#its gotta be the one you can wear like a wizard's hat

[magpie-the-goblin-girl]

some random person: *is telling me about their partner*

me: but did they steal a traffic cone for you???? 👀 👀 👀

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[imaginatorcreates]

Prompt Foundry Day 31: Celebrating Halloween! | Fictober Day 31: "it's always been you" | 31: Costumes (bweird OC-tober) (what are your ocs wearing for halloween?)

24 September 2024 — 24 September 2024

Word Count: 649 words

Author's Notes: Prompts by @thepromptfoundry and @fictober-event and @bweirdart. Full promptfoundry list here. Full fictober-event list here. Full BeWeirdOC-tober list here.

“Remember Zephyr — ”

“I know!”

“Not too much candy. And please try to stay close.”

Zephyr groaned. “Whynn, I’m not gonna run off super far! I’ve gotta take care of the passengers! And you’re one of them.” Really, it should be obvious from their costume. Maybe Whynn didn’t understand what they were dressed up as. So the child posed in the middle of the dark street, one hand pointing forwards and the other on their hip. “All aboard!” they called out.

Their hair fluffed out, untethered by a hat or other head accessory. While a hat would’ve really sold their costume, they hated the feeling of almost everything on their head. The most that they allowed was a hood, and even that felt too weird if they really thought about the sensation.

A few beings looked at the child, some cooing and others rolling their eyes. Zephyr ignored them at first, but as their gaze drifted between Whynn and the passerby, their bravado slowly faded into something sheepish. “You think my costume is nice, right?”

Whynn stayed silent for about 13 seconds of varying length before they patted Zephyr on the shoulders. “Very cute.”

“Very professional!”

“Professionally cute.”

Zephyr lightly hit their guardian on the arm and whined, “I’m a professional! ‘M not cute!”

“Oh, fine. You’re the most professional one there is.” Whynn fixed their short cape and said something under their breath that sounded like, “Maybe I should’ve done a different costume.”

“I like your costume. Wizards are super cool! They’re also super smart, like you,” Zephyr said. “You’re just missing the big hat they wear where you can shout ‘Sun and moon! Stars and sword! I summon to me, places not explored!’ or something!”

Whynn blinked owlishly behind their glasses, then gasped. “That’s a perfect spell!” They waved their hands with the grace of someone who didn’t exactly know what to do with their hands and recited the rhyme Zephyr made up. “Oh, that’s perfect!”

Zephyr hopped around their guardian. “Is it?”

“It is!”

The child let out a loud whoop of joy. “It is! I’m a spellmaker and a conductor and– AT!” Zephyr’s attention jumped from celebrating their new careers to the familiar conductor. The conductor was dressed in a classic black costume…maybe a vampire? Zephyr guessed that someone at the train depot or station gave it to the robot. “AT! Look, look!” They stumbled into a run towards the robot, leaping into a floating and slow-moving projectile. “Guess what I am!”

AT-1225 caught the light child and put them down. “Let me see…” He looked at their costume, and Zephyr caught the moment when she paused. “Oh? Are you a miniature me?”

“Yeah! It’s always been you!”

AT-1225 did something a little odd: it made a static-filled sound before covering its mouth. The static turned into a crackly laugh that continued even when Whynn managed to catch up to the duo. “Apologies, but — ” He tapped at his throat and static still echoed out. “Come on…” She tapped her throat a bit more before things calmed down. “You dressed up as a train conductor?”

“Of course! Whynn’s a wizard, I’m a train conductor, and you’re a vampire!”

AT-1225 shrugged. “My coworkers insisted.”

“No hat?” Whynn asked.

“My coworkers also insisted that the hat would ruin the overall costume.”

Zephyr watched as Whynn took one of AT-1225’s gloved hands and pressed the back of it to their mouth. AT-1225’s voicebox fizzed and he reached up to grab a hat that wasn’t there. She instead shaded her eyes and crackled out, “Whynn! You — !”

“Sorry, sorry. I had to.” Whynn looked happy, a sheepish smile on their face.

Zephyr on the other hand, pretended to gag. “Ew! Ew ew ew! I’m here for candy and pointing at people, not this!” They circled around the two with increasing intensity until they could finally move forwards.

Halloween, here they all go!

[aromanticautiesworld]

If you write poly, can you do poly finntress? Also I'm curious will moth experience bi panic via finntress?

oh yes absolutely i write poly please send me poly requests! not 2 ramble about mushrooms but this first part (there will be multiple parts) kinda takes place middle of season 5-ish (sorry flame princess was with finn earlier in the timeline so mushrooms isn’t right after their breakup) there wont be any bi panic from moth abt fintress BUT! definitely in later parts (i love huntress wizard so much). ANYWAYS request time !

////

poly fintress with a gender neutral reader

word count: 1098

You squirm your way through the underbrush of the forest, following the path of the boy with the bear hat.

You were more introverted and withdrawn around other people than Finn, so he would sometimes take you with him (often very much like this) to meet new cool people he knew. Not that you object to any of this, most of the people Finn knows are cool with you too—as long as they’re not some sort of shapeshifting monster or illusion trick. That’s also happened before, unfortunately. While terrifying in the moment, you two look back and laugh about it. But still, never again.

So here you are now, legs halfway dipped into a creek, its weak current tugging at your clothes (which you regret wearing. Why couldn’t you have worn your waterproof pants today. Or at LEAST shorts).

“This is the spot where we usually meets. Me and yous just gotta wait,”

“And you’re a hundred percent sure she’s not a demon? Or a cursed witch?”

