#There’s a little quarters area with a bed with tattered-looking sheets on it

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Looking at my old Little People pirate ship set and I’m having Thoughts and Feelings

[roman-writing]

no end in sight (4/?)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmoore/Thalyssra

Rating: T

Wordcount: 5,719

Summary: Jaina goes to Suramar seeking aid after leaving the Kirin Tor. An AU exploring the events post-Theramore and Jaina’s recovery during Legion.

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

“I am used to being lonely but forever to be a stranger is a strange grief.”

— Ursula K. Le Guin

The bay lapped against the ivory walls of Suramar city, wine-dark. From the outside, the city appeared perfectly unspoiled, but even from where Jaina stood studying the First Arcanist’s Estate behind the safety of a crimson thicket she could see the markings of the Legion here and there. Demons stalked freely along the gleaming parapets, blazing with fell magics and casting horned shadows. The oil-slick barrier around the city stopped at the walls, leaving the bay and the First Arcanist’s Estate outside the city’s grasp.

Jaina counted the number of guards around Thalyssra’s old house. Fifteen. And some of them mages, though she did not know exactly how she knew that, only that she did. It wasn’t the way they dressed -- elves tended towards elegant flowing robes most days, especially the Nightborne -- but somehow Jaina knew. She could look at them and all but see the crackle of arcane housed in their very bones.

Checking that the mask was still firmly in place, Jaina emerged from behind the thicket and walked towards the manor as purposefully as she knew how. A few of the guards flanking the pillars that mark the entrance to the gardens snapped their eyes towards her as she approached. She tried to think of what Valtrois would do, and immediately lifted her chin a bit higher and ignored them utterly.

To her surprise, it worked. They let her pass without so much as a whisper of complaint or question as to why she was here. Keeping her steps steady, Jaina continued around the manor, seeking an entrance to Thalyssra’s old private quarters. Petals were strewn artfully across the ground. The gardens were overflowing with pale lilies. The estate had its own private dock with a little ship at port and a view of the calm bay beyond it. What appeared to be a guard with more decorative ornamentations to his armour -- a captain, perhaps? -- was talking to his underlings aboard the ship. Jaina quickened her step as surreptitiously as she could.

She passed a handful of other guards, all of whom raked their eyes over her in suspicion. She only breathed easy when she found what appeared to be Thalyssra’s old rooms. Shutting the door behind her, Jaina leaned back against it for a moment, waiting for her racing heartbeat to slow before exploring any further.

Despite the fact that they had been visibly ransacked, the rooms were a broad, open space, filled with warmth, and awash with amber light. Once this must have been a lush comfortable space, with reading nooks, an open-aired study, a communal seating area for entertaining family or friends, a low-slung bed in sight over the railing. Now, there were books tumbled across the floor, clothes spilling in tatters from the armoires, and pillows ripped open by blades seeking any secrets the First Arcanist may have attempted to hide from the Grand Magistrix’s avarice.

Jaina walked over to the study corner and pulled out the drawers of a table. A few sheets of spare parchment and naught else. An open book atop the table itself with handwritten notes in the margins. More books were stacked all around. Jaina flipped through a few of them, only to toss them all aside. None of the furniture held any promising leads as to the arcane amplifier’s whereabouts. A tall cabinet in one corner proved to be completely empty, its contents already taken away by Elisande’s minions, or otherwise strewn across the floor. In a fit of desperation, Jaina went down on her hands and knees to peer beneath a bookshelf, to no avail.

Pushing herself upright, she strode briskly over to the only piece of furniture she had not yet checked: a waist-high chest of drawers, its drawers sticking out at odd angles, and clothes falling to the ground. She pawed through its contents, only to sigh. When she shut the last drawer with a touch more force than was necessary however, the back made a hollow noise like a muted drum.

Jaina paused. She pulled the drawer completely free from the chest and tipped its contents onto the floor. Then she began to tap along the base. With a push of her thumb, the false base gave way.

There, beneath the false base, were a set of pristine robes and a series of letters. The edges of the parchment were worn and yellowed with age and the care of multiple readings. All of the seals had been broken, but Jaina hesitated to read them. The correspondence was lavender-scented, and clearly of a personal nature. Setting them aside atop the chest, Jaina smoothed her hands over the densely woven fabric of the robes. Silver thread had been richly embroidered into the cloth, which was dyed a purple so deep it appeared plum-black.

The cloth quickly warmed beneath her touch. Jaina did not realise she had been standing there admiring its fine hand until she heard someone clearing their throat behind her. Dropping the robes atop the letters, she whirled around to find the guard captain from the ship silently shutting the door behind him.  

