#Hot Springs Village real estate

[ddvillageprop]

The Rise of Hot Springs Village: Why More Buyers Are Choosing This Community

Nestled in the picturesque Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas, Hot Springs Village has seen a remarkable surge in popularity among homebuyers in recent years. With its unique blend of amenities, vibrant lifestyle, and stunning natural beauty, it’s no wonder that more people are choosing to call this community home. Let’s explore the key factors driving this trend and what makes Hot Springs Village an attractive destination for new residents.

Abundant Amenities

One of the primary draws of Hot Springs Village is its extensive range of amenities that cater to a variety of interests. The community boasts multiple golf courses, tennis courts, and recreational facilities, making it a haven for sports enthusiasts. Whether you’re an avid golfer or enjoy a casual game of tennis, the options are plentiful.

In addition to sports facilities, Hot Springs Village offers numerous walking and biking trails, perfect for those who appreciate the outdoors. The area's lakes provide opportunities for fishing, boating, and swimming, allowing residents to immerse themselves in nature and enjoy an active lifestyle.

Moreover, the community hosts a variety of social events and clubs, fostering a strong sense of community among residents. From art and music festivals to community dinners, there’s always something happening, ensuring that newcomers can easily connect with their neighbors.

Vibrant Lifestyle

Living in Hot Springs Village means embracing a lifestyle that emphasizes balance and well-being. The community promotes a healthy, active way of life, appealing to retirees and families alike. Residents can partake in fitness classes, yoga sessions, and wellness workshops, all designed to enhance physical and mental well-being.

The peaceful atmosphere of the village also contributes to a stress-free lifestyle. Many residents appreciate the slower pace compared to urban living, allowing for a more relaxed daily routine. The emphasis on outdoor activities and community engagement fosters a sense of belonging, making it easy for newcomers to settle in and feel at home.

Natural Beauty

The breathtaking natural scenery surrounding Hot Springs Village is another significant factor attracting new residents. With its lush forests, rolling hills, and serene lakes, the area is a nature lover’s paradise. Residents can enjoy picturesque views right from their windows or venture out to explore the numerous trails and parks nearby.

The natural beauty of Hot Springs Village not only enhances the quality of life but also provides a wealth of recreational opportunities. Whether it’s hiking through the Ouachita National Forest or kayaking on one of the local lakes, outdoor enthusiasts have endless options to explore and appreciate the stunning landscape.

Affordable Real Estate

Another compelling reason for the rise in interest in Hot Springs Village is the affordability of real estate. Compared to many urban areas, the cost of living in Hot Springs Village is relatively low, making it an attractive option for buyers. With a range of housing options, from cozy cottages to spacious family homes, Hot Springs Village real estate offers something for everyone, appealing to first-time buyers, retirees, and families alike.

The real estate market has been steadily growing, and many buyers are finding that they can secure a beautiful home without breaking the bank. This affordability, combined with the community’s numerous amenities and lifestyle benefits, makes Hot Springs Village an appealing destination for first-time buyers, retirees, and families alike.

Strong Sense of Community

Finally, the sense of community in Hot Springs Village is unparalleled. Residents often speak of the friendly atmosphere and the welcoming nature of their neighbors. With various clubs, organizations, and volunteer opportunities, new residents quickly find ways to get involved and meet others.

This strong community spirit is particularly attractive for those relocating from larger cities, where it can be challenging to forge connections. In Hot Springs Village, social interactions flourish, making it easy for newcomers to feel at home.

Conclusion

The rise of Hot Springs Village as a sought-after community can be attributed to its abundant amenities, vibrant lifestyle, stunning natural beauty, affordable real estate, and strong sense of community. As more buyers discover the benefits of living in this picturesque area, it’s clear that Hot Springs Village will continue to grow in popularity. For those seeking a fulfilling and enjoyable place to live, this charming community in the heart of Arkansas is undoubtedly worth considering.

[ddvillageproperties]

Hot Springs Village, AR Land for Sale & Real Estate

Hot spring village real estate is on-trend now. How? Let's explore. As you know, the real estate business is growing tremendously in its lucrative way. Through real estate, landlords grow in their sleep, because time is more valuable than money. This can be the best example for the term ‘Passive Income’, ninety percent of the millionaires become so through owning real estate.

Who doesn’t want to be a millionaire, but the query comes, Where to invest your potential money in real estate? For you people or property dealers, choosing a flourishing place to buy is necessary & this could be done greatly at Hot spring village.

This place at DD Village has its wonders that will astonish your eyes & will be fruitful for your real estate intention. The properties at DD Village are well maintained and filled with greenery fully flexible for lives. A newcomer to real estate should start from these beautiful properties we offer at affordable cost & prosper in the sector of real estate.

Possessing real estate has its advantages like stable cash flow, tax break & deduction, building equity & wealth with many more benefits. Nowadays risk factor is negligible against the profits given by real estate if you deal with trusted agencies like us with modest price ranges.

Hot spring village real estate is a lakefront property loved by many of our customers and dealers. For a nature enthusiast buying, this would be a profitable opportunity. Choose your best property from us and pay a suitable price, making the deal value for money.

We at DD Village have done many satisfying deals and have won hearts with belief. We provide better security and assurance in all the legal paper works and restoration process, complete transparency is maintained with our consumers & dealers.

For a better experience, or Hot spring village real estate deals you should come and analyze the properties, your appreciation & feedback are valuable for us.  

https://www.ddvillageprop.com/hot-springs-village-real-estate/

[princesspiratecat]

The Rise and Fall of the Shepard Family Part 22: Spring, 1083

(This is a long one, but hopefully worth the read!)

Part 1& Part 2

Part 3 & Part 4

Part 5 & Part 6 & Part 7

Part 8 & Part 9 & Part 10

Part 11 & Part 12 & Part 13

Part 14 & Part 15 & Part 16

Part 17 & Part 18 & Part 19

Part 20 & Part 21

Never before had Gwendolyn felt so happy as she did when her sister had arrived to visit her at her little hovel. She hadn’t been able to stop the tears from flowing, and soon both of them were wiping them away. 

After the servant had left, Gwyn had demanded to know everything, but Gwendolyn didn’t know where to begin. There was so much to tell, and all of it pained her to speak of. 

“Is this really where you are now residing? This little hovel?” Gwyn turned a discerning eye towards the house as they walked nearer to it, and Gwendolyn felt herself blush with shame. She had tried to keep it neat and tidy, but there wasn’t much she could do without a proper set of tools. The hovel was just too poorly constructed for even the most basic of shelters. It felt like a blessing when the weather had finally turned and she no longer had to worry about rain falling on her bed. She could only hope it would not snow or rain again.

“I’m afraid so. The day of my birthday Marcelle hastily had my bags packed and drove me here in a covered wagon. He told me this would be my new home after we arrived. I should have suspected something that morning based on his behavior.....but I fear, I blindly trusted him.”

“Do not blame yourself. How could you have known what he was going to do? This has taken us all by surprise. When I found out you had been sent away, I could hardly believe it. It is Marcelle that must take the blame, not you.” As they reached the front room, Gwendolyn stoked the fire and began to prepare a meal, as the sun would be setting soon and she imagined her sister must be hungry. She immediately noticed how much food there was in the basket, and it was of better quality than what she normally was given.

 “What do you mean, us? How did you come to find out that I was here in the first place?” They sat down to a nice hot bowl of soup Gwendolyn had made from a fat hare she had caught yesterday. 

“I didn’t. Francine wrote about a month ago, and the letter had been given to me by Oswin.”

“Oswin? You mean, Oswald’s younger brother?”

“The very same, yes. I had thought it strange that she hadn’t invited me to visit her for such a long time, but in the letter she explained that she had suddenly been forbidden to see me by Marcelle, yet didn’t say why. In her next letter, she told me that the engagement had been broken off, and you had been sent away, but that she didn’t know where you had gone. When I confronted Aélfgiva about seeing you, she said she would talk to Marcelle. Not long afterwards, he wrote to say that a servant would fetch me in the morning to take me to you, and here I am.”

The humiliation that Gwendolyn had endured upon being sent off was awful in and of itself, but the idea that her entire family was now somehow tainted, and not good enough to associate with any of the Allards, hurt her even more. “ I had not thought that my exile had been extended to my entire family. This is worse than I had imagined.” 

“What exactly did he say to you? How did he justify his actions!? How could he bring you to this shithole, in the middle of a forest?!”

Slowly, Gwendolyn revealed all that her sister did not yet know. She tried not to dwell on the parts of the story that were especially painful, and rushed through his unkind words when he had dragged their family down to the mud, implying that they were nothing. She found it was nearly impossible for her to say the exact words he had said about their father, because the loss of him was still fresh pain for both of them. But somehow she got through it all, and then shared how she now viewed everything. 

“This hovel....this dung heap of a house, is his feeling about me, about us- made manifest and clear. But it’s worse than our house was. It’s worse than anything I’ve ever had to endure. And I was left alone to fend for myself when the snow storm came. I had to find food for myself, otherwise I would have starved.”

There was such anger on her sister’s face at hearing those words. “What about your dowry?! We had so many excellent animals. Surely it was worth more than this!”

“Oh Gwyn.....don’t you see? This is my dowry. This hovel is now all that I have....” Putting her troubles into words made them all the more real and soon Gwendolyn could not stop the sobs from violently shaking her body again. She got up and leaned her head against the counter, as the tears just kept on coming. 

Gwyn said nothing, but silently cried as well. 

“I’ve been clinging to the idea of Frances for months now. And I cannot understand why he hasn’t come to see me, even if it’s just to say goodbye. Am I really so terrible that I do not deserve such simple consideration? How can I be his future bride one day, and the next not even fit to say a single word to him? I cannot make sense of it......” she was sobbing so hard now that she could not continue. 

“Oh, please don’t upset yourself further. I do not believe Frances has any idea where you are”, said Gwyn. That got her attention and her head snapped up.

“What!?”

“I do not believe any of them know. Marcelle must have kept it a secret from all of them, because if one of them knew, they would all find out. Frédérique would never keep a secret like that from her brother, nor would Francine. The letter that she sent made it clear. He could not write to you, so she wrote to me. And that is why Marcelle forbade any of them from speaking to any of us.”

“I had not considered that. But....you must be right.”

“Perhaps that is also why Marcelle sent me a map and allowed me to see you. He still thinks that his children will blindly obey him. Indeed, he must feel very comfortable with that idea, which is why he didn’t think it necessary to keep you and I apart any longer. If his children don’t speak to us, he has no reason to continue punishing you.”

“Yes. He may also not want to be seen as the type of man who punishes two young girls who have done nothing wrong. I noticed how he sent a lot more food, of higher quality this time around. He even sent linens. He has never done that before. He wants to appear the good benefactor still- at least to you and Aélfgiva.”

After a long silence Gwendolyn gained some composure of herself and sat down by the fire again, staring into the orange flickering flames. It gave her some relief to know that Frances didn’t know where she was, and perhaps hadn’t given into his father so easily. Everything her sister had said made perfect sense. 

“I like to think that Marcelle has some heart left. I like to think that he still cares about us. Only his pride got in the way", said Gywn. Her sentiments may have been true, but Gwendolyn no longer wished to think about him. It was now time to turn their minds to the task of getting her out, and how they would accomplish that.  

“I must speak with Frances. I must. I have had so long to ponder the situation, if I don’t get any answers, I fear I will lose my mind and go mad.”

"Of course you shall. And I will assist you in any way that I can.”

The next morning they poured over the map and calculated that Gwendolyn had been taken over twenty miles from the Allard estate to the hovel, which was in the middle of two very small villages that neither had heard of. Having no money and few resources, the main obstacle in her leaving would be where she would go. She could not stay at the orphanage, and of course going back to the estate was impossible. 

“If only you had parted on better terms with Oswald, then perhaps we could ask his family”, Gwyn said. 

“What better way could there have been? Oswald did not want to break off the engagement for any reason. I tried to spare his feelings as best as I could, but given that I hadn’t seen him for so long....it was difficult. I realized that day that he had changed beyond recognition to me, and I no longer knew him.”

“You have been engaged most of your life to someone, and yet still remain unmarried. Do you not ever wish you had married Oswald instead? At least you would not be alone now.” 

Gwendolyn’s features clouded into sadness, as she had realized the same thing her sister spoke of from the very beginning of her troubles. Her life seemed to consist of always waiting, always hoping, always dreaming of having a family of her own and finding that she belonged somewhere, and she resented it. 

“Maybe, but would I have been happy? What Frances and I had was real, and what Oswald and I had was a youthful fancy. I know that now that I am older. I can never go back.” 

When they tallied up their resources, it was decided that Gwyn would return home when the servant came to fetch her, as was planned. She would then combine the meager allowance she and Edith were given at the orphanage, and income from the pelts of the animals Gwendolyn had caught, and try to procure a horse. Then she would ride back and come and fetch her sister, then they would ride to Grimsby. She would speak with Frances at any cost and Gwyn agreed that it was imperative that she do so- even if it meant further punishment from Marcelle.

The next morning was a cold one, and snow began again to fall upon the ground, but only lightly. Despite the foul weather she knew she would have to shelter herself from, she felt better than she had in months. 

“You have Mama’s strength, and you will get through this. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She tenderly embraced her sister goodbye, and watched the wagon grow smaller and smaller as it slowly disappeared down the road, which was beginning to freeze. She sat down upon a log and got lost in her thoughts, contemplating how happy the visit had made her. It had brought her comfort, relief from her loneliness, and hope all at once. She was lucky that she still had some family left, even if they were orphans now. I’m not alone. I have the love of my sisters. 

She turned to head into the house, but then heard a horse in the distance and stopped to listen. It was the sound of a single horse, and she wondered if something had gone wrong with the wagon. Was her sister in trouble? The sound grew closer and closer, and she headed back down the path to the road, shivering slightly in the cold. But it was not the servant or her sister on this horse. It was Frances.

[emptypringlescanister]

New Perspective: Chapter 1

I told y’all I was gonna post more lol.

Tom Nook x Reader

Slow Burn

Warnings: Spoilers for Animal Crossing: New Horizons

Words: 2.7K

Links: Prologue  -  Chapter 1 (You are here)  -  Chapter 2  -  Chapter 3

Chapter 1

             Dreams could be thought of as like an escape from reality, right?  Well then for you, it must be the complete opposite. Stuck in a never-ending loop of trauma really puts a damper on the whole escape thing.

“We’re here! We’re here!” the cries from the small tanuki children roused you from your slumber with a start. Confused with post awakening haze, you looked around the cabin of the plane you were in to see the kids with their faces pressed to the window. Wiping the drool from your face scratches against your skin as you sit up and stretch. “Wake up!” Tommy nudges you excitedly, shy demeanor shoved aside to make way for enthusiasm. “Come look! It’s our new home.”

           You smile, their eagerness bleeding into your own as you look out the window as well. Green stretches out, blending in with the pure blue of the ocean below. Fish jump out of the water, speckles of light flying off and glinting in the air. Your gaze fixates upon a small dock breaching out into the ocean from a sandy beach. “Wow” you mutter under your breath.

           The speaker in the cabin crackles to life. “Attention passengers, this is Captain Wilbur of Dodo Airlines speaking. Dodo Tower has just informed us that we are due for touchdown November Oscar Whisker, so sit down and buckle up cause this Dodo is coming in for landing!”

           Landing was a bit of a bumpy affair, so once the light for the seat belts turned off, both Timmy and Tommy raced out the doors, eager to leave the cramped interior. Resigning yourself to the fate of being the bag carrier, you turned to get your luggage. You were stopped though, as the aviator-wearing pilot entered the cabin. “No need to do that now! My brother Orville will be taking your luggage to the square in just a bit. No need to stress.” Grabbing your one backpack, you thanked him and exited the plane as well. Passing briefly through the airport lobby, you stepped out into the brightness towards your new home.

           Timmy and Tommy were standing on the dock, Timmy chatting eagerly to two others while Tommy took his place slightly behind him. Back to his shy ways, you noted to yourself. Turning your attention to the two new faces, you are greeted with a nice-looking penguin talking with Timmy, and on another part of the deck, ignoring everyone, was a hamster lifting weights. Tommy notices your approach and nudges his brother, who turns, abruptly ending his conversation with the penguin. “You’re here!” He turns to address everyone on the dock, his helpful customer service springing into his voice and presence. “Now, I know you must be incredibly excited to explore your new island home, but I have one small request.”

Tommy steps to stand beside him. His small voice loudening briefly, he addresses you all as well. “Would you please join us for a short orientation in the nearby plaza? Our-“

Their voices join together, “-fearless leader,-“

“-is giving a presentation, so I’d hate for everyone to miss it.” Timmy finishes, clasping his hands together. “We’re heading there right now so feel free to follow us!”

           They take off , Timmy in the lead, Tommy’s paw wrapped firmly in his as they run towards the middle of the island. Looking over at the others, you all shrug and follow the children who had disappeared over the hill. Lagging behind the others, you walk more slowly, taking in the views from all around you. Soft green grass tickles your ankles as you walk, a light breeze swaying though the trees. Some of them even bear fruit, you notice. They look like peaches, but this is a new land, so it could be some fruit that just looks like peaches. Twigs litter the ground along with copious amounts of floral weeds. You turn in a small circle, taking everything in. It was so... fresh. So pure. It seemed like a new beginning. A new horizon if you will.

           Cresting the hill, you come upon a sandy area, occupied by the two newcomers, Timmy and Tommy, and an older tanuki man. A tanuki in a yellow sweater and aqua jacket. ‘Dear lord,’ you think to yourself. ‘Did he pick out his wardrobe blind?’ Despite his odd clothing choices, you study him a little closer. He has vaguely the same markings as the kids, which leads you to believe that he may be related to them in some way. He had a weighted figure, more of a dad-bod, but his eyes were really the factor that drew you in. Tired blue eyes locked onto yours as you entered the area, and your breath stopped. His gaze seemed to rake you up and down, and you bless your luck for a day that was hot so that you could blame the blush staining your face on the heat.

           “Alright is that everyone? Let’s see,” He says, his rich voice speaking out. “Is Flo here?” The penguin raises her flipper and smiles. “and Hamlet?” The hamster pauses in his weightlifting and waves over at him. “Good good. Let’s see,” He gazes at the paper a moment before his gaze lifts to yours. “And you must be _____.” Pointedly ignoring the blush on your face, you wave. “That’s me,” you confirm. He smiles, and oh lord you see the way his eyes crinkle at the corners and your heart thuds against your chest.

           “Welcome everyone!” His voice snaps you out of your trance and you force yourself to pay attention. “Welcome to your new island. My name is Tom Nook, and I’m the founder and president of Nook Inc. Yes yes!”

           “Today is the first day of your new life on this pristine, lovely island. So, congratulations! And this is a package deal, hm? As such, Nook Inc. staff will always be here to support you and ensure your comfort and safety. But first things first, yes? I’d like each of you to choose a spot of your own. It’s the first step to putting down some real roots! I’d like you to dream big – I do have certain connections in construction and real estate, and…” Timmy and Tommy nudge him at the same time, startling him from his rambling. You giggle as he sheepishly rubs his head.

           “Ah, but I’m getting ahead of myself. Let’s just get started with a simple tent, shall we? Please collect a tent from either Timmy or Tommy and then choose a spot to place it.” He finishes with a smile, stepping back to allow the boys to pass out the tents. They run up to you afterwards, Tommy handing you your tent as Timmy eagerly asks you about the island. After spending a few minutes with them, they wave you off with your tent. Unbeknownst to you, your interaction with the boys are watched by the older tanuki, who smiles at the sight of them acting so happy with you.

           You had only been walking for a few minutes through the trees before you came to a small clearing flanked by a river. Sunlight filtered in through the leaves on the tree, casting a glow onto the spot. ‘This is definitely it...’ you think to yourself. Setting up your text requires an extra level of brainpower that currently seems inaccessible to you, and you are soon sitting on the ground fuming at your failed attempt to put together your temporary home. “This sucks!” You groan out, tossing a pole to the side.

           My my, it would seem like you’re having a bit of trouble!” An undignified squeal leaves you as you’re started by a voice from behind you. Scrambling up and turning, you see Tom Nook standing there, hands in his jacket pockets as he observes your failure lying crumpled on the ground. You groan again in embarrassment and bury your face in your hands. “Is it obvious that I’ve never put together a tent before?” Your muffled voice causes him to laugh loudly, his head thrown back and you peek at him through your fingers. “I think it’s possible that you could use some help,” he chuckles, walking over to the mess of fabric and poles on the ground and beginning to untangle everything.  “Thanks,” You say, leaning down to help him. With his gentle instruction, the tent goes up in no time.

           “Well then, that wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Tom claps his hands together. You smile gratefully at him. “Thank you, really.” You admit. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d really be sleeping under the stars tonight.” “Now now, I wouldn’t let that happen.” He reassures you. His voice softens slightly, “I see that my boys have taken quite a liking to you! They’ve already blessed me with the details of your trip here, and I would like to thank you for keeping an eye on them.”

             “It was really no problem, they’re sweethearts. You’re lucky to have them as your sons.”

           “Oh yes,” He smiles at you. “Though we aren’t blood related, they are my sons, and I’m blessed to have them. “

           Silence spans between you briefly, and as he opens his mouth to speak again, he is interrupted by Timmy and Tommy running up to both of you through the trees. “Sir!” Timmy exclaims, “The other villagers have finished setting up their tents and are waiting for you in the square!” Tommy stands beside you, leaning against your side and you cradle your hand against the side of his head as Timmy eagerly explains his plans of a celebration to take place later in the evening to celebrate the move in.  “Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea Timmy! Go ahead and start those preparations with Tommy. _____ and I will take care of the food and firewood for you. You look up as your name is mentioned.

           “Yes sir!” Timmy salutes, and drags his brother off. “So, a celebration huh?” you ask, walking along with Nook, who had begun to gather twigs from around the area. “A celebration to commemorate all of us on our new beginnings, is what Timmy said, “ He chuckles. “He’s not wrong.” You laugh along with him. Spying some low hanging fruit from a nearby tree, you pick some off the branches. “These are peaches, right?” you ask, inspecting the fruit in your hands. Nook walks over and takes it from you. His fur brushes against you and you marvel silently at how soft it was. He sniffs it and confirms your question with a grin. “They sure are! They’ll make some wonderful drinks and snacks for tonight.” You agree and turn to collect more as Nook finishes his task of collecting firewood.

           Reaching things turned out to be within the list of things that were causing you difficulty today, as a peach just out of hands reach hung from its branch, mocking you. You were on your tiptoes, straining as much as you could but reaching didn’t seems to be adding any inches onto your height. Resigning yourself to cruel fate, you gave up. Before you could turn around however, you felt two strong arms wrap around your legs and lift you up, causing you to gasp in alarm and grab onto whatever was lifting you. Which turned out to be Nook. “Um, hi?” You say questioningly. “it seemed like that peach was just out of reach,” Nook teased, hoisting you to sit on his shoulder. Oh. Oh. He was strong. As in, you could feel muscles under there, strong. Be still your little beating heart. You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak without stuttering. However, after you had gotten the fruit, he didn’t put you down, instead choosing to walk to the main area everyone had been in before, both of you chatting the entire way there.

 _______________________________________________________________

           “Now then, let us start the festivities!” Nook exclaims, lighting a huge bonfire in the middle of the main area. You clap along with everyone else, reveling in the decisions that led up to this moment. “Now, since this can’t exactly qualify as a deserted island anymore, I feel as if it is our duty to name our new home! Yes, we’ll put it to a vote. Everyone think of a good name for this island!”

           As Flo and Hamlet split off to talk together, you stand and think to yourself. Many names came to mind but nothing seemed to fit the best. Until one name came to you.

“Avviare”*

           Heads turned to look at you and you flush red as you realize you said it out loud. “We love it!” Flo and Hamlet exclaim, clapping eagerly. Nook smiles, “Well then, if we are all in agreement,” He turns to check with Timmy and Tommy, who nod happily, “Then it seems like we have an overwhelmingly positive response to the name Avviare! How splendid!” Taken aback by the response, you smile and give a small bow. Nook gazes at you, a twinkle in his eye. “_____, since you have proven yourself by naming this island, I’d like to rely on you for other critical decisions we’ll need to make along the way. Yes yes, I hereby name you the Resident Representative of Avviare!” Cheers erupt from the others as Timmy and Tommy rush to hug you. “Say a few words!” Tommy urges you.

           “Um well… You can count on me!” you declare, slightly overwhelmed by all of the attention. Ever your savior, Nook hands out drinks to everyone and declares a toast. “A toast!” You all raise your drinks, “To Avviare and the happiness of its residents!”

             “Cheers!”

             The sky has long since grown dark as you all sit around the fire. Crickets chirp in the background and a breeze flows through the air. You lean back while sitting on the log serving as a bench and your gaze wanders over to Nook. The firelight casts shadows across his face, highlighting his features and giving him an air of relaxation. He takes a sip of his drink and your eyes lock yet again. He smiles that all knowing smile and walks over, sitting beside you. “Having a good time?” At your quiet nodding, he chuckles. “This all must be a bit much for you, so if you feel like taking a rest in your tent, by all means, go ahead.”

           “You go to deny but a yawn sneaks out, destroying any chance you had for an excuse. “maybe I’ll go do that..” you admit, standing with a sheepish look on your face. Nook stands as well and offers you his arm to take. “Let me walk you back to your tent. You look dead on your feet.”

           The walk back to your tent is carried out in comfortable silence, and all to soon the tent comes into view. “Thanks for walking me back Mr. Nook,” your arm is still interlaced with his as you turn to look at him. “Oh please! Call me Tom. There’s no need for such formalities now.” His eyes meet yours. “Well,” He sighs, “We’ve got another big day ahead of us tomorrow, so rest up as much as you can tonight. “ he steps back, and you silently mourn the loss of contact. “Sweet dreams, _____,” He lingers a moment, acting like he wants to say something, but decides otherwise. He gives you a wave as he walks off back through the trees. You watch as he goes.

           Stepping inside your tent, you are greeted with a sleeping cot, radio, and lantern. A smaller place that what you were used to, but this was a tent so that was a given. Your suitcase had been delivered as promised so you dug through it to find your pajamas. Laying in bed sounded like a wonderful idea and you plopped down as soon as you had finished changing. You could still hear the wind and crickets outside creating a natural ambiance.

           When coming to this island, it was in your plans to just pick a spot and try to live with as few dramatics as possible, but it seemed that life just loved to throw curveballs your way. ‘This one, however,’ you thought as sleep began to take you, ‘doesn’t seem so bad.’.

 ____________

(*) Avviare- Italian translation of ‘to begin’

________________________________________________________________

And there we have chapter 1! Y’all don’t know how much fun this actually is for me to write haha. Don’t forget to read the prologue if you haven’t already, the link is up at the top.

If you want to be added to a tag list, let me know! 

I’m not sure if I’ll have a consistent upload schedule but i’ll try to upload as often as I can now that summer break is coming up.

Aaaand, I think that’s it. Let me know what y’all think!

[royalpain16]

Haunting Photos Reveal a Massive Abandoned Town of Disneyesque Castles | Architectural Digest

Over the past several centuries, European monarchies’ power and influence over their respective country’s politics may have dwindled, but their stately châteaux, castles, and palaces have endured. There’s something about the dwellings’ undeniable extravagance and opulence that makes them utterly timeless, and perhaps that’s what lead the Yerdelen brothers, Turkish real estate entrepreneurs, to build a sprawling village, dubbed Burj Al Babas, complete with 732 mini-castles near the Black Sea.

After all, it made sense: Rich foreigners uninterested in the south of France or the northeastern tip of Spain could enjoy the Mediterranean climate on Gothic-style rooftop terraces overlooking the lush Turkish forest. Not to mention, the project’s developers, Sarot Group (run by the brothers and their partner Bülent Yılmaz), chose the spot for their little kingdom carefully: in the Roman spa town of Mudurnu, which is well-known and well-loved for its hot springs and putative healing waters. Each villa would boast under-floor heating and Jacuzzis on every level, further enforcing the idea of European luxury in the Middle East.

Then Turkey’s economy came to a grinding stop due to a failed political coup, terrorist attacks, and, of course, the pandemic, and the developers were forced to declare bankruptcy. Plus, investors and buyers pulled their money out of the $200 million project, which didn’t help Sarot Group’s hopes of rebounding, and the former manor-dotted valley became a neighborhood of empty, half-finished shells.

