased with something.

"There was a moment when you appeared to moan something but I could not catch what. I should have woken you up."

No, no, no, Sylvanas evidently thought Jaina had been reliving last day quite literally in her dreams!

"No! Not at all…I mean…" Jaina took a deep breath. "It was good of you to let me sleep. Thanks for keeping me in the saddle all night, Dark Lady, I really appreciate it." Sylvanas still seemed unconvinced. "I wasn't actually dreaming of the Scarlets as such but about being back in Lordaeron with you all."

Where you chained me to the wall and then to your apparently opulent queen-sized bed… No! Think of something else!

"We are about a day's hard ride from the Undercity so hopefully you will be able to rest in your quarters there tonight, Lady Proudmoore. And you are very welcome. It is…not troublesome to ride with you."

At this point the other rangers had approached and eyed Jaina with concern.

"How do you feel, Lady Proudmoore?" Lyana asked.

"Mostly cold and stiff, I'm afraid." Jaina answered, and did absolutely not want to delve further into her rest or lack thereof during the night with all the rangers assembled. "Still tired. And, well…my back hurts."

They all tensed up at her last statement and Jaina was sure Sylvanas was on the verge of baring her fangs. None said anything further on the matter however and Sylvanas proceeded to hand out assignments.

"Clea and Kitala, make some breakfast. Anya and Lyana, scout the area and see if you can forage anything useful. Lady Proudmoore, come with me. I want to take a look at your back."

While the others got to work Jaina followed Sylvanas to her eerily still horse and leant forward over it after removing her cloak and blankets. Sylvanas carefully pulled Jaina's shirt up and started to slowly roll it up along her back. When she had gotten halfway Jaina suddenly shook, and involuntarily recoiled from her.

Sylvanas had taken a step back and held her hands up at her sides with the palms out placatingly when Jaina turned around and realised that she was panting heavily.

"I…I didn't mean…" Jaina begun.

"Stop." Sylvanas cut her off.

Jaina tried to breathe deeply and steady herself. Her thoughts, or her body, had really rushed ahead of her and she was currently at a loss for how or why. She had never been repelled by Sylvanas before. She certainly didn't want to be.

Sylvanas, though, seemed to have a clearer idea than Jaina of what was going on.

"Slowly now." Sylvanas commanded. "Retrace your thoughts. Observe them, do not judge yourself for what you were thinking or feeling. You bent forward to lean against my horse. What went through your mind?"

Jaina tried to do as instructed. She knew she had a habit of over-analyzing things so she spoke her thoughts out loud instead, which Sylvanas encouraged.

"I thought that I didn't want to get cold, but I also wouldn't want to be bleeding through the bandages."

"Continue."

"I…I felt embarrassed about showing myself before you, Dark Lady."

Sylvanas' expression betrayed no emotion, beyond a small nod at Jaina to keep talking.

"And I…wanted you to look at me…" Jaina was sure she was red as an apple despite the cold. "I…liked being cared for…"

"This was before you leaned forward, correct?"

Jaina nodded.

"I guess I…it's just stupid…I guess I thought that…" Jaina coughed and had difficulty finding her voice. "…if you would have…" she whispered.

"You thought that if I would want to do what they did against you I would be likely to start by making you bend forward in a manner resembling how they had you tied to the wall in that Sun-forsaken cellar."

"I…she…" Jaina whispered. She couldn't find the words. She wanted so much to find the words to tell Sylvanas how she was not the repulsive one, but the words stuck in her throat.

Sylvanas did not move and Jaina felt that she was still waiting for her.

"She…hurt me…" Jaina whispered.

"Good."

Jaina stared wide-eyed at Sylvanas and didn't believe her ears. Good?

"Face your fears, Lady Proudmoore. Know them, or they will always hold you in their grip." The Banshee Queen looked at her intensely. She was not lecturing Jaina, she was giving her an order. Then Sylvanas' features grew softer and she held out her hand, but otherwise remained passive, until Jaina longingly stumbled forward and pressed Sylvanas' hand to her.

"You did good, my mage." Sylvanas whispered and Jaina melted from the words of praise and Sylvanas placing her hand protectively on Jaina's neck. "They violated you, and I will eradicate their pathetic order for it. I will let the Scourge Raise Sister Grete so I can kill her myself ten times over, and then I will let loose Anya." Sylvanas growled into her ear while she held Jaina close.

"I'd prefer it…if she stayed dead forever."

"Spoilsport." Sylvanas husked and Jaina couldn't stop herself from laughing. Tides, she was getting a headache.

"Lady Proudmoore, you have nothing to prove and you owe nothing to me." Sylvanas said seriously. "Would it help you if it was Lyana doing this instead?"

Jaina shook her head. "I want it to be you."

She edged out of Sylvanas' arms and slowly bent forward over their skeletal horse. This time, Jaina did not shy away when Sylvanas carefully rolled up her shirt, and she sighed heavily with relief over it.

"Lyana sure knows what she is doing." Sylvanas commented and traced the outline of the dressing with her finger, which made Jaina shiver. "You have bled during the night but it has not soaked through completely. I believe this will last you well until we are home."

Sylvanas helped Jaina get her clothes draped on her again. It was high time, for Jaina was shivering in the wet and chilly air.

"Let us get your blood flowing. Walk with me." Sylvanas suggested and offered Jaina her arm.

Jaina gloomily assented. As weak as she felt, she realised it would do her no good to stand still and only get colder.

As Sylvanas led her along over some open ground Jaina noticed that the sun had come up. Pale and hidden beneath the shrouds of mist, but still a welcome sight. The vaguely outlined trees and the foggy air seemed to glow faintly in yellow, and she imagined herself warming from the few rays that filtered through the dampness around her.

"Your realm…" Jaina leaned against Sylvanas. "…can still be beautiful, Queen of Lordaeron."

"Who knew that the scholars of Dalaran were such mushy romantics?" Sylvanas smirked.

"Clearly you have never witnessed Archmage Modera give her lectures about the Basics of Elementary Enchantments. Half the apprentices dream of enchanting carpets to fly and the other half of enchanting the first half to ditch the boring lesson and go out with them."

"Mages and rangers have more in common than most people are aware of, then. And that is a tautology, by the way."

"What is?"

"The basics of elementary enchantments? If it is the basics it is surely already established that it is elementary."

"What – no, no, no, the course is called Elementary Enchantments and it has three stages – basic, advanced and masterly. Archmage Modera implemented that standard of classification in all apprenticeship courses, it's logical and actually rather useful."

"Masterly Elementary Enchantments? That one sounds like a contradiction in terms." Sylvanas pretended to give it some deep thought. "Or maybe just dumb?"

"I shouldn't have expected a moss-eating highwaywoman to grasp the finer points of the arcane mysteries." Jaina tried to huff and put her nose in the air. "I dare you to repeat that before Archmage Modera, by the way. I'm sure you would make a fine sheep."

In that instant the call of a bird cut through the quiet autumn morning. Sylvanas whistled through her hands in some way that mimicked the sound.

"Breakfast is being served, My Lady. Shall we return?"

They did not go back the way they had come but Sylvanas guided her unerringly through the mist to where Clea had lit a small fire. She handed Jaina a cup filled with steaming water and…pine boughs?

"Pine needle tea." Clea explained. "That's usually what is available out in the woods. Try it, they are quite decent so soon after summer."

Jaina took a careful sip. It was, she decided, an acquired taste but it was warm and tasted fresh at least and she hoped it would help her feel better. To her surprise Clea handed her a piece of buttered bread next.

"The Scarlets are strangers to honest work but even those idiots knew how to bake bread." Jaina took it but only glared at it. She would prefer not to eat or wear or even see anything that had belonged to their order, she felt almost unclean touching it. Or traitorous, somehow. She would most of all have liked to toss it away and stomp on it, pointless though it may be.

"Look at it as a grain of the compensation you are rightly owed for how they have injured you." Clea pointed out, apparently reading Jaina all too easily. "I promise we will get you a juicy fish when we're home." she added with such amusement that Jaina relented. If they could go back to search the keep for her sake she would at least eat the spoils of their efforts.

The bread was in fact not bad and there was enough tea to almost get her warm again. Without her mana Jaina was no more frost mage than the next person and as susceptible to the cold as most people, even though she had gotten used to wet weather after growing up in stormy Kul Tiras.

Sylvanas whistled again, louder this time, and Anya and Lyana appeared shortly, but unfortunately with little to show for their efforts. Anya did however hand Jaina a bundle of slightly shrivelled, but still green, leaves.

"Chew on these if your throat hurts, some say it helps a bit." Jaina bit off a small piece. It tasted faintly like lemons, at least if you could imagine adding lemons to a salad.

They readied themselves for travelling, which in Jaina's case amounted to visiting the nearest bush, and Sylvanas once again mostly lifted her into the saddle and wrapped her up.

"The mist will cover us for a couple of hours at the most, one more likely! Same formation as before!" Sylvanas ordered and set them off again along the road that Jaina could now discern.

The landscape was rural and she could recognize the typical Lordaeronian building here and there, but they were all in ruins just as when she had walked with Sylvanas along the road from the north. The sight was depressing.

"Are there any birds left in these parts of Lordaeron?" Jaina asked over her shoulder, until the stinging pain across her back reminded her to keep still.

"Quite few, I would guess. The blight killed both plants and bugs, there is little for them to eat. Fletching arrows is a pain nowadays."

"I did hear the call of the dark ranger thrush earlier this morning, though. A very rare species, actually." Jaina said impishly.

"Ha! Good call, Lady Proudmoore! Me and my rangers should practice imitating stray ghouls or zombies instead to not arouse suspicion."

Jaina was about to reply but the chill air made her cough violently instead. She felt the unmistakeable swelling in her throat that signalled a beginning cold. Resigned, Jaina reached for a few of the leaves Anya had given her.

"One at a time. They will have to last for the rest of the way." Sylvanas reminded her, and pulled Jaina's cloak a little tighter around her. "Chew on them slowly."

Like yesterday evening, Jaina tried to sit upright but Sylvanas saw through it and resolutely pulled her back into a more relaxed position. Or it would have been, were it not for the spine that had the gall to be situated at the back of a horse's skeleton. Now that she was fully awake, and in addition prevented from talking herself out of it, Jaina became acutely aware of every single indecent thud against her when their skeletal mount galloped tirelessly at a speed that very few living horses would have been able to keep for long.

Was Sylvanas noticing anything? She made no sign of it but then again the Banshee Queen was incredibly good a masking her feelings when she so wished.

For a moment Jaina wondered if Sylvanas could have orchestrated this particular aspect of their trip in order to have fun with Jaina, but she dismissed the notion altogether. Sylvanas did obviously derive a wicked kind of enjoyment from keeping Jaina blushing and unbalanced, and was undeniably good at it, but Jaina could not imagine her letting private amusements interfere with what she saw as her duties. The Banshee Queen took her job very seriously.

Not that it would stop the Banshee Queen from having a good laugh at Jaina if she actually did notice.

Tides, Jaina needed a distraction from the distraction, and from her increasingly sore throat as well.

"Dark Lady, can you tell me a little about your kingdom? What has it been like, have the Scarlets hunted you all the time?" That should be a grim enough subject to keep her mind off…other things.

"Are you trying to whisk away all my military secrets now, my sly Lady of Theramore?" Sylvanas teased. "I would have thought you had had your fill of the red-clad bastards for quite some time."

"You were the one who told me to face my fears, and I need something to think about instead of my th…" At that point Jaina was overtaken by another fit of coughs, underlining her point as good as anything. She put another of Anya's leaves in her mouth and chewed irritably, feeling sicker by the moment.

"Fair enough." Sylvanas pulled Jaina up slightly so that Jaina's ear was right in front of her mouth. "I have better give you something to think about before you talk yourself into pneumonia."

And Sylvanas began to tell about the Lich Kings unbreakable control that had finally, unexpectedly, broken and how she had found the strength of will or sheer anger to tear herself free. She tensed notably when mentioning Arthas and Jaina almost regretted her selfish request, but Jaina's presence seemed to make Sylvanas remember herself, and calm herself enough to continue her recounting of the rebellion against the Scourge and the narrow escape of Arthas thanks to his lich's intervention. Jaina then kept listening with increasing fascination to how the Forsaken had rallied behind their new queen with less than the tattered clothes on their bodies only to find a world united in it's hatred against everything undead.

What Sylvanas described sounded like Theramore with her father's hostile fleet on one side and the Burning Legion still at large on the other. Jaina could not even begin to imagine what it must have been like to regain your free will only to be thrust into such an existence. How could Sylvanas remain so incredibly strong through it all?

The Banshee Queen had taken a break from her storytelling to peer at their surroundings as if she expected a lich or two to be crouching in the nearest ditch. When the coast, and the road, seemed clear Jaina leaned back against Sylvanas' shoulder to look up impatiently at her. She felt quite childish for it but didn't care at the moment. Just like a good book, a good story was something Jaina was utterly incapable of leaving be. Sylvanas did cast her a meaningful glance but after Jaina obediently started to slowly chew on another leaf (they were actually probably helping a bit) she took pity on her and continued her account of the Forsaken. Sylvanas did not go into great detail about herself, and Jaina recognized someone downplaying her own role considerably when she saw it, but rather put forward the exploits of the other rangers and the human Forsaken to which Lordaeron had been home even in life.

They made few stops and hurried Jaina through a couple of hasty meals and more tea, which was her major source of warmth. She failed to eat much as the day progressed, her sore and swelling throat disagreeing with the dry field rations that made up her lunch and dinner. When the day was turning into evening Jaina was bone tired and huffing and coughing at everything around her. Had it really been just a day since she had walked down into Hearthglen? It felt more like a year had passed.

Sylvanas had stopped her recounting when even Jaina's boundless curiosity was beginning to fail and hung another blanket around her. Jaina probably appeared more like a tent than anything else she reckoned, but quickly forgot any further thoughts about it when the first drop of rain hit her.

Sylvanas had noticed it too and seemed to hurry their horses for a moment until thinking better of it and resuming their only slightly less break-neck current pace. The rain was no light summery drizzle but dark and threatening clouds drifted in all over the sky to obscure the setting sun and before long it grew to a deluge that soaked through layer after layer of Jaina's clothing. The rangers used up every spare piece they had brought but it didn't suffice for long and Jaina begun to shiver and cough more frequently. The helpful leaves had unfortunately been spent sometime in the afternoon.

They reached the capital in complete darkness. Jaina hadn't noticed any sentries or the rangers signalling anyone but she was hardly in the mood to care.

Sylvanas hit the ground outside the Lordaeron keep before their mount had stopped. Without further prompting she pulled Jaina down and simply carried her in her arms, blankets and all, into the dark halls and down the stairs to the royal Lordaeronian dungeons and the one that was Jaina's.

It was barely a day since Jaina had been forced down the stairs to the corresponding portion of Hearthglen's keep.

But she did not so much as wince.

Because Sylvanas was with her and her rangers were with her, and with them Jaina had nothing to fear.

With them, this was home.

So, just to clarify if there is any lingering confusion, Cyndia was captured after presumably making contact with a paladin hammer in a skirmish during the hasty retreat towards he Undercity, but she was not taken to Hearthglen but to a fortified monastery of the Scarlet Crusade.

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[Maltacus]

Chapter 18: Warmth and Wetness

Anya extracts her revenge against the worlds collective self-loathing of dense ladies and Sylvanas finally rids Jaina of her unhealthy shackles. When it comes to Anya, this chapter has some references to her not completely successful attempt at making her Dark Lady take a break and allow herself to relax earlier in the fourth chapter.

Sylvanas' own lieutenant do her best to live up to all the commentary about her and this is exclusively her soap opera…ahem…chapter, with no unpleasantness except that Lady Proudmoore is hurt and must be tended to.

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It was not many things that Anya wished for herself very strongly, and it never really had been. She used to be content with boots that did not leak and clothes that stayed warm and whole, and a tent that kept the rains out. She currently had, or were, many things that most elven rangers would have longed for. She was much stronger than she had been in life and she could run without tiring, or even breathing. She could stay or swim underwater indefinitely, and wrap herself in shadows and darkness with even greater ease than her dark ranger sisters.

But right now Anya wished she was alive.

Then she would be warm, and then she could have warmed Lady Proudmoore.

Not a cold, clammy corpse that was of no use to anyone.

Anya would have liked to hurry ahead of the rest and light a fire in the brazier. But of course they could not leave Lady Proudmoore without a proper escort either, and if something dangerous appeared in front of them Anya had to be there next to Lyana.

The cold and damp dungeon was still no place to come home to for someone who coughed and shivered like Lady Proudmoore did now. Anya hurried with flint and tinder and thought that they had to find something better. Perhaps the apothecaries or some of the human Forsaken had experience with incendiary substances that could be used to light fires quickly when you had to. The rangers had never made much use of that and Anya didn't know of anything except magic that could speed up the lighting of a fire. Except a dragon, of course. That would have been nice. A sufficiently small dragon whelp that wouldn't want to eat Lady Proudmoore for dinner but could light a nice fire when she needed and wrap itself around her at a time like this.

The bedrolls were at least dry and had been neatly folded before they left. Helping Lady Proudmoore out of her soggy blankets was more like peeling an onion than undressing someone and Anya made a mental note about hanging some laundry lines later to dry everything.

"Dungeon, sweet dungeon?" Anya tried, but immediately felt foolish for it. Lady Proudmoore did not need any excessive reminders of the fact that she was still essentially their captive.

"At least this one is mine…" Lady Proudmoore mumbled as she sank down on her bedroll, now in only her shirt and pants, which were both far to wet in Anya's opinion. "And at least here there aren't any creepy fucks who'd call me 'my child' and send me off to be tortured in their next breath." she remarked bitterly. "Or damn me because I didn't show the proper 'revulsion' at someone just because he was undead, or call me a demon or my magic witchcraft – like that's supposed to change anything! Mage, witch, wizard, spellcaster, whatever-mancer – it's all the same! Mana is mana! The thing that should matter is what you do with it! It's like calling every strong-armed person a thug just because they're strong!"

She sounded more and more distraught and her voice had turned a little shrill.

"I would rather be bewitched by you than blessed by anyone else, Lady Proudmoore." Anya whispered, but Sylvanas looked like she had frozen in her place.

"They called you a demon, Lady Proudmoore?"

Lady Proudmoore nodded weakly.

"They said…they said the Light was not fooled by any tricks…that there was Fel magic about me…"

"Show me your arms." Sylvanas remained still and her voice was even, but Anya detected a tension that had not been there before.

Lady Proudmoore shifted to a kneeling position and dutifully raised her arms towards Sylvanas. It looked heart-wrenchingly pleading with her soft hands stretched out and burdened by the thick metal loops and chain. Those Anya would be more than glad to have Lady Proudmoore out of.

It was Anya that had the key to the brass-like shackles. She had grown to like them less and less every time she laid eyes on them. They were heavy and weighed Lady Proudmoore down, and they got in the way when she needed to sleep.

Sylvanas had carefully folded away the cut sleeves of Lady Proudmoore's shirt that they had been forced to wrap around her arms since they were unable to remove the shackles to dress her. Sylvanas was kneeling in front of the mage and looking intensely at Lady Proudmoore's forearms with the beginning of a frown forming on her brow. Anya knelt down beside her.

Something was wrong.

Lady Proudmoore looked so pale, and her blue eyes were dimmed and dull instead of bright and clear as usual. Sylvanas held Lady Proudmoore's hand in her own and slowly, extremely slowly, pulled one of the shackles down.

Tiny black and green veins spread out across the skin underneath.

Sylvanas hissed and immediately grabbed Lady Proudmoore's other arm, only to discover the same thing beneath the other shackle.

"I don't…I don't feel very well…" Lady Proudmoore croaked and there was a small tone of fear in her voice when she looked down at the state of her skin.

"Little fucking wonder." Sylvanas snarled. Black vapours were forming along her contours and before anyone could say or think anything she was wreathed in black smoke that boiled and blew around her, and she held each shackle between her respective hand and a shadowy mass of misty tendrils that had curled around it. The banshee form warred with her physical and Sylvanas' eyes blazed with the unending fire that Anya knew always burned deep inside her. The metal groaned and cracked and broke when she furiously ripped the shackles apart.

When they clattered against the bare stone floor Lady Proudmoore pulled away and kept staring at the twisted lumps of metal with an appalled and sickened look. Anya took out the key and dropped it in the pile of metal. She felt disgusted with herself from even carrying it.

"Anya." Sylvanas did not speak so much as echo in her ethereal banshee voice. "Ensure that Lady Proudmoore is treated and cared for. I am going to have a little talk with my dear chancellor."

"Dark Lady." Anya straightened her back and saluted on her knees.

Sylvanas snatched up the ruined shackles and their key and stormed out, a ghostly visage of arms and legs and hood and swirling black mist. Lady Proudmoore stared at her, transfixed, and kept staring at the empty doorway after Sylvanas had disappeared out of sight.

A cold hand gripped Anya's unbeating heart when she saw the sickly marks on Lady Proudmoore's skin closer up.

"Lyana! Go to the apothecaries and empty the damned place! Clea, go with her and throw everyone who tries to stop you in the sewers!"

Lyana was already on her way out and Clea shot forward after her.

Anya looked around. Warmth. Lady Proudmoore needed warmth.

She lighted the lamps on the brazier and put more wood on the fire. At least that they were well-stocked with. Anya arranged the three little lamps closer to the sleeping tent in the hopes of trapping more heat inside it. She made a mental note to also set up the smaller one they had brought with them for the journey as soon as possible.

"Lady Proudmoore, I'm going to the next room to warm some water for you. Kitala will be with you. Do you think you can eat, should I boil something for you?"

The former cell next to them had been commandeered to be used as their improvised kitchen and small larder for the food they had brought from Hearthglen. Lady Proudmoore shook her head but Anya decided to boil some vegetables at least. Notorious fish eater as she was she probably skipped too much on those anyway.

A choked sob cut her exit short. Lady Proudmoore was sitting with her arms stretched out before her with the palms facing upward and her eyes fixed on the corrupted skin on the inside of her forearms. She looked like she could barely believe her eyes, and absolutely miserable.

"I'm disgusting."

Kitala was edging closer and stroked over Lady Proudmoore's shoulder with her knuckles.

"No, you're not." she said.

"Tainted."

Kitala put her arm around Lady Proudmoore's shoulders in return.

"Look at me!"

Anya knelt before her. At least she did not retract her hands. Lady Proudmoore allowed Anya to gently lift one and brush her thumb over the corrupted skin beneath the hand. It did not feel rotten, more like a swelling.

"Does this hurt?" Anya asked as softly as she could.

Lady Proudmoore shook her head.

Anya kept meeting her gaze when she slowly lifted the mage's hand towards her and kissed Lady Proudmoore's knuckles. Lady Proudmoore stared at Anya with wide eyes, and Anya stared back.

"Does this?" Anya whispered, breathless though she did not need to breathe.

The smallest shake of her head barely made the golden trusses waver. Anya could see Kitala watching her with great interest as well, looking both amused and approving of the way Anya had put a stop to further self-depreciation from their mage.

Anya gently put down Lady Proudmoore's hand again and smiled at her. Maybe, just maybe, Lady Proudmoore's eyes were a little clearer now.



***



Anya and Lyana had rigged a small fireplace in the adjoining room, mostly a campfire on a bed of sand and rocks on the floor, and Anya's cauldron hung over it. It was the same she had used to heat water when she tried to bathe Sylvanas one time before they had sailed to Theramore. Anya filled it and a small cooking pot with water from the barrel in Lady Proudmoore's room and hung both over the fire while she started to cut a few carrots, beets and a small onion into pieces. Would it somehow be possible to get some spices one day? There was so little to be found in the forest close to the Undercity. How were things out west? Anya didn't know too much about Lordaeron but since the Scourge seemed to have rarely sent them in that direction to hunt the living Anya got the impression that it hadn't been as settled as the east or south. And there was a mountain range – Alterac? – that was rather inaccessible where the blight had perhaps not been as spread. Thoughts of what she would like to explore and forage kept Anya occupied until even the water in her cauldron had begun to bubble and the vegetables were sufficiently boiled that she could mash them with a spoon into something resembling a stew.

Anya left the cauldron hanging. At least the wet cold and the stone structure would prevent a fire from spreading.

When Anya returned she was met by the sight of a tired Lady Proudmoore who sat with her knees tucked in underneath her and Kitala resting comfortably against them, whose ears Lady Proudmoore was slowly stroking. She still looked unhappy, but at least calmer than earlier, like it was a comforting thing to do for her.

"Dinner is served." Anya announced, and began to serve part of the stew in a cup normally used for drinking so that Lady Proudmoore wouldn't burn her hands on the cooking pot. "And the Dark Lady gave me strict orders to see to it that you are cared for, Lady Proudmoore, so I will take no refusal. We wouldn't want to have to inform the Dark Lady that her mage won't eat her vegetables, would we?"

The Dark Lady's mage made a grimace.

"No, I suppose we wouldn't…" she sighed. "And it's very kind of you, but I honestly don't think I could chew a…" Her hoarse voice quieted when Anya held forward the overboiled and mashed stew, and she smiled sadly. "Thank you, Anya."

"It's our finest bland mash of overboiled vegetables. Not a drop of salt or spice, on my honour. You might call it a quite forsaken stew." Anya pointed out as Lady Proudmoore tried a first spoon. "Be careful so you don't spill anything into Kitala's ear. I wouldn't want her to smell of old carrots when we stand in formation together."

Kitala opened her eyes at Anya's warning and looked disapprovingly at her, as if Anya's words would conjure a special fit of unsteadiness in Lady Proudmoore's hand. She groaned and sat up next to the mage instead, who tiredly shook her head at them both while she struggled to get the stew down sitting between the dark rangers. It was slow, and she shuddered and grimaced when forcing her swollen throat to swallow, but evidently Lady Proudmoore was hungrier than she had alluded to for she finished all of her mediocre dish.

"If I try it some day when I have a sense of taste I'll be sure to tell you how the stew was." the mage commented, which earned Anya a smirk from Kitala's side.

"I think it will be time for dessert soon." Anya said. She had heard distant steps that were growing closer.

True enough, Lyana and Clea barged in with a bundle containing a few extremely welcome glass vials of dark red liquid and a cloth bundle. Lyana wasted no time uncorking one vial and taking two quick strides to Lady Proudmoore.

"Healing potion. Down it all, Lady Proudmoore." Their mage obeyed and coughed a little, but it looked like the potion had a pleasant immediate effect.

"Good." Lyana continued. "From what I saw the marks on your forearms do not bleed and have no open wounds to them so applying the potions there would be pointless, but your back may be another matter. And your dressings need to be changed anyway I would think."

Clea had in the meantime approached Anya with the cloth bundle.

"Here, open it. It's a surprise for you." she said in her usual whisper.

"For me?" Anya asked, slightly confused. She wasn't the one in need of medicines right now.

"Technically I think apothecary Lyndon's exact words were 'just take them and go, and tell Anya she can have as much soap as she likes if it keeps her goons out of my laboratory!' but…details." Clea shrugged with a smirk.

Anya carefully unwrapped the bundle. Inside were four relatively uniform, evenly coloured, and altogether precious pieces of soap.

"I think he liked your interest in their work." Clea noted. "But don't tell him I said that. They have quite a supply now, apparently it's of importance to avoid contamination when they perform their experiments and brew more potions."