“Have you found what you’re looking for, Lady -?” the guard captain trailed off; his smile held a dangerous edge. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name.”

Magic thrummed inside the caverns of his chest. He had not yet channeled it into being, but Jaina could almost smell the cloying acrid sweetness of it, as though he had gathered the energy in his hands, waiting.

Jaina drew herself up. “Because I did not give it. I fail to see how that concerns you.”

His smile remained, but he was moving forward slowly, like a manasaber stalking a doe that had dared to stray too far from the herd. “Of course, my Lady. Only that I could have sworn the Grand Magistrix placed this estate under my charge. So, unless you explain to me very quickly your business here, I will have to escort your from the premises for further questioning.”

Jaina watched his every step. Slowly, she circled as far away from him as she could, keeping a table between them. Her mind raced for a lie, any lie. “My mother -”

“-Will be understanding, or she will be fed to the Legion’s hounds, no matter her name or station,” the guard captain finished for her.

Graceful as a cat, he leapt atop the low table and continued walking straight towards her. He stepped down on the other side. He stood close enough to reach out and touch. Something flickered on his face a fleeting moment before he struck.

Quick as a bolt, he had grabbed Jaina’s wrist. A flood of arcane energy flowed from his hand, and the illusion shattered, the silk ties unravelling and the mask falling to the floor. Jaina stood stock still as the guard captain’s face screwed up in confusion when he saw who, or rather what, she was.

“A human?” He sounded incredulous and faintly disappointed that she was not some greater prize.

Mana welled up beneath her skin. It boiled until his hand started to smoke, until he released her with a cry of surprise and outrage, until he staggered back a step, clutching his arm and staring down at the blisters scorched along his palm and fingers. In this light, she could almost imagine him with golden hair, with golden skin, a pale mimicry of his cousins across the northeastern sea.

Jaina felt as though she were carved from stone, and her voice sounded distant to her own ears. “Don’t touch me.”

With a low snarl, he bared his sharp teeth. He threw out his good hand to cast a spell, a bolt of pure arcane energy that lanced through the air, streaking towards her. Flinching instinctively, Jaina flung her hand up and caught the energy as though it were a ball tossed between children.

For a moment they simply stared at one another in confusion. Jaina glanced between him and the mass of arcane energy thrumming in her hand, cool to the touch but otherwise harmless. The leylines visible on the back of her hand were glowing with an eerie light, and all of the other inscriptions in her skin itched. Then, she lobbed the energy back at him.

The arcane missile scattered into multiple arcs and pierced straight through the guard captain’s chest. They struck the wall on the opposite side of the room, leaving soot-blackened scorched marks in their wake. His blood was like starlight, dark and dwindling all at once. He slumped to the floor. His body upended the table, and with a start Jaina lurched forward to keep it from making too much noise.

Grimacing, she lowered the table to the ground, while his body began to soak in its own blood. That old headache returned with a vengeance; it was a steady pressure behind her eyes, as though someone had jabbed their thumbs into the meat of her skull. Jaina pinched the bridge of her nose and steadied herself with a deep breath. The guard captain’s body appeared fuzzy, like a dark silhouette with the light of him draining out onto the floor.

Jaina shook her head and blinked until his body came into focus again. Then, shooting furtive looks towards the shut door, she began to rifle through his pockets. It was a vain hope but --

-- and there it was. An arcane amplifier. In three pieces, but all the same; it could be rebuilt. With a sigh of relief, Jaina straightened and tucked the pieces of the amplifier in the bag slung across her waist. She was about the pick her way across the floor, avoiding splatters of blood, when she paused.

Thalyssra’s letters and robes still sat, unmarred, atop the chest of drawers. Jaina glanced at the door, then at the body. Then, swearing under her breath, she stuffed the robes and letters into the bag beside the arcane amplifier. She bent over to retrieve the enchanted mask and tied it back over her face. The illusion draped over her once more, she slipped from the estate as quickly as she had arrived.

The moment Jaina stepped through the portal back to Shal’Aran, she reached up to undo the mask, only to freeze. Half a dozen new people were milling about the main floor. Some were Nightborne refugees seeking shelter from the Legion. One appeared to be a Troll shaman exchanging words with Valtrois near the arcan’dor sapling. Jaina eyed them askance, even as Oculeth and Thalyssra approached her from one of the nearby work stations.

“Excellent work!” Oculeth peered around Jaina to admire the teleportation beacon anchored behind her. “A little dusty, by the looks of it, but perfectly serviceable. At this rate, we’ll have the rest of the network up and running in no time at all.”

“Not with the way my luck has been running,” Jaina replied dryly. “My cover was almost blown by all those mana wyrms in the vineyards. Why do vineyards need so many mana wyrms, anyway?”