“Yeah I am dude. Hero’s honor,”

You consider. “Arrite,” You punch him in the shoulder, “I’m trusting you on this one,”

You both hear a rustle of branches and leaves coming from the opposite side of the river, and who you think is some sort of cat-person at first, based on the eyes that appear out of the darkness, effortlessly pushes her way out of the woods.

“What’s up, dudes,” She puts her bow back in its sheath, a bow that seems to have been drawn ready to fire a few seconds ago. You’re a little concerned about that, but if anything it makes you want to get to know this stranger more (also the name ‘Huntress Wizard’ could’ve spelled it out for you, but you didn’t think she’d be hunting right then).

“Meh, nuthin’ much. You said you wanted someone who can sing for this spell, right?” He gestures over to you, “They can sing,”

“Hey,” You pipe up awkwardly from where you stand, both still sort-of behind Finn and halfway in the water. Small fish swim past your legs.

“Hey,” She makes her way over to you, now also halfway in the river and half soaked, seemingly inspecting you, “Yeah. Yeah, you’re what we’ve been looking for,”

Ah. Pretty. Girl. Close to you. You are, at this moment, very normal and very functional. Both of those things.

“Thanks? Um. I mean I’m..I’m down to help with anything you guys need,” Glob, you feel like a student trying to talk to the ‘cool kids’ in one of those old teen movies right now. What is happening…

“Thanks dude! Love it when my friends are friends,” Finn grins, missing teeth only adding to his charm.

You now found yourself singing for a spell to bring forth some ancient magical plant. You wouldn’t say you didn’t care about that, it was a very cool thing, but your mind was occupied by…other topics.

The two taller people in front of you play their flutes, somehow in tune with your voice. Magic spreads in the air, emanating from both their playing and you, along with a feeling similar to when the air pressure drops before a storm begins (but with a more comforting feeling than that of impending doom).

…

Wait, no. That was actually the air pressure dropping.

The sky flashes with lightning, breaking open and letting loose a torrent of rain.

“Shelter! Quick!” Huntress yells out.

You start to follow her, when you’re quickly brought off of your feet and out of the now-muddy ground, scooped up by Finn. The water that’s suddenly pouring down on the three of you in the clearing and the flashes accompanied by thunderclaps do nothing to snap you out of your shocked and flustered state, and your face burns.

You’re eventually put down, now in the safety of a nearby cave, and are still recovering.

“Sorry about that, haha…” Finn chuckles nervously, “I might have panicked a little,”

You say nothing for a second, still stunned, before zoning back in.

“No, I would’ve done the same thing…at least, I would if I was as strong as you are,”

Finn ruffles through his backpack, while Huntress casts a spell under her breath to light a pile of twigs you guys’d found ablaze.

Finn then dumps out the contents of his backpack (a copy of Ble, an old sandwich, an uncursed dagger, the head of a mini cyclops, an energy bar, miscellaneous pens, and many other items now strewn across the floor.

“Guys. I don’t have my emergency sleeping bags,”

You both look up, Huntress now finished starting the fire.

“Looks like we have to huddle. We can use my cape as a sleeping bag for now,”

“Well…wait. Who’s gonna be where?”

“What’chya mean?” Finn asks from where he gathers the contents of his bag back to where they came from.

“I mean who’s gonna be on the edge, who’s being in the middle…”

“Hmmm…It’s just for one night, so…What do you think, Huntress?”

“I think you should be in the middle,” She turns towards you as she talks.

Your brain is flooded with both giddy excitement, and slight embarrassment.

“Yeah, I’m good with that. What do you think?”

“Yes. Yes. Good. Cool. Very good,” You nod quickly, shooting them a thumbs up. Words aren’t working too great for you right now, it seems.

Huntress takes off her cape, her hair (leaves?) are very pretty, spreads it out—this thing is big—onto the floor of the cave, and rolls herself up into one side of it. Finn then drops down his bag (he’s managed to put everything back) And rolls into the cape on the other side. Your turn.

You snuggle in between the two, heart practically beating out of your chest, and unbeknownst to the two surrounding you, a large grin on your face.

You were the first to fall asleep, of course, and both Finn and Huntress reflected on today.

You’re cool. A cool person to add to their weird little relationship-hangout thing they have going on. Based on what Huntress has seen today (that you’d tried to hide, to no avail. You were way more obvious about your crush on her than Finn was), and on what Finn knows about you, you wouldn’t object if they asked. If you did they would back off of course, but he knows that’s not the case.

Drip, Drip, Drip…

Honestly, it was very peaceful in this cave. The sound of rain outside, your steady breathing, the warmth you all shared.

You guys should do this every night.

[au-drayton-shenanigans]

[A vision across space and time appears on the rotomblr dashboard]

Doesn't appear to be in any of the universes the Draytons here are from..

So where is this anyway? It looks like the location of some sort of really fancy party. Many dignified and rich looking people are in a wide hall with a feast table and drinks, chatting about different things.

Behind a corner, Bat, cloak guy, Beast, Wizard, and Pepperbreeze are hiding. Ah that's right. Pepperbreeze is the nickname of the Crispin from Bat's universe. You find yourself wondering what they're doing when the idea hits that there's an item somewhere here that they need to take. Most of the Draytons around are troublemakers, sure. But they aren't thieves. Are they? This must be insanely important. Did they even have a reason to bring a Crispin with them? Maybe Pepperbreeze is an honorary member of their club. Sure seems that way sometimes.

Cloak guy could use his powers to just teleport around and take it effortlessly, right? So why is the group hiding? That must mean that either cloak guy's powers are acting up or he has to conserve his energy for one reason or another. ....Or he is simply choosing to not use his powers for no real reason. That is also an option. How stupid if that's the answer. You can't tell which answer is correct. So let's just see how the rest of the vision plays out.