Well, obviously it was. Every herbalist knew that, which meant that by extension Anya knew that very well too, and Lyana would probably give Clea an earful if she heard her being flippant about the matter.

And... Oh.

Anya could…

Maybe.

If she dared to ask.

"Lyana? I absolutely think we should change her bandages. Do we have any new ones ready?"

Lyana shook her head, as Anya had expected.

"Why don't you take Clea and Kitala with you and prepare some, and make a nice salve with the ingredients I know you have snatched from the poor apothecaries."

"Those poor apothecaries whose place you explicitly told me to empty and told Clea to throw into the sewers if they resisted?" Lyana had raised an eyebrow.

"But you didn't do anything of that because apothecary Lyndon was so nice and helpful, surely? There is hot water in the cauldron next door, take what you need and then bring it here please."

Lyana looked approving when hearing that and scurried away followed by the others. Clea soon returned with the cauldron in her wrapped hands and placed it on the floor. She closed the door on her way out.

"So lieutenant Eversong, what are you brewing up now?" Lady Proudmoore rasped and peered suspiciously at Anya.

Belore, why did people have to be so difficult when you tried to do something nice for them?

Well, this time Anya would not be denied, and would not stand for any stupid self-loathing ideas getting in the way.

Anya looked at her tired form. Lady Proudmoore should definitely not have to exert herself anymore tonight than absolutely necessary. She tried to steady herself.

"Lady Proudmoore, none of us think you are the tiniest bit disgusting or that you ever could be. But there is a chance that your bandages may be since you have worn them for a day and a night and had a small river rained on you, so we're going to change them to fresh ones. But before we do that, may I…" Anya faltered, and begun again. "May I help wash you?"

Lady Proudmoore suddenly blushed redder than a dark ranger's eyes.

"I wouldn't want to make you…uncomfortable…but your back may hurt if you have to stretch and I…" Why was this so hard all of a sudden? "I wouldn't want you to hurt."

Lady Proudmoore was looking down at the floor. Whether she was considering Anya's proposal or was at a loss for words altogether Anya couldn't tell. But then she raised her head with a small new shine in her eyes.

"Alright… I…I think I would like that."

Anya danced inside when she scooped up enough cold water from their barrel to cool the one that had been boiling in the cauldron. She reached for one of the towels – a simple piece of cloth as improvised as everything else they had – of the room and some soap. Then she halted herself. Lady Proudmoore would be prone to getting cold as well as uncomfortable if she didn't handle this delicately.

"Lady Proudmoore, if you could raise yourself a bit?" Anya asked and indicated that she intended to remove her half-soaked pants. Lady Proudmoore shied away a little but did as she asked and Anya rolled them down her hips and legs while desperately trying not to dwell on the fact that she was in fact, for real, undressing Lady Proudmoore. Anya put the garment with the blankets and took in the sight of their mage sitting in a torn and too large shirt with her bare legs out.

"Is this alright? Can you stay warm enough?" she asked.

"I think so."

"I'll try to keep the water away from your bed as much as possible. Please put your feet here, Lady Proudmoore." Anya indicated the floor before her. She should start with something that wouldn't be so sensitive, at least she hoped humans did not consider their feet to be that.

She dipped her towel in the water and ran it over Lady Proudmoore's toes and feet and then rubbed them with her own soapy hands. The mage's skin was so soft, nothing like a ranger's that hardened in many places from years and centuries of walk and work. This was something to keep safe and shelter and protect, Anya thought as she poked her fingers between the toes. A strange quiet huffing sounded and she looked up to see Lady Proudmoore trying to suppress a small, bubbling laugh.

"Sorry, it just…it tickles." she managed and coughed a little from using her overtaxed throat.

Anya ran her hands over the rest of the mage's feet but she couldn't resist returning to curling her fingers one last time around and between those lovely toes. If they could make Lady Proudmoore laugh, they were definitely the best of toes.

She dipped her towel in the water again and wiped the soap away. She continued up the mage's calves, so smooth and delightful. Even if she didn't have the muscles of Sylvanas, Lady Proudmoore was not without hardiness underneath the smooth surface. Did she get stiff and tense like Sylvanas did, and did anyone tend to her in that case? At least Anya would now, as much as she could. Lady Proudmoore was not ticklish when she rubbed the soap along her calves, on the contrary she was quiet and still as a statue, watching Anya.

"Is it still good?" Anya whispered. She was almost afraid to break the silence between them. Perhaps Lady Proudmoore felt the same for she nodded silently without taking her eyes off her.

Anya dripped water over the mage's lower thighs and…damn, had she thought the calves were smooth? She wondered what it would feel like to hug them and rest with her cheek against Lady Proudmoore's leg. If she could have pretty ears like Kitala. She raised one leg after the other to reach underneath and tried to rub some warmth into them but she was cold in herself and of course it wouldn't do. Although…

Anya turned around and resolutely dipped her hands into the cauldron. Lady Proudmoore cried out.

"Anya!"

"My hands are too cold. I will take your warmth from you, Lady Proudmoore."

"That's boiling water, you idiot!" She started to cough from the outcry.

"Only just. It will not harm me. I think."

Lady Proudmoore looked at her in something like exasperated despair.

"Anya… Come here at once and continue washing me, or that will make me cold."

Anya obediently removed her hands from the hot water. It wouldn't do to upset Lady Proudmoore. When she turned back towards her, the mage snatched one of her hands and pulled it closer to examine. Anya let her run her fingers across Anya's own and feel her skin. In truth, Anya found herself quite unable to do anything but that.

"Did it hurt?"

"Only a little."

"Don't ever do that again, do you hear me?"

"I just wish I could make you warm." Anya whispered.

Lady Proudmoore looked at her insistently. Anya found it impossible to look away, indeed to even see anything other than the captivating little seas that drew her gaze to drown in them.

"You warm me enough just by looking at me, Anya." Then she pulled Anya's hand closer, and kissed it tenderly. "Now, I would very much like your hands on me exactly as they are."

Anya's mind stood still. Lady Proudmoore had kissed her hand. And Lady Proudmoore wanted what?

"Because someone seems to have gotten soap all over my legs and I would prefer it if someone could wash that off."

Oh. Right.

Anya desperately tried to stay focused on the task of running her washcloth along Lady Proudmoore's legs and don't spill too much water on her bedroll. She would have to use a drier corner of one of the blankets to dry the floor later, maybe. Anya brought a blanket from one of the other bedrolls to dry Lady Proudmoore's legs and another to cover them from the cold.

"Now, if you would lend me a hand – lend me an arm, I mean! So I won't drop too much water over the rest of you."

Lady Proudmoore smiled a little and shifted her seat so she could stretch out one arm over the wet floor for Anya to wash. It was easier to reach than her leg but Anya could not help becoming a bit distracted by Lady Proudmoore's hands. They were always soft. Always gentle. And of course the dreadful marks from the shackles. She hoped Sylvanas would have the remains of them melted down.

"May I take your shirt off now, Lady Proudmoore?"

The mage reached down to take it off but Anya stopped her with a light touch to her arm.

"Don't strain your skin." Anya rolled it up and off, and was careful not to brush too much against the bandages. Those did not look too good anymore, blooded and damp from the rain that had leaked through.

Anya draped the towel around Lady Proudmoore's waist and started on the mage's belly and lower back, and discovered that her sides were just as ticklish as her toes. Now that she thought about it, she remembered how Lady Proudmoore had startled when she was channelling the magical current on the Banshee's Wail and Anya had poked her side and blamed it on the banshee in her rhyme.

"Would it be acceptable if I cut your bandages away?" Anya didn't want to talk so stilted, it just came out that way.

"You and your playing with your knives, lieutenant Eversong."

"No, I just meant that it may be easier than if I have to untie and…"

"Anya! I'm kidding!" Lady Proudmoore coughed a little. "Please do. I know perfectly well how sure your hands are, after all. And in the worst case, you did promise to make it quick."

Anya flinched. That was quite true. Better that Anya than Sylvanas did such a despicable thing if it would somehow come to it. But the thought of having to be Lady Proudmoore's enemy and in any way harm her, now…

"Anya? What's wrong?" Lady Proudmoore's voice was thick with concern. "You're crying!"

"It's…"

"I'm sorry! It was stupid of me to say that, I really shouldn't have. I just get silly when I'm too tired and have an awful sense of humour, I'm afraid." She took a deep breath. "Please Anya, be my surgeon and cut these smelly things off. Now that I know what cleanliness feels like again they're creeping me out."

Lady Proudmoore – disobediently – reached back with one hand and pulled her hair out of the way. She looked so terribly vulnerable before Anya leaning forward with her neck exposed to her. Her very pretty neck, that Anya would most definitely murder to keep whole.

Anya was good with her knives, and she didn't waver or cause any more than the bare minimum of friction against Lady Proudmoore's skin when she cut and peeled away the improvised dressings. The long wounds looked reasonably good, but Lyana would know better.

"I am only wiping your back with water at the moment, Lyana will have to look at you after that." Anya said thoughtfully as she ran the wet cloth over the angry red stripes and blood-smeared skin. "Could you lift you arms a little, Lady Proudmoore?"

The mage did that but when Anya tried to apply soap underneath them she immediately collapsed in a fit of giggling.

"Sorry!" she laughed. "It tickles!"

It was such a beautiful sound.

"What tickles, Lady Proudmoore? Did you mean this?" Anya asked innocently.

Lady Proudmoore cried out and kept giggling worse than ever.

"Or this?"

Belore, she was ticklish. And Anya found that she didn't mind that in the least.

But Lady Proudmoore was ill and needed to conserve her strength, Anya scolded herself. She couldn't have the mage exhaust herself further and the way she was panting already and her chest was heaving…was as a matter of fact unbelievably distracting.

And Anya would not make the same mistake as last time with Sylvanas. She remembered well how Lady Proudmoore had shied away and tried to keep her chest out of view when swimming in that lake in Kalimdor. It had almost made Anya feel guilty for throwing that discreet, and lengthy, glance at her gorgeously full breasts last night when Lyana was bandaging her. So Anya would regrettably have to let the mage tend to her frontal side on her own. But Anya could help with one more thing at least.

"Would you like me to wash your hair? I only have soap b…"

"Yes please!"

After some deliberation they decided that Lady Proudmoore should lie down on the floor on her stomach with the towel blanket under her and the blanket blanket covering her legs. Anya kneaded and combed as much bubbly soap as she could into the golden locks and took the opportunity to run a hand or two over Lady Proudmoore's temples and cheeks. She had to rinse it out on the floor in case Lyana would need more warm water from the cauldron, but so long as they kept the fire fed during the night it would probably dry off decently.

After Anya had dried her hair as best she could Lady Proudmoore crawled into a seated position without burdening her arms too much. The blanket over her legs slid down and revealed a good deal of her underwear and hip. Anya tried to come up with something else to put her mind to than Theramorian intimate fashion. Fashion was unimportant at this point.

Because Lady Proudmoore would no doubt look good in whatever she choose to wear.

Other things, other things… Wait, speaking of clothes…

"Your spare clothes, are they…?"

"Inside the tent, in the small sack in the corner."

Anya set it down next to Lady Proudmoore.

"I'll, ah, go and check if Lyana has some fresh bandages ready."

Which she would have had since long by now, but they would all have been considerate enough to lurk quietly outside the door.

"I will put the cauldron here if you would like to…wash the rest of you, Lady Proudmoore. I hope it will be alright." Anya said unsteadily and rose. "Just knock whenever you are ready."

"Oh, I…thank you, Anya. I think I'll manage…it's at hands' level at least..." Lady Proudmoore smiled nervously and turned a shade redder.

As Anya closed the door behind her a dangerously loud voice inside her shouted that she should stay. What if Lady Proudmoore was in pain and just wouldn't say, or what if she returned to brooding over the terrible Fel marks? Or…what if Lady Proudmoore did not, and was just about to run her soapy hands over those delightful breasts of hers…

"Anya?"

Anya almost jumped on the spot. Lyana looked a little strangely at her.

"How are her wounds?"

"Healing decently but, I don't know…they're so deep for whip lashes. That evil woman really must have hit her hard."

Lyana nodded slowly and looked dismayed.

"I'll clean them up and pour a potion on any open gash, then we'll have to redress them and hope for the best."

After a while Lady Proudmoore knocked and let them in. She had wrapped her blanket around her like a makeshift dress and for all the tiredness about her she looked relieved to be cleaner. Kitala complimented her fresher appearance with a wholly inappropriate whistle which was rewarded with a blushing smile and Lady Proudmoore waving her away.

Anya had Clea and Kitala put the room in order again, chiefly wiping the floor and dealing with the pile of wet textiles. They decided to rig a tent line in the other room instead to keep the air from becoming too damp for Lady Proudmoore. Anya and Lyana sat down with the mage on her bedroll and Lyana looked over her back critically.

"It would be best if I wipe them clean one more time to be sure, and then we'll cover them in salves and wrap you up again so you can sleep, Lady Proudmoore."

"There's going to be a scar, isn't it?" the mage asked in a low voice. She sounded resigned, and Anya wanted to more than anything to wrap her arms around her.

"It is very likely. I can't say how much yet. It usually takes immediate healing with potions or spells to prevent scarring completely. If I'd had…"

"It doesn't matter." Lady Proudmoore interrupted her, but Anya did not believe her words any more than Lyana. "Maybe that will remind me not to act like a total idiot."

"You did a brave thing, for all of us, Lady Proudmoore." Lyana insisted but the mage only shrugged. She was slumping now, and Anya was sure that she would desperately need to sleep. She held Lady Proudmoore's hand when Lyana wiped her clean and she winced and gasped from the stinging alcohol, and tried to comb out her hair while Lyana wrapped her in fresh bandages. Finally Anya helped her put on one of the tunics from her small supply of clothes and Lady Proudmoore crawled down under her bedcovers and rolled over on her side.

"There are no scars in the world that would make any of us think less of you, Lady Proudmoore." Anya bent down and whispered in her ear. "Every ranger has them, but none of us ever dared to walk into an enemy stronghold unarmed and with our hands tied."

Lady Proudmoore just huffed sadly. Anya's insides twisted at the sight of their mage so far from her normal spirit.

She slowly laid down behind Lady Proudmoore's back and begun to gently run her hand across the mage's soft hair.

There had been that song, that the mage had sung when she had been allowed to wield her staff at sea for the first time, with Anya and Sylvanas beside her. How did it go, now again?

Anya begun to sing, as softly as she ever had.



"Ahoy, ahoy, sweet Daughter of the Sea

Ahoy this child of mine

The Admirals girl, his whole entire world,

For as long as stars do shine"



Upon hearing what she sang Lady Proudmoore froze, and shuddered beside Anya. She reached up and grabbed Anya's hand, and put it against her cheek.

It was wet.



"Ahoy, ahoy, sweet Daughter of the Sea

Ahoy this mage of mine

The dark ranger's girl, her whole entire world,

For you, her eyes will shine"

Sylvanas: The Proudmoore raiding party seems at loss in this encounter and only suffer wipe after wipe. How embarrassing.
Anya: Their caster must still be a little wet-behind-the-ears.
Jaina: Heroes are supposed to be immune to the charm skill! This quest boss is so OP…

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 19: Dungeons and Dreadlords

Jaina is sick and gets to enjoy the unquestionable comfort of some long overdue rest and the questionable comfort of Nurse Lyana's bedside manners, not to mention Areiel's. Sylvanas has a serious talk with Varimathras regarding the user safety of certain demonic products and decides that she is going to out-compete them.

Here is the melody I imagine that Lyana is whistling on her way to Jaina. Just picture her with her pet spider Kitthix perched on her head in front of one eye instead of an eyepatch:

Jaina is a big girl and every elf recognizes that and also acts with the maturity and dignity that one would expect from someone of their own ages. Always. For sure.

Lyana has a scare in this chapter but it turns out to only be related to above. No worries. There are also, regrettably, no role playing games played despite the catchy title but Jaina must at least gather her party of six before venturing forth from her room in the next chapter.

Click to shrink...

At least Varimathras did not attempt to play dumb.

Sylvanas slammed the towering dreadlord against the wall of the council chamber where the brick cracked. She strode forward to grab the demon by his throat and threw down the remains of the shackles in his lap.

"Do you perhaps have something you wish to tell me about these, my chancellor?" she hissed menacingly with her boot planted against his chest.

"My Queen knows I am her…" He coughed and sputtered. "…loyal servant."

"Then serve…" Sylvanas put more weight on her forward leg.

"I will spare you the pleasantries, My Queen…" Varimathras grunted. "…but are you suggesting that these shackles failed to prevent their wearer to wield her magic?"

"They did that. Amongst other things."

"May I humbly suggest that you illuminate me, My Queen?"

"The shackles just so happened to infect the wearer with Fel magic and by their presence provoked the Scarlet Crusade to imprison my negotiator." Sylvanas tightened her grip somewhat.

"And this…comes as a surprise?"

"Explain yourself."

"My Queen underlined the need for a quick solution to contain the mage, which I provided. Does it come as a surprise that the measures suggested by a demon involve Fel magic?"

Sylvanas snarled wordlessly, but relented somewhat and instead dragged him to a slightly more seated than heaped position.

"And do I understand My Queen correctly in that the Scarlet Crusader displayed willingness to negotiate with an envoy of the Forsaken, were it not for the presence of Fel magic in the shackles she wore?"

…Or damn me because I didn't show the proper 'revulsion' at someone just because he was undead, or call me a demon or my magic witchcraft – like that's supposed to change anything! Mage, witch, wizard, spellcaster, whatever-mancer – it's all the same!…

Sylvanas could just about hear Proudmoore's voice sounding in her head, saddened, hurt and distraught. She could just as easily recall the vile insults and spite Proudmoore had received from the prisoners she had made Sylvanas spare. They damned her as a traitor and a blasphemer without knowing anything about the Fel magic, unmoved by the sight of the bloody wounds on her back. And her mage was perhaps easily made to blush but she was no coward, and wickedly perceptive. Sylvanas had no reason whatsoever to doubt her account of how the Scarlets had regarded her and it was all too conclusive with their overall character.

But her mage had been hurt by the shackles themselves too, and there was nothing that would make Sylvanas overlook that, nor forgive even the slightest contribution they would have had to Proudmoore becoming imprisoned and whipped bloody. The way she had hidden her face in shame upon being rescued hurt Sylvanas the most, she now realised. It was far, far too reminiscent of what she had seen in her dark rangers.

"That is something we shall never know, since the Scarlets apparently wasted no time condemning her as tainted by the Fel and calling her a demon." Sylvanas said acidly.

"Fascinating."

"What?"

"That the Scarlet Crusade is willing to believe that a girl with such self-interest that she would seek out something as…drastic…as Fel magic – a phenomenon that My Queen is aware I have substantial experience with – would willingly submit to be rendered helpless by anti-magical shackles, and then equally voluntarily place herself at the complete mercy of the clergy of the Light. The zeal with which they allow their own blind faith to amalgamate their already profound incompetence is truly fascinating."

The dreadlord had not changed his tone, or made any subtle gesture that could allude to anything else than him pronouncing a snide, and accurate, judgement of their common enemy. But Sylvanas was of course no less aware of the obvious but unspoken addendum. If the Scarlet Crusade had to be daft or insane to believe that a mage would put herself willingly at their mercy, what did that say about the queen who would order the mage to do so?

Sylvanas knew too little of what had really happened to Proudmoore, that she realised now. She was still sorely tempted to tear the unreadable demon apart for the part he had played but she had to maintain control of herself. A queen could afford no less.

"Another fascinating question is how my very own chancellor managed to forget to mention this piece of crucial information to his queen." Sylvanas drawled. "Was that his blind faith in our inevitable success showing, or his profound incompetence?"

"The shackles are…pardon me, were…crafted to drain the wearer of all powers, not simply that of arcane spellcasting, My Queen. The residual Fel magic would not have been enough to kill the human, at least not until she had had ample time to serve her purpose in securing the release of ranger Hawkspear."

Her purpose.

The dreadlord had, off-handedly perhaps but Sylvanas was sure it was deliberate, touched on a sore point. The human Lady Proudmoore was an asset, a hostage, a means to an end in the eyes of a significant part of the Forsaken. A piece on the gaming board to be sacrificed before Forsaken pieces were the ones taken. Did Varimathras suspect that Sylvanas had done virtually the opposite, even if it could be said – and not without a good deal of truth to it – that the storming of Hearthglen was motivated by depriving the enemy of a stronghold and it's garrison, and the possible rescue of Cyndia Hawkspear?

Sylvanas teetered on the edge of doing something very rash, such as ripping the head off the smirking – no, not smirking at all, but making her feel as if he did – demon, but that was her banshee self talking and she forced that part to remain fettered inside herself, if only just. If the general opinion of her would suffer from the notion that she sent deathguards to die in her mage's stead, it would still be a trifle compared to what would be the result of her murdering her own chancellor. And she would not be that kind of queen. Because… Because Proudmoore would not want her to.

How odd, that it would be the first thought in her mind.

But the image of her mage reignited her fury over seeing her hurt and looking upon herself with revulsion, just the kind of revulsion that the Scarlets would have wanted her to reserve for the Forsaken, no doubt. Sylvanas would not let this slide.

"That was not your call to make. It was mine." Sylvanas declaimed, echoing with her ethereal banshee voice. "Your lack of transparency has jeopardized a crucial military operation and given me cause to severely doubt your reasoning. Consider yourself removed from my Council of War. You will carry out your other duties until further notice. You are dismissed."

Varimathras slowly rose to his full height, standing a good deal taller than Sylvanas, and his eyes gleamed with Fel energy. Sylvanas met them without fear. She was more than angry enough that she would almost welcome a confrontation here and now. But the dreadlord bowed his head almost imperceptibly and strode out of the room.

A clatter of stones drew Sylvanas' attention to the indenture in the wall where she had thrown him. A few broken bricks had fallen down, apparently after the structural support of a prone demonic chancellor was removed, and Sylvanas watched how the rest of the central portion of the wall cracked and crumbled before her eyes, and noisily collapsed into a pile of dust and bricks.

So, they would have to build more thoroughly next time.

Politics was a violent business after all.



***



From the moment her return to the Undercity became public knowledge Sylvanas was beleaguered in her office and only her uncompromising guards – rangers this time as all death guards were still away at Hearthglen – seemed to keep the horde of assailants form storming her ramparts and battering down her gates. And just like before the expedition to that place, there was just such a multitude of issues that required the queens signature, or consideration, or both, or required neither but still ended up on her table. Where did people find the paper for all of this? Weren't their people as poor in ink and paper as in everything else?

Areiel had taken good care of things and the Scourge had thankfully not grasped the opportunity to attack yet, but there were some sightings that hinted at large scale troop deployments. She woud need Varimathas's expertise sooner rather than later no doubt, infuriating as it was to call upon the dreadlord. Sylvanas had never been entrusted with any major part of the planning during her time in the Scourge, instead being used as a source of knowledge and a commander in the field. Uncomfortably similar to the use she now made of the dreadlord, as a matter of fact. She decided to let Areiel handle the inquiries about Scourge behaviour that would need to be done, it was in any case more efficient that way since the captain was most up to date with the recent scouting.

She should put the demon to use in the coming City Council. And as much as it galled her she could not make it seem like a demotion, as that would undermine the respect of that new body. There were few points that Areiel had hammered into her more fervently. A commander always had to move people around for one reason or another. Sometimes two decent rangers clashed too much, or prevented each other from reaching their full potential, or were simply of much more use if they both took on another ranging partner. And one must never, ever, hold up a new position as a punishment or insult. Losing a former could be, but gaining a new one must be painted as a second chance at the very least. Anything else would be an insult to the receiving unit, and the same was true for the soon-to-be City Council - Undercity Council maybe? - here and now. It would have to be Varimathras' chance to nominally regain her confidence and she would make sure he joined it a notable time after it's formation so it would not come across as a political graveyard.

Much as that term could seem applicable to the Forsaken leadership. Belore preserve them if self-appointed purveyors of puns and sarcasms like Areiel thought of that. Or Cyndia…

No. Not now.

The roll of dark rangers in service waited on it's shelf. It could wait a little more. Sylvanas had more pressing concerns than needless paperwork.

Like Proudmoore. When thinking of her Sylvanas felt like getting up from her chair immediately and head straight back to her dungeons. What was she doing here anyway instead of next to her mage, and Anya and her ranger squad?

She was being queen.

She had a people that depended on her and she had important tasks to oversee and above all she had to maintain control.

No variables.

Variables and unknowns got those she cared about hurt.

Much as Sylvanas tried to keep herself occupied with her tasks, her mind would wander back to her mage and her ranger squadron. They mattered. They were not assets, they were not a part of the job to order about as their general or Dark Lady or queen. Holding Proudmoore steady in her arms and feeling her fall asleep as they rode felt meaningful. It was not a means to the end in order to get her safely back to the Undercity in order to tend to her condition, in order to preserve her health as an ally and potential key to an alliance with her city. It had just been…good.

She pushed herself to sieve through weekly reports from Brill, largely abandoned at the moment in accordance with her recent lockdown orders but otherwise a thriving imitation of countryside life and a useful outpost for rangers to resupply and gather at. Sylvanas had always made a point of double-checking the little details from time to time, the bits and pieces behind the large scale briefings and plans. You had to maintain a feel of the people and units and chain of command that you were supposed to direct. Areiel had almost bored her to an early grave with her seemingly limitless examples of stupidity and oversights among previous as well as current elven leadership and the mistakes that Sylvanas would have to avoid when she was to become a captain.

She put the reports away and made a note in a long list of things to do. Out of six subordinate commanders involved, one could not command, another could hardly write, and two more knew not how to report properly.

She wondered if Theramore had faced the same problems with heaps of ill-trained and newly appointed personnel and hastily formed offices and military units that had to be put to work. What would her mage say if she could see the state of Forsaken management at the moment, Sylvanas wondered, and found herself missing their cabin on the Banshee's Wail. She wouldn't have minded hanging a hammock beside her desk, and having to dodge the thousand and one questions that the insatiably curious woman would doubtlessly have drowned her in while stretching her neck to read over Sylvanas' shoulder. She wouldn't even have minded if her mage's steady breathing at night would be interrupted by some bad dream and Sylvanas would have had to take a break from her work to rock her mage back to sleep.

If only her own quarters were warded against spellcasting.

The problem with Proudmoore remained her arcane powers, or more precisely the fear and mistrust they would inspire. Sylvanas was very well aware of the irony in seeing her own former sentiments mirrored in her people, or at least she counted on that being the case in enough of them to warrant caution. And that stunt with splashing water and a conjured ice patch upon Proudmoore's arrival would not exactly have smoothened things up, she smirked.

She smirked?

Why did she do that? She was the queen, and she should rightfully still be at least a little irritated with her foolish mage, shouldn't she? But who could be that with someone who had done half of what Proudmoore had for them? Proudmoore had defended her rangers' honour at that time on the stairs of the keep and she had done it in a damn funny way too. Sylvanas had been angry with the insults against the rangers rather than with Proudmoore as such, she could freely admit that afterwards, but more like upset with her mage's lack of care for her personal safety. If it would one day be possible without aggravating major parts of the Undercity, Sylvanas privately wouldn't mind seeing a few other people splashed with cold water. A certain chancellor came to mind, for instance. She could always reprimand Proudmoore afterwards and scare her a little, enough to appease the public opinion. Because Belore be damned if that woman didn't seem to enjoy being scared a bit from time to time.