“To bother potential spies,” Oculeth answered. Then with a grin he added, “And also to eat the locusts that plague the area.”

“Sounds about right.” Shuffling through her bag with a clink of glass, Jaina pulled out three dark-glassed bottles of arcwine. “Luckily for you, the wyrms were unsuccessful, and I was able to swipe a few of these on my way through. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Both Oculeth’s and Thalyssra’s eyes widened.

“You didn’t,” Oculeth breathed.

“Oh, you don’t want them? In that case, I’ll just -” Jaina pretended to put them back into bag.

He lunged forward to rescue the bottles before they vanished from sight. Hiding a smirk, Jaina let him take them. He appeared awed as he studied the bottles, thumbing the embossed engravings in the glass.

“We'll have to ration it,” Thalyssra warned.

“You're no fun at all,” Oculeth grumped, though he relented by tucking two of the bottles into the crook of one arm, and holding the last by its neck in his free hand. “Just a sip today? For old time's sake?”

Thalyssra pursed her lips, looking grave. Then her shoulders slumped and she sighed, “Very well. But not for me. You and Valtrois may crack into one of them, if you wish.”

“Oh, I wish,” Oculeth said fervently. “I wish very much indeed.”

He strode over to Valtrois, brandishing one of the bottles of arcwine with only the kind of pomp he could muster. Immediately, Valtrois forgot all about the Troll and turned to Oculeth with wide eyes and an outstretched hand. He made as if to give her a bottle, only to snag it back at the last moment so that she grasped at nothing. A stream of rapid-tongued Shalassian followed, and Valtrois trailed after Oculeth, trying to snatch the bottle from his hand as he eluded her around the centre ring of Shal’Aran’s main floor. When she tried to swipe at the bottle, he jumped just out of her grasp.

Thalyssra watched them with a fond expression, though she said, “If anyone asks, I don’t know them.”

“It’s all too late for that,” Jaina replied, gesturing towards the Troll, who was watching the antics as well with a smile around his long tusks.

He glanced over in their direction, and looked as though he were going to walk over to join them. Jaina stiffened. Something must have changed in her expression, for the Troll’s steps faltered, and Thalyssra shook her head at him curtly. Puzzled, he looked between the two of them. He stopped and inclined his head respectfully towards each of them, before turning to leave Shal’Aran.

Jaina’s eyes followed him, unblinking, until he was out of sight. Even then, she touched the mask’s silk ties at the back of her head to ensure her disguise was still firmly in place. A few of the other Nightborne refugees were starting to take notice of them as well. Jaina took a step back, trying to surreptitiously shield herself behind one of the pillars in Oculeth’s section of the main floor.

Thalyssra tilted her head to one side. “Come. Let us go somewhere more private.”

Jaina followed her down the stairs and into a secluded partition of screens. As Thalyssra was dragging one of the screens shut, Jaina unlaced the silk ties and let her mask fall away. With it came the feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from her chest, or perhaps laden down -- she could not tell. She looped the ties around her belt so that the mask hung from the hip opposite her bag.

Turning around, Thalyssra asked, “The amplifier? Did you have any luck?”

Jaina reached into her bag again and pulled out the pieces of the amplifier. “This was the best I could do.”

Eagerly, Thalyssra held out her hands so that Jaina could tip the pieces into her cupped palms. “That’s more than fine. I can repair them.”

“I also found these.” Jaina held out the letters. “Don’t worry. I can’t read Shalassian.”

Slowly, as if awed, Thalyssra took them. She turned one of the letters over before tucking it and all the rest into a pouch at her belt. “I thought Elisande would have surely confiscated these. Thank you. Did you encounter any trouble?”

“No,” Jaina lied. She had never been particularly adept at lying, yet Thalyssra was nodding and taking Jaina at her word. That alone made her gut twist. With a grimace she admitted, “Actually, yes. A guard captain found me.”

Thalyssra glanced at her sharply. “And?”

“And -” Jaina continued, “- I killed him.”

“I see.”

Thalyssra’s jaw tightened. She turned her attention back to one of the pieces of the twisted amplifier, tracing the break patterns along the silvered metal.

Jaina had to swallow past the disappointment; it made her heart sink in her chest like a stone. “I’m sorry. If this negatively impacts your campaign in any way, I didn’t mean to -”

“What?” Thalyssra frowned at her. “I put you in a position where you had to kill a man for my sake, and you think I am angry with you?”

“Well - I - I mean - ” Jaina stumbled for what to say. “Yes?”

If anything, that only made the furrow between Thalyssra’s brows deepen. “What kind of people were you around before that would lead you to believe something like this was your fault?”