Bat is peeking out from behind a corner and turns back to the others. He says, "How are we going to get past them?"

Everyone aside from cloak guy and Pepperbreeze shrug. Beast is trying to think of something it seems. Beast is the smart one. Certainly he'll have a good idea! Just gotta wait for that to happ..... what are cloak guy and Pepperbreeze doing?

Cloak guy gives Pepperbreeze a look and Pepperbreeze grins. Bat and Wizard look worried about this. Beast is staring at cloak guy and Pepperbreeze with his usual expressionless face but you can tell there's a hint of intrigue.

After this, cloak guy plucks some feathers from his cloak and tosses them up. They melt into shadowy black goo and transform into a little top hat, which Pepperbreeze grabs. The rest of cloak guy's cloak turns into black shadowy goo for a moment in which cloak guy is briefly not wearing any clothes. Weird. Blank too. In any case, are you relieved at the information given to you that people in this section of the multiverse don't have "holes and sticks" if you pick up what the vision voice is putting down? If they don't have those then do they even need toilets? Nope! They don't. Are you jealous? (If you believe the idea of multiple multiverses, it would be more accurate to say that most universes in the multiverse these guys are from don't contain the aforementioned "holes and sticks") Or maybe you still think that's weird or you're wondering how children are made where these people are from? Well buddy it depends on the universe and you aren't getting that information now.

The shadowy goo turns into a fancy dress. Cloak guy is wearing a dress. Somehow that's not surprising.

Pepperbreeze grabs the long fall-meowscarada styled leaves coming from his back and wraps them around his neck like a scarf. Then he grabs some nearby curtains and hands them over to cloak guy. Cloak guy folds them around Pepperbreeze in a way that looks like a tuxedo. How did he do that?

Bat and Wizard both look like they want to say something but then cloak guy holds one of his fingers over his mouth as a way to say "don't speak" without words. Cloak guy not using words is what's surprising!! The unhinged eldritch bird horror that doesn't shut up. Unless he thought it was funny to go wordless in this moment. Yeah.

Then cloak guy runs his fingers through his hair and it comes loose from its toothpaste style and flops down like a waterfall. It's ... huge. Wavy too. Like a pretty princess. Not to mention it's so long it practically hugs the floor. So yeah. Flops down like a waterfall is a pretty accurate word choice here. It went poof! Sudden hair.

How does he conceal that just by styling it like toothpaste? That long mess seems to be his natural hair length. He didn't magically grow it but he definitely uses magic to hide it. Probably a form of compression magic.

Bat, Wizard, and Beast can't believe their eyes. You would think that if anyone would be used to seeing cloak guy do something no one expects, it would be them. But it seems the idea of cloak guy having long hair like that was simply too much for them.

Cloak guy motions for Pepperbreeze to be quick. Then Pepperbreeze presses his hands against a wall and headbutts it, loudly knocking his antlers off. Ouch! Or not! You get the idea that it doesn't hurt him and that his antlers grow back in a few days. Okay. Cool.

"Oh! What was that noise?" one of the fancy people at the party call out in surprise.

All stealth left with Pepperbreeze's antlers. Cloak guy motions for Bat, Beast, and Wizard to hide behind something. They go without hesitation. The sound of approaching footsteps can be heard. The partygoers are coming to check out the noise.

Pepperbreeze tosses one of his broken off antlers to cloak guy, who speedily uses it to cut his hair to a shorter length where it only goes down a little past his thighs. That's still long. Then he tosses the antler, intentionally loudly and... shrieks???

"Hello? Who's over there?" one of the people approaching call.

Cloak guy uses most of the hair that was cut off to wrap up the rest of the hair on his head into a fancy hairdo one might expect on a fancy rich lady. He does this quickly as the partygoers almost arrive. Pepperbreeze puts on the top hat he received earlier now that his antlers aren't in the way. Finally, cloak guy quickly moves over to Pepperbreeze and puts the small rest of the trimmed hair onto his face to look like a moustache. It's stuck on using more of cloak guy's feathers turned to shadowy goo then gets back.

Cloak guy, in an act of really good voice manipulation, does a fancy rich lady voice. He yells "I never should have let you drive, Irving! We didn't make it to the party in time and we're going to be stared at!!"

Oh boy.

Pepperbreeze yells back, also manipulating his voice. With him, it's to sound like a fancy rich man. "Well, Francine! You spent 4 hours just putting on your makeup! Only to have the same ugly face you always do! Why put it on at all at that point!?"

The partygoers get there looking on in shock at what they heard and are seeing now.

Cloak guy obnoxiously yells in the rich lady voice again. "I only married you for your money, Irving! I should just throw you away now and keep it for myself!"

One of the partygoers says "Calm down, dearie! Arriving late is fine."

Pepperbreeze uses the rich man voice again and says "Why, that's exactly what I told Francine on the drive here! You can see for yourselves what good that did!"

Cloak guy grabs a drink from out of the hands of one of the surprised partygoers and splashes it on Pepperbreeze.

Cloak guy, still using the rich lady voice, yells pathetically "You don't know what's good for me, Irving!!"

Cloak guy is pretending to cry and is using some of the same shadowy goo as before to look like running mascara. Then cloak guy runs toward Pepperbreeze and they begin to pretend to fight. They are full on punching each other. It looks very real to everyone, but Pepperbreeze and cloak guy both give a signal to the others by staring in their direction and turning their heads to the main hall.