For the moment her mage was recovering in the care of Lyana and the rest and she was out of danger, but how long would those walls hold her once she was back on her feet? Sylvanas should get her some books to start with - or perhaps some piles of books to be sure - but even reading through the keep's library would hardly serve to keep her occupied for too long and Proudmoore needed to come out and get some fresh air. An escort of rangers was an option but it was a bad one. The rangers were compromised in the people's eyes as guardians of the mage and Sylvanas did not have the heart to assign her a squadron of deathguards instead. That if anything was asking for trouble to happen! Proudmoore was feeling down and wrestling with memories and experiences she was not trained to handle – Sylvanas would have to check on that some time later – and she needed Sylvanas' squadron for more than security right now.

She was just stalling. She knew there was no way around keeping Proudmoore in fetters still and Sylvanas hated it. What a pathetic queen she was to tear one pair of shackles off her only to replace them with another!

Sylvanas took a deep breath and tried to persuade her body to calm down from it. Yes, a poor queen she may be but she would damn well be a poor queen properly at least. If this was the only option then so be it, and if she could not set Proudmoore free she would at least do a hell of a better job keeping her captured than Terenas' old dungeons and Varimathras' detestable shackles.

If this was how it would have to be then she would have the finest damn cuffs crafted that had ever been made. Because she was the queen and Proudmoore was her mage.

Sylvanas opened the door and her ranger guards stood at attention.

"Summon my mages. An get me Irizadan."



***



Jaina had certainly come to care a lot for the dark rangers that stood guard over her, and who went to such lengths to make her stay as comfortable as possible in a dungeon run by a people rich in gold but destitute in almost everything else. But she still considered this a scandalous travesty.

There were such delicious ways to prepare a Lordaeronian perch. Frying and grilling yielded excellent results for example, and neither procedure was overly complex at all.

Yet when she heard the eerie whistling of Lyana late in the morning and the dark ranger opened the door to Jaina's room, she was a visage of dread incarnate. Her pet spider, Kitthix, was perched on her head and had seated himself so that he covered one of her eyes like a many-legged and fluffy eye patch. Lyana was carrying a tray, and on the tray there was a bowl.

And in that bowl was…fish soup.

Jaina could objectively agree with Lyana's reasoning that since she still did have a very sore throat, and had after all spent the entire last day doing little more than to shiver and cough no matter how much firewood the rangers stoked her brazier with and how many reasonably dry blankets they piled on her, she could use a warm meal that was as easy as possible to swallow. And in light of Lyana's ceaseless attention to Jaina's health she had in all fairness earned the privilege of being cut some slack when it came to any lacking culinary insight. And not even the slightly unnerving habit of adorning herself with a living tarantula hat made Lyana an actual visage of dread to Jaina.

But still.

Fish soup.

"Your breakfast is served, Lady Proudmoore." Lyana beamed shamelessly at her. Jaina groaned inwardly at not only having to emerge from her reasonably warmed up nest of blankets but also at having to do so for the sake of such a dish.

Fortunately however, a polite knock on the open door came to her rescue. It was Areiel.

"Come in!" Jaina called out, rather wheezily.

Areiel stepped inside and looked around with interest.

"Well, well, I was just doing my rounds and had to see it for myself. I should try to get kidnapped myself some time…" Areiel peeked inside Jaina's sleeping tent with an amused expression. "My, isn't that sweet? This is Anya's doing, surely?"

"Anya gave very specific instructions. But we all do our best to care for Lady Proudmoore, as ordered."

"Of course you do." Areiel smiled, with a glimmer of mischievousness at the sight of Jaina huddling inside her blankets and Lyana kneeling beside her with the steaming bowl of soup. "Well, now that I'm here I suppose I might as well do a full inspection. Has she slept properly?"

"I think so. She tossed her blankets off some time after midnight but Anya pulled them up." Lyana reported without pause.

Hey, now, wait one moment…

"Very good. She's only two after all and they do so need their sleep at that age."

"Very funny." Jaina remarked sarcastically.

"Isn't that correct, Lady Proudmoore?" Areiel said with feigned, wide-eyed confusion. "I was under the impression that you are just over two decades old."

Jaina rolled her eyes.

"Has she eaten?" Areiel continued her aggravatingly cheerful inquiry.

"I just made her fish soup."

"Is she changed?"

"Ha. Ha. Ha." Jaina glared testily at the ranger captain.

"Your dressings, Lady Proudmoore." Areiel replied with a broad smile that would have made Velonara and Kitala proud. "I understand Lyana has taken care of your back quite well."

"Oh yes, she has stayed dry the whole night." Lyana chirped happily.

"Then it looks like you have everything well in hand, Lyana. I should get going. Happy mage-watching!" Somehow, Areiel mysteriously managed to make that sound more like mage-sitting.

Areiel left and with her Jaina's temporary reprieve. She shivered notably and braced herself for the cold outside her blankets but Lyana made her stay seated with a hand lightly placed against her shoulder. Instead she held the bowl unpleasantly close to Jaina's chin, and also nose, and scooped up a spoonful of the heretical soup.

"One for the Dark Lady…"

It took all of Jaina's accumulated good manners and fondness for Lyana to not stick her tongue out at her.

The fish soup was actually decent and Jaina was starting to feel a lot better after eating it. Anya was currently away to see Sylvanas, and Clea and Kitala were out fishing. Sylvanas had not returned after storming off with the torn shackles but Lyana said she had checked on them briefly while Jaina was asleep. Jaina missed the Dark Lady. The rangers were tireless in their attention to her and she had rarely slept so well through a really bad cold, or whatever it was she had, but there were several things she wanted to ask Sylvanas about. The marks on her arms not least.

"They are fading, Lady Proudmoore." Lyana commented from behind her, and Jaina realised she had been unconsciously fixating on her arms now that she felt warmed enough to loosen her blankets and stretch a little. She experimentally rolled her shoulders. It was surely unpleasant and her skin strained, but at least it hurt considerably less after Lyana's salves and the healing potion.

Kitthix had jumped down on the floor to sit and keep watch over Jaina and the tasty giant bugs that presumably waited to emerge from their obvious hiding places underneath her blankets. In all fairness, the spider was a quite respectful creature.

"Overall, I would say that you're healing quite well." Lyana continued and tried to cheer Jaina up. "We will fix you. At least…we'll do everything we can think of…"

"You've all been nice." Jaina sighed. "It's just…"

Kitthix was crawling closer to her, eyeing Jaina wih eight inscrutable eyes. She stretched out a finger to stroke lightly along a hairy leg.

"Your mum and her friends are nice, but they have the worst bedside manners, wouldn't you say, Kitthix?"

The spider chittered something that was yet beyond Jaina's knowledge of tarantuleese.

"It's tradition." Lyana stated firmly.

"Tradition?"

"Oh, yes. We always tease our infirm comrades, otherwise it would be far too boring lying there waiting to recover. And you are one of ours now, Lady Proudmoore, so obviously the same rules must apply to you." Lyana reasoned as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Tides, the dark ranger was the weirdest nurse Jaina had ever met.

And the best.

Jaina decided to brave the chill outside her covers and stretch her legs a little at least. But just as she had cast them off and was about to get up, Lyana cried out.

"What is that?!"

"What is what?" Jaina asked, taken aback by Lyana's agitation.

"You're bleeding!"

Jaina looked down. Her bedroll now sported distinctive red drops that had definitely not been there before. Jaina wondered if she had somehow cracked her still raw skin and dislocated the bandages when stretching before, but it seemed incredibly far-fetched that she should have dripped blood on the makeshift mattress rather than her blankets soaking it up, let alone that Lyana should have left any gaps in her dressings. Unless of course…

"Oh, bloody hell…" Jaina swore as she pulled up the tunic she wore and saw the dark red splotch on her currently quite ruined underwear.

"Lady Proudmoore." Lyana said, dead serious. "What, exactly, did the Scarlets do to you?"

"What do you mean, you've seen it firsthand?"

"You're bleeding from between your legs! And it's fine if you don't want to tell me personally but then I will have to get someone else and…"

"No! No, no, it's nothing like that!" Jaina held up her hand and tried to gather herself, and neither laugh out at the ridiculousness of the situation nor think too much about what Lyana seemed to be afraid of. "It's alright. Everything is alright just… Time flies when you're having fun getting captured by dark rangers, that's all."

"But why are you bleeding?"

Tides, could this day start more embarrassing? Jaina pinched her nose.

"Well, little miss Lyana, sometimes, more precisely once a month, if a big mage girl stops taking her potion of barrenness she bleeds a little and her stomach can hurt even though she isn't sick. And after a few days it stops on its own and everything is fine again."

"Oh… I'm so sorry, I…"

Lyana looked so crestfallen that Jaina felt sorry for her. When she thought about it, it wasn't so unreasonable for someone who had spent the better part of the last days tending to her wounds from outright torture to jump to conclusions.

"Ah, there are some cloth left, I can cut some strips now that you don't seem to be needing more bandages…for your back, that is." Lyana offered.

"Yes, that would be convenient…" Jaina sighed and rummaged through her meagre belongings. The rangers had taken the opportunity to wash her clothes now that they were back in the Undercity, and while Jaina was very grateful for the consideration all her garments now smelled of smoke from drying close to a fire. She was only waiting for Kitala or someone to make a comment about how "smoking hot" Jaina's admittedly rather boring wardrobe now was.

Lyana seemed to be returning to her usual mood.

"It's really once a month for you humans? For real?"

"Yes?"

"Fancy that."

"So what about elves, then?"

"Well, I wouldn't exactly call it a 'bloody hell', but I will agree that it used to be an inconvenient week of the year." Lyana smiled and definitely looked just a tad smug.

"Out, Lyana. Out!"



***



Sylvanas and Anya had argued all the way from the smithy.

"…trusting Lady Proudmoore or not isn't the issue!"

"Then what is?! What will it take from her to be treated as she deserves? How can we do this to her - we throw reason after reason at her to treat her as a dangerous enemy when she does nothing but help us?!" Anya was nearly yelling at her.

"This isn't up to me!"

"You're the queen, how the fuck can it not be up to you?!"

"A queen has subjects! Subjects that our mage may very well be antagonizing with her mere presence, and especially after greeting a good deal of them with a magical prank! She will be in danger if she is seen walking around freely, whether I like it or not!"

"Then those ungrateful fucking sewer rats can stay below and rot!"

Sylvanas almost had to laugh. It was not every day that quiet, discreet Anya Eversong called hundreds of people sewer rats.

"I would like to tell them all to rot, believe me." Sylvanas tried to keep her voice down. Anya was not her enemy, she had to hear her out and she had to face every hurting, stinging and very true argument that Anya presented. She owed that to both Anya and Proudmoore. "But if I did so I would paint a target on our mage's back and the malcontents would come after her rather than me. The witch that bewitched the Dark Lady and whatever. You know this too, don't you, Anya?"

"We have nothing to offer her but mistrust and fear for what she could do. We are no better than the Scarlet Crusade." Anya spat contemptuously.

Sylvanas whirled on her.

"Are you, seriously, saying that she would have been better off with the likes we faced in Hearthglen? Is that what we have become, Anya?"

The dark ranger did not snap back at her, but she stared back with a deep indifference of some kind, as if what they had been almost shouting about was not the true issue.

"She wouldn't have been hurt like that if it hadn't been for those cursed shackles." Anya said quietly, her words heavy with sadness. "They beat her! They whipped her bloody and she will have scars for the rest of her life for it! Because of us, Sylvanas!" Anya's voice was rising and her face was almost twisted by pure anguish. "We should have protected her, and instead we sent her out alone, and defenceless!"

Sylvanas took a step closer, and held there for just a moment. Anya did not push her back, nor did she turn her eyes away. Sylvanas took another careful step and in the next moment her arms were around Anya and they were not arguing anymore.

"Yes, we sent her out alone. I did. The responsibility is mine, Anya. Mine." Sylvanas whispered into her dark hair. "I was wrong to do so, and I deeply regret it. I should have told her no, and to sit down and be quiet instead of going out to make all the idiots of Lordaeron stop killing each other."

She felt Anya laugh sadly and miserably in her arms at that.

"I was wrong, and I hate what it did to our mage. I gambled with her life and her health and I lost, and nearly lost completely." Sylvanas slowly ran her fingers through Anya's hair. "And I fear losing again. Therefore, tell me honestly if I am making a mistake. You are my best and wisest ranger. Am I wrong? Is there a better way that I am missing?"

Anya slumped against her, cold and stiff and still.

"I want to go sailing. I want to sail back with her to Theramore, where she can be safe." Anya mumbled. "We were happier when we were at sea."

"I beg to differ. I watched her with Kitala in her lap in her new room that you had made for her. And so did you." Sylvanas gently turned Anya's head up to meet her eyes. "Does she want to go home?"

"I…do not know. She hasn't said it. But why would she?"

"Yes, it isn't like Lady Proudmoore has the nerve to speak her mind about the things she feels strongly about…" Sylvanas pretended to nod thoughtfully, and at last Anya was smiling a little, little bit. "She would never, say, yell at two ranger squadrons to get the hell out of her dungeon when she had important negotiations to conduct."

Anya straightened herself and looked with clear and honest red eyes at Sylvanas, calm but still looking terribly lost.

"The storms are coming." Sylvanas continued. "The Banshee's Wail is a good vessel but I would not risk the journey until the spring. We can not send her home safely on our own."

"I know." Anya said quietly. "I know she has to stay with us. And I want her to."

"Anya. Is there another way that I fail to see?"

"No. There isn't. But I can't bear the thought of keeping her chained up again like that! I can't!"

"That is why I am entrusting you with the key, one out of two, of which I will keep the second on me at all times. Because I know you will not abuse this power."

Sylvanas reached inside her chest armour and pulled out a thin, elegant chain of some silvery metal on which a pendant of the same material hung, inlaid with a single slightly pointy blue gem. She put it into Anya's hand.

"The chain is enchanted for durability, same as the cuffs. Try to pull it apart."

Anya took hold with both her hands and pulled. It had no visible effect. She nodded with approval and held up the pendant for closer inspection.

"There is a lock on each cuff that requires the key to open or close. You will be the only one that can fetter or free our mage."

"Are they…going to be finished soon?" Anya asked reluctantly and with palpable distaste.

"I think so, but I am not very familiar with the process of enchanting. Our own mages weren't too forthcoming about their trade secrets after all. We will do it outside her room, in plain view of Lady Proudmoore, and I will ask if she would help advice our casters. There will be no mistakes this time."

They started to walk slowly towards Sylvanas' quarters.

"I will have to check on our meagre numbers of spellcasters but I doubt any of them have had the time to delve much into enchanting. I was thinking of asking Irizadan to assist as well, I think his knowledge could be useful even if he lost his powers." Sylvanas continued.

"So we are going to try to keep the continents best mage captured with a handful of novice mages and a spellbreaker who can no longer break spells?"

Sylvanas smiled lopsided, and shrugged a little. Anya made an undeniable point.

"We will have to make do with what we have and hope that I can persuade our mage to cooperate."

"We are some jailers, who rely on our own prisoner to keep her captive…" Anya commented ironically.

"Jailers are overrated..." Sylvanas said dismissively. It was true. Ever since that time she met a despairing Kitala behind bars and begun to unravel the tangle of misdeeds that none of the indifferent guards had bothered looking into despite circumstances practically screaming that something was amiss, Sylvanas hadn't been very impressed with the profession. "At least Lady Proudmoore loves to teach."

"Lady Proudmoore loves to help." Anya's voice had a saddened sort of affection in it. "It's a shame Vel isn't here if Ire will be coming. She always loved teasing him." Anya was quiet for a moment, as if she was pondering on something. "Do you think Lady Proudmoore could know something of Spite?"

"There's only one way to find out, isn't it? She did mention elves living in Theramore on one occasion."

Anya and Sylvanas passed the guards outside her doors and Sylvanas sat down by her cluttered desk.

"Once Lady Proudmoore has her new cuffs and we're sure she won't appear as a threat, perhaps you could show her around the city? If she could meet some of our people at a time instead of a rabid mob they wouldn't dare to be so uncivil." Sylvanas asked a little hesitantly.

"And we'll set her free if she can win enough Forsaken over?"

"I believe our mage can safely be said to have the majority of the rangers on her side, and perhaps the respect of the guard too after they saw her standing up to the Scarlets like she did." Sylvanas smirked. "Two down, the rest of the population to go?"

Anya had remained standing in the middle of the small room, looking around with a hint of disapproval that Sylvanas had grown quite familiar with.

"You should take Lady Proudmoore for a walk, Dark Lady. And don't you dare go into hiding in your office, you are going to come visiting a lot more or I will bring her straight into your sorry bedroom and that will be embarrassing. Honestly, this place is like a broom closet."

"I bow to your expertise." Sylvanas tried to keep her smirk but deep down she felt strangely uncomfortable, which didn't escape Anya for a moment.

"Do you really want the queens suite to look like the hole it is in front of our guests?" Anya cast a meaning glance around the room.

"Do you have suggestions?" Sylvanas asked a little dryly.

"Oh, you have no idea, Dark Lady…"

Jailers are overrated indeed, Sylvanas…

Jaina: You are such a troll, Areiel! And two decades is a very adult age for humans!
Areiel: I did battle the Amani trolls for some millennia after all, some manners are bound to rub off... And you humans are all practically infants.

Tyrande: What are those little children across the sea doing at the moment?
Malfurion: Arguing about something it seems. So young, all of them...

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 20: Glue and Gallantry

Anya pays Jaina the compliment of all times and professor Proudmoore teaches her first Forsaken class, small though it may be. Westley and Cyndia attend church in the Scarlet Monastery.

At first I was going to include this scene in the last chapter but it grew so long it got out of hand completely. Here is Sylvanas' Jaina-chaining compromise with at least the gentlest cuffs she managed to have produced. Also the first appearance of the ex-spellbreaker Irizadan, long-time sufferer of ranger teasing.

Perhaps we are seeing the archmage's brilliance aura at work in this chapter?

Click to shrink...

Anya could not decide if she was happier because Lady Proudmoore's Fel marks on her arms were almost gone or because she had nearly stopped coughing. It was a tie. But Anya would take no chances and kept a watchful eye on the pile of Clea and Kitala and the mage nestled between them next to a pile of books. Lady Proudmoore had a bad habit of talking too much about everything that interested her until her throat became dry and she would start coughing again.

Books of magical theory were one such dangerous subject. Lady Proudmoore was filled with pointy comments and criticism of the shortcomings of 'stuffy old codgers with the educational talent of a tree stump' and Anya quickly understood that she was more than well acquainted with those sections of the Lordaeron library. She had firmly told Clea to put each of them back while Kitala and Lyana scouted the place for healthier reads. Lyana nearly matched Lady Proudmoore in her complaining of the lack of titles of useful herbalism (meagre) and spiders (none!) but Kitala, with the aid of Clea whose shoulders she had to climb to reach the top shelves, scoured the place for each and every even remotely adventurous or romantic novel they could lay their hands on.

And as it turned out, the Lordaeron court had had an appetite for those.

Lady Proudmoore had resumed her lessons with Clea and Kitala in speaking Common in a more modern way and the rangers had turned the lessons on the mage by translating the most instructive, meaning of course the most swooning and silly, phrases into Thalassian and discussing what the corresponding elven idioms and expressions would be.

"…but people don't talk like that!" Lady Proudmoore bubbled with lovely laughter at Kitala's very immersive impression of a presumably love-struck Lordaeronian maiden. "I mean, not normally, every day."

"Maybe you should. Then maybe your city guards wouldn't be so grouchy." Clea suggested impishly.

"Tides… 'Oh, brave Sir Knight, please open thy gates for me as I quiver with anticipation of feeling the heart-warming embrace of thy fair city'… I think I would have company-wide resignations within the week." Lady Proudmoore shook her head. "Honestly, I'm starting to have second thoughts about whether this dialogue is a good influence on your Common."

Lady Proudmoore was far too inexperienced, Anya realised. She had no idea of the trap she was walking into. And sure enough, Kitala was about to spring it for her.

"Well then, Lady Proudmoore…" she started all too sweetly "…why don't you instruct us innocent novices and show us how it's really done?"

"Wha…what?"

Kitala looked expectantly at her and Lady Proudmoore started to blush terribly. Even her little ears were reddening.

"Ehm…I'm not exactly an expert…but I suppose… You could say something nice about how the other person looks, or what that person means to you and how he or she makes you feel and…stuff…"

Clea was smiling broadly on Lady Proudmoore's right and Kitala was just about smelling blood on her left.

"Come on, Lady Proudmoore, surely you could offer better instruction than that? You who can teach anything so well?"

"Well, I guess…most people would call someone they liked a lot something cute, like 'sweetheart' or 'honey' or something like that… Actually, now that I think of it, there are quite a few affectionate terms that seem to refer to something you would like to eat."

"So you humans are each other's little morsels?" Kitala smiled.

"Maybe…but I haven't heard of anyone putting it quite in that way."

"How do you put it, Lady Proudmoore? If there is someone you wish to devour?"

Anya noticed that Lady Proudmoore looked down, and there was something else than her usual flushed self when she felt embarrassed about something in the good kind of way. If Anya didn't know better she would say that the question had made the mage unhappy, but she couldn't think of why.

"There…it's been a while since…" Lady Proudmoore mumbled, and didn't seem to find the words. "That is…I haven't…thought about…"

Kitala's eyes widened.

"Not ever? No one?" She had shifted in the blink of an eye from sugary teasing to concern that sounded completely genuine.

"Not since…" Lady Proudmoore's jaw was working and she looked nearly distressed, trapped, with her gaze darting this way or that. Anya frowned and then something suddenly fell into place inside her. She didn't know all the details about the connection between Theramore and Lady Proudmoore and Lordaeron but she had been present enough times when Sylvanas and Areiel discussed things that the mage's agitation was starting to make an awful amount of sense.

Kitala, you idiot!

"Lady Proudmoore is probably too busy running her city to have time for anything else." Anya blurted out. It was the first thing she came to think of. "And we all know how quickly that can eat up all your spare time."

Clea and Kitala snickered and Anya realised that she had unintentionally made a pun on the discussed culinary terms of affection by describing it as eating up all the time of a city-running lady. Which she had personally seen more than enough of firsthand, for that matter.

Now she had to try to steer the conversation towards something that would not agitate Lady Proudmoore so.

"In Thalassian most expressions of affection are centred on light in some way. I suppose we are a bit sun-crazy…" Anya rambled on.

"As opposed to the night elves who are a bit moon-crazy, then..." Lady Proudmoore looked like she tried to suppress a smile, like someone saying something inappropriate she really wasn't supposed to say. "Complete lunatics…"

"As strange as it sounds you likely know more about our distant cousins than most elves do, so we will have to defer to your expertise. You are becoming quite the authority on elves, Lady Proudmoore." Anya was happy to be able to sneak in a compliment, Lady Proudmoore always seemed to light up a little from those. "Your Thalassian warms the ear too. Clea has taught you well."

Anya had spoken from her heart, she thought that Lady Proudmoore had talked very beautifully, even lovingly, when she had caressed Kitala's ears and Anya and Lyana and Sylvanas had entered the room that first evening in Lordaeron. Too late she realised that she had probably managed to make a reference to the stroking of those ears too, which had most likely been warmed by the mage's touch. Anya almost groaned inside, she was supposed to not be taking after a certain pun-loving ranger captain.

And what if Lady Proudmoore thought Anya was making fun of her? She didn't, did she? No, it didn't look like that. Lady Proudmoore still looked down but she wasn't tense anymore, her face didn't have the painful, taut hardness about it. Now she was blushing in the good way again, the way that made her face soft and made her smile, and made her eyes shine.

Clea was looking at Anya in a thoughtful, and maybe a bit amused, way. Anya had the distinct feeling that Clea at least had not missed the unintended hint about her ranging partner's ears. Anya was very fond of Clea and the tall ranger was considerate and protective of her friends, but right now her gaze felt just a little too piercing, somehow.

"Yes, you have been a very good student." Clea encouraged the mage. "What about you, Anya? If you were going to call Lady Proudmoore something nice – Common or Thalassian - what would it be?"

The question was off-handed enough, and quite in line with their conversation about courtesy and courting in Common and Thalassian. It shouldn't be anything strange with using the person closest to Anya in the room as an example.

It shouldn't render Anya speechless and stunned.

Lady Proudmoore was looking up now, and looking at Anya.

She was so kind.

She made Sylvanas smile.

She had risked her life for them all.

She was mesmerizingly lovely.

She was the best thing that had happened to them since they died.

"Glue…"

For the fleetest of moments everything was so quiet that Anya swore she could hear Lady Proudmoore's heartbeat. Then the dungeon exploded with laughter. Clea chuckled quietly as always but fell over shaking. Kitala stared between the two and giggled uncontrollably and Lyana, who had been sitting in a corner trying to read aloud to Kitthix, snorted and tittered so much that the spider jumped down and scurried for some calmer part of the room. Anya wanted to dissolve into smoke and disappear through the cracks between the stones in the wall. How could she possibly have…

But Lady Proudmoore didn't laugh. She looked confused, but stared intensely at Anya with those bright blue eyes that seemed to see right through her and almost imperceptibly tilted her head as if pondering something.

Before Anya could think more about a suitably expedient way to remove herself from the face of Azeroth she was interrupted by a knock on the door.

It was Sylvanas. She waved to the rangers to remain at ease while she stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. She was carrying something small in a simple burlap sack. It clattered slightly and Anya had a sinking feeling about what it was.

Lady Proudmoore, curious as always, would of course not leave it alone.

"Did you bring a present, Dark Lady?"

In answer Sylvanas reached inside and pulled out loops of thin silvery chain, slightly thicker than the one holding the small blue gem now hanging around Anya's neck but just as finely made.

"What's that, a skipping rope? Or what, a leash?" the mage asked jokingly as she was gathering the full length of it.

Anya could see Sylvana's palpable discomfort as she pulled out the rest of the cuffs. Anya found it welcome in a way to see how Sylvanas clearly did not enjoy the situation.

"Bracelets? Oh, I see…" It was easy to hear how Lady Proudmoore's mood plummeted. Sylvanas handed them over to her and the mage turned them and the chain over in her hands and eyed them thoughtfully, without a word. She did so for a long time, or at least it felt like that to Anya. The other rangers had risen too and Anya could see them from the corner of her eye, watching Lady Proudmoore attentively but respectfully keeping their distance.

"The general population will be scared of…" Sylvanas begun, sounding hesitant and unusualy unsure of herself.

"I saw what the Scarlets are like up close." Lady Proudmoore interrupted her. "I saw what the living do to you. I can not blame anyone for being afraid." she said heavily. The mage cast another glance at the cuffs and asked, with a much smaller voice. "There aren't any Fel magics in these, are there?"

She sounded genuinely afraid.

"No, there is not. You have my word on that, Lady Proudmoore. I have had them crafted under my direct supervision and they are not yet enchanted in any way except for durability."

Lady Proudmoore looked at the cuffs again, and then suddenly hurled them hard into the stone wall where they hit with a loud clang. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow and nodded with approval at the direct approach to practical testing. Lady Proudmoore picked the cuffs up again and inspected the non-existant damage.

"They are actually beautiful in a way." She brushed her thumb over one of the blue gems that were the focus of the locking mechanisms.

"They might match your eyes somewhat, perhaps." Sylvanas said.

"Are my eyes like this?" Lady Proudmoore asked, a little softer.