“They weren’t all that bad,” Jaina said lamely.

“Hmm.” Thalyssra looked unconvinced. She set the pieces of the amplifier aside. They gleamed atop a low table in the amber light. “I am not angry with you. I am angry with myself. I should not have let you go.”

“I make my own choices.”

“Of course. But that does not mean I could not have sent a Champion in your stead.”

“I -” Jaina’s hands clenched into fists and she forced them to relax. The thought of a Horde Champion taking her place stuck in her craw. “I wanted to help. I still do.”

“And for that I am glad.” Though Thalyssra’s words sounded sincere, her expression was inscrutable, as if veiled. Perhaps it was the shadow cast by her hood. Perhaps she could read Jaina far too easily. “You know, when you first arrived I was afraid your insistence upon transactions was a sign that you were too far gone.”

“In what way?”

“Have you ever known an Ethereal to do anything for nothing in return?”

“I’m not an Ethereal.” After a pause, Jaina added, “Yet.”

“And you won’t be ever, if I have anything to say about it.”

At that, Jaina managed a weak smile. Still she ducked her head; she could not meet Thalyssra’s warm gaze.

After a moment Thalyssra asked softly, “Are you alright? Was there anything else?”

Jaina’s hand made an abortive movement towards the bag slung at her waist. She stopped herself from pulling out the robes. Instead, Jaina grasped the bag’s leather strap, trying to disguise the motion as her simply readjusting the bag where it hung. The headache that had been present since the fight with the guard captain had never truly waned, and she found herself wincing.

She shook her head. “No. There was nothing.”

For a split second she was afraid Thalyssra would be able to read the truth on her, pluck it straight from her mind with deft fingers. But all Thalyssra did was nod and say, “You should get some rest.”

More and more new faces began to crop up in Shal’Aran. Everyday, the ranks of the Dusk Lily’s insurgence swelled. Jaina wore her enchanted mask every time she stepped outside the safe confines of her own partitioned space on the main floor. Even when encloistered by screens, she nursed the fear that someone might peer over the top of the screens and recognise her face.

More often than not, her usual quiet time tending to a headache by the pond at the entrance of Shal’Aran was interrupted by Champions of both the Horde and Alliance. They would approach her asking for directions, thinking her a native of Suramar, and always Jaina would withdraw with a vague gesture in some direction or another that she hoped was the right way. Unless it was a Horde Champion, in which case she would point them down the opposite path and watch them go with a sickening mix of guilt and pleasure fermenting in her gut.

By night, the headache would have intensified to a needling behind her eyes. Jaina would lie awake, scratching at the leylines in her skin, rubbing at the bruising beneath her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose, shaking her head until the carved ceiling seemed to writhe with its engraved flowers and vines. And every time she started to drift off, she could hear the scuffling of feet outside her screens or the murmur of voices -- some sleepless Nightborne refugees who had taken up residence in Shal’Aran.

Sitting up and summoning a ball of bluish magelight by which to read never seemed to help. If anything, it only made things worse. The magelight would begin to pulse in time with her heartbeat like a will-o’-the-wisp, until all Jaina could sense was the steady bruit of energy flushed beneath her skin, until she chewed her lower lip ragged and had to dismiss the magelight with a terse gesture.

“My friend, you look unwell,” Oculeth remarked to her one morning almost two weeks after she had returned from the Twilight Vineyards. He was fiddling with another apparatus, which was splayed open atop his workbench while he prodded at its metallic innards with a needle-like device. He wore a self-made monocle that he used to more closely inspect his work.  

Jaina scowled at him with one eye as she rubbed at the other. She had to poke a few of her fingers beneath the mask to reach, lifting the warm ceramic from her cheek. “How can you tell? I’m wearing an illusion.”

Glancing up at her, Oculeth twirled a dial on his monocle so that it zoomed in on her face. “Trust me,” he replied dryly, “I can tell.”

With a huff, Jaina lowered her hand and straightened. “If I don’t do something around here, I’m going to go mad. What do you have for me?”

He turned back to his apparatus, speaking in a distracted tone, “Give me ten days -- give or take -- and I’ll have this telemancy beacon calibrated for the Sanctum of Order.”

“Ten days?” Jaina repeated, incredulous.

“Give or take.”

“Well, twiddle faster. I’m going even greyer.”

“I’ll do my best, Lady Proudmoore.”

Behind them, someone cleared their throat. Jaina started, and whirled around to find a night elf standing right behind her. His eyes glowed a deep golden hue, and his long green hair was unkempt. He clasped a wooden staff in one hand.

“Can I help you?” Jaina asked coolly.