From afar, the gray-roofed neighborhood looks like something out of a Disney movie—perhaps Beauty and the Beast—but, upon closer inspection, Burj Al Babas boasts an eerie post-apocalyptic feel with rows of partially completed castles, patchy landscaping, and zero signs of life. The empty village is chilling, to say the least—like a sparkling city ravaged by war.

[sablegear0]

Something about Dragons

Had an interesting dream last night which, while being tangentially Dark Souls-related, also presented me with an interesting take on dragon biology. 

Please consider: dragons only grow upon exposure to energy, regardless of what kind.

In my dream, I had come into the possession of a dragon hatchling. Now, I don’t remember the full reason or context, but I do remember the guy I brought the hatchling to to inspect it, tossed the little thing into a microwave for about 20 seconds saying “Won’t hurt it if it’s a real dragon.”

This turned out to be true. The hatchling emerged unscathed, if slightly more blackened, and when I looked away for a moment and back to it, I found it had grown! It had started about the size of a chameleon when he first tossed it into the microwave, and grew almost instantly to the size of a small dog after its microwave exposure.

So what do we do with this theory, that dragons grow only when exposed to sources of energy? Well, a lot of things. We can expand that dragons might take on their particular “type” (eg. D&D-style Chromatic/Metallic dragons) depending on what sort of energy they are exposed to. In this example, Red and White dragons grow to adulthood primarily through thermal energy (geothermal, fires, sunlight), Black and Green dragons from energy-producing chemical reactions (such as minerals or just by eating a lot), Blue dragons from electrical discharges (static, lightning), etc. Metallic dragons may result from a combination of energy types, or even from exposure to natural radiation sources deep in the earth’s crust.

But it gets sillier. Consider that dragons may grow when exposed to large amounts of kinetic energy. Physical, kinetic impacts may foster dragon growth, provided they’re not traumatic enough to kill it outright. Perhaps a bit like a Saiyan, a dragon comes back bigger and stronger every time it comes close to being beaten to death. (Now I’m imagining dragon broodmothers tossing their fledglings down mountainsides to give them a kinetic boost when they leave the nest...) 

This may also lend some explanation to the folkloric hoarding behaviour of dragons. They may be searching for appropriate conductive materials to essentially build massive batteries they can sleep on, or create a reflective structure to insulate and recoup their natural energies, or perhaps absorb magic energies from enchanted items in the hoard. Dragon caves built deep enough in the earth’s crust would have access to naturally-occurring geothermal energy; at a relatively shallow depth the temperature holds steady at about 18C, and deeper down things gradually get even hotter. This would make hot-springs and fault lines prime dragon real estate, not to mention the potential for abundant rare-earth materials to build these hoard-batteries or collect as chemical/radiation sources. Additionally, this accounts for dragons’ legendary resistance to magic; attempts to harm them with spells that channel energy merely fuel their growth and development!

The events of my dream also potentially introduces a real-life biological concept to this theory. As we could see with only 20 seconds of microwave exposure, my tiny hatchling more than doubled in size. The amount of energy a dragon takes in boosts its growth in proportion to its present size; and so the Square-Cube law applies here as it does with real-world animals. While a bigger dragon may have more surface area, it also has exponentially more volume, so energy doses must be more and more powerful to contribute to its growth. Hence why great dragons that battle wizards don’t immediately jump up in size when struck with fireballs or lightning, and instead must spend hours and hours in their molten-hot lairs to heal and grow, or eat the livestock of entire villages to satisfy their caloric needs.

[arkus-rhapsode]

Graylu for the "send me a ship and I'll tell you" asks ❤

-who cries when someone dies in a movie: Lucy. Gray’s too cool to do it in front of Lucy.

-who wears the ugly holiday garb: gray. But he ends up stripping it off. Lucy really wouldn’t wear something that unfashionable.

-who pays for the meals: Gray. Because Lucy is kinda broke most time. Though Gray has suggested she move in with him so rent stops being an issue.

-who slams the oven door and who plays the trombone: Gray is on trombone. And yes it is made from his ice-make. While Lucy is on the oven door. Complete with Capricorn shades.

-who brings home stray animals: I would describe all the spirits as strays.

-who leaves the bathroom door open: Gray. Lucy minds because she’s so used to people breaking into her house every day.

-who tells the ‘dad jokes’: Neither of them. Its actually all of Lucy’s spirits anytime their summoned. Gray finds it oddly charming because it reminds him of Ur.

-who wants kids more: It’s Gray. He’d be real happy to start a family considering he keeps losing them Like Silver, Ur, Ultear. Lucy is not so sure. Not that she doesn’t want kids, she just doesn’t feel ready for kids mainly given her primary influence was her father and it was not a happy childhood.

-who travels more: Lucy. Mainly because she’s still looking for that damn Aquarius Key. Gray always wants to come, but Lucy says its Celestial Spirit stuff.

-who spends more cash: Gray, and Lucy is way okay with that.

-who buys the things in infomercials: Gray. Lucy is less okay with that. They do not need an auto-boot brusher, mainly because Gray keeps ditching his clothes.

-who draws in the dust on their cars: Gray. He has a very creative mind. He always is thinking about what he can do with maker magic. Lucy thinks they’re cute, especially when he draws something looking like a celestial spirit.

-who starts the snowball fights: Gray, though, its mainly a fuck Natsu moment. Usually because he started it. So its a tag team effort to peg the salamander and Happy.

-who throws away the directions to things: Gray. He thinks he can do it. Eventually it gets so bad, Lucy summons Capricorn to explain it to them.

-who puts up holiday decor: Lucy. It reminds her of what her servants would do around the estate during holidays.

-who is more likely to forget to bathe: Neither. They’re both clean as whistles. Though Gray is totally up for taking them to a hot spring village if they’re coming back from a mission.

-who gets more obsessed about things: Lucy. She’s a details oriented person. Gray is a little more go with the flow. So he doesn’t sweat small stuff or focus on stuff unless its super important.

-who sings in the shower more often: Lucy. Apparently her rendition of Royals by Lorde was so loud it once woke up Gray.

Send Me More

[jaskierswolf]

The Viscount and The Witcher pt.4/4

(Note: Reposted from my old blog. The rest can be found on my Ao3 or on my pinned masterlist)

The witchers gathered around the table were all laughing drunkenly as Geralt finished his latest tale of Dandelion the fake bard. Over the years, Dandelion’s attempts at creating monsters had been a source of entertainment over the winter for the witchers of Kaer Morhen.

“A fucking horse with wings!” Lambert could barely catch his breath between bouts of laughter. “Why didn’t the idiot just call it a unicorn or something like that?”

Geralt smiled fondly at the memory of the Viscount’s sheepish expression when the horse had ridden out of the barn.

“The real idiot here is Geralt.” Eskel pointed out.

Geralt snarled at his brother and glared fiercely but it didn’t have any affect on Eskel, he was too used to Geralt’s moods.

“If I had a pretty blonde throwing themselves at me like that, White Wolf.” Eskel grinned. “I would not ride off until the world was overrun with monsters and Vesemir pulled me out of the house kicking and screaming.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Lambert agreed.

Geralt’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Lambert raised an eyebrow at him. “You have got to be fucking kidding.”

Geralt shrugged. “Humour me.”

“That Viscount wants to ride you until he can’t remember his own name.” Lambert laughed.

“And then some.” Eskel added.

Geralt frowned. Sure Dandelion was a flirtatious man. The first time they’d met Dandelion had practically thrown himself at Geralt but after that he’d been more reserved. Geralt had assumed that the Viscount had changed his mind after Geralt’s vicious rejection. They had settled down into a sort of camaraderie.

There was nothing more to it than that.

Dandelion created his monsters and after some food or a bath Geralt would tear them apart.

That was it.

A foolish Viscount and his witcher.

Geralt scoffed.

Perhaps he was the foolish one. He was still not sure why he kept going back to Lettenhove.

“It’s not like that.” Geralt grunted.

His brother burst into hysterics, too much white gull in their systems.

“Oh White Wolf.” Eskel smirked and patted his cheek. “I thought you were supposed to be smart.”

“That was your first mistake.” Lambert cackled.

“That Dandelion of yours knows that you aren’t fooled by his trickery.” Eskel explained. “And yet he keeps calling you back.”

“And the wolf always comes when he’s beckoned.” Lambert snorted into his drink. “Maybe the Viscount is the real monster? A siren!”

Eskel laughed. “Or a succubus.”

Geralt growled. “He’s not a monster.”

“Calm down, Geralt. It’s a joke.” Eskel rolled his eyes.

“Hmm.”

“Fucking hell, he’s worse than usual.” Lambert groaned and topped up Geralt’s flagon with white gull. “Drink up!”

“I’m not thirsty.” He pushed the drink away.

He stood up and left his drunken brothers in the dining hall. He fled to the safety of his room and laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

He could picture Dandelion’s soft blond curls, hear his musical laughter, smell the sweet scent of lavender.

He groaned and rolled over, burying his nose in his pillow. “Fuck off, Dandelion!”

But the Viscount stayed with him, even when he closed his eyes.

Were his brothers right? Did Dandelion still want him or was it just a game like it always had been?

Last summer Lambert had decided to ride out to Dandelion’s lands. He had paraded around the villages and in the taverns with his swords proudly on his back. He had enquired loudly, in typical a Lambert manner, about any jobs that might require a witcher, but no letter had been sent, only a purse filled with coin. Lambert had been bemoaning about it all winter. Apparently it wasn’t fair that Geralt had a safe space at the castle, somewhere to bathe and recuperate should he need to, and the other witchers had to make do with scornful looks by shitty tavern owners.

Geralt had brushed off the story before, assuming that Dandelion had just been too busy to entertain a witcher, but Geralt had been in a nearby town less than a week later and no sooner had he arrived than a young girl had pressed a letter into his hands, Dandelion’s familiar seal stuck to the paper in vibrant yellow wax, the scent of buttercup perfume wafting from the paper.

Geralt snarled at jumped out of his bed. He stared wistfully out of the window. The path was still thick with snow and the chill in the air would prevent the path from clearing properly for another few days at the least.

He was stuck in Kaer Morhen until spring and for the first time in his long life, he didn’t want to be. He was restless. He didn’t feel comforted by the hot springs in the bathhouse. He didn’t feel at home with his family surrounding him. He didn’t feel well rested after months of sleeping in his own bed.

He peered back out at the snowy mountains. The snow wasn’t as thick and treacherous as it was in the middle of winter. There were already signs of melting. The rivers flowed fuller than they had all winter, no longer frozen solid in blocks of startling blue ice, and the branches of the trees no longer sagged under the weight of snow.

If he could melt away some of the snow then Roach would be able to navigate the trail. She was used to this journey now, no longer the skittish mare from three years ago. She’d grown into a reliable and trusted companion, as Roach always was and always would be.

With his mind made up he began to pack up his belongs and pulled his heavy winter cloak from his wardrobe.

It was time to leave Kaer Morhen.

_____________

Dandelion was packing up his essentials into his lute case, humming a new melody under his breath, when Annabelle ran into room without knocking.

“My Lord Dandelion.” She panted. Her cheeks were rosy from her run through the house and her red hair was wild as it tried to escape its bonnet on top of her head.

He dropped his lovely shimmering lilac doublet back onto his bed and caught the girl’s hands in his own. “Annabelle? What’s wrong my dear?”

“The witcher!” She gasped.

Dandelion felt his eyes go wide. “Geralt?”

“Lord Dandelion, he’s here.” She beamed up at him.

Oh no.

No no no.

Geralt wouldn’t have come for him. It was too soon. Spring had barely thawed the snow. Geralt should still be stuck up in the mountains with the other witchers, with Eskel, Lambert and Vesemir. There was no chance in all the Continent that Geralt could have made his way all the way from Kaedwen to the Lettenhove Estate already.

Dandelion ran a hand through his hair. It was a mess. There wouldn’t be enough time to curl it either. Oh to the gods he was a state! The witcher simply could not be here already. He thanked Annabelle and pressed a gold coin into her hands, sending her on her way and then turned to face his mirror.

“Oh this won’t do at all!” He whined and stripped off his mossy green jerkin that he’d picked out for travelling in and madly hopped about the room as he tried to pull on his lilac ensemble. His hair was a lost cause but he hoped that his hat would hide the worst of it. He appraised his reflection carefully. Perhaps he could draw Geralt’s eyes away from the mess of his hair.

He stuck his tongue between his lips as he considered the best plan of attack. Eyes… or lips?

Or both?

A last attempt to woo his witcher.

It was time for something utterly shameless. He pulled out the drawer of his dresser and plucked the kohl pencil from the top. His tongue slipped between his teeth as he concentrated, his hands shaking slightly as he brushed the kohl around his eyes. It was a miracle that the liner wasn’t horrendously wonky. There were a few shaky scuffs but overall Dandelion was proud of his work. The dark lines around his eyes made the blue pop. He smirked and moved onto the lipstick. It was a dark blood red stain that stood out brilliantly against his skin and golden blond hair.

He would just have to be careful not to bite his lips too much and wipe the make up off before Geralt could see the full look.

He tilted his head and adjusted his hat, making sure the feather was in place.

Now, he was ready for his witcher.

He strode from his room and down towards the foyer. Sure enough Geralt was waiting for him. He was stood awkwardly by the stairs, swords on his back and looking rather out of place in the extravagant mansion.

Geralt’s eyes flashed up when he heard Dandelion approach. Dandelion basked in the witcher’s gaze. Geralt’s amber eyes lingered on his lips and the witcher looked like he wanted to devour him. Dandelion smiled smugly and winked at the witcher.

“Greetings Geralt!” He purred as he slowly made his way down the stairs. “I wasn’t expecting to see you so soon.”

As he reached the bottom stair he reached out and stroked the witcher’s cheek, letting his finger trail down to Geralt’s jaw and neck.

Geralt visibly swallowed and his eyes darkened.

“Dandelion.” He growled and captured Dandelion’s wandering hand in his own.

“You’re lucky, witcher. A day later and you would have been quite disappointed. I am finally leaving this godforsaken house. You’ve inspired me, dearest. I want my adventure! I am going out to see the world for myself. My lute is tuned and ready to compose ballads that will change the world.” He sighed wistfully.

Geralt scowled and tilted his head. His hand still gripped Dandelion’s which was a pity because he so wanted to thread his fingers into that radiant silver hair. “You’re leaving?”

Dandelion nodded. “I am. I think we’ve been playing this game for long enough, don’t you think? It’s time for me to go out and see some real monsters.”

Geralt unexpectedly smiled playfully and brought Dandelion’s fingers to his lips.

Dandelion almost swooned. He suddenly felt rather breathless and he had no words to say, they were taken from him by this glorious man.

“I heard” Geralt leant forward to whisper in his ear, which was really quite indecent. The man’s voice was husky and low, his breath tickled against Dandelion’s cheek. “that you had a monster problem.”

Dandelion whimpered. He wasn’t proud of it but he found he was quite under Geralt’s spell which was really not fair. He was supposed to be the one that was doing the seducing, not the other way round.

“There are rumours” Geralt continued, his hand now resting on the small of Dandelion’s back, pulling their bodies closer together. “of a succubus in the Viscount’s castle, living right under his nose.”

“Oh?” Dandelion asked as heat pooled in his stomach.

“Dangerous creatures.” Geralt growled. “They can drive a man mad with lust.”

Dandelion gasped as Geralt’s lips moved to his neck. “I know the feeling.” Dandelion answered breathlessly.

Geralt chuckled and his hands slid down Dandelion’s back to grope his ass. Dandelion yelped in surprise and threw his arms around Geralt’s neck to support himself as his knees threatened to give out. He was positively dizzy with lust, his vision was hazy and all he could see, feel, smell was Geralt.

It was all he needed.

Geralt’s lips were still lavishing his neck, kissing and sucking at the tender skin, sending shocks of pleasure through Dandelion’s body. Geralt was surely leaving marks on his skin and that thought only made him feel even more aroused.

He tilted his neck to allow the witcher better access. “And where, my darling Geralt, would a succubus be hiding?” He asked, playing along with Geralt’s game.

“Hmm?” Geralt pulled away and looked at him with dark eyes.

“The succubus?” Dandelion asked weakly.

Geralt smirked and brushed a finger along Dandelion’s bottom lip. Dandelion trembled under the touch. Instead of answering Geralt suddenly wrapped his arms around Dandelion’s waist and threw him over his shoulder. Dandelion let out a surprised squeak as his feet were swept up from underneath him. Geralt’s strong arms were wrapped just under his ass and he was flopped over the witcher’s back as he if weighed nothing at all. His poor hat tumbled to the floor as it fell from his head. He caught the eye of Annabelle who was watching the whole affair from the other side of the foyer. She was laughing behind her hands.

Dandelion sighed as he was carried up the stairs, he waved to his staff with wink.

“Make sure no one disturbs us Annabelle!” He called to the girl. “I have an important meeting to attend to!”

“Shut it, Dandelion.” Geralt growled.

He laughed and smacked the witcher’s ass. “Dear witcher, Geralt, my darling.” He purred as the man pushed open the door to his bedroom.

“What?”

Dandelion smiled seductively as he was placed back on the ground in front of Geralt, the bed pressing against the back of his legs. He cupped Geralt’s handsome face in his hands. “Make me.”

Geralt growled and did just that, pulling Dandelion into a bruising kiss. One that the Viscount would remember for the rest of his life.

[ddvillageprop]

Discover the Charm of Hot Springs Village Real Estate

Hot Springs Village, nestled in the picturesque Ouachita Mountains of Arkansas, is a haven for those seeking a serene escape from the hustle and bustle of city life. With its lush landscapes, tranquil lakes, and a vibrant community, it’s no wonder that Hot Springs Village real estate is in high demand. Whether you're a prospective homeowner or an investor, understanding the unique offerings of this area can help you make an informed decision about your next property investment.

Why Hot Springs Village?

Hot Springs Village stands out for its exceptional quality of life. The community is renowned for its stunning natural beauty and extensive recreational amenities. Residents enjoy access to nine golf courses, 11 lakes, and over 30 miles of scenic trails, making it a paradise for outdoor enthusiasts. This unique combination of natural splendor and recreational opportunities contributes to the area's appeal, drawing individuals and families looking for both relaxation and adventure.

Real Estate Options

When it comes to real estate in Hot Springs Village, the variety is as diverse as the landscape. From cozy cottages to sprawling lakefront estates, there's something to suit every preference and budget. The housing market here is characterized by affordability compared to other upscale retirement destinations, making it an attractive option for those looking to maximize their investment.

Lakefront Properties: For those who crave waterfront living, Hot Springs Village offers a range of lakefront properties with stunning views and direct lake access. These homes often feature private docks and expansive outdoor spaces, perfect for enjoying the serene waters and natural surroundings.

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Investing in Hot Springs Village real estate is not just about buying a property—it's about investing in a lifestyle. The area’s low cost of living, combined with its rich array of amenities, makes it a compelling choice for both full-time residents and seasonal homeowners. The local real estate market has shown steady growth, reflecting the community's increasing popularity and the enduring appeal of its environment.

Moreover, Hot Springs Village’s active homeowner association and engaged community help maintain property values and ensure that the area remains a desirable place to live. With its low crime rates, excellent healthcare facilities, and a plethora of social activities, Hot Springs Village is not just a place to live—it's a place to thrive.

Getting Started

If you’re considering a move to Hot Springs Village or exploring investment opportunities, partnering with a local real estate expert can make the process smoother. Professionals who are familiar with the area can provide valuable insights and help you find the perfect property that meets your needs and desires.

In conclusion, Hot Springs Village offers a unique blend of natural beauty, recreational opportunities, and diverse real estate options. Whether you're drawn by the promise of a peaceful retreat or an active lifestyle, this charming community has something for everyone. Explore the real estate opportunities in Hot Springs Village today and discover why so many are choosing to call this picturesque area home.For more information on Hot Springs Village real estate, visit D&D Village Properties and start your journey toward finding your dream home.

[jeff-kamikow]

Florida: A Rich and Extensive History By Jeffrey Kamikow

Over the years, the state of Florida has garnered the international reputation of being the ideal location to party and soak up the sun. Annually, thousands of students make the trip here in March to have a memorable spring break. In the winter, retired folks travel to Florida to escape the harsh weather conditions, earning them the title 'snowbirds.’ Less known about the state of Florida is its rich and compelling history, dating back thousands of years, long before it was a spring break hotspot. Let's take a look at some of the major historical events that ultimately culminated in Florida becoming our beautiful 27th state.

12,000 BC

Believe it or not, at the end of the last Ice Age, Florida was roughly double the size it is today. In modern times, as the sea level continues to rise, the land area continues to diminish. Around 12,000 BC, the Paleo-Indians first came to Florida in search of food sources. Their main sources of food were mastodons, horses, and giant armadillos. (Yes, giant armadillos!)

It is believed that the Paleo-Indians first came to Florida from Asia, crossing the Bering Bridge from Siberia to Alaska. Once in North America, resources and the hunt for them led the Paleo-Indians as far south east as Florida. Today, the indigenous population of Florida stands at roughly 53,000, after years of colonization, mistreatment by settlers, and disease significantly reduced the population.

5000 BC

Still long before Europeans would ever set foot on North American soil, Paleo-Indians established a permanent settlement along the coast of Florida. By living near the warm ocean waters, they became dependent

on the plentiful resources the sea had to offer, thriving on marine life as a primary food source. This period is referred to in history as the ‘Archaic Period’.

500 AD

Fast forward roughly five thousand years, Paleo-Indians develop a significant change in lifestyle, taking to the woodlands to hunt game, rather than using the sea as a primary resource for food. It is at this point as well that the population begins to take to agriculture as well, establishing farms.

This period, referred to as the ‘Woodland Period’, is also defined by Paleo-Indians adopting new technology. Not only did the indigenous peoples begin farming around this time, but tools such as ceramics and the bow and arrow also came into the picture. Using the locations where these tools were discovered, archaeologists can roughly determine where the Paleo-Indians had settled.

1500’s 

It is widely known that in 1492, Spanish explorer Christopher Columbus visited North America, and so began America’s colonization. There are many documented interactions between European explorers and Native Americans in Florida around this time period. Juan Ponce De Leon is credited with naming Florida in 1513 after ‘Pascua Florida’, meaning ‘Flowery Easter’.

With the arrival of European settlers came the spelling of dark days for the Native Americans, as the settlers brought disease with them. By the end of the 1500’s, smallpox had already claimed the lives of 90 percent of the Native Americans living in Florida at that time. The population unfortunately would never fully replenish.

In 1559, the first 1500 European settlers attempted to establish a permanent settlement in Florida. This ultimately failed, with most of the settlers retreating to Cuba within a short period of time. Around this time period, the French also began to explore the territory.

Late 1500’s to 1750

This period is referred to in history as the ‘Spanish Period’, as in the late 1500’s the Spanish established the first permanent settlement in  Florida, known today as St. Augustine. Around this time, the first Christian missions were established in an attempt to convert Florida’s remaining native population.

This period is also defined by the arrival of the first African slaves, brought over by the Spanish. In the late 1500’s, not long after St. Augustine was established, Sir Francis Drake arrived and wreaked havoc on the settlement. This paved the way for a long conflict between British and Spanish settlers, both aiming to establish new colonies for their native countries.

1763 to 1783

This short period of time is defined by British control over Florida and  the American Revolution that would be seen as a significant blow to that control. At the end of the war between British loyalists and  revolutionists, the remaining loyalists fled to Florida, mainly settling in  St. Augustine. They would later flee once again, heading back to England or on to the Bahamas.

At around this time, Native Americans known as “Seminole’ or ‘Runaways’, would establish populations in northern Florida. These people, originally known as the ‘Creek People’, would remain in Northern Florida for quite some time and engage in conflict with Spanish settlers. 

Seminole Wars

The next era of Spanish control quickly began where the British control left off. With the arrival of this era, conflict began between colonists and the Seminole people. The beginning of the first Seminole War is defined by colonists burning down Seminole villages in northern Florida. Soon after, President Andrew Jackson ordered an invasion, targeting the native population. The Seminole Wars resulted in the deaths of fifteen hundred soldiers and civilians.

1920’s

The population of Florida subsequently exploded in the early 1900’s in an event known as the Florida Land Boom. This period during the 1920’s led to the establishment of many communities we know today, such as Coral Gables, Miami Springs, and Hollywood. The economy was booming until around 1926, when a powerful hurricane led to the destruction of the market, causing bankruptcy which plagued the local real estate market. The economy in Florida would not recover until World War II.

1940’s to Present Day 

Florida’s modern land boom took place just after the end of the Second World War. During this time period, important points of interest were established, most notably Everglades National Park in 1946. The state of Florida also began to open up educational institutions, such as Florida State University and South Florida University a decade later.

With the beginning of the Cuban Revolution in the late 1950s, a large number of Cuban refugees landed on the shores of southern Florida. Soon, a large Cuban population was established, with an estimated 70 percent of all Cuban Americans living in Florida.

In 1962, John Glenn became the first man to orbit the Earth, after being launched into space from Cape Canaveral. Just seven years later, in 1969, Neil Armstrong became the first man to set foot on the moon, being launched at the Kennedy Space Centre, just a short distance away.

There are so many reasons why you should make the trip to the Sunshine State if you haven’t already, but one of the most frequently overlooked reasons to visit is the state’s rich and extensive history that has made Florida the tourist hot spot it is today. Every year, millions set out to make memories here without realizing the historical significance of the location. With its history in mind, Florida is truly a place like no other and its past is just as much worth exploring as the state itself!

[kyogre-blue]

Naruto Shippuden, ep 484-488

This filler is about Sasuke... in theory. It doesn’t really show that much about him and I wouldn’t say he develops in any way. It’s fairly dull. 

It’s also incredibly annoying. There are two issues, both with the filler characters. The first is their powers. Fuushin’s unspecified kekkei genkai seems to be related to wind, but he is also able to make exploding knives. That’s... whatever, fine. But the Chinoike are just ridiculous. They’re first introduced as having a doujutsu, the Ketsuryugan, which allows them to use strong genjutsu. The Uchiha were hired specifically to deal with that. But ACTUALLY their power is over blood, which is far more versatile and notable, and has jackall to do with their doujustu. It’s all insanely annoying. 

The second issue is Chino’s massive hypocrisy. You can view it as more “this villain might have a point, so we better make them super evil to make sure the audience doesn’t think too hard.” Alternatively, she’s pretty obviously clinging to ridiculous justifications for herself. 

In either case, Chino presents the idea that, to the person suffering, the perpetrators and those who stand aside doing nothing as both cruel. She calls them equally bad, but either way, the point is that if you see something wrong and don’t act, you’re also in the wrong. That’s pretty interesting! And very applicable for shinobi, who don’t do anything if there isn’t money or their own village involved. 

But Chino herself then kills dozens of completely unrelated bystanders and wants to kill all of Konoha (???) for no particular reason except that I guess it would make her feel connected to her ancestors. She also doesn’t bother targeting Oyashiro (who is still free at the end), or Kiri who actually killed half her gang, or the nasty as hell daimyos, or anyone actually doing evil that she is perfectly aware of. She picks the most unnecessary and ridiculous target. 

And of course, this entire message is totally ridiculous when Orochimaru is right there. 

484: 

Aun Gate is how the subs render the gate name. 

Former Anbu Tadaichi, a regular at Ino’s shop. 

Chouji can now grow wings on one bag of potato chips. 

Chino and Nowaki claim to be former shinobi who are now performers. Old man Iou and his daughter Amino. Fuushin and the Lighting Gang (Raikou-dan), who acted as robin hood types. 

Sasuke can use his Sharingan to look into people’s memories. 

485: 

Orochimaru is just traveling around, doing whatever. Yamato is tailing him but... 

En Oyashiro, an arms trader. We find out later that he’s been buying child slaves with kekkei genkai and training them to be shinobi. For... probably two decades and counting. 

An unmarked island for the rich, with a Coliseum where their pet shinobi fight. Makibi Corporation, Himeyuri Company, Kusabi Real Estate Group, if you need some buddies for Gatou. (Although Gatou was apparently a small-fry, messing around with hired samurai thugs and missing nin. Raising your own child soldiers is where it’s at.) 

486: 

Sasuke already has eyebags around age 19 or so. 

Fuushin was born in Mizu, but the villagers (including his own parents??) sold him for having a kekkei genkai. They blamed him for causing a typhoon. 

Chinoike clan, with the Ketsuryugan. Their actual power is over blood. Previously from Lightning, they had a daughter marry the daimyo. When he died, another concubine framed her, so the entire clan was exiled to Hell Valley in Hot Spring. The Uchiha were hired to do so due to their Sharingan. This was before Konoha’s founding. 

Orochimaru makes smart remarks about the oppressed Uchiha clan once oppressing others, but that’s... quite different.....

Sasuke wonders if Itachi knew. Probably not! Have you seen Konoha keep proper records of anything? Also, Itachi wiped out a clan of innocent people, he can deal with it. 

To return to his real form, Fuushin slashes his wrists and momentarily swells up like the exploding people. I guess Chino injected some of her blood into him to transform him? 

487: 

Fighting the Ketsuryugan makes Sasuke’s Sharingan bleed. He also needs to use Mangekyou. So blood powers and also OP genjutsu, makes lots of sense...

Chino says the clan decided to stay in Hell Valley since they were tired of fighting. This sounds weird on multiple levels, but ok

Chino’s Ketsuryugan also bleeds when used. 

The old man at the start actually asked for their help, so him turning on the Lightning Gang is especially nasty. 

The gang were hired by Kiri to attack the Mizu daimyou (during Yagura’s era), but Kiri were actually setting them up. They could get rid of a free faction while also cozying up with the daimyo. 

Their cloaks had lightning bolts on them, how cute. 

488: 

Chino, Fuushin and their buddy are taken to a Konoha prison. Unlike Orochimaru!

The Mizukage wants to take charge of them. Mei wants to work with them, given Kiri’s past betrayal. 

Kakashi tells them they must atone for the rest of their lives. Unlike Orochimaru!!

Sasuke does go back to the Coliseum to free all the shinobi there according their rules. I’m not sure why he does this, since the entire gambling ring is broken up by A because the island is close to Kumo. He says that this is thus Kumo’s problem to deal with... but WHY. Shinobi are not law enforcers? Where and how does he have authority to take all these rich assholes into custody? Or shut down their business? It’s not even explained which part is illegal. 

Final twist: Oyashiro is from the Chinoike. After his wife died, he killed his entire clan. Chino is his daughter, so her issues are especially something in retrospect. Orochimaru has the guts to call him a “doting parent” despite him messing her up so much that she ripped a kid’s ear off with her teeth in training. He, an arms dealer and a slave trader, is free to do whatever he wants at the end :) 

SS continues to be... bad. 

[flowerflamestars]

Oak and Ash

PART ONE    PART TWO   If there was one thing Lucien Vanserra learned young, it was to control himself.  But control in the world of Autumn had always been more than half deception- and Lucien was lying more and more each day. That he really was a Spring Lord in all but birth. That Feyre was fine and Tamlin was just. That the rot that had began under Amarantha was being cleansed, not grown right into the soul of a stagnant season.  Burning inside him every day, it became harder.  Without fail, he woke with magic kindling in his veins, sweating out his pores in raging heat. It made no sense to him. Elain was human. He could practically hear the mortal beat of her heart if he focused hard, soft as spring rain falling over Tamlins estate.  But still, Lucien dreamt.  Of Elain dancing, spinning through the figures of Autumn Court dances. The Hunters Moon high in sky, his beautiful savage home a safe place- Elain Archeron wild with joy and framed by bonfires, all dimples and clever eyes. Maddeningly impossible, with faery bright skin. Her curls unbound and soft to the touch- his touch.  There was no world in which those forests might call Lucien home, no story where he would ever be crowned again in rowan and bone, no life where it wasn’t a land ruled by a murderous tyrant.  Lucien spent long night hours staring at the sky, slowing his heart, the fire in his blood, the longing trying to burn him up inside. In some ways, he decided, it was even worse than the death wish he’d carried in the time of Amarantha. Something inside him was waking up, the embers stoked for the first time in centuries.  Something a human girl who wanted only to be his friend had brought to life.  It was as though he’d been half awake for decades. Now his eyes were open, and Lucien couldn’t stop looking. If he’d been asleep, his power had been half dead. It would have been easy to write off on the long imprisonment of Prythian, but deep down he knew that wasn’t true.  No fox worth a forest den lied to himself too.  Lucien thought perhaps he hadn’t felt even a spark of it’s full strength since the day Jesminda had burned. Hadn’t wanted it- not really, not to live or to feel- and that truest, most intrinsic part had listened.  Until he’d stumbled into a rose garden. Winnowed straight over the Wall armed to the teeth.  And every day he rose, the ostentatious costume of a spring noble never more false. It reminded him so much a of her laugh; this girl who he’d known less than a heartbeat, seeing the truth that easily. If his tiredness showed, Tam didn’t comment. Maybe he didn’t notice, too busy celebrating a victory even Lucien was tired of lauding. Too busy seeking ways to kill Rhysand, for all that his fell bargaining had likely saved them all.  It took bitter, constant focus not to melt the gold all around him.  Lucien understood saving face, but he knew sacrifice much more. Hated that he understood the pallor that dulled even Feyre’s glowing immortal skin.  He hated it- hated as he went through every motion, thoughts buried deep. His duties filled his day, but they meant nothing. Emptiness, Lucien learned, only brought the flames higher. He was helpless, had been for a long time, he was realizing. Facing that he hated this fetid court. That Lucien had no home to return to, couldn’t fathom a place in this damned whole land he could safely call his own, with his mother’s fire so bright gold spiked and burned in his gaze.  With Elain Archeron’s smoke and dew flower scent living in his lungs like a haunting.  So Lucien did what he was best at, and didn’t return. No matter that the Wall buzzed like a beacon in the back of his mind every day he spent in too bright, too frozen forests, he didn’t turn toward human lands. Refusing the siren song of his name on the wind, no matter how it hurt. Instead, Lucien winnowed to the furthest of the rebuilding villages and built until he was made to leave.  To return to stand at Tamlin’s side- more and more, to stand and not speak.   He knew how to run, how to fight, turning those gifts inward was nothing at all.  Nothing at all, until the High Lord of Night rescued Feyre from her own wedding, and Lucien was relieved. — Elain would never be so rude as to hide from her own guests.  She was naturally- as she’d explained to the simpering lord who’d escorted her outside- simply overwhelmed by the heat of the ball room, and could he be so kind as to escort her and oh, perhaps fetch some lemonade she’d forgotten inside?  Alone, Elain sank down on the balcony, this years frothy skirts poofing against the cold stone.  They had standing in the community again- riches and place, prospects and respect. Nesta, unable to hide how much she hated the false cheer, had retreated hours ago. But Elain had smiled- danced on and on, familiar burn beneath her ribs writhing.  She wanted- she wanted out of this gods damned corset, wanted to throw every idiot vying for her hand, for her wealth, out of the house. To know her baby sister was safe, to know her older sister would be okay.  The music, audible from the ballroom, shifted into a faster reel, and Elain pressed her face into her hands.  Unbidden- and she would blame the frustration later- the thought of dark ink on golden skin came to her. Careful lines to make a tangle of plants, true and perfect. At this point, Elain could have traced the shapes in her sleep.  She wanted Lucien to come back.  Which was madness. But she’d thought- hoped, assumed- that they were something like friends. The specter of that fascination twisted hotly in her chest, but here, alone, she let it come. Lucien was her beautiful, impossible faery friend.  Who’d never again answered her summons.  Elain knew it was what she should have expected. Could even, perhaps, be so simple as a difference of species. What were a few long months to a man- creature - who’d live forever? A solid piece of her young life, but to Lucien? An eye blink, an afternoon.  But just as truly she couldn’t shake the image of him striding in from the storm, wild and burning. He’d come for her, to make sure Elain was alright. Savage and protective, but he’d taken her offer to stay and drunk hot chocolate out of dainty china cups like it was a wonder.  The soft slide of one of the glass doors opening had Elain jumping to her feet, excuses on her lips before she saw the shine of her older sisters skirts.  Silently, Nesta walked down the balcony to Elain and sank down onto the cold stone herself. In the moonlight, her pale grey dress and tired face were much the same luminous color. Elain thought, not for the first time, that her older sister might have been better off if she were the one dragged to faery. Stillness- the lack of real answers- to be backed into a corner was what always ruined Nesta in the end.  “I thought you went to bed,” Elain murmured, sinking down until their shoulders touched.  Nesta sighed and Elain felt the moment her straight spine curved. “Lord Macon arrived,” Nesta said, colder than the night air. Elain knew well enough none of that sharpness was for her. “We have to indulge him, at least until father returns.”  They both knew their father was never coming home. But even alone here, neither would say those vulnerable words with their house full of gentry.  The Acherons were rich again- safe again. But how safe could two heiresses be in the wild human country that bordered the Wall? The second they’d had the funds to secure ships their father had disappeared back to the sea. Only the noble blood in their veins and the fair lines of their cheeks remained of the long dead Lady Asteria Acheron.  The sisters were on their own, as they always had been.  So Elain became a darling- she hosted balls and gave to noble women’s charities. Established committees and revelries, provided them every cover gentility could allow.  Tonight’s smiles had made her face ache. “That fucking prick,” Elain sighed, lips twitching as Nesta choked on a laugh.  Her sister’s cost had been far higher these long months. She played the part of a very long, very slow traditional courtship to a lord two decades her senior- and hadn’t stabbed him yet.  Elain had contemplated poison.  Because she knew- better than anyone else could, that Nesta Archeron truly believed in love. That deep in unbending heart of her cold, impossibly strong sister lived a woman who was all fire. And she’d burn herself out for the people she loved- would keep on giving pieces of herself away if it kept Elain safe.  She leaned harder against her sister’s side, pleased and horrified at the press of metal from beneath Nesta’s skirts.  The faery daggers were shared between them, and Nesta was wearing them strapped to her thighs.  The morning Elain confessed to Nesta about Lucien- about tea and poison, danger and beauty- her razor edged sister had wept. Not for Elain, but with the knowledge that somehow, Feyre was alive out there in ageless lands.  And then refused to speak to Elain for days in horrified fury, but that was something else entirely. Neither of them could imagine Feyre’s life now- or a sure way to keep themselves safe if fae continued to come over the Wall- but they couldn’t throw away the connection either. Lucien. Inside, the orchestra shifted to a spring reel, frantically fast. Nesta sighed a second time and let her eyes fall shut, tilting her head back to rest on the stone wall.  Echoing the motion, both sisters sat face to face with where the Wall lay. In the day it was a solid line of disturbance- like looking at the sun a second too long, or trying to read a completely foreign language.  Tonight, in the full light of a red tinged moon, it was invisible.  This was the part they never, ever admitted aloud to each other. Not even on the late nights they gathered in Nesta’s rooms, long after the house was asleep, to speak of faeries. To guess at Feyre’s whereabouts, for Nesta to share the illicit and entirely illegal research she was doing- to wonder and worry, to plan.  What neither sister would admit- but knew, both, buried between them- was something close to envy. They were safe. Worried for Feyre and scared for her, but safe in human lands.  Feyre was free. — Lucien seen it on Feyre’s face, in the weight she somehow kept shedding, in the frozen fear he could taste on the sweet Spring breeze. There was no world in which Tam, with his hunters senses, hadn’t smelled it too. Could feel it, see it.  But then Feyre was gone, and the world was red. Red wedding roses shredded on the lawn, poisoned Spring twisting garden vines into thorns and bleeding flowers. Tamlin, roaring out that rage that had a voice in Luciens head whispered to snarl back. He’d survived centuries with his head down, but suddenly all at once the required submission turned his bones molten.  Lucien wanted to defend himself against the pain he knew was coming. He wanted to defend Feyre, not a possession to be stolen from Tamlin.  He fought it, locking joints and face to the ground. Not placating Tamlin, but trying to tame the flames that had licked their way up into his eyes, magic settled in seething gold. Lucien had his eyes squeezed shut, counting the beats of his heart. It was a second- it was a moment- but it was enough for him to miss the first death.  He didn’t miss of sound of the body hitting the ground.  He didn’t throw himself forward fast enough to stop the second, to pull his friend- not his High Lord, his friend- back from mindlessly tearing through Feyre’s guard detail. But it wasn’t his friend who looked back, who roared anew as Lucien’s shoulder slammed into him, who fought his unrelenting grip.  They went down hard, Tamlin’s beast aspect a muddle of gold and blood as claws dug into Lucien’s forearms.  Dug and cut, the wetness of blood the only physical anchor Lucien had as his entire left arm went numb, Tamlins claws too deep. He had to get him away, had to push Tamlin away from the soldiers that would die too fast in this conflict.  Faerie dominance was a fickle and instinctual thing. Deadlier than the weapons they forged, stronger than the magic that defined their endless centuries of life. Lucien had learned it young and learned it well, the too bright, too magical youngest son of Prythian’s bloodiest court. Knew the feel of it like breathing, could pick out noble heirs and sense mate bonds a mile off, knew other faeries magical gifts with an instinct so strong it might have been some magic itself.  He knew it all, but somewhere, he’d made a mistake.  Tamlin was stronger than Lucien like this, half transformed and more than half mad with rage. But he’d always been faster than his friend. Like breathing- like he’d always stupidly done- Lucien let himself be hurt to twist in Tamlin’s grip and pull him further from the ruined wedding.  Bleeding- his arm was bleeding too damn much- Lucien kneeded Tamlin in the side, the crunch of breaking bone as much a surprise as a balm to the instincts screaming at him to fight for real.  But Tamlin still didn’t flinch, come to the surface. Instead he snarled, the roar of a creature neither human or fae, teeth dangerously close.  Distantly, Lucien had the horrible thought that the High Lord of Spring had never been this crazed when Amarantha was still alive. This unhinged.  True fear, cold even through the fire, slide down his spine.  It was the last thing Lucien thought, before claws slid up under his ribs. Like a handle of bone, crushing horrible pain as his skin parted- but he didn’t feel it. Lucien didn’t feel anything at all. He wasn’t in his body.  He was- red blood, green blood, her blood- broken ribs screaming as he was ground down into a polished marble floor. He was bleeding- how can there be so much blood from burning? Willow sap blood, autumn’s cost, his brother’s blood staining his skin. He was in the air- Eris had him against the wall by his throat. He could take him in an even fight- he could- but not like this, not with her- He was flying- transformed into an owl, into a wolf, at Tamlin’s behest- red blood, green grass, the world was blurring past his eyes- Elain’s laugh-  He was burning.  Lucien came to the beat after impact- head ringing, body ringing, the riven trunk of the tree Tamlin had thrown him into- thrown him through- catching fire at the touch of his skin. Teeth bared, vision blurred, but it wasn’t a Spring Lord who sat up and looked for Tamlin.  But the High Lord had transformed and vanished, the sound him running through the forest unnaturally loud in Lucien’s ears.  Leaving him, gasping and bleeding, responsible for the bodies of two soldiers he’d trained since their youth.  No. Tamlin was responsible.  Lucien could still feel his friend’s empty eyes. The gaze of the High Lord of Spring, where madness and becoming lived. Where something might have been broken for a long, long time. Lucien had fought with Tamlin before, interceded in years past, but Tam had never looked at him like a true opponent. Like Lucien was an equal, a challenger, and he was going to rip off his fucking head.  Had torn through Cian and Oisin like they were nothing at all.  Lucien knew , without a doubt, Tamlin had felt that magic fighting to be free in his oldest advisor and dearest friend. Had met it head on and decided in that bloody instant, that he was fighting a real enemy.  He couldn’t stay here, dazed and lost in the growing dark. Couldn’t help these males he’d trained, finish the village rebuilding, stay to talk Tamlin out of declaring war on the Night Court.  Because even when Tamlin found his reason his again, Lucien wouldn’t be safe.  The second he’d fought back he’d sealed his fate- not an adviser, a challenger. There was nothing of his friend left right now- and perhaps there hadn’t been for a long, long time. Lucien couldn’t help these faeries, but there was someone left he could.  Someone Lucien was sure Tamlin knew about, and wouldn’t hesitate for a second to use somehow to get Feyre back.  Sky bright, blood trailing after him, Lucien followed the roaring into the woods.  He could feel it now- the Hunters moon as it rose in his veins. The ease of it, to bleed wicked spring blood into old spring soil, like hunting any wild beast. Lucien was the son of forests far older than these. Once he’d earned his crown of bone, under the power of the dying year, the hate of a high lord watching over him. Flooded with fear and adrenaline, the old magic of violence danced beneath his skin.  Lucien shook off the crushing pain. He was a survivor, and after all these miserable years, he burned still. Even among Spring green trees, he could have slaughtered Tamlin.  The absolute fact of that knowledge took whatever breathe had remained in his screaming lungs, made him stand straight in the blood loss haze.  Through the ringing in his ears,  Tamlins rampage could be heard, the only thing dividing the sound of a fae lord from the animals he killed roaring volume. Killing, because even after all these centuries, Tam couldn’t channel the rage. Lucien had always known it, like knowing that he was cornered in Spring, that Tamlin resented the power in his blood instead of bending it to his will.  But it was that power that had saved Lucien, once upon a time ago. Power that had made him stay- and made him think he was weak. He owed Tamlin his life for that day, when Lucien really had been weak, been determined to die after the worst loss of his life. But now?  Now Lucien, blood covered and listening to the leader he’d followed howl like a beast, had to face that the old debt between them was more than repaid. He’d crossed the gods damned wall for Tamlin, ready to give his life. So miserable and grateful, so cut off from himself, to sacrifice every endless year of an immortal life just so that the broken faerie that saved him might break a curse.  For what? Lucien’s vision blurred around the edges, darkness as tempting as a caress. Pain pounded in the same tempo of his heartbeat. But he made himself walk, pulled forth the the strength to run. Not after Tamlin, but toward the Wall. He’d wanted to die, been ready to die for his friend again and again, and what had he gotten in return?  The opportunity to be a good servant? Not an ally. To have Feyre waste away before them, unable to help, unable to make the faerie he’d thought to be his closest friend listen to him even for a minute. Betrayal that twisted in his gut, churning with the concussed nausea that would take hours to heal. He was glad Rhysand had Feyre with him, glad his oldest of enemies could keep her safe from the lord who loved her.  He had to slow, staggering to boundary oaks that marked Spring Court land. If he passed out in these woods, he wasn’t sure he’d ever wake up. Were Tamlin to find him, it was easy to assume he’d kill before he thought. If Lucien didn’t get away, if he stopped holding back, he was going to kill his friend. Fire in his veins and confusion in his heart, fracture lines on every surface. Lucien knew he would do it- if Tamlin beyond reach of logic came at him, Lucien would kill him rather than take the pain ever again.  Dizziness pulling at him hard, Lucien didn’t notice when his footsteps began to leave smoldering prints in their wake. In his ringing ears, he could just feel the pressure of the Spring boundary, taut against him. Teeth gritted, he bore it, bearing down until it couldn’t hold him, until even the poison of the Wall before him faded.  He was too incoherent to think about it, but later, much later, he’d return to find immortal oaks ash, their enchantments cleaved to nothing.  So bleeding and burning, lost and found, Lucien Vanserra staggered into human lands, and found he wanted to live. @breath-of-sindragosa @flxwer-petals @ladyvanserra @missanniewhimsy @tntwme @illyrianinterrasen

[roman-writing]

Increments of Longing (2/4)

Fandom: Warcraft III / World of Warcraft

Pairing: Sylvanas Windrunner / Jaina Proudmoore

Rating: T

Wordcount: 26,980

Summary: The Zandalari trolls have joined forces with the Amani trolls, and Prince Kael’thas seeks a new military alliance with the seafaring nation of Kul Tiras by arranging a marriage between the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and the sole Heir to the Kul Tiran Admiralty.

Author’s Note: shoutout to @raffinit for being a champ and reading over this for me

read it below or read it here on AO3

The estate, Jaina discovered a few days after the wedding ceremony, was called Goldenbough Manor. She could faintly recall being told that before, but the last few weeks had been reduced to a blur in her mind. Now, she was standing before the manor, gazing up at its many ruby-studded spires and minarets in the lilac glow of the setting sun, which cast the earth in warm honeyed tones. All high elven architecture, as far as she could tell, involved spires and minarets, though Jaina could not understand the fascination personally.

It was a far cry from the staunch bulk of Proudmoore Keep. In comparison to impassive grey stone and walls fit for an invasion, Goldenbough Manor appeared lofty and delicate. It sat upon a hilltop overlooking its estate grounds and inland village, branching up towards the sky, each tower connected by a magically-sustained bridge around the fluted main belfry. The heat here was no less unbearable than it had been in Silvermoon City, but when Jaina closed her eyes she could hear the sea beyond battering the white cliffs facing west, salting the air with a familiar tang.

It was just enough for an aching tug of homesickness to wrench at her gut. Close enough to home, and yet far far away.

“Enjoying the cool evening air?” a voice said behind her.

Opening her eyes, Jaina turned. Sylvanas stood not far behind her, dressed in casual leathers and a half-cloak that hung rakishly off one shoulder. Further beyond, a group of liveried servants in Windrunner colours were being directed by Ithedis as they unloaded a carriage filled with Jaina’s personal belongings.

“This is supposed to be ‘cool’?” Jaina asked.

Sylvanas hummed and stepped closer. “We’ve had a temperate spring this year. I can feel the rains coming. Won’t be a few months now.”

She nodded towards the horizon far across the sea. Glancing over her shoulder, Jaina saw what she was referring to; storm clouds gathered, tall billowing pillars of black that were lanced through with lightning. They drifted distantly enough that Jaina had disregarded them, thinking they would pass by the mainland, just another set of offcasts from the Maelstrom.

Jaina shuddered. “If this was temperate, I don’t want to know what hot feels like.”

“Quite lovely, actually.”

“Says the elf.”

Sylvanas flashed her a grin that lacked any real warmth. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Hmm,” was Jaina’s reply.

Jaina did not say that she very much doubted that fact. Already she had spent nearly three whole months in Quel’Thalas, and still she had trouble sleeping at night and woke up every morning groggy and ill-rested. The days seemed to sap her of energy, until it was all she could do to drag her sorry carcass out of her quarters in Sunfury Spire, and sit in the bazaar clutching a warm drink -- because Tides forbid she actually enjoy a cold beverage. The one time she had tried chilling a glass of water, the frost had shot from the palm of her hand so viciously, it had shattered the crystal goblet. She had been left apologising to the shop owner, using Ithedis as a translator to convey her deepest regrets.

A few of the servants bustled past, bearing trunks full of Jaina’s things. Ithedis barked at them in Thalassian when one of them dropped a case, and Jaina winced in sympathy.

“I believe dinner has been prepared for us,” Sylvanas said as she drew up beside Jaina, and then stepped by her, striding towards the manor. “Shall we?”

Jaina followed. She trotted to catch up and walk at Sylvanas’ side. “It’s a bit later than I usually have dinner,” she mentioned as they passed together through the elaborately carved front gates and into the sweeping ground floor.

Sylvanas’ stride paused ever so slightly, before she continued walking. “And what time do you usually eat dinner?”

“About two or three hours earlier.”

Making a face, Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “Can I propose a compromise? Dinner an hour earlier?”

Jaina stuck out her hand. “It’s a deal.”

With a low chuckle, Sylvanas clasped her hand and shook it. Her fingers were warm and calloused, and she dropped Jaina’s hand quickly in order to usher her into a dining area off the main hall.

The dining area itself was large enough to host generous events, but the servants had assembled a smaller section of the room for everyday use. Two couches had been pushed parallel to one another, and between them a low table was piled with platters of what appeared to be a variety of hors d’oeuvres. Jaina had long since learned that this would be the entirety of the meal. She still wasn’t very good at handling her food without utensils however, and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw a small stack of cloth serviettes that had been folded along one corner of the table.

Sylvanas leaned her knee atop one of the low-slung couches, before gracefully lowering herself onto her side, propped up on one elbow. Jaina hesitated to do the same on the other couch. She didn’t think she would ever get used to eating while half lying down.

Sylvanas watched her, studious and expressionless. “Would you prefer a chair?”

“Oh, I would,” Jaina breathed. “I really would.”

Sylvanas said something in Thalassian, a series of words that Jaina only partially understood. A few moments later, and a servant appeared from behind a door, carrying a high-backed chair. He placed it down, pushed the couch to one side, and situated the chair in its place.

“Thank you,” Jaina said, and received a bow in return. When she sat however, the chair was far too high for such a low table.

“We can order in a Kul Tiran dining set,” Sylvanas assured her.

With a sigh, Jaina draped one of the cloth napkins across her lap. “No, it’s fine. I should really get used to this anyway.”

Sylvanas reached for a dish and began to eat without preamble. “If it’s any consolation,” she said around a small bite of food, “I will be just as lost in Kul Tiras as you are here.”

“That’s not what I want either.”

“But you would tell me what you want?” Sylvanas asked in a voice that was far too controlled to be truly nonchalant.

Jaina had been trying to balance a bit of meat and sauce upon a flat piece of bread, when she fumbled and dropped the meat on the ground, where it fell with a splat. She grimaced at Sylvanas and conceded, “Cutlery? And plates? At this point, I would kill a man for an honest plate.”

“No need to go that far,” Sylvanas drawled. “Though I’m sure Ithedis would jump at the honour.”

She said it right as Ithedis was entering the dining hall, and though there could be no doubt that he had heard, his expression never faltered. Sylvanas must have known he was coming, for she aimed a sidelong smile over her shoulder at him. “I never would have thought it true if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, but I believe he’s taken a liking to you, Lady Proudmoore.”

Ithedis said nothing as he took his post at the entrance. Jaina smiled at him, and could have sworn she saw his eyes flicker towards her in a silent greeting.

“Ithedis is safe from my wrath,” Jaina said, leaning down to clean up her mess with the napkin before a servant could come scurrying out to do it for her.

Sylvanas continued eating as she watched, lounging upon her couch, while Jaina struggled to bring a morsel to her mouth without dumping it either on the floor or herself. “You should familiarise yourself with the manor after dinner. Explore a bit.”

“I remember you showing me around last time.” With a small sense of triumph, Jaina managed a bite, even if her fingers did get a little smeared with richly spiced sauce.

“I’ve made a few changes since then. You may have noticed.”

That, Jaina could not deny. Even her brief walk through the foyer and main hall had revealed that much. The last time they’d been here, the manor was still dusty with disuse, its shades drawn, its stables empty, and all of its furnishings shrouded in white cloth. Now, the halls were lit with yellowish magelight, and the patterned marble floors all but sparkled.  

Jaina tore apart another section of flatbread that she and Sylvanas were sharing. “Anything in particular you think I should see?”

Breezily, Sylvanas said, “For starters, there’s a halfway decent private library in my brother’s old quarters, now.”

Jaina’s eyes widened, and she nearly choked. Chewing her food quickly, she swallowed. “You got me a library?”

“Oh?” Sylvanas said, all sweetness and innocence. “Should I not have? I thought you liked libraries? I heard you frequented Silvermoon’s finest these last few weeks.”

“I did! I mean -- I do! I just -” Jaina wiped her hands clean on another serviette. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“Like I don’t have to buy a Kul Tiran dining set?”

“But I haven’t done anything for you,” Jaina said, wringing the serviette between her hands.

Sylvanas waved her concern aside. “You gave me a lovely gift already.”

“Yes, but - wait.” Jaina blinked. “You have a brother?”

Sylvanas hesitated, a momentary pause as she reached for another piece of bread. “Had,” she murmured. “I had a brother. I had many siblings, in fact. Now, there’s just Vereesa.”

Jaina could have kicked herself. Instead she settled for squirming in her seat at her complete lack of tact, and saying lamely, “I’m sorry.”

Another one of those inscrutable elven shrugs, though this time Sylvanas’ usual air of calm detachment was sullied by the way she would not meet Jaina’s eye. “It’s in the past.”

A long silence stretched between them. A servant emerged through a door to offer wine and -- Jaina blinked in surprise -- Kul Tiran tripel. Warm, she noticed, scrunching up her nose and shaking her head. Sylvanas declined as well, requesting water instead, which was brought out in a steaming glass teapot. Jaina’s heart sank at the sight of it, but she sighed and nodded when Sylvanas asked with a gesture if she wanted a drink.

Jaina set the drink aside and waited for it to cool somewhat. Sylvanas was sipping at her own glass. While Jaina watched her, she had to stop her leg from bouncing. She straightened her back, and said, “I had brothers as well. Two of them.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose, but she said nothing.

“To be honest,” Jaina continued, smoothing the serviette out across her lap and fiddling with its edges. “I was never the first choice for Heir to the Admiralty. After my father and brothers all died though, there really wasn’t any choice. If even one of my brothers had lived, you probably would’ve married him instead of me.”

To her surprise, Sylvanas let out a huff of laughter and said in a dry tone, “I very much doubt that.”

Brow furrowing, Jaina asked, “Why’s that? If the threat of trolls was still prevalent, then surely Kul Tiras and Quel’Thalas would have been pushed towards an alliance.”

Sylvanas sipped delicately at her water, steam drifting from the little glass between her fingers. “Because everyone knows that my preferences run solely towards women. Well,” she tipped her glass towards Jaina, “Most everyone, that is.”

Jaina could feel a flush rising to her cheeks. She could recall the conversation between herself and Kael’thas in the bazaar, cutting him off just as he’d been about to tell her something along those lines -- though, she hadn’t realised it at the time. Now, she snatched up her own glass of water and drank, coughing at the stinging heat. Meanwhile, Sylvanas hid her amusement by continuing to graze at the table.

Clearing her throat, Jaina admitted, “It hadn’t occurred to me that might be the case. I just thought that -- you know -- this was the product of a lack of any alternatives. Not that you - uhm -”

A bemused frown creased the space between Sylvanas’ brows. “And what about you?”

“Me?” Jaina all but squeaked.

“Yes. Didn’t anyone take into account your preferences?”

“Oh, I don’t know about -- that is to say --” Jaina cut herself off before she could ramble, and said weakly, “I haven’t given it much thought.”

For a moment, Sylvanas stared at her. Then she snorted with laughter. “You married me without question, and you didn’t pause to think if you were even attracted to women?”

“I didn’t think attraction was a key requirement of this marriage,” Jaina countered. Straightening in her seat, she reached for another piece of food, studiously avoiding the way Sylvanas was grinning at her, and her own burning face.

A wry chuckle was her reply. “I suppose that’s true. I would have noticed a clause like that in the paperwork. And here I thought you were lamenting the missed opportunity of marrying Kael’thas himself.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Oh, please.”

Sylvanas continued, "He did seem quite upset when I agreed to replace him. I'm surprised he hadn't walked up to you and formally apologised for marrying you off to someone lesser than he."

Rather than answer and confirm her suspicion, Jaina stuffed another bite into her mouth. As it turned out, that was answer enough. Sylvanas seemed utterly delighted. "Of course he did. And yet you turned him down?” Sylvanas’ grin widened. “What a shame. I wish I could have been there to see his face.”

Reaching for another bite, Jaina shook her head. “No, you really don’t.”

Sylvanas had leaned forward, propping her chin upon her hand and smirking at Jaina like a leopard lounging atop a high branch. “I must admit I’m surprised. I hear he’s quite the catch. For some people.”

“Desperate people, maybe,” Jaina grumbled around a bulging mouthful of food.

At that, Sylvanas laughed. She pressed her forehead to the couch and laughed into one of the cushions, the noise stifled by the crook her arm. By the time she stopped, she had to wipe carefully at the kohl lining of one eye. “At least there’s no chance the next few months will be dull with you around.”

Frowning, Jaina asked, “Why? What’s happening in the next few months?”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “My prince, in all his infinite wisdom, ‘suggested’ that I take a leave of absence from the field. Vereesa will be in charge of the Rangers in my stead, and I am to be seen with you around Quel'Thalas doing -” she waved her hand in a vague gesture. “- whatever it is married couples of our station are expected to do. Go riding through the countryside. Attend banquets. Argue about things of little consequence.”

Jaina gave a mock shudder. “I'll pass on the last two, thanks.”

Sylvanas pretended to look taken aback. “You don't want to start a fight with me at an insufferable nobleman's classy banquet? But think of the fun we could have.”

Tearing off a piece of bread, Jaina threw it at her. “You're going to be a bad influence on me, I can tell.”

Sylvanas caught the bread in a fluid motion, and popped it into her mouth. “Only if I do my job right.”

Jaina had not spent much time dreaming about what married life would be like. In fact, she had hardly given it a passing thought until a year ago, when the negotiations had first been opened and the proposal extended. This though -- the easy banter, the warmth of the moment, the glint of Sylvanas’ sharp-edged grin -- she could get used to this.

Draining the last of her water, Sylvanas set her glass on the low table and rose smoothly to her feet. Puzzled at the sudden turn of events, Jaina folded her napkin and started to stand, but Sylvanas waved her away.

“Stay. Finish.” She plucked at her half-cape so that it fell properly across one shoulder after she’d been sitting. “I have to be up early tomorrow to initiate some new recruits at Farstrider Square, so I’m going to bed. Don’t feel obligated to come with, if you’re not tired.”

Jaina slowly sat back down in her chair. “Oh. Of course. Um -?”

Sylvanas cocked her head. “Yes?”

Lacing her fingers in her lap, Jaina said, “In the marriage contract, they said I could supplement my training in Silvermoon, but I don’t know where I should go for that.”

“That’s because Falthrien Academy is technically on Sunstrider Isle and not in Silvermoon City itself. Ithedis can escort you there whenever you like.” She pointed to Ithedis when she mentioned his name, and he bowed slightly in confirmation.

Jaina relaxed somewhat. “Thank you. Do I need some sort of introduction?”

Walking towards the door, Sylvanas flashed Jaina a signature impish smile over her shoulder. “Lady Proudmoore, you are now well known enough that you require no introduction anywhere in Quel’Thalas.”

She didn’t know if she should take that as a compliment, or a warning. Instead, all she said was a very pointed, “Jaina.”

In the doorway, Sylvanas offered her a mock bow. “My deepest apologies, Jaina.”

And with that, she was gone. The moment she left, Jaina could have sworn she heard Ithedis give a faint sniff.

Picking at the food, Jaina said to him, “You don’t approve of her?”

“It is not my place to approve or disapprove, Lady Proudmoore,” was his stock reply.

“But you think she’s too waggish.”

He blinked, turning his head to look at her. “‘Waggish’, my Lady?”

“Mischievous,” Jaina explained. “Irreverent. A bit of an ass.”

“Ah, I see.” After a pause, he admitted, “Yes.”

With a small smile, Jaina took another bite and hummed around it. “So do I.” She smiled. “I think I like that.”

--

After dinner, Jaina did indeed wander the halls of Goldenbough Manor. She peered into parlours and private studies. She walked the bridges between spires, kneeling down to poke her head over the edges and read the magical runes that scrolled along the bottom of the walkways. She found the library, a broad open space with its own balcony that faced the sea, and immediately began tilting her head to read titles upon the shelves that stretched to the ceiling. She could not resist the urge to pull a few tomes down and flip through them.

Books on transmutation. Books on glyphs. Rare elven histories that never crossed the borders. Jaina made a stack upon one of the tables to read later, already vibrating at the thought of pouring over this collection for many an hour.

And of course Ithedis followed wherever she went. He stood, silent and stalwart, as she muttered under her breath and frowned down at dusty tomes. When she stood up on her toes to try to reach for a particularly high shelf, he pushed a wheeled ladder in her direction.

Night had long since fallen, washing the earth in dark jeweled tones, by the time Jaina rubbed at her eyes. She marked her page, and rose from a comfortable armchair near the balcony doors. She closed the glass doors and murmured goodnight to Ithedis as she left the library. He nodded respectfully as she passed by, and did not follow as she made her way towards the stairs that led to her private quarters.

Well. Their private quarters, more appropriately. Jaina had lit the way with a bluish ball of magelight over her palm, but she extinguished it with a whisper when she stood before the doors leading to their private quarters. She stood out in the hallway for a few long seconds, staring at the scrolled handles, before finally plucking up the courage to open the doors and slip inside.

It was dark. She faintly remembered touring this section of the main tower before, but with so many new changes, she waited a moment to let her eyes adjust before moving around. The furniture loomed, black shapes against grey stone. Twin armoires. A door leading to the ablutions. Paintings hung along the walls. A length of carpet like a streak of darkness along the ground. Two trunks at the foot of the four poster bed. And a figure curled up among the sheets on one side.

All but holding her breath, Jaina cross to the other side of the room. As quietly as she could, she creaked open the armoire’s various compartments, and felt around for a suitable nightgown. With relief, she found something. Stripping out of her Admiralty garb, which she left in a pile on the floor, she stepped into the nightgown, pulling the arms into place over her shoulders.

Turning, she tip-toed towards the bed, lifted a sheet, and slipped underneath. The sheets were blissfully cool against her warm skin, almost silky, though they had the feel of fine cotton beneath her hand. Sighing, Jaina burrowed deeper into the bed, dragging one of the many pillows into just the right angle.

A shuffling at the other side of the bed. Jaina held her breath. Sylvanas stirred, but did not wake. The mattress was large enough that Jaina could stretch out her arms and still not touch the curve of Sylvanas’ turned back. That pale golden hair was a spill of silvery ink against the pillows. One long ear flicked, before settling into drooping inaction once more.

All the while, Jaina’s heart beat rapidly in her chest. Until tonight, she had never shared a bed before with anyone but her brothers. Proudmoore Keep had always been vast enough that they had each been assigned their own rooms, but that didn’t stop Jaina, the youngest, from pestering her older siblings into letting her into their beds when she’d suffered a nightmare. She tried to tell herself that this was no different, but her heart refused to agree.

It took her an age to fall asleep. Jaina closed her eyes, but sleep seemed to evade her despite the slant of moonlight through a distant window, sliding towards the edge of their bed as the night went on.

At one point during the night, she awoke to find that she had discarded the sheets entirely, and instead curled up to the curve of Sylvanas’ back, her forehead lingering at the nape of Sylvanas’ neck. Blinking one bleary eye, sleepy Jaina merely tucked her knees up and fell back into a dreamless slumber.

When Jaina awoke to late morning sunlight streaming through the window on the far wall, she was still on Sylvanas’ side of the bed, and Sylvanas had long since departed.  

--

Craning her neck, Jaina shielded her eyes with the flat of her hand. Falthrien Academy’s multiple platforms hovered over a brackish lake, which sparkled in the light. The bronze-capped main building glanced in the sun, bright enough that Jaina winced and had to look away.

“It’s certainly -” Jaina blinked past purple spots in her vision, “- impressive.”

Ithedis grunted in reply. Hordes of Novices and Apprentices trailed by the two of them in packs, and it was a toss up which of them received more attention. A Spellbreaker was hardly a common sight in a mage academy, and a human was hardly a common sight in Quel’Thalas at all. Especially when Jaina still walked around in her casual Kul Tiran clothing, which set her apart from the crowd like a sore thumb.

“I suppose we just go inside?” Jaina asked, pointing to the main building. They would have to climb multiple platforms to get there, and already Jaina was dreading that much exposure to the heat. Perhaps she should invest in a parasol.

Ithedis nodded. “You should be able to find a Magister without issue, my Lady.”

Steeling herself, Jaina took a moment to roll up the sleeves of her white button down shirt, preparing herself for the climb. “Alright, let’s -”

A group of Apprentices stopped nearby. They whispered behind their hands, giggling and pointing. Jaina should have been used to such reactions after she had spent so many weeks in Silvermoon being gawked at, but it still made her hesitate and flounder for what to do. She cleared her throat, ducked her head, and made a start towards the nearest walkway.

As she passed by the group however, one of their members -- a willowy elven girl with auburn hair -- stepped forward. “Excuse me, Lady Proudmoore?” Her voice was lilting, heavily accented, but her Common was perfectly understandable.

Startled at being approached at all, Jaina faltered. “Y-Yes?”

The Apprentice smiled, and Jaina did not like her smile. “We were just wondering, the others and I -- you’re wearing such a high collar today, but don’t your people prefer the cold? You shouldn’t feel afraid to unbutton your shirt a little.”

At her side, Ithedis went stiff.

“Um - I - I guess -?” Jaina reached up to pull the top button of her shirt free. It slipped loose, just revealing her collarbone, and every Apprentice in the group seemed to lean forward with bated breath, their eyes fixing on her neck.

Suddenly, Ithedis was standing before her, shielding her from the others. He loomed, imposing in his scarlet armour and tower shield. His free hand had drawn the double-bladed polearm that normally hid in the underside of his shield, and he gripped its handle so tightly his gauntlets creaked. In a voice dark and threatening, he snapped in Thalassian a short phrase that Jaina could only catch a few words of, before the girl and the group of Apprentices scampered away, cowed.

Utterly bewildered, Jaina watched them go. “Ithedis?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“What the fuck was that about?”

Beneath his helm, his jaw tightened, but he did not answer.

Glowering, Jaina said, “If I ordered you to tell me, would you do it?”

Without hesitation, he answered, “Anything you ordered, I would do, my Lady.”

She pursed her lips, watching the way he shifted his grip upon the polearm. If it had been anyone else, Jaina would have been tempted to say he was fidgeting.

Finally, Jaina sighed and shook her head. “Thank you, anyway. Can we just go, now?”

“Of course, Lady Proudmoore.”

Nobody else dared approach as Jaina walked up the winding walkways, arching from platform to platform. The sun rose overhead, growing stronger as the day grew long. By the time they finally reached the grand entrance of the main building, Jaina was wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, and wiping it dry on her breeches with a grimace.

Inside, the temperature dropped almost instantly. Jaina could feel a cool wave of air wash over her like a kiss. She stopped to close her eyes and sigh with pleasure. No matter how much high elves preferred the heat of their beloved Sunwell, they could not stifle the natural cold that radiated from intensely clustered arcane energies. When she opened her eyes again, she smiled and breathed in deeply.

“It must be the crystals holding this place up,” Jaina mused.

She looked down at the floor and began to pace the patterns carved into the ground like leylines. A few people stared at her as she walked with her head down, scowling at the floor, but she took no notice of them. When she’d made it a quarter of the way around the ground floor, she stopped, and her face lit up in a smile.

She pointed down at the ground, and looked at Ithedis in triumph. “I knew it! It’s a rune! See? Is it in High Thalassian? I don’t know this figure here.”

He tilted his head, and his long pale hair brushed along his pauldrons; he had removed his helm upon entering the premises. “My apologies, Lady Proudmoore, but I could not say. I am only able to sense the presence of magic and counter it, when the need arises.”

Jaina opened her mouth, but before she could speak she was interrupted by a mild, cultured voice to one side. “Noral’arkhana falor. It is, indeed, a rune that uses the lake beneath us as a source to keep us afloat, so to speak.”

An elf in black robes with fine gold needlework had approached them while Jaina was excitedly studying the floor. He held a tall spindly staff with a wicked scarlet tip, and he watched Jaina with cold eyes that glinted the colour of burnished steel. He seemed to take pleasure in startling her, for his mouth curled up on one side when she jumped and turned to face him.

Still, he bowed. “Magister Duskwither. At your service. How may I help you, Lady Proudmoore?”

Quickly, Jaina returned the bow and straightened. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. You have a fine school here.”

His answering smile looked more like a sneer than anything else. “Why, thank you. You’re too kind.”

Flustered, Jaina nevertheless forged on. “I was hoping to continue my studies during my stay in Quel’Thalas, and Sylv -- I mean -- my wife -” she stumbled over the phrase; it would take some getting used to “- told me that this was the best place to do so.”

“Of course, Lady Proudmoore. We would be honoured to enroll you here,” Magister Duskwither said. “We simply require a few simple tests to ensure you’re placed at the correct level for training.”

With a frown of confusion, Jaina said slowly, “But -- I have already been apprenticed by Archmage Antonidas? Shouldn’t that give some indication of my skill?”

“The Archmage, while brilliant, is a human. And we have very exacting standards here at Falthrien Academy. I’m sure you understand.” That was definitely a sneer this time. No doubt about it.

Beside her, Ithedis took an abortive step forward, but Jaina held out her hand. She smiled at the Magister and said brightly, “That won’t be a problem. When do we begin?”

“Now, if you wish.” He traced a rune in the air, and a portal winked into life. With a mock little deferential nod, Magister Duskwither said, “After you, my Lady.”

Jaina hesitated only a moment before stepping through the portal. She emerged on the other side, followed quickly by Ithedis, into a circular room lined with identical doors. The domed ceiling arched overhead, engraved with a map of the stars set out in constellations she had never heard of before, though she recognised some of the patterns.

The sound of a staff clicking against the dark marble floor announced the Magister’s presence. The portal shut behind him. He stretched out his hand towards one of the many doors and said, “Open it.”

“This is the test?” Jaina asked in utter bewilderment.

Magister Duskwither nodded serenely. “Yes.”

“To open that door?” She pointed to the one he had referred to.

The tip of one of his ears twitched like an irritated cat’s that had been grasped by a child. “Do I really need to repeat myself? Yes, that door.”

“It just seems a bit silly for a test, is all.”

His teeth clenched, yet he gave her a forced smile. “That’s because you haven’t opened it yet.”

“No. Because it’s an illusion. See?”

Jaina flung her hand out, and a bolt of ice careened from her open palm. It struck the door, dead centre, and the door swirled into mist, leaving behind a frost-scorched crater in the wall behind it.

Wincing, Jaina said, “Oh. Whoops. Sorry.”

Magister Duskwither glared at the crater, then at Jaina. “Very good. Now, the next door, if you please.”

Jaina pointed to the door just to the right of the one she had just evaporated, “This one -?”

“Yes, that one,” he snapped.

Holding up her hands as if in surrender, she approached the door. Her footsteps echoed faintly around the circular room. Ithedis remained standing near the Magister; he had put his helm back on and glowered at Duskwither from beneath the flanged plates.

Hands behind her back now, Jaina stopped in front of the door. She rocked back on her heels and hummed, thoughtful. She leaned to one side. Then to the other.

Turning back towards Magister Duskwither, she smiled triumphantly and pointed to the handle, careful to not actually touch it. “This one has an electricity glyph etched on the interior of the metal. It’s very small. Just enough to give someone a fright and a bit of a shock when they tried to open it.”

To make her point, Jaina grasped the handle. The glyph inside flared to life, but from the wrist down her skin was sheathed in a glimmer of arcane energy. A small current of electricity fizzled out of existence, and Jaina opened the door to reveal the wall behind it.

Duskwither looked like he had bitten into a lemon. “Next door.”

The next door was enchanted to turn into a lynx that tried to bite her hand, only to find that both its upper and lower jaws had been replaced by pillows. Jaina let it gnaw on her wrist for a moment, before dispelling the enchantment and turning the creature back into a door.

The next began to branch in every direction, growing along the walls and sprouting leaves. Jaina murmured to it, urging it back to a seed that she then picked up and tossed over her shoulder before moving on.

The next released a flood of water that spilled out onto the ground. Or at least, it would have had Jaina not held it in place with a shield that shimmered with purple sparks. She turned the water into a flash of steam with a wave of her hand, then closed the door.

The next bristled with a fear spell that she overcame with a countercharm.

The next actually had a room behind it, that tried to transport her back downstairs, but which she altered to instead transport her to a door directly across from it.

One by one, she worked her way around the room, thwarting puzzles of increasing complexity. Near the end, Jaina had to take her time, stopping to inspect each door carefully and mull over its hidden secrets before she could crack the puzzle. The second to last door, an Infernal minion that towered above her breathing gouts of green flame, had her panting and gasping for breath after banishing it back to its own demonic realm. It shrieked as it fell into a great gaping chasm on the floor that burned with black and sickly fire, the noise grating enough to make Jaina’s bones itch.

She stopped before the last door to catch her breath. Behind her, she could hear Ithedis arguing with the Magister.

“Dangerous -!” was one of the words she caught in Thalassian, along with a few choice curses that Jaina had been taught by Vereesa when they’d been exchanging tips on how to swear in their own languages.

She ignored them and leaned on her knees. Then, pushing herself upright, Jaina approached the final door. She squinted. By all appearances, it looked exactly like the other identical doors, but for the fact that Jaina could sense nothing odd about it whatsoever. She checked its hinges, its handle, the painted woodgrain and handsomely arched frame. She even got down on her hands and knees and peered beneath the gap along the floor, seeing only darkness within.

With a grunt, she clambered to her feet once more. Tentatively, suspiciously, Jaina reached out and opened the door.

An inky nothingness existed inside. Jaina frowned. She shot a bolt of ice inside, but it disappeared, swallowed by shadow. She skimmed her palms along it, and all she felt was air. No shimmer. No sound. No light.

Glancing over her shoulder at Ithedis and the Magister, who were still arguing, Jaina took a deep breath and stepped inside.

The darkness extended in all directions, blank and all-consuming. She could hear no whisper of the Void, nor feel the chill of Death. Just a barren black. She did not even know the door had shut behind her until she turned around, only to find that it was gone.

“Shit.”

She could feel herself vocalise the word, but no sound came out. Reaching blindly in the direction of the door, Jaina walked a few paces -

-and kept walking.

She should have touched the door by now. She should have heard something, sensed something. She tried to speak again, but only silence answered. She inhaled and exhaled, and though she could feel no air filling her lungs she did not strain for breath. When she looked down at herself, it was to find that she still wore the exact same clothes, but that everything appeared dim and wan, as if viewed through a curved lens or a slant of water.

“Huh,” she did not say, and sat down on the non-existent floor.

Crossing her legs, Jaina leaned her elbows on her knees and rested her chin on her knuckles. She thought. And thought. She tried to summon up a spell, a tiny flame in the palm of her hand, but even the barest spark would not ignite. She clapped her hands together once, but no sound issued forth. She tried to blow against her fingers, but could feel no passage of air.

Finally, she reached around her neck and took off the pendant Sylvanas had given her as a wedding gift. The stone glinted like pale blue glass between Jaina’s fingers. Holding it up before her, Jaina dropped it, and the necklace remained suspended in midair, its gold chain drifting as if floating in water. Gently, she prodded it with one finger, watching in fascination as it hovered further from her before stopping in mid-air.

Jaina’s face lit up with realisation. “Oh! I get it! Clever!”

She snapped her fingers, and time moved again.

The pendant dropped to the floor, clattering there, solid and noisy. Triumphant, Jaina snatched it up off the ground and pushed herself upright. When she turned around, it was to see that the door had reappeared behind her. Clasping the necklace back into place, Jaina walked forward. She opened the door and stepped outside.

Back in the circular room, she froze and stared. Ithedis had one of the bladed ends of his polearm pressed against the Magister’s throat. A line of blood trickled from the edge, and the Magister’s nose was broken. Magister Duskwither tried to slam one of his hands into the side of Ithedis’ helm, his fist pulsing with arcane energy, but Ithedis grabbed his wrist with a free hand. Eyes flaring with the magic he absorbed, Ithedis tightened his grip until the Magister cried out in pain.

“Where is she?” Ithedis snarled.

The door shut behind Jaina with a click, and both of them looked around to see Jaina standing there, unscathed.

Smiling awkwardly, Jaina raised her hand in a little wave. “Hello!”

Immediately, Ithedis released the Magister and moved to stand before her. His eyes had returned to their usual soft glow, and he took inventory of her appearance. “Are you hurt, my Lady?”

She waved his concern aside. “I’m fine, thank you. How long was I gone?”

His face hardened. “Three quarters of an hour.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad!” Jaina mused. “I was sure I’d been in there longer.”

Behind Ithedis, Magister Duskwither was rubbing at the cut on his neck. He reached up to touch his nose, and hissed in pain. The sound drew Ithedis’ attention back to him, and the Magister flinched back a step. Fury burned in his eyes, and he bared his fangs.

Jaina shot Ithedis a reproachful look at the damage he had done, but Ithedis appeared entirely unapologetic. Shaking her head, Jaina clasped her hands together and stepped forward. “Magister Duskwither, unless I’m very much mistaken, I have passed your tests.”

Wiping his bloodied hand on the front of his robes, Magister Duskwither snapped, “So, it would seem.”

“Great! When do I start my lessons?”

He gave her an extremely ugly smile, his teeth slicked with blood. “Three times a week in the afternoons. Classes take place on the second floor with the other third year Novices. I’m sure you’ll find yourself right at home.”

“Third year Novices -!” Ithedis started to growl, but Jaina shook her head at him. He stood down, fuming silently at her side.

Returning the Magister’s smile, Jaina said, “Thank you for your time. I look forward to starting right away.”

This time, she opened her own portal back to the main floor beneath them. Before she could step through it, Duskwither sneered, “Don’t forget to take your hound with you.”

If Ithedis’ glare could be any more murderous, the Magister would have died on the spot. Jaina touched a hand lightly to Ithedis’ armoured shoulder. Stiffly, Ithedis turned away from Magister Duskwither and followed her through the portal.

Downstairs once more, Ithedis clipped his polearm to a shorter length with a flourish of his wrist, and tucked it back into a slot of his shield. Jaina waited until he had done so before starting towards the stairs that winded upwards. “I’m sorry about him,” she said.

Ithedis’ jaw tightened. “You have nothing to apologise for, Lady Proudmoore.”

“Yeah, but I feel like I should anyway.” Jaina shrugged, at a loss for what to say. “Well, we might as well scope out where these classes are being held.”

Sighing, she climbed the steps. Everywhere she went, she and Ithedis seemed to walk in an invisible bubble through which nobody else passed. The Academy was no exception. Novices and Apprentices would rather squeeze along the walls, single-file, rather than venture too close. Soon enough, they reached the second floor, and Jaina wandered down one of the hallways that circled around the perimeter of the main building.

She poked her head into the first room they came across, and blinked in surprise. A class full of what seemed to be children were chattering away inside. They sat at their desks, or atop them, eyes bright, long ears crooked yet alert. If Jaina had to guess, she would have said they were aged twelve, though she had no idea how fast or slow elves aged when they were young.

The moment they noticed they had a newcomer in their midst, all excited jabbering stopped. All of the kids turned to stare at her, not in alarm but with mild curiosity, as though she were a stray and exotic bird that had somehow managed to wander into their midst through an open window.

“Um - Hello -?” Jaina said.

“Are you the Apprentice standing in for the Magister?” One of the children asked.

“Why are your ears funny?” Another piped up from the back, followed by a chorus of resounding nods and accompanying questions about her appearance.

“Uh -” Jaina repeated eloquently. Then, finding her voice, she managed to say, “Is this the class for third year Novices?”

That earned her a few nods as well as a number of rolled eyes, as though she had asked something very silly.

“And how old does that make you?” Jaina asked.

“Sixteen!” a few voices from the back answered, while others answered “Seventeen!” and one raised his hand with a desultory, “Eighteen.”

Jaina’s mouth went dry. She stared at their youthful faces in creeping horror.

“I - uh - excuse me.”

Turning and pushing past Ithedis in the doorway, Jaina fled.

--

When Jaina and Ithedis arrived back at Goldenbough Manor two and a half hours later, Sylvanas’ horse was in the stables. Dread had settled in the pit of Jaina’s stomach during the ride back from Falthrien Academy, and it only seemed to drill a hole deeper into her gut as she dismounted from her own horse.

She started to lead her mount into the stables, but beside her Ithedis held out his hand and said, “Allow me, my Lady.”

Reluctant, Jaina nevertheless passed the reins to him. She went into the manor alone and tense, expecting Sylvanas to be around every corner. The fact that Sylvanas was nowhere in sight only seemed to make it worse.

At first, Jaina snuck up to the library, hoping to find solace in a good book, but she soon found herself turning pages without reading them. That, or she felt herself feeling sick when she came across a spell that reminded her of the trials she performed today, which of course, were varied and all-encompassing enough that no magical subject seemed safe. After a daring attempt at boring herself with ancient elven history -- the elves sure did love cataloguing long lists of noble family trees -- Jaina gave up. She dropped the book onto the stack beside the armchair that she had claimed the night before, and leaned her head back, closing her eyes.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass balcony doors. Heat pricked at her skin. After the long ride to and from the Academy, Jaina could feel a fine layer of sweat and grime sticking to her skin. With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and left the library.

A truding walk down three flights of stairs to a floor beneath the main belfry found Jaina in the Manor’s bathing complex. The first time she had been brought down here, the three different temperature pools had been empty and filled with cobwebs and more than one rat. Even elven household wards grew old and struggled to keep the vermin out, it seemed.

Now however, the atrium was fully renovated. There were no doors, but the doorways were draped with long lengths of cloth, and the space warmly lit with magelight. Stone cubby holes cut into the walls had been filled with an assortment of towels, robes, slippers, oils, soaps, scrubbers, and a host of other instruments that Jaina did not recognise. Peeling her clothes off, she tossed them into a woven basket by the entrance without looking until all she wore was the pendant. She did not bother with slippers, and instead simply wrapped herself in a towel before entering the first set of baths.

Had Jaina been in the right mindset to be paying attention, she would have noticed that the basket had already contained a set of Ranger leathers, and that one of the cubby holes was missing a few items. As it was, she was rubbing at a growing ache behind her eyes, when she pushed aside the cloth barrier between the atrium and the hot pool. She had even taken a few steps inside before she heard a gentle splash.

Brows knitting in bewilderment, Jaina looked up only to go stock-still. In the long pool, sunk deeply into the floor and trailing with tendrils of steam, Sylvanas sat. Various ledges were tiered along the pool’s walls, and she occupied one at a level so that the water reached her waist. On the floor behind her was an assortment of towels and vials and what seemed to be a flat wooden stick. Her hair was wet and slicked back from her face, and her skin was faintly pink from the heat. It was the first time Jaina had seen her without the carefully applied kohl around her eyes, and it made her appear bare-faced, younger. Without it, her gaze was less severe, but no less keen-edged.

Sylvanas tilted her head. “You’re back earlier than I expected. How was the Academy?”

“Fine,” Jaina croaked, looking quickly away. She clutched the towel more tightly to herself. Clearing her throat, she asked, “How - uh - how was your -” she struggled to think of the word and ended up just saying, “- thing?”

A soft chuckle, and Sylvanas replied, “My ‘thing’ was fine. I swear the new recruits look greener and greener with every passing year, but what else are we supposed to do in times of war?”

“Mmm,” Jaina hummed behind clenched teeth.

Another soft rippling of water, and Sylvanas asked, “Well? Aren’t you going to get in so we can have a proper chat?”

“Just -” Jaina’s voice squeaked, and she had to swallow thickly before she could continue, “Just a chat?”

The pause that followed was long. When Sylvanas spoke, her voice had gentled, “Of course. Forgive me, I forgot that humans tend to be a bit prudish about these things. If you want me to leave, I can -”

Jaina shook her head, “No, no. It’s alright. I’ll just -”

Approaching the exact opposite side of the pool to Sylvanas, she waited until she was by the water’s edge before letting the towel slide to her feet. Then, Jaina slipped into the water as quickly as she could, hissing at the scalding temperature. On any other occasion she would have worked her way from ledge to ledge, slowly lowering herself into the heated pool until she could barely stand it and had to make a dash for the tepid bath in the room beyond. This time however, Jaina sank down as far as she could manage, wrapping her arms around herself.

With a curious tilt of her head, Sylvanas watched the way Jaina ducked down until her chin almost touched the water. She made no comment, though. Instead she asked, “So, tell me.”

“About what?” Jaina asked slowly. The pendant Sylvanas had given her pressed against her skin, remaining preternaturally cool despite the heat of the water.

“Your visit to the Academy,” Sylvanas said, and though Jaina kept her eyes firmly on the rippling effects of light at the bottom of the pool, she could see movement from the corner of her vision as Sylvanas lifted herself up to a slightly higher ledge. “Did you find a Magister to take you under their wing?”

“Not exactly,” Jaina grumbled. Her words made the surface of the water waver. The tips of her fingers and toes still felt like they were on fire, but the sting of heat was slowly fading. Finally she admitted, “I saw a group of young Novices. They were all sixteen or so.”

The clink of glass on stone, as Sylvanas picked up a vial. “Ah, yes. You can imagine my initial surprise during the signing, then.”

Scowling at the way her legs dangled in the water, Jaina said, “You don’t still think I’m that young, do you?”

“No. It just took me some time to adjust, is all. And Vereesa is hardly one to point fingers, especially after I found out her husband is only thirty-five.”

“And what’s that in elf years? A teenager?”

“I think comparing the two is like comparing dates to pomegranates. Ultimately fruitless.”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Was that a pun?”

“Only if it made you relax enough to be annoyed with me, instead of trying to drown yourself in the bath.”

Jaina huffed with laughter, then realised she had indeed glanced up. Sylvanas was smiling at her, and the small creases at the corners of her eyes were more apparent like this. The next thing Jaina noticed was that Sylvanas was running a hand down her own arm, and that her skin glistened in its wake.

Oil. She was oiling herself.

Jaina just about sank right to the bottom of the pool.

“Are you alright?” Sylvanas’ voice sounded hesitantly concerned. “You probably shouldn’t have jumped straight in like you did.”

Jaina started to say ‘I’m fine,’ but stopped when the words wouldn’t form. Her throat worked, and finally she admitted, “I lied. Earlier, I mean. I lied about the Academy. It wasn’t fine. It was terrible. I think I may have done something incredibly foolish.”

“I have a hard time believing that,” Sylvanas said, her tone soft. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Inhaling deeply, Jaina did just that. She detailed everything that Magister Duskwither had done and said, and how she had reacted in turn. How she had proven herself, but only done so by rubbing her talent in his face, and not stopping to think of the consequences. Sylvanas listened, letting Jaina ramble and detail all of the spells she had managed to pull off, and how tired she was now that it was over.

When Jaina told her about the last door, Sylvanas sniffed, dismissive. “If anyone did anything foolish, it was this Magister. What happened next?”

Splashing a bit at the water with one hand, Jaina said, “I escaped the room, and found Ithedis trying to rough up Duskwither. I put a stop to it, naturally -”

“Did you?” Sylvanas hummed. “What a shame.”

“Sylvanas!”

Rather than be chagrined, Sylvanas reached behind herself and picked up the long wooden stick from the ground, using it to scrape the oil and grime from her skin. “Perhaps the old nag isn’t so bad, after all.”

“Be nice to him!”

Sylvanas’ eyes sparkled. “Oh? Should I be jealous?”

Jaina rolled her eyes. “Please, don’t even go there.”

“It’s none of my business what you do, you know. This can be as amenable a marriage as you wish.”

Jaina could feel her face flame, and this time it had nothing to do with the bath. “That’s -!” she stammered, “That’s not what I -! I don’t -! That is to say that I would never -!”

With amusement, Sylvanas scraped herself clean and watched Jaina twist in the breeze. “No?”

“Definitely not.” Jaina was adamant.

Though that grin lingered on Sylvanas’ face, her eyes remained steady, unblinking, and piercing. “As you like, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina shot her a mock glare. “No titles. And what about you?”

“What about me?” Sylvanas asked with faux innocence.

“You know -! Are you going to -?” Jaina waved her hand at Sylvanas, casting a series of drips from her arms and fingers into the pool. “-with anyone else? If that’s what you want?”

The façade of amusement faded from Sylvanas’ face, and she studied Jaina with a serious expression. “No, I will not. It would not be fair to you.”

“Please don’t make yourself unhappy because of some fucked up sense of gallantry.”

Sylvanas brandished the stick at her, admonishing. “What language!”

“There’s nobody else here! And you already know I don’t exactly have the cleanest vocabulary.”

Sylvanas hummed a laugh. “You needn’t worry yourself. I have no interest in pursuing anyone else while married to you.”

“Oh. Well. That’s -” Jaina’s eyes widened. “Wait - you don't expect us to -” She gestured between the two of them, “- do you?”

At that, Sylvanas’ ears shot straight up, and she tensed. “No! No, that’s not what I was implying. At all. I would never intentionally do anything that might make you uncomfortable.”

“You haven’t,” Jaina assured her, and Sylvanas seemed to relax somewhat, though the line of her shoulders remained stiff. “I only bring it up because -”

She cut herself off then, and Sylvanas’ eyes narrowed. “Because -- what?”

“Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Has Vereesa been telling tales again?” Sylvanas asked, her brow darkening. She dragged the stick over her oiled skin with a particularly vicious flick.

“No!” Jaina insisted. “Nothing like that! I just heard -- I mean -- I heard a few whispers at the Academy.”

Gaze flashing, Sylvanas lowered the wooden tool and asked in a level tone, “What whispers?”

With a sigh, Jaina pinched the bridge of her nose before answering. A drop of water slid down her nose, and she wiped it away. “Some of the younger Apprentices were -- uhm -- making some comments to me. Not all of which I understood, granted. I didn’t want you to get angry, but whatever it was they were asking seemed to really set Ithedis off, so I figured it wasn’t anything good -”

“Jaina,” Sylvanas said in a warning tone. “Tell me.”

Wincing, Jaina confessed in a rush, “I was wearing a high collar, and they wanted to see my neck.”

Sylvanas’ nostrils flared as she drew in a deep breath, and her voice was a deadly hiss, “They what?”

“It’s not -- It’s not a problem. I can handle it. I can handle all of this! The Magister, the students, the kids’ classes. Just please -” Jaina closed her eyes and leaned her head back so that she stared up at the steam-fogged ceiling. “- please let me do this on my own.”

Silence, followed by a dull clatter as Sylvanas tossed the wooden stick onto the floor behind her. “Don’t you want to know what they were asking?”

With a snort, Jaina said, “I may not understand all the cultural undertones, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that what they meant was sexual in nature.”

Sylvanas smiled an unpleasant smile, it had a dangerous quality as her fangs glinted in the low light. “Are you sure you don’t want my help? I can have words with this Magister, at least?”

“Just words, though, right?” Jaina asked. When Sylvanas lifted one bare shoulder in a distinctly elven shrug, Jaina said, exasperated, “Sylvanas, please. Don’t do something rash on my account.”

“I’ve done far more rash things for far less. And what kind of spouse would I be if I did not stand up for my wife?”

“I can stand up for myself,” Jaina grumbled.

“I think you’ve already proven that.” Sylvanas grinned at her, teasing and a touch affectionate -- though that may have been Jaina’s imagination.

That smile was as infectious as ever. Jaina laughed softly and shook her head. “How was I so lucky?”

At that, Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. A drop of oil rolled to the dip of her collarbone, and Jaina had to study the ceiling again. “What do you mean?”

“Well, think of it from my perspective. I was expecting to marry some stuffy old elven general, and instead I got -” without looking, she gestured weakly to Sylvanas, who sat, partially submerged in water from the legs down, slick with oil, and golden in the amber magelight.

“Appearances can be deceiving.” Sylvanas’ grin widened. “You just haven’t uncovered my humourless arrogant side yet. Give it time.”

“I’ll be old and grey by then,” Jaina drawled.

Chuckling, Sylvanas stood. Jaina kept her gaze fixed firmly upwards, listening to the sounds of Sylvanas wrapping herself in a towel and gathering her things. She began to walk towards the exit, but paused as she lifted the draped cloth.

“A time anomaly?” Sylvanas asked over her shoulder. “Really?”

“And an Infernal minion,” Jaina confirmed.

“Huh.”

Sylvanas left, and Jaina couldn’t help but think that she almost sounded impressed.

--

After Sylvanas left, Jaina languished in the cold pool long enough that her fingers became wrinkled as prunes. And still, she soaked, enjoying a rare moment where she did not feel at all overly warm. Even after she had stepped out of the pool and wrapped herself in one of the robes provided, Jaina’s skin remained pleasantly cool. In a surprisingly relaxed daze, considering how the rest of her day had went, she climbed the stairs to the main floor.

There, Ithedis greeted her with a stiff bow, and an added murmur that the Lady Windrunner was waiting for Jaina to join her for dinner in the banquet hall, whensoever she was ready. Sparing a glance at her robes, Jaina relented. She walked into the banquet hall and sat across from Sylvanas at the same table as last night.

While Sylvanas had taken the time to dress in casual wear, Jaina had to keep rearranging the hems of her bathrobes to keep her bare knees from poking through the fabric. Sylvanas made no comment, and their meal passed in much the same way as it had the day before. Easily. With plenty of conversation and banter. If the long soak hadn’t made Jaina relax, then good food and good company certainly did the trick.

Whereas yesterday, Jaina had been filled with a nervous energy, today she felt drained down to her bones. She yawned at the dinner table, and Sylvanas made an off-handed comment about the two of them both heading to bed early that night. Jaina did not protest.

Soon, they were climbing the steps together, still chatting aimlessly about their days and any other topic that happened to crop up during the conversation. The moment they reached the doors to their personal chambers however, Jaina’s mouth glued shut.

After sharing a communal bath together, changing in front of her spouse should not have seemed so daunting. And yet -

She faced her side of her room and slipped the robe down her shoulders, listening to the sound of cloth and stone not far behind her. The chill that had been trapped by her skin from the bath had long since faded, and Jaina pulled her thin cotton nightgown on with relief. The pendant remained a cool presence against her chest, the gold chain glinting as the moon began to peek through the windows.

By the time Jaina turned around, Sylvanas was already pulling back the sheets and sliding into her side of the bed. Jaina did the same, careful that they did not touch while she rearranged her pillows just so. To her surprise, Sylvanas rolled over to face her.

Reaching out, Sylvanas touched the short sleeve of Jaina’s nightgown. “Remind me to buy you something silk.”

Face burning, Jaina said, “I can buy myself silk, you know.”

Sylvanas offered a crooked grin. “Then remind me to take you shopping for silk.”

And with that, she rolled back over, showing Jaina her back. Jaina waited a few heartbeats, then reached out to tap her shoulder.

“Sylvanas?”

“Hmm?”

“Remember to take me shopping.”

A snort of laughter, and Sylvanas swatted Jaina’s hand away. For the first time in weeks, Jaina went to bed feeling oddly content.

--

Over the next few weeks, Jaina fell into a rhythm at her new home in Quel’Thalas. Most mornings she would ride with Ithedis to the Academy. There, she would skip the Novice classes that had been assigned to her by Magister Duskwither, and instead sneak into the Academy library for a few hours of self-tutelage. Usually, she could find a minor Magister to explain a particular incantation, or failing that she could get Ithedis to translate a few phrases for her from the books she would pull down from the shelves. Her Thalassian was slowly improving, but never quickly enough for her tastes.

Then one blessed day a week, Jaina would portal directly from Sunfury Spire to Dalaran. Archmage Antonidas and Modera were always eager to continue her training. Every time she left, they would laden her arms -- and usually Ithedis’ as well -- with books and scrolls and instructions on what she was to practice for her next visit. Brimming with energy from those brief visits, Jaina would cart the new material back to the manor, where she would ensconce herself in the private library Sylvanas had procured for her, a library that was slowly yet steadily growing in size with every trip she took.

And of course, most evenings she and Sylvanas would share dinner together. Not every evening, but often enough. Some days Sylvanas would travel east for a day, only to promptly return with some trinket or tale of her latest visit to the troops on the home front. For someone on forced leave, she certainly worked a lot.

Though, Jaina was hardly one to talk. After dinner, she would hurry back to the library and bury herself in her studies until she blinked wearily at the height of the moon in the sky. Only then would she drag herself to bed and clamber in beside Sylvanas, who was already fast asleep. A Thalassian half-phrase would sigh from Sylvanas’ lips, and some nights Jaina would hold her breath for fear of waking her fully.

It only happened once. A particularly riveting dissertation on interdimensional portals had seen Jaina burning the midnight oil, and she was less than graceful when falling into bed that night. Sylvanas had started awake, and she had squinted blearily, her eyes cutting slits of bluish light through the darkness.

“Shh,” Jaina had clumsily patted her shoulder, half asleep herself.

With reflexes faster than Jaina could follow, Sylvanas had snatched her wrist. Her lips pulled back and she bared her sharp teeth, before she blinked and furrowed her brow at Jaina. Her grip had slackened and she mumbled, “Oh. It’s just you. Sorry.”

She had not rolled back over, though. Nor did she let go of Jaina’s wrist. Instead, Sylvanas’ hand remained a warm weight over her own, and Jaina did not dare rouse her again. Counting the steady thrum of Sylvanas’ heartbeat through her fingers, Jaina waited to move for so long that when she blinked, it was morning, and Sylvanas was gone.

--

Months passed. Her routine shifted abruptly, when she went to the Academy one morning only to find that she was barred entry to the library. Jaina didn’t know how Magister Duskwither had found out she was sneaking around when she had been so carefully keeping out of his way. She had even compiled a timesheet of his schedule at the Academy so as to avoid him. For all he knew, she was attending kid’s classes on the second floor. One of the Apprentices must have ratted her out.

Jaina had to start employing the kids of her class -- the class she was supposed to be attending, but which she usually skipped, unless one of the children saw her and dragged her over by the hand -- to steal books from the library for her. She would give them a list of titles that they would fetch for her, in exchange for help with their homework. After a patient hour or two teaching them whatever it is they were struggling with -- one day it was a minor polymorph spell that soon saw them transforming their quills into tiny red-breasted sparrows that hopped across the table, the next it was an enchantment that made their notes flutter through the air on an invisible breeze -- Jaina would wait in a corner outside the library and they would bring her stacks of scrolls and books. The kids would complain at the weight and tease her for her taste in reading, but they would always look for her on the ground floor in the mornings.

One such afternoon, Jaina was waiting in the hallway outside the library, trying to draw as little attention to herself as possible and avoid any nosy Apprentices. She fiddled with the pendant around her neck, savouring the coolness of the stone’s smooth surface. Turning it over in the light, Jaina furrowed her brow.

There, in the stone. Some sort of flaw. Or -- not a flaw. An odd clouding, like a chimney that had been blackened with soot and gone uncleaned for years.

Jaina wiped her thumb over it, but the clouding remained. It refracted the magelight that shone along the walls, creating a distortion that seemed to gather beneath the surface of the stone, pressing up against its facets, blooming outwards like a trapped storm.

Glancing around the hallway to ensure she was alone, save for Ithedis, Jaina turned her attention back to the stone around her neck. With her free hand, she sketched a simple glyph in the air, and touched the tip of her finger to the pendant. A burst of arcane energy rippled through the stone, and for a brief moment the cloudiness seemed to dim. It shrank, then slowly reformed.

“Hmm,” she hummed, puzzled.

“Miss Jaina!”

She tucked the stone back beneath the collar of her button down shirt, and straightened. Three young elven boys had emerged from the library and were approaching her with arms laden with books. One of them scrunched up his nose and said, “Why do you want to read the ‘Codex Dracono- Dracanomono -’” He stumbled with the title.

“Codex Draconomicus Rubicus’,” Jaina said helpfully, bending down to take the books from him, while the other two gave their haul to Ithedis. “And because I’m boring, that’s why.”

All three of the kids nodded sagely at her self-awareness.

“Will you be here tomorrow? Are you going to Dalaran again?” one of them asked.

Another swatted his friend on the shoulder. “No, that’s in three days, kahlba.”

Ithedis scowled. “No swearing.”

“Sorry, guys,” Jaina answered, “I can’t make it tomorrow. I’ll be with my wife all afternoon.”

That earned her three bewildered looks. “You’re married?”

“To who?”

Jaina was so used to everyone knowing, that she hadn’t thought there was a single person left in Silvermoon who didn’t. “Sylvanas Windrunner.”

All three of them stared at her. Their ears had shot straight up in surprise.  

“No way,” one of them breathed.

“The Ranger-General?”

“Have you seen her shoot her bow?” another one asked, his eyes shining.

“Is she as tall as they say she is?”

“Is it true she killed a thousand trolls in a single day when she pushed them back to Zul’Aman?”

“Like this! Pew! Pew pew pew!”

Blinking in bewilderment, Jaina stammered, “Uhm -? I mean, she is rather tall.”

“I knew it.”

Jaina cleared her throat, nodding towards the other end of the hall where the stairs descended back down to the second floor. “Don’t you three have a class you should be getting to?”

They rolled their eyes.

“Belore, you are boring.”

One of them elbowed the kid who had said that.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Don’t say that!”

“Why not? She said it!”

“Yeah, but we need her help for the exams.”

Jaina could feel her hands start to slip on the pile of books in her arms. She readjusted her grip. “Exams, huh? That sounds like its worth at least three loads of books.”

“Three?!”

Chuckling, Jaina turned to leave. “We’ll negotiate later. Now, shoo!”

They scampered off down the hall. Before rounding the corner, one of them waved over his shoulder and shouted, “Bye, Miss Jaina!”

Shaking her head with a wry smile, Jaina went in search of a secluded corner of the Academy to do her latest round of reading and note-taking.

--

“Apparently you’re some kind of war hero.”

“So I’ve been told,” Sylvanas said dryly.

The seamstress’ shop was cleverly subdivided by curtains. Sylvanas sat in a chair, watching while Jaina was fitted for a number of new outfits. When they had entered the shop in Silvermoon, it had been near empty, but through the drape of heavy cloth Jaina could hear the murmur of new clients coming in for a fitting or to browse the wares. Ithedis stood just outside, barring entry to any who tried to sneak a peek at the Ranger-General and her human wife.

Bolts of cloth lined the walls in every shade of the sunset. Even now Jaina was continually intrigued by the breadth of colour high elves wore -- void blacks and dusky lavenders, all the way to pale yellows and creamy ivories. And always the presence of delicate brocade and fine embroidery. Jaina admired how different they were to her own usual clothing even as one of the seamstresses pinned a length of silk around Jaina’s waist

“The kids at the Academy were very excited to hear I was married to you. They wanted to know if you’d killed a thousand trolls on the march to Zul’Aman,” Jaina said.

“Did they, now?” Sylvanas’ eyes gleamed with mischief. “Tell them it was two thousand.”

Jaina shot her an incredulous look. “You did not kill two thousand trolls.”

Raising her eyebrows, Sylvanas said, “Oh? That’s news to me.”

“Your quiver doesn’t even hold a hundred arrows!”

“I have an excellent supply chain division,” Sylvanas countered. “World class, really.”

Jaina snorted with laughter. “Oh, shut up.”

The corner of Sylvanas’ mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. Meanwhile, the seamstress pretended to not be eavesdropping on their conversation, though Jaina noticed the way her hands fumbled when Jaina told the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and all its armies to kindly shut her mouth. She did an admirable job of hiding it however.

Sylvanas lounged in her seat, leaning her elbow upon the armrest, and resting her cheek against her fist. “You’re still saddled with the Novice classes, then? I thought you said you wanted to take care of the problem yourself?”

“I am taking care of it,” Jaina grumbled. When the seamstress pressed lightly at her hip, silently urging her to turn around, Jaina did as instructed. “It’s just taking me a while, is all.”

“It’s taking you more than a few months, apparently.”

“Well, I - I don’t like to rush things,” Jaina insisted lamely.

“Mm hmm.”

“I’m being diplomatic.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

Glaring over her shoulder, exasperated, Jaina said, “And you’re being an ass.”

Sylvanas seemed utterly thrilled by the combination of Jaina’s crassness and the seamstress’ wide-eyed shock at their banter.

After the fitting, Jaina put in an order for a handful of new mage robes, a more traditional elven outfit should she ever need to attend a formal occasion, and of course a new silk nightgown.  While Jaina put her own clothes back on, Ithedis poked his head through the curtains.

“Lady Windrunner, Lady Proudmoore,” he said, keeping his gaze firmly fixed on the floor, “I am sorry to disturb you, but there are a few more people here than when you first arrived.”

“Thank you, Ithedis.” Jaina nodded to him, and he retreated back behind the curtain.

Rising to her feet, Sylvanas tugged at her half cloak so that it hung rakishly from one shoulder, revealing her tight-fitting leathers beneath. Jaina found herself admiring the understated elegance of Sylvanas’ more casual attire, before she realised that she was staring, and glanced away with a cough.

When Jaina had tucked her shirt into her high-waisted Kul Tiran breeches, Sylvanas pushed back the curtain and held it open for her. “Shall we?”

Jaina gave Sylvanas an appreciative smile and ducked through the curtain. On the other side, she blinked in surprise. Word must have spread through the surrounding streets like wildfire. The seamstress’ shop was now bustling with people all pretending to browse. The moment she stepped out, Sylvanas hot on her heels, every set of eyes flicked in their direction, even as the other ‘customers’ continued to peruse bolts of cloth and walk around wooden mannequins.

Sylvanas tapped Jaina’s shoulder. “This way.”

The seamstress led them to a counter near the front. Everyone gave them a wide berth, most likely because of the sheer force of Ithedis’ glare. There, the seamstress pulled out a broad ledger and painstakingly wrote down their order. Meanwhile, Jaina tried not to fidget, resisting the urge to peer back at their sudden audience. If the attention bothered Sylvanas, she did not show it; she stood as straight-backed and unruffled as ever.

It took an age, but the seamstress passed over a copy of the order to Sylvanas, who immediately passed it to Jaina. That seemed to boggle the seamstress even more, though she merely bowed her head and thanked them for their generous patronage. When Jaina reached for the coinpurse at her belt however, Sylvanas shook her head and gently steered Jaina towards the exit.

Confused, Jaina looked back at the seamstress, then at Sylvanas. “Don’t I have to pay?” Jaina hissed.

“You will,” Sylvanas murmured, leaning in close to lower her voice so that Jaina could feel the brush of words against her ear. She tapped the paper in Jaina’s hand. “Give this to the bank, and they’ll oversee the transfer.”

“That seems like a very cumbersome way of paying for a few outfits.”

“Didn’t you know? Handling your own money is so dreadfully plebeian. That’s why you pay other people to do it for you.”

“Oh, I see. Elven snobbery at its finest, I assume?”

Taking Jaina’s hand and leading her from the shop, Sylvanas winked slyly. “Now, you’re getting the hang of it.”

--

The next few weeks drew a grim silence over Falthrien Academy as exam time came around. On the one hand, it meant that Jaina was pestered more than usual by her desperate young classmates, who were driven near to tears and sleeplessness with anxiety. Jaina, who had no exams to speak of, sighed and led a few impromptu study sessions in a spare room, which ended up attracting a large enough group that she feared being discovered by Magister Duskwither.

On the other hand, it also meant that everyone was so distracted by exams that Jaina could sneak into the library without notice. She found a shaded alcove and wove an illusion spell so that it looked like a group of students had fallen asleep while studying at the table, their faces pressed against the open pages of their books. Nobody spared her little alcove a second glance, and she could work in peace.

Jaina had taken off her pendant and set it upon the table beside stacks of books she had pulled from the stacks. On a blank scroll, she sketched out various spells and incantations. She took notes from a number of different open tomes, muttering to herself as she flipped through their pages and pausing to add an annotation here and there.

Leaning back in her seat, she read over her work. Then, she placed the pendant in the centre of the scroll. Her whispered incantation echoed. Tendrils of glowing arcane energy lifted the pendant above the page, rotating it in midair, imbuing the stone with light until it blazed like a star.

In a flash, the pendant clattered back to the table. Jaina flinched from the flare of magic, and rubbed at her eyes. She picked up the pendant, turning it over in her hands, only to find that the small smudge still darkened one facet of the stone.

With a grumble, Jaina crossed out a section of the scroll and crammed a few more notes into the margins. She searched through her stacks of books for a particular title. Sighing, she dropped her quill and fastened the pendant around her neck once more.

“I forgot one, Ithedis,” she said as she pushed her chair back.

Nobody answered.

Puzzled, Jaina looked around. She peered down a few nearby shelves, but he was nowhere to be found.

“Ithedis?” she hissed, reluctant to raise her voice and draw too much attention to herself.

When he did not reply, Jaina felt the stirrings of worry fester in her gut. She murmured a quick illusion spell, draping it over herself so that she appeared to be a young elven Apprentice in plain robes. While in the past she would have preferred using this to sneak into the library, illusions spells never worked on Ithedis, and everybody would know who she was if she was constantly shadowed by a stony-faced Spellbreaker.

She slipped out of the library and began searching for him floor by floor. By the time Jaina reached the higher floors, she was well and truly starting to grow worried. She ran over possible scenarios in her head. Perhaps he had returned to the manor? Perhaps he had stepped out for something to eat? Perhaps he had been cornered by a group of angry Magisters, and was fighting for his life? Or perhaps he had simply gotten something to eat, Jaina told herself again, pushing the last thought firmly from her mind.

The highest floors of the Academy were empty and eerily quiet. Even her footsteps were muffled by arcane energies. Pressing her ear to a closed door, Jaina could hear a dull buzzing sound, like a hornet’s nest. She continued on, wandering the circular hallways in her search.

As she rounded one pillar, she stopped. There, faint voices but voices all the same. Jaina ducked from pillar to pillar until she was close enough to hear, and close enough to peek around the column to see who it was that spoke.

First, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Ithedis’ unmistakable silhouette. Then, her blood ran cold. Ithedis stood with his back to her hiding place. His shield was strapped to one of his forearms, and his free hand was lifting Magister Duskwither a foot off the ground by the front of the Magister’s robes. He had slammed the Magister’s back against the wall, holding him there while Duskwither’s feet kicked and dangled.

It was not Ithedis who was speaking however. It was the woman standing beside him.

Sylvanas’s stood with her back turned to Jaina and her face obscured by the drawn hood of her cloak, but there could be no mistaking that authoritative stance or that distinctive voice.

"It’s strange. I've been hearing the most interesting whispers lately," Sylvanas hummed. "I don't suppose someone of your status as Headmaster and Magister of this most illustrious Academy would know anything about such lies being spread about the Ranger-General's wife?"

"N-no, Lady Windrunner -" "Because I'd hate to have to take someone's tongue for it," Sylvanas continued as casually as though she were remarking on the weather. "Tedious, really. Gets everything all bloody."

"You wouldn't dare!” Duskwither snarled. He struggled against Ithedis’ iron-clad grip, but Ithedis remained unyielding. His crimson lacquered gauntlets creaked as he lifted Magister Duskwither up the wall fractionally higher.

"Oh, no. Not me. Can you imagine?" Sylvanas drawled. "But my friend here is far less domesticated than I." She gestured towards Ithedis’ thunderous expression beneath the winged helm. "Terribly skilled with a knife, this one. I've seen him gut deer in the Eversong Forest myself. He’s very thorough."

Jaina distinctly heard Ithedis' voice join the conversation. "An attack on the Lady is an attack on me."

"Now -" the Magister wheezed, "Now, see here -"

"Quiet now. Here's how it's going to play out," Sylvanas crooned. "You're going to assign her to another Magister, one worthy of her time, and you're going to give her full access to the Academy's archives. Are we clear?”

Choking, Magister Duskwither just nodded.

“Good.”

Sylvanas gestured to Ithedis, who dropped Magister Duskwither to the ground. There, Duskwither gasped and clutched at his chest. When Sylvanas crouched down in front of him, he jerked back as if she had struck him with an open blow.

This time when Sylvanas spoke it was almost too low for Jaina to hear, “And if I get word that you've so much as looked at her the wrong way, you'll be seeing us again."

She stood and jerked her head. “Go.”

The Magister didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he fled.

Jaina held her breath as he passed by her hiding place, pulling her head back so as not to be spotted. She dared to peek around again, and spied Sylvanas and Ithedis walking back the way she had come. They strode side-by-side, Sylvanas with her hands behind her back and Ithedis with his shield. "I see now why my wife has taken a liking to you."

“It is an honour to serve, Lady Windrunner.”

“Somehow I knew you’d say that,” Sylvanas drawled, not unkindly.

A pause as he bowed his head. “I should return to the library. The Lady may have noticed my absence.”

“Did she have a book with her?”

“Several.”

Sylvanas laughed, a startlingly gentle sound after such a brutal display that faded the further they walked from Jaina’s hiding place. “Then you have nothing to worry about.”

--

Storm clouds gathered, sweeping in from the sea, and Jaina did not speak to Ithedis the entire ride back to Goldenbough Manor. She had portalled back down to the library before he could beat her there, and curtly announced upon his arrival that she wanted to leave the Academy. Ithedis had seemed startled by her tone of voice, but made no comment. Once or twice on the ride home, he had tried to initiate conversation, only for Jaina to answer in blunt monosyllables or wordless noises. Eventually, he went silent. His eyes would dart to her, but she staunchly ignored him.

Flecks of rain started to fall from the sky by the time they arrived at the manor. Jaina dismounted, and Ithedis came forward to take the reins from her. She dropped them into his hand without a word, turning and walking towards the manor entrance.

“Lady Proudmoore -”

“Not now, Ithedis.”

“But -”

She whirled around, glaring, fists clenched at her side. “I noticed you were gone this afternoon. I was worried, so I went looking for you, thinking something bad had happened to you. Instead, I found you and my wife threatening to cut out a man’s tongue on my behalf!” When he opened his mouth to speak, Jaina snapped, “I don’t want to hear your excuses! I don’t want to hear anything you have say right now! In fact, you are relieved from duty for the day!”

It was the first time Jaina had raised her voice since arriving in Quel’Thalas. It didn’t make her feel any better, but it did stop Ithedis from following her when she stormed into the manor. She hadn’t gotten very far into the main hall, when she was approached by a servant, who bowed.

“My Lady -” he started in a heavily lilting accent.

“What?” Jaina sighed, rubbing at the prick of pain behind her eyes.

The servant hesitated before continuing. “Forgive me for intruding, but you have received a package from the Lord Admiral.”

Blinking in surprise, Jaina looked up. The servant was holding out a small package, wrapped in brown waxed paper and tied with twine. She took the package, and the servant left with another bow before she could speak again.

Jaina didn’t bother waiting to take it somewhere private. She walked over to the nearest table lining a wall. Her fingers were already trembling when she pulled at the strings and tore open the brown paper wrapping. Beneath she revealed a plain wooden box stamped with a familiar sigil scorched into the surface. Jaina traced the motif. It was the company logo for her favourite brand of Kul Tiran tea.

The first thing she felt was a rush of homesickness so biting, it boiled her stomach with acidity. It was followed swiftly by disbelief and a growing impotent anger, anger that she could be so pleased, so relieved at something as small as a box of tea that was no longer than her forearm.

When Jaina opened the box, she found a letter inside, written in her mother’s loopy scrawl. Her eyes skimmed over the three lines wishing her a happy birthday and all the best. A birthday gift that had arrived a week early.

Outside it had begun to rain in earnest. A swell of thunder rolled in the distance. Mutely, Jaina put down the gift in favour of gazing out the tall narrow windows that arched towards the ceiling. Leaving the box behind, she walked across the main hall, passing beneath the winding staircase and striding past the many side-rooms, heading straight for the back patio.

When Jaina pushed open the doors, she had been expecting a surge of cold air. What she got instead was more heat. Heat poured upon heat. And beyond that, a rain so stifling, she could no longer see the sea. The horizon was hidden by thick sheets of rain that poured from the sky.

Slowly, she stepped from the manor, walking out from beneath the shade of the balcony above her. The first touch of rain hit her skin like an electric shock. The water warmed against her skin, saturating her clothes in an instant. Jaina took a few more staggering steps until her feet squelched, and she came to a halt.

She stood there, her breathing growing quick and shallow, when she heard a voice behind her.

“What are you doing?”

Jaina did not turn around. The rain drummed into her skin; it plastered her hair to her cheeks and neck. She wrapped her arms around herself and wished she were cold enough to shiver, but the rain did nothing to combat the humidity that pressed down around her. The very air in Quel’Thalas seemed to work its way into her throat, down to her lungs until she choked in the heat, until she drowned in it.

“This rain is all wrong,” Jaina mumbled.

Behind her, Sylvanas lingered beneath the shelter of the balcony. “What? What are you talking about?”

Jaina stared down at her feet, at the mud pooling up around her ankles, the earth pounded to life by the pouring rain. “I hate it here.”

The announcement came like a horrible realisation. It fell from her lips in a gasp, and she had to swallow back the raw feeling that welled up in her mouth when she said it.

“I fucking hate it here,” she repeated, louder this time, speaking to nobody. “Ever since I arrived, I hated it. I hate the way everyone stares at me. I hate that I don’t know anybody. I hate that I can’t understand the language. I hate that I’m here instead of in Dalaran. I hate the Academy. I hate the hot water everyone serves me. I hate the tea. I hate how useless I feel, and that I need my centuries old wife and centuries older guardsman to fight my battles for me. I hate that the only people who are nice to me are people who feel like they have to be nice to me. I hate the weather. I hate this rain. I hate -”

This must have been what seasickness felt like. The earth pitching beneath her feet. The disorientation. Never knowing which way was up, which direction was which. Jaina closed her eyes. She grit her teeth. Her fingers dug into her sides and her shoulders hunched. Maybe, if she were lucky, the rain would sink into her skin and she would dissolve into nothing. Better that than staying here.

She didn’t hear Sylvanas walking to her until she felt a gentle touch at her shoulder. Recoiling, Jaina whirled around and stumbled back a step. Sylvanas raised both her hands, as if showing Jaina that she was unarmed. She watched Jaina carefully, and Jaina couldn’t stand the pity in her eyes. She could only have been in the rain for a moment, but already Sylvanas appeared soaked through.

“What can I do?” Sylvanas asked, taking a small step forward, looking like she wanted to reach out, but stopping herself from doing so.

“There’s nothing to be done.”

Sylvanas shook her head, as if not believing the words she was hearing. “There has to be something. Whatever it is, I can help; you just need to tell me what you want.”

“Nothing!” Jaina shouted. “I don’t want anything from you!”

Her words rang out, and the silence that followed was broken only by the uneven bruit of rainfall and the distant rumble of thunder over the sea. Sylvanas looked stricken, like she’d been slapped, and an echo of that all too familiar helplessness crossed her face.

“How -” Sylvanas started to say, but she had to stop before she could continue. “How am I supposed to make this better, then? When you won’t tell me? When you refuse to let me do anything?”

Something dark and ugly roiled in Jaina’s chest, and she countered, “I suppose you’ll just do it anyway. Like you did with the Magister.”

Sylvanas’ mouth snapped shut. For the first time since Jaina had known her, she had been caught off guard and had to fumble for an excuse. “Because I had to. Because you weren’t doing anything about it.”

“I specifically asked you to let me handle it!”

“But you weren’t!”

“It wasn’t your choice to make!”

“You were unhappy! Sneaking into libraries and bribing children to bring you books! They had no right to treat you with such disrespect!”

“This isn’t about whether what you did to the Magister was right or wrong, Sylvanas! This is about -!” Jaina couldn’t keep from shouting now. “This was the one thing -- the only thing -- that was under my control, that I could do my way! And you took it!”

“I’m sorry! Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes!”

Sylvanas stared at her. The kohl had begun to streak down her cheeks. The rain had drenched her through, her hair darkened to a honey gold, but her eyes were bright and incredulous. “That’s it? ‘I’m sorry’?”

“No! That’s -!” With a growl of frustration, Jaina snapped, “I want you to mean it! I want you to respect my decisions! I want you to treat me like an adult!”

“Then you need to tell me things! I am trying to understand, to do the best I can, but I can’t read your mind! I have to pry information from you and believe it or not, you are very difficult to read!”

“This isn’t my fault! Stop trying to make it my fault!”

“I’m not -!” Sylvanas stepped closer, and her eyes blazed. “You need to talk to me. Stop hiding. Stop trying to fend for yourself. You are not alone. I am here for you.”

Jaina shook her head, but refused to back down. She had been clenching her teeth so hard her jaw ached. “You have to say that. You have to act like you -- We’re married, so you have to say things like that.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Yes, you do! You don’t -- You don’t care. This isn’t real. This a contract. We signed a contract.”

The anger and confusion on Sylvanas’ face had softened. Not to pity -- Jaina would have died on the spot if it were pity -- but to something bordering on tenderness.

“I care.”

When Sylvanas slowly reached up to brush a strand of hair that had stuck to Jaina’s cheek, Jaina flinched but did not pull back. Looking down at the space between their feet, Jaina bit her lower lip; it had begun to tremble. She hated the burning that stung her eyes.

Sylvanas cupped her cheek and said gently, “You can leave if you want. You can go home.”

Somehow that made it worse. Jaina shook her head against the first sob that rose in her throat. She ducked her head and tried to hide her face behind one of her hands, but Sylvanas took her wrist and tugged her that final step forward. Jaina instead hid her face in Sylvanas’ shoulder, her own shoulders starting to shake. Squeezing her eyes shut, she cried. She barely registered Sylvanas slowly putting her arms around her.

Jaina did not know for how long they stood like that in the rain, only that at some point she had reached around Sylvanas’ back and clutched handfuls of her cloak. Sylvanas murmured soothing noises in her ear, or otherwise remained silent. Eventually, the tremors faded, Jaina’s breathing evened out, and the tears slowed to a stop, until Jaina was simply standing there, eyes closed, forehead pressed against Sylvanas’ chest, enjoying the feeling of being held.

Thunder rumbled across the sea behind them. Closer this time.

“Come on. Let’s go inside. You’ll catch your death out here,” Sylvanas said.

Keeping an arm around Jaina’s shoulders, Sylvanas urged her back towards the manor. Jaina went without protest. She wiped at her eyes. Her entire face felt puffy, and her whole body felt drained. Both her and Sylvanas’ feet slipped in the mud as they trudged back to the manor.

Two servants were already waiting for them at the back entrance with fresh warm towels and robes. They had even spread out a canvas material on the ground of the rear foyer so that Sylvanas and Jaina did not muddy the floor. Numbly, Jaina stripped down to her underthings and toweled herself dry, her movements sluggish. She could hear Sylvanas beside her doing the same, though far more quickly and efficiently.

While Jaina was belting the robe shut around her waist, Sylvanas said, “I saw that your mother sent you an early birthday gift.”

Nodding without looking up, Jaina brushed her damp hair back from her face. “She sent me some tea from Kul Tiras.”

“Would you like some?”

“Yes, please.” Jaina sounded hollow to her own ears.

Sylvanas relayed a few short orders to the servants who had begun to pick up their sopping wet clothes from the canvas. As she did so, Jaina started off towards the stairs. Exhaustion had truly settled into her now, a bone-deep ache. She hadn’t eaten dinner yet, but the thought of food made her feel mildly ill. Food could wait until the morning.

Sylvanas followed a step behind all the way up to their private quarters, silent. She closed the doors behind them when Jaina entered the room. Without bothering to change into a nightgown, Jaina wandered over to the bed and flopped down onto her side, face-first. She felt a dip in the mattress; Sylvanas sat beside her rather than across from her.

“Do you want me to bring you anything?”

Jaina shook her head.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Jaina’s voice was muffled by the sheets.

“Alright.”

Sylvanas leaned back, but stiffened with a quiet knock came at the door. Jaina lifted her head, but Sylvanas said, “I’ll get it.”

Standing, she crossed the room and opened the door. Through the gap, Jaina could just see the armoured figure of Ithedis bearing a tray.

“Is she -?”

“She’s fine.” Sylvanas reached out to take the tray. Her voice lowered when she said, “I received the latest field reports this morning. There were minimal casualties during a border skirmish. Your eldest’s name was not on the list.”

Ithedis bowed. “Thank you, Lady Windrunner.”

She nodded and closed the door with her hip. As she approached the bed, Jaina sat up. “I didn’t know he had kids.”

Sylvanas set the tray down on the end of the bed. “He has five. All daughters. I initiated his youngest into the Rangers not too long ago.”

For a moment, Jaina chewed at her lower lip, saying nothing. Then, swallowed thickly, she scooted forward to sit cross-legged in front of the tray. It held a steaming pot of water, a strainer, a box of the tea her mother had sent, a small pitcher of milk, slices of lemon, and a pot of honey. There were also two cups and two spoons.

Jaina tucked her rain-frizzy hair behind her ears, but it almost immediately fell into her face again. Ignoring it, she scooped black tea leaves directly into the pot. “Do you want a cup?”

Sylvanas moved to sit beside her on the bed. “I would. I’ve never had Kul Tiran tea before.”

Placing the glass lid back over the pot, Jaina waited for it to steep. Sylvanas peered at the tea, her long ears held at a curious angle that Jaina recognised far too well from the young Novices at the Academy.

“It’s red,” she remarked. “Is it supposed to be so dark?”

Jaina began to slowly turn the teapot clockwise, stirring the leaves. “They bake it. It gives the tea a smokey flavour.”

“Hmm,” Sylvanas sounded dubious.

After a few minutes, Jaina poured them each a cup. She put a splash of milk in her own, but Sylvanas shook her head and took her tea black. Cupping the ceramic mug between her hands, Jaina took a sip and sighed in pleasure. A rush of homesickness washed over her, but she cradled the cup to her chest and closed her eyes.

Beside her, Sylvanas took a sip, then made a noise in the back of her throat. “It’s -” she wrinkled her nose. “- earthy.”

“Do you not like it?” Jaina asked.

In answer Sylvanas took another sip. “I am undecided.”

They drank in silence. Rain lashed the windows, and the storm clouds darkened the sky until it felt like dusk already. At one point, Sylvanas added lemon to her tea. She took a sip, and added a dollop of honey as well.

When she reached for the milk after another drink, Jaina said, “I’ve never seen anyone add all three.”

“I’m experimenting.” Sylvanas stirred the milk in, and took another sip. She nodded gravely, as if coming to a conclusion, and placed her cup back on the tray. “Just as I thought. It’s terrible.”

An unexpected snort of laughter escaped Jaina at that. She shook her head, unable to keep a crooked half smile from her lips. Draining the last of her tea, Jaina refilled her cup. She held the spout of the teapot over Sylvanas’ cup in quiet question, but Sylvanas waved her away.

As Jaina added milk to her own tea and sighed blissfully into another cup, Sylvanas pointed to Jaina’s damp hair. “May I?”

Hesitant, Jaina nodded.

Even then, Sylvanas did not immediately touch her. “You don’t have to say ‘yes’ just because I ask something.”

“No, it’s - it’s fine.” Jaina inhaled a shaky breath and said, “I want you to.”

Jaina tensed as Sylvanas moved to sit directly behind her, but at the first gentle scrape of fingernails against her scalp she sighed. In long languid strokes, Sylvanas combed her fingers through Jaina’s hair, and Jaina could feel the tension slowly drain from her shoulders. Soon, she was holding the cup in her lap, tea forgotten, her eyes half-closed and heavy-lidded.

Working from the top of her head, Sylvanas began to part Jaina’s hair and weave it together. The braid curved down one shoulder, and Jaina’s tea had gone lukewarm by the time Sylvanas finished. Of all the things they'd done together -- sleeping in the same bed, sharing communal baths -- somehow this seemed the most intimate.

Sylvanas’ hand lingered at the nape of Jaina’s neck after finishing, before she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. “I’m going to find something to eat. Do you want me to bring anything back?”

Jaina shook her head. Without another word, Sylvanas strode from the room. In her absence, Jaina poured herself a fresh cup of tea and pushed herself back against the cushions. The tea itself did nothing to help with the heat or the homesickness or anything else that had been troubling her these last few months, but she could pretend it did.

Finishing her last cup, Jaina placed it and the tray atop one of the trunks at the foot of the bed. She didn’t bother getting changed. She simply curled up atop the sheets and closed her eyes and tried to sleep.

She was still awake when the room had dimmed in the evening light, when the door creaked open, then shut again, and Sylvanas padded around the room with silent footfalls. Jaina feigned sleep, wishing she had the courage to roll over and ask Sylvanas to put her arms around her again. Instead, she tucked her knees up higher, kept her eyes closed, and waited for sleep to claim her.

--

It continued to rain, and did not stop. The roads of Quel’Thalas ran like rivers across the land, a deluge of mud that carved off chunks of earth. One afternoon, Jaina heard a great crack and crash, thinking it was lightning only to be told by Ithedis that it was a piece of the cliffside sliding into the ocean. At least the rainy season explained why the manor wasn’t built closer to the sea.

Four days later, Jaina received a letter from Falthrien Academy. She left it on a table in the main hall, unable to open it without feeling sick to her stomach. It wasn’t until the next morning that Jaina plucked up the courage to crack the wax seal on the back and read what it said. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she read it again.

It was, quite simply, a request for a visit to the Goldenbough Manor from a Magistrix Elosai.

“What do I do with this?” Jaina waved the letter at Sylvanas.

Raising her eyebrows, Sylvanas read the letter over Jaina’s shoulder. “Either invite her over, or decline her request.”

“And what does she want?”

Sylvanas shrugged. “I guess you’ll have to just find out.”

“But who is she?”

“I have no idea. I’m not a mage. I don’t go to the Academy that often. And by that I mean, I’ve been there all of three times.”

“Including the last one?” Jaina said dryly.

Looking suitably chagrined, Sylvanas murmured, “I stand corrected. Four times.”

Jaina folded the letter back up. “Duskwither is only sending her because of you. You know that, right?”

Sylvanas met her eye. “Then you should decline.” When Jaina pursed her lips, Sylvanas cocked her head. “Or not?”

Jaina chewed at the inside of her cheek before saying, “I still want a teacher here. I just don’t like the way I’ve gotten one.”

“There’s nothing I can do about that now, apart from apologise again. If that’s what you want -?”

Sighing, Jaina shook her head. “No. It’s fine. Well -” She glared at Sylvanas. “It’s not fine, but it’s fine.”

Sylvanas gave a huff of laughter. She tapped Jaina lightly on the shoulder. “You see? Difficult to read.”

Jaina sent a letter back, and the next morning a slender elven woman in mage robes the colour of deep turquoise arrived at Goldenbough Manor. She had not a speck of mud on her, despite the deluge outside.

She bowed to Jaina upon being shown into a sitting room off the main hall. “Thank you for receiving me, Lady Proudmoore.”

Warily, Jaina nodded in return. “Magistrix Elosai, I presume?”

“That’s correct.” The Magistrix waved away a silent offer to sit on one of the couches. “Oh, no. Thank you. I couldn’t possibly impose.”

She remained standing, and Jaina, feeling awkward, cleared her throat as she sat down herself. Magistrix Elosai was by no stretch of the imagination a tall woman, but she held herself with such calm assurance she made Jaina feel gangly in comparison.

“I would like to start out by apologising on behalf of the Academy, Lady Proudmoore,” Magistrix Elosai began. “My superior severely overstepped. His disregard for your skill and his disrespect towards you were unacceptable.”

Another bow. Jaina was starting to feel weird about all the bowing. “Thank you, Magistrix. And I apologise for anything my wife did on my behalf.”

At that, Elosai seemed taken aback. Her ears pinned back, as though Jaina had said something offensive. Perhaps she should not have mentioned it at all? Elosai tried to smile, a somewhat nervous smile.

“Secondly, I have requested an audience to offer you two proposals,” Elosai continued as though Jaina had not mentioned Duskwither at all. “The first: I would be honoured if you would agree to let me teach you personally. The second: I’d like to ask if you want to make your tutoring of the Novices a more official position at the Academy.”

“In what capacity?” Jaina asked slowly.

“Seminars. They won’t be much different from what you currently do, apart from the fact that with official sanctions comes Academy support. You’ll be given more materials, a room to hold the seminars, and an office of your own.”

Jaina flushed. She could feel her ears burning in embarrassment. “That’s - That’s far too generous. I can’t accept that.”

“It is the least I can do, Lady Proudmoore.” Elosai bowed again. Jaina really wished she would stop bowing.

“But I’m -! I’m still an Apprentice! I shouldn’t have office space! Or students!” Jaina insisted. Of all the luxuries she had been given upon her arrival in Quel’Thalas, private office space in Falthrien Academy seemed like extravagance. She didn’t even know what she would do with an office, apart from sit in it and feel like an imposter who had lied and cheated her way through the system.

“Yet you have been tutoring the Novices regardless, and doing an admirable job of it too from what I understand.” Magistrix Elosai clasped her hands and said calmly, “If your station bothers you, we can expedite your status at the Academy when your Apprenticeship finishes in Dalaran. It shouldn’t be long. I checked with Modera myself -- she and I are old friends -- and she reckons you’re well on your way to becoming a fully fledged member of the Kirin Tor.”

Well, that was news to Jaina. She gaped like a fish, then snapped her mouth shut. Rising abruptly to her feet, Jaina said, “Can I think about it?”

Another bow. “Of course, Lady Proudmoore. Take all the time you need. You know where to find me.”

Jaina escorted Elosai from the Manor. On the front steps Elosai teleported directly back to the Academy, leaving Jaina holding one of the front doors open dumbly. Closing the door, Jaina wandered back into the sitting room in a daze. She collapsed onto one of the couches, her legs dangling over an armrest, and stared up at the ceiling. She only heard Sylvanas’ footsteps entering the room because Sylvanas wanted her presence to be known.

“It went poorly, did it?” Sylvanas asked, standing over the couch and peering down at Jaina so that her long hair fell down around her face.

“You mean you and Ithedis weren’t eavesdropping?” Jaina quipped.

“No. We were not. And you realise Ithedis never tells me anything unless he knows you told me about it first?”

Sighing, Jaina rubbed at her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry.” She raised her voice and said again for Ithedis who stood at his post outside the room, “I’m sorry.”

Sylvanas cocked her head. “So?”

“So -- what?”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “How did your meeting go?”

“Oh! Right.” Jaina grimaced, letting her arms fall back onto the couch cushions. “Apparently I’m both a student and teacher now. They’re giving me an office.”

Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose and she straightened. “Are they now? Huh.”

Jaina narrowed her eyes. “Don’t look so smug.”

“Me? I’m not smug.”

Jaina pointed at Sylvanas’ face. “You are! Look at that stupid smirk. I hate it.”

Even though Sylvanas schooled her features, her eyes gleamed. “It’s because you’re lying down and seeing my face from an odd angle. Hardly my fault.”

Jaina stuck her tongue out at Sylvanas, who laughed.

“What was it you said about being an adult?” Sylvanas grinned.

“Oh, shut up.”

--

The rains let up the evening before Jaina’s birthday. When she awoke the morning of, the sky remained a foreboding iron grey, but that didn’t stop Sylvanas from pulling her away from breakfast and dragging her to the stables for a ride through the countryside. Jaina only had enough time to dress in riding leathers and forego the more comfortable mage robes she was going to wear that day.

The mugginess doused her as soon as she stepped outside. Tugging at her collar, Jaina gave up and flicked open the first few buttons. It didn’t help much, but it made her feel a little better. She coated her palm in ice and placed it on the back of her neck, groaning. Still morning -- albeit late in the morning -- and already she was dying in the heat.

Sylvanas on the other hand, still wore a half cloak this time of a heavier material than she had a few months ago.

“How on earth can you stand to wear that?” Jaina asked.

With a shrug, Sylvanas led her towards the stables. “It’s the rainy season. It’s cold. Plus we’re heading south for the day.”

Jaina stared at her, aghast. “This is not cold! This is - wait. We’re going where?”

“I thought I might show you my family home. It will just be a quick day trip.”

“But -” Jaina trotted to catch up and walk beside her. “Isn’t Windrunner Village a three days ride from here?”

Sylvanas turned her head just enough to shoot a mischievous grin over her shoulder. “Not the way we’re travelling.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Sylvanas. Sylvanas!”

Jaina got her answer when they rounded the corner and happened upon a massive sunset-coloured dragonhawk. Upon seeing them, it balked at the rope that tethered it to one of the reinforced sides of the stables. A crack appeared in the wall around the bolt that held the rope in place, and Jaina took a wary step back.

Before she could get very far, Sylvanas grabbed her hand. “Come on,” she murmured, giving Jaina’s hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”

Taking a deep breath, Jaina allowed herself to be led forward. The dragonhawk’s serpentine head swung round, and it glared at her with one molten eye. Slowly, Sylvanas drew her up to the beast, moving around its wings so that she could bring Jaina to its narrow flank. There, a long saddle had been attached. Leather straps looped around the dragonhawk’s sinuous body, buckled into place.

“I’ll give you a leg up,” Sylvanas said.

“You can’t be serious,” Jaina replied breathlessly. The dragonhawk was glaring at her over its wing, its body tense as if ready to strike at the first wrong move. “Shouldn’t you go first? Or maybe we should just portal down there. I can summon a perfectly good portal, you know!”

Chuckling, Sylvanas went down on one knee and laced her fingers together. “No portals. We’re doing it the fun way.”

“I’ll have you know portals are very fun,” Jaina said, even as she stepped carefully onto Sylvanas’ hands and was boosted up into the saddle. Despite the boost, she still struggled to get her leg over the dragonhawk’s back, afraid that she might slip down the other side and fall on its wing.

“Says the mage.”

With her usual dash of grace, Sylvanas leapt up behind her. There was only one set of stirrups, which Sylvanas slipped her booted feet into, gently guiding Jaina’s legs forward with a nudge of her toe at Jaina’s calves. Jaina tried not to seem too stiff at the sudden substantial amount of contact, but it was difficult when her back was pressed against Sylvanas’ front. It was even more difficult when Sylvanas murmured an apology and reached both arms around Jaina to grab the reins.

When she had the reins firmly in her grasp, Sylvanas said, “Alright, I’m going to need you to do something for me.”

“What?” Jaina told herself that she definitely did not squeak.

She could feel the warm huff of Sylvanas’ laughter against the back of her neck. Suddenly, Jaina wished she hadn’t taken to tying her hair in a braid after that night.

“Nothing dangerous, don’t worry. You see that leather strap there?” Sylvanas pointed without dropping the reins. When Jaina nodded, she said, “Unhook it, and then hold on tight.”

“Ok.” Jaina breathed in and out a few times. “Ok. I can do that.”

Reaching down, Jaina tugged at the buckle on the strap. It wouldn’t give, and then, finally, she managed to pull it free. The moment she had done so, Jaina grabbed hold of the saddle horn between her legs and held on for dear life.

Nothing happened.

With a light cluck of her tongue, Sylvanas nudged the dragonhawk with her heels and pulled its head to the right. The dragonhawk shook its head against the reins, but turned its body away from the manor. Jaina held her breath and closed her eyes when it stretched out its wings, which glimmered like the dawn. She could feel Sylvanas squeeze her knees together and heard the snap of reins.

The world lurched. Then a rush of air like a torrent. It whipped at them, a furious upwards wind that faded into a downdraft as they swooped so severely Jaina could have sworn her stomach was left behind on the ground. The dragonhawk struggled to gain height in the air, flapping its wings before it had risen high enough that it could fly without bobbing up and down like a buoy.

After a few minutes of Jaina hunched over the saddlehorn, she felt a nudge at her side.

“You can open your eyes now,” Sylvanas teased over the whistle of the wind.

Jain did so. They were gliding just beneath the thick cover of cloud. Quel’Thalas drifted below them, far enough that Jaina felt dizzy when she looked down, and she immediately jerked her head up again. Already she could see that they were going to soon pass over a port lined with elven ships.

“You have a navy?” she asked, not daring to remove one of her hands from the saddlehorn to point.

Sylvanas snorted. “Yes. A shit one.” When Jaina craned her neck to keep studying the port as they flew over, Sylvanas said, “I can take you there another day, if you’d like.”

Jaina nodded. “Yes, please.”

She couldn’t see Sylvanas’ face from this angle, but she could feel Sylvanas shake her head. The wind was too loud to hear much, but she could have sworn she heard Sylvanas mutter affectionately, “Kul Tirans.”

By horse, it would have taken them ages to travel what was in essence the length of Quel’Thalas. By dragonhawk however, it took mere hours. Three quarters of the way through the flight, Jaina finally found the confidence to relax. Plus, her hands ached from gripping the saddlehorn so tightly. When she leaned back a bit however, she tensed again, realising that the motion made her rest fully against Sylvanas.

If Sylvanas noticed, she did not say anything. In fact at one point, Sylvanas said, “Take these for a second,” and pushed the reins into Jaina’s hands.

“Wait -! What?”

But Sylvanas was already leaning back and casually rummaging through one of the saddlebags strapped behind her. “You’re doing great. Just keep him steady. And don’t let him go swooping after anything deer-shaped.”

“That’s not funny!”

A low chuckle, and the clink of whatever Sylvanas was rummaging through. “Oh, I know. I wasn’t being funny that time.”

Which meant Jaina was studiously staring at the back of the dragonhawk’s crested head in the event that it might see something and decide to spin them into a dive so that it could snatch up a meal. When Sylvanas took the reins back, Jaina breathed a sigh of relief.

By the time they landed at Windrunner Spire, it was just past midday. Jaina slid from the dragonhawk’s back and onto blessed solid earth once more. Sylvanas hopped down beside her with one of the saddlebags slung over her shoulder. The dragonhawk gamely accepted a pat on its long neck, and even nudged its beak at the saddlebag over Sylvanas’ shoulder.

“That’s not for you.” Sylvanas pushed its head away. The dragonhawk butted against her arm, and she grunted, staggering back a step from the strength of the impact.

They had landed near the stables, and two attendants had come rushing out upon their arrival. With a wave in their direction, Sylvanas turned back to Jaina and jerked her head towards the Spire, “This way.”

The dragonhawk had begun to snap at the attendants, who were making shooing motions with their hands and trying to get a hold of the long lead that trailed from its neck. Jaina hurried after Sylvanas, glancing over her shoulder towards the attendants as she went.

“Are they going to be alright?” she asked.

Sylvanas made a dismissive gesture without looking around. “They’ll be fine. Welcome to my ancestral home, by the way.” She did not pause, continuing her long-legged strides, as she pointed to various things in their path. “That way is the village. Those over there are actually anchors for the leylines that act like ramparts, or so I’m told. We’ve never had to use them. Not since I’ve been alive, anyway. Those are the three spires. I used to have my rooms in that one over there, but I was always sneaking over into Alleria’s room in that tower because bothering her was my favourite hobby.”

“That sounds familiar,” Jaina quipped.

Sylvanas grinned over at her as they walked. “Youngest sister, yes? Even more annoying.”

Jaina nudged Sylvanas’ shoulder with her own. “I’m telling Vereesa you said that.”

“Good!”

Jaina tried to take in everything as they went, but Sylvanas’ clipped pace meant she didn’t have the time to pause and admire everything Sylvanas pointed out. A circular raised platform was connected to all three spires by a a bridge. Sylvanas strode up onto the platform and promptly sat down at the edge, one leg dangling over the long fall beneath her with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times in the past and who would do it a thousand times in the future.

Jaina hesitated to sit too near that edge herself. The open-aired platform made her feel a bit uneasy even when standing in the centre. She felt like one stiff breeze could knock her right off.

Sylvanas was pulling items from the saddlebag and arranging them on the floor next to her. A meal packaged in waxed paper, and a bottle of wine accompanied by two glasses carefully wrapped in cloth. Jaina sat, cross-legged, beside her so that lunch was spread between them. Carefully, she leaned forward somewhat to peer down over the edge.

“As much as I admire the beauty of elven architecture, I’ll never get over how spindly it looks,” Jaina remarked, sitting immediately back.

With a huff of laughter, Sylvanas uncorked the bottle of wine, its label so aged Jaina couldn’t read it. “And I’ll always think human architecture looks like a giant sat on it.”

Jaina opened her mouth to protest, but paused and thought about it. “Well, yes. That’s fair.”

In a wordless question, Sylvanas held the bottle over Jaina’s glass. Jaina nodded. “Thank you.”

While Sylvanas poured them each a glass, Jaina pulled open the paper that held their food. She blinked in surprise upon seeing a series of glyphs drawn onto the wax paper, tilting her head to one side in order to read them. They were preservation runes mixed with a very minor flame spell, cleverly designed to maintain the heat and freshness of whatever it had been used to package. She froze when she saw what was wrapped inside.

“Sylvanas?”

“Hmm?” Sylvanas set down the bottle.

Jaina pointed. “Are we having fancy elven wine with fish n’ chips for lunch?”

Reaching out, Sylvanas snagged a strip of fried potato and popped it into her mouth. “We are.”

With an incredulous laugh, Jaina pushed the paper down more so that they could both reach it better. Three golden fillets of crumbed fish left grease stains on the paper. Jaina tore off a wide section of the paper and used it to handle a fillet so as to not dirty her hands too much. Before she took a bite however, she glanced around.

“I don’t suppose we have any -?”

Immediately, Sylvanas pulled out a vial of malted vinegar from the saddlebag and tossed it to her. Jaina caught it, startled, then blinked in surprise. “How did you -?”

“I know it may shock you, but I am capable of reading a book,” Sylvanas said with one of her tell-tale grins. “I am also capable of taking full advantage of the newly established trade routes between Quel’Thalas and Kul Tiras.”

Jaina uncorked the vial and splashed a bit of vinegar onto her fillet. When she took that first bite, she closed her eyes and groaned in pleasure. Looking up at Sylvanas, she sighed around a mouthful, “You’re wonderful.”

At that, Sylvanas’ smile faltered. She hid it well, picking up another chip and proceeding to eat in earnest, but Jaina could recognise the slip all the same.

Wait. When had that happened? Jaina’s chewing slowed. She stared down at the pile of fish n’ chips. When had she grown so adept at reading Sylvanas’ micro expressions? Had she always been able to notice them? When had Sylvanas’ cool solemnity become a veneer that could Jaina could peek past, like pulling aside a curtain to see the stage props behind an actor?

Sylvanas recovered quickly, making light of Jaina’s off-handed comment, steering their conversation to safer harbours. Jaina tagged along, more than happy to be amused by her wife’s puckish chatter. Together, they finished lunch until only a few chips remained, having gone soggy now that the glyphs on the wax paper had been broken.

“Thank you,” Jaina said when their talk had slowed. “This was a lovely surprise for my birthday.”

Around the stem of her wine glass, Sylvanas held up one finger. “I do have one more thing. Though I’m not sure it can be considered a gift.”

Curious, Jaina craned her neck while Sylvanas used her free hand to pull something from a pouch at her belt. She put down her own glass -- her second, and mostly drained. Sylvanas turned and held out a letter.

Or -- not a letter. An invitation. Jaina took it. She flipped it over, running her hand along the thick card stock. It hadn’t been sealed yet. Opening it, she slid the invitation out to read its contents. She inhaled sharply through her nose. Not just any old invitation. An invitation to their own wedding anniversary, due to be held in Boralus in a mere five months.

“This a draft of the ones that are set to be delivered in two weeks,” Sylvanas said, sipping at her wine and watching Jaina’s reaction carefully. “We can change the styling on it, if you want.”

“No, this is fine. This is -” Feeling swept, Jaina ran her fingertips over the embossed script. “Has it really been that long already? It feels like I just arrived here.”

Sylvanas hummed. “I know the feeling. When you live as long as we do, time has a way of slowing to a crawl. It can be maddening, but sometimes with the right person a lifetime can feel like an instant.”

Her voice softened while she spoke, and a wistful expression crossed her face. She did not look at Jaina, instead thoughtfully studying the contents of her glass before lifting it to her lips.

Without thinking, Jaina wondered aloud, “Do high elves have divorce?”

Sylvanas choked, coughing on her drink. “What?”

Realising how that must have sounded, Jaina’s eyes widened. “Not like that!” she insisted. “No! No no no! I was just -- you know -- you said all of that as if you’d experienced it before, and I was wondering if this was the first time you’d ever -” she gestured between the two of them, “But then I realised I didn’t know if elves even got divorced, or had laws for divorce, or precedence or whatever. How does your legal system work, anyway? Is it a system of common law or -?”

Putting down her glass, Sylvanas rubbed at her forehead. “One of these days, you’re going to give me a heart attack,” she sighed. “To answer your questions: it’s a civil law system; elves can get a divorce; it’s not technically called ‘divorce’ and it works a bit differently, though I understand the comparison; and no, I have never been married before.”

“And why not?” Jaina asked. “Was marriage something you never wanted?”

Sylvanas laughed, a low chuckle with a wry edge. She shook her head and took another sip of her wine before saying, “When I was young I had a very clear idea of what my wedding would be like, what kind of person I would marry, and how my life would be with them. Needless to say, life has a way of diverting one’s expectations.” She tilted her glass to Jaina as if in a mock toast. “I never expected to marry a human, or to marry for politics instead of love. I certainly never expected to make my spouse unhappy.”

“I’m not -” Jaina almost lied, then cut herself off with a grimace. “I mean -- it’s getting better. Things are looking up. And it’s not you. I swear it’s not. You don’t make me unhappy.”

“What a ringing endorsement,” Sylvanas drawled with that flair of self-deprecating humour she preferred.

“Please. You are the only thing making this situation bearable,” Jaina said with as much earnestness as she could muster. After a moment, she added, “Ithedis helps, too.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to know.”

Sylvanas was refusing to meet her eye, and Jaina’s blood ran cold. Swallowing thickly, Jaina started to ask, “Are you -? Um -?” Her hands were trembling. She had to fight the urge to squeeze them together in her lap for fear of crumpling the anniversary invitation. “Are you unhappy?”

Before this moment, Jaina had never thought to ask that. The idea had never struck her that Sylvanas was anything but perfectly content to sail through their marriage for the good of her people and no other reason. Now, the mere notion that she may have been just as unhappy sent a jolt of fear racing down Jaina's spine.

Rather than answer immediately -- Tides, but Jaina wished Sylvanas had just answered immediately, that she denied it, that she flashed one of her signature roguish grins, made everything better, and put Jaina's mind at ease, like she was so good at doing -- Sylvanas gazed contemplatively into the distance. The sun was sinking towards the horizon, sweeping the world in bright lilac hues; it would be evening before long. She idly swirled the dregs of her glass before setting it down.

“It’s getting better.”

Without further explanation, Sylvanas pushed herself to her feet. She offered her hand to Jaina. “We should start heading back. It’s getting dark.”

--

The weeks passed. Jaina found a new rhythm. She accepted Elosai's proposal. She started personal lessons three days a week at the Academy, and led seminars with the Novices on another day, giving her a day in Dalaran and two days of time for rest, which of course she used to lock herself away in her personal library at Goldenbough for more study. Just as Elosai had predicted, within a month Jaina was promoted to a full member of the Kirin Tor, and presented with a new set of robes at a small ceremony in Dalaran.

Jaina had sent an excited letter to her mother with the news, hoping Katherine could attend the ceremony. In return she received a long glowing letter, complete with an apology at the end saying that her mother was detained at sea and could not pull herself away from her duties. In the end, only Sylvanas and Ithedis attended. Afterwards, Sylvanas insisted on taking Jaina out and being seen at a restaurant in Dalaran.

These days, it was rare for the two of them to see one another outside of the occasional meal at the manor. She still reserved dinners with Sylvanas, but the they were both busy enough that dinner and bed were the only times they reliably saw one another.

If it bothered Sylvanas, she did not complain. Though after their visit to Windrunner Spire, Jaina had grown far more suspicious of Sylvanas’ silences. Her wife seemed to speak as much with silence as she did with words, perhaps more so. Often Jaina found herself studying Sylvanas across the dinner table -- Sylvanas had purchased a Kul Tiran dining set to go on another side of the banquet hall, though she herself continued to eat with her hands rather than use the utensils that Jaina preferred -- but Sylvanas was as adept as ever at deflecting scrutiny with an easy laugh and a terrible joke.

Had her humour grown more self-deprecating over the last few months? Jaina couldn’t tell. Maybe Sylvanas had always held herself in such low esteem, and simply hid it well.

“Lady Proudmoore, are you paying attention?”

Jaina jerked. Elosai was frowning at her, not unkindly but curiously. “Yes!” Jaina said, straightening her shoulders. “Sorry, Magistrix.”

They were standing in Elosai’s office space, far larger than Jaina’s own office space, which -- Jaina had noted with intense relief when she’d first been assigned it -- was little more than a glorified broom cupboard with a single window. Meanwhile, the Magistrix’s circular office had enough space for magical baubles and statues and even an open second floor library connected to the ground floor by a floating spiral staircase.  She had been forced to beg Elosai to give her the worst office in the building, which the Magistrix had granted with great reluctance and no small amount of confusion.

Elosai lowered the scroll she had been reading aloud. Her usual expression of calm had been marred with genuine concern; she had a knack for earnestness that Jaina always appreciated. “It’s unlike you to be so distracted. Is there something on your mind?”

Opening her mouth, Jaina scrambled for a lie and decided instead to settle for a half-truth -- she had never been very good at lying, anyway. “Some of the Novices have been asking me questions that I’m not sure how best to answer.”

“I’m assuming these questions are of a personal nature?” Elosai asked. When Jaina nodded, the Magistrix hummed. “That’s not unusual, especially when the younger ones take a liking to you. I wouldn’t concern yourself too much over it. Answer what you can, and don’t be afraid to tell them they’re crossing a line if they pry too much.”

“Of course,” Jaina cleared her throat. “I just don’t want to anger the institution or any parents with my answers about humans and -- things.”

“You have a level head on your shoulders, Lady Proudmoore. I trust you to not say anything of an inflammatory nature.” Elosai’s voice gentled. “Is there anything else?”

For a brief wild moment, Jaina almost blurted out everything, as if the first friendly face were a repository for all her woes. Her worries that other Apprentices and Magisters were starting to resent her for how quickly she rose through the ranks. Her worries that her pride was over-inflating her actual abilities. Her worries that she wasn’t a good teacher to an ever growing group of Novices that seemed to trail around the Academy after her like a gaggle of excited geese. Her worries that Sylvanas was only ever concerned about Jaina and never about herself. Her concerns that Sylvanas wasn’t talking to her about anything of substance, that their relationship was already starting to stagnate so early in their marriage, that she herself had no idea how to stop it from happening, so that she felt she was standing on a cliff and watching the chasm between them widen beyond her control.

Instead, Jaina swallowed it all down. Maybe Elosai could have helped her with a few of those anxieties, but it wouldn’t do for Jaina to go blabbing about strains in her incredibly politically important marriage. So, she plastered on a smile, shook her head, and said, “No! Nothing at all! You were saying something about arcane constructs?”

--

While intellectually Jaina had always understood Sylvanas’ forced leave would come to and end, she had never quite gotten around to preparing for it. The day came when Sylvanas was reading her latest field report after dinner, and she announced casually at the table that she would be leaving for the border the next morning.

Jaina almost dropped her cup of tea. “I’m sorry -- what?”

Not looking up from the report, Sylvanas repeated herself with the same air of calm assurance, “I need to go early tomorrow. There’s been an increase of activity along our eastern border. Probing attacks and other reconnaissance. Vereesa thinks it’s a tactic to divert our attention from the south and split our forces, but I’m not so convinced. The Amani wouldn’t leave Zul’Aman so poorly defended and push all their resources into a full-on assault from the south. It would leave their capital at our mercy. And if their capital falls, they fall.”

“Oh,” Jaina breathed.

“Mmm.”

Jaina sipped at her tea in an attempt to steel herself; a good strong cup of tea always helped. Then, still cupping her mug, she said, “I think I should go with you.”

Sylvanas blinked, then stared at her over the top of the field report. A thousand questions seemed to run through her mind, before she settled on an incredulous, “Why?”

Clearing her throat, Jaina set her tea down on the table. “Ithedis, could you give us some privacy, please?”

Without question, Ithedis left his post at the entrance and closed the door behind them so that they were alone in their corner of the banquet hall.

Sylvanas watched him go, her face blank with shock, then looked back at Jaina. “Are you feeling sick?”

“What?” Jaina was taken aback. “No! Why is that your first question?”

Folding up the field report, Sylvanas used it to gesture at Jaina. “Because from the looks of it you’re actually initiating a serious conversation.”

Despite herself, Jaina could not help but fiddle with her teacup, running her finger along its rim. “I suppose I am.”

She paused for a moment, but Sylvanas had leaned back and was waiting for Jaina to continue. Straightening in her seat, Jaina drew in a deep breath before starting. “I don’t think having that much distance between us would be good right now.”

“And I think that your studies at the Academy are more important than endangering your life,” Sylvanas countered calmly.

“Technically speaking, I’m a Magistrix now -- low ranking, I’ll grant you -- but I only teach Novice seminars, so I have no real obligations at the Academy. Plus, I won’t be in danger. I’m more than capable of handling myself, thank you.”

At that, Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose. She turned the field report over between her hands, but never took her gaze off Jaina. “Let me see if I understand what you’re saying: you want to go onto the front lines of a warzone, because you’re afraid of us growing distant.”

“I -” Jaina grabbed her tea and took another sip, mumbling around the lip of her cup, “I don’t want to not see you.”

Sylvanas snorted. “Is that your way of saying you’ll miss me?”

“Sylvanas, please. I’m being serious.”

“So am I.”

Jaina lowered her teacup. A few months ago, she would have said that Sylvanas’ expression was inscrutable. Now, Sylvanas looked like she was holding her breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It was Jaina’s turn to soften her voice. “I enjoy your company. You know that, right? You always find a way to make me laugh.”

Sylvanas’ ears twitched ever so slightly, and she leaned her head back as if drawing in a sharp breath that Jaina could not hear. Looking contemplative, she murmured, “And apparently you always find a way to surprise me.”

Jaina shrugged and offered an apologetic little smile.

Deep in thought, Sylvanas tapped the field report against her cheek. “I suppose we can find a good way to spin this,” she mused aloud. “We can say I’m giving you a tour of the troops. Involving you on the front lines can be a show of good faith between our militaries.” Then, she chuckled darkly. “If you die, your mother will probably have me assassinated.”

“Oh, no. Definitely not.” Jaina shook her head. “If I died, she’d kill you herself.”

Sylvanas’ grin widened and her eyes brightened. “Now wouldn’t that be a scandal.”

As usual, Jaina couldn’t help but return the smile. “In all seriousness though, let’s not have a troll kill me.”

“You won’t start fights at fancy balls with me. You won’t let yourself be impaled by a troll.” Sylvanas tsked and shook her head. “The list grows longer everyday. And everyday I am disappointed.”

Jaina wadded up one of the napkins from the table and threw it at her. “And you’ll keep on being disappointed.”

Rather than bat the napkin aside, Sylvanas let it hit her square in the face.

--

If Jaina had thought the heat was bad before, it was nothing compared to travelling in the field and living without a proper bath for weeks on end.

“You should have warned me about this.”

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “I did warn you. You just weren’t listening.”

Fighting back a smile, Jaina schooled her features. “When? I don’t specifically remember you saying ‘Jaina, conditions in the field will be horrible and by week three you’ll wish you got impaled by a troll.’”

“I had assumed that exact phrase was implied every time I said ‘Jaina, we’re going out into an active warzone,’” Sylvanas drawled.

They were riding at the head of a long column of Rangers. Their mounts trudged, side-by-side, as they had since disembarking from Goldenbough. Back in Quel’Thalas, Jaina had been able to employ various magical means to cool herself off while they travelled, but ever since they had crossed into dangerous territory four days ago, she’d had to abandon those tactics. Sylvanas had warned that any superfluous magic use might alert enemy shamans, and Jaina had stopped using magic since then unless otherwise instructed.

Thickly forested mountains rose up on either side of them, raking against the overcast sky. In the past, Jaina had always loved the rain. The smell of it, how it seemed to bring the earth to life, how cool and gentle. It had only taken her one rainy season in Quel’Thalas to come to the conclusion that rain was something to be avoided like the plague. She looked up towards the sky, which bore heavy black patches of cloud, and hoped beyond hope they could make it to the next camp before the downpour began.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Jaina said, lowering her gaze and guiding her horse along the narrow path that wound through the mountains. “In all my readings, historians tend to gloss over this kind of stuff.”

“I imagine suffering doesn’t make for good propaganda.” Sylvanas tugged up the hood of her cloak, obviously taking note of the clouds just as Jaina had.

Jaina glanced at her. “A few centuries tarnishes the romance, does it?”

She could just see the edge of a wry smile around the edge of Sylvanas’ hood. “Something like that.”

They continued along the road, quiet but for the march of feet behind them as the battalion of Rangers followed in their wake. Jaina looked over her shoulder at the long line of troops extending along the road. Roughly six or seven hundred soldiers by Jaina’s count. Large enough for limited independent operations. Small enough to slip from camp to camp towards the front lines and reattach itself to a larger regiment. The lieutenant colonel in charge of the battalion itself rode beside Ithedis, and the two of them were conversing in low tones. Apparently, the colonel knew his eldest daughter and held her in high regard.

“Do you remember when we went to the seamstress’ shop? You asked me about the march on Zul’Aman.”

The sound of Sylvanas’ voice dragged Jaina’s attention back around. She turned to look at her, but Sylvanas’ face was still largely obscured by her hood now. “I remember. Why do you mention it?”

Sylvanas adjusted her grip on the reins of her mount before answering. “You thought it was funny -- the idea that I could have killed a thousand people.”

“I -” Jaina tried to say something, but her mouth had gone dry. She swallowed. “Yes. I mean, on your own -?”

“Forty two thousand casualties,” Sylvanas said. Her words lacked any inflection; she sounded far too aloof. “And that was just the enemy losses. In one battle, I might add. Not to mention -” she waved her hand in an all encompassing gesture, “- everything else.”

Frowning, Jaina tried to lean forward in her stirrups a bit to get a better look at Sylvanas’ expression. “I know what you do, Sylvanas. I know that the titles you hold aren’t just for show.”

Sylvanas hummed, a thoughtful hum, as though she were unconvinced. She tilted her head to meet Jaina’s eye, and while her face was not implacable, it was not soft either. “Of course, you do. And I don’t intend this to be some sob story of tortured self-reflection. Only that -- yes. The romance of what I do has died. It died long before I ever reached this rank. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think there are things worth fighting and dying for. If I had the choice, I would kill those forty two thousand trolls again. Except next time I would do it with more artillery.”

Jaina blinked. Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been that. “And what prompted you to bring this up?”

Sylvanas shrugged. “In all likelihood, you will see battle. Possibly on this trip. Most definitely in your lifetime.”

“I’m guessing there’s a moral to this story, right?” Jaina tried to make light of the situation as best she could.

“Oh, yes. There are three, in fact.” To her relief, Sylvanas smiled, but it had a cold steely edge. “A good general is a general who wins. There is no nobility in suffering. And you can never have too much artillery.”

And with that, Sylvanas turned her attention back to the road ahead of them, leaving Jaina mystified. They did not speak again for a while; Sylvanas seemed content riding in silence, while Jaina watched the treeline above them, letting her horse do all the work and not paying much attention to where they were headed. Two birds flew overhead, one darting after the other before they vanished beyond the canopy.

After a moment, the exact same two birds flew overhead, one darting after the other before they vanished beyond the canopy in the same direction as before.

Jaina frowned. “Well, that was -” she made a face. “- odd.”

“Hmm?” Sylvanas hummed beside her, only mildly curious.

Pointing towards the sky, Jaina said, “I thought I just saw -”

Two birds flew overhead. The same two birds in the same direction and in the exact same pattern. Dip and dart and a flash of red-tipped wings.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina said slowly, moving her gaze around to study their surroundings. “When was the last time the lieutenant colonel sent out a scouting group?”

That caught Sylvanas’ attention. She stiffened and pulled sharply at her reins. Jaina did the same, her heat beginning to race in her chest. While Sylvanas said something to the lieutenant colonel behind them in Thalassian, Jaina stared at the treeline. It was so faint, the wrongness of everything in that moment. Tiny details leapt out at her. Not inconsistencies, but rather the absolute consistency of foliage and branches. Even the sounds were too regular, as if everything were repeating a script.

Without looking over, Jaina reached out and grabbed Sylvanas arm. “We need to leave. Now.”

Sylvanas finished what she was saying to the lieutenant colonel, and lowered her voice to speak to Jaina. “We are stretched in a line to fit on the road. If we run, there will be a slaughter.”

“There’s going to be a slaughter if we don’t,” Jaina hissed.

Eyes narrowing, Sylvanas pulled her arm from Jaina’s grasp. “Ithedis,” she snapped.

He rode up beside them. The road barely allowed for them to ride three abreast.

Sylvanas jerked her head back the way they had come. “Take her and go.”

“What?!” Jaina said, aghast, but Ithedis was already snatching up Jaina’s reins and pulling her horse around. “Sylvanas, you can’t just -!”

Ignoring her, Sylvanas barked over her shoulder, “Colonel, are they ready?”

“As ready as they’ll ever be.”

“Then let’s go.”

Jaina tried to pull the reins away from Ithedis, but his grip was iron. He urged her mount as fast as it could go behind his. As they cantered along, the lines of soldiers they passed had picked up their pace until they were running as fast as they could without scrambling over one another.

“What is going on?” Jaina yelled to Ithedis over the pounding of hooves and the stamp of booted feet.

He did not spare her a glance back. “The only way out of the killing zone, my Lady, is forward. Except for you. The ambushers will focus on the main force. They won’t bother coming after us.”

The first sounds of an attack bellowed through the air: the call of horns and answering shouts. Swearing loudly, she twisted her body around to try to catch a glimpse of what was going on behind them. An arrow streaked towards her. She ducked, and the arrow went skittering away through the trees.

With grit teeth, Jaina lunged forward, grabbing Ithedis by the wrist. The first flicker of magic was absorbed, then a jolt raced up his arm, a streak like white lightning that left her blinking smears of purple from her vision. Ithedis grunted, but did not loosen his hold as he took in the magic, his eyes flaring white.

“Let me go!” Jaina sent another bolt of arcane energy careening up his arm. “I have to go back! I can help them!”

“I am sworn to -!”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by a sudden cry of pain as she released a focused torrent of magic into his wrist. His armour had begun to trail smoke and the stench of burnt flesh, and his hand spasmed. It was just enough for Jaina to grab the reins and pull back.

Her horse skidding to a halt, rearing back on its hind legs and snorting with a toss of its head. Jaina half fell, half jumped from the saddle, landing on the muddy ground and scrambling upright. She whirled around and raced back the way they came.

“My Lady, don’t -! Stop! Jaina!”

Before he could come after her, she had reached out her arm, a portal spell upon her lips. She fell into it with a gasp, tumbling out the other side. More mud. Jaina slipped trying to stand, barely catching herself. Panting, she glanced around, but found only calm empty road.

Too far. She’d gone too far.

Behind her, a cohort of trolls were firing back along the road, harassing the Ranger battalion, which had turned into the main body of the ambush and were engaging the enemy. She could not understand the glottal language they were speaking, but she didn’t need to. Two ballistas, lines of archers, and a single masked shaman leading them all. All Jaina had was a chance to take them by surprise before she would be discovered and overwhelmed.

Fire? No. She’d have to take them down all at once. Ice? No. Not ice. Even if she did manage to freeze them all, the shaman would find a way to break free. Or maybe -?

Her eyes widened. “Oh! I know!”

She snapped her fingers, and time stopped.

The ballistas froze, coiled back and ready to be launched. Several of the archers were caught mid-fire, their arrows stopped just as they’d been shot. A ball of potent lightning continued to crackle eerily in the shaman’s grasp, though the shaman himself had been rendered immobile.

��Thank you,” Jaina gasped to an absent Magister Duskwither. “Oh, thank you thank you thank you.”

She had mere moments. The rest of the battle below was continuing, her sphere of influence contained around the smaller cohort of trolls that were blocking the road. Rushing forward, Jaina sprinted towards the ballistas first.

They were constructs of wood and rope, but when she placed her hand on one she could feel the glyphs carved into the wood grain, warding them from enemy spellfire. It would take her too long to completely unravel the glyphs and destroy the ballistas. Already she could feel time starting to slip around her, like grains of sand slowly gaining speed as they fell to the bottom of a glass. She couldn’t unravel the glyphs in time, but she could rewrite them.

With a shaking fingertip, Jaina scorched new lines into the major glyphs. The world around her was filling with colour and sound, like a cup being filled as time washed about her ankles. The shaman was slowly turning his head towards her, the eyes of his mask burning with pale fire.

Drawing her arm back, Jaina slammed her open palm into the centre of the glyphs, and the ballistas shattered. Great splinters of wood were flung in all directions like shrapnel. With her free hand summoning an arcane barrier, Jaina warded herself from the bulk of the blow, but the burst of magic flung her back and time started again.

Jaina’s ears rang. Her vision had gone a dull grey. Or -- oh no, that was the sky. She was lying on her back, staring up at the clouds. Shaking the ringing from her ears, Jaina pushed herself into a seated position on the ground, but stopped with a hiss. One of her shoulders ached. A stab of pain pierced when she moved. Cautiously, she reached around and pulled a chunk of wood from the back of her shoulder, tossing it to the ground.

The side of her face stung as well, and an exploring hand discovered smaller splinters all along one cheek and jaw. She winced, but otherwise felt no other injuries. A deep-throated growl snapped her attention back up, and her eyes widened.

The archers were all dead, their bodies sprawled across the gore-streaked ground amidst the twisted remains of the ballistas. A lone figure struggled upright, the shaman’s broad-shouldered form rising above the others to stand. One of his long curved tusks had been cleaved in two from the blow, but his own shield of arcane energy shimmered as it faded from view.

He turned towards her, and Jaina tensed. His mask had been knocked off, but his long narrow face was painted beneath in the pattern of a black-inked skull. His expression was contorted in fury, and he bared long wickedly sharp teeth as he began to advance upon her.

Jaina scrambled back. She tried to stand, but a vine lashed out from the ground at the shaman’s command, chaining her in place. The counterspell was on the tip of Jaina’s tongue, but she stumbled over the phrasing as the troll sprinted towards her with long-legged strides, his fists brimming with the snap of lightning. He snarled, leaping forward, and Jaina squeezed her eyes shut, flinging out her hand in a blind upward strike.

She heard a sickening, wet and crunching sound, then felt cool air gently caressing the side of her face. Slowly, Jaina opened her eyes, her hand still raised. The shaman was impaled through his chest by a glacial spike, his body speared and suspended over her. With a gasp, she shuffled back, but her boots and breeches were already splattered with his blood and other matter that she didn’t care to identify right at this moment. For a moment Jaina thought she was going to be sick, but she swallowed the bile down and struggled to her feet.

She didn’t wait to catch her breath. Staggering forward, Jaina hurried down the road. Without the support of their archers and ballistas, the main body of the ambush had buckled under the chaos of an assault from a disciplined Ranger battalion. The trolls were fleeing, outnumbered and outmatched despite their position, leaving behind a battered but very much living battalion of elves.

Or, at least, mostly living.

A host of Rangers led by the lieutenant colonel were pursuing the trolls that were in fast retreat, firing arrows and tracking their movements to ensure they would not return and attempt to flank them. Others were dragging the bodies of the dead to one side of the road and stacking them up. Others still were helping the wounded to their feet or assessing the severity of the damage done while a pair of healers worked steadily through their ranks.

Some of them glanced up at Jaina’s approach. Most ignored her to focus on their individual tasks, working to get the battalion up and moving again as quickly as possible so that they could make it to the forward camp. Jaina searched among them for a familiar face, walking quickly, her heart sinking with every step.

“Lady Proudmoore!”

Jaina’s head jerked, and she looked up to find Ithedis heading right for her. His damaged arm hung limply at his side, and her stomach seared with guilt. A jagged cut ran along his helm, cleaving one of the flanged plates that protected his cheek, but beneath he was unharmed.

He stopped before her and with his good hand cupped her chin, tilting her face to one side to appraise her wounds. “Superficial, anar’alah. Are you alright? What happened?”

Biting her lower lip, Jaina pulled away slightly. “I’m fine. I just -”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder to the wreckage behind her. The ballistas still smouldered, and the glacial spike had yet to melt, leaving the shaman’s body behind like a grim effigy. Ithedis’ eyes widened. He stared at the carnage she had caused, then at her.

“You did this?”

Jaina sucked in a deep breath and nodded. She waited for the scolding, the sharply spoken words, but they never came. Instead, his shoulders drooped and he sighed in relief, “Thank the Light.”

“Have you seen Sylvanas?” Jaina asked, already glancing beneath the hoods of passing Rangers. “I looked but I can’t find her, and I’m worried that she -”

Jaina bit back whatever she had been about to say. Vocalising the fear gave it more substance, made it more real. The concern in Ithedis’ eyes certainly didn’t help.

He pointed down the road from the way he had come, where Rangers bustled about. “She’s that way. The healer is seeing to her now.”

“Healer?” she repeated, but she didn’t wait for his reply.

Stepping past him, Jaina strode in the direction he had pointed. Her steps quickened. She dodged around Rangers and upended carts and horses and other beasts of burden. She searched for that distinctive armour, listened for that familiar voice. When she finally found her, Jaina was breathing hard and her hands shook.

Two Rangers had propped Sylvanas’ back up against the trunk of a tree, and a healer knelt over her. They had removed her armour from the waist up, revealing her dark-washed leathers beneath. She was awash with cuts. Cuts along her face. Cuts along her arms and shoulders. And worst of all a throwing spear imbedded low in her abdomen.

“Just do it,” Sylvanas snapped. “We don’t have all day.”

With a murmured apology, the healer broke the spear in two and pushed it all the way through. Sylvanas did not scream, but she flung her head back against the tree, eyes squeezed shut, and groaned through gritted teeth.

“Fuck you,” she gasped when the healer had finished.

“You always say that,” the healer replied, tossing the broken spear aside, her hands already aglow with light. With a single touch, the healer staunched the flow of blood, and Sylvanas’ wounds began to knit themselves shut.

Before the healer could finish her work however, Sylvanas waved her away. “That’s enough.”

“General, you should really let me -”

“Save your energy and attend to the others? I couldn’t agree more.” Sylvanas opened her eyes to glare at the healer and growl, “Go.”

The healer shook her head and muttered something low and scathing in Thalassian as she strode off to do as she was ordered.

“I heard that,” Sylvanas said after her. When she saw Jaina lingering nearby, her eyebrows rose. “Oh, good. You’re not dead. For a moment there, I really thought I was going to be locked in a knife-fight with your mother, but this is much better.”

The Rangers had taken their leave of their General, as casually as though they had done this a hundred times before. The very thought made Jaina’s stomach swoop unpleasantly. She stepped closer. She opened her mouth to say something, but had to clear her throat before she could speak. “No, I’m not dead. I’m -”

She almost said ‘fine’, but stopped. The words refused to come. Jaina knelt on the ground before her, close enough that their thighs brushed. The hard jut of Sylvanas’ armour was cold against Jaina’s knee, but she did not move away. Rangers continued milling along the road, but Jaina ignored them. They might as well have not existed.

The half-healed scars still bloomed across Sylvanas’ face and abdomen. Intellectually Jaina understood they would fade in a few hours time, but the sight of those pale marks made her blood run cold. The punctured armour had been discarded nearby, and now stood as evidence to the very narrow death Sylvanas had evaded. A pang of fear and something else -- distress? desperation? -- clutched at Jaina's chest, seizing her neck until she could scarcely breathe.

Sylvanas was wincing as she pushed herself into a seated position, gritting her teeth and swearing under her breath. Before she could stop herself, Jaina reached out to brush a smear of blood from Sylvanas’ jaw. Sylvanas went very still and looked up at where Jaina was kneeling over her.

It pounded in her chest, the thought that Sylvanas could have been snatched from her life so quickly, so easily, snuffed out like a dim candle by a merciless breeze. Over nine months they’d been married. Two years since Jaina had first learned of the Ranger-General of Silvermoon. No time at all, in the grand scheme of things. Barely a flicker. Jaina had to swallow past the clenched fist caught in her throat.

She stroked her thumb across Sylvanas’ cheek, across her jaw, across the bridge of her nose, tracing old scars and new. Sylvanas did not move. She watched Jaina’s face. She hissed a sharp inhalation when Jaina’s thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.

Without pausing to think, Jaina leaned down and kissed her. The kiss lingered. It was just a simple meeting of lips, but it made her fingers tremble all the same. Her hand continued cupping Sylvanas’ cheek, even as she closed her eyes, even as she broke the kiss and pulled away, just far enough to lean their foreheads together.

“You’re alright,” Jaina breathed. She did not dare open her eyes; she was too cowardly. She did not want to see Sylvanas’ expression, did not want to know if her actions were going to be rejected or rebuked. “You’re alright.”

After what felt like an age, there followed the gentle scrape of Sylvanas’ gloved hand against the nape of Jaina’s neck, holding her steadily in place. She felt the warm exhalation of Sylvanas’ words when she spoke.

“I’m alright.”

[thevioletwicche]

Through The Mists

I think I’ve posted unfinished varations of this before, and I have an editied (For word count) version that was to go in a friends litearary zine (Not sure if that’s going to happen or not) But here is the full version of my Samhain/All Hallows Eve Ghost story involving Cat and Alistair

The night was cold, the stinging sort of cold, that one only finds at the end of October, as Autumn spends just a few more precious weeks ruling over the landscape. Her golden reign already showing signs of coming to a close, as her sister, Winter comes to take her place. Winter was impatient, already giving signs of her austere future reign , as evidenced by the trees, that stood in a Naked row, their desolate branches clacking against each other in an eerie, melancholy song, and by the frost that had gathered upon the ground.

But though Winter may be impatient and officious, already making her presence known, Autumn was a stubborn Queen. She should rule until her time was done, and not before, and this she did, turning leaves the various shades of red and gold that resembled the flames of the fires, that one could smell burning from far across the fields.

 It was on nights like this,  where the sisters converged, and there was a slight wind that bit at her face and rustled the leaves, and the night sky was clear and studded by stars, that Catriona felt nearer to nature, and nearer to the gods, and most of all nearer to he that no longer was,  than at any other time of the year.

She would look at those twinkling stars, or the canopy of trees and speak her beloved's name in a sorrowful,  trembling voice:

“Alistair!”

Sometimes the stars would twinkle back at her, or the wind would blow, in a low, mournful moan, clacking the branches and rustling the leaves of the trees in a sad reply. And sometimes she would hear the hoot of the night owl or the croak of the Raven and fancy that in all these ways her beloved was speaking to her and assuring her of his unseen presence.

It was at this time of year especially that she felt closest to him, he’d told her once about Samhain, All-Hallows Eve as she had known it. He’d explained it was a Liminal time, a time when the Veil was thin and those from the Otherworld would come and mingle among the living.

Would he come she wondered? Would he find his way to her from across the mists?

And would he hold her once more, look at her longingly with his mournful Dark eyes and murmur “Cat” in the tender tones he’d once used.

If anyone could… and yet, there was doubt. She was not as intune with these things, not like he had been. It was true, to a degree, that  her presentiment had seemed to return, especially that last dream before he had- No. She thought, shaking her head and closing her eyes to shake away that memory. Though it was no use, it had burned itself into her brain. It would do her no good to think about those last moments, so instead she would focus upon the night.

Tonight. The Veil was thin tonight.

And today she would travel to Grey Hollow, the little village outside of the estate where she once had lived in what seemed to be another lifetime ago.

The Villagers of Grey Hollow would have their bonfires, meats ready to be salted and stored for the winter. They Would celebrate the harvest. They would old world once again, when the old gods had tread the earth when it was new and strange and not as she knew it now.

Perhaps she would play a part in the festivities, baking or helping the village women with some other task, or more likely, she would stand off to the side, and Observe, her Grey cloak pulled tight over her black dress, her sole speck a colour: a flame coloured ribbon used to tie her braid.

 Catriona  would watch the Villagers of Grey Hollow, where so many had suffered loss during the Fever, leave out food for their dead and know tomorrow they would go to the churchyard and pray for the repose of the souls where they slept silent beneath the stone markers.

 And the children would murmur

“There she is… The Grey Lady, The Witch of the Violet Woods.”

They would eye her with curiosity but none would dare to come near her.

Things turned out very much how Cat had imagined they would be.

A few things were surprising, an old woman had offered her a Hot bun to eat, and a girl of about twelve had remarked that “She was much too pretty to be a Witch.”

But apart from these occurrences, she’d  simply sat quietly watching them.

Around  ten O'clock as the air grew chill and the stars grew bright, Cat began to notice people she’d not seen among the villagers before. Beside a middle aged woman with greying hair concealed beneath a bright cap and her Husband a  stout man with a red nose and  watery blue eyes stood two Children a boy and a girl. They were pale, and they held tightly to their parents.

Behind the Old Blacksmith was a kindly old woman, plump with yellow hair and a sad smile. And so she observed were others, pale and with a melancholy aspect to their expressions. She had not seen them here tonight, but she had seen them before.

These were the dead, and they’d crossed the threshold to walk the earth with those they’d loved in life once more unseen.

Cat looked around her. Surely some of those she had loved would be there. The Mother she could barely remember, Tall and fair with Dark hair and dark eyes, Aggie, with her worried expressions and comforting hands. Gwen, beloved Gwen with her Golden hair and bright smile surely she was embracing her. And lastly, surely he, surely her lover would come back to her once more.

But there was no one. Nothing.

Cat sat alone as the town dispersed, and the fires were doused or grew to crackling and then dimming embers…

It was so cold and she’d not worn gloves, and she sat, beneath bright stars and a golden moon wondering why still she was still alone.

The clock struck Midnight.

She left her bench, her legs stiff and cold and began the long walk back to the Cottage in the Violetwood.

 She stopped near a copse of trees she knew  she had seen once before, during the spring when the woodland floor was blanketed  with Violets and bluebells, and when Alistair had been with her.  The memory and loss overwhelmed her, and Catriona sat and wept.

The air grew chill, and a mist appeared around her.

There was a fluttering of wings, and when Catriona looked up there was  a tall, lean, and all too familiar Figure standing before her.

With difficulty she rose to her feet, and stared at him, and he stared at her. Eyes dark with pain, but a flicker of joy ignited them.

And then she ran and found that he was there and he was whole and solid and oh so cold.

She ran trembling fingers over, his face, and coat and hands all were so cold, and he was paler than she’d remembered.

“You came!”

He smiled, at her though there was a trace of melancholy to it.

“I did.”

“You are here, you are real?”

“I’m… Here, and I’m real but…”

But not alive, not of the earthly plane, she knew what he meant to say. She didn’t care, she threw her arms around him.

“Why did you have to go?” she asked her voice choked with tears.

He held her tight.

“It was the way things were meant to be.”

“You promised you’d never leave me.”

“And I haven’t. I never will, I shall always watch over you. I’m here, Cat, always here, you only need to watch closely. I’m here even if you don’t see me.”

“I love you.” she murmured.

“I love you too.”

“Stay… please stay. "She whispered.

"I can’t… not like this…”

“Then take me with you!”

“Darling….”  he said no more, but the answer was the same. He could not stay and she could not yet go with him.

Alistair ran a cold hand over her cheek to brush away the tears that fell. He looked upon her with such tenderness and with cold lips pressed a kiss to her face.

The young woman and the ghost of her lover stayed together through the next hour or so, very few words were spoken, but they were content to be together until the mists came once more, leaving Cat alone but comforted in knowing she would join him again one day.

[miraltru]

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#PALM SPRINGS CALIFORNIA HOW TO#

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[jaskierswolf]

The Viscount and The Witcher pt.3/4

(Note: Reposted from my old blog. The rest can be found on my Ao3 or on my pinned masterlist)

Geralt visited the Lettenhove Estate on a regular basis after that fateful day. He hadn’t intended to. He’d intended to forget all about Viscount Julian and Dandelion the bard, but the man had wormed his way into Geralt’s head, like poison in his veins. Dandelion, Julian just didn’t suit him, wrote him letters every time Geralt found himself in the area and Geralt gritted his teeth and mounted Roach every single damned time. The first time he’d ridden in the opposite direction for about ten minutes before he’d noticed a patch on cornflowers at the side of the road. He’d sworn and turned Roach around to help clear an arachnomorph infestation from the kitchen.

The monstrous spiders had turned out to be just normal house spiders, big ones but still easy to squish under one’s boot. Dandelion had whimpered about spiders being scary and had practically jumped into Geralt’s arms when one had started to crawl up his leg. Geralt had rolled his eyes but allowed the Viscount to cling to him. He didn’t stink of fear despite his act of jumpy cowardliness but Geralt didn’t call him out on it. He was rather amused by the whole scenario and he left the castle with a purse filled with coin, not a bad reward for killing some spiders.

The next claim was a bruxa in the wine cellar. The bruxa had been a friend of Dandelion’s, stark naked with dark hair tumbling down in front of her breasts. Geralt had taken one look at her tanned skin and turned back out of the wine cellar, Dandelion babbling excuses after him.

After that had been a werewolf in the shed which had turned out to be a large dog.

Then a harpy nest on the roof which was just chicken eggs in a bundle of straw.

Each time Dandelion would follow Geralt around like a sad lost puppy. He would insist on feeding Geralt, or ordering him a bath if he was looking too travel worn. Geralt grew used to having the blond’s vibrant blue eyes watching him as he undressed, he enjoyed the casual touches to his arms and chest. Dandelion didn’t even seem to realise he was doing it. Every time that Geralt was close, those soft gentle hands would reach out, brushing a strand of hair from his face, or squeezing his arm, or stroking across his shoulder as they passed each other.

Geralt had even begun to call the man his friend, in the privacy of his own mind.

Dandelion had now claimed that a dragon was terrorising a local farm. Geralt didn’t even hunt dragons and yet he still found himself galloping off to meet Dandelion at his estate. He didn’t think too much into it. He told himself that if he didn’t go then it would inevitably be the one time that Dandelion was telling the truth.

The wannabe troubadour was standing by the entrance to the manor as he galloped up the path to the house. He dismounted from Roach whilst she was still slowing to a walk and landed on the ground with ease. Roach whinnied and trotted around the front of the house towards the stables, she’d been here enough time by now that she’d learnt where the best hay was.

“Geralt!” Dandelion greeted with a charming smile. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

Dandelion flung his arms around Geralt’s neck. Geralt grunted but returned the hug, enjoying the soothing scent of lavender that always hung to the Viscount. He resisted burying his nose in the crook of Dandelion’s neck, that was too much temptation. How would he restrain himself from peppering the soft skin with kisses, from leaving dark bruising marks beneath the soft blond curls that tickled his jaw?

Instead, Geralt pushed the Viscount away and scowled at him.

“A dragon?” Geralt asked with a quirk of his eyebrow. “Really?”

Dandelion flushed prettily under his cobolt blue hat. It was a striking colour on the Viscount that made his eyes shine and sparkle against his skin. Geralt’s throat went dry as he allowed his gaze to drink in the sight of the blond. Dandelion preened under the attention like a fancy peacock.

He was truly a sight to behold.

“Well.” Dandelion sulked. “It might have been a forktail?”

“In other words a goat with wings stuck to it.” Geralt surmised.

Dandelion gasped and placed a hand on his heart. He stumbled backwards slightly and his hat almost fell from his head. “Geralt” He whined. “At least ride out to the village with me, my dear witcher.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Roach is tired. We rode hard to get here. Dragons are dangerous beasts.”

Roach was fine.

He’d only been in the next town over.  He wasn’t even sure why he’d said it.

“Oh of course.” Dandelion beamed at him and put a hand on his hips. His tongue flicked out and brushed his lower lip. He had a habit of doing that and it drove Geralt mad. “Well you are more than welcome to rest here for a while. Food? A glass of wine perhaps? Or maybe some company?” Dandelion practically purred.

“Food would be good.” Geralt agreed, his stomach rumbling as if it had heard the Viscount’s words.

Dandelion pouted but ushered Geralt into the house. “It’s too early for dinner but Hanna won’t mind if we raid the kitchens. Come Geralt.”

The kitchen was warm, just like at Kaer Morhen, and the aroma of freshly baked bread and sweet buns filled the room. Geralt hummed contently. There was something incredibly grounding about the smell of freshly baked bread. Dandelion flitted around the kitchen with ease, searching the cupboards for some plates.

“I haven’t done this since I was a child.” He admitted, smiling brighter than the sun. “Hanna used to smack me over the bottom if she caught me stealing sweet buns.”

Geralt chuckled. “Well I’m not doing that so get it out of your head.”

Dandelion’s heart raced in his chest. “Geralt!”

“Dandelion?” He smirked.

“You bloody tease.” The Viscount muttered under his breath and carried on his search around the kitchen.

Eventually there were two plates pile high with pork pies, cheese, and honey covered rolls. Geralt moaned as he bit into the first pork pie. It was delicious. The Viscount’s cook was clearly a very talented woman.

Dandelion’s face was colour of roses and he nibbled his own plate of food. After a few minutes of eating in silence Dandelion sighed dramatically and swept his hat from off his head. “Gosh it’s hot in here!”

He fanned himself with his hat before abandoning it in favour of undoing the buttons on his doublet. Geralt watched, entranced by the Viscount’s fingers as they nimbly made light work of the buttons.

He swallowed and frowned before shaking his head.

“So the dragon?” He asked through mouthful of pastry. “What type?”

Dandelion’s melodic laughter filled the room and Geralt’s heart. “Why a golden dragon of course!” He announced with a wave of his hand.

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Dandelion!” He snapped.

“What?” The Viscount whined.

“Golden dragons don’t exist. They are just a myth.” Geralt growled.

“Oh.” Dandelion stuck his tongue out as he thought. “Could have been a red dragon?”

It turned out that the ‘dragon’ was a horse… with wings created out of old doublets and sticks. One of the villages was riding the horse with a torch burning in his hand and yelling at anyone who came near the stables.

Geralt threw Dandelion an exasperated look. The Viscount just pouted at him and fluttered his eyelashes.

“Well it’s not my fault there haven’t been any real monsters recently.” Dandelion’s hand lingered on his arm.

The setting sunlight hit the blond curls on top of Dandelion’s head. Geralt tilted his head as he gazed at his friend. He gently removed the Viscount’s blue bonnet and tucked it under his arm, then he captured a lock of blond hair in his fingers, just liked he’d seen the viscount do on many occasions. It was just as soft as he’d imagined, the curls springing back into place once he released them.

Dandelion was staring at him openmouthed, blue eyes shimmering in the light of the setting sun. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

The Viscount’s heart was thundering in his chest, his sweet lavender scent grew only sweeter under Geralt’s touch. “What are you doing, my dear?”

Geralt blinked at the question and pulled his hand away.

“There’s no dragon.” He replied sternly. “Farewell, Dandelion.”

Dandelion sighed forlornly. “Farewell, my darling.”

____________

Dandelion was slowly going crazy stuck in his old castle. It had been three years since he’d first met Geralt. Over the last three years he’d played his part perfectly. He summoned the witcher at least once a year with cries for help and pretend monsters. Geralt rode out to meet him every single time. Dandelion was sure that Geralt knew his monsters were fake, that was part of the game, and yet every time Geralt insisted on focussing on his hunt and ignoring Dandelion’s propositions.

Well, not ignoring them entirely.

Dandelion didn’t miss the way the witcher looked at him like he was the sweetest chocolate to be unwrapped, amber eyes dark with hunger and lust.

And yet the damned surly witcher had never acted on it.

Dandelion had practically thrown himself into the witcher’s lap, begged him to take him away on one of his adventures, pleaded with him to allow Dandelion to be more. He needed more, more than this house, more than this life.

Geralt’s fiery eyes and silver hair haunted his dreams. Dandelion had woken up many a time with Geralt’s name falling from his lips, false memories and Geralt’s gruff voice whispering sweet nothings in his ear.

His choice in lovers had shifted since meeting the witcher. He found himself drawn more to well built men over pretty maidens with perky bottoms and luscious golden locks. There was just this itch that he couldn’t scratch, no matter who he bedded. He was pretty sure it had something to do with the way his heart skipped a beat every time Geralt galloped up to the house on Roach.

He hit his head on his desk and moaned.

“My Lord Viscount. What you are asking is preposterous!” His lawyer gasped, dumbfounded.

“Kings and Queens can abdicate.” Dandelion answered firmly. “I have had enough!”

“There is no coming back from this Viscount Julian.” The lawyer countered. “If you regret it—”

“I won’t fucking regret it!” Dandelion insisted. “There must be some cousin or other distant relative.”

“You’ll lose everything.”

Dandelion hit the desk with his fist. “I simply don’t care!”

“Viscount Julian. I beg you, please reconsider.”

Dandelion glared fiercely at the other man. “I should have run away when I had the chance. I was going to you know. I had clothes stuffed into my lute case and ready to go, but I didn’t. You’ve had me trapped here for thirteen years but no more! I’m more than this, this place.” He threw his hands up and gestured at the study.

But the fool still wasn’t listening. Dandelion stood up and declared the meeting over. He was going to get his lute and leave.

It was time.

He could follow Geralt’s trace on the path.

He could track him down and they could travel together. Maybe he’d actually see a real monster for once.

That was if Geralt even let him come with him. He hoped he would. The witcher did always come when he called for him. That had to mean something, but if it meant something then why did he always push Dandelion’s affections away like he’d been burned? Dandelion scoffed. It wasn’t as if he was repulsive, he was well aware of his good looks and he knew when someone was attracted to him. Maybe Geralt thought that Dandelion was just out for a good fuck. It may have started like that but after three years surely Geralt could see how much their little games meant to Dandelion? For someone that was observant, Geralt really could be an oblivious brute.

He sighed.

Maybe it was time to give up the games. He’d showed his hand over and over again. Geralt could have no doubt about Dandelion’s intentions. He was really quite in love with the witcher. He flirted, he danced, he preened, all to gain moments of the witcher’s attention. Seconds of pure torturous bliss when Geralt would smile dangerously and lavish Dandelion with flirtatious words that made him feel weak and wanton.

No.

It was the witcher’s turn now. Dandelion was done with wearing his heart on his sleeve for scraps of the witcher’s attention.

The witcher would come to him, wherever that may be.

“Viscount Julian! Wait!” The mousy man called him back. “A compromise, if you please.”

Dandelion cursed and turned back to face the man with his hands on his hips. “Go on.”

“Your cousin will take over the estate in your absence, but you will remain Viscount by title. You will need to return to the estate once a year, and you will need to stay here for a little while until your cousin arrives.”

Dandelion narrowed his eyes at the man and sighed. Spring was just around the corner. He could enjoy the warmth of his house until then. There was no point freezing to death just to be spiteful. “Two weeks. No more.”

He turned his back with a toss of his hair and practically skipped out of the room.