"Of course not." Sylvanas said dismissively and huffed with derision. "The gems are lacklustre at best. Now, I have brought some people with me that comprise my arcane expertise, which is admittedly far smaller than I would like. The Scourge was very thorough in combing the land for anyone with magical talent and press them into their service as new necromancers. The spellcasters we have are comparably new to their trade. But first, I would like you to meet Irizadan, who you might say is something of a specialist when it comes to these matters."

The slight tone of amusement in Sylvanas' voice had caught the attention of Lady Proudmoore and she followed Sylvanas close behind when she opened the door.

In the corridor waited a Forsaken elven spellbreaker in full panoply, standing at attention straight as a post and looking, Anya had to admit despite knowing him well, quite imposing.

"Greetings. Lady Proudmoore, I presume?" he introduced himself after a confirming nod from Sylvanas.

"Good evening. To whom do I owe the honour?" Lady Proudmoore answered very politely.

"My name is Irizadan. I am…"

"A hunter of naughty mages throughout the land!" Kitala interrupted him gleefully.

"The wicked witches' worst nightmare!" Clea whispered spookily.

"A dreaded catcher of disobedient apprentices far and wide!" Lyana added.

"…a spellbreaker, as you hear. Unfortunately a former one. I lost those powers with undeath it would seem. Or death, technically speaking." Irizadan explained to Lady Proudmoore. He still had a kind voice but it had a perpetual sadness about it, like the way Clea's was a constant whisper. "So, you have been putting up with these morons ever since arriving in the Undercity?" he added dryly while shifting his blade into the shield hand and removing his helmet with the other to hold it under the arm in the prescribed ceremonial position of guards "at rest".

"Actually ever since setting sail from Theramore over three weeks ago." Lady Proudmoore smiled at him.

"Condolences."

"Hey!" Kitala reached forward through the rather cramped doorway to ruffle his long hair. It was the colour of ash nowadays but still had a bit of it's shine left.

"Dark Lady, can I leave the merchandise somewhere?" Irizadan indicated his shield and blade.

Sylvanas pointed towards the wall and Irizadan set his arms and helmet to rest againt it. Anya had always thought he looked much better without them.

"Now, let me introduce mages Edwin and Zaerini – the city's self-styled 'Dread Wizard' and 'Hellkitten' respectively – and Wilhelmina, one of our three resident wicked witches."

The three Forsaken mages could not redden, but they shifted and grimaced slightly when Sylvanas displayed her detailed knowledge of their apparently less than official nicknames. They were all rather young and must have been apprentices at most, Anya guessed, although Lady Proudmoore was after all quite young too and still astonishing. All were human Forsaken although Zaerini looked like she had some elven blood in her with slightly sharper features and long ears. They were not as well preserved as the rangers or Irizadan but still far from the most unfortunate Forsaken. Edwin stood out particularly in dark red robes, and Anya wondered if he wouldn't fit better as the 'Red Wizard' instead.

The three managed some half-hearted greetings, obviously uncomfortable in the Dark Lady's and unknown human mage's presence.

"Can we work here?" Sylvanas indicated the space outside the doorway.

"It's alright, enchanting doesn't require much space in fact. Dark Lady." Wilhelmina added nervously.

"Bring the brazier and lamps here then, and a bedroll for Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas ordered the rangers.

"Could you please bring the other ones too?" Lady Proudmoore asked. "Can't we all sit down instead?"

Soon enough they had arranged a strange triangle of bedrolls and lamps around a small open space between everyone, with the brazier placed as close as possible to Lady Proudmoore's bedroll.

"Is this how Dalaran mages usually design their workspaces?" Sylvanas asked a little ironically.

"We usually stay further away from magically warded dungeons." Lady Proudmoore smiled.

The three Forsaken mages huddled a little on their side of the corridor but they still peeked inside Lady Proudmoore's room with interest. Ever-present curiosity seemed to be a widespread trait in that profession.

"Attention!" Sylvanas called out and everyone reflexively stood straighter, even the unmilitaristic mages. "Your task is to enchant these cuffs to prevent the wearer from using magic, similar to these dungeons. They are to have no, and I repeat NO, other effects on the wearer whatsoever. Irizadan possesses substantial experience with handling anti-magical items and will advice if possible. Lady Proudmoore, would you agree to lend assistance as well?"

"Of course." Lady Proudmoore answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world for an archmage to craft the means of her own imprisonment. She had remained standing just inside the doorway and limits of the magical warding, but when she moved to take a step forward the three other mages unconsciously drew back. They seemed extremely nervous.

Sylvanas looked calculatingly at them.

"Clea, take a seat." she ordered and pointed to the bedroll by the brazier. "Proudmoore next." Lady Proudmoore obediently sat down in Clea's lap with the ranger's arms around her waist, looking as if she found it all a little embarrassing but also a little funny. "Kitala next." Kitala definitely tried hard to keep her face straight when she dutifully layed down with her head in Lady Proudmoore's lap and could evidently not resist curling up comfortably against the other two with her eyes closed and Lady Prudmoore habitually scratching and stroking her ear, probably without really thinking about it. It was very sweet in Anya's opinion.

Sylvanas then sat down herself next to them with her legs tucked in underneath her so she came to sit slightly above the notably relaxed mage. She placed a hand on Lady Proudmoore's neck so she could demonstratively turn the mage's head towards her.

"I am confident we can keep our archmage in line…" Sylvanas purred and Anya saw how Lady Proudmoore shuddered visibly. She seemed to have momentarily forgotten the rest of the room. Not that Anya could blame her.

"Get to work." Sylvanas ordered their bewildered mages.

"Uh, alright…" Edwin begun. "We, ah, found some books on enchantment and other things and we have been taking notes…" He presented a bundle of what looked like slightly messy notes along with some of the dangerous books on magical theory, those that made Lady Proudmoore use her throat too much.

Just as Anya feared, Lady Proudmoore frowned when she saw the choice of literature and she straightened her posture as if preparing to give a blistering lecture about their many deficiencies.

"Lady Proudmoore, please wait!" Anya implored, making the mage turn to her and look almost as questioning as the Forsaken mages. "Remember that your throat is still sore and you will start coughing if you talk too much. If you are going to berate those books again you should at least have something warm to drink. Could you please wait until I have made you some tea first?"

Lady Proudmoore blinked, and then she started to laugh, bright and warm and merrily.

"Anya, you are too kind. Yes please, some tea would be good."

"Are they really that bad?" Zaerini wondered.

"Uh, for real?" Edwin asked.

The mages sounded a bit sheepish. Lady Proudmoore turned her full attention to them.

"What did you think about them?"

"Well…" Wilhelmina begun. "…it's not always so easy to understand maybe…like this paragraph…" She opened one of the books on magical theory and brought out a scroll filled with scribbles (and a small drawing of a cat that she quickly tried to cover). "…about the alignment of force versus direction of force…"

"Don't get me started, that one is so needlessly complex, I know, right?" Lady Proudmoore agreed fervently and Anya decided it was high time for some tea. "No, the thing is…"

Anya hurried as much as she could but she was barely back with the tea before Lady Proudmoore had burst into a tirade of spirited explanations sprinkled with encouragements and probing questions that soon had her audience hooked and eagerly participating in deciphering the musings of the academic tree stumps. She even forgot to drink her tea and Anya had to remind her several times. Anya lacked the context to follow their lines of reasoning but she could appreciate the difference between the books' dry and sparse prose and Lady Proudmoore's care and attention to her audience's actual learning. It became quite relaxing to lean back and listen to, but eventually Irizadan decided to intervene.

"As much as I endorse the exchange of knowledge and ideas among the learned, if I may offer a tad more practical piece of advice it is to keep it simple. No needless complexities."

Anya was almost biting her lip, but now she felt that she had to ask just one little thing.

"Could you maybe add just one little enchantment?"

"What would that be?" Wilhelmina asked.

"Can the cuffs make the wearer a little warmer? They are metal after all and winter is coming."

"That would be useful." Lyana agreed. "The skin is thin by the forearms and the warmth can spread with the blood."

"Irizadan, what is your opinion?" Sylvanas asked.

The spellbreaker shrugged. "It's not the most complex enchantment as far as I know but the principle remains, every little bit helps…"

"Dark Lady, please?" Anya pleaded, and the other rangers joined in.

"She doesn't have very good winter clothes yet."

"After what the other shackles did to her she deserves all the comfort we can offer."

"It's such a small thing, isn't it?"

"Very well." Sylvanas agreed. "Show me what you can do, my mages!" she commanded.

They finally got to work. Lady Proudmoore guided, explained, directed and occasionally channelled her own power to help but when the finished cuffs ceased gleaming with the magic that had infused them it had been mostly a Forsaken feat of enchantment and the three younger mages looked very pleased.

"Good work!" Lady Proudmoore made an overly theatrical gesture and four mana buns appeared before her. She took one and savoured the taste. "Try them. You may not be able to eat in the usual way but you can use the refreshment."

"Test the cuffs. Every one of you." Sylvanas ordered the mages once they were finished.

Anya slowly picked them up and proceeded to lock them around the forearms of every one of the Forsaken mages. She did not enjoy it.

"They seem to work. The warmth feels nice actually." Edwin commented.

"Is she really gonna go without her mana like this?" Zaerini asked spontaneously after being the last to try them on.

"For now." Sylvanas said neutrally. "Lady Proudmoore, do you feel comfortable trying the cuffs on?"

"Can I conjure another mana bun?" Lady Proudmoore asked.

Sylvanas looked at her with amusement. "Just one, then. What is it with mages and those?"

"They aw schimply awffome…" the mage mumbled with her mouth full as she held out her hands.

Anya stood still as a statue but on the inside she was trembling, or worse, more like a fistful of leaves that were being blown about by the autumn wind.

"It's alright." Lady Proudmoore almost whispered to her, and caught Anya's gaze. There was no fear in her eyes now.

Anya knelt and slowly, as carefully as she could, locked the bracelets around her forearms. They did indeed feel more like bracelets or bracers than cuffs or shackles.

Lady Proudmoore smiled encouragingly at her. "They'll warm me at least, so I don't get sick so easily."

"The first sign that…" Anya ordered, stern and shaky at the same time.

"…I'll tell you." Lady Proudmoore nodded. "And you and Lyana will want to check my arms every evening."

Anya looked at the cuffs. At least Lady Proudmoore had called them bracelets. And a skipping rope. And at least they would warm her, which Anya could not.

"Good work." Sylvanas said with approval. "Lady Proudmoore, thank you for your instruction."

"You really can teach anything." Kitala mumbled, without a trace of irony.

"Can't we, like, stay a bit longer?" Wilhelmina asked. "You teach much better than those boring books."

"No, you can't, because Lady Proudmoore is still not fully recovered and needs to rest her throat." Anya said firmly before anyone else.

The mage nodded apologetically to the other ones. "I wouldn't dare to argue with the dark rangers. It will have to be some other time."

"Well, good evening then, Dark Lady, and good evening, ah, Lady Proudmoore, Madam…" The Forsaken mages made some stumbling bows and left for the stairs up.

"Irizadan? If there is something you would like to ask now might be the time." Sylvanas turned towards the spellbreaker.

"Lady Proudmoore, do you know anything about an elven ranger named Spitzamina, sometimes called Spite. Dark brown hair, brown eyes, a personality resembling that lot." Irizadan indicated the dark rangers. "Except… I do not know what became of her. If she…"

Anya could see that Lady Proudmoore understood.

"I don't know of anyone with that name, unfortunately. But she sounds like a very nice person. If I ever find out anything…"

Irizadan nodded. "Thank you, Lady Proudmoore, and good evening." He gathered his arms and helmet and marched off, fairly quiet for someone not being a ranger.

Lyana, Clea and Kitala carried the furniture back into the room while Lady Proudmoore tested her range of motion while wearing the bracelets. The chain was long enough that she could stretch her arms wide to the sides and the links were sufficiently small that they were unlikely to get stuck on something or pinch her. So long as they found a way to keep the mage from tripping on the long chain – it was in fact probably halfway towards being able to serve as a skipping rope, Anya reckoned – the bracelets shouldn't have to hinder her very much.

The other rangers were finished and presented themselves before the mage like a row of chambermaids.

"Your room is ready, Lady Proudmoore, Madam." Kitala reported with obviously false subservience and curtsied deeply while pretending to lift up her non-existent skirts.

Lady Proudmoore waved them off and shook her head tiredly.

When they were inside Anya immediately unlocked the bracelets and hung them on one of the tent pegs in the wall.

"I don't feel anything bad." Lady Proudmoore said immediately when Anya turned to her. "In fact, I think I have a little warmth left over from them."

She reached out, and cupped her hand over Anya's cheek.

She was really warm.



***



The dark ranger Cyndia Hawkspear turned from looking out behind them.

"Of all the badly planned escapes I ever hear of this has to be the stupidest, and that says a lot coming from someone who has seen ranger plan-making for centuries."

Westley had taken her advice, and ran blindly away from the nightmarish cellar and the body of Wroth, until his wits caught up with him and he realised that getting any closer to the monastery gates was extremely ill-advised at this time. When he turned around he met the critical look and crossed arms of the dark ranger, who had apparently kept up with him without difficulty and without sound.

"There is no way out, is that it?" She didn't sound very surprised.

"There are…" Westley panted "…armoured guards by the gate and it is the only way out."

"No way out, no way down, so…up?" Cyndia nodded towards a staircase leading to the ground floor.

"Up?" The idea seemed counter-intuitive to Westley but he couldn't honestly think of any better option and the last thing he wished right now was to remain in the lower areas. "That leads to the barracks and such. Unless we turn to the chapel."

"The chapel. Is it guarded?"

"Not really, only during sermons usually."

"Then let's go praying."

They scurried through the mercifully empty hallway and the high doors to the chapel were unlocked. The place had always felt huge, in Westley's opinion, being not only the largest room by far in the monastery but also built to give the impression of vast size with high vaults and pillars and similar windows with even some stained glass motifs at their top. Eight rows of benches competed for the space before the pedestal where one of the Scarlet brothers would speak out against forbidden actions or thoughts – always against but never for something, Westley remembered – and call upon the blessing of the Light.

Cyndia quickly scanned the room, looking for things Westley didn't know. She paid particular attention to the tall windows.

"Are there any clothes or some kind of cloth here?"

"I don't know…maybe…" Westley said unsure.

"Well, hurry up and find out, stableboy. They're coming."

Without another word Cyndia started to pile the long benches against the doors, handling them seemingly without difficulty despite her lean elven frame. Westley hadn't heard any sound of someone approaching, and now certainly couldn't hear anything over the noise of benches being moved and piled high, but he had a feeling that Cyndia had.

There was nothing left on the benches nor on the pedestal. Westley looked behind but found only a small desk and a cupboard with candles and some other ceremonial items. He could hear noise from behind the door now but couldn't tell what it meant or how many were there. For a moment he considered the large tapestries on the wall but he couldn't see what they would be useful for. Then, finally, his eyes fixed on a dot of red in the darkest corner. It was a robe, and someone must have put it there by mistake or to avoid having to look for the forgetful owner of the garment. Westley hurried over and grabbed it. When he turned around his breath hitched.

There were candles lit in two large chandeliers standing on either side of the door to overawe the visitors that entered the chapel. Cyndia had just grabbed one of them and made for the pedestal. She casually turned it over and shook and kicked out the thick wax candles on the carpet and tore out the few books and papers in the cupboard. Lastly she grabbed the small chair next to the desk and smashed it to pieces against the floor with a sharp crack. Westley looked on in horror as she swept it all into a pile over the still burning candles and finally pulled down the desk on top of the pyre. The flames were already starting to eat through the closest papers.

Cyndia looked demandingly at him for a moment but her expression changed to one of slightly more approval when she spotted the red robes in his hand and he hurriedly handed it over. Cyndia swiftly dove into them and then, almost casually as she hurried for the door, tossed the empty but still heavy chandelier at one of the windows where it crashed in a cascade of expensive glass.

Cyndia kicked the other chandelier down on top of the pile of benches. Westley could hear banging and shouting outside at this point.

"Are you coming or not?" Cyndia barked irritably, and headed for the window without sparing him a second look. Westley hurried after.

The window was well more than twice his height above the courtyard outside. He swallowed.

Cyndia kicked and smashed away some larger glass pieces remaining around the hole and then took a step forward while grabbing Westley firmly by his arm. Her hand was cold as…as the room they were in, probably, neither more nor less. With a startled shout Westley found himself dragged out into nothing and then the courtyard's gravel and mud was rushing up to meet him before he even had time to get truly terrified.

Westley hit the ground with one foot first and tripped so that he fell hard on his left side and banged the entire leg and arm against it. He couldn't say if the fall had knocked the air out of him or if Cyndia falling partly on top of him had done that, or if he was just too shocked to breathe. Then the pain hit him and he bit down hard to not cry out. It was more than enough to make his eyes water.

Cyndia was already on her feet, checking that the hooded robe still covered her as good as possible before offering him her hand as he struggled to get back on his feet and hobbled along next to her. The next moment he felt how Cyndia suddenly leant down against him with her head turned towards the ground and walking unsteadily as if she was the one more injured. Equally sudden, Westley became aware of half a dozen of Scarlet soldiers hurrying in from the street outside, the lower ranking brothers that made up the most of the garrison.

"Fire!" Westley shouted unusually hoarsely before they had time to think of anything else, such as checking who he supported on his shoulder. "The chapel is on fire! Hurry!"

The six squires reflexively looked up but before they had decided whether to believe the call or not two more brothers stormed inside the courtyard, higher ranking members judging from their finer mail and plate. Westley recognized them vaguely as captains of the guard that sometimes presided over the lower – and more unworthy – servants and the peasants that had been seeking refuge in the monastery.

"You must help them! The undead monster has broken loose, it is killing everyone inside!"

That on the other hand got the whole lot running.

"I'm flattered." Cyndia whispered as they hurried as best they could for the street, only to come almost face to face with two more squires who looked out of breath as if they had been running from some remote post.

"The undead is loose and is raising the dead, hurry into the chapel!" Westley cried out.

"Don't overdo it." Cyndia hissed at him as the squires passed. But when Westley glanced quickly over his shoulder he could see a reddish light and smoke coming out of the broken window and anyone with a working pair of eyes could tell what was currently happening.

Passing out of the courtyard felt as the greatest relief, and both Westley and Cyndia lengthened their stride when they passed under the looming shadows of the various buildings outside the monastery proper.

Unfortunately, they hurried too much.

"Westley! That ye?"

Rodoh.

Westley cursed their rotten luck and hurried even further, almost being the one dragging Cyndia along now despite his hurting foot and leg. He doubted he would be able to run if it came to that, however.

"Hey! Where're ye goin'? What's gon' on? Why're ye out 'ere?" Rodoh was gaining on them.

"There's a fire in the chapel, you had better go help!" Westley did his best to sound like he was in a hurry and with something important to do.

"Why're ye out here?"

"No time, hurry to the chapel now and help!" Westley tried.

"Why're ye out here? Why're ye out here, Westley? Eh?"

Rodoh didn't seem to have heard him, or rather he didn't seem to take in what Westley was telling him. Sometimes, Rodoh only had room for one thought at the time and would not drop the stupid question or the point he was fixating on no matter what.

"Get lost, Rodoh!"

"Why're ye out here? Why're ye out here, Westley!" Rodoh was getting whiney, his voice having taken on the almost nasal character it did when he just wouldn't shut his trap.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me…" Cyndia growled.

Her movements became a blur when she whirled around and threw herself at Rodoh's throat and slammed him into the closest wall. Westley had just turned around when he could see a faint red gleam about Cyndia's eyes and how Rodoh squirmed and twitched in her grip and beat at the arm that was slowly crushing his windpipe. There was a faint red glow about the ranger's hand too, like the light of a lantern shining through cupped hands and making the fingers glow red around the edges. Rodoh wheezed and his efforts became fainter and fainter until he dropped limp onto the street.

"It was a nice try." Cyndia shrugged at Westley. "Well, where are we going?"

"The stables, just two corners ahead, near the town gate." Westley rasped, still wondering if he had just seen the elf coldly drain the life of Rodoh like it was nothing but an irritating trifle. He half felt like it was all a dream, a dream so filled with horrors that one could only become numbed to them after a while.

The stable was unguarded but the gates were not. Four Scarlet brothers, and Westley could spot the silhouette of heavy armour on one of them. Getting out of the monastery with the chapel on fire behind them had been one thing, but this…

"You have horses ready or something?" Cyndia whispered.

"Two. I'm not leaving without them."

The dark ranger was quiet for a short while.

"Stay inside with them and keep them calm or you will most likely be dead before morning." The next moment Cyndia had disappeared out of his sight.

Westley hurried inside, to the blissful touch of soft noses against his cheeks and kind, warm eyes looking at him. He leaned back against a post and absently patted both the horses while he allowed himself to breathe out calmly, or pretended to at least.

Then a terrible, unworldly scream cut through the night air, piercing his very bones. It was unlike any sound he had ever heard or could have imagined hearing.

Nick and Vicky both panicked, hooves kicking against the stalls and neighing with wild and wide eyes. Westley jumped out of the way and back again to hold and comfort and quiet them both as best he could while the echo, or the memory, of the scream faded inside his own head.

The next moment Cyndia appeared in the doorway.

She was armed, carrying a longsword in her hand with a smaller blade at her belt, and there were bloodstains here and there on her.

"I had to have a little discussion with your guards. I have negotiated our safe passage out. Now get going, stableboy."

Westley felt his horses shudder at the smell of blood but they followed him none the less when he led them out and with him close by Cyndia was allowed to mount up. The horse shoes clicked and clattered against the cobblestones when they rounded the next corner and came upon the gate. In the shadows on their side Westley could see four unmoving bodies heaped against the wall.

"Negotiations were rough." Cyndia commented, and they rode out into the night.

Westley followed Cyndia's gaze back towards the smoking Scarlet Monastery, illuminated by a fiery glow that could have been torches and lanterns or the chapel actually burning.

"So, you've betrayed whatever filthy vows they've made you swear and damned yourself for eternity by consorting with one of the monstrous living dead. What were you planning to do now?" Cyndia asked rather indifferently.

"What were you planning to do if you could break free?" Westley asked her back.

"Go south through the land of the living, then west through the land of the dead."

"The dead…do they…eat?"

Cyndia laughed coldly. "Not unless you count what I did up there to your friend. But I guess I'm feeling pretty full at the moment so I suppose you needn't worry."

"He was not my friend." Westley mumbled.

"Good then. So, want to chance it with the likes of me or tangle with the Scourge?"

"It looks like we're coming with you."

"To the Undercity it is then." Cyndia looked him over briefly. "Were you intending to eat something on the road, by the way, or are you counting on joining our ranks by the time we arrive?"

In response Westley opened his saddlebag and picked out a piece of bread to chew slowly, and maybe just a little demonstratively, on.

"Well, well, you did plan this after all, stableboy." Cyndia grinned.

Poor Anya, it's really not easy to find the right words when Lady Proudmoore and your squadmates are staring at you. Perhaps she can find an opportunity to make herself clearer later.

Edwin and Zaerini are a tribute to the magnificent Cards series of Baldurs Gate II fanfiction by LaufeyofThay about the incomparably stylish (and diplomatic…) red wizard of Thay and the Bhaalspawn bard Zaerini. Wilhelmina is an original character of my own, one of three wicked witches and terror of the sorceress academy together with Wilma and Wanja (the WWW).

Westley and Cyndia are likely to be in for an interesting time if they can survive long enough, and survive each other for that matter.

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 21: Scarves and Skipping

In this Christmas special (though it is still autumn in Lordaeron) Lyana begins the long term campaign of reforming Jaina's wardrobe by gift wrapping her for the Dark Lady. And Anya is totally not staring while she is at it because she is of course a serious and professional ranger lieutenant who can keep her mind on the job, which her squadron naturally recognizes. Sylvanas takes her pet mage for a walk around her pleasant city to meet it's picturesque inhabitants and presents are bought as well as delivered.

Remember the last endeavour of Runar and Halvdan in chapter 13, braving the intimidating throngs of the Loch Modan autumn market? They did apparently find what they were seeking and intending to send by the Azerothian mail order, which works in mysterious ways but frequently…ahem…delivers*.

*I extend my apologies for the horrible pun and will see myself out and apply for the position of ranger captain promptly.

Click to shrink...

"Tap-tap-tappeti-tappeti-tap!"

The soft thuds of naked human feet and swishing of rope resounded in the dungeon. It was the morning after they had enchanted the bracelets and Lady Proudmoore was already getting restless again. The rangers had spent the night mostly around her except for Sylvanas who had to go back to her other work as usual, but not before promising Anya she would be back in the morning. It was becoming something of a habit for the four rangers to sit around the sleeping mage and talk quietly, or with their hand signs if Lady Proudmoore seemed to rest uneasily. Though Anya honestly doubted how wise that was, for if anything Lady Proudmoore appeared to find their presence reassuring and rest easier when she heard their voices.

This night they had spent a good deal of the time brushing and mending their gear as much as they could, or rather Lyana had done most of the mending. They would look as smart as possible when escorting the Dark Lady and Lady Proudmoore the next morning. When Sylvanas tarried, Clea had suggested skipping rope as one of several pastimes for their impatient mage. She said it half as a joke since Lady Proudmoore had initially referred to the bracelets and their chain as a skipping rope. The mage took her up on it however, and they had quickly gotten her a couple of tent lines tied together as rope.

Anya could certainly understand if the mage felt trapped and bored after being consigned to her room by not only Sylvanas' orders but also her sickness (Anya still kept a wary eye and ear on her throat), but she could still agree that Lady Proudmoore sounded a little bit like a slightly whiney child when she was like that. When she started skipping though, it was apparent that she was very much not a child. Her loose shirt was flapping and Lady Proudmoore was, well, quite moving. And quite distracting.

The rest of her squadron had noticed the same and were smiling more and more, until Clea had the decency to speak out.

"Lady Proudmoore, you jump very nicely but perhaps it would be more convenient if you wrapped yourself up a bit?"

Lady Proudmoore paused but looked confused.

"It is just that you become a little…bouncy when bouncing around like that." It was clear that Clea had a hard time not laughing. "We have all been there." she continued gently and eyed the rest of the rangers in the room.

"Ehm, it does actually get a little distracting…" Lady Proudmoore mumbled, getting redder than she already was from the exercise. "How are the Undercity underwear markets these days?"

"I am afraid all we have are linen wraps. Timeless ranger elegance that never fall out of fashion in the woods. Lyana ought to have a couple of spares I think."

"I'll see what I can find." Lyana said and eyed Lady Proudmoore thoroughly which made the mage shy. Lyana was quickly out of the door and almost as quickly back with a bundle of white cloth in her hand.

"That was fast." Lady Proudmoore said with slight surprise.

"We moved our stuff into the next room, it's better to have it close at hand anyway. And we don't have so many things that are our own."

"So you…have moved in with me?" The way Lady Proudmoore said it was so joyful. It was as if someone had just announced that she had been granted a lifelong supply of mana buns for breakfast and an entire armada bristling with brand new bronze cannons.

"Well…yes. We won't have to be inside here all the time or anything like that, we will respect your need to be alone when you need to and…" Lyana sounded a little at loss for what to say.

"No! Not at all, I like having you close at hand, I really do. It's not like you're throwing wild parties all night long, you've all been very considerate." Lady Proudmoore assured her. "Now what is this fashionable new lingerie then?"

Lyana showed her two long, wide ribbons of linen, almost like thin scarves.