When he looked at her, she felt the crawl of mana down her spine. He seemed to gaze past her, unblinking. “Perhaps,” he answered after a long, contemplative moment. “We will have to wait and see.”

Jaina blinked.

Oculeth dropped his tools and rose to his feet. When he bowed to the night elf, the monocle made him look ridiculous, though he did not remove it. “It is good to see you again, Valewalker Farodin. Are you searching for Thalyssra, perhaps?”

The night elf shook his head. “No. I’ve come to speak with your other Arcanist this time.”

“Of course. I believe she is downstairs at the moment.” Oculeth held out one arm, and already began walking in the direction of the stairs. “Shall I take you to her?”

“Thank you,” Farodin said, though he did not move nor look away from Jaina. He stared at her for so long, she shifted her weight from foot to foot. She was about to step away, when he bowed his head towards her and murmured, “Ande’thoras-ethil.”

Warily, Jaina watched them go. She waited until Farodin’s head was out of sight before creeping forward to the circular railing, where she frowned down at his tall, descending figure. The light of the arcan’dor sapling seemed to dye his green hair a darker hue, almost sea-coloured. She turned when she heard footsteps behind her and found Thalyssra approaching, holding a mug of tea.

“I see you’ve met Farodin,” Thalyssra said. Pale curls of steam rose from the mug bewteen her hands.

“I have. Who is he?”

“A ancient druid recluse who has lived outside the city for many years,” Thalyssra answered. “He is helping us ensure the arcan’dor’s growth does not encounter any issues. Would you like some?”

Jaina glanced down in surprise at the cup of tea Thalyssra was offering. “Oh. Thank you.”

Thalyssra removed her hand too quickly, so that their fingers did not brush. Jaina could feel her teeth clench, but she refrained from commenting. Instead, she gamely cupped the handle-less mug in her palms. “What is it?”

“An herbal concoction. Valtrois made it for you.”

Jaina had been about to take a sip, but she stopped to sniff at the brew in suspicion.

“The only side effects are drowsiness,” Thalyssra assured her. “She and I both agree that you need to sleep more.”

“Ah. So, you told her to gather it for me.”

“No, she did that herself. She likes you, you know.”

Jaina snorted. “That's news to me.”

Still, Jaina took a sip. It had been sweetened with honey, but a bitter tang still lingered on the back of her tongue. It sent a warmth sweeping down to her stomach. The arcan’dor branched overhead, its trunk beginning to form a silvery symmetrical arch. Together, they leaned their forearms over the railing, and watched Oculeth, Valtrois, and Farodin’s discussion below. The three were too far away to be heard from this distance, though Valtrois had begun to point towards the leylines flowing with mana beneath the arcan’dor. Farodin nodded; his long green hair reaching to the small of his back.

Idly, Jaina asked, “What colour was your hair before the Nightwell?”

“Dark green,” Thalyssra answered without hesitation. “I was quite vain about it in my youth. I quickly grew out of that, however.”

“And which do you prefer now?”

Thalyssra glanced over at Jaina. “Which do you think would look better?”

Jaina's mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Thalyssra was watching her flounder with a smile. Finally Jaina said, “Silver, I suppose. But only because I can't imagine it green.”

Thalyssra smiled and countered, “And I can't imagine you blonde.”

Rubbing a lock of her own hair between thumb and forefinger, Jaina mused. The illusion had made her hair far brighter and paler than it would have been otherwise, but the effect was similar enough. “I suppose I’ve gotten used to it. Barely. Sometimes it still takes me a minute to recognise myself in a looking glass. I keep expecting to see a nineteen year old.”

“Don’t speak to me of mirrors.” Thalyssra pretended to shudder in horror. “We’re not on speaking terms these days.”

“It’s not that bad,” Jaina lied gamely.

Thalyssra shot her a look.

“Alright, it’s pretty bad. But at least you don’t have green hair anymore. Very unfashionable, I hear.”

Shaking her head, Thalyssra could not hide a small smile nonetheless. “Your attempts to cheer me up are noted.”

“At last I’m useful for something,” Jaina said dryly.

If anything, Thalyssra seemed taken aback. “Useful? You are here to heal. You shouldn’t worry about being useful.”

Jaina sipped at her tea and shrugged. “You’re probably right. I’m going to worry anyway.”

“Hmm.” Thalyssra’s brows drew together. “Your fourth session with me is in two days -”

Jaina grimaced, already dreading tomorrow’s upcoming potion of purging. “Yes, I remember.”

“- and I've asked Valtrois to make enchanted cloth bindings for you.”

At that, Jaina froze. She lowered the cup of tea and stared at Thalyssra with wide eyes. “You -? You did what?”

“The procedures have been going remarkably well, all things considered, but we are fast approaching the final stages. I won't take any risks,” Thalyssra replied in a tone that was far too calm and even. “In the events of a complication, your body will reject the leylines and begin to unravel even faster. The cloth bindings should keep you stable long enough for us to fix any such problem. Hopefully.”

“But you may still have to wrap me up like an ancient Troll King,” Jaina said in a flat tone. Sighing, she leaned her elbows upon her knees and rested her chin in her hands. “Great. Just what I've always wanted.”

“They may not even be necessary,” Thalyssra assured her.

Jaina ignored her. “I suppose I should get used to being swaddled in cloth bindings. In the end, I may be stuck wearing them forever.”

“That's enough of that, now.” Thalyssra’s voice was iron. “It is one thing to worry. It is something else entirely to stew in self-loathing. The latter is less than productive; it is self-reinforcing.”

Her words struck Jaina like a physical blow. Jaina’s head jerked back as if she’d been struck. She opened her mouth to retort, but the words died on the back of her tongue. Her throat felt too constricted to speak, and Jaina swallowed. Looking away, she lifted the cup of tea for another sip, and prayed the illusion hid the flush of shame that had risen along her neck.

Beside her, she heard a sigh. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thalyssra lift a hand as though to grasp her shoulder, only to stop and lower her arm once more.

Jaina’s stomach felt like it was curdling. She handed the cup back to Thalyssra and turned to leave. “Thank you for the tea.”

The tea did not help. No matter how many times Thalyssra and Valtrois plied her with cups, she continued to sleep poorly, and to cradle headaches that would creep to the base of her skull the longer the day went on.

The days passed. Jaina’s fourth session passed without incident, though she now had to resist the overwhelming urge to scratch at the leylines etched into the top of her feet. Every now and then she would catch herself rubbing her boots together in an attempt to relieve the intense itching, and she would stomp her foot down firmly on the ground with a growl.

That would inevitably earn her a few odd looks from the surrounding Nightborne refugees, and, feeling both sheepish and irritable, Jaina would leave to hide herself somewhere for a few hours. She was sitting on a cushion on the ground beneath the first floor of Shal’Aran, reading one of the few books actually written in Common, while Valtrois and Thalyssra were off somewhere with Farodin. She reached into her bag to grab a quill and make a note in the margins, but froze when her fingers brushed against the robes at the bottom of her bag.

For a moment, Jaina allowed her hand to wander over the material, following the delicate filigree with the pad of her thumb. Ever since keeping the robes, she had tried thinking of ways to rid herself of them, but was unable to bring herself to follow through.

Perhaps she could leave them in Thalyssra’s partition without a note? That would seem suspicious.

Perhaps she could burn them? Or weigh them down with a stone in a lake? Thalyssra probably thought they were destroyed anyway. She wouldn’t miss them.

Regardless, Jaina continued to carry the robes at the bottom of her bags wherever she went, as though they were a charm for good luck, or for warding off evil. As Jaina worried the cloth between thumb and forefinger, book propped on her knees, a pair of plated boots approached. She snatched her hand from her bag as though the robes had burned her, and looked up.

A blood elf stood before her. The glowing hammers on his pauldrons marked him as a paladin. He bowed. “Excuse me for disturbing you. Have you seen the First Arcanist anywhere?”

Jaina narrowed her eyes behind the mask, and turned her attention back to her book, pretending to be engrossed. “I have not. Why don’t you go ask Oculeth?”

“I did. He suggested I come to you.”

At that, Jaina jerked her gaze back up to stare at him. “He - what? Why would he say that?”

The blood elf placed a gauntleted hand over his heart in a gallant gesture that made Jaina’s lip curl. “Forgive me. I did not mean to -”

“Spare me the pleasantries, and just answer the question.”

He inclined his golden head. “My lady, everyone knows where there’s one of you, the other is close by.”

Something tightened across Jaina’s chest, as though rope had been wrapped and pulled taut around her ribs. She shut the book and shoved it into her bag. When she rose to her feet, she twitched away from the blood elf’s offer of help. “Thalyssra is out. I don’t know when she will be back. Before nightfall, probably.”

The blood elf bowed again. “Thank you, Lady -?”

He waited for her to give him her name. She did not offer it. Brushing by him, Jaina stalked towards the stairs leading to the floor above, careful to step around the leylines winding through the floor. She stopped with one foot on the first stair, and said over her shoulder, “I would appreciate it if you could inform other members of the Horde to not approach me in the future.”

He looked puzzled, but nodded. “As you wish.”

She inclined her head in return, then climbed the stairs to the first floor. There, she strode quickly towards Oculeth’s workstation, avoiding making eye contact with any of the refugees that had begun to flock to Shal’Aran in droves these days. The arcan’dor had developed mana-bright branches now, and arched up towards the high domed ceiling.

When Jaina walked around one pillar, it was to find Oculeth fixing a plate over the same apparatus he had been working on before.

“Please tell me it’s been ten days,” Jaina asked, crossing her arms.

Oculeth held up the fixed telemancy beacon with a triumphant grin. “It’s been nine, but I’m just that brilliant. You may praise me now.”

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina sighed in relief. “Where am I taking this one?”

“The Sanctum of Order. Careful,” Oculeth warned as Jaina took the telemancy beacon and tucked it beneath one arm. “This isn’t a lazy traipse through the vineyards. It’s right next to the Nightwell. There will be guards, Elisande’s creatures, and the Legion’s demons crawling all over the place.”

“Who are you calling lazy?” Jaina drawled.

“I’m being serious. I would hate for you to be snapped up by the jaws of a hungry demon.”

“So am I. I would hate to be eaten.”

He chuckled, waving her off. “Just be sure to come back in one piece. Thalyssra would kill us both if you died.”

Jaina was already making her way towards the portal she had opened to Vineyards. She stepped through with a parting, “I make no promises.”

[letstalkambrolleigns]

Dean Men Tell No Tales

I saw this Ambrollins AU aesthetic post for a pirate!Dean and siren!Seth from @incorrectambrollins and just couldn’t help myself from writing a fic… 

I hope it’s okay that I used all of your images in this! I just thought it would make the story better. I can totally take it out if you don’t like it! All the images belong to @incorrectambrollins

Pairing: Ambrollins (Dean Ambrose x Seth Rollins)

Warnings: well mostly anything you would expect from pirates? So drinking, violence, theft… There’s attempted murder, but it’s pirates and sirens so it kinda comes with the territory?

Word count: 1,713

(Cross-posted on AO3)

Captain Dean Ambrose is a ruthless and relentless pirate. His crew, however, is beginning to suspect that the man is losing his edge. But the truth is that Dean has just lost interest. The hunt no longer provides the thrill it once did, the pursuit no longer excites, and killing… don’t even get him started on that. The Captain has to stay on his toes though to keep crew complacent. He recently caught wind of a hidden treasure trove in one of the grottos tucked away on the island coastlines in the area. He just needs to figure out which one and if his sources are correct this raid should help them along the way.

He rifles through pages and chests in the captain’s quarters while the crew pillage the rest of the ship and shanghai what’s left of the brigantine’s crew. A salacious grin splits Dean’s face when he finds what he’s looking for and quickly slides it in a vest pocket before whistling for the crew to come loot the chamber.

His precious ship gets tossed in a viscous storm as they get closer to the grotto and their treasure. Captain Ambrose has a white knuckled grip on the helm as he guides the ship in towards the island. Half the crew is below deck to avoid the storm but the fierce captain refuses to let the rain deter him from his quest. Dean is soaked through and dripping when the weather quiets down and he orders the dinghies into the water.

He and the crew row into the grotto in the dead of night. They find their promised bounty in an inner room that has been half flooded by the tide. The pirates start loading the chests and taking them back to the ship. Dean discovers an alcove a little further in that hides a plethora of precious jewels. There’s a splash in the waist deep water and the pirate is instantly mesmerized by the man shrouded in shadows. The necklace draping from his hands has glowing emeralds that illuminate a gloriously bare torso. Dean can’t make out anything else in the darkness other than a swath of dark hair that falls in front of the man’s face.

“Cap’n!” One of his crewmen shouts and snaps him from the trance. He looks back at the gruff man that called him to explain that he’d found some more things in here. When he turn back around, the man is gone. He shrugs off the thrill that races down his spine and moves to help his crew clean the place out.

After everything is settled back on the ship and a course is set for a distant port, a fog has settled around the ship. Most of the crew has settled in for the night. It’s still and quiet. Eerie. Dean leans on the starboard railing and gazes out into the fog. For a moment he swears he could see a figure breaching the surface of the water, tangled in mesmerizing images. He feels drawn to the apparition, almost reaching out to touch.

The ship lurches and Dean snaps his attention back to the ship and steadying his footing. He shakes his head and retreats to his quarters.

Port cities are… “raucous” is a nice word for it. Especially pirate friendly ports. The crew disembarks in order to sell their cuts of the haul or spend what they already have. Dean cashes in a few things and heads to the tavern with a heavier coin purse to get a well deserved drink. The full moon is high in the black night sky when the captain emerges from the smoky building and heads back to the ship.

There’s a man wandering around the docks that looks slightly out of place. He’s wearing a tattered pair of pants, a rumpled top open down to his navel, and barefoot. His strong hand pushes a patch of blonde hair from his otherwise dark locks away from his face and meets Dean’s gaze with a sultry look.

The Captain is drawn to the other man by some unknown force. “Are you looking for something?” He grumbles as he reaches out to grab the strange man’s shoulder.

The dark haired man slips closer and wraps his hands in the lapels of Dean’s dark coat. “Yeah. You.” He whispers out in a deep, almost melodic tone.

Dean places his free hand on the man’s bearded cheek and rubs a thumb over his bottom lip. A warm, wet tongue darts out to lick the digit. Dean could try and claim that it’s the alcohol that has his head swimming, but regardless of the cause, he whisks the strange man up to his bed without any further exchange.

The sunlight trickles in and wakes the Captain the next morning. He rolls over in hopes of finding his bedmate from the night before but only meets cold and messy sheets. All Dean has to remember the encounter are sweet memories of the gorgeous man by lantern light. He strikes it up to drunken fantasies until he almost trips over the clothes the man was wearing before Dean had pulled them off and tossed them to the floor.

Either way, he carefully tucks the garments into one of his chests and crosses the room to his desk. Maps and charts are scattered around him but Dean ignores them and kicks his feet up on his desk to gaze out the port window at the bright morning. There are many more adventures to come and maybe he’ll even be able to locate the strange man when they drop anchor in this port again.

Seth is inexplicably smitten with the rough pirate captain. He follows the ship like a love struck puppy in hopes of drawing the beautiful man out again. He floats at the surface of the water and watches the ship as the sun sets, a heavy fog rolling in. That excites the siren because it might give him another opportunity to pull the man out of his quarters where he gaze at him without fear of being spotted. He knows it’s against his nature to not want to kill the sailor, but he had led him to the grotto with enchanted jewelry and let him take the emeralds. They gave him the ability to walk on land on the full moon. Seth had only meant to thank the Captain the best way he knew how that night, but he ended up falling for the unusual man instead.

The siren’s blood chills when he sees the black flag hoisted up the mast. It’s tattered and ripped beyond mere wind damage. Seth looks around frantically. Had he missed another ship approaching? There’s no way they were close to land…

His attention is drawn back to the ship when there’s a large commotion. The crew is yelling. There’s fire. They light the Captain’s flag and release it out into the sea as it burns. Seth knows he shouldn’t but he has to get a closer look. The object of the siren’s affection is being pushed and shoved. His coat ripped away and thrown overboard before the man himself goes tumbling into the unforgiving waves.

Seth rushes to gather the man in his arms. He managed to get tangled up in his coat and the siren just wraps his arms around the unconscious bundle. He frantically swims away from the ship. Seth tries his best to keep his head above water when they are out of sight of the ship. He has to get him to land and make sure he’s alright. He manages to get him to a beach on a remote island. Seth drags him to shore as best he can with a tail and no legs. He presses his lips to the man’s and tries to breath life back into him.

He starts coughing up water and Seth does his best to help him get it all out. When the former captain collapses back on the sand, the siren happily settles beside him. Seth, resting on his elbow, leans over to smile down at the other man. He brushes wild blonde hair out of the man’s face as he watches recognition flood his features. He grins before pulling Seth down into a kiss. It doesn’t last all that long before he passes out again.

Seth slides back into the ocean and keeps a close eye on the other man.

When Dean wakes, his entire body aches. He manages to pull himself into a sitting position in the sand. He remembers what happened vividly until his body hit the water, but he does have vague recollections of kissing that gloriously attractive man again. None of that really explains how he got here…

Dean stands up and looks out at the ocean, hoping that would explain something. It doesn’t. The sun beats down on him and he decides to head inland to see if he managed to wash up on an inhabited island.

Dean discovers an empty house by a rickety dock. It was probably an abandoned fishing spot. He looks out over the clear water and there isn’t a creature in sight. He sets his boots and most of his clothes out to dry and takes a seat on the dock in just his pants. There’s a splash and a flick of water behind him. He snaps his head around to catch a glimpse of a beautifully colored fin. A rather large fin.

The next thing he knows, there’s two hands gripping the edge of the dock and the man he thought only existed in his dreams pops his head over the edge to rest on his arms. Dean scramble to get a closer look, to touch the man. His hair is entirely dark now, no blonde patch, and the most notable change is the fact that he has a fish tail.

“Hi.” The siren speaks, pulling Dean from his thoughts.

Dean hoists him out of the water and lays him back on the dock. He drapes his own body over him and grins. “I think it’s about time I get your name and you stop disappearing on me.”

Seth whispers his name in his ear before surging forward for heated kiss.