Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It had been foolish.

Flashes of pink skin and white hair. Words that were more breath than voice. Choked noises that echoed in empty spaces.

It had been brash.

Cool stone under bare skin. Glowing eyes staring up at stars. Quirked lips that knew more than anticipated.

It had been exhilarating.

Slim fingers digging into cloth and leather. Sharp teeth against pulse points. The taste of honey and musk like strong tea.

It had been quieting.

Ocean eyes soft with knowing. Gentle touches through fitful nights. Words that need not be spoken stayed silent.

It had been for naught.

Whipping winds saturated with sand. Paling skin spattered with too much blood. A bitter wail that echoed louder than the clamor of battle.

Chapter Text

Negotiations about recent events in Nazjatar and the matter of Azeroth’s health and safety were, as always, tedious. And trying. There were precious few things Sylvanas Windrunner disliked more than sitting in a stuffy room with more than a handful of people who wanted her dead (permanently). Particularly when said handful of people were leaders of both factions. She found it near impossible to hold back her mercurial tongue, so it was no surprise when a well placed quip-and-smirk combo resulted in a low rumbling from the general direction of Genn Greymane.

Glancing in his direction, Sylvanas reclined further in her chair, tilting it backwards almost precariously as her feet rested on the corner of the table — a habit many had gotten used to in the meetings, though another great many continued to loathe her attitude. It’s better that way, anyway, she thought darkly.

Sylvanas was used to being the focal point of many of the leaders’ ire over the years, for one reason or another. She did not regret the things she had done — she knew they were necessary if she and her Forsaken were to survive in a world where practically every force around them wished for their end. When they were shunned and reviled by their former families, the Forsaken had turned to her for guidance. She was, after all, the one who saved them from Arthas’s command.

Surrounded by enemies on all sides, the Forsaken were hard-pressed to retake the lands they had owned in life, before the Scourge had come and washed through their forests and homes. Most believed those lands did not belong to the Forsaken, which was something Sylvanas wasn’t sure she’d ever understand. On the basis of hatred alone, perhaps she might. But these claims to the land made by the Gilneans and other humans of the Alliance were based on “rightful heirs” and some sort of moral high ground. Did it not matter that their families still existed? Did it not matter that they were still of sound mind and simply sought solace in familiar surroundings?

The issue, as far as Sylvanas saw it, was that the living did not consider the undead to be “alive.” They had died, so they had ceased existing — at least insofar as their souls and minds. It was hypocritical, as far as she was concerned. Many of them worshipped gods and believed in an afterlife of some sort, or at least a source of and destination for their souls. So, by the principle of that belief alone, an individual did not cease to exist after death. Why, then, was it believed that the undead were considered to no longer be themselves?

The answer was simple — Arthas Menethil. The Lich King. Ner’zhul. Sargeras. Sylvanas's taloned gloves dug into the wooden armrests of her chair, drawing the attention of Lor’themar and Nathanos who sat on either side before her. Lor’themar regarded her with a slightly raised eyebrow. Nathanos gave her a knowing, almost concerned look — as much as he would let show at a meeting such as this one. She responded to his look with a glare, a warning to leave it alone for now. She was fine. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

She tuned back in to the conversation to find Baine Bloodhoof and the boy-King discussing finer details and the things their people could offer one another in the upcoming campaign. That was fine. She had no interest in dictating such things anyway when she could be using that time to focus on her penultimate goal. Peace between the Horde and the Alliance was always tenuous and tense at best, when it had happened in the past as they dealt with a mutual threat. I wonder who will join me on my quest when all is said and done, Sylvanas mused internally, scanning the table.

Her eyes landed upon various Horde leaders, certain they would not follow her because of her goal. If they followed her at all, they would follow her because she commanded it or because her goal took their world down a dangerous path — which was possible, for sure, but unlikely. It was far more likely that she would not remain Warchief for much longer. Further down the table, the few Alliance leaders that agreed to be in the same room as her sat. They were even less likely to assist her, should she need it...except for one of them.

When Sylvanas's gaze moved to Jaina Proudmoore, Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, she was surprised to see the human staring right back at her. Even though the boy-King was speaking to the High Chieftain right in front of her, her gaze was fixed on Sylvanas. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow and Jaina seemed to realize she had been noticed, for she jumped slightly and a dusting of red bloomed in her cheeks as she looked away. Interesting.

Jaina Proudmoore, of all of the leaders aside from perhaps Lor’themar, was the most likely of any of them to assist Sylvanas — despite her ties to the Alliance. Though many of the leaders had experienced some form of loss in their peoples due to the Lich King, Jaina was the only one in that room besides Nathanos (and Lor’themar, to a lesser degree) who understood loss at the hands of Arthas Menethil anywhere near as intimately as Sylvanas did. Though Arthas himself had been defeated, Sylvanas could tell the anger and self-hatred he’d left in Jaina still burned, still drove her when rage became necessary. She was also one who collected the hurts of the past and used them as fuel.

Yes...when the time came to reveal her goals, Proudmoore would likely take interest. If that was the only help she could get, so be it. Jaina Proudmoore was the strongest of the leaders sat before her by far. It was entirely possible that was all the help that she would even need. The knowledge and skill Proudmoore could provide, combined with the smaller number of those accompanying her? Yes, she could work with that. In fact, she decided on the spot, she would.

She allowed her eyes to linger on the Lord Admiral as the boy-King and Bloodhoof continued to hash things out. What a truly fine specimen of a human, Sylvanas mused internally. There were few humans who had ever drawn or held her attention in any capacity — in fact, she could count them on one hand. She had respected others, sure, but only two had ever truly caught her eye.


Nathanos Marris — known in undeath as Nathanos Blightcaller — had been the first. Too talented with a bow for his own good, they hit it off in the field and had grown thick as thieves, though they did their best to keep that between themselves. It would do Sylvanas no favors for her, the Ranger-General, to be seen fraternizing with a human such as Nathanos. He was of no real note beyond his skill with a bow, at least not in any of the ways that mattered. But Sylvanas could appreciate his drive and his loyalty — which she found to be his most appealing characteristics of all. She knew he favored her physically, as well, and had even entertained his advances from time to time when no suitable query could be found. It kept his eyes on her. It kept him loyal.

When she first broke free of the Lich King’s control, her Rangers were here top priority. Yes, she wanted to free as many citizens of the Kingdom of Lordaeron as possible, but her Rangers had always and would always come first. And, since she had named him Ranger Lord, Nathanos was included in that group. As a human, however, he had been harder to find. He was not transformed into a banshee and used more directly by Arthas Menethil like the vast majority of her Rangers had been — he was just a member of the countless Scourge armies crawling their sickening way across various parts of Azeroth, doing his master’s bidding as one with a mindless hive.

She eventually found him in a truly piteous state. Having essentially devolved into a haunting presence that plagued his own former homestead, Sylvanas found herself truly mourning what had become of him. She had felt blessed in many ways that her Rangers could be so easily and fully restored, returned to their corpses and bound to them once more. But Nathanos...he would never be the same. He would never be the man he was, not even after the ritual that was later performed between him, his cousin, and one of her Val’kyr.

The corpses of the Scourge’s mindless dead were not preserved. They continued to decay and only random portions of their original selves seemed to remain in their bodies — just enough for the Lich King to command to the ends he saw fit. The fact that he recognized her at all was a miracle in and of itself. She had been halfway ready to give up with how many times she called his name, trying to draw his attention back to his sense of self — whatever remained of it.

Sylvanas was no fool, however. She knew that it was not so much his name as her face and, though distorted by undeath, her voice that he grasped onto in order to wrest his mind from the grip of the Lich King’s influence. His loyalty to and passion for her in life was what freed him and gave him purpose in death. She knew that she needed to embrace that in order to have him by her side again.

There were still glimmers of his old personality in that shambling corpse, though. And, as he was nursed back to independence and given the tools to succeed, his skill with a bow largely returned. What he lacked in nimble dexterity due to his condition, he well made up for with bloodlust and shrewdness. His dedication to her, though now based upon a desperate clinging to a vague memory of dedication, brought her comfort. The rest of her Rangers may have been as close to how they were in life as she was, but they remained largely independent souls with little to no interest in companionship, embracing the cold nature of their “new lives” and their continued service to her with a strictness Nathanos’ slightly less-composed nature did not have.

It was for exactly that reason that she named him her Champion in undeath. After seeing how easily the living turned their backs on their former kin, how each family had been torn apart by prejudice and how her people as a whole became ostracized, she found herself incredibly isolated. The continued care and service of her Quel’dorei Rangers made her feel less so, but it was Nathanos’ unyielding dedication that brought her the most comfort.

Under most circumstances, she would have found the way he hovered and clamored for her attention annoying — stifling, even. And oftentimes she did, sometimes to the point of anger and scorn. But in the Undercity, among the cold, clammy stone that even her Frostmourne-scarred, Northrend-tempered flesh could sense...a shadow of passion based on broken memories and a mutual need to feel less lost was something she could quietly desire. Though they would never be what they once were, much less what he once desired, his constant presence by her side was the one anchor Sylvanas had in the swelling seas of her rage and despair.


Jaina Proudmoore had been the second and only other human Sylvanas found in any way remarkable. She could sense the near-limitless potential in her when, during Sylvanas's living days, the human had visited Quel’thalas, escorted — no, more like paraded — around Silvermoon on the arm of Kael’thas. The poor man sought the human’s affection desperately, but Proudmoore was having none of it.

Sure, Sylvanas had never directly interacted with her, but she could sense the way the arcane reacted to the mage’s presence and witnessed the ease with which it flowed through her when she’d cast a spell or two. Proudmoore didn’t know Sylvanas had seen her, but she’d made an impact on the elf nonetheless.

Sylvanas knew Kael’thas would never have Jaina’s hand in romance — she knew women like Jaina Proudmoore. Perhaps not quite as full of powerful potential with the arcane, but...with a background that expected her to rise to a certain degree of success? And a certain skill set that could and would be honed far beyond the norm? All she had to do was look in the mirror and she’d see a woman like Jaina Proudmoore.

She had seen Proudmoore fight since Sylvanas's death and subsequent transformation into the Banshee Queen. Though her body was dead, she could still sense the raw power that coursed through Proudmoore’s body — and it had grown. Substantially, even. And, with a new appreciation for the beauty of destruction, Sylvanas enjoyed it all the more. Yes...a beautiful woman, ripe with power? Sylvanas was beyond and against such trivial things as elven haughtiness now, more experienced with and targeted by the very ostracization she used to perpetuate. Race be damned; Jaina Proudmoore was certainly worth the attention.


As the matters of the day drew to a close, Sylvanas kept an eye on the Lord Admiral. She did not want to lose sight of her — she decided at some point during the day that she would approach her as soon as possible. Sylvanas wanted to begin her work as soon as possible and she knew Proudmoore would be an integral part of that plan now. If she accepted Sylvanas's request.

Sylvanas was aware of how much of a gamble she was making in approaching Jaina Proudmoore of the Alliance. She was a sworn enemy, now nearly as hell-bent on revenge against her as Greymane, thanks to Sylvanas's ploy with Proudmoore’s brother. If this went poorly, her plans would potentially be — at least partially — exposed to every leader in the Alliance...and likely the Horde leadership, as well, if rumors of cooperation and unification were to be believed.

Strangely enough, she wanted those rumors to be true. One might not expect such a thing of a ruthless Warchief such as herself, much less from Sylvanas Windrunner in particular, but that tenuous unity between the factions was, indeed, what she was counting on. If they were to take on the forces Sylvanas was going headlong into investigating ahead of time on her own, they’d need it. And she needed them to get a different Warchief. Or some form of leadership. It mattered not, so long as it was no longer her.

The position of Warchief had served her purpose well. She simultaneously thanked and cursed whatever “spirits” had whispered to Vol’jin as he died upon the throne. She had never asked for that — though she knew there were rumors abound that she had influenced Vol’jin’s decision either directly or indirectly. No, she most certainly did not have any active or knowing part in that decision.

But Sylvanas knew an opportunity when she saw one and wasted no time in taking advantage of it. Though there were certain things she had to concede, given the public nature of her new position, there were more resources and manpower she could make use of than before. And she didn’t really have to answer to anyone, meaning her excursions and investigations and plans could stay entirely private — as ironic as that may seem, considering some of Vol’jin’s dying words.

That being said...things were changing. Pieces of the bigger puzzle were moving that prevented her from stepping away as often as she needed to in order to continue her work and research. And, as bonds between the Horde and the Alliance began to form underneath her, she was coming under more and more public scrutiny. Members of both factions began wondering where she was much of the time...and why Nathanos was essentially a stand-in for her at many of the larger events that unfolded recently, many of which she had missed.

If there was a way for her to abdicate her position as Warchief, some catalyst for her to step away or some forceful change in leadership without her simply stepping down one day (which would surely cause only more questions and thus ruin her goal of stepping out of the public spotlight once more), Sylvanas would take it. There were far too many places she needed to be all at once; it was simply unsustainable. Ruling the Forsaken and venturing to various ends of the known world was barely so — ruling the Horde on top of it all? Impossible.


Sylvanas followed Proudmoore through the halls and out into Dalaran proper. She wasn’t particularly subtle or secretive about it — scaring the Lord Admiral would not help Sylvanas any in convincing her to tag along on her endeavor. As the other leaders had all branched off on their own, it became clear that Sylvanas was not merely headed in the same direction. After turning a corner, Jaina stopped and turned on her heel. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow at her.

“Is there something you want, banshee?” The Lord Admiral all but spat at her, eyes flaring with a faint blue glow. “You’ve been trailing behind me for upwards of ten minutes.”

“Yes. I was hoping you and I could discuss something, actually,” Sylvanas replied with an even voice. Jaina’s eyes narrowed slightly as the blue glow in them faded a bit.

“What could you possibly have to discuss with me that isn’t just another scheme?” She asked, ripe with distrust.

“It’s entirely possible you may think it another scheme,” Sylvanas answered, matter-of-fact. “There’s no reason for you to believe any of what I have to say, but part of it does concern you personally. And our... shared history.” The last two words were spoken around a slight grimace, Sylvanas's tone darkening a touch. Jaina seemed to deliberate for a moment, her eyes shifting from one of Sylvanas's to the other a few times.

“Fine,” she finally replied. “But if you try anything, you’ll find yourself swiftly regretting it.”

“So be it,” Sylvanas drawled. “If it should so suit you, feel free to choose the venue. All I request is that it be entirely private and protected from prying eyes and ears. I assume you choosing this and seeing over the protections yourself would be more agreeable.”

Proudmoore made little more than a noise of affirmation before turning with a slight nod of her head to indicate Sylvanas should follow. Folding her arms behind her back, Sylvanas walked beside the Lord Admiral as she continued on to her original destination — a portion of the ledge on the outskirts of Dalaran, not too far from Krasus’ Landing.

It was out of the way, seldom ever disturbed, and an easy enough place to throw some wards up around them so their conversation would not drift far from them...and so Sylvanas could not simply throw her off the ledge to the Broken Isles below. She held no trust when it came to the Banshee Queen and her respect was dwindling as well as, with each passing event, she grew more and more convinced that Genn Greymane’s words were correct — that there was nothing left of the former Ranger-General of Silvermoon residing in that reanimated corpse of hers.

Once the wards were in place, Jaina turned to look at Sylvanas, that lack of trust written clearly in her eyes as they narrowed once again.

“Well?” She prompted. Sylvanas stepped up onto the ledge beside her, arms still folded behind her back, looking out over the Legion-ravaged lands.

“I’ve been working on something,” Sylvanas began. She’d spent most of the rest of the day figuring out how to approach the subject once she decided she was going to approach Proudmoore. But actually standing there on the edge, both literally on the edge of Dalaran and figuratively in the sense that much of her plan’s success could lie in Jaina’s hands once she’d put it out there, Sylvanas found herself hesitant — almost grasping for words.

“When are you not cooking up some plot?” Jaina’s impatience was unhelpful at best.

“It’s something that I believe you may be interested in, and something I could use your knowledge and skill for,” Sylvanas continued, ignoring the interruption. “I know it sounds unlikely. Far-fetched, at best. Originally, I was going to do much of the preparations on my own, presenting the champions of both of our factions with my findings in the future when it could not wait any longer. But it occurred to me earlier that most would not believe me or be interested, other than you.” Sylvanas watched some rocks fall away from a cliff into the sea far down below with feigned disinterest.

“Why would I, of all people, show any interest in your games?”

“Because it has to do with the Lich King.”

Silence stretched over them as Sylvanas's words hung in the air. Sylvanas made no move to look at the human beside her, though she could see in her periphery that she was staring at her. The first gamble had been made. What Jaina made of it would determine what Sylvanas would reveal next.

“Why would I want anything to do with the Scourge?” Jaina finally asked.

“You wouldn’t have anything to do with the Scourge,” Sylvanas began. She finally turned and met Jaina’s gaze, red eyes flaring. “We would be destroying them.”

There was another pause as Jaina processed that information. She searched Sylvanas's eyes. Sylvanas simply returned her probing look with a look of neutrality. Not exactly the haughty poker face she donned in meetings, but not anything exactly open, either.

“And just how do you plan on ridding our world of the plague of the mindless dead?”

“By cutting off the head of the problem and then cutting them all down.” A pause. Sylvanas turned her attention back to the Broken Isles. “Thank you for not including myself and the Forsaken among those ranks, as much of your Alliance tends to,” she added in a more subdued tone, though it still had a little bite to it. Then Jaina, too, turned to look at the Broken Shore below.

“It seems as though many of them forget working closely with many Forsaken during our time in Northrend all those years ago,” she responded, sounding somewhat far away in thought. “Or perhaps they were some of the ones still thirsty for Horde blood when we raided the Citadel. Either way, I am not so naive as to think the Forsaken and the Scourge are one in the same.” She glanced back at Sylvanas.

Sylvanas merely hummed in response, her face showing no outward indication that Proudmoore’s words had any impact on her — though they did, a little. They reaffirmed her growing conviction that the Lord Admiral was the most suited and logical choice to assist her.

“So you want to destroy the Lich King. You know there must always be someone up there on the Frozen Throne, right? And Bolvar was a trusted friend—“

“Bolvar is all but gone, Proudmoore,” Sylvanas interjected. “Have you spoken with any of the Death Knights since the Legion’s invasion? Do you know what he was having them do while we were fighting the leagues of demons?” Jaina remained silent, a little intimidated by the way Sylvanas had rounded on her, red eyes flaring and expression darkening. “It will not be enough simply to kill Bolvar, the figurehead within whose mind the Lich King now makes his home. I plan to destroy the Lich King himself. The curse within the Helm of Domination, the remnants of Frostmourne the leader of the Death Knight Champions now wields, and the very soul of Ner’zhul encased within the Frozen Throne itself. It will not be easy, but it will mean the end of the plague of the Scourge and the end of the cycle of the Lich King’s torment.” She paused, turning to look back towards the Broken Shore. “And, perhaps, some closure for those that were tormented,” Sylvanas finished quietly.

A few minutes passed as Jaina watched Sylvanas and Sylvanas watched the waves below. It was all in Proudmoore’s hands now. Sylvanas’s intentions, her final goal, and even a possible need for help — they were all out in the open, to whatever end Jaina determined she’d go for. But this had been a...somewhat calculated gamble on Sylvanas’s part. Jaina heaved a heavy sigh and looked down at the Broken Shore again.

“You know I have no reason whatsoever to trust you,” she said firmly. “Your actions throughout your rule as Warchief have been horrific. You betray trust and loyalties and have caused enough damage that people regularly call for your blood. That I regularly call for your blood.”

“I am aware,” Sylvanas drawled. “You’re welcome to use magic on me to determine whether or not I am telling you the truth. I’ve seen some of the Horde Champions that are mages do so with one another. It’s usually for a game, but I’m sure it would work just the same in official business like this,” Sylvanas offered. Jaina hummed, pausing to think.

“Very well, then,” Jaina responded after a moment. Sylvanas was right after all — she could use her magic to probe Sylvanas's mind and determine if she was telling the truth or not. There were Champions of the Alliance that did much the same. They even used it in interrogations sometimes in Stormwind — she knew because she’d trained a few of those mages herself during her time in Dalaran. Jaina turned back to Sylvanas. “Give me your hand, palm up.”

Sylvanas turned to face Jaina and held out her right hand, palm facing up as instructed. Hesitantly, Jaina placed her hands around it, one hand supporting Sylvanas's while the other laid atop it, the heels of their palms meeting and Jaina’s index and middle fingertips resting over where, were Sylvanas still alive, there would have been a pulse.

For a battle-hardened mage who carried what was surely a heavy staff, Sylvanas found Jaina’s skin was quite soft. And warm. It had been quite some time since she’d felt a living being. Most leaders did not greet her with a handshake or other such custom, especially after knowing her for some time. They were likely put off by her cold, uncaring facade. So to feel that soft, uncalloused skin against her own made her brows raise and her ears lift just the slightest bit.

Jaina, on the other hand, was caught slightly off-guard by the unnatural chill Sylvanas’s body seemed to give off. It radiated from her skin like a small aura, an almost-living thing that thrummed with Sylvanas’s energies. And, though calloused in all the places one would expect a Ranger’s hands to be so, her skin was still surprisingly smooth. Jaina’s only real experience with any of the Forsaken beyond matters of business back when they were all in Northrend was with her brother Derek — and, because of the turmoil that spread across Azeroth in the recent past, that experience was very limited. But she knew his skin was not as well-preserved and lifelike as Sylvanas’s was.

Jaina reached out with her magic into the resonance that Sylvanas’s mind gave off in mostly the same way she would if she were connecting with someone to share a given memory. All that differed, really, was that she was not subsequently projecting what she’d find. The process was a little intrusive, but she had always taken care simply to read intention and not seek out every corner of an individual’s memory — though she was tempted to with Sylvanas. But an individual being read like that was privy to exactly what the person reading them would find.

And what Jaina found was that Sylvanas was telling the truth. There had been research, and plans, and trips to places she had no idea Sylvanas had visited lately. It was secretive, but it all checked out. It was all in line with what Sylvanas had said, what Sylvanas explained she was planning. Not all of it made sense to Jaina, but she assumed there was history there in the research she couldn’t quite grasp with just a once-over of Sylvanas’s memory.

Jaina pulled her awareness back and grounded herself while looking at their joined hands. So, while the world called for her final death, Sylvanas was planning to strike down the Lich King once and for all. Jaina supposed she was right to do so, if the things the Death Knights in the Alliance had said about Bolvar’s actions were true.

It seemed that, while the world was concerning itself with the matters of defeating the Old Gods to spare Azeroth from their corruption, a whole other threat was brewing. With the Scourge growing, and whispers of changes in Bolvar himself, Jaina couldn’t help but admit Sylvanas had a point. And Jaina couldn’t even fault her for keeping it so private — for one, Sylvanas was not trusted or even well-liked in most cases. There would be no one apart from her Dark Rangers, Nathanos, and perhaps some of the more loyal Forsaken Champions who would help her. Not to mention the amount of danger anyone who helped would be put in.

“So long as the Lich King still sits atop his throne and the Scourge roams these lands, the Burning Legion will not be wiped from this world,” Sylvanas mused, breaking the silence that settled over them with Jaina deep in thought. The words caught her attention, though, and their eyes met. Jaina’s looked like they had a thousand questions swirling around in them — which Sylvanas considered to be a good sign, as she was not running and telling the Alliance immediately or assuming Sylvanas had somehow tricked her. She suspected they both knew that was impossible with that kind of magic.

“What do you mean?” Jaina asked. “I know that the Lich King was originally Ner’zhul, who had something to do with the Legion back in Draenor, but what does that have to do with Bolvar and the mindless dead here on Azeroth now?”

“They are all still connected,” Sylvanas responded. “Ner’zhul’s spirit still resides within the Helm of Domination and within the Frozen Throne. It still fights with and eventually consumes and transforms the will and the spirit of whoever wears the helm. It was believed that Arthas” — his name was said with a prominent sneer — “conquered Ner’zhul’s spirit and thus became the Lich King...but that’s not true, nor is it how the armor works. Ner’zhul was subdued for a time, but the two of them—“ Sylvanas paused. It was not an easy subject for her to broach, much less explain in detail. Jaina squeezed Sylvanas’s hand between hers slightly, drawing Sylvanas’s attention back to the moment and to the fact that her hand was still between Jaina’s. She looked from their joined hands to Jaina’s gaze with a guarded look and furrowed brow.

“Perhaps we can meet to discuss this further,” Jaina offered in an almost cautious voice. Sylvanas found herself caught off-guard by Jaina’s offer and thus-implied perceptiveness.

“Certainly,” she drawled as she carefully, with measured motions and a face schooled slowly back into a colder neutrality, drew her hand back from between Jaina’s. “I will not be lingering in Dalaran after tomorrow’s meetings conclude. Do you know the coordinates for Windrunner Spire?”

“I am sure I can find them on a map,” Jaina responded, knowing that asking Vereesa — or, worse, Alleria — would raise too many questions.

“Here,” Sylvanas said as she tore a small piece of parchment from a leather-bound journal in a pouch and retrieved an enchanted, quilless pen from there as well. In the near-immaculate penmanship Jaina had come to expect of the other two Windrunner sisters, Sylvanas scrawled the precise coordinates down and handed the parchment to Jaina.

When Jaina reached out to take the parchment, Sylvanas did not let go at first, bringing her other hand to rest atop Jaina’s. She met Proudmoore’s inquisitive gaze with a leveling look.

“If this is to work, you must not speak of it to anyone. If you do, I will know and I will show no mercy.” Sylvanas’s voice was low and cold. That wasn’t particularly abnormal, but this was somehow colder. The proximity also meant Jaina could feel the way Sylvanas’s undead energy surged in warning, literally making the space around her colder. 

Jaina looked down at where Sylvanas’s hand covered hers. She had no doubt Sylvanas meant what she said — she knew the Horde had eyes everywhere. And if it wasn’t a Horde spy, she knew there was both the risk of double agents within the ranks of the Alliance and Sylvanas’s Dark Rangers who slipped through the shadows as easily as a seasoned rogue.

She found, however, that she had no intention of betraying Sylvanas’s confidence. Who would she even bring it to? Anduin wouldn’t know what to do with the information. While Jaina respected him immensely and was proud of the man he was growing to be, he was still young and still taxed with two conflicts to manage. There were even small fractures in the cohesion of the Alliance for him to deal with. A third conflict and direction to send his forces in would be overwhelming at best. So, if not Anduin, then who? Genn? That would quite possibly be the worst idea. The stunt he pulled in Stormheim — which she’d only learned about because Anduin trusted her as family — made it painfully clear that he no longer cared about upholding bonds of honor or propriety when it came to Sylvanas Windrunner. Alleria and Tyrande were much the same, and Vereesa wasn’t far behind in her own conflicted heart. The dwarves and the gnomes both held a similar level of investment in the war against the Horde as the humans did, so they were out of the question, too. Who did that leave, then? Velen? With the entire rest of the Alliance up in arms over Sylvanas’s leadership and actions, he’d have little to no impact.

Jaina quickly realized Sylvanas must have counted on this. She must have known Jaina would have no one to turn to with this information or she wouldn’t have risked saying so much so soon. For all of the ways in which she was cruel and destructive, Sylvanas was also cunning and calculating. Jaina lifted her gaze from their hands to glare at Sylvanas slightly. Sylvanas’s answering smirk confirmed Jaina’s suspicions.

“If I’m going to help you,” Jaina began, tugging her hand from Sylvanas’s and tucking the slip of parchment into a pouch. “Then you’d be wise to remember that this help is voluntary. I will not be coerced or manipulated and I will not do anything that goes against the Alliance.”

“That is fine, Proudmoore. I had no intention of doing so,” Sylvanas drawled, turning to look out at the Broken Shore again. “After we get through that final meeting tomorrow, I will be heading immediately to the Spire. The sooner you are able to arrive, the better. There is much information to be shared and I’m sure you have your own knowledge to impart upon me.”

“I will head there with haste, then,” Jaina replied.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sylvanas could tell Jaina was staring. Studying her, perhaps, though the gaze felt more like Jaina was lingering than like she was trying to figure Sylvanas out. The only indication she gave of noticing was the way her ear twitched in amusement. Jaina seemed to snap out of wherever her mind was and she took a step back. Sylvanas turned around then, facing Dalaran — and Jaina. There was a faint dusting of red on Jaina’s cheeks. Sylvanas smirked ever so slightly, the only outward indication that she was pleased with how the discussion went, and walked past Jaina with a nod of her head.

“Shorel’aran, Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas lilted as she brushed past Jaina, their shoulders almost touching. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy catching people off-guard or making them feel unbalanced.

Jaina turned and opened her mouth to respond after a heavy moment of hesitation but when she turned she found Sylvanas had already practically reached the crowded streets of Dalaran. Knowing that calling after her would put their privacy at risk, she shut her mouth instead. She felt frustration furrow her brow and found herself hoping Sylvanas’s demeanor was more agreeable — or at least tolerable — when they met the next day.


The final meeting had ended quickly. Despite the cooperation of many of the leaders — and many of the Horde and Alliance Champions — there were still far too many differences, far too much aggression between the factions. They could barely work side by side to defeat Azshara, much less unify against N’zoth’s forces. Nobody wanted to linger and see those tensions rise.

Leaning against the wall of an alley she’d tucked into, Sylvanas reached into a pouch and pulled out a rough hewn stone. Turning it over in her palm, she traced the rune that had been engraved upon it ages ago. The edges on the engraving were no longer sharp, worn down by years of being carried on her person — in a pouch, in a pocket, it mattered not.

For nearly a millennium, it had been her hearthstone. Enchanted to discourage it from wearing down and breaking during long campaigns and battles, the only signs of its age were the rounded edges of the engraving and the fact that it was now almost taupe in color rather than the bright granite of a new hearthstone. Well, that and the fact that the paint that was fading in the engraved rune was green rather than blue. More than one thing changed after the fall of Quel’thalas, it seemed.

With a muted sigh, Sylvanas closed her eyes and felt the resonance of the stone’s power. The long-dead warmth that used to permeate the woods in what was now known as the Ghostlands washed through her. That was one reason she wasn’t terribly fond of using that hearthstone. It was bound to Windrunner Spire —- but it had been bound there ages ago, in a time before the cold swath of decay that desecrated the land had arrived. Ignoring the emotional... discomfort, Sylvanas reached out mentally towards the source of that warmth and, when it was almost intense enough to be overwhelming for her, she felt the stone’s magic pull her through.

Sylvanas opened her eyes, having arrived at the center of the courtyard, and looked up at the tower she once called home. A faint echo of the warmth that used to accompany that place lingered in her from hearthing. She scowled. She died, and so should her sentimentality. It seemed to linger, though, not unlike the banshee spirits that still drifted towards her any time she’d returned to the Spire since freeing herself from the Lich King’s grasp.

“Make yourselves scarce,” she addressed them coolly. “I will be meeting with one of the living here, soon.”

The banshees bowed and moved away, silently disappearing into the trees. And not a moment too soon, as Sylvanas felt the familiar sparking of arcane energy that signified someone about to teleport in nearby. She turned towards the source of the energy right as Jaina Proudmoore showed up, exactly at the right coordinates.

“Good, you’re here,” Sylvanas drawled. She nodded her head in the direction of one of the two smaller spires to the side of the main tower. “Come with me.”

Ages prior, long before the Scourge ravaged the land, the smaller spire had been home to a great many of her father’s projects. He was, after all, one who tended to get an idea that would not let him rest until he saw it start to tie together — perhaps he was the one mostly responsible for the way the Windrunner children tenaciously pursued whatever they set their eyes on. After, of course, the spire had fallen into disrepair. But in recent months, Sylvanas had restored it to at least a functional level on the first two floors.

Guiding Jaina inside and taking one look around the property to ensure there were no prying eyes, Sylvanas took the liberty to hold the door open for Jaina and lock it behind her once they entered. Jaina turned at the sound of the door locking but had no further reaction — she likely knew discretion was mandatory. And if she didn’t, her surroundings would have told her that quite quickly.

The largest room of the first floor, which the door from outside lead directly into, had been repurposed as something akin to a war room. There was a large table in the middle with maps strewn about it, and on two of the walls there were desks piled with books and scrolls. The curtains were drawn, and the room was dimly lit with magelights. Sylvanas strode with her typical affect to sit at one end of the war table, gesturing for Jaina to sit, as well.

Jaina somewhat cautiously approached, uncertain if she should sit across from Sylvanas or in a seat sort of next to her on one of the sides of the table. She opted, in the end, for the latter, which suited Sylvanas just fine — she needed to be able to show Proudmoore things she’d been looking at, and turning pages around for her to see constantly would have been annoying.

Glancing at the table, Jaina noticed that there were maps of Northrend, of Draenor, and...she wasn’t sure if they were maps or just depictions, but there were some that were unfamiliar. They all had been covered in Sylvanas’s elegant High Thalassian script, with lines pointing to various locations. Jaina had never learned much High Thalassian and remembered even less, but she could tell from a cursory glance that these were mostly notes on events that had happened in the past. History notes and their relevant locations. At least she could be certain that Sylvanas had not drawn her here under false pretenses.

“So,” Jaina began as she took her seat near Sylvanas. “You seek to destroy the Lich King.”

“Every last bit of him and his Scourge,” Sylvanas responded darkly. She paused for a moment to school her emotions into place. “I know that, hypothetically, I could have requested the aid of other leaders or some of the Horde Champions,” Sylvanas continued. “But the fewer I need to enlist for aid, the better.”

“And why’s that?” Jaina asked.

“Well. First of all, it’s obviously going to be dangerous. I’m sure no leader wishes to dedicate further resources to yet another venture right now,” Sylvanas began. She looked towards the map of Northrend, which she pulled closer to her. “Secondly, are you aware that Death Knights have been working with Bolvar as of late?”

Jaina nodded. She didn’t entirely see why that was an issue, until she remembered Sylvanas’s harrowing revelation that Ner’zhul was still capable of corrupting Bolvar Fordragon’s mind — and quite possibly had already.

“Then you understand I cannot allow word of this to reach him,” Sylvanas continued. “Bolvar shares his mind, or whatever may be left of it, with Ner’zhul atop that accursed throne. If they were to learn of my plans, they would find a way to stop them. Even if it meant widespread destruction, most likely.”

Jaina looked down at the map of Northrend. It was, by far, the one most covered in notes and lines drawn towards locations. There were more that were attached to Icecrown and Icecrown Citadel, specifically, than anywhere else. But that made sense. What Jaina was far more curious about were the maps of Draenor and the pages she wasn’t sure about whether they were maps or drawings.

“What assurance can you offer me that what I discuss with you here will not fall into others’ hands? If any at all,” Sylvanas asked, drawing Jaina’s eyes back up to her.

“I suppose my word wouldn’t be good enough,” Jaina replied, knowing quite plainly and obviously that it would not be so. “We could always draft a treatise,” she offered. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “I could sign it with ink I imbue with my specific arcane signature,” she clarified. “It would be easily identified by any mage who’s seen me cast. Which would mean I had clearly bound my word to what we drafted. And you could sign it with ink I imbue with your...energy.” She wasn’t exactly sure what to call Sylvanas’s power.

Sylvanas sensed Jaina’s hesitation. She supposed it was fair of the mage to not quite know what to make of her powers. Particularly as she began expanding them. It wasn’t just some simple death magic — it never quite was, but it certainly wasn’t only that anymore. But Proudmoore’s idea was a sound one. If it was in writing that was undeniably theirs, they could hold each other to it with the threat of violent repercussions.

“That should suffice,” she replied after a moment. “I’ll detail what I expect out of this and you can do the same. I expect any breach of this contract to be met with appropriate force from either opposing side.” Jaina nodded once. “Then let me explain, briefly, what we’re working with here,” Sylvanas continued. Jaina sat back slightly, her expression as open as she could manage in Sylvanas’s presence.

Chapter Text

Sylvanas surveyed the maps before her, wondering where to begin. Jaina, having once been involved with Arthas Menethil before his reign as Lich King and even witnessing the beginnings of the late prince’s downfall, likely knew more than anyone outside of the Forsaken would about the history of the Lich King. How far back that knowledge went and whether or not she knew anything of the newest Lich King’s rule, however, remained to be seen. Taking the map of Icecrown and placing it in front of Jaina, she pointed at Icecrown Citadel.

“I know you are familiar with the Scourge of Lordaeron and the events that transpired between then and when Bolvar Fordragon took up the title of the Lich King,” Sylvanas began, looking from where she pointed on the map to study Jaina’s features. She avoided mentioning the Menethil boy directly, both out of a great desire to avoid thinking much about the man-child at all and out of a slight respect for how Jaina had suffered by his hand, as well. Jaina nodded. “Do you know much about the events leading up to the Scourge of Lordaeron, the origin of the Helm of Domination, or any events that have occurred since?”

“Some, but not as much as I probably should,” Jaina admitted. “It’s been a long time and I try my best not to dwell on that part of the past.” Sylvanas gave her a look of shared sentiment.

“I can agree with that,” Sylvanas replied before picking up a quill and tracing without ink over one of the arrows on the map. “Let’s start with the Frozen Throne. There’s a lot more history there than you might think. It’s more than just a hunk of ice,” she continued. She picked up a smaller piece of parchment, one of the pages with some designs on it. It was hard to tell, without knowing what it was depicting, if it was a map or an illustration.

“This is the Twisting Nether. Or a crude representation of it, at least,” Sylvanas said as she laid the parchment over part of the Icecrown map. “Would you believe it if I told you that’s where the Frozen Throne is from?” She asked, a touch of teasing in her voice, as though she already knew Jaina would say no. Jaina took a slow breath before responding, not wanting to rise to Sylvanas’s bait.

“I would, though I didn’t know that before,” she responded, pulling the image of the Twisting Nether closer to examine it. “This is where the souls of demons go to regenerate and be reborn. I know there was a link between the Lich King and the Burning Legion via the involvement of the dreadlords, but I’m not sure what that means for the Throne itself. Particularly not now, since we beat back the Legion.”

“Is,” Sylvanas corrected. “There is a link between the Lich King and the Legion.” At Jaina’s confused look, she elaborated. “We vanquished the Legion from Argus and beat them back from Azeroth, yes, but the Burning Legion was not defeated entirely. We did not simply defeat one of the cornerstone leaders in the greater cosmos.” Jaina hummed in understanding. “It would take far more than that, and everything is far more closely intertwined than you’d think.”

“How so?” Jaina asked, intrigued by the notion that the cosmos and their composition factored into Sylvanas’s plans at all. Sylvanas placed the dry quill down.

“I’ll get to that more in a bit,” Sylvanas responded. “For now, the Throne.” She pointed at Icecrown Citadel again. “The story of the Frozen Throne begins with the history of the original Lich King.”

“Ner’zhul,” Jaina supplied.

“Yes,” Sylvanas confirmed, placing a map of Draenor over the two pages she’d laid in front of Jaina already. “How much do you know of his story?”

“I know that his spirit was bound to the Helm of Domination, that he was originally a shaman from Draenor, and that he had some involvement with the Shadow Council. That’s most of my knowledge, though, unfortunately. I didn’t have much involvement in the campaign into Draenor’s alternate timeline, or I may know more,” Jaina replied. Sylvanas hummed in acknowledgement.

“So, long before the Shadow Council or any of the events thereafter, Ner’zhul was the Chieftain of the Shadowmoon Clan. He was the closest thing to a Warchief the orcs had on Draenor at the time. His mate had died, and spoke to him through his connection to the Spirits. He was under the impression that she was the one to warn him of the threat the draenei posed to the orcs under the guidance of the naaru. But it wasn’t actually his mate. It was Kil’jaeden, posing as her, and he tricked Ner’zhul into attacking the draenei. There’s a bit more nuance to it than that, but that’s the base level you need to know,” Sylvanas explained.

“So Ner’zhul was lead into doing the Legion’s bidding.”

“Yes, essentially,” Sylvanas confirmed. “He was able to organize the other orcish clans of Draenor into making attacks on the draenei settlements at the behest of Kil’jaeden himself. He didn’t take heed of the uncanny resemblance between Kil’jaeden and the draenei for some time. Not until he had seen many a draenei and felt his connection to the Spirits waning.”

“I take it Kil’jaeden did not take this discovery kindly,” Jaina mused.

“No, though it was not Ner’zhul himself that tipped Kil’jaeden off that the gig was up. Ner’zhul sought out the ancestors of Oshu’gun and it was there that the actual spirit of his mate told him he’d been deceived. Ner’zhul, of course, declared he would no longer follow Kil’jaeden and resolved to defy him. What he didn’t know, though, was that Gul’dan had followed him to Oshu’gun and overheard everything.”

“Gul’dan,” Jaina murmured, slightly surprised the old orc’s name had come up again. Though, after a moment, she realized it really only made too much sense that Gul’dan was involved. The orc had been, after all, at the very epicenter of all things Shadow Council and Fel when it came to the orcs. Sylvanas nodded slightly.

“Now, both Ner’zhul and Gul’dan were power-hungry. Gul’dan, with this new information, saw an opportunity. Kil’jaeden was quite obviously powerful on a level none of the orcs could attain on their own. We both know a bit about Gul’dan’s rise to power and his part in getting the orcs to drink the blood of Mannoroth, I hope. All of this is boring enough without going into that tale,” Sylvanas explained, a touch of her typical sarcasm slipping in at the end.

“Yes, I’m familiar with Gul’dan’s history,” Jaina confirmed. She’d heard quite a bit of it from Thrall, actually. Go’el. She briefly wondered how he’d been in recent times, since he moved to the home he longed for with his wife. She was still angry with him, still felt abandoned by him, but a part of her would always want the best for him, too. Maybe someday she could forgive him, but not yet.

“Good,” Sylvanas replied simply. “So you know Gul’dan took Ner’zhul’s position and Ner’zhul was stripped of his power, and so on.” Jaina nodded. “Eventually, Ner’zhul acquired a select few relics. These are important to what happened to him. He took the Skull of Gul’dan, the Book of Medivh, the Jeweled Scepter of Sargeras, and the Eye of Dalaran. He wanted them in order to execute a plan with Teron Gorefiend,” Sylvanas explained. “Gorefiend has a great many implications for the history of Azeroth, but we aren’t going to be focusing on that. What is of interest to me is Gorefiend’s involvement in Ner’zhul’s plans and his possible affiliation with Illidan.”

“Illidan?” Jaina interjected. She was beginning to see what Sylvanas meant by events and individuals all being deeply intertwined. Illidan’s history with the Legion was obvious, it was essentially what defined his life. But she didn’t know that had anything to do with the birth of the entity known as the Lich King. Sylvanas hummed in confirmation.

“Illidan...no one quite knows why Gorefiend was allowed to linger within the halls of the Black Temple, and a possible affiliation with Illidan is all we’ve been able to discern from that information.” Sylvanas paused, bringing the map of Icecrown back to the top. “It’s easy to forget, with his crusade against the Legion via Argus so prominent in our memories, that he actually launched an attack on the Frozen Throne. On all of Northrend, truly.” A look of recollection passed over Jaina’s features.

“It was his attack that began to weaken Ar— the Lich King's hold over the Scourge,” Jaina responded, demonstrating her knowledge of the attack. Sylvanas nodded.

“We can talk about what Illidan’s actions have to do with my plans later. Teron Gorefiend, on the other hand, played a crucial role in Ner’zhul’s transformation. Ner’zhul tasked Gorefiend with recovering two of the relics he needed. A lot of those details are unimportant to my plans, but what Ner’zhul did with those relics — and what they did to him — is what turned him into what he is today. The Skull of Gul’dan was the most impactful because it began to affect Ner’zhul directly. From what we can gather, it would seem that Gul’dan was somehow speaking to Ner’zhul through the Skull, planting thoughts and ideas in his head that made him care only about power, not the wellbeing of his people. He began to open portals across Draenor because he and Gorefiend were looking for more planets to conquer. He forced his followers through, abandoning the orcish Horde, and the energy he used to make all those portals tore apart the planet.”

“The birthing of Outland. I’m somewhat familiar with it,” Jaina supplied.

“Yes, exactly. But what happened after Ner’zhul went through one of those portals is where the story of the Lich King begins. When he went through one of the portals, Kil’jaeden captured him.” Sylvanas brought the image of the Twisting Nether back to the top of the pile. “It seems that, with the destruction of Draenor, Ner’zhul was escaping into the Twisting Nether. This would have been where Kil’jaeden captured him, presumably. Kil’jaeden tortured Ner’zhul and tore his body apart while keeping his spirit intact.” Sylvanas’s expression darkened at the thought. It was not entirely unlike what Arthas did to her when he denied her a clean death. The memory made her clench her fist but, with a slow breath, she composed herself and continued. “I’m not sure if he was forced into servitude again or if he was offered an ultimatum but, after the torture, Ner’zhul’s spirit was bound to the suit of armor and the Frozen Throne to be the ruler of the undead for Kil’jaeden himself.”

The parallels between what happened to Ner’zhul and what happened to Sylvanas were not entirely lost on Jaina. She may not have known exactly what happened when Arthas killed and raised Sylvanas, but she knew that the soul of the Ranger-General was forever changed by the things she’d endured over the years, twisted into something almost unrecognizable. The difference was her body was not destroyed. No, it was left entirely intact. Jaina tried not to think about the implications of that.

“So, what, Kil’jaeden just encased his spirit in a block of ice and put it on Azeroth?” Jaina asked.

“Essentially, yes,” Sylvanas replied. “As funny as that sounds.” Jaina had to admit it did sound a little funny, though it was a touch of darker humor than she’d normally entertain. But, then again, this was Sylvanas she was talking to.

“From what I understand, Ner’zhul then started sending out dark messages, telepathically from within the Frozen Throne,” Jaina prompted, wanting to get through the briefing so she could sign the contract and leave as soon as possible. While Sylvanas’s company had not been unpleasant, she was still hesitant to spend much time around the Banshee Queen.

“Yes,” Sylvanas concerned. “Ner’zhul managed to use his strength to expel Frostmourne from the block of ice and began to lure those susceptible to those calls towards him.” Sylvanas averted her gaze, looking at the map of Icecrown. “You know what happened after that,” she practically murmured, narrowing her eyes. Jaina took a slow breath.

“I do,” Jaina replied, looking at the map of Icecrown as well. Sylvanas didn’t say anything else for a minute, the quiet between them not entirely awkward but not an easy silence, either.

“Look,” Sylvanas finally said, her voice ever so slightly rougher than before. “I have laid out much of the groundwork for this endeavor already. I’ve put things into motion that will aid me along the way. What I need help with is determining just how far we need to go to destroy Ner’zhul’s spirit and end the existence of the Lich King as well as tracking down a couple of artifacts I’ll need to tip the scales further in my favor. There are consequences to this path, though, that you should be made aware of before we draft and sign anything.”

“Consequences beyond the Scourge no longer having a master?” Jaina asked, knowing Sylvanas had said she intended to cut down the Lich King and then the Scourge, a task which seemed relatively daunting in and of itself.

“Yes,” Sylvanas replied without hesitation. “There are events that were set in motion a long time ago that destroying the things that house Ner’zhul’s soul will catalyze the final stage of.” Jaina looked at her with suspicion, feeling wary of what Sylvanas could have up her sleeve — what sort of catch she was about to present.

“And those would be?”

“The Lich King is in a place partially in the living world and partially in the Shadowlands, neither fully dead or alive, allowing him and whoever his host is to see into the Shadowlands,” Sylvanas explained. “Destroying the artifacts that house Ner’zhul’s spirit, and destroying Ner’zhul himself, will likely affect that positioning. When you combine that with the number of souls it would likely release from those artifacts, it would likely have an effect on the veil between the realms of the living and the dead — Azeroth as we see it right now and the Shadowlands themselves.” Jaina frowned.

“What sort of implications would that have for our world?” She asked.

“Many. But they are all necessary and all will eventually work to fix what both Kil’jaeden and the Titans did to the natural order of life and death.” Sylvanas paused for a moment. “I know you have no reason to trust me, but do try to believe me when I say I would not do this if I thought it would make things worse for our world.”

“You’re right,” Jaina replied almost flippantly. “I don’t trust you. I’m not sure I ever will. But I do believe what you’ve said has some merit to it. The institution of the Lich King was nothing even close to natural and has not been well-tolerated by our planet. There have been catastrophic consequences. What affecting the veil between Azeroth and the Shadowlands means, exactly, I’m not sure, though.”

“It would allow for travel into the Shadowlands,” Sylvanas responded. “Without death.”

“And one would want to do that... why?” 

“To help restore natural order.”

Jaina and Sylvanas stared at one another for a moment, each reading the other’s eyes carefully. It all made at least a bit of sense, which sort of irked her. She wanted to be able to find a reason not to go along with Sylvanas’s plans. Going along with them made her complicit in whatever occurred along the way, particularly if they made a document she signed.

“If you manipulate me, banshee—”

“I’m not,” Sylvanas interjected plainly. “If I could do this on my own or had someone else who could do it, don’t you think I would have done so or sought them out already?” She asked. “Why would I risk this information spreading throughout the Alliance?” 

“Fine,” Jaina responded. “I will help you, provided that you are transparent with me throughout the process and that you explain how this all ties in as we go.”

“You can stipulate that in the document, if you so wish,” Sylvanas said as she stood fluidly to go get some fresh parchment for Jaina to write on. Jaina watched her movements, noting — and not for the first time — that death had not diminished any of the grace a Quel’dorei such as Sylvanas would have had in life. She blinked and averted her eyes as Sylvanas turned back around, a faint dusting of red coloring Jaina’s cheeks.

Sylvanas smirked a little, having just barely caught Jaina’s blush. She can watch if she wants, Sylvanas thought to herself, roaming her own eyes over Jaina’s form as the human pointedly stared at the maps on the table as if she was trying to intentionally avoid looking at Sylvanas.

That would, perhaps, be the one thing that was difficult about working with the Lord Admiral other than her position in the Alliance — Sylvanas had no issue with admitting to herself that Jaina Proudmoore was beautiful, for a human. She was beautiful and she was powerful, a combination Sylvanas had always been enticed by. It was how she had chosen some of her Rangers for her troupe when she was alive (and why she bedded a few of them over the years, perhaps more than once in a couple of cases).

Jaina finally returned her gaze to Sylvanas, surprised to find the Banshee Queen seemingly studying her. Sizing her up, perhaps? Determining whether or not she truly wanted to go through with this, whether or not she really wanted Jaina’s assistance, before they created the document and were bound to their word? Jaina was not sure, but she cleared her throat nonetheless.

Sylvanas’s ears quirked up in slight surprise at the sound of Jaina clearing her throat. She was glad she could no longer blush, unlike the human had earlier. It made her poker face all the more effective when she schooled her features into neutrality. She took the last two steps back to her seat, placing the parchment, a quill pen, and an inkwell in front of Jaina before leaning back in her seat a bit with feigned nonchalance.

“The most important part of this document, really, is that neither of us are to speak to anyone who is not involved about this,” Sylvanas drawled. “It will, of course, be unavoidable for some of my Dark Rangers to know of your involvement, as I will likely have a couple of them accompany us from time to time if we are to put ourselves in any danger.” Jaina sighed begrudgingly.

“Fine,” she replied as she began to draft the agreement. “Are there, perhaps, select Rangers you could name, to minimise the number of eyes who see us working on this?” Jaina asked, pausing her writing to glance up at Sylvanas, who hummed quietly.

“I can limit it to four, if that should so suit you,” she offered.

“Four?”

“Yes, four. For anything that requires more than one or two of us but not all, that is the number we are working with,” Sylvanas explained, raising one eyebrow as if daring Jaina to challenge her on it. Jaina narrowed her eyes slightly before dipping the quill in the inkwell and turning her attention back to the parchment.

“Then which four will it be, Dark Lady?” Jaina asked, her tone a touch snide. Sylvanas chuckled.

“I could get used to hearing you say that,” she murmured almost teasingly. Jaina rolled her eyes, unwilling to rise to the bait. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at Jaina, though she knew it wouldn’t be seen. “Spoilsport. If we need them, I will call upon Alina, Velonara, Kalira, and…” Sylvanas paused, thinking. “Cyndia,” she decided after a moment.

“All right,” Jaina responded, finishing scrawling the names down. Sylvanas regarded Jaina, making a rather quick decision. 

“You are welcome to enlist the aid of one Alliance champion, if you feel they can be trusted,” she added on. Jaina looked up at her with one eyebrow raised, surprised Sylvanas had suggested such a thing. “I still cannot risk this information falling into the wrong hands, so choose wisely. They will have to forfeit any other tasks they are currently charged with and spend their time entirely in the presence of myself and the four aforementioned Rangers,” she stipulated. “I would ask that you do the same as much as is possible for your station, though I know you likely cannot disappear for unexplained lengths of time. That boy-king of yours keeps you close.”

“His name is Anduin,” Jaina murmured indignantly. “If I am to bring a champion and subject them to your presence for so long, and if you are to bring your Rangers,” she continued, her voice at a normal volume, “I’d like them to sign similar documents or add their signatures to this one.” Sylvanas tilted her head down ever so slightly in acknowledgement.

“A fair enough request,” she responded. “Do you have anyone in mind?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Jaina replied.

The champion in question had been one of her most trusted and loyal champions throughout her return to Kul Tiras and the events thereafter, having gone so far as to venture into Thros with Jaina’s mother. She was staunchly Alliance and had been for longer than Jaina’s own lifetime, though those loyalties seemed dictated more specifically by a combination of who she deemed worthy of them and wherever Shandris Feathermoon ventured. Jaina knew there would likely be a hint of tension between the champion and Sylvanas, as she was Kaldorei and had been more than happy to carry out any duty the Alliance so asked of her in retaliation during the war campaign thus far. Jaina hoped that tension served as further fuel for her to protect Jaina from whatever they were to face, including Sylvanas and her Rangers if need be.

“And they would be?” Sylvanas prompted, drawing Jaina out of her thoughts.

“The Kaldorei Huntmaster, Celesste,” Jaina replied. Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at Jaina. She knew of Celesste. She had been a thorn in Nathanos’s side the entire time he had been stationed in Darkshore after the burning of Teldrassil, countering his advances at every turn. She’d been there for one of the first spats between the Kaldorei and the Horde invasion force thereafter. The name was not unfamiliar, not by a longshot.

“Surely, you’re picking her to spite me,” she responded.

“No, though the thought did cross my mind. Rather, she’s likely the champion I trust most. Her race means next to nothing,” Jaina countered.

Sylvanas stayed still for a moment longer, studying Jaina’s eyes. Was there truly no ploy there? A member of the Kaldorei who’d been so involved in the war campaign, who’d come close to seriously harming Nathanos when Whisperwind had gone on her first search for vengeance. The memory of the Val’kyr she’d lost that day made her expression darken further as her grip on her armrest tightened enough for the wood to creak in protest.

“How are you so sure she can be trusted?” Sylvanas asked, the threat in her voice rather obvious.

“She has been committed to my aid most specifically in the past two years,” Jaina replied simply. “Her priority is always to see a job to its completion and the commitment she has shown is fierce.”

“Sounds like a Sentinel,” Sylvanas replied, derisive.

“Perhaps at one time, long ago,” Jaina conceded, knowing the champion’s dedication to Shandris Feathermoon spoke to that background clearly enough. “If she was, however, she has shown no continuation of that position as long as I have known her.” Which, granted, had not been a terribly long time, particularly not by elven standards. But it was something, at least.

“Fine,” Sylvanas quipped. “If you can convince her to aid us and sign this document, binding her to her word, your little Kaldorei Huntmaster can accompany us.”

“Must everything you say about any member of the Alliance be some form of thinly-veiled, derisive insult?” Jaina asked, a touch exasperated. “If you’re trying to make me feel inclined to aid you, I think you’d do well in not antagonizing me so.” Sylvanas chuckled in response.

“Now, where would the fun in that be?” Sylvanas replied, a slow smirk settling on her features. Jaina scoffed, rolling her eyes before returning her attention to drafting up the document. It was a simple nondisclosure contract, really, and didn’t take long to finish.

“I will imbue my signature with my energy, and we can imbue yours with your own. Your Rangers and my champion, I suppose, will have to add a drop of their blood.” She paused. “If...your Rangers have blood to give.”

“I believe your kind calls it ichor, but it is their blood. Just as what my veins contain is blood of my own,” Sylvanas explained, sounding a bit detached. She didn’t particularly enjoy such stark reminders of the fact that her heart no longer beat and blood no longer truly ran through her veins. There was, after all, only so much function even the strongest magic could really, permanently, sustainably return to her body.

“As long as a drop can be added to the ink and it is uniquely theirs, it will do,” Jaina replied. The quill and Jaina’s eyes began to glow a faint blue, the arcane almost palpable even to Sylvanas’s undead senses. Her ears pressed back ever so slightly as she tried not to appear very interested as Jaina scrawled her signature at the bottom of the page.

The blue fading from the quill and Jaina’s eyes alike, she passed both the quill and the document towards Sylvanas. Sylvanas took the quill from Jaina’s fingers easily, though their fingertips brushed in the transfer and the residual arcane that lingered on the surface of Jaina’s skin was still noticeable. Sylvanas, however, made no outward indication that she could sense it as she dipped the quill in the inkwell carefully.

Sylvanas’s eyes seemed to glow faintly, their ruby irises flaring crimson as wisps of shadow curled around her pale, purple-grey skin. Jaina couldn’t quite tell if the smoky energy was emitting from Sylvanas’s skin or merely materializing around it, and she found herself curious as to how it exactly worked. Perhaps she’d get a chance to study it, to learn more about her enemy while they temporarily worked together. The shadow trailed down into the quill and, after a brief once-over of the document, Sylvanas signed her name beside Jaina’s.

The energy dissipating into the air and Sylvanas’s eyes dimming, she placed the quill down gently. She looked over their signatures briefly, still able to sense the arcane in Jaina’s signature. She wondered if her energy was similarly detectable to Jaina, or if she was only aware of it because she knew her own powers intimately.

“So,” Jaina said, breaking the momentary silence. “I’ll speak with Celesste and you will gather your chosen Rangers. When should we reconvene here?” She asked. Sylvanas hummed.

“The day after tomorrow, at twilight,” Sylvanas responded, not bothering to ask if that worked for Jaina. It would simply have to. She stood, then, looking at Jaina expectantly. Jaina took the hint and rose, as well, beginning to walk towards the door. “One more thing, Proudmoore,” Sylvanas called out before Jaina could get very far. She closed the distance between them until they were about a foot and a half apart.

“Yes, Windrunner?” Jaina responded, narrowing her eyes as Sylvanas’s eyes ran up and down her form.

“Find something a bit less... Alliance to wear, would you?”

“Absolutely not,” came the nearly-spat response as the Huntmaster, decked out in full 7th Legion regalia, paced from side to side in front of Jaina’s desk restlessly. The feathered trim on her armor rustled with every agitated step she took. A huff that sounded suspiciously close to some sort of agreement came from the wolf sitting to the side, her deep navy fur crackling with energy from time to time. Jaina sighed.

“Who else am I supposed to ask?”

“Certainly someone whose home wasn’t torched by that madwoman,” Celesste responded coolly, stopping and crossing her arms. She impatiently flipped the short crop of white hair to one side with a flick of her head, some of it falling back down into her view because her ears were pressed back too far to hold any of it.

“I don’t trust many with my safety this much, Celesste,” Jaina implored. “Surely you know that by now.”

The elf in question narrowed her eyes at Jaina, the dark irises reminding Jaina, briefly, of Sylvanas because of the spark of annoyance she saw therein. Celesste drummed the fingertips of one hand on her other bicep, the only discernible noise in the room for a moment besides the deep breaths she took as she tried to maintain her composure. Jaina didn’t break eye contact with the champion, even as the wolf in the room padded over to her master and nudged her thigh with her muzzle.

Celesste, without breaking eye contact either, brought one hand — the one not drumming in frustration against her chainmail — down to scratch behind the wolf’s ear absentmindedly. She shifted her weight from one hip to the other before sighing heavily.

“Why?” She asked. Has she even blinked? Jaina found herself wondering.

“Why do I trust you, or why am I meeting with the Warchief tomorrow?” She asked.

“Why are you meeting with the Banshee?” Celesste clarified.

“Because, as much as I loathe it, she is one of the few who knows enough about the subject to stand any real chance at solving the issue.”

“And why all the secrecy?”

“Because if you won’t accompany me, there are individuals within the Alliance who would work against solving the problem. People who are part of the problem. The fewer who know, the better.” And that wasn’t a lie, not at all. Celesste raised one eyebrow.

“I believe you, Lord Admiral, I just don’t think I’m best suited to the job,” she responded, her tone a bit more level.

“Conversely, I think you best suited for it,” Jaina countered. “You’re one of the best marksmen the Alliance has seen outside of the Windrunner family. You’d be best suited to counter the Warchief’s Dark Rangers should they try anything. And you have history working against them in Darkshore,” she pointed out. Celesste stopped scratching her wolf’s ear to cross her arms fully again, her fingers stopping their drumming.

“There is some very bad blood there,” Celesste replied, her voice as dark as Jaina had ever the typically-smooth and lilting alto sound. She looked at the champion apologetically.

“I know. Trust me, I do. But the only others I’d trust with this are either in Nazjatar or Mechagon right now.”

“I was in Nazjatar until I got your expedited mail,” Celesste reminded her.

“But you chose not to be among the first wave that was sent into the Eternal Palace,” Jaina pointed out.

Celesste closed her eyes and took a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm. She liked the Lord Admiral. Recently, more than she’d liked the Alliance delegates King Anduin had stationed in Kul Tiras. Shaw and Wyrmbane were less than helpful and, well...King Greymane’s interpersonal skills left much to be desired, if she was being honest. The Lord Admiral and Shandris were really the only two around she felt much of an obligation to help as of late, and Shandris had been busy trying to get in contact with Tyrande. She counted to ten before opening her eyes again, folding her hands behind her back.

“Lord Admiral, you know my duty is, first and foremost, to the 7th Legion,” Celesste finally responded, her tone even. Militant, even. Much more what Jaina was used to...she hoped that was a good sign.

“I do.”

“To ask me to accompany you to speak with the Warchief of the Horde would be in direct opposition to my orders,” Celesste continued.

“I know.”

“And still you would ask this of me? And bind me to secrecy?”

“Yes.”

There was a moment of quiet as Celesste met Jaina’s gaze unwaveringly again. Jaina could practically see the gears turning inside the champion’s head, the pros and cons being weighed, whatever it was she needed to consider.

“I accept.”

“You do?” Jaina asked, almost surprised after how Celesste had originally reacted.

“I trust others far less than I trust myself, and I trust the Banshee Queen not at all,” she explained. “I would rather ensure the safety of one of the Alliance’s most prominent leaders than put you at risk simply because I followed the code of my orders too strictly.”

It was a logical decision, and one that Jaina had been counting on. She knew the history between Sylvanas and all of the Kaldorei would make it an uphill battle but she had a feeling Celesste would, in the end, agree to help her. She’d based that feeling on the champion’s history, both in recent times and from what she’d heard. Celesste was driven by a sense of duty and what she thought was the best course of action rather than blind loyalty, something Jaina respected quite a lot, really. She knew plenty of champions would have done the job for the right price but would otherwise have said it wasn’t the reason the 7th Legion was there.

“I truly appreciate this, Celesste,” Jaina said, her voice rich with gratitude.

“I trust that you are making the right decision for our world,” Celesste responded somewhat boldly with a raised eyebrow. I hope I am, Jaina thought.

“Meet me here just before twilight tomorrow,” she said, instead. “The Warchief asked that I wear something ‘less Alliance.’ You...probably should, as well,” she continued with a half-smile that betrayed how very unamused she was by the request. Celesste huffed in sarcastic amusement.

“Of course she did,” she murmured. “I take it you’re acquiescing?”

“It’s probably for the best in the event that anyone passes through the area. Horde or Alliance.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Celesste responded begrudgingly. “Was there anything else?”

“No, thankfully,” Jaina said with a sigh of relief. “Thank you, again, Celesste. Really.”

“It will be an honor,” she replied with a slight bow. She reached down to ruffle the wolf’s fur slightly, the energy arcing around her wrist ever so slightly. “Come on, Elara,” she murmured as she turned and left. “I need to go blow off some steam.”

As the heavy wooden door swung shut with a dull thud, Jaina rested her elbows on her desk and her temples against her fingertips, massaging them in small circles to stave off a surely-impending headache. She hadn’t even started working with Sylvanas yet, not really, and she already felt exhausted.

Opening the lower right drawer of her desk, Jaina pulled out a shot glass and somewhat short, round crystalline bottle of amber liquid. She was going to need something stronger than a glass of good Kul Tiran Port if she was going to wrap her head around what she was about to embark upon: an essentially clandestine journey with Sylvanas Windrunner.

She pulled the glass topper off of the bottle, smelling the slightly sweet aroma of the whiskey as she poured herself a shot. She looked at the glass for a moment before knocking it back, glancing at the window as she set the glass down.

A clandestine journey with Sylvanas Windrunner. The idea sounded like some crude, drunk Alliance champion’s fantasy. Jaina rolled her eyes. The venture she was about to embark upon was anything but. And, though she worried a little about how Celesste would do among the Warchief and her selection of Dark Rangers, she knew she had made the right decision in champions.

Jaina poured another shot into the glass, swirling it for a moment as she watched. She wondered how long the venture would take. She wondered how long Sylvanas had been working on it already. Taking a small sip of the whiskey, she let it settle on her tongue for a moment before swallowing it and knocking back the rest of the shot. She wondered who she’d be able to tell once it was all over with, if anyone at all.

Stepping out of the portal she’d made for herself and Celesste, Jaina tugged at the hood of her cloak, making sure it was still covering her easily-recognizable hair. The muted browns and silver-white trim of her clothing was far removed from her typical garb, Celesste opting for a muted color pallet as well. As the portal winked shut behind them, she turned to see Sylvanas leaning against the door to the Spire they’d met in just two days prior, arms folded in the kind of lazy arrogance she seemed to always carry herself with.

“Proudmoore. Champion. Come in,” Sylvanas greeted, her voice businesslike but not as cold as Celesste had expected. She looked at Jaina briefly, Jaina returning her gaze with a slight nod as she began to walk towards the door Sylvanas now held open.

As they stepped inside, the room was exactly as it had been when Jaina first met Sylvanas there. The only difference, really, were the four Dark Rangers seated around the table, red eyes essentially glowing from beneath their hoods. Sylvanas gestured for Jaina to sit where she had two days ago, Celesste following and sitting in the seat to her left. Sylvanas sat at the head of the table, propping her boots on the corner and leaning back as she often did in meetings.

“I see you got your little Huntmaster to agree,” she drawled. Celesste’s ears pressed back a little at the words and the Warchief’s tone, folding her hands on the table to keep them from clenching into fists.

“Yes, though you would do well to address her properly. We are not here to antagonize one another, Windrunner,” Jaina responded firmly. Sylvanas’s lips pressed into a thin line, unamused at being told what to do.

“Yes, well. Celesste, was it?” She asked, red eyes narrowing at Jaina before shifting to Celesste, who merely hummed in acknowledgement. “I’m going to need your signature on a... nondisclosure contract of sorts. In ink imbued with your blood.”

“Would you like to tell me anything about what it is you and the Lord Admiral will be doing?” Celesste asked. Sylvanas raised one eyebrow at Jaina.

“So you haven’t told your champion what she’s signing up for at all?” 

“You know as well as I do that we cannot let this information fall into the wrong hands, Windrunner,” Jaina replied. Sylvanas hummed.

“This is true.” She looked back at Celesste. “I will tell you more once you have signed the document, but for now I can tell you that it has to do with the Lich King.”

Celesste raised an eyebrow of her own, turning to look at Jaina. Sylvanas Windrunner enlisting one of Azeroth’s most powerful mages for something related to the Lich King...that could either be very good or very bad, she decided. She trusted the Lord Admiral’s judgement, though, knowing she would never do anything she thought would cause greater harm to their world.

Jaina passed the document to Celesste, allowing her to read it over. It was thorough — it had to be, naturally — and made it very clear just how locked into the mission and secrecy she would be. She took a deep breath after reading it and laid the document down in front of her. 

“All right. I’ll sign,” Celesste announced. Sylvanas smirked.

“Wonderful,” she drawled. “Jaina will imbue the ink with your blood. Then my Rangers here will do the same,” she continued, gesturing at the four Dark Rangers who were seated around the rest of the table. Celesste nodded, extending her hand palm-up to Jaina. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to sign something like this, and she was sure it wouldn’t be the last.

Jaina took Celesste’s hand in hers to steady it as Sylvanas pulled a dagger from her belt and offered it to Jaina. Celesste and Jaina both raised an eyebrow at her, to which she rolled her eyes and scoffed.

“It’s not poisoned, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she drawled. “This is supposed to be beneficial to me, remember?”

“I’m sure you’d find it beneficial if I conveniently dropped dead,” Celesste responded, narrowing her eyes. “I’ll use my own blade, thanks,” she continued, pulling a dagger of her own out.

“Suit yourself,” Sylvanas replied, passing her dagger to her right and leaning back in her seat.

They went ahead with the signing, Celesste pricking her finger just enough to draw a few drops of blood to bind to the ink. Jaina moved around the table, repeating the process with each of Sylvanas’s Dark Rangers present — Alina, Velonara, Kalira, and Cyndia, as Sylvanas had originally decided. They all used Sylvanas’s dagger, which Jaina did her best to examine for any foul play that could have affected her champion if Celesste had accepted. She sensed none, and saw nothing on the blade, almost surprised that there really seemed to be no trickery.

Once the document was signed by everyone present and Sylvanas’s dagger was returned to her, she leaned forward to place the document before her.

“Good. Now that we are all bound to our word, I can tell you what the next step is going to be. While the rest of our combined leadership and champions combat the perils of Nazjatar, we will make our way to Moonglade.”

“Moonglade?” Celesste questioned, her ears pressing back slightly. Anything the Banshee Queen wanted that had to do with anything close to the remains of Teldrassil, or even the Kaldorei in general, Celesste did not trust. She had done enough damage to them when she burned the World Tree, and Celesste was not keen on aiding Sylvanas with anything else in that vicinity.

“Yes, Moonglade,” Sylvanas drawled, clearly unimpressed by the interruption. “We will be going into the Emerald Dream.” She paused, eyeing Celesste as though expecting another interruption. Celesste merely narrowed her eyes at Sylvanas. “As I’m sure you know, recently a disturbance was found in the Emerald Dream. Void corruption, birthed likely from a remnant of the Void I was told some champions found festering therein after defeating Xavius and Il’gynoth in the Emerald Nightmare. Though a few champions and the Green Dragonflight took care of this issue rather swiftly, it is something I need to investigate myself. There are things at play that have been at play for thousands of years, things that will not rest just because we beat them back a few times. The Burning Legion is not gone from Azeroth, nor will it ever be while things like the Emerald Nightmare, the Lich King, and even the Old Gods still exist.”

Or the undead, Celesste thought but did not say. She supposed Sylvanas had a point, though, in wanting to determine the state of the Emerald Dream and the Emerald Nightmare, as much as she didn’t want to admit that any of Sylvanas’s plans made sense. But why Moonglade, specifically? She wondered.

“As I was telling Proudmoore a couple of days ago, so much of this is more intertwined than you might expect,” Sylvanas continued. “The fact that Xavius was tied to both the Burning Legion and the Old Gods, who serve the Void Lords, is not insignificant.” She reached under a couple of pages on the table, pulling out an image Celesste was actually quite familiar with: a diagram of the greater cosmos. “For the longest time, the Old Gods were content to use the presence of the Legion as a distraction behind which they could further their own plots. Obviously, with the work we did to beat back the Legion, they were given further time to spread their corruption. N’zoth with Azshara is, of course, the most notable example as of late. With such a strong presence of the Void in the Emerald Dream, I need to make sure that the Emerald Nightmare is still largely contained within the Rift of Aln. If it isn’t, and if that’s where the Void corruption in the Dream is spreading from, we might have to change our timetable a bit.”

“How so?” Jaina asked, unsure as to what Sylvanas’s original timetable even was.

“If Azshara is successful in releasing N’zoth from his prison, which I fear she may be getting close to accomplishing, we’ll have to deal with that before we can deal with the Scourge. I’m essentially working against the clock one way or another, but I need to know how much time I really have. Determining if the Rift of Aln is as secure as Whisperwind’s pet druid would like to think it is will let me know if I have more time to get things in place or if there are things I need to move quickly on so that I may get to them before the Old Gods can. Just as it’s no coincidence that Xavius was tied to the Legion and the Old Gods, it’s no coincidence that Icecrown Citadel is made of and surrounded by the crystallized blood of Yogg-Saron,” Sylvanas replied. “The Old Gods, despite any quarrels they had in the past, work together now. And N’zoth did most of his work in the Emerald Dream through the Rift of Aln. Moonglade is close to the Rift, so that is where we will begin.”

Celesste was not happy that the Banshee Queen would be in such a sacred area of her people’s history but she couldn’t disagree with the logic. She frowned as she remembered faintly the World Tree that Yogg-Saron had corrupted because of its roots reaching down to his prison.

“Wait a minute,” Celesste said. “If N’zoth accessed the Emerald Dream through the Rift of Aln, and the Rift is most closely located to Moonglade in the Dream…” Sylvanas smirked.

“A clever one. I can see why she is of such value to you and the Alliance,” she said, addressing Jaina briefly before turning back to Celesste. Celesste bristled slightly at her tone. “If your thoughts are leading where I suspect they are, you’d be right. What tipped me off to the likelihood was something one of my champions described about the Rift — he said that, when he looked up, it was as though the sky was covered in branches.”

“Or roots,” Celesste supplied, her expression darkening. “You could have said something about it to everyone before simply torching it.” 

At that, Jaina caught on to what they were thinking of. Teldrassil. Had the World Tree become corrupted again? She wondered.

“It wasn’t originally my plan to burn it,” Sylvanas replied. “In fact, I had hoped to use it as a base of operations in Kalimdor. But that would not be possible so long as Stormrage so staunchly defended that false World Tree.”

“Teldrassil was not—“ 

“Ah-ah-ah,” Sylvanas interrupted, holding up one finger. Celesste glared at her. “It was false. Surely you know the history of why it was planted.”

“Yes, but it was blessed by the Dragon Aspects.”

“Eventually, yes, once it was clear that it was sturdy and Stormrage claimed to have cleansed it for good. But it was not originally, and Norzdomu did not bless it at all. Its blessings were incomplete and its origins were selfish and sabotaged by the branch of Xavius that was grafted to it,” Sylvanas countered.

Celesste pressed her lips into a thin line. Sylvanas was right, but she didn’t want to admit it. Teldrassil had been her home. It was where most of her time was spent over the many years leading up to her leaving the Sentinels when she was given the opportunity to expand her horizons and become a champion of the Alliance. She had seen the effects of the corruption, of how Teldrassil still pushed out the lingering corruption, years after the blessing of Alexstraza and Ysera.

“So. I would like for us to do this as expediently as possible,” Sylvanas continued after a moment. “Is tomorrow too soon for you to step away, Lord Admiral?” 

“No. I can be ready by then,” Jaina replied, still wondering about the nature of the discussion that had just happened. The possibility of Teldrassil being corrupted again — or perhaps being corrupted the entire time, never fully cleansed as Malfurion claimed — was a large thing to consider. She would have words with Sylvanas about her actions in response, she decided. When, she wasn’t sure, but she knew she had to. Perhaps Celesste could tell her more of the World Tree’s history later that evening once they were back in Boralus, things Jaina wouldn’t have known without spending some time in Night Elf society.

“Excellent,” Sylvanas drawled, rising slowly from her seat. “I will meet you here at dawn, then. We will move as one group. Wear that again, it is much more subtle than your blatant and sickeningly blue Alliance garb.”

Celesste rolled her eyes as she turned towards the exit. Jaina easily drew up a portal to her office in Proudmoore Keep, and the pair stepped through. As the portal winked shut behind them, Sylvanas leaned against the door and stared at the spot they’d left from.

“The Kaldorei champion may be an issue, Dark Lady.” Velonara’s voice was closer than anticipated. Sylvanas raised an eyebrow and turned her head ever so slightly to regard her, noticing her Dark Ranger’s gaze was also trained on the space where the portal was cast. “I’ve worked with her before, at Trueshot Lodge.” Sylvanas hummed.

“What sort of issue?” She drawled.

“Her loyalties. She is fiercely protective of the Kaldorei and is firmly aligned with the Alliance. Do you think we can really trust her?” Velonara asked.

“Are you doubting my judgement?”

“No. Never,” she replied quickly. “Merely sharing past knowledge.”

“While I appreciate it, I believe her loyalties remain with the Lord Admiral more than anywhere else right now,” Sylvanas said, turning her gaze back to where the portal had been. “And the Lord Admiral’s loyalties are with me.” 

“I know that tone,” Velonara murmured. “How much of this is personal for you?”

Sylvanas bristled slightly. Velonara had been her right hand in both life and death even though she’d named Nathanos her Champion. She would know Sylvanas’s desires better than most.

“It is not personal.”

“Right...and as long as you pretend that, I’ll pretend you’re not lying to me,” Velonara replied with a slight smirk. She was a touch wary of Sylvanas’s anger but certainly not as much as others. Sylvanas rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“She is more of use than of interest and you cannot argue with me on that,” Sylvanas countered.

“No. Of that you are correct,” Velonara replied as she brushed by Sylvanas to head outside. “I’ll see you tomorrow, my Queen.”