"More bandages?"

"Almost, actually." Lyana nodded. "Wraps. You wind them around your chest to keep everything in place. It's what rangers use in the field, the female part of us that is. We can't afford to have things that break easily or are hard to replace. And you're right, they can serve well as an emergency field dressing too. And they're long enough that you can adjust it a bit and keep another part closest to your body when they get dirty."

"There is a an old expression about when a ranger squad has had a really hard fight, that they come home 'bare-chested' since they have used up every field dressing available down to their chest wrappings." Kitala chimed in.

"And as you can imagine, that is one thing that contributes to some of the misconceptions about what usually goes on between rangers and their ranging partners." Clea grinned.

"It does sound very practical…" Lady Proudmoore admitted. "…but, ah, how do you put it on?"

"I'll show you." Lyana sized Lady Proudmoore up with her gaze and picked what looked like the wider linen wrap while the mage looked uncomfortable with the scrutiny. "Please lift up your shirt, or actually it might be better if you could take it off."

Lady Proudmoore sighed quietly, but then she actually did as Lyana had asked. She grabbed the hem of her wide shirt and pulled it up over her head.

Anya mustn't stare.

That would be rude.

She had to look at something else…

What a flat and high wall… The wall had eight large stones from the floor to the ceiling. Fancy that. They must be load-bearing in some way, or it would have been a bit of a waste of effort and expensive materials, wouldn't it? Or maybe arcane warding didn't protect the walls completely from strange shape-shifting spellcasters or something, and the dungeon had to be sturdy enough to keep their brute strength contained or…

"Anya?" Anya almost jumped when Lyana addressed her. "Do you think we should tie her under or above the arms first? Above, right? Lady Proudmoore is a bit bustier than us."

"Wh-whichever you feel is best…I-I'm sure Lady Proudmoore would look good either way…"

Lyana hummed, and sort of scooped up the mage's breasts in the stretched out cloth and crossed the two ends behind her neck, so that Lady Proudmoore's breasts rested in a linen carrying sling but were otherwise bare.

"How does that feel, Lady Proudmoore?" Lyana asked.

"Bit…unusual." The mage looked down at her chest. It looked like her eyebrows were raised but it was hard to tell in that position. "Anya, are you alright?"

Anya made a strangled squeaky sound and nodded quickly, and tried to both look at Lady Proudmoore who was addressing her and at the same time not look at Lady Proudmoore. It didn't quite work.

"Well, you're the undisputed expert at wrapping me up so I will follow your guidance, Lyana."

Lyana continued to wind the linen cloth under the mage's arms and crossed at the front.

"It's…quite soft actually." Lady Proudmoore commented. She was right. The linen was soft like cloth became when it had been worn and washed and washed again countless times.

"It should be spider silk." Lyana mused thoughtfully. "That would be the ultimate material for durability and elasticity."

"A spider's web sounds a bit drafty to be dressed in." The mage laughed a little. "And wouldn't you look old if there were cobwebs hanging from you?"

"I'm not so sure. What do you say, Anya?" Lyana suddenly turned to her. "How do you think Lady Proudmoore would look in spider web lace?"

Anya almost yelped and tried to focus on not focusing overly much on the mental picture of Lady Proudmoore dressed in elastic and drafty spider silk lingerie that would probably hardly conceal anything and at most act as decoration of her…

Focus.

Answer.

"Trapped?" Anya tried.

"Maybe so." Lyana nodded.

"No doubt everyone who saw her would want to free her from those troublesome entrapping webs, wouldn't they?" Kitala suggested deceptively innocent.

"I am sure someone would come to our mage lady's rescue." Clea commented and seemed to find something inexplicably amusing.

Lyana crossed the wrap carefully over Lady Proudmoore's back and finally tied the remaining ends together underneath the now firmly fixed rack – no, language Anya! – of the mage in an elegant knot.

At that moment Sylvanas entered quietly through the open door.

"Good morning." Sylvanas said with a slightly raised eyebrow and took in the scene.

"Greetings, Dark Lady! We have your mage gift wrapped and ready for delivery." Lyana exclaimed enthusiastically and took hold of the shoulders of Lady Proudmoore, who had just been about to put her shirt back on, and spun her around.

"I have made sure that I have the day off until noon. If you would like I could accompany you for a walk and show you some parts of the Undercity, Lady Proudmoore. And if anyone so much as thinks about saying that she is too tied up at the moment I will name that woman acting ranger captain here and now." Sylvanas added with a very stern look at Anya and the rest.

Lady Proudmoore was not deterred however. She was positively beaming and it was almost like her eyes shone like they did when she channelled her magic.

"On the contrary, it's more like they all linen up to come with me." Lady Proudmoore said cheekily. She bent down to pick up her skipping rope and jumped a little before Sylvanas. "And I nearly skipped breakfast today for it."

It was very difficult to tell after they had become undead, but Anya guessed Sylvanas was very close to rolling her eyes.

"Areiel has been here to visit, correct? She is a bad influence…"

"You had better keep me on a short leash then, Dark Lady." Lady Proudmoore was biting her lip and blushing, and looked like she struggled visibly not to laugh at her silliness.

Sylvanas loomed threateningly over her.

"Don't tempt fate, little mage…" she growled, but Anya could see that she only pretended to be angry. In truth Sylvanas felt almost a little bit nervous, and…expectant?

Lady Proudmoore pulled her shirt over her head and it occurred to Anya how effectively Lyana had managed to distract the mage from her insecurities earlier in her slightly weird way. If insecurities was the right word? The mage was sometimes just not very fond of herself, which was heart-wrenchingly sad and unfair in Anya's opinion. The shirt hung a bit better now, but it was so loose that Lady Proudmoore could probably use a sash or something like that. Maybe the other linen wrap would do. Anya picked it up but when she offered to tie it around the waist of the mage the latter frowned and wasn't amenable.

"But, really, I can't go around with my underwear tied around my waist, can I?"

She sounded so serious that the rangers all laughed. Lyana picked critically at the shirt and promised to adjust it later while Kitala went to fetch a spare belt from the clothes they had taken from Hearthglen.

Lady Proudmoore took down the bracelets from their tent peg. She gave them to Anya who looked at the silvery objects with unease, and even more when the mage presented her hands.

"The morning might be chilly." Lady Proudmoore tilted her head a little. "But thanks to you I have the warmest bracelets in all of Lordaeron to keep me warm."

Anya nodded a little.

Warmth.

They had to keep Lady Proudmoore warm.

And safe.

She locked the bracelets around the mage's arms and returned the key pendant to it's place at her own chest. Before Anya had looked up again she felt Lady Proudmoore's hand taking her own and squeezing it reassuringly. The mage should be the one counting as Anya's captive but it was Lady Proudmoore who encouraged Anya to come along with a small pull on her hand. The mage presented the loops of silvery chain to Sylvanas.

"There. Will this be enough to appease your disgruntled mobs so they stay civil? I will try to not send them running in terror."

"If they are not civil, I will send them running in terror." Sylvanas whispered maliciously.



***



Sylvanas should rightfully be tense, or guarded, or at least a little bit wary as she climbed down one of the entrance tunnels at the lead of her squadron and her mage. This was it, they would finally present Proudmoore before the entire city, or as much of it as they had time for and the mage desired, and come face to face with all the accumulated resentment and judgement directed at the living, the Alliance and Proudmoore personally. Countless things could go wrong and the results of the day would be unpredictable at best.

But by the Sunwell, it still felt so damn liberating, like she was actually taking time off and doing something for her own sake for no other reason than that it was pleasant.

What an utterly strange and alien concept for the Banshee Queen of Lordaeron. And strictly speaking there were some very practical and rational reasons for forcing the Forsaken and Proudmoore to get used to each other, but even that could not change the feeling that for a few hours Sylvanas could pretend that she was not a beleaguered queen ruling a realm teetering on the edge of ruin, who could not do well enough no matter how many hours she sunk into it day and night.

She had to admit that she had actually been unsure about what to say now that they were here. Sylvanas was no tour guide, and drowning a foreign dignitary in rapt reports about their defensive capabilities first thing in the morning would not precisely inspire confidence in her people. But she found that her conversation with Proudmoore flowed naturally, or at least on it's own.

And Proudmoore, of course, asked about everything.

From architectural challenges to city-planning and mercantile logistics, it was as if the mage wanted to know everything about everything that was going on in the Undercity from the moment she stepped inside it. It was incessant, it was nosy, and it was utterly adorable. For several minutes they remained standing just inside the entrance because her mage had been fascinated with how such vast quantities of earth and rock could be excavated efficiently using such narrow paths in and out. She was so earnest in her curiosity that whatever nervousness Sylvanas had felt before evaporated and she almost felt like smiling for no sensible reason when they finally could proceed further inside.

Guards saluted as they went by and the civilian Forsaken they met gave the small party a wide berth. Sylvanas normally had no wish to see people grovelling on their knees or plastering themselves across the side walls – she was an elven ranger for Belore's sake, not a drunk ogre who needed the entire street cleared in order not to trip over her own feet – but right now it was all she could hope for, and she held Proudmoore's chain in a firm grip and tried to look her strictest when they met someone. Most likely Anya holding her mage's hand and Lyana, Clea and Kitala chattering about every impoverished shop in the destitute city that had suddenly become immensely important to visit was taking some of the edge off that display.

Their first planned stop was the leatherworkers' shop. Proudmoore intended to keep her promise to captain Bonecarver and at least look into the possibility of producing high quality gloves to protect their hands at work. Unfortunately the tanners themselves were less than enthusiastic when Sylvanas let Proudmoore explain her idea.

"And who gave you the right to come and bloody request anything?"

"Fancy yerself some kind of expert on the undead or somethin'?"

They scowled at the mage with dislike written plainly across their faces.

Proudmoore said nothing in return, which Sylvanas appreciated a lot. It was useless to argue with someone lacking interest in the arguments and this was her thing to deal with.

"Has death suddenly robbed us of any sense of decency?" Sylvanas hissed threateningly. "For unless my ears deceive me, Lady Proudmoore asked you a rather clear and relevant question and you have yet to give a sensible answer."

In response one of the pair, a badly withered broad woman, spat a gob of something disgusting at the floor just in front of Proudmoore's boots.

"'Lady Proudmoore'" she parroted mockingly. "can go and…"

Sylvanas reached out in a dark red blur and effortlessly lifted the aggravating tanner by her throat. It was not harmful as such for a person without the need for air, but the instinctive discomfort and fear of being grabbed in that way lingered in most sentient undead.

"Lady Proudmoore can do what, exactly?" Sylvanas whispered icily. She could feel more than see how her rangers spread out almost unnoticeably and pushed their cloaks back from their blades. They knew that icy tone.

The tanner knew or guessed enough.

"She can go and find another shop. We don't serve the living here." she grunted surly.

Sylvanas dropped her unceremoniously on the ground, or floor if that was the better term in an underground city.

"When I make it public knowledge that you refuse to even discuss helping our sailors I predict that you will serve no one at all. Rangers, this was a waste of time. We will find another supplier…"

"Wait!" the other tanner interrupted. Sylvanas assumed they were a couple, Lordaeron seemed to have had a deep tradition of family businesses. "We will help our brothers and sisters of course, Dark Lady. But there's a severe shortage of everything, we haven't the materials to work with."

Sylvanas nodded. She did not doubt that for a second and frankly it was almost a surprise that so much of their industry could produce anything at all currently.

"If you are provided with the materials, is it doable?"

"Certainly, but for the best results we should need the intended wearer here to be fitted. Hides are easier to come across but quality lining is something we currently don't have access to."

"I will arrange for their visit once we have acquired what we need then. Until later." Sylvanas turned on the spot without offering any further goodbye and pulled Proudmoore along with her.

They kept walking in silence for a while. The mage doubtlessly tried her best to appear unaffected but Sylvanas saw through the forced composure, and it bothered her without cease to see Proudmoore gloomy and quiet.

Sylvanas suddenly stopped.

"You did well." She turned to her mage, and tried to think of some way to set things right. "People like them must be taught that they insult me when they insult you, Lady Proudmoore. They will jump at any excuse to single you out and brand you the enemy. I need to be the one that responds to that. You know this."

Her mage nodded unhappily.

"And I meant what I said earlier. My patience with idiocy is limited and I think I used up the greater part of it back there. I will not be as lenient with the next person foolish enough to follow their example."

At last Proudmoore's mouth twitched a little.

"Was that you being lenient, Dark Lady?"

"When someone is rude towards my mage that is very lenient." Sylvanas whispered intensely. Now that she thought of it, part of her itched to double back and tear something important apart. "There are wiser and worthier arbiters of your worth than a half-rotted pair of maggot-brained fools."

The corners of Proudmoore's mouth were creeping a little bit further up.

"So long as you are near me I think those two will probably hide away in the future." she said in a small but mischievous voice.

Sylvanas bared her teeth ferally at her mage but smiled all the same.

"Let's play a game." Kitala suggested absently all of a sudden.

"What game?"

" It's called 'Lady Proudmoore can' and you are suppose to complete the sentence. The tanner started it. I'm next. Lady Proudmoore can…"

"…navigate the seas and command a navy in her nightgown."

"Lady Proudmoore can…"

"…out-teach every magister in the history of Quel'Thalas."

"Lady Proudmoore can…"

"…swim like an otter."

Proudmoore pushed Kitala playfully in the shoulder, but she was blushing and smiling all the same while Kitala smirked.

"Lady Proudmoore can…"

"…make everything feel better." Anya whispered. Even Sylvanas might not have caught it if she hadn't been so close by.

"Lady Proudmoore can choose our next place to visit. Is there something in particular you would like to see?" Sylvanas interrupted the flood of encouragements.

"It's hard to know, I haven't been in any underground cities of the undead before so I don't really know what to expect." Proudmoore said humbly enough but with just a tint of cheekiness.

"Furniture." Anya said with determination. "We should get you a proper bed before it gets colder. You can't sleep on a stone floor all winter."

"Oh, but you don't need to…" the mage began but Sylvanas pulled her closer.

"I wouldn't argue with my squadron's lieutenant." Sylvanas whispered into her ear. She didn't sound really threatening of course, but she noticed how Proudmoore shivered all the same. Now that the mage was healthy again, or almost apart from the occasional cough, Sylvanas had to take the opportunity to unsettle her a little when she had the opportunity.

They proceeded to the artisans' corners – it was hardly worthy of grand terms like streets or squares – which currently resembled a flea market mixed with a carpenters' shop.

The Undercity did not have much of fine carpentry as such. What they did have was a varied selection of spare materials and leftover bits of the slowly rotting remains of Lordaeron around them and a not insignificant portion of ingenuity to use or repurpose whatever they could scavenge. It made for extremely efficient use of resources, and also for very peculiar styles of mismatching furnishing.

Proudmoore loved it.

She found their clumsy chairs and cupboards funny and the improvised lamps and torch holders made of welded odd iron parts intriguing. She interrogated Sylvanas about who bought the items and for what, until the gruff vendor thawed enough to relieve his queen and give the mage a brief overview of how the Forsaken carpentry business was doing.

Sylvanas commanded a substantial part of the Forsaken's resources directly, but she had neither the inclination nor the desire to dictate every single detail of their lives…or undeaths, more precisely. That extended to economical matters and without any better idea she had encouraged the continued exchange of Lordaeronian coins as means of payment. Perhaps it was all a farce, but in that case it was a convenient farce. With prices being what they were the Banshee Queen would have no trouble acquiring whatever she wished with the still vast coffers waiting in the lower walls of the keep, but if possible she would avoid sweeping away the value of her people's currency with a deluge of royal gold. Thus the Banshee Queen conscientiously only allowed herself what could most aptly be described as pocket money.

While the rangers and Proudmoore scattered among the cramped shelves and piles of half-finished produce Anya grilled master Woodsworth (Sylvanas had her private amused doubts about whether that was his actual family name) about their supply of bed frames and lack thereof. It occurred to Sylvanas that so far Proudmoore had handled seeing the withered state of the people they had met surprisingly well. Any elf mage Sylvanas knew of would have scrounged up her nose at the very least. Either the time spent with captain Bonecarver's crew had inured her mage or she was so bent on making a good impression that she ignored whatever discomfort it brought her.

They left Woodsworth & Woodhouse in far better spirits than the tanners and when Clea teasingly mentioned that they had a magical quarter of sorts the question of where to proceed next was settled before it was raised.

If the carpenters' area was cluttered, Akara's Arcane Accessories was cramped.

As far as Sylvanas could discern the shop specialised in minor enchanted objects – trinkets that none the less could prove quite useful – and ingredients for enchantment. In addition the shop sported a very dwindling stock of paper, ink and quills. Sylvanas almost found herself looking for the second hand mage staff and robe that would have completed the ensemble.

A familiar face also greeted them at the entrance.

"Lady Proudmoore! Dark Lady." the mage Wilhelmina exclaimed until she remembered to be nervous again in the company of Sylvanas. Wilhelmina was joined by two more Forsaken mages, the other wicked witches Wilma and Wanja.

"We're gonna try learning enchantment all of us…" Wilhelmina explained eagerly. "…and make money from selling enchanted items in Akara's shop! Akara has offered us a discount on ingredients, look!" She displayed a small bag stuffed with the various necessities of the enchanters' craft.

"Just, ah, remember Irizadan's advice and stick to the basics at first." Proudmoore managed, clearly taken aback by the unbridled enthusiasm. "We wouldn't want any magic rings turning their wearers into ghouls or anything…"

"We were thinking of warm rings actually, or warmth-enchanted mittens or socks maybe. It seemed like such a nice thing to do when your rangers requested it, Lady Proudmoore, Madam."

The three wicked witches excused themselves, and Sylvanas reeled her own mage in and raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Your rangers is it now, Lady Proudmoore, Madam?" Sylvanas' tone was dry.

"Don't be ridiculous." Proudmoore laughed. "She just misspoke in her haste. Besides, I don't think anything could separate your rangers from their Dark Lady."

"I have been less convinced recently…it would seem a certain archmage have some of them tightly wound around her little finger."

"Then maybe you need to keep a closer watch on that archmage personally, Dark Lady."

"Fair point." Sylvanas smirked, but then turned more serious. "I am…dissatisfied with not being able to visit you more since our return from Hearthglen."

"No, think nothing of it, you must have had heaps of things to do." her mage quickly started to make excuses for her. "I mean, it's still not too long since you returned from the sea voyage either."

"Be that as it may I would have liked to keep you company when you were recovering. It is a dreary thing to be wounded and sick."

"Yes it is. But Lyana told me that you came by to check on me when I was asleep." When Sylvanas nodded in confirmation Proudmoore looked happier. "And I think that was very thoughtful, even if I was only snoring at you at the time."

"Sadly you were coughing mostly, and your breathing sounded impeded. I almost had the urge to wipe your nose." Sylvanas struggled somewhat to keep a straight face. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Anya showing something to Akara and fishing for some coin in her pockets. It would be a welcome surprise if that was the case. Anya was normally completely useless at caring for herself.

Proudmoore glared at Sylvanas with feigned suspicion.

"Maybe it was just as well then that you were so busy. I had quite enough of elfy motherliness from Areiel and Lyana." she huffed.

Sylvanas decided that it was probably not the right time and place to go into detail about how adorable her mage looked when she did that, or how many nights Sylvanas had spent rocking her back to sleep in her hammock on the Banshee's Wail.

"Do I snore?" Proudmoore suddenly asked. It was so unexpected and she sounded so genuinely concerned that Sylvanas had to laugh.

"Only a little. You tend to do that at first when you have just fallen asleep and then you breathe easier. You also toss and grasp at things more early in the night, but whenever you have bad dreams they seem to come later."

The mage sighed and closed her eyes in clear embarrassment.

"It is actually rather practical." Sylvanas mused. "That way I know when you are sleeping and can continue working without keeping you awake. Actually…" she grinned at her blushing mage "…now that I think of it I have become something of an expert on your sleeping habits at sea, Lady Proudmoore. But fear not, I shan't tell anyone."

"By now your whole squadron is probably well aware of everything I do in my sleep anyway."

"You know that you can ask to be left alone whenever you prefer to, right?" Sylvanas said in a much more serious tone. "My rangers are ordered to guard you, not crowd your living quarters."

"No, no, I enjoy having them close. I think I actually have an easier time sleeping when someone is keeping watch over me."

"As did we." Sylvanas tried to force down a stream of ill-timed and irrelevant thoughts of things that no longer should matter. And last of all things that she should not burden Proudmoore with today. She decided to change the subject. "Would you like to buy something? I just realised that you, ah, do not have any coin with you, but in the interest of diplomatic courtesy I am prepared to cover your expenses."

Proudmoore smiled at her and rubbed her hands very obviously.

"Why, how very kind of you, Dark Lady." She nearly matched Velonara's sweetest voice.

"Within some limits of course. Perhaps a loan. At a very reasonable rate." Sylvanas smiled back at her and indicated the shelves of arcane accessories. Proudmoore dove into them in earnest and rummaged through ingredients and all sorts of objects, but what she finally dug up with delight was something as unlikely as a pair of wool-lined slippers in surprisingly good condition.

"Could I have these, please, Dark Lady?" Sylvanas wondered if her mage had any idea of how she was practically beaming. At the moment Sylvanas found that she would gladly spend all the gold in her vaults to see that again. "My boots aren't so comfortable to wear all day."

She was right, and Sylvanas cursed herself for not thinking of looking into that earlier. Oversized sailor boots might suffice for standing on a deck but having to walk around in them for hours was a different matter.

"Do they fit?" As her mage tried them on and found that they luckily did Sylvanas took a closer look at her feet and gauged their size. She would have to ask Areiel if they had any spare ranger boots or something of the sort that Proudmoore could use.

Akara was shrouded in a deep purple hooded cloak together with a blue dress but she peered at Proudmoore with very gleaming yellow eyes from under it.

"So, you are the one I have to thank for the recent spike in interest in enchantment, is it?" she said, not particularly friendly but not hostile either. Sylvanas paid for the slippers while her mage nodded and predictably downplayed her own role in inspiring the Forsaken mages.

Proudmoore tied the laces together and hung the slippers over her belt, practical enough, but when they were on their way out she had forgotten to keep track of the chain between her bracelets and it tangled in the quills of one shelf, and the next moment the mage was standing among a dozen scattered quills and the vase they had been standing in.

Akara was with them in a blink while Proudmoore had just as quickly knelt to gather the quills, burning red and mumbling apologies. The shop owner was muttering irritably and frowning with disapproval at the mess. A few ink bottles had been caught up in the accident and two of them had spilled. It was probably tantamount to sacrilege amongst the likes of Proudmoore to cause such damage to writing materials. Akara inspected the smeared bottles.

"Why does she have to be dressed up in those impractical things, poor little thing…"

Sylvanas had been about to bend down to help her mage but Akara's tone made her pause. The shop owner had been speaking to herself and probably not with the intention of anyone else hearing, but elven ears remained elven ears in Sylvanas' case. And despite her obvious irritation at having her no doubt hard to replace wares ruined, she had displayed sympathy for the mage who had to be in such hindersome fetters.

The other rangers had been alerted by the commotion and Sylvanas caught Anya's eye. Maybe they were on to something here.

Instead of bending down to help, Sylvanas took up a silver and offered it with seeming indifference to Akara as compensation. She passed the astonished shop owner and with one hand grabbed hold of the chain and yanked Proudmoore up and along with her while taking hold of the mage's neck with the other in what she reckoned must look like a much harder and harsher way than it actually was.

Proudmoore yelped in surprise at the Dark Lady's sudden change in demeanour and Sylvanas straightened to her full length and said with the strictest voice she was capable of, the one that had once been reserved for the worst pranks of Anya and Velonara.

"How many times have I told you to keep track of your chains, little mage?"



***



Jaina nervously kept close to Sylvanas as the Dark Lady strode purposefully along the street leading from the magical district. She couldn't figure what had come over Sylvanas, unless of course she was simply that irritated with Jaina for making a mess of Akara's quills. But Sylvanas hadn't berated her for it either and she wasn't one to keep quiet if she thought someone had done something wrong. It didn't really make sense.

Could it be that she disapproved of the way Jaina had acted towards the Forsaken, like when she had met captain Bones the first time? Jaina hadn't fled now and she had tried to be as civil as possible and keep an open mind about things. And Sylvanas had complimented her behaviour earlier and not hinted at any wish for Jaina to conduct herself differently, so that didn't make sense either.

Perhaps it was just how the Dark Lady, or more correctly the Banshee Queen since as far as Jaina could tell Sylvanas was Dark Lady to her rangers mostly, had to act in public areas with many eyes on her. The Dark Lady could tease and joke with her rangers and other close confidants like Irizadan maybe, but the Banshee Queen had to be strict and stern to maintain the respect for her office. Jaina had no idea if the theory was correct but the way Sylvanas had been commanding and reprimanding her before the angry crowd when they arrived fit that picture. On the other hand Sylvanas had been worried about Jaina's safety then and not at all pleased by her maybe just a little risky frost magic misbehaviour. How was it that Sylvanas had put it?

If you want to act the disobedient pet like you just did I will have to act my part, and pray that people think more about me reprimanding you than about you making a fool of that guardsman...

That had to be it. Jaina didn't know exactly what was going on but now she was sure that it must be something along the same line. And since Sylvanas hadn't given her any specific instructions Jaina would just have to act the part as best she could to help Sylvanas as much as possible.

So Jaina would have to be her, ehm…obedient pet then, she guessed.

So long as Sylvanas didn't tell her to fetch sticks or hunt mice at least. She couldn't help but giggle at the sudden (and extremely embarrassing) mental image of Sylvanas going for a walk with Jaina in a real collar and leash. Not that the long chain was terribly far off.

"Something funny?" Sylvanas asked out of the corner of her mouth. She had winded most of the chain around her hand so that she was very obviously leading Jaina along.

"Nothing in p…particular, Dark Lady." Jaina stammered. Just very generally embarrassing thoughts. No particular embarrassing detail stood out before the others.

Past the next corner Jaina had no need to pretend anything. So far they had passed Forsaken on their way to something or otherwise busy with other tasks, but now a real crowd was blocking the street where it passed next to the unpleasant canals that Jaina had learnt crisscrossed the city. And the crowd did not look friendly.

Sylvanas made some sort of quick sign with her other hand and the rangers spread out around Jaina, who edged a little closer to Sylvanas. She had suddenly become very conscious of her lack of mana. And armour. And martial training in general.

Sylvanas did not slow down. She seemed to barely notice the people standing in their way until they were right before them.

"What is this?" Sylvanas voiced the question more as an order to answer. "Unless there is a good reason for this commotion, ladies and gentlemen, you are blocking the street and will have to disperse."

Sylvanas looked absolutely fearless, like the dark looks she received could not be of lesser consequence and the throng of angry faces may as well be those of a flock of (possibly polymorphed) sheep. Her supreme confidence was…fascinating in fact. Jaina couldn't help but be caught up in it.

There was muffled talking and muttering but no one who addressed Sylvanas directly.

"Speak up, or make way!" Sylvanas commanded curtly.

Some shuffled back from her a little but then one lanky, unnervingly skeletal, ghoul in the tatters of a once very proper coat finally heeded her command.

"She." He, at least Jaina guessed it was or maybe had been a male Forsaken, pointed accusingly at Jaina. "What is she doing here?"

A choir of assenting mumbles accompanied the question.

"Lady Proudmoore of Theramore is in my custody. What she does or does not is up to me." Sylvanas shot an icy glare at the rude citizen.