The partygoers are panicking trying to pull cloak guy and Pepperbreeze away from each other, fully believing them to be a bitter married couple trying to kill each other. This serves as the perfect distraction for Bat, Beast, and Wizard to run into the main hall completely undetected.

They go into a room that looks like a treasury room. They pick up a small blue orb. Looks like one of the orbs Beast keeps on him actually. Sure enough, Beast attaches it to one of his tails. Now you realize it is one of Beast's orbs! It's not really easy to tell by sight when he's missing one.

Perhaps it fell off and one of the rich people picked it up mistaking it for a gem. So in the end, the goobers aren't stealing after all. They're just taking back what's rightfully Beast's. Yay!

[The vision ends]

[voidimp]

im embarrassed to say but i dont know what kind of setting oli and cameron are in. is it like dnd or modern times? are vampires and necromancers publicly known or a secret?

OKAY SO

technically they belong to a few different settings, one of them is modern but i dont do much w that one anymore, theres the games they originally came from (oli was my first character in sunless sea & cameron was from a game of blades in the dark that never really made it off the ground), sometimes other miscellaneous things. BUT we are not here to talk about those. we are here to talk about lor.

if youve seen any of my posts about some kind of victorian cyberpunk nonsense, thats lor. (if you havent, dw, i dont mention it super frequently.) its not The Most Accurate description, but it gets the point across well enough — basically a cyberpunk setting with a victorian(ish) aesthetic. i say "ish" bc like... really the architecture is where its the most accurate, but even thats a little loose. in terms of fashion,

some of it is more edwardian, some of it is like that fake victorian vampire aesthetic, theres some influence from ouji/lolita styles to some degree... and then blend that in with some more typical cyberpunk stuff, from the fashion to the technology to the neon signs... its kind of a weird combination & im still trying to find the right balance with a lot of stuff lmao.

in-universe, lor got its start as a kind of trading hub, since its sort of in the middle of the map in relation to the other continents. the cultures in any given part of the continent have a lot of variance, largely influenced by the cultures of whichever other continent is nearest. the main sort of country (yet unnamed) of the story with cameron & oli mostly takes influence from the us (bc of my personal familiarity) & the uk (bc of the settings they originally came from), but theres still a bit of a mix. id love to get more into developing the rest of the world eventually, but i gotta focus on whats immediately relevant first.

as for vampires, demons, etc... its the kind of thing everyone Knows About but doesnt Talk About. its not a secret that they exist, but its mostly discussed in hushed tones, and people arent gonna just out themselves. theres definitely some prejudice at play against people who are inhuman (or "manufactured" humans, but thats like. a whole separate thing), and secret identities are a pretty big part of the story as a whole. this is actually pretty central to the main city (also yet unnamed lmao), which has a second sort of underground city within it. everyone knows its there, most people frequent it, but theres a sort of unspoken rule that you dont speak about what goes on there. its very common for people to wear disguises, particularly masks. undercuts became a popular hairstyle because someone tying their hair up, in combination with wearing a mask and perhaps a hood or hat, can help to obscure their identity. maybe not to the point of being totally unrecognizable, but at least to the point of causing uncertainty. (this is definitely not bc i just like undercuts & wanted some sort of reason to justify so many characters having them.) even if you do recognize someone, you pretend you dont. of course, sometimes tarnishing your own reputation just a bit can be worth it for the sake of blackmail or rumors... people do love a bit of drama.

magic & such has less of a stigma around it, mostly because it tends to not be very strong. its rare for humans to be capable of magic; its more something people are born with than something they learn, so no like. wizards walking around with spellbooks or anything like that. generally someone capable of magic will have one small thing they specialize in, & while they can hone their skills, theres really not much of a way to learn more. even demons, who are much more in tune with magic, have limits; camerons influence over weather, for example, is fairly weak (since theyre only a half demon), but even their fathers magic doesnt go beyond the scope of weather manipulation. its also harder to prove — are they psychic or are they just observant? did they really infuse that drink with magic or was that just the natural effect of the ingredients? did they actually bring someone back from the dead or— well, that one is best not mentioned.

anyway i think. thats about it for the... basics? maybe this went beyond the basics a bit lmao. i think ive said enough for one ask but if u have any more questions tho feel free to ask!!

[xmusiiiingsx]

shit the cr rp server said...

a sentence meme filled with things actually said in the critrole rp server, probably part 1 of idk how many. enjoy.

This is how you keep the fey away

i'm non-binary bro. i gotta try out new names like hats

if you're not making your ancestors roll over in their grave, are you doing anything right?

god is real, and he's a ponyta

Aftercaren’t

'oh look, a twink! i think i'll keep him'

eldritch blaest

i want 2 look up fanart just 2 see all of the so many kitties. ideal happy place.

it's aries season, she doesn't exist.

Listen I am not immune to moon lovers imagery

I did not know I was aiding and abetting THIS.

why comfort when you can make worse?

its the new witching hour.....

it's 11:15 pm and i am legit sounding like a goddamn witch

honestly u know me now. if there's a sexy mad scientist lady who has probably violated the hippocratic oath the chances are yes

that one was actually more cute than painful

MISSION FUCKING ACCOMPLISHED HUH

i can't. i have work today. also i woke up and can't sleep anymore.

the system is stupid cheating doesnt matter tear it down

u ever engineer ur own timezone with a fucked up sleep schedule bc same

GKJSDGKLSJGKL he's just. you know . i have an appreciation

he looks really open on the surface, but that's just one of the masks he actually wears.

because that is a huge part of the image i wanted to convey

... at least if i could just shut the fuck up and get to the thing

permission to ooga booga

i would kill for that twink okay he deserves a set of his own

every day i wake up and time is still happening

I'm very gay and very A mess

if _____ can make _____ a god i can do this if i want

_____ YOU SHIT SHE/HE IS MARINATING YOU CAN'T YOU TELL.

the inherent eroticism of being murdered

sometimes a family includes your two gay wizard uncles

ITS. Very fun to fuck around with words

_____ is going to invent the fucking nerf gun to get back at all of you.

Ur telling me a sambal fried this rice?

Man's fighting his demons leave him be

[skylarmoon71]

Harry Wells x Witch Reader (Flash) Short Story: Chapter 1

“Harry get down!” The male ducked at Iris’s words, and Iris flinched, barely dodging the blaze of fire that blasted in her direction.

“Whooo! Next time make sure those cuffs are on!!” Their present metahuman had not very safe fire wielding powers. After just barely stopping him from blowing up his old job building, they were now struggling to contain him. Barry was dealing with another situation, so they were fighting to hold their own.

“Killer frost would come in handy right about now.” Iris squealed, ducking behind an overturned table, and Harry frowned, jumping to the same location. Without his gun he was a sitting duck.

“What’s the plan?” Harry asked.

“Wait it out.” she advised. They couldn’t exactly face him off. Harry raised his head to glimpse the spot of his weapon. It was on the other side of the room. If he was fast enough, he could make a break for it. Iris followed his gaze. “Harry no, we wait for Barry and the others. I don’t want to explain why you got barbecued!!”

The laughter of their assailant wasn’t very comforting.

“Come on old man, let’s see if you can outrun my flames.” He challenged. Harry’s mood was quickly depleting.

“Ready or no-” The bright flash of a light temporarily blinded the meta, and both Harry and Iris turned in the direction. She sighed in relief, assuming it was Cisco vibing in, but was surprised when a young woman jumped through the circular portal. Sporting a duffle bag too. It disappeared almost as quick as it appeared, and now all the attention shifted.

“What do we have here?” the male snickered, raising his hands as flames erupted.

“W-Watch out!” Iris yelled.

Your eyes shifted between the man standing in front of you and the two people hiding behind a desk.

“You’re kinda cute, might not set you on fire.” He spoke. Harry thought for sure you would at least react to the man that was holding fire in his palms, then again, you’d just jumped through a portal from who knows where.

“Damn it, so much for a vacation, I was so ready to kick back and relax, now I gotta deal with this.” you dropped the bag, stretching your limbs. The meta raised an eyebrow, a bit annoyed at your reaction.

“Hey! Don’t you realize you’re in some real danger. Don’t ignore me you bi-”

“Somnum.” As soon as the words left your lips his eyes shined blue, and he fell to the ground, unmoving. Iris and Harry released a breath, now they were facing an entirely different problem. When you saw the guarded way they were looking at you, you waved your hands around.

“O-Oh shit no I didn’t kill him or anything, he’s just asleep!” you said hurriedly, running over and flipping him unto his back. Iris felt a bit more reassured when she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. “See, completely fine. Maybe a moron but fine.” you grinned, and Iris picked herself from behind the desk. Harry wasn’t as welcoming. He squinted, taking slow steps to his gun, just in case.

“You really saved us there. Thank you.” Iris moved closer with a friendly smile which you returned. “Of course, fighting demons is sort of my thing.” Iris’s brows furrowed. “Demons?” you nod. “Yeah, what else could he be. Humans don’t exactly have magic powers am I right?” you laughed at your own joke, and Iris realized at that moment that maybe she didn’t really understand this. She thought for sure you were a meta. “He..he wasn’t a demon, he’s a meta.”

“A what now? “

You had no idea what metahumans were, so the theory of you being one was completely off.

Harry grabbed his gun, charging it up and pointing it at you.

“Who are and what do you want!”

“Harry!” Iris scolded.

“What, she just pops up from a circle light and knocks that meta out without so much as a flinch. I think we should be a little more cautious. “

You were still smiling widely at Harry. He didn’t know what was more unsettling, the fact that you didn’t look the least bit intimidated, or the way your smile directed at him was giving him weirdly calming vibes.

“I’m a witch!” you chirped.

“Come again?” Harry spoke.

“Witch, you know, magical powers, fighting demons and other evil magical creatures. I know what you’re thinking, brooms and pointing hats which personally I’d like to say is a bit offensive if you really think about it and-” The whiplash of wind smacked into your face and your eyes widen at the man now standing at the dark skinned women’s side. He was wearing a suit and all.

“Woah, that’s a lot of red..”

“Iris are you okay, what happened? I got a notification that the lab was under attack. “ He seemed distracted with his worry for the woman, and she quickly reassured him.

“I’m good Barry, after you guys dropped that meta off he kind of went on a rampage. The cuffs got loose.” Barry looked over, now noticing the way Harry was still holding a gun, when he followed he saw the very unconscious male, and an unfamiliar woman.

“Uh, hi.” he said a bit awkwardly.

“Sup.” you greeted.

“Who umm, who is this?” he inquired.

“(Y/N), (L/N) at your service. Full fledged witch.”

“A...witch?”

“Yep! So you guys get any food around here. Been travelling for a while. “ you just started walking around, in search of a fridge it would seem. Barry’s brows knitted and Iris sighed.

“Interesting...”

That was an understatement.

~~~~

“So while we were out superheroing, you guys found a wizard?” Cisco voiced.

“Witch.” you corrected, munching on your fries.

“Well, I’m just glad you came in when you did, you really saved us.” Iris thanked.

“We had it handled.” Harry groused from his side. He was messing with some type of machine, and you just scrunched your nose at him. In which he blinked in confusion. “Please tell me why again we’re entertaining this kid.”

“Excuse me I’m thirty-five! Although I’m flattered by your compliment.”

“You’re older than me?” Barry asked in confusion. You nod. “What, do I really not look like it.” It did make sense why those bouncers always asked you for ID before entering.

“What can I say, got good genes.”

Iris was still watching you with a little smile. You smiled back of course, a bit confused, but still happy that she wasn’t as mean as Harry. Barry noticed, and he had a feeling he knew why his wife was looking at you so fondly. He reached over, giving her arm a squeeze, and she looked up at him, glowing. There was a secret exchange between the both of them.

“Can I just comment that you guys are so cute, kind of remind me of Harry and Macy, if they ever stop avoiding the obvious that is.”

“Wait, there’s a Harry in your world too?”

“Well yeah, but he isn’t like Mr. Grumpy over there. Plus he british. He’s a whitelighter.”

“What’s that?” Cisco was as expected curious about all you had to offer. He’d been quizzing you since he got back from as he phrased ‘superheroing.’

“They're like guardians, they protect witches like me. Macy and her sisters, their witches like me. I needed to take a break from the whole helping save the world thing. It seemed safe now so I thought I’d do a little universe jumping. My day job was getting a little stressful too. My brother thought I could use the relaxation so he’s running our business right now. I wonder sometimes if we’re even related because the guy loves working. Guess you get that way when you work long enough and I feel like I’m rambling, am I rambling?”

“Annoyingly.” came Harry’s flat response.

“Kay..so do you guys mind if I stick around town for a while. I can even help with your little meta problem which is even crazier than fighting demons every once in a while. “

You were grinning so widely, Barry didn’t really have the will to turn you down.

“S-Sure why not.”

“Are you serious Allen, for all we know this whole story could be made up. Witches, really? What if she’s just some psychopathic meta.”

“First of all, ouch, I’m not some psycho.” he looked utterly unimpressed.

“Is it really that hard for you to believe in magic, you fight superhuman people on the daily. “

“They were brought about by science, logical explanation. Magic isn’t real. No proof, no logic.”

You shifted from your seat, dusting your hands. Stepping closer, you stopped when you were face to face with him. He was pretty tall now that you were closer.

“Handsome.”

He was still somewhat glaring at you, and the others in the room were watching in anticipation.

“Let our eyes reveal what cannot be seen, and show those what seems make believe.” you turned your palm, and Harry’s gaze shifted to the pink light now emitting from your hand.

“Terra, ventus, ignis, aqua.” 

Right before his eyes, he could see the elements swerving in your hand. The four major elements connected, right before they rose, in seconds the light from you dissipated, flashing quick and evaporating, leaving nothing but bright specs of what appeared to be crystals. Harry gaped.

“Awesome…” Cisco muttered.

“Somethings in life aren’t logical Harrison, doesn’t mean they don’t exist. Love, fear, hope...these are all things that exist, but we can’t see it, touch it, does that deter the belief in its existence?”

Harry was speechless. This time when you watched him, you were just beaming, and he couldn’t comprehend why it erupted a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach. You just stared at each other, after a few silent moments, Harry moved his gaze to the floor, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses. Without another word he was walking off. You watched him until he made it around the counter.

“I think he likes me.”

Cisco laughed, and so did everyone else in the room.

[whyispickingausernamesohard]

Remember when we were having friends vibe check the mechs? Yeah this was with @astronautjaws​

Note that I do talk to this friend about the mechs a Lot so they did know some stuff (a Jonny ramble had happened literally the night before for example). (Also the Sasha mentioned in Ivy's is Sasha Sienna bc I also ramble about them)

Images descriptions under read more, if there’s a better way to format them please let me know!

[Image ID:

Ten images, each with 1 to 5 pictures of a given Mechanism and comments edited over.

Three pictures of Raphaella la Cognizi, featuring both of her wing styles. Comments read “She looks like a Juliet but she’s wearing all red so imma guess Red Rose? Clone or otherwise. Nice wings tho” “Okay but she does look like a Juliet” “Holy fuck Juliet” “wings and just straight up gay vibes, uh idk much about ships positions so imma go sword girl, now thinking about it her mechanism can be sword wlw”

One picture of Gunpowder Tim. Comments read “Jonny, human disaster and feral bastard, cannibal, tax fraud committee, captain?, gay dads that he killed both of” and a conversation between the person sending, “What’s his mechanism” and the person commenting, “Oh fuck. Uh compass?”

Two pictures of Jonny D’Ville. Comments read “he gives me a Nils vibe so let’s go with that, uh I go with him being a navigator but a badass one cause I feel like he would be looking at a map then turn around and shoot whoever was behind him without flinching, I feel like he’s 5′2″ tho which tbh the shorter you are the closer to satan you are so, that gun be his mech.” Comments from the sender read “You have no idea how much discourse there is over how tall he is” and “He has such short ppl energy but Insists he isn’t short (I think I remember seeing his height somewhere but I don’t remember it)”

Three pictures of Ashes O’Reilly. Comments read “they are the one who paved the way to enbies using random nouns as their names and i love it, tbh I was gonna go with like June as their name but I really think August/Auggie is more their vibe, Fucking shit is that a 5 string bass I love them, Their mech better be that bass, Lieutenant? Like is that a position used on this ship?, In regards to my first point their middle name is definitely Quill”

Two pictures of Nastya Rasputina. Comments read “those blue streaks of hair in the first pic bonus points there, she looks innocent but she’s definitely the kind of person who has a first name that’s minimum 3-4 syllables and she has 5 different middle names, Genevieve or Rebekah for sure (yes I did look at a name generator for this cause I can’t think of words let alone names with more than 3 syllables), I feel like her mech is a ring some jewelry, rank??? Seriously I know nothing of rank”

Five pictures of the Toy Soldier. Comments read “Toy Soldier babey, the child, it will either destroy baby yoda or team up with baby yoda for world domination, its mech I feel like is like the metal lumberjack from wizard of oz where it’s a metal heart that ticks, it has no rank cause nothing can contain The Feral Babey/Child - only chaos, timetraveling babey but wherever it lands everybody just goes ‘aw’ and TS commits crimes.” A conversation between the sender, “Yea basically fuck I talk too much about TS,” and the person commenting, “Oh for sure.” Another comment from the sender is placed over two pictures of the Toy Soldier with its hair down. It reads “These two pics in particular unlock secret emotions in me”

Two pictures of Drumbot Brian. In both pictures he is wearing the bronze face paint. Comments read “gold boi, shiny 10/10, I feel like Leo/Leonardo fits him, it might be the beart/long hair but I feel like he’s friends with the lesbians- like Hozier, mech is that drumstick? Cause you can’t play the accordion and drums at the same time?, cook probs, he’s just smiley all the time - he’s definitely the capybara of the group”

Five pictures of Marius von Raum. In two pictures an ace of hearts card is clearly visible in his hat. Comments read “Zack or Max, he’s the one who has been pulling stupid pranks everywhere like whoopie cushions under every seat, I spy with my little eye an ace in his hat so he’s confirmed canon asexual (would have preferred the ace of spades but I’ll take it), his mech is that card, no one wants to give him a rank cause he came on the ship stealing snacks and never left but he’s good at fighting in battle so he can stay” “K he’s aroace”

Three pictures of Ivy Alexandria. Comments read “[many question marks] Hello??, I may have just found a reason to start listening to the mechs, hey wait is this Sasha or nah, eh might as well go with Sasha cause why not, last pic got a knife so the knife is definitely the mech cause knife, That vest! That style! WTF! I love it!, feels like she’s off reading books while the rest of the crew is out fighting and only joins as a last resort. Plus if/when she joins the fight it’s over in 5 minutes cause gotta go back to reading that book before you’re out of the zone and you lose motivation for reading the book and it sits unfinished on a table (adhd mood but still) also if she occasionally fights while reading the book, just a book in one hand and a sword in another fighting off whoever is in front of her never breaking eye contact with the book”

One black and white picture of Dr. Carmilla. Comments read “her mech is the Spencer’s or hot topic gift card cause piercings, and if you don’t like that answer then I’d say it’s a dried/pressed flower or clover that’s been made into a bookmark cause that vibes, feel like her name is Rain or Millie, I feel like she doesn’t have a position but more of a location and that is the crow’s nest cause if you have a ukulele people are going to ask you to play the TOP cover of Falling in Love With You song over and over again or House Of Gold, and there’s no escaping it when you have your ukulele in hand”

End ID]

[patriciasage]

Dawn Patrol

Author: Patricia_Sage

Fandom: The Adventure Zone - Balance

Summary:

Magnus blushes and he looks at Taako with stars in his eyes. He looks at Taako the way Barry probably looks at Lup. And Barry realizes how fucking stupid he’s been.

[a Stolen Century story - Barry thinks Magnus is flirting with Lup. He's wrong.]

posted in full under the break but you can find me on A03!!

Barry Bluejeans has a crush on Lup the moment he sees her on his first day with the I.P.R.E., but he falls completely and permanently in love with her around Cycle 10.

He speaks the mongoose language with her and Taako like they’re a secret club, and her soft, mischievous smile makes his heart flutter. Barry and Lup combine their expertise of science and arcana, respectively, staying up late into the night drawing diagrams on the Starblaster’s wall. She tells him about her childhood, about how she views the world. She’s vulgar, bold, impulsive, but also incredibly soft and sweet. She remembers what he likes and doesn't like to eat. They play fetch together in Puppy Town and that’s the first time Barry imagines her as his wife. He tells his brain to slow the fuck down; they’ve only known each other for a decade.

When Taako dies for his first time in Cycle 12, Lup prefers to spend nights with Barry in his lab, curled up in his desk chair. Barry gladly provides his company and cozy blankets to her in solace, and she barely leaves his side that year. It’s nice to spend so much time with her, but it also hurts him to see her so sad and trying so hard to hide it. When Taako materializes next to her on the deck as they speed away from another consumed world, she hugs her twin for at least two full minutes, and Barry resolves to do his best to protect her…and protect her heart.

Barry thinks he might have a chance. After all, they are a crew of seven, and one of them is her brother. He figures that Lup might want him, even if it’s just for a night (and although he wants more with her, so much more, he would take anything she offers). But it seems he’s not the only one carrying a flame for Lup.

Magnus Burnsides is a huge, handsome, kind young man who has never half-assed anything in his life. So, when he begins to flirt with Lup it’s pretty obvious. He’s constantly showing off, doing ridiculous and dangerous things to impress her. He attempts to learn more about elf culture and magic, talking animatedly to Lup and Taako while they cook supper. He’s courteous, charming, and brave in ways that Barry could never mold himself.

Magnus also notices how Taako’s death affected his sister, and he seems to make the same resolution as Barry. From that day forward, Magnus always has Taako’s back, even going so far as to put himself in danger to protect the wizard. In Cycle 16, Taako is retrieving the Light of Creation and sets off a trap. Before Barry can even react, Magnus leaps forward and pushes the elf out of the way. Magnus is impaled by six spears. When the fighter appears on the Starblaster with his signature black eye months later, Taako punches him hard in the arm. “Don’t do that again, you big idiot!” There's a stone in Barry's stomach as Lup kisses Magnus on the cheek and quietly thanks him.

Compared to Magnus, Barry feels small and boring and incapable.

It’s not even possible to hate Magnus, though, because he’s so damn hospitable. Instead, Barry resigns himself to the fact that Lup will likely choose the fighter over him. He enjoys her company, tries to keep everyone out of trouble, and finds contentment in this seemingly endless time with his new family.

The Beach World on Cycle 21 is a welcome reprieve. They find the light very early and everyone just relaxes for once. Even Merle enjoys himself as he recovers in the med bay; the others visit him often and begrudgingly help him work on his book of poetry. Davenport practices self-care, Lucretia gets lost in her art, and Taako learns how to surf. But things aren’t too leisurely because Magnus decides he’s going to “train” them to be ready for surprise attacks.

Barry is sitting on the beach next to Lup one hot morning. She’s lying on her back on their beach blanket with a large, floppy hat covering her eyes. She’s resting her arms under her head, telling Barry about a festival her aunt took her to when she was a kid. Barry is trying very hard not to be completely distracted by the sight of her armpit hair, her stylish bathing suit, and her beautiful, brown skin shining in the sun. Barry, in contrast, is sitting under a huge umbrella, wearing a white T-shirt, jean shorts, and a thick layer of sunscreen.

Suddenly, a huge shadow covers the sun and a loud voice shouts, “Magnus!”

Barry yelps and drops his glass of lemonade on the blanket. Magnus sinks to his knees in the sand so he’s eye-to-eye with the scientist. “You gotta be ready, Bluejeans. Anywhere, anytime.” He smiles over Barry’s shoulder. “I didn’t get you at all, did I?”

Lup has lifted up her hat a little to look at them, but her relaxed position is unchanged, unbothered. She smirks, “You’re going to have to do better than that, Burnsides.”

Magnus winks. “Challenge accepted.” Barry feels like a jellyfish blob on the sand between them.

And then Magnus takes off his shirt.

It takes all of Barry’s self-control not to throw himself into the ocean and let himself drown. Magnus has these ridiculous broad shoulders, an even patch of hair across his chest, and his stomach protrudes over his waistband only slightly in that sexy way. His skin is browned and freckled from long days in the sun and his ridiculous biceps flex as he throws his shirt on the blanket next to them. Barry, in contrast, is a pale potato of a man.

He’s ready to get up and leave them to their flirting when Magnus speaks up. “Well, see ya later!”

Magnus hands Barry his now empty lemonade glass and then stands up, brushing sand off of his hairy legs. He sprints across the beach until he’s met with the resistance of the water, making a huge splash. “Hey! Taako!”

Caught up in conversation with Lup, Barry had forgotten about the wizard. Taako is sitting on his surfboard, floating on large but gentle waves about thirty feet away from shore. He’s retying his long blonde hair up into a messy bun. “Hey, big guy. What’s crackin?”

“Just doing some training, you know?”

“Yeah, you got Barry good.”

“How’s surfing today?”

“It’s going off. I’ve only been in the soup a few times but that was early in the morning. Dawn patrol, am I right?”

Magnus laughs. “Yeah, for sure.” Taako has been almost creating his own language at this point.

Beside Barry, Lup snorts. “What the fuck does that even mean?” she says. “Magnus shouldn’t encourage him like that but, eh, you know how he is with Taako.”

“How he –” Barry looks back over at the fighter and it’s like a crisp breath of air enters his lungs. Magnus has sat himself on the sand with his feet in the water. He rests his chin on his hand and watches Taako prepare to carve another wave. Magnus cheers when the wizard stands on the board and laughs when Taako falls into the water. Taako’s long hair is out of its bounds again, cascading over his bare, dark shoulders. As he climbs onto his surfboard, he flips Magnus off. Magnus blushes.

Magnus blushes and he looks at Taako with stars in his eyes. He looks at Taako the way Barry probably looks at Lup. And Barry realizes how fucking stupid he’s been.

Magnus hasn’t been flirting with Lup. Barry has only seen him flirt when they’re both with Lup and Lup is with Taako. And Barry was so immersed in his own insecurity that he didn’t stop to actually observe what was going on around him. Some scientist he is.

At the end of the day, Barry watches Magnus offer to carry Taako’s surfboard back to the cabin. Taako, forever dramatic, convinces Magnus to carry him back as well. It doesn’t take much convincing. Barry looks at Magnus’s pleased and flustered expression with Taako latched onto his back, complaining, and Barry internally ridicules himself for being so dense.

A few days later, Barry asks Taako to teach him to swim. They work on it every morning for a few weeks. It’s brutal in the beginning – Barry flounders whenever he tries to go horizontal and Taako has a tendency to point and laugh rather than help. But they both get better at it and soon they have an amicable and productive routine. Barry goes from indiscriminately splashing to a solid doggy paddle to an almost front crawl. And Taako claps and coos at him like a proud mother.

On the last day of their morning swimming lessons, Barry thanks him and gets up the courage to have an honest discussion. “There have been times where I haven’t been able to hang out with everybody because y’all go swimming and there are times where there’s people I, like, you know, want to hang out with and I just haven’t been able to do it and that’s not a good look and it makes me look like a big nerd and I um… It’s just that— I just, like— I don’t know. It’s… Never mind, it’s stupid. Thanks for teaching me how to swim.”

“Who are you afraid of looking silly in front of?” Taako asks. