Sylvanas was seeing Areiel and Kalira. A small meeting, like the ones that had preceded her proper council and then council of war. It was comfortable, even if there was little left of the normal old familiarity between them. Both were sensible enough to do what needed to be done regardless of what they personally felt about the situation, and brutally honest when they needed to.
Areiel, once her anger and disappointment had cooled, would always be there for the general if nothing else. Kalira was too strict to allow personal biases to tarnish her integrity, and would give her honest council no matter what she thought of the person receiving it. She was also not as familiar with why they had lost their archmage and reserved her judgement until she would be.
“The question remains, Dark Lady. We have the initiative still but it will slip between our fingers if we do not move soon. Either we move or we fall back and consolidate our positions but we need to come to a decision.”
Belore, Kalira was all too right. But Sylvanas had no answer.
Hunt the Scourge, decimate the scattered remnants with the small scale raids and engagements that the Forsaken wanted to have? Any day.
Strengthen the trail to Dalaran and give her army the respite offered by fortifications and actual control over areas so that the defence could be planned and prepared and not a haphazard affair cobbled together on the spot? That should preferably have been done months ago.
“What of the Kirin Tor? They are ready to do their part, they tell us, but what is their part? What can we count on in practice?” Areiel raised the question to either of them.
It was a most relevant question, both of them were, and the answer to each was of course dependant on the other. Only Sylvanas did not have them.
She missed Anya. She always did but she buried herself in work yet now she even found herself missing Anya when at work. Her dark ranger would have said something that made everything seem so much clearer and plainer, or something with another angle completely of her own.
And Jaina…Jaina would have solved it all in a blink.
The truth was that there was no clear answer. Both options had strong reasoning behind them and it was the queen’s call to make, which one they should choose and which dangers they would risk.
It was at that inopportune moment that they were disturbed by the firm knocks of her deathguards at the door.
“What?!” Sylvanas yelled.
“Apologies, My Queen. The dwarven emissaries request to see you. They are escorted by dark rangers.”
What the hell was this now?
Whatever it was it would not leave her mind before she dealt with it anyway, so she may as well hope to get the issue out of the way here and now.
“Send them in!”
The dwarves looked unexpectedly well for living beings staying with a throng of living dead. Or strictly speaking they did not for that list only numbered four people so far and the Forsaken had in the end managed to keep each and every one healthy and fed, in spite of everything.
“Greetings, My Queen.” Runar bowed elegantly with Halvdan following. “We would like to speak with you. Is this a suitable time?”
“No. Go ahead.”
“You most generously offered us the choice of a reward in thanks for bringing Lady Alina her violin, so long as it did not harm or endanger your people or your allies.”
Sylvanas, Areiel and Kalira had been sitting around a table in the small council chamber. Both of the others shifted their chairs so they could view the newcomers. Even Sylvanas found herself wondering what they would be playing at.
“And now we have decided what we would most of all like to ask for, and wish to cash in that reward.”
“Being?”
“The same commodity as last time. Information. Knowledge is worth its weight in gold, or would be if it actually weighed something, correct?”
Sylvanas braced herself.
Not Jaina. Not Jaina. Not Jaina.
“We do, as any emissaries worth their salt and their malt, strive to get to know our graceful hosts and their predicament so as to more effectively aid our mutual interests. Naturally, the recent developments of Lordaeron have our full and awed attention. Consider us effectively astounded at the progress you have most evidently made. There are however things we do not quite grasp, which appear to us to be of great importance. And like the last time we find the missing piece of the puzzle that all others lead to in a certain name. We wish to hear everything there is to tell about Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore.”
Sylvanas clenched her teeth together.
“That would concern strictly personal matters that are not for anyone outside to know about.” Areiel made a good attempt at rebuffing the request even when caught by surprise. But even excluding strictly private details there were all too many that could very much be said to not be of exclusively personal interest.
“Dark Lady?” Kalira asked, perhaps whether Sylvanas wanted her troublesome visitors thrown out.
“So be it.” Sylvanas agreed darkly. “I am a woman of my word. It will not harm my people to speak of this.”
Only me.
***
Actually, Sylvanas had to admit that seeing the seasoned – or just slightly insane – dwarven envoy sputtering and gasping for air was a little bit entertaining.
“You kidnapped a foreign head of state?!”
“I did not kidnap her, Master Runar. The diplomatic mission to Theramore simply got a little out of hand and I ended up carrying her to my bed…I mean my hammock. Onboard. I could not leave her alone and unconscious on the docks in a stormy night.”
“And the kid needed a nap anyway…” Areiel’s voice was tinted with unmistakeable fondness as well as regret.
“You kidnapped a foreign head of state…” Runar echoed weakly. The way he leaned back in his chair brought to mind someone overcome with too much heat. “I need some air…”
“Indeed, a common trait of the living, I hear.” Sylvanas said dryly.
“Let us take a break.” Areiel suggested, and Runar and Halvdan marched out of the room to wrap their bearded heads around the finer points of Forsaken foreign relations.
Kalira, who had probably not heard the entirety of the sea journey retold except through Velonara’s whimsical anecdotes, had listened with great interest too. She was harder to read than Areiel when it came to her opinion of what she was hearing.
“I am sorry, Dark Lady…” she begun with a strange wry face “…but my judgement is leaning towards that of our dwarven guests. I am inclined to agree that you seem to have indeed have kidnapped Lady Proudmoore. How you so managed to befriend her afterwards mystifies me.”
Wasn’t this…odd? Where had their habitual rivalry gone, Sylvanas wondered? Kalira only exuded genuine interest, and she did not lie. She was far too tough to have to and too honest to want to. In fact, come to think of it, it had been a long time now since Sylvanas had thought of her as a competitor first and a dependable comrade second.
More than that. A trustworthy friend?
Further reflection was cut short when the dwarves barged inside again.
“Alright. Instead of holding an audience the intended ally was carried unconscious aboard your ship. Well. These things happen.” Runar said, still somewhat strangled. “Evidently. So let us continue. What happened next?”
It took a couple of hours, several dropping jaws and a pair of steadily rising eyebrows before Sylvanas had recounted the general chain of events that had led them to where they now were. Her listeners asked few questions, which were mostly about circumstances or terms they were unused to. They displayed a rather impressive, and loud, repertoire of swearing when Sylvanas told of the debacle of the Hearthglen negotiations and what had transpired with Cyndia, which she had to admit made them rise in her esteem.
The conclusion, though, was not easy to bring herself to share with them even in curt and sweeping terms. While she maintained that the blame rested squarely on her for how that disastrous conversation with Jaina had gone, she could not escape the unease that sharing anything intimate about Jaina brought her.
At least Runar and Halvdan did not nose around in that overly much, but stuck to more relevant particulars.
“May I ask…where do the two of you stand now, and what are the relations between Lordaeron and Theramore like after these events?”
Sylvanas remained silent. Brooding and dark.
Good question. Good luck discovering an answer to it.
“Have you had any contact at all?”
She could see Areiel and Kalira on the cusp of answering negatively and raised a hand to call for silence.
“She has written to me. I have not answered her letters.”
The dwarves blinked, looked at each other, and back at her.
“But…why?”
“As for how our nations stand I will not relinquish the alliance with Theramore and I will strive to maintain peaceful relations with the Kirin Tor and preferably cooperation in defence against the Scourge.” Sylvanas stated in a tone that brokered no disagreement. “I am fully convinced that Lady Proudmoore is of a similar mind.”
“But why won’t you bloody talk to her?!”
“It is for the best.” Sylvanas let know that the discussion was over.
Areiel was watching her intently. Sylvanas was just about bracing herself for more admonishment, for further criticism. But there was none to be had from her ranger captain this time. Areiel looked…compassionate. Understanding.
Sylvanas bit down on her teeth. She did not want compassionate. She did not want understanding. She did not know how to deal with those right now.
And to tell the truth she was getting mighty fed up with dealing with these bearded interrogators who seemed to have such a difficulty grasping simple facts such as that Jaina Proudmoore should be kept at a safe distance from unreliable undead that would only hurt and disappoint her.
“…the best? How could it possibly be for the best?” Halvdan was looking at her like she was a moon that had turned green.
“If you necessarily must pry, I treated her badly and will not burden her with my company more than necessary.” Speaking the words was like stone grating against stone. A wiser interlocutor would have taken the hint.
“So apologise and treat her good, then! Explain yourself, explain what happened, whatever you do –”
“You have had your answers as you have been promised. Was there anything else on behalf of Ironforge? Otherwise this audience is over.”
The Dark Lady’s tone was dangerous now. And both the dwarves made motions to rise.
“Coward.” Halvdan said.
“Excuse me?” The icy whisper would send chills down the spine of anyone.
“You screwed up and now you are too afraid of worsening it to do what needs being done to set things right. Who wouldn’t be? Still, coward.”
“Jaina Proudmoore is a noble woman with a heart that Azeroth does not deserve! And I will die before I see it hurt again!”
“Is that what ye’re waiting fer, holed up in here? I hope not, when so many loyal people are out there waiting fer you.”
“You overstep!”
“Probably. The perks of diplomatic immunity, one needs to enjoy it while it lasts, right?” Halvdan grinned.
“Where such customs are honoured the ambassadors also tend to be less rude. Do not push your luck.”
“Runar would heartily agree with ye. Although, one can also say, ye aint’ heard nothing yet, Oh Queen.”
“Oh, is that so?” Velonara and Kitala were not the only ones who could switch to a frightening amiability in a blink. “Well then, allow me to introduce you to an established local custom which all dark rangers could enlighten you about. In the Undercity everyone, even the queen, can be challenged to a round on the sand. We live in dangerous times as you know and even those whose trade is statecraft need to be prepared for all eventualities.” Sylvanas growled.
Now she was really angry. She would do right for her people, she would put her own feelings aside and do her best to forget her personal wants and wishes as she was always prepared to do – but there were
ing limits to what she could endure! And the rangers were one thing but being subjected to steadily broader Loch Modan accents and insults of a pair of half-sized jesters like these two was more than a queen should have to stand for!
“Half an hour. No weapons.” Sylvanas hissed. “Let us see whether that expensive outfit you dragged with you is just for show. Areiel can show you the way.”
“I will be there promptly. Just need to change into something rougher.” Halvdan smirked.
His appointed guide and Kalira glanced at each other.
“Dark Lady, don’t you tend to need ambassadors in one piece to maintain the embassy?” Kalira cautioned.
“One will suffice. We have dwarves to spare.” Sylvanas retorted with her gaze still fixed on Halvdan. “Don’t be late.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
***
Half an hour had done little to soothe Sylvanas, quite the opposite in fact.
Write to Jaina.
What gave him the bloody right to so much as think of what she should do or not?!
The benches of her arena were filled almost to the brim despite the short notice. Rumours travelled fast among bored and gossip-hungry Forsaken apparently, especially ranger squadrons shadowing irritating foreign dignitaries.
She did not see Anya among them. It was no surprise, and in a way it was a relief. And it was also an aching hole inside her.
She rarely, no, hardly ever, saw Anya now.
A bitter loss that she would delight in taking out on that black-bearded fool! The dwarf was just appearing by the other side in a loose and long dark shirt.
Sylvanas would teach him a lasting lesson in royal courtesy.
“Ladies and gentlemen…” Areiel called out at this opportune moment. “…this is a friendly sparring match between allies to hone our skills to use against mutual enemies. Therefore, for those yet new to the practice, I would like to remind anyone that we do of course refrain from fatal or permanently crippling strikes. Since we are comrades-in-arms who may need one another’s strength when we least expect it.”
She managed to cast a very pointed look at Sylvanas while offering this introductory briefing.
“Begin!”
Sylvanas stalked her prey. Those short legs would suffice little against a Windrunner.
“Bring it on, beardling.” she hissed at him.
“Show me what you’ve got, pointy–ear!”
Pointy-ear?
Sylvanas planted a kick against his shoulder. Halvdan grimaced but stayed otherwise unaffected.
“Half-Brain Blacksilver!”
The audience…cheered? Wild whistles and hooting had broken out, whether over the first hit of the match, the promising insults or the sheer audacity of a foreigner to challenge the Dark Lady. Whichever it was, it was good. A pointless distraction, but…it felt good. At least it was not scorn and detesting silence.
Sylvanas moved in for another attack but the dwarf was much quicker to react than she had honestly expected. Rather than dodging and avoiding like her rangers were trained to he crouched to take the quick succession of kicks on his arm, angled to deflect, and followed up by a serious attempt to grapple her foot.
Wasn’t this getting almost interesting?
“Sylvanas Windbag.”
Now just WHAT the heck was THAT?
The crowd roared with laughter while Halvdan stormed forward and let wild punches fly. But they were not so wild as to leave a lot of gaps in his guard either. Sylvanas danced out of reach like Anya would have – not now – and then she whipped up a sharp kick against his thigh for the trouble.
Legwork was undoubtedly the most convenient against targets of low stature.
“Carpet face!” Sylvanas shouted.
“Carpet muncher!”
For the shortest moment between moments everyone in the room doubted whether they had actually heard correctly. Then all the rows exploded and, well, dwarfed their previous bouts of merriment.
She was the Dark Lady. She was the Banshee Queen of the Forsaken and of Lordaeron. How dared that insolent, outrageous, scruffy-looking brigand of a –
“WHAT THE
?!”
“Yes, that is also one way to put it.” Halvdan grinned broadly.
Sylvanas lunged at him. Technique and style be damned, she needed no style to hammer that thug into the ground! But she was no less dangerous when she gave in to pure instinct and the dwarf back-pedalled before her with both arms raised in guard against the flurry of royal fists connecting from all directions.
“…or perhaps you have neglected your duties lately and that is why they are all so stiff and glum?” Halvdan panted. “Come on, if the thought has never crossed yer mind in this lovely company then ye’re truly as dead as ye claim.”
“There will be no need to tell Miniel of this conversation.” he added quickly towards Runar.
Miniel?
Sylvanas’ rangers laughed and clapped and whistled from the benches. And the noise was music to her. What did she fight and strive and suffer for if not for that?
Apart from putting uncouth scoundrels like that in their place, that is.
“Keep yer feet on the ground.”
Sylvanas kicked his guard up into the air and followed up with a crushing punch right in the gut.
“CRACK.”
“CLANG!”
She registered the two sounds at the very same time as her hand broke on the breastplate hidden inside the impractically loose shirt of her opponent. It rang like a bell as the dwarven rogue collapsed with a groan.
“Uuuh… That’s more like it…”
Aching pain was beginning to shoot out from her hand. Sylvanas was just beginning to take notice. Belore damn that…
Then Areiel was there sticking a healing potion into her other hand and waving Lyana over to administer a similar one to Halvdan, who had managed to sit up and clutch his head with a pained expression. It gave Sylvanas just a little bit of satisfaction to see.
“In spite of common sense and reason, I still think we may need both of you idiots intact.” The ranger captain shook her head at them while Sylvanas raised her flask in a toast and Halvdan unsteadily mimicked the gesture.
To be honest she actually felt calmer, as the potion coursed through her and at the very least dampened the ache considerably. She poured the last of it onto her knuckles and enjoyed its blissful chill and the strange sensation of her body regenerating as only the undead Sylvanas could. A lot of the anger had bled out of her and with it a good amount of ugly emotional strain and tension of other kind, if just for a moment.
It was almost like – but no, foreign dwarves were not supposed to know her, or any other of her people for that matter, well enough to predict what she needed. Or? Had they actually listened that much and that well to her dark rangers? They weren’t supposed to want to come flying back to you across half of Lordaeron either after all.
How much of a pair of fools were really those two?
Sylvanas was not so sure anymore.
She still had a score to settle with them, but… Her mind was working swiftly as a devious thought formed. Since these fine gentlemen had voiced such a concern for her rangers’ wellbeing…
“Well fought, Master Blacksilver.” Sylvanas declaimed curtly. “For this remarkable feat of underhandedness and moving display of concern for my dark rangers, I name you Honorary Ranger Champion and order you to instruct them in the same. Effective immediately.”
Areiel looked very, very oddly at her.
“Two conditions.” Halvdan grunted, still sitting on the sand but not the least bit dazed anymore. He held up two fingers as he named them. “Hurt Runar, and I will remove the un in your un-death. Break Alina’s violin, and I will break your bones.”
He eyed her hand most pointedly.
Sylvanas stared at him.
“Why the hell would I do something like…”
She looked around, at all her rangers and the few guardsmen who had caught wind of the event in time.
Was this how they saw her these days?
“Rulers that deny themselves too much, they tend to start denying it to others too.”
Nice. A week in my company and they fear me turning into a spiteful tyrant already. At least with my mage I retained the benefit of doubt for a couple of months.
The irony was sharp but it brought her no joy, thinking of her mage and what had transpired between them. Inconveniently enough she found herself looking right at Areiel, or if it was the other way around, before she struck the notion from her mind. She had ordered Alina’s precious instrument enchanted and protected with all that her mages could muster, had she not? And she was only half done with these bearded jokers.
“Further…” Sylvanas retook control with just a little raising of her voice. “…since it is out of commission thanks to you two, I name you my acting right hand until further notice.”
She pointed at Runar, and grinned inside at the shock that elicited.
Sylvanas’ smile was predatory as he approached uneasily.
“We would do well to present a unified front if we are to earn the confidence of onlooking realms beyond our borders. In order to defeat our mutual enemies everyone has to pull their own weight. There is little room for any freeloaders in my city as you know…”
The dwarves looked worriedly at each other.
“First order of business will be...many.”
Well, if that did not put them in their place suitably, Sylvanas noted with satisfaction. The eyes of all the crowd was on her now. She was in control. She was the Banshee Queen.
“Accepted. But I would like a ranger squadron as guard for something like that I think.” Runar answered, still bewildered.
“Deal. Do not think you would have gone without one to keep watch over you in any case.”
“And I also have one condition.”
“Is there no end to it… Yes?”
“Write to her.”
The Banshee Queen cast him a long glare. How long would they keep pestering her? And now Areiel was looking at her in that particularly discomforting way as well.
“Prepare to make yourself available to meet your assigned squadron tomorrow at noon.” Sylvanas commanded.
“If at all possible, I would humbly request Kalira’s squadron.” Runar lowered his voice. “Now go answer those blasted letters from the nice lady in Theramore.”
***
Sylvanas lengthened her stride a couple of corners away from the arena. So did the one following her.
“I know you are there, Ranger Captain. What do you need?” she said out loud.
“I need to talk to you. We need to talk to each other.”
“You are right. I will send someone to fetch Kalira and we can – “
“Sylvanas. Stop.” Areiel said with long-suffering patience.
Sylvanas let her catch up, not looking forward to anything that would be coming at all.
“Let’s go to your quarters, shall we?” Areiel suggested.
They did that. It was not far anyway. Sylvanas took her usual seat at her desk – it was too rickety for her to really be sitting behind any desk – and Areiel sank down in one of the chairs in the sparse but still cramped little room.
“Sylvanas…I am sorry and I wish to apologise.”
What?
Sylvanas was the one who apologised for things. Not Areiel to her.
“I am sorry for leaving you alone. When Jaina left I was furious with you, angry and disappointed. I may have had reason to be that, but that does not justify me staying away like this.”
“I do not recall inviting you.”
“No.”
An empty bit of silence, it was.
“I am not convinced a greater dose of your personal company would have been overly healthy for me. Or so the left side of my ribcage tells me.” Sylvanas shrugged, but even irony came out half-hearted.
“And you could have blocked that one with ease – don’t pretend to be able to fool me – but you didn’t. And that is where I should have broken that spectacle up. Blowing off steam or settling disputes on the sand is one thing, but when one of the parties lets herself take the hits she thinks she deserves to take it is another, and something that has no place in my ranger corps. Not even when it comes to thick-skulled Dark Ladies.”
“Thick-skulled?” Sylvanas at least glared at Areiel.
“Quite.” Areiel said carelessly. “And I if anyone should not be surprised.”
Again they sat and looked at each other without words.
“What was it that happened, between you and Jaina?”
Areiel was not unkind.
And Sylvanas no longer had the energy to argue. There was no respite in anything any longer. She was so tired.
“I was looking everywhere for her. When we noticed that she was gone. And that Anya was gone.”
Areiel nodded.
“And then, when I had just got back here, she just…just…stood there at the door like nothing had happened! I was sure she had died!”
“Why?”
“Because they were gone. Because anything could have happened to both of them in this wretched city!”
“And especially when you wanted so very much to reconcile with Jaina that you had spent the better part of the day rebuilding the library for her.”
“Yes! And then she just sauntered in and –“ Sylvanas had to stop herself. She was unravelling, she was coming too close to the wrong sort of anger.
“I understand.” Areiel just said. And Belore, she was smiling? Resigned, but still.
“You…understand?”
“For goodness’ sake, I know you, Sylvanas Windrunner. Who the hell wouldn’t have been out of her mind at such a time?”
“They had been at Windrunner Spire, Areiel.” Sylvanas said weakly. “To bring me a present.”
“Windrunner Spire?! How did they – no, stupid question, archmages go where archmages will…” Areiel still massaged her forehead fervently. “Anya barged in and started spouting all sorts of things about Loralen being found and Scourge or rogue banshees, that I must confess stole my attention fully. That…there were more of us, or perhaps could be. One day.”
“They could have been killed!” Sylvanas nearly yelled, completely undeservedly at Areiel but she did it anyway. “They could have gotten themselves killed for a stupid, pointless trinket!”
“Your old necklace?” Areiel only just now caught the golden glimmer by Sylvanas’ throat.
“Yes! And of course… Belore, it is no small thing, but what do I care about it if –“
Once again, Sylvanas bit down on the rest of what she wanted to scream out.
“…if one of them would have gotten hurt getting it.” Areiel finished the sentence for her. “Those two… Sometimes it’s like seeing Anya and Velonara at their worst again. With magic powers.”
Sylvanas did not correct her on the wrongful use of present tense. Seeing Anya and Jaina together was a joy of the past.
“I didn’t shout at her.” Sylvanas spoke with some difficulty, hoarse and dry in her throat. “I didn’t Wail. I told myself I mustn’t Wail at her. It was all I could not to. I…I did not know what – which ones of all the scattered words that rushed through my mind that I spoke out loud and which ones I only said in my head. And then – I said – I did –“
“Oh, bloody hell…”
“I thought in my mind how – how those closest to me held meaning, not the gifts they brought. Like her. That Alleria’s necklace meant nothing to me. In comparison. And instead -“
Sylvanas clenched her fists, she dug her nails into her palms beyond the point where it hurt. She spoke numbly, like every word was a verdict sealing her own doom.
“ – instead I said, I think I said, that my own mage meant nothing to me…”
“Oh, Sylvanas…” Areiel sighed deeply, closing her eyes momentarily. “Is that what Jaina thinks now?”
“Not entirely. I can not know for sure.” Sylvanas opened the most private of drawers and gave Areiel five much too read letters. “She caught on.”
“She did…” Areiel mumbled as her brows rose when she read through the first. “You will have a great deal to explain to her. But we’ll give you a hero’s funeral.”
“I’m not going to…”
“I am with our impertinent guests in that matter. Sylvanas. You need to make up with her, and with Anya. You will go mad if you do not, and you will eventually become a cruel queen I fear.”
“I let –“
“You let the other band of turncoats go too. And if Jaina was not on your mind when you were making that decision you can call me a toad-headed gnoll.” Sylvanas wanted to shy away from the way Areiel was looking at her. “You want to have Jaina and Anya back. Deep down I know you do. And they will want it too. Trust me, they will.”
“I miss them…so much.” The Banshee Queen’s whisper was now barely audible. “I miss them so it hurts, even more than my scar. But I am afraid – I am terrified – that I will make everything worse and hurt either of them even more. I can not seem to do anything right.”
In spite of it, she watched herself reaching for a sheet of paper. She was too weak to hold herself back. She was so very tired.
Jaina. Forgive me.
“You are doing it right just now.”
***
Anya was sewing. She was not as good as Lyana with thread and needle, but what did it matter? The stitches would keep the hooded cloak from tearing more. It would hold together enough. Long enough to be of use.
Long enough to be of use.
For something.
Whatever that would be.
She thought she had found herself a suitably hidden and undisturbed nook. And she knew her way around the nooks of the Lordaeron Keep. So when the door creaked – deliberately, so someone wanted to announce his or her presence, because you only had to lift that door up to keep it quiet – she was almost becoming close to annoyed. But only almost.
For it didn’t really matter.
Anya looked up, and saw Sylvanas of all people had come to disturb her. She tried her best to stare daggers at Sylvanas, and also at the stupid traitorous part inside her that tried to cry out false things that were very obviously not true.
Anya did not want Sylvanas to come here.
She did not.
“Hey.” The Dark Lady was whispering. Like she was afraid of Anya.
“What do you want?”
“I have written a letter.”
“So?”
“I am afraid that I will have said something wrong in it and that I will make it all worse when trying to make it better.”
“What’s that got to do with me?”
“I would…just want to beg you if you could proofread it for me.” Sylvanas said, so low and faded that she was nearly inaudible.
Anya was about to bite again but Sylvanas offered her the letter and the intended words died on her lips.
“I could…I could finish the cloak while you are reading. If…you want?”
***
Jaina dumped her travelling pack on the upper floor. She was not especially tired for one who had just covered all those weeks of journeying across rough terrain. Or through it perhaps, however you should classify arcane portalling.
She was fretful. She could admit that and be honest with herself.
She really should unpack her things first. At least air those clothes and put her valuable items back where they belonged so she wouldn’t step on anything by accident.
And she could do those things later too. And go straight to her study and close the door instead.
Jaina breathed in deeply. Her heart was hammering against her chest. How silly she was being.
The most…the most likely alternative was that there would be nothing. Like the previous times.
Once more she reached out with her mind and followed the lines and currents and paths she knew and could not explain completely to anyone else, further and further away. The long and winding path was becoming almost familiar to her. And there, so far away, shone Lordaeron with a small light that she had learned to recognize. It was a small dot in the wide world of Azeroth, not at all like the arcane beacon that was Dalaran atop its nexus of leylines. Like Theramore.
Just a half-sized portal. Set atop Jaina’s own desk, for she thought that was suitable.
She looked into a dark room wherein she could see the paltry desk that the Banshee Queen had to contend herself with and the wall right next to it. Anything else was out of Jaina’s view and the small light cast from her own room so far away. All was still and quiet.
But on that table stood a sack of sailcloth and next to it, so that someone looking at the desk should have a good chance to see it, a folded letter. The light was barely enough to illuminate the long and elegant handwriting of just two words.
To Jaina.
Jaina reached through to snatch the letter, quickly, for what if it would disappear into thin air the very next heartbeat, and hesitantly, for what if it would crumble to dust at the first touch? She put it on her own desk so very carefully and reached again for the sack of clothes that Pained had packed for her several months ago.
Only when she felt its weight against her leg and held the letter against her chest with both hands so nothing could happen to it dared Jaina let the portal close. She kept holding on to it while she opened her clothes sack. On top of everything, in a nest made of a spare shirt, lay a bundle of the finest square-patterned wool wrapped around something small and precious that Jaina knew exactly what it was. She put that on the bed next to her and managed to only tremble a little bit when she opened the letter.
The refined letters mirrored those on the address.
"Dear Lady Proudmoore,
Jaina ,
To my most admirable Ranger Mage ,
Dear Jaina,
I write to you to I wish to explain myself There is no beginning to this that
I do not know how to begin as you can see. Let me assure you first of all that I have received all five of your letters and keep them close at hand. I have read them until they risked falling apart and I knew them word by word.
I have not replied It is only out of concern fear of
I have not replied, solely out of fear that I would hurt you even more. Even as I write these words I dread that I will do so.
You deserve of course an explanation for the hideous despicable way I acted when we last spoke if one can call that speaking at all. You have every right reason to be angry with me. When you and Anya had gone missing I lost all sense and reason. I did not know if not know how long you had been gone and I feared you had both died in an accident inside the city or alone in some ambush in the wilderness around. I ran looking for you, everywhere in the Undercity that I could think of, and sent anyone I met to look elsewhere. Eventually I ran out of places to search and went back to my quarters to wait for the instance that someone would bring word about you. I was sure that I would never see you again and the last thing I had done would have been to betray and poison you. Then when you returned and just appeared as if out of the magic you wield it was all I could think of that I must not Wail or shout at you. And instead I only managed to utter some small and broken fragments of what I was thinking and which turned out more horribly wrong than any Wail could shouting could ever have been.
What I meant to say, what I was thinking more than anything and what I want to say now more than anything else, is that you do not mean nothing to me. My necklace, precious heirloom as it is, is what means nothing to me, in comparison to those I hold closest.
Like you.
And that, is what I believe I said backwards and wrong in every possible way and threw in your face when you have just risked your life to bring me a rare and thoughtful gift. I was raging inside over the danger you had put yourselves into for my sake and questioning whether my previous actions had provoked such a reckless course of action from the both of you. And instead of welcoming you back and cherishing the fact that you were alive and well I treated you in the coldest and cruellest way.
There is no excuse.
I do not think I deserve to ask for your forgiveness but I am truly, deeply sorry for all I have done to you. I would do anything I can to make it up to you but I fear to even put down these words here and now lest I cause you more misery.
Despite everything I still most humbly beg you to return if just for one more time to Lordaeron. Anya is inconsolable.
All that remains of my wretched heart breaks at seeing her so.
With my highest and most sincerely meant regard
Sylvanas”
Below was a line in a much simpler, almost childish, handwriting. At its end the ink was smeared into two splotches as if something had dripped on it before it dried.
Please come back to us. I miss you so very very mu*h Ja*a
It took all of Jaina’s self-discipline not to conjure a second portal then and there. She held the letter reverently and read it again, and again, and again, until she finally allowed herself to give in to the realisation that it was not a mistake, that she had not misread or misunderstood.
She hardly even noticed the steps coming up the stairs and the cautious opening of her bedroom door. Not even the lingering scent of forest from Pained’s hair.
“My Lady? Is something wrong?"
"No. Something is right. Something is right."
***
There was a difference in daytime between Lordaeron and Kalimdor. Jaina was not sure how great it was exactly but with Pained’s help she had deduced that it should be nearly a day. Morning was evening and noon was night on the other side of Azeroth.
It was a good thing regular travelling took such a long time, so you had the chance to get used to the difference!
Be at the oaks on the west side by the third hour past noon.
Now it was early in the morning, so early that really only lunatics (Pained, Tyrande, Areiel) actually called it morning, and Jaina was up and fully awake and dressed and anything but her usual self.
She stood with her bodyguard in thick clothes by the docks where they had gauged the coming dawn and guessed what Lordaeron time would be like at this hour.
“I go first.” Pained reminded her for the eleventh time.
“Yes.” Jaina patiently agreed once more. “Don’t trip on any root or something now. That would look silly.”
Pained huffed and drew the sword she carried on her back. She nodded at Jaina who begun casting a portal, a big and nice and comfortable portal to go through even for night elves who were tall as trees.
Pained stepped through it at once. Jaina barely had time to catch a glimpse of anything but white, though whether it was more than the portal’s sheen on the surroundings she could not say. The wait, even for the shortest of time, was excruciating.
“My Lady. You can come through. This place is safe.”
Pained’s tone let know that ‘safe’ was a view that was open to prompt amendment.
Jaina was through before she had finished her sentence and the portal closed behind her.
It was not the portal’s light. The world itself was bright white.
Jaina stepped into a dream landscape of glimmering snow and glittering frost. It was the finest Lordaeron winter anyone could ask for, and judging by the low light it was past the afternoon.
Yet Jaina could not care less at the moment, for in front of her were eight shapes in dark cloaks who stood up to meet her. Jaina’s ranger squadron together with Areiel and Cyndia and Velonara, without a single bow or blade between any of them. They were so still that they made Pained look outright harsh the way she kept her gaze fixed on all.
Who needed fire magic to become warm when all of them were here to meet her?
Sylvanas took a step forward and waited there. Waited for Jaina.
“Clea…my staff has missed your gentle touch.” Jaina spoke almost absently as she let her mage staff fly into the dark ranger’s hands.
Now they were both unarmed. And it mattered equally little. They could still destroy each other in the blink of an eye, should they ever want to.
“Sheathe your sword, Pained. We are safe here.”
Jaina kept her eyes on Sylvanas. Then she knelt and bowed, slowly and deeply.
I am your friend, Sylvanas. Whatever else you do, do not fear me again or my magic. Please do not fear me.
Sylvanas mirrored her. Deadly serious.
What now? Shall we compare notes from the fascinating study of our boot-clad toes? Unless we are going to propose to one another? No, Tides, focus! You have one chance to set things right here and now!
Jaina wanted so much to say what she wanted to say, and now she faltered from lack of words.
Just like Sylvanas had.
Then she would do without them.
Jaina stood up, and took up Sylvanas’ hand in hers. The Banshee Queen did not resist her, and Jaina placed it against her neck. Exposed. Vulnerable. Able to be snuffed out with just a squeeze from those fingers of unworldly strength. And safe.
Sylvanas’ hand was so cold against her. Poor Dark Lady. Jaina clasped it with hers and looked up into Sylvanas’ eyes. Now it did not feel so in a hurry to find those words. So of course they were at once easier to find.
“Someone wrote me a very nice letter.” Jaina pressed Sylvanas’ palm against her cheek where it was warmer. “I think that she was very brave in doing so. And I am very thankful that she did.”
“Are you not…angry with her?” Sylvanas whispered.
“I have been and perhaps I am still. But I am infinitely more happy to see her again and I want to invite her to come to me in Theramore. With all her friends.”
Sylvanas…shook. On a living woman her lower jaw may have trembled. This was something like it, but all of Sylvanas did. The Banshee Queen could smoke and blur with rage, when her banshee form wanted to consume her, but she never trembled. Until now.
“I think also that what I most of all will want to do is to forgive her and become friends again. But before I do anything else, there is a question that I have wanted to ask her from the first day we met.”
“An-n-ything.”
“Lady Windrunner, I believe your lieutenant is in acute need of a hug. Do I have your permission?
“Permission grant –“
Anya flew into Jaina’s arms with a wounded scream.
Tides, did dark rangers have no one to keep them warm around here?! Anya burrowed into her, underneath her chin, into her winter robes. Jaina wanted her nowhere else. She wrapped her own ranger cloak around the precious elf in her arms and let arcane heat course through them.
Somewhere behind her, a Kaldorei blade finally slid back into it’s sheath.
“Pained, this is Anya. She is…”
“…the sweetest thing I could imagine, I believe your exact words were.”
Re: [Warcraft Total War AAR] My Dread Lady
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Originally Posted by Alwyn