"We don't need the living here!"

"We don't need their pity!"

"You claim to have no need for either yet stand here eliciting both. Disperse. Now." Sylvanas somehow managed to appear both indifferent and intense at the same time.

"You rangers can take your bloody playthings elsewhere, ya hear!" The…prim, that was the word…ghoul looked like he almost trembled with indignation. It was like the tanner woman who had somehow seemed insulted on a personal level by Jaina's mere presence in the Undercity.

Sylvanas took a step forward.

"…My Queen." he added grudgingly.

Jaina instinctively knew that comment would rile up Sylvanas. Open disrespect against the dark rangers was a sure way to get on her bad side. More precisely her banshee side.

Jaina tried to be as discreet as possible when she moved closer and slightly behind Sylvanas, as if she wanted to hide behind the Dark Lady, and brushed with her fingertips along Sylvanas' upper arm. She wanted to remind Sylvanas somehow that she wasn't alone, even though there was little Jaina could do at the moment to help.

"Ranger lieutenant Eversong?" Sylvanas asked with steel in her voice.

"Dark Lady?" Anya sounded completely unlike herself. Gone was the melody and beautiful gentleness when she spoke to Jaina or the other rangers.

"Would you care to summarize your squadrons' duties since it's return to Lordaeron?"

"My squadron is assigned as bodyguard of Lady Proudmoore. We are to safeguard her life and health at any cost. That obviously implies incapacitating or killing anyone who would do her harm." Anya spoke so off-handedly that Jaina shuddered.

"And would you say that this assignment can in some way be likened to Lady Proudmoore being your ranger squadron's 'plaything', lieutenant?"

"Calling her that would be an insult to Lady Proudmoore's person and to my squadron's respect for our ward as well as the Dark Lady's orders." Anya remarked just as casually while drawing one of her daggers and inspecting the blade. "An insult which I, as squadron commander, would of course feel obliged to avenge…"

Sylvanas remained silent. It was a very telling silence. Jaina was starting to see past the all-encompassing resentment of the crowd now. They were undead and had suffered through torment and horrors that defied description but they were still artisans, traders and former peasants, without military training and in truth without much experience except as the mindless and expendable thralls of the Scourge. They had already spent a too long time taking in the thinly veiled threats of someone with that.

"Unless of course the offender had merely intended to compliment the trust and respect between my squadron and our ward, and would be willing to apologize for his exceptionally poor wording." Anya seemed to find her dagger's condition acceptable and looked up slowly and deliberately at the shuffling and glancing Forsaken before her.

With the way the prim ghoul found his presumed comrades drifting further and further away from him Anya might as well have declaimed that he had contracted a calamitous disease that only infected the undead. Rather than taking Anya up on her offer of a more peaceful way out he turned on the spot and stumbled for his life up along a narrow tunnel to the side.

"Shall I hunt him down for you, lieutenant?" Lyana asked politely.

"We have delayed long enough for no good reason at all." Sylvanas interrupted before Anya had time to answer. "As for you, you have been explicitly ordered twice to clear the way and I dislike having to repeat myself!" she added to the remainders of the hostile crowd. It was enough to break any lingering remnants of boldness and Jaina sighed with relief when the last of them melted away into the side alleys and shadowy corners.

"Dark Lady?" Jaina almost whispered.

"Yes?"

"You did as you said you would. You actually sent your disgruntled mob running in terror."

Sylvanas flashed her a predatory grin. Now Jaina was dead sure that Sylvanas was up to something, and not without good reason apparently.

Their next visit would be the apothecaries, the Royal Apothecary Society as they called themselves. Alchemy was not Jaina's best subject but she had always had a great respect for those that could brew healing and mana potions with great skill.

She resumed her submissive act next to Sylvanas and Sylvanas remained as commanding as before. It was probably very inappropriate, but Jaina was starting to find the theatre they performed a little entertaining. It was funny to imagine what the staring onlookers must think when seeing them, even if Jaina had seen the necessity of the act demonstrated clearly. When they passed a relatively open section, perhaps what had to count as a square in the Undercity, Jaina became bold enough to pretend to wander a couple of steps in the wrong direction. Sylvanas turned sharply at her with a questioning look at first, then Jaina thought she could see a flash of understanding in the fiery eyes and a hint of a grin, before Sylvanas pulled her along with such force that Jaina almost stumbled.

"Behave yourself, little mage…" Sylvanas growled at her, but there was definitely an amused undertone that took the edge off it. Jaina couldn't help but think of some other act of pretended mischief that she could get away with, or rather not get away with in the spectators' eyes.

Playing the obedient pet was only funny for so long, after all.

Before Jaina had figured out something suitably disobedient they were at the apothecarium. Lyana proceeded to track down a gaunt and bent man with a greenish tint to his pale skin and introducing him as high apothecary Lyndon, and more importantly the one whose cache of supplies Lyana and Clea had raided some days earlier. Lyndon moved as if the weight of all the worlds troubles rested on his shoulders and he clearly found Lyana's presence to be ground for great suspicion. Jaina, however, offered him her most gallant bow.

"High apothecary Lyndon, I must express my sincerest thanks for the healing potions you supplied Lyana with. They are without doubt the most welcome ones I have ever taken."

Lyndon hummed and huffed, but peered at her with some interest.

"Hmm, they worked alright, then?"

"As well as can be asked of any healing potion." Jaina assured him, uncomfortably aware of the fact that she hadn't been able to see the current state of her back after the bandages had been removed. "I must confess that alchemy isn't my best subject and I have been wanting to rectify that for some time. If the Dark Lady allows it, would it be alright if I came by some day to study? I am sure I could assist with some of the more routine tasks at the same time."

"So long as you keep your paws away from my stocks unless expressly permitted…" Lyndon grunted with a long glare in Lyana's direction. "And remember that if you come across anything written by Putress, chuck it into the nearest fireplace. The man is a simpleton. And Nicola, a total madman…" The high apothecary continued to rant about what authors Jaina would do well to avoid like the plague of undeath itself.

"You can tell he knows his stuff." Clea whispered with feigned seriousness from behind. "He is just as critical of books as you are."

Jaina tried desperately to stifle a very inconvenient fit of giggling.

"You will have to curb your studious instincts for now, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas cut in. "Lyana wants us over there. Come along."

Without waiting she yanked Jaina along with her. Lyndon was shaking his head at the sight.

"She is just as bad as her rangers…poor girl…"

Lyana had been busy raiding various shelves with ingredients, presumably with a greater degree of permission this time from their hosts, and presented a small collection intended for…

"I just thought that I should check with you before I buy them, Lady Proudmoore. I don't know if humans require a special recipe or something like that. Is this what you use in your potions of barr…"

"Yes!" Jaina blurted out, very much wanting to skip any more detailed discussions about what or why Lyana intended to brew. "Thank you so much for offering to make…that potion, Lyana. Very thoughtful, in fact."

"Alright then. I can take it from here, I know how to brew it. I'll tell you when the first batch is ready, Lady Proudmoore."

"Yes, ah, very good…"

Fortunately for Jaina that was the end of the uncomfortable subject fo the time being. Less fortunately Sylvanas informed her that she would have to return to work for the rest of the day. Jaina had to admit that she had lost track of time while admiring all the curious things for sale in the Undercity and being accosted by disdainful undead. She also realised that she was starting to get quite hungry.

There was another entrance quite close to the apothecarium and Sylvanas followed them up to the surface where a short walk would lead back to the keep.

"I would have liked to see your quarters too." Jaina said.

"That will have to be some other time." Sylvanas combed out an errant tangle of hair near Jaina's ear. "I am obviously not proud of my people's behaviour today, but the surface should be safe enough at least."

"I will hardly need to fear anything so long as I have my gallant ranger lieutenant with me." Sylvanas had let go of her chain and Jaina could reach out and snatch back Anya's hand into her own.

"No, you won't."



***



The walk back to her room was uneventful, which Jaina thought was just as well. Without Sylvanas near her the events of the day were catching up with Jaina and her mood was dropping. The Undercity had been so fascinating at first but all the resentment against her hung like a gloomy cloud in the back of her head. She didn't want to become the reason Forsaken would seek to harm one another! And least of all if it included the dark rangers.

She was sure that Anya caught on to how she felt, and Jaina would have liked to be able to explain it clearly but she didn't trust herself to be able to put words on it in a way that would not sound ungrateful. Anya however thought otherwise.

"Is there anything we can do for you, Lady Proudmoore? You are obviously not feeling well."

"I'm tired." That was quite true, too. Jaina was far more winded than she would have expected and evidently not completely recovered yet. "I don't want people to hate me." Jaina added and felt profoundly sad when she spoke the words. She was about to offer a flood of reservations, as it was the everyday state of things for the Forsaken to have such reactions from the rest of the world, but Anya looked at her so warningly that she kept quiet. Jaina had a distinct feeling that the dark ranger knew exactly what she was thinking.

"Can I help you cook?" Jaina suggested. Perhaps having something simple to do would take her mind off things.

"Hmm, I don't know…" Anya pretended to scrounge up her face in deep thought. "I'm not sure how healthy the mage cuisine is in the long run…"

"You know, I can cook other things than mana buns as a matter of fact!"

Anya scratched her chin demonstratively and eyed Jaina as if she very much doubted that. She was frowning so deeply that it was beginning to look absolutely silly.

"Stop that!" Jaina pushed her playfully in the shoulder and Anya started to grin back.

"I think we should make some nice fish soup. Lyana tells me it is your favourite."

"Don't you dare even think about it, lieutenant Eversong." Jaina glared cruelly at her.

"I might settle for a stew, as a compromise. You need something warm for your throat at least, Lady Proudmoore."

"As a side dish."

"Deal."

Cutting vegetables with Anya was a nice distraction. Jaina noticed that the other room which they used as a kitchen was much more like a storeroom than anything else, even if the rangers as Lyana had told didn't have a great deal of things of their own.

After she had eaten Jaina spent the afternoon reading, that is after Anya and Lyana had finished their meticulous inspection of her forearms and finally concluded that the bracelets had had no visible adverse effect. The rangers kept close by but didn't disturb her. They were so considerate that Jaina couldn't imagine telling them to leave and stay in the kitchen even in the event that she should like to be left alone. It would be downright heartless.

Even reading failed to keep her interest all day and by evening Jaina was too awake to fall asleep but too tired to do anything in particular. She was resting with her head against Clea's leg and the ranger's hand combing slowly through her hair. She found herself missing Sylvanas something terrible. Jaina wondered what she was doing. Was she up and about inspecting and holding meetings, or was she busy with the paperwork that not even the Forsaken managed to go without? Jaina wished she could be here doing that. She would be happy to make room for a desk and a chair for the Dark Lady and hear the sound of her writing.

As if she had heard Jaina's thoughts, Sylvanas stepped into the room the next moment.

"Proudmoore. I need your assistance."

Jaina nearly jumped to her feet and into her boots. Sylvanas needed her, and she was preoccupied enough to omit Jaina's title, which she rarely did except when something was very important or when she was being especially Dark Lady-like. Jaina had already forgotten that she was tired.

"Kalira and Amora are back with their squadrons." Sylvanas explained as she led Jaina and the rangers briskly through the darkening city. "The guard and the rest of the rangers are on their way but since yesterday they have been hearing an odd sound in the distance and spotted a strange shape in the sky on a few occasions. Kalira and Amora have gone ahead to alert the city and attempt to follow the sound. We can not identify it but thought that you might be able to."

They were nearing the ruined city wall on the east side. Jaina noticed the eagerness of the rangers and hurried as best she could in her ill-fitting boots. She would very much like to see Kalira's squadron and especially Velonara. She hadn't been able to thank any of them properly after they rescued her from Hearthglen.

Both squadrons were ever as much dark rangers and Jaina missed them completely in the low light until they were almost right before her.

Sylvanas allowed only the shortest of greetings before she ordered everyone to be quiet.

At first Jaina heard only the wind in the bare trees but then there was something else. A very unexpected…whirring…sound. Like…

"Is that an engine?" Jaina whispered, incredulous.

"That is our guess too, but what design? Does the sound match any Alliance vessel or machinery you know of?" Sylvanas whispered back.

Tides. Jaina was not an expert on mechanical matters, although she found inventions of most kinds to be fascinating. She tried to remember everything she had come across during the war against the Scourge and the Burning Legion.

"It is a steady, even sound. Not clanking heavy machinery, not something that walks." Jaina whispered her reasoning out loud. She had Sylvanas' full attention and felt both proud and encouraged and a little nervous for it. "The flying machines of the dwarves sounded like this but not quite…this is more even, like the rotor blades are smaller and moving faster…"

"Goblins?" Sylvanas asked slowly.

"Yes! Yes, that's it, a goblin zeppelin sounds like this!" Jaina's voice rose in excitement and she clutched her own mouth apologetically.

"Good work." Sylvanas complimented her, but she didn't sound very pleased at all.

The sound in the sky was definitely coming closer now.

"Dark Lady? Is something wrong? Did I do something wrong?" Jaina finally asked in a small voice.

"No. My apologies, Lady Proudmoore. I just have…little fondness for the goblins, that is all." Sylvanas sat down on a stone and Jaina joined her. "It has been said that when Arthas marched on Silvermoon he filled the waters before him with ghouls and crossed on their broken corpses, but that is a filthy lie and probably a tale spread by him to instil terror. It was goblin zeppelins that allowed the Scourge to cross our greatest river and outflank us. I made use of their services as well at times."

Jaina sat quietly with her attention fixed on Sylvanas. It was plain obvious that this part of her past was a very sensitive thing to speak of.

"I am not a fool. I am well aware of the importance of the goblins as middle men, or middle midgets in their case…" Jaina had to stifle a giggle. "…for the outcast nations of Azeroth. But I will not relish working with them."

"There." The dark ranger Alina pointed at the sky, to the southeast if Jaina remembered correctly. A bulky dark shape was coming into view over the treetops and Jaina saw that she had indeed been correct. A goblin zeppelin in all it's oddly ingenious glory. The dark rangers silently spread out, hidden in the shadows as the vessel approached.

The engine sound was dying down and the vessel slowed down to almost stop. It was gliding towards them ominously, and something was hanging in a line from underneath it. Jaina could hear faint high-pitched laughter and the shrill voices of the crew. But it didn't exactly make sense.

"…oooaaahaho! Hohoho!..."

"…you worry about the tower, I worry about the mini-map…"

The object hanging down was being lowered to the ground and then the line was detached and the engines came alive with a great noise."

Sylvanas had risen from her cover beside Jaina.

"If that thing is a trap I will tear them to pieces. Wait here." she told Jaina and hurried towards the delivered object.

A short while later Sylvanas' voice rang out again. "Amora!"

"What's wrong?" the ranger lieutenant answered immediately from the shadows.

"All safe. But I think Alina should come and see this." Sylvanas' tone was very odd. Wondering. "Actually, you can all come and take a look."

Jaina rose and followed the rest as they approached. She kept herself in the background. It felt like something that was strictly the business of the rangers and if so she didn't want to intrude. In their middle was a sturdy wooden box, opened wide.

"Can we have some light?" Sylvanas asked. Someone lit, or uncovered, a lantern and held it up over them.

Inside the box, carefully covered in cloth to keep the dust off, were woollen scarves, about two dozen of them, in every kind of dwarven square pattern of red, blue, green, grey, black and white. On top of them were a couple of letters, one thin and folded, the other one thick and sealed.

"Care to read it out, Alina?" Sylvanas asked it rather gently, which Jaina found very touching.

Alina had dark hair and resembled Anya a bit, but with longer ears. Anya mixed with a pinch of Kitala perhaps, Jaina thought and smiled at the idea of dark rangers as ingredients. Alina carefully picked up the letters and looked at them.

"This one is for you, Dark Lady." She handed the thicker one to Sylvanas and unfolded the other and read it out loud.

"A warm caress in a world that offers too few."

Alina's voice faltered. She stared at the gift card as if she couldn't believe what she had just read.

Amora had stepped up to Alina's side.

"Now, if I didn't know better I would say that someone who would send this kind of gift across three kingdoms and a forest crawling with Scourge really, really cared…"

Alina was looking up at her with big red eyes.

"But that is just me." Amora shrugged. "What do I know…"

Sylvanas gestured at the box and Alina knelt and carefully picked up a green and blue-grey-black-patterned scarf. She clutched it to her cheek reverently, and it really looked like the warm caress it was intended to be. Whoever it was that had sent the box, Jaina decided that she liked that person very much when she saw Alina's expression. It was almost like the dark ranger trembled, but could Forsaken do that?

Jaina shivered. It was getting a bit late and she wasn't exactly dressed for being outside at night.

"I don't want to seem boring, but could we go somewhere inside? You're all welcome to come to my place, it isn't so large but it's quite cosy for a dungeon…"

"Yes, you've got to come and see it!" Velonara turned to Alina and the others in Amora's squadron. "Anya and the rest have really turned the place over, it's so cute!"

Amora looked between her and Sylvanas with a slightly confused expression. "Our dungeons are 'cute' nowadays, Dark Lady?"

"Well, you know how it is with keeping these human mages, if it isn't mana buns it's Thalassian poetry or fashionable lingerie..." Jaina's face practically went up in flames at that comment despite the creeping night's chill. "She must be running my poor lieutenant ragged."

Sylvanas reached out and pulled the wide-eyed Jaina closer, but gently this time.

"And I am sure Anya would have it no other way." Sylvanas smiled at Jaina and looked just then and there so full of affection for her ranger lieutenant that Jaina couldn't think of anything but how beautiful the Dark Lady was in all her frightening glory. Was this the Dark Lady the rangers saw in her? No wonder they would fight to the death and beyond for their queen and general.

"Well, ah, colour me intrigued then." Amora seemed slightly baffled. "I'm sure whatever Anya has come up with beats standing out here by far."

Sylvanas whistled and they all fell in behind her and Jaina. It was dark enough that Jaina could hardly see the ground before her but Sylvanas guided her steps expertly around rocks and rubble.

Suddenly Sylvanas stopped and held up a hand, whereupon the other rangers immediately froze on the spot.

"Hoofbeats." Sylvanas whispered. "Two, I think, slow, and steps beside them."

Jaina strained her ears but however she tried she couldn't hear anything except the wind.

That is, until a dry voice sounded from above.

"My, my, what have we here? Three ranger lieutenants and one Dark Lady caught off guard lighting lanterns in plain sight like first-year recruits?"

Jaina looked up to see a vague dark shape perched on top of a lone column standing amidst the ruins of a larger building to their left. It almost looked like the figure was dangling it's legs rather nonchalantly. Jaina caught a brief glimpse of a pair of red dots before whoever it was leapt down and landed gracefully on the ground before them.

Jaina recognized the pale skin and gleaming eyes of a dark ranger. She was tall and athletic, with white, wavy hair and a proud jaw and hard mouth. She had no cloak or bow, and her clothes were torn and tattered. Jaina was just about to ask Sylvanas who the woman was when a dark shape shot through their ranks beside her with a shrill, deafening scream that made Jaina instinctively clutch her ears.

"Is…is that a Wail?" Jaina gasped.

"No, it is just Velonara." Sylvanas said quietly. She stood still, like she had been frozen on the spot.

Velonara had barrelled into the other ranger and thrown them both against the column but it was difficult to tell if she was actually wrestling or holding or hugging her.

"Why, Vel', you almost look like you've seen a ghost." the dark ranger commented with mock astonishment.

Whatever Velonara was about to answer drowned in a deluge of angry shouting matching Archmage Modera's after half a dozen apprentices had managed to portal themselves to the bottom of the Dalaran harbour.

"Ranger Hawkspear! You are LATE! AND WITHOUT YOUR BOW! AND YOUR UNIFORM LOOKS LIKE ABSOLUTE SHIT!"

"And that is Kalira." Sylvanas noted.

"AND HOW FUCKING DARE YOU GO MISSING IN ACTION ON ME LIKE THAT?! THE WHOLE SQUADRON HELD A SUN-DAMNED MEMORIAL SERVICE FOR YOU! AFTER WE HAD STORMED A FORTIFIED SCARLET TOWN SEARCHING FOR YOUR SORRY ASS! AND IF YOU EVEN THINK OF DOING SOMETHING LIKE THIS AGAIN, YOUNG LADY, I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU AND GIVE YOU DOUBLE MAINTENANCE SHIFTS BEYOND ETERNITY!"

If it had been difficult to tell with Velonara, there was no room for misinterpretation when Kalira had caught the newcomer in a doubtlessly bone-crushing hug.

"Ouch, Kalira, I kind of needed those ears you know…and I could do with my ribs too as a matter of fact…lieutenant…" she gasped.

"And that…" Sylvanas whispered hoarsely. "…is Cyndia Hawkspear."

When Kalira finally released her, Cyndia staggered a little and took in the ring of wide-eyed Forsaken elves surrounding her. She was looking a little out of breath, illogical as it may be for an undead. Her eyes landed on Jaina and she tilted her head.

"And here I was thinking myself unique…"

Jaina didn't quite understand what she meant by that and didn't really know what to say, but she tried to be as polite as she could.

"Ehm, good evening Cyndia Hawkspear. My name is Jaina Proudmoore. From Theramore, in Kalimdor. I'm happy to see you alive – I mean unde…not dead! I know that this may sound a little strange but we were all on our way to my dungeon – which is actually quite inhabitable – and I would be happy to invite you there too. If you would like."

Cyndia stared in such disbelief at Jaina that she might as well have suggested joining her for a tea party on the far side of the moon together with the Lich King.

Then she started to howl with laughter.

"Where…did you find this one, Dark Lady?" she managed when her fits of roaring hilarity abated. "I like her, she's hilarious."

She took a closer look at Jaina.

"Mine isn't as funny, but he came with a pair of really neat-looking horsies. Quite the package deal I'd say. Pretty promising at handling Scarlet torturers too but don't tell him I said that."

Cyndia whistled sharply.

"Westley! Come on over here, stableboy!"

And go and clean your room too, ranger Hawkspear!

Lyana: It is strange, the more I wrap Lady Proudmoore up the more unravelled do you seem to become, Anya.
Anya: Nnnnnot at all...
Lyana: Oh, great, then maybe you can take over here while I go and brew some potions?
Anya: What? I was just admiring those finely crafted glasses over there and the artistic cups - NO, not at all any cups and I was definitely not thinking of cups of any size!

"You worry about the tower, I worry about the mini-map!"
Actual Warcraft III goblin zeppelin quote.

Click to shrink...

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 22: Dreams and Deathguard

Sylvanas celebrates the return of Cyndia by sending her away again and taking the evening off. Almost. She is working from a distance at least. Jaina has a vivid imagination, or maybe her logical brain is just logically mashing all her recent impressions together into a logical and predictable mess.

If you want to refresh your memory of Cyndia's character you can check the first chapter where some traits of hers are revealed. She enjoys the forest and dislikes confined spaces, so being sent away form the Undercity does not exactly count as a loss for her.

The Forsaken may lack fancy drinks at their parties but they make up for it in comradeship.

Click to shrink...

It had been some time since Sylvanas had used the actual throne in the Lordaeron keep, more specifically not since arriving with Proudmoore on her first day in the city. Or rather her first day in the city as it was now, Sylvanas corrected herself, since Proudmoore had spent much more time here when she was younger. Curious, how she was sitting down with her mage beside her on one of the stone steps just like last time. Before them were three squadrons' worth of dark rangers seated closely together and talking each others ears off. They had nothing to eat and drink, and neither festive clothes nor decorations, but it felt more like a celebration than any other moment since they lived.

They had gone inside without delay after the initial greetings and put the two horses in the square outside the keep. Those were probably the first of their living kind to use that spot in over a year. Sylvanas had sent Lenara to fetch Areiel and a certain item, and inform her of what had happened. The evening had certainly not turned out as expected, Sylvanas thought dryly, with goblin zeppelins delivering gifts and rangers returning left and right. And she was behind on her reports again, Belore preserve her.

Proudmoore was getting sleepy. She was stifling her yawns as best she could and politely kept her attention on the chatting elves around her but Sylvanas had after all gotten very good at reading her signs of a too late evening. She let herself imagine picking the mage up and letting her fall asleep in her own arms while holding court seated on the throne of Lordaeron, and almost laughed out. What a sight that would have been, and her rangers in general and Areiel in particular would never let her live it down.

Not that her mage would be likely to fall asleep in the middle of that kind of commotion. Proudmoore was leaning against the armrest of the throne and whether she intended to or not she made a good impression of being Sylvanas' obedient little mage. Why stop at the rangers, Sylvanas should summon half the city to display how docile her feared living archmage could be, she thought ironically. Ironically enough to be worthy of Cyndia Hawkspear herself. Perhaps her return had infected them all with her manners, Belore have mercy…

Sylvanas ran her tongue over a fang and decided that she might as well tease her mage some, now that she wasn't supposed to fall asleep on them. She stretched out her hand and slowly lowered her nails into the soft golden hair and ran them slowly across Proudmoore's scalp. The mage twitched at the touch, and then shuddered and drew a deep breath.

"You're not falling asleep on me, my little mage?" Sylvanas husked in her sultriest Thalassian.

"N-no! Of course not, Dark Lady!" Proudmoore stammered, like she was a ranger that had been caught almost sleeping on the watch.

"How good, then..." Sylvanas said slowly as she let her nails creep down Proudmoore's nape. It was so delightful how her mage craved to be touched but seemed to lose all her composure whenever someone did just that. "How did your talk go with young master Westley?"

"Oh, I don't think he quite…got my meaning about everything…" Proudmoore looked unsure.

"How so?"

"I thought I was going to be polite and asked if he wanted to look around where I live here, and when he asked where that was I explained that I live in one of the dungeons, the magically warded ones below, but that is was rather warm still with the brazier I had. And then…I mentioned how I live in a tent inside the dungeon and that it was quite nice in fact but he seemed to have trouble believing that, because he asked if I was seriously telling him that I live in a tent inside a dungeon and, well, I said that I do. And then I wanted to explain about the bracelets and how they are to prevent me from casting spells because your people are so worried about that, but I guess he hasn't been dealing a lot with magical items – understandable – because when I hinted about how overly suspicious people are about us mages he just nodded but he looked really sceptical…"

Sylvanas couldn't help it. She bent double and fell apart in quiet laughter.

Belore, her mage was just so priceless at times.

"Cyndia Hawkspear has never been fond of the Undercity's caverns at all and I will just assume that both she and Westley has had their fill of cellars of any kind for some time."

"Oh. Of course. And, Tides, I invited her to come down here first thing I said…" Proudmoore groaned while Sylvanas chuckled.

"Don't worry yourself over Cyndia's opinion of that, she has a rather weird sense of humour as you noticed."

"Nothing like the rest of you, of course." Proudmoore bit her lip and glanced up at Sylvanas, who could honestly not say for sure if she was acting or was just too tired to recognize how adorable it made her look.

"Of course not." Sylvanas bared her fangs at her mage. She looked over the room. The objects of their conversation were currently outside, Westley to check on his horses and Cyndia to check on him, probably. She had been formulating a plan for them, hasty though it may be, during the evening but she found that she felt like sharing her thoughts with Proudmoore. "I would like your advice on what to do with master Westley, if you feel up to it?"

Proudmoore straightened up and nodded eagerly. Sylvanas should scratch her chin some time.

"To start with, I see no possible way that he can be quartered in the Undercity with any degree of safety. Would you agree?"

"Ah, you know your people best of course, Dark Lady, but a lot of them weren't really very friendly to me or any living, so no, I wouldn't count on it."

"And you deserved none of that loathsome filth from them, is that crystal clear? The next alternative would be the keep or some place in the surface part of the city. It would still be just outside the Undercity and with the exception of the keep it is a very exposed position. Adding to that is that the grounds around us are nearly lifeless as you have seen in parts so there would be no grazing to be found for the horses."

"No, that wouldn't really solve anything." Proudmoore nodded. "But shouldn't that be the first question? Is there anywhere in Lordaeron with fresh grass? I recall you mentioning something about that when we were at sea and I asked about that when my fish had gone bad." She winced visibly at the memory.

"I also seem to owe you that dinner that you elicited from me at the time –"

"After you had suggested that I try the famous Andorhal grain so well known for infecting people with the plague of undeath, which is not at all an example of any sort of weird humour of course."

"Don't interrupt, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas grinned at her. "But you are right. It so happens that the western parts of my small realm are the least ravaged by the Scourge and their blight. It used to be less densely populated as you may be very familiar with, and as far as we know it is a wilder and more forested part of the kingdom with less Scourge activity as well. Our westernmost outpost is the village of Brill and we could use more eyes out there. It would at the same time put master Westley out of reach of my more rabid subjects. If the Scourge should come knocking on his door it will be in his best interests to ride and warn us. Ghouls make little distinction between man and horse."

"That sounds like you have already thought it out, Dark Lady. Did you really need my opinion of it?"

"Do you think he would be amenable?"

"So long as you don't mention anything about Lordaeron's famous grain I think you have a chance." Proudmoore said cheekily. "But you could of course ask him yourself." The mage pointed at the entrance where Cyndia and Westley had stepped inside, together with Areiel who had apparently just arrived to welcome Cyndia home in the same manner as Kalira, if profoundly quieter.

"For the tenth time, I need my ribs…everyone's trying to crush you to pulp when you come home these days…" Cyndia whined.

"I have something I need to show Cyndia. Do you want to borrow my throne in the meantime?" Sylvanas asked innocently.

"Yeah, that would ease the doubts of everybody in the city, no doubt…" Proudmoore rolled her eyes and leaned back against the armrest again.

Sylvanas navigated the paths between clustered dark rangers across the floor to reach Cyndia.

"Dark Lady, I need to requisition a spiky set of orc plate armour I think." Cyndia greeted her. "Everyone has transformed into constricting sea serpents in my absence."

Sylvanas smiled predatorily and held her arms out wide.

"Once is enough! My rib cage strongly disagrees with any further mushiness tonight."

"I…wanted to show something." Sylvanas held out her hand to receive the roll of rangers in service from Areiel. She opened it and found Cyndia's name, easily after having done that many times. "I..." Sylvanas was suddenly at loss for how to continue.

"Oh, right…" It seemed like Cyndia had just as much difficulty finding something to say as she looked over the list of names, many struck through.

"Well, I…I never could bring myself to… I took it out several times, but…"

"So, eh… I'm still formally in service. Darn it, no chance of that golden retirement bonus we all dream of, then…" Cyndia tried to joke.

"Still stuck with us, I'm afraid." Sylvanas nodded. "But, what would you prefer to do now?"

"I guess I'd like to just catch up with my squad a bit, we…we should talk some things over…"

"Agreed. I was also thinking that with the land around the capital blighted and currently in the hands of the Scourge the best chance for master Westley's horses is to our west, beyond Brill. And we are limited by our insufficient intelligence from those parts, so I was thinking that your squadron could escort him to some suitable farmstead in the vicinity and reconnoitre the surroundings. If there are Scourge nearby you fall back to Brill and take it from there. And that should give you the time you need to talk things through."

"Why…thanks, Dark Lady. I'd like that. You know I'm not the greatest appreciator of underground architecture and stuff. When do we set out?"

"Tonight. I would prefer if you could pass through the city unseen and unmolested."

Sylvanas left it to Cyndia to go over the details with this Westley, whom she would have to trust Cyndia's assessment of for the time being. She had a curious mage to tend to.

As Sylvanas expected Proudmoore had watched her exchange with Areiel and Cyndia with unceasing attention. Sylvanas explained about the duty roll and noticed at the same time that her mage's eyes were redder than usual. Perhaps she really needed her rest now.

"Have you really been sitting with that list for all these days, Dark Lady? That's so terrible."

"I got to save my ink in the end. What's wrong with your eyes?"

"N-nothing. I was only thinking of Velonara, and the rest, and that they had even held a funeral for Cyndia in her absence and now she's back with them, and then I must have gotten something in my eyes. Some dust probably. You really ought to sweep your floors better, Your Majesty. It's really terribly dusty."

"I will have to get to that." Proudmoore really looked tired now and Sylvanas felt a pang of guilt for not having spent more time with her mage, who showed such care for her dark rangers. "It would seem that I am at your disposal, Lady Proudmoore. What would you like to do for the rest of the evening?"

In return, Proudmoore yawned worthy of a full-grown lynx.

"Sorry. I think I'd like to go to bed actually, but do you think you could sit with me for a while, Dark Lady? I've missed having you close by ever since we came ashore, in fact. Must have gotten used to it, I guess." Proudmoore hesitated, and looked around a little bit owlish with her tired eyes. "And we'd better not tell Areiel or she's just going to say something about my age. As far as she knows, we are on our way to discuss a future trade agreement." the mage whispered.

"Not a word." Sylvanas nodded.

They were however intercepted and ambushed by her incorrigible ranger captain before they were halfway across the room.

"Oh, it's her bedtime?" Areiel asked Sylvanas before Proudmoore had a chance to say anything.

"I am sworn to secrecy." Sylvanas replied without her face betraying anything.

"Nightie-night!" Areiel chirped after them while Proudmoore muttered something that was interrupted by another monstrous yawn.

They walked side by side and Sylvanas held up the chain mostly so that her mage wouldn't trip on it. When they were inside Proudmoore's room she looked reflexively for Anya for a moment before Sylvanas showed her the other of the two keys. When Sylvanas removed one bracelet her hand touched the warmed skin underneath and Proudmoore flinched at the touch.

"My apologies, my hands are cold." Sylvanas excused herself.

"What? No! Not at all, ah…" Proudmoore cleared her throat and Sylvanas would not press the matter when she was tired. She hung the bracelets at their place while her mage readied herself for bed. She burrowed into her blankets and curled up into a ball beneath them while Sylvanas added more firewood to the brazier.

"Tell me about Cyndia." Proudmoore mumbled, already drowsy.

"She is rather sarcastic and has a queer sense of humour at times, as you have seen bits of. You shouldn't let yourself be tricked by it. Cyndia is tough as nails and deeply devoted to those close to her, whatever her flippant exterior may imply. Take those things from Kalira and the antics of Velonara, and that is pretty much Cyndia Hawkspear for you. She is Velonara's big sister at times the same way Clea is to Kitala, but they both need each other more than any of them realise. Cyndia and Velonara work well together as ranging partners because they bring out the iron inside one another. Velonara and Anya are the best of friends but they never excelled in the same way on duty…"

Proudmoore was snoring peacefully next to her. Sylvanas quieted and sat still, only listening to the sound.

She could stay a little while longer. Just a little while.

Someone was coming. The quiet steps outside, steps meant to be heard so as not to cause alarm, preceded the quick glance inside from Areiel.

"Permission to enter, Dark Lady?" she whispered when seeing Proudmoore asleep.

Sylvanas waved her in.

"Aww, isn't she precious… Don't lose her, Sylvanas." Areiel whispered, almost pleading. "It so happens that I saw this distasteful stack of papers on your desk when fetching the duty roll, and decided to bring it with me in case the Dark Lady should like to brave her paperwork without the matchless comforts of her rickety chair and too low desk." She smiled fondly at the sight of the sleeping mage.

"Thank you, Areiel."

Areiel left and Sylvanas delved into her comparatively disinteresting reports. Soon enough another, even quieter, pair of feet tiptoed into the room. The quietest pair of them all, which would mean that Lyana, Clea and Kitala were probably nearby, or on some kind of errand.

Sylvanas had missed having Anya close at hand too.

Her ranger lieutenant took in the situation with a glance and then without a word fetched another blanket that she folded and placed behind Sylvanas' back. Sylvanas knew she would take no refusal and only kept reading. She also knew that Anya had no interest in what she was reading, only how it would affect Sylvanas.

"Can I stay here?" Anya whispered.

"Of course."

Anya lied down on the adjoining bedroll so that her head rested on Sylvanas' leg. Anya lay on her back so that she was looking right up at Sylvanas.

In fact, Sylvanas could stay a little more than a while. She had all this work to do after all.



***



Jaina pressed herself closer to Sylvanas' incredibly smooth hand and affectionately ran her cheek and nose along it. Sylvanas used to let her hand hang down from the throne's armrest just so Jaina could cuddle with it while she held court. She was the best and darkest of ladies, Jaina thought.

Today Sylvanas was seeing a delegation of the grouchy tanners' guild. Jaina did not like them. They had rebuffed the Dark Lady when she ordered a fine new collar for Jaina. She bared her teeth and growled at them.

"Grrrrr…"

A tug on her leash brought Jaina's attention back to her Dark Lady.

"Are we getting restless, my pet?" Sylvanas asked sweetly and scratched Jaina behind the ear, which made her toes curl by themselves and made Jaina crane her neck to come closer to Sylvanas' delightful hand. "Perhaps I should let Anya take you for a walk, hmm?"

Jaina nodded. Anya was really sweet, but she insisted on bathing Jaina a bit too often.

"I can do that." Anya said, but then had the gall to add "I think I should brush her a little too – no, bad Jaina! Sit. Good girl." Anya caressed her chin. "Good Jaina."

Anya took something out of her pocket. "Look here, what a sweet mana bun. It's yours, but only if you promise to be on your best behaviour today."

Before Jaina had time to nod obediently or disobediently try to snatch the alluring mana bun out of Anya's fingers, Sylvanas yanked her even closer. She pulled Jaina in until she was kneeling right in front of the throne, then leaned down while tilting Jaina's head up with a strong but gentle grasp of her chin, and opened her mouth to whisper seductively...

"Rise…"

…and shine, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina shot up from the bed like shot from a cannon, or at least she sat up in it. That was Sylvanas' voice, and that meant she was still here! Or had returned to wish Jaina good morning. And what by the Tides was it that she had been dreaming? It was so fuzzy, like…no, she couldn't really recall right now.

The Dark Lady smiled at her with a hint of amusement, illuminated by the pale morning light from the window and the warm glow from the still smouldering logs. Jaina stretched her arms and legs and yawned disgracefully but was too content to care. Kalira and Amora were back with all their rangers and Cyndia was back safe and sound, and the rangers had gotten their beautifully woven scarves from their mysterious friend. This was a new and promising day.

Jaina reached for her clothes and Sylvanas handed them to her before she had to leave the warmth of her nest of blankets completely. She slid into her warm new slippers, because now that she had bought them she had better make proper use of them. Jaina could hear someone making a noise from the adjoining room and movement in the corridor. It was very homey sounds, like you would hear in a very alive and very inhabited house. A castle's dungeons weren't much worse, not when you had a squadron of dark rangers to keep you company, in Jaina's opinion.

"Do they fit?" Sylvanas asked.

"Yes, they're lovely. You should get a pair too, Dark Lady!" Jaina suggested and imagined the Dark Lady with woolly slippers, and had to clench her jaws not to giggle in a very unbecoming way.

"I will admit that's the first time someone has made that kind of suggestion to me."

At that moment Anya and Lyana entered, carrying Jaina's breakfast.

"What suggestion?" Anya asked curiously.

"Something rather undignified for a queen." Sylvanas replied without hesitation. "Some might even call it inappropriate and therefore I shan't repeat it here. It did however involve the insistent suggestion that I slip into something more comfortable."

Anya and Lyana looked at each other while Jaina choked when hearing Sylvanas' words.

"No, wait a minute , I just…"

"But as I said, we will not repeat those words here and now." Sylvanas interrupted her sternly and looked at Jaina with a mischievous and a tiny bit malicious glint in her eyes, Jaina was sure. She sighed, and gave up in favour of focusing her attention on her meal. Sylvanas did not fight fairly, Jaina had not even had her breakfast yet.

"If you feel like giving eating a try today I think Lyana can be persuaded to make you a hot bowl of fish soup, Dark Lady." Jaina said a little petulantly. "What about drinking by the way, do you folks need to do that?"

"We do, but not so much or so often as when we were alive. Our bodies need the fluids in order for us not to shrivel and dry out, even if we don't eat and drink in the normal way."

"Then I really think you should sit down and have a hearty mouthful of cold water at least." Jaina suggested cheekily, and the dark rangers followed her suggestion. They didn't have mugs or glasses for everyone but her guests shared a clay bowl between them to drink from. Before Jaina had finished eating Clea and Kitala had arrived to be talked into talking part of the frugal meal.

"I was going to suggest a walk around the upper half of the city for today, if you are interested, Lady Proudmoore?"

"Yes, of course…" Jaina struggled to swallow a large bite. "…but isn't the idea that I should meet more of your people so you can persuade them that I'm not a danger? Not that I'm complaining if I could avoid being reminded of how little people need my living efforts and opinions all day." It came out more bitter than Jaina had intended, and she was about to apologise when Sylvanas silenced her with a stern look.

"I think we may run into one or two during the day." she said mysteriously.

"You have something planned, Dark Lady, and don't even think of denying it." Jaina peered at her suspiciously.

"My subterfuge is laid bare I see." Sylvanas flashed her a pearly sharp-toothed smile and Jaina swallowed, which had nothing to with her eating. "My guard is due to return today and I'm opening up the city again, which will be celebrated with a parade of the deathguard and dreadguard through the streets up to the keep. I intend to oversee it and I would like to have you by my side when I do that."

"Yes, Dark Lady."

"I do however have one condition." Sylvanas said, ominously enough to make Jaina blink. "Your boots are too large for you and your slippers can not withstand the weather outside. You will need to have better footgear to be presentable."

Jaina frowned, confused. Sylvanas was right of course, her boots were very large and very clumsy but where and how would she get any others? She didn't even have any coin. But then she spotted the smallest twitch of Sylvanas' mouth and followed her gaze to the corner where the boots in question used to be.

In their place stood a pair of high, shining and many times more elegant boots.

The black boots of a dark ranger.

"Why don't you try them on?" Sylvanas suggested smoothly.

The ranger boots had two sets of bootlaces. They could be tightened to fit snugly over Jaina's feet as well as around her calves. And they fit good.

"They're just my size, how did you know…" Jaina begun, and then remembered who she was talking to.

"You could say that I have some small experience fitting out new rangers with the right gear." Sylvanas smirked.

"Come out here and let us have a look at you." Clea whispered and Jaina stepped into the ring they formed.

"Stylish." Lyana complimented.

"Shinier than mine." Kitala noted appreciatively. "But you need to tuck your pants tighter inside them, that won't do. Fold them first, by the side – here, I'll show you…"

Kitala, and the rest of the rangers, fell upon Jaina like a flock of birds on a worm. They had soon made her ill-fitting pants look almost proper and held in place by the high shafts of her boots and Jaina felt a little militaristic from it. A small part of her almost felt like a dark ranger herself. By then it also occurred to her how they all spoke more fluently and easily now. Less formal, more relaxed, more melodic. Then Jaina realised what it was. She had been speaking Thalassian with them all without stopping ever since coming back from the walk around the city yesterday. And apparently she could get by well enough despite talking as if out of a book as Kitala and Clea had explained about earlier. Jaina was making an effort to pour more emotion into her speech, but in the company of the rangers and Sylvanas she felt like that particular emotion tended to be embarrassment more often than not.



***



Jaina kept close to Sylvanas as rank after rank of terrifying and proud deathguards paraded in front of ruined walls and under broken arches. She would try her best not to embarrass the Dark Lady in any way and resuming the antics of yesterday was out of the question here and now. Not that Jaina felt like jokin either. These were the soldiers that had actually stormed Hearthglen and carved a way for her to get out, and not all of them had returned from it either.

The streets were lined with Forsaken and Jaina couldn't help but feel a little nervous from it. The hateful mob from yesterday was all too fresh in her mind. She hoped it wouldn't show.

Jaina focused on the deathguard. They wore heavy armour and thick shields, most of them, and the plate and mail hid most of their features from sight when seen from the side. They marched in a long column with ranks of four each, which was more or less what the debris-strewn path allowed. What would it be like to step toe-to-toe with the Scourge like they had, knowing that the enemy had had you dancing as a puppet not a year ago and that you were powerless to prevent it? Or the Scarlets, who fought and hunted you relentlessly for what you were and not what you had done?

A calming gloved hand pressed against the back of Jaina. She had unconsciously edged closer to Sylvanas and the Dark Lady's touch made Jaina breathe out in a way she hadn't been aware she needed to.

"Would you like to address them later?"

"Wha…"

"Stop looking like a fish, Lady Proudmoore. You are a head of state and my personal guest, and more importantly you were in Hearthglen in person and the entire expeditionary force will know by now that you went into the enemy's lair to negotiate on our behalf and paid for your courage with your blood. So if you have some sort of doubts of your credibility you better strike those from your mind."

"A-alright…I'll try to think of something…" Jaina stammered, while all the cogs of her brain started to turn over the question of what to say to an elite unit of undead infantry.

"Don't bother with anything elaborate. Keep it short and clear." Sylvanas commanded.

Jaina had a lot of time to think of a suitable speech, and the task actually helped to keep her mind occupied and away from thoughts of the Scarlet Crusade and the resentful Forsaken. Maybe that had even been Sylvanas' intention. Could it have? Jaina glanced at the Dark Lady. Sylvanas was standing straight as a statue, proud and confident and commanding, steadying and frightening at the same time. She held Jaina's silvery chains obviously looped around her hand for everyone to see but otherwise projected a calm indifference about her presence – the polar opposite of the rabid mob yesterday. Jaina couldn't read anything from looking at her.

The dreadguard came next, almost as heavily equipped. Perhaps the deathguard bore plate and mail and the dreadguard mail and plate, Jaina supposed. It was almost midday, she noticed with a start, and her uncooperative stomach growled which produced a sideway glance from Sylvanas. And then the already very muffled crowd quieted down even further as Sylvanas took a step forward.

"Brothers and sisters! For every month after we regained our freedom we have been hunted, hounded and beaten back one step after another. That has changed! Hearthglen has fallen before us and the Scarlet Crusade has been beaten back. The Scourge…IS NEXT!"

Sylvanas' voice had deepened and the ethereal banshee echo grown more pronounced than Jaina had ever heard except during that night when Sylvanas had rescued her from the Scarlets. Wisps of black smoke danced from the shoulders and arms and Jaina instinctively stepped closer even if she didn't know what to do. If Sylvanas would turn into a banshee, which Jaina guessed was what she was seeing the beginning of, and Wail when Jaina could not cast…

She might as well have spoken her fears out loud the way Sylvanas turned to look at her. A flash of regret crossed the Banshee Queen's features, and somehow Jaina was sure beyond a doubt that if they had been alone Sylvanas would have wanted to wrap her cloak around Jaina and reassure her. Instead she nudged Jaina forward.

Oh, right. Her own speech.

Jaina swallowed. Hundreds of very, very dead faces with gleaming eyes kept staring at her. Maybe thousands? How many were there?

"Deathguards, dreadguards and dark rangers!" Jaina shouted. Did every Forsaken elite unit begin with a "d"? And Tides, she would have to make this quick or she wouldn't have any voice left. "You rescued me from Hearthglen when the Scarlet Crusade was beating me bloody. You did not have to but you did it anyway. You have not even asked me for anything in return. I am deeply grateful to each of you and hope I will one day be able to return the favour. Those who call you monsters, they are the real monsters!"

She didn't have the resounding power of Sylvanas but Jaina had done her best. With her magic she could have amplified her voice to echo across the city effortlessly.

"Well now, aren't you quite the orator, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas whispered so close to Jaina's ear that she could feel the cold breath. It sent a shiver down her spine and Jaina immediately wondered if it had showed.

"I don't know, I couldn't really come up with anything very…"

Jaina was interrupted when Sylvanas grabbed her by the hair, and hard, and forced her head back so she stared into the blazing eyes of the Dark Lady. And they were not pleased.

"Anything very what?" Sylvanas hissed. "Are you saying that your words were empty and meant nothing to you? That you have just lied to the face of me and my people?"

"N-no." Jaina breathed, wide-eyed and afraid. What had gotten into Sylvanas?

"Then if what you said was sincere -" Jaina nodded frantically. "- explain to me why honesty and heartfelt gratitude is not good enough for any speech."

It was like time flowed slower as Jaina stared deeper and deeper into the red pools of flame – so alike and unlike the other dark rangers' – and the rest of the world shrunk and quieted.

"Now, I will expect you to behave better than to berate or belittle yourself over your imagined pointless and inconsequential shortcomings, is that understood?"

Jaina was vaguely aware of how she nodded again, wide-eyed and fixed in her place by the intense gaze.

"Good. I will not allow anyone to talk down to you, my little mage." Sylvanas whispered and released her hold of Jaina's hair. "Not even you."

She would quite possibly have remained entranced for a good time had she not caught sight of the most unexpected thing right then and there.

"Dark Lady!" Jaina hissed. "Don't turn around, but there's a demon coming closer right behind you!"

"Let me guess: Horns and wings? Tail, cloven feet and a sneer on his face?"

Jaina looked out behind Sylvanas and could see that she was right.

"Varimathras! Come over here and introduce yourself!"

The great demon towered over Sylvanas and Jaina and the other Forsaken but the Dark Lady remained undaunted. He, at least Jaina assumed it was a he, had greyish skin and black-red wings as wel as pieces of armour of matching colour. The eyes shone with green Fel magic and Jaina wanted to take a step back. She imagined feeling the skin on her forearms prickle where it had previously been tainted by the same.

"Lady Proudmoore, meet Varimathras, one of the Nathrezim as you can see. Formerly one of the Lich King's jailors with the other dreadlords, turned outcasts after Arthas' return from Kalimdor, turned sides following my defeat of him and his kin in Lordaeron. Now serving as my chancellor."

"So this is the…human." The dreadlord spoke without much emotion yet Jaina felt one and a hundred hidden meanings behind each syllable. It was downright eerie.

"Your powers of observation do you credit." Sylvanas drawled, and despite everything Jaina had to make an effort not to smile at the dripping sarcasm. "Can we do anything for you, chancellor."

It looked like Varimathras was close enough to huff, if dreadlords actually did that. Jaina had never had the opportunity to meet anyone in a social capacity.

"I have things to see to. Important things. My Queen."

He bowed slightly to Sylvanas and strode away.

"Well, he was charming…" Jaina commented, still slightly bewildered by the surreal situation.

"Let me tell you a secret." Sylvanas leant closer to Jaina's ear. "He is a dreadful chancellor."

Jaina clamped her jaws together forcefully to stifle the flood of giggles that now threatened to esape her. This couldn't be happening, had Sylvanas actually told an Areiel joke?

"Ah, My Queen!" This new voice was also deep, but booming in every way that Varimathras' was not. Jaina turned to find herself facing a well-preserved Forsaken human, an imposing aged knight with long white hair and prodigious moustaches dressed in dark grey full plate armour.

"Baron Frostfel." Sylvanas explained to Jaina. "Commander of the deathguard and dreadguard for the time being."

"Lady Proudmoore!" The baron turned to Jaina and made a surprisingly chivalrous bow, which Jaina thought must be quite a feat in that massive suit of iron. "It iz an honour to properly make your acquaintance."

"Likewise, baron Frostfel." Jaina bowed back as properly as she could. She was still unused to having shoes again that actually fit her.

"You may be interested to know zat we tracked ze prisoners all ze way out of ze town district, from where zey headed north towards zeir other Scarlet strongholds further afar. I must commend your inspired decision on zat part, Lady Proudmoore. My Queen, zat is quite ze gem of a mage zat you have found us."

Jaina did not know what she had expected of the commander of the deathguard, but it was certainly not such blatant praise.

"How, ahem, do you mean, baron?"

"Ah, but don't you zee, Lady Proudmoore?!" Baron Frostfel boomed with unmitigated enthusiasm. "We have sent ze Scarlet rabble a portion of zeir soldiers owing zeir very lives to ze dastardly undead – us, zat is – and it will weaken zeir resolve and taint zeir companies with ze knowledge and zeir fear of ze Banshee Queens wrath. Or, perhaps more likely, zat mob of fanatics will hang ze lot as traitors, and zere is no surer way to ruin your morale zan having your men raise arms against zeir comrades! Brilliant, Lady Proudmoore, brilliant!"

Jaina blushed slightly. She loathed the Scarlets for what they had done to her but not enough to exactly relish what Baron Frostfel described as the likely outcomes, but when he put it like that so enthusiastically…

"Now I must oversee ze allocation and distribution of ze spoils, if you will excuse me. My Queen. Lady Proudmoore."

"Well, well, I seem to have gotten myself a master strategist in the deal too." Sylvanas commented with a raised eyebrow at Jaina as the baron waded away through the throng of spectators.

Jaina blushed quite considerably from that but knew better than to say anything self-depreciating out of habit.

"That is no empty praise." Sylvanas remarked. "The baron is one of the most experienced Forsaken fighters from Lordaeron and a highly competent infantry commander, for all his…overbearing manners."

"You mean his eastern Lordaeron accent?" Jaina smiled.

"Is that what it is?"

"Zat is absolutely zo. Zey all talk like zis." Jaina mimicked the accent and jutted out her chin in imitation of the brash and perhaps not too attentive cream of Lordaeronian nobility.

"I see."

"It's actually rather straightforward, you just move your 'r's deep into your mouth and replace the 'th' sounds with a buzzing 'z'…" Jaina continued to explain.

"How fascinating. I assure you that I have no interest in letting that or any other part of my body into my mouth, and as far as buzzing is concerned I will insist that we leave it to the bees and other creatures better suited for it."

"Are you sure zat I shouldn't inztrutct you rangerz in ze local cultures, My Queen?" Jaina beamed. "I'm sure zat zey would be very interested."

"Do that and I will spank you myself, little mage." Sylvanas growled.

 

[Maltacus]

Chapter 23: Sashes and Shards

Anya and Jaina receive gifts with mixed results and Sylvanas and her squadron have a serious talk with Jaina about sacred rules of ranger teasing and clear out a misunderstanding long overdue for being cleared out.

Remember that in the middle of bantering with and being mistressly with her pet mage during their first tour of the Undercity Sylvanas noted with approval that Anya seemed to be getting something for herself for once from Akara's shop of magical curiosities? If you didn't you are excused, and hereby reminded since what she bought is now playing an important part.

And did Anya really buy a gift to herself now? Sylvanas, Sylvanas, what were you thinking…if you want something done in that regard you need to do it yourself.

Click to shrink...

The amount of loot from Hearthglen was massive. Kalira and the others had clearly taken Sylvanas' orders to heart and stripped the town of everything that could be carried and then some, and loaded it all on most imaginative frames and litters to be carried along the modest roads. With their elite guard back and the Undercity no longer locked down the Forsaken could finally enjoy full access to their own capital again. The reception of supplies taken home by the deathguard and dreadguard had thus taken the form of one huge fair or autumn market that had been going on for two days without cease.

There was a lot of people in the streets but not as many as during the parade. Anya and the rest of the squadron had been spread out in the crowd close to Sylvanas and Lady Proudmoore, watching for signs of someone planning to assault them which thankfully hadn't happened. Lady Proudmoore had been very brave holding a speech before everyone. Anya had never been comfortable with talking before a crowd of strangers like that, and least of all a crowd of undead. Varimathras had appeared then, and Anya reckoned he had probably said something snide as usual but Sylvanas had stayed close to Lady Proudmoore so he would probably not have dared to be mean to her. Baron Frostfel was easier to hear and Anya liked him a lot for complimenting Lady Proudmoore so wholeheartedly. Lady Proudmoore had smiled a lot when saying something to Sylvanas afterwards, but Anya hadn't been able to hear what it was about.

Anya made sure that at least two of them always kept close to Lady Proudmoore when they were walking the streets. She tried to avoid larger groups of people if possible, the upper city usually allowed for that. Anya held the long chain in her hand like Sylvanas had. At least that way Lady Proudmoore wouldn't have to get caught in anything.

She would have liked to be able to avoid the dark glares and the demonstratively turned backs too if she could.

At one point a couple of workers carrying a bundle of large planks barged into her squadron. Anya had the watch and pulled Lady Proudmoore out of the way behind herself but Clea stood her ground even at the cost of taking a hard hit to her shoulder when the planks rammed into her.

"Watch it, my good sir." Clea hissed at them. "Someone might get hurt if you wave your goods around in this manner. Is it too heavy for you? Do you need help carrying?"

The gruff Forsaken grunted at her and looked away. The pair of workers rearranged their burden and continued their trek.

"A good day to you too, gentlemen." Clea whispered after them.

Anya and Lyana resumed their place with Lady Proudmoore between them while Kitala snorted.

"Seriously, 'wave your goods around'?"

Anya and Lyana smirked and Lady Proudmoore was clutching her mouth to stop herself from giggling. Anya absently clutched her left pocket.

"Hey, you!" An enterprising vendor had opened an improvised market stall on the side of the street and now glared at the squadron. "Are you going to stand there all day blocking the way?! Why don't you take your living…"

Anya had her dagger out before the angry woman had finished her sentence.

"Yes, madam?" she asked smoothly while inspecting the spotless edge. "You were saying?"

"Is that's how it's gonna be, eh? Bullying honest folk in the street and strutting around with…that, like some gang of wenches! Harlots!"

"I'm so very sorry, madam. The next time we storm the walls of Scarlet crusaders we shall give further consideration to the poor people burdened by the inconvenient spoils of war before we cut our enemies apart." Anya looked innocently at her. "In the meantime, would you happen to know where a girl can get her blades sharpened at a decent rate? I seem to wear mine out terribly quickly for some reason…" Anya stared with wider and wider eyes and the vendor took a step back, then another.

"Come on." Lyana whispered. "You've scared her well and good now."

A little bit reluctant, Anya sheathed her dagger. That woman had been mean to Lady Proudmoore, or had been just a single word from being mean to her.

When they made their way from the unpleasant stall Lady Proudmoore snuck her hand into Anya's.

"Anya, you don't need to bother with people being rude like that. I know it's not about me as such, it's me being one of the living like the Scarlets and the rest…"

Anya spun on the spot and took Lady Proudmoore's hand in a hard grip. Now she was really getting angry.

"Lady Proudmoore, don't you dare make excuses for behaviour like that! That's…really stupid! And you're supposed to be a smart archmage!"

"Anya, easy." Clea rubbed her shoulder. "And Lady Proudmoore, stop being an idiot before Anya loses her temper. That is not pretty, believe me."

Lady Proudmoore tilted her head, and it was like she hadn't realised until now how much her words had affected Anya. Then, right in front of everyone in the street, she held out her arms and pulled Anya into a hug.

She was so warm. Not feverish like the terrible night in Hearthglen, just warm in the good way that Anya couldn't be. And soft.

"I'm so sorry." Lady Proudmoore whispered into her ear. "I don't know why I do this. It's…it's a bad habit. A very bad habit."

"And stupid." Anya almost sulked.

"And stupid." Lady Proudmoore agreed.

"If you two glums are finished I think the Dark Lady is looking for either of you." Lyana poked at Anya's shoulder.

She was correct. Sylvanas was a bit further ahead and making her way towards them.

"Good afternoon. Is everything alright?" she asked after navigating her way through the busy street. Anya noted that she wasn't in her commanding mood, or manners maybe, right now and had discreetly slid through the commotion before most had time to realise the Banshee Queen was there.

"Well…" Anya begun and looked admonishingly at the mage. "Lady Proudmoore said some really bad words but now she has promised to be good again." Anya yanked the mage closer by the chain like she had seen Sylvanas do. Lady Proudmoore yelped and laughed out nervously.

"Did she now?" Sylvanas' mouth had quirked up and she eyed Anya and Lady Proudmoore evaluatingly. "How naughty of her. Maybe you need to discipline our mage a little to keep her in line."

"Maybe I do." Anya cast a pointed look at Lady Proudmoore. If the mage wouldn't learn to treat herself kindly Anya would chain her to her bed and feed her fish soup until her tongue fell off.

"Surely Anya would never do zomething like zat." Lady Proudmoore imitated…was it Baron Frostfel's way of speaking? It must have been some sort of previous joke between them the way Lady Proudmoore's eyes sparkled and she bit her lip not to giggle.

"How sure are you, little mage?" Sylvanas asked threateningly. Anya tried her best to look threatening too but it was hard to be angry with Lady Proudmoore for any length of time, especially when she looked so mischievous like she did now. Anya would most of all have liked to know what it was about so she could join in teasing Sylvanas when she was her most Dark Lady-like.

"I have something for you." Sylvanas had turned to Anya. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

"Of course, Dark Lady?" What was this about?

Sylvanas led the way to a little abandoned park, or small square beside the street. Vines had climbed a small stone wall circling behind a couple of benches facing a now dried fountain. It was withered and cracked, but Anya thought it was pretty. It must have been a good place. A small, hidden place.

"I wanted to give you something. This isn't an official reward, it's just from me." Sylvanas brought out something bright red. "For your exceptional bravery during the storming of Hearthglen where many more of us would have perished if the northern wall had not been claimed so rapidly, and for your outstanding care of Lady Proudmoore. It's a, well, a Scarlet Sash I suppose. I think it would suit your eyes now."

It was spotless red silk. Anya reverently ran her fingers over it, not because it was expensive but because it was something Sylvanas had given her. Personally, and not as the Banshee Queen and commander of the Forsaken armies.

Anya didn't really dare to. But she reached up anyway and kissed the Dark Lady's cheek while holding her red silk pressed close to her still heart. But reddest of all things were Sylvanas' eyes and Anya wanted to drown in their fire and never resurface. She had dropped Lady Proudmoore's chain and forgotten her squadron. She wanted time to stop flowing.

Time was so bloody uncooperative.

"Anya?"

"It's a very fine sash."

Lady Proudmoore tugged at her shoulder. Anya could feel the warmth of her fingers.

"It's well deserved." she whispered, as quietly as Clea. "I feel safer with you near me than with all the armies of the Alliance and you've taken the very best care of me." Anya felt herself pulled into another warm embrace, which provoked a lopsided smirk from Sylvanas.

Luckily Lady Proudmoore hugged her from the right side.

"If I can pry you from your guardian, Lady Proudmoore, I was going to ask if you would like to accompany me to one of the meetings of the City Council some time?" Sylvanas asked their mage. "I thought it could be worth a try to disarm some of the tension in the city and force people to get used to the idea of working side by side with the living."

"You're asking me to come with you to work, Dark Lady?"

Normally an offer to accompany someone to work would not be met with such joyful enthusiasm, Anya reckoned. But Lady Proudmoore didn't count as normal either. And that was just as well, in Anya's opinion.

"I dare say you have done that and a great deal more at Hearthglen, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas commented a little dryly.

"But that's not the same! Now I can see how you govern and how the city is run and where you have your office!" At that Sylvanas looked slightly troubled. "It's going to be so interesting to see!"

"Tomorrow, then?"

"Yes, I'd love to."

Sylvanas had to return to being Banshee Queen again and Lady Proudmoore needed to eat. Anya sent Clea and Kitala ahead to prepare dinner and let Lyana go and check on Kitthix while she and Lady Proudmoore walked at a leisurely pace towards the Lordaeron keep. Or, maybe a tad slower than that. Maybe, in fact, that Anya was stalling a little.

She wasn't very worried about running into anyone who wished Lady Proudmoore ill. Anya knew that Clea and Kitala would have kept their eyes and ears open for that and Lyana would have come running back if she saw the slightest hint of something dangerous. Watching over Lady Proudmoore like that had become instinctive for them all at this point.

"Anya, is something the matter?"

Had she been that obvious?

"No! All is fine! I mean…" Anya stammered. She wasn't very good at these things. Maybe this was all just a silly idea.

Maybe it had broken.

Lady Proudmoore looked at her, patient and encouraging and curious.

Anya slowly took out the small thing from her left pocket. She didn't think it had broken but the cloth wrapped around it made it hard to tell.

"I bought this from Akara, when you were with us." Anya held the small bundle forward.

"For me?" Lady Proudmoore sounded astonished.

Anya nodded.

The mage had caught her careful movements and very slowly unfolded the cloth around a small, almost leaf-shaped, mirror with a silvery frame shaped like vines and leaves.

"Akara said it has a small enchantment to keep dust and dirt from sticking." Anya explained, as if that needed to be explained. "Now you will have something beautiful to look at in your room."

"No kidding! It's so lovely, thanks so very much Anya!" Lady Proudmoore hesitated. "I don't dare to hug you while holding it but that was so very kind of you. It really is beautiful."

Lady Proudmoore looked genuinely happy and Anya smiled shyly back, but racked her brain for a way to explain, and without sounding like a fool, how it wasn't the mirror itself she had been talking about.



***



Jaina's self-loathing rose like bile inside her when she watched the broken shards of her mirror. Ruined. Lonely and abandoned in the corner where she had thrown it.

Enchanted to stay clean and bright. Durability would have been the better choice when handled by dockside thugs like Jaina. What a way to thank Anya for taking her scarce time and the Forsaken's preciously scarce resources to make Jaina's dungeon a little more inhabitable.

And Jaina had really liked the mirror a lot. It was beautiful, tasteful and in a style she had not seen anywhere else before. If anything it looked like a leaf frozen to ice from a distance, until you saw all the small details of the frame close up. And it was really welcome to be able to look at herself and make sure she hadn't any splotch of food on her chin or something like that.

And of course Jaina, idiot as she was, had taken off her shirt and unwrapped her ranger linen – she wasn't sure if that was the term but was starting to think of it as such – and taken up the mirror to get a good look at what her back looked like.

She knew she shouldn't have done it. She felt an instinctive big NO when she did it.

And that one good look had been more than enough.

Anya and Clea had been nearest and hurried inside when they heard the breaking glass and metallic clatter. Jaina couldn't bear to even show her face to them but when Anya refused to move a single step for fear that Jaina had injured herself she finally looked up and teary-eyed begged them to leave her alone. She just couldn't think of a way to stay civil towards them.

But Jaina still wished they were here.

What was she going to do? She couldn't even bring herself to pick up the broken glass.

She strained her neck trying to look over her shoulder for the umpteenth time but only saw the same edge of the angry red lines as all the other times. Jaina wanted to scream, maybe hurl something else, anything to get the crushing, choking thing in her throat out and…

Someone knocked on the door. Had Anya had enough of pacing outside the closed door with Jaina in the company of sharp pieces of glass on the other side? Was it Lyana, who would demand to check on her no matter what?

"Lady Proudmoore?"

Sylvanas.

Tides, what was Jaina going to say? She had insulted Sylvanas' closest ranger who Sylvanas herself had this very day honoured for the care she had shown for Jaina! Who Sylvanas had even been kissed on the cheek by, which had also been so very sweet.

Jaina could hear the door opening. She didn't protest, she couldn't blame Sylvanas when Jaina couldn't even manage an answer.

"May I stay?" Sylvanas asked after a small moment of (Jaina guessed) looking her over. "I'm not here to punish you, Lady Proudmoore. Are you hurt in any way?" Sylvanas' voice was dampened and low. Calm.

Jaina nodded, and then shook her head when she remembered the last question.

"Yes, I mean yes you can…" she sighed miserably. "I'm alright… I mean…" Jaina shrugged. Her hoarse words had run out.

Sylvanas sat down beside her.

"What happened?"

What happened? Like that wasn't bloody Tides-damned obvious! Jaina's jaw worked soundlessly while she tried to calm herself down. It wasn't a disrespectful question, after all. Sylvanas wanted to hear Jaina's words about it. And she was sitting calmly and waiting for Jaina to begin.

"I…looked." Jaina almost whispered, and cleared her throat. "I knew it was stupid to do that. I shouldn't have done it." She angrily rubbed her temples. She was starting to get a headache.

"Alone."

Sylvanas didn't follow up with anything.

"Alone what?" Jaina's head pounded and she was becoming irritable when she tried to wrap her mind over what Sylvanas meant, and she was getting angrier with herself for becoming irritable when Sylvanas was there listening to her.

"I believe you should not have looked deeply at your wounds alone. It is a heavy blow to the heart to see what has been inflicted on you." Sylvanas had shifted to her old-fashioned Common, perhaps as a concession to Jaina's tired state of mind.

"Yeah…" Jaina heaved a colossal sigh and shrugged. Then she slumped and banged her forehead into her palm. Damned fucking everything… This day had turned out so good, with only a little – relatively speaking – anti-living resentment and her rangers had been so kind as they always were, and then Jaina had just blown it all and…

Sylvanas' one hand gently pried Jaina's arm from her, and her other replaced it on Jaina's forehead. But the Dark Lady remained silent.

"It's not even that I feel like an idiot for thinking that the Scarlets would respect an envoy, much as I still do of course." Jaina confessed. "It's…I…just…

"I am here on your invitation only. You do not have to explain or excuse anything to me, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas' hand was a cool support for Jaina to rest her head against. It took some strain off her neck. She tried to breathe easier.

"I'm ugly, alright?!" Jaina snapped unjustly at her. "Sorry, I shouldn't have…" Sylvanas' other hand on her neck quieted Jaina and a shiver ran down her spine, a more pleasant shiver. The kind that left her like wax in the Dark Lady's hands. Jaina sighed, long and quivering. Sylvanas was making her calm again.

"I know I probably wasn't very pretty before. It must sound like a fine joke to all of you with your lean…never mind. I'm just a bulgy human but at least my back didn't look like a red-striped carpet!" Jaina's shaking voice rose to a choked, sad pitch.

"If you feel the need to scream but are reluctant, please take a moment to consider your present company, Lady Proudmoore."

Sylvanas sounded as calm as ever, but Jaina fell apart in sobbing, sad laughter in the Dark Lady's hands.

"It is apparently high time that we clarify some things."



***



Jaina huddled inside a blanket and sipped on the mug of tea that Anya had made for her. All the rangers had come inside to sit in front of her and Sylvanas, and Jaina was happy for it, but she couldn't look Anya in the eyes.

"Rangers, I have summoned you here to divulge information both dire and disturbing." Sylvanas begun gravely. "Lady Proudmoore has pleaded guilty to the heinous crime of losing her temper. Further compounding her abhorrent felony, she has also confessed to causing minor property damage in her fit of rage. As it is conduct completely alien to any of us I am sure you understand that I share the outrage of all of you."

Sylvanas kept her face and tone perfectly in line with her act. When she wanted to, the Dark Lady actually was quite the actor, Jaina admitted while at the same time cringing at Sylvanas' corrosive irony.

"In order to get to the bottom of what prompted such an scandal I will attempt not to sink beneath my own understandable shock, since I in particular have never acted in such a manner at any time."

So far the rangers had kept silent but now an undignified snort called to Jaina's attention, and she hadn't the energy to force herself to keep looking down. Kitala and Lyana were both making brave attempts at chewing and swallowing their lower lips and Clea had clamped both hands over hers in an even braver one to muffle the already quiet chuckles that threatened to escape her.

Jaina could admit that Sylvanas' was making fun of it all, and that yes, put in perspective there were worse things than throwing a mirror against a wall in your room. But it had been Anya's mirror, Anya's gift to her…

"So, Lady Proudmoore, first I hope you are well aware that I would never have done something like this myself." Sylvanas spoke like a dark block of stone.

No disagreement there. Sylvanas of all people would not have behaved so disrespectfully towards her ranger, especially not when her ranger was Anya Eversong.

"If Anya had given me a mirror that let me see for the first time the full extent of my own disfiguring scar, I would not have broken it against the wall." Sylvanas made a short pause. "My ensuing Banshee Wail would have shattered the glass before my eyes and likely the frame as well without the need for hurling it anywhere."

"Well, you're a banshee…" Jaina sulked.

"And you are a human." Sylvanas stated evenly. "So clearly fundamentally different standards should apply to each of us."

"No, but… Tides damn it, I was mean to Anya and you should be angry with me! Anya, I'm so terribly sorry, I wish I hadn't even picked up the mirror…"

"Did…didn't you like it?" Anya's eyes were big and she looked slightly crestfallen.

"No! I mean yes!" Jaina took a deep breath. "What I meant to say is that I wish I hadn't picked it up so I wouldn't have broken it. I wish I could just fix it so it hadn't happened. Just that."

Anya rose slightly and walked on her knees to Jaina's side. It actually looked a little funny. The dark ranger tentatively put an arm on the blanket over Jaina's upper back.

"Can I…?" Anya spoke so low it was almost a whisper. Jaina nodded, and Anya's started drawing slow circles with the palm of her hand.

"Now, before we dispense justice for the aforementioned transgression, I have a serious question to ask all of you, and you are all ordered to speak truthfully or refuse to answer but nothing else." Sylvanas was back to being dead serious, but Jaina felt that it wasn't part of some act anymore.

"But, when have we…?" Kitala frowned.

"None of you have been anything but truthful to me to my knowledge, but I believe we will be dealing with certain facts that some have trouble accepting and need to be overt."

"Uh, alright…" Clea and Lyana seemed a bewildered as Kitala. Jaina was touched by it. The thought of deception being foreign enough to cause outright confusion among your friends.

"On your word of honour, have Lady Proudmoore's scars from the Scarlets' abuse of her made her ugly in your opinion?"

The silence that followed was so complete that it was like some kind of lid had been placed over Jaina's ears. She could hear her breath sounding more like coming from a bellows than a pair of lungs. Anya's hand had frozen mid-motion. Then Kitala made a nervous gasp or huff, like she didn't really know how she was supposed to react.

"This is a j…" Jaina could see her face falling when she looked at Sylvanas. "…not a joke. Right. Well, the answer is no of course!" Kitala blurted out nervously, a bit like a student who found a question so unreasonable that she had to suspect foul play from her teacher's side.

"No." Lyana concurred, solemn and earnest.

"Not a bit." Clea was turning to Jaina. "We've all seen them many times by now."

"No scarring could." Anya whispered next to her.

Jaina heard Sylvanas' seriousness and the rangers' earnest tone. She understood the words and the specific question that left no room for misinterpretation. But the message would not settle in Jaina's mind. It slid and bounced around in her head and refused to be still, because their answer was just ludicrous.

Or, wait a moment! Sylvanas had phrased the question very specifically. And strictly speaking, if someone - Jaina for instance - was already ugly then more scars would not be the thing that made her that.

She could hear a small, but very meaningful, sigh from Sylvanas and Jaina had an uncanny feeling that Sylvanas knew exactly what she was thinking in that moment, and that the Dark Lady was not impressed.

"How then, would you characterize Lady Proudmoore's appearance?"

Now the rangers were looking at one another with obvious suspicion. They actually gave off a rather comical impression.

"Good-looking?"

"Pretty?"

"Drop-dead gorgeous? Sorry, seriously bad choice of words!" Kitala excused herself and Jaina had to smile at her.

"Lady Proudmoore is of the opposite opinion." Sylvanas mentioned casually.

For just a heartbeat the room went completely silent. Then…

"WHAT THE F-MMFH!" Clea and Kitala exclaimed in unison but Clea stopped herself and clamped down on Kitala's mouth before they could end with something too explicit.

"Who said that?!" Anya was distressed. "I'm gonna cut their eyes out!"

"Those eyes would hardly seem to work anyway." Lyana pointed out cheekily.

"Nobody said that, so please don't take my eyes, Anya. I prefer being able to see you." Jaina tried to joke, but it didn't sound especially funny.

"Of course not, but now I think Lyana needs to take a very good look at them because they seem to have stopped working properly, Lady Proudmoore." Anya said sternly. "How could you think such a thing?" she wondered, and sounded so sad that Jaina felt an immediate pang of guilt.

"How could I not?!" Jaina was almost exasperated, but in a strange way it also felt good to uncork all the ugly bottled up self-consciousness – scratch that, self-loathing more like – and throw it out for all of them to see. "I'm skinny and flabby and clumsy and I have no gracefulness at all and…"

"And what, Lady Proudmoore?" Sylvanas interjected. "Do please continue. This is quite possible the stupidest thing I have ever heard you say so do not hold back anything. It is rather amusing."

"And look at all of you." Jaina added in a smaller voice. "You're all trained and lean and agile and elegant…"

"Elegance? Have you seen the way you dance across a ship's deck in too large boots while we practically hobble after you in form-fitting ones, Lady Proudmoore? You made us all feel positively decrepit." Clea almost complained.

"Er…no? I mean, I can't really watch myself walk…" Jaina replied with misplaced logic.

"Well, some time you should!" Clea wouldn't relent.

"Lady Proudmoore." Anya sounded extremely hesitant, like she was about to say something she would prefer to not have to. "When I gave you the mirror and said that you would have something beautiful to look at…"

"Yes?" Jaina asked when Anya trailed off.

"I-I wasn't talking about the mirror…"

It took a frowning moment for Jaina to realise what Anya meant. It took less for Clea and Kitala to start grinning widely.

Lyana let out a quiet laugh. "Anya, you are too sweet."

Jaina was taken aback by the sincerity in Anya's look at her, and the obvious nervousness that the often shy dark ranger had still overcome to refute Jaina's self-depreciation.

Jaina couldn't argue with four rangers and Anya's eyes. Not even in her darkest corners of self-consciousness could she deny that the rangers really, really meant it. And a shameful, embarrassing, but oh, so very heavy weight was starting to feel a little lighter on her mind.

"We haven't talked to you about your scars because we didn't want to bring it up unless you wanted to speak about it yourself." Lyana explained. "Was that wrong of us?" she asked, sounding more uncertain.

"No." Jaina sighed. "Not at all, it was very considerate of course. And it's not just about the scars either."

"You mentioned earlier how you assumed my rangers found it amusing to tease you during our sea journey because they would never sincerely regard you in the way their jokes implied." Sylvanas mercilessly cut in.

"What?!" Kitala nearly shouted.

"Wait one moment now, did you truly believe we would mess with you like that because we found you ugly and laughed at the fact?" Lyana sounded outright shocked.

"Maybe not ugly, but…" Jaina struggled to put words on it. "At the very least clumsy. And a bit ridiculous because of it. Or very much so."

"We would never – didn't I tell you about the tenets of ranger taunting? We drive one another mad to pass the time but we never intended to bully you! The Dark Lady made it clear that we were to watch you closely and keep you in check so we tried our best to be a little mysterious and scary, but none of us wished you harm." Lyana's agitation was plainly visible.

"You didn't bully me. I did that to myself just fine." Jaina muttered in a low voice, and it was true. She couldn't blame the rangers for only having a scandalously lewd sense of humour. It had been Jaina herself who had jumped to conclusions about their intentions.

"We meant nothing bad with it in any case." Clea said gently, and a little sad.

Jaina tried to smile a little back at her, at all of them.

"You were all morons!" she pointed out. "You and all your insane flooded comments – those were the real flood on that ship!"

"You blushed so prettily." Anya smiled shyly from Jaina's right side.

"Most of all I just wanted to go to bed at that time, it's hard work pushing frigates around all day. I'm lucky the gallant queen saved me from your lewd clutches."

"In my line of work you quickly learn that rangers need to be kept on a short leash at times." Sylvanas commented with dry Dark Lady-like amusement.

"Dark Lady?" Anya asked, suddenly very serious. "How long have you known about Lady Proudmoore's misconceptions about our opinions of how she looks?"

"She mentioned it during the later part of the crossing to Lordaeron. I got the distinct impression that the subject bothered you and did not want to press the matter." Sylvanas added towards Jaina.

"Oh. Yeah, you weren't wrong about that, I guess. And kind of a lot of things happened since we landed." Jaina argued.

"True, but Anya is right. I seem to owe you an apology for yet another thing, Lady Proudmoore. I should have cleared up this misunderstanding much earlier."

Jaina wanted to make more excuses for Sylvanas, least of all did she want her and Anya to be arguing because of her in any way, but if they both thought Sylvanas should have said something at least they were in agreement.

"I'm not blaming anyone. I could have asked, too, for a clarification of this particular cultural quirk of the elves." Jaina finally said.

"Can we ask you something, Lady Proudmoore?" Kitala sounded unusually respectful.

"Of course."

"Do you…do you really think we are that graceful?"

Jaina stared at her. Was this a joke? But no, if their conversation so far should teach her anything it should be to take such questions seriously.

"Well…yes? Who the heck wouldn't?"

"Ehm, a lot of people in Quel'Thalas for one…" Kitala said, and sounded almost embarrassed of all things. "We – us rangers – used to be regarded as half savage simpletons by a not insignificant part of the refined and rich. Not exactly conversation material or the right type to sweep artfully across the dance floors, if you catch my meaning."

"Well, I would take alleged simpletons like you over confirmed simpletons like them any day." Jaina said with determination. "And I can't imagine how anyone could find a fault in any of you. You're all so fit that it's bordering unnatural – and don't even think of making some smart remark about having lived with the Sunwell for millennia or now being sustained by necromantic magic, my point stands regardless!"

"Beanpoles." Lyana commented cryptically.

"Beanpoles? What?"

"Or is it beanstalks? Your human idioms are so strange sometimes. We kind of all feel like gangly youths with you, Lady Proudmoore. In the contrasting company of a fully grown woman." Lyana smiled, a little resigned.

"With a rack to die for." Kitala added, and then looked aghast. "Sorry! Bad choice of words, again!"

The rest of the rangers burst out laughing, and Jaina too. It was getting late and she was tired and starting to feel silly. But everything felt much better too.

"Well, you lot make me feel like a walking pumpkin." Jaina quipped, half jokingly. "So we're all equally dissatisfied idiots I suppose."

"Isn't pumpkin a compliment?" Clea asked. "Or a term of endearment?"

"Yes, but that wasn't the point." Jaina tried.

"Of course, pumpkin."

"Certainly, pumpkin."

"As you say, Lady Pumpkinmoore." Anya added respectfully, and Jaina collapsed in fits of giggles.

"Dark Lady?" she could hear Anya asking Sylvanas. "What are you thinking of?"

"I am thinking that I dearly hope that Arthas Menethil was the Lich King's mindless tool when he invaded Quel'Thalas, and not truly in command of anything at all."

Jaina's jaw dropped, and she stopped laughing. What was this about, all of a sudden? The Dark Lady turned her head to smile lopsided at Jaina.

"Because if the crowning achievement of my military career actually is to be losing to a general possessed of such unfathomable stupidity that he would break off an engagement with Lady Proudmoore, I fear it reflects rather poorly on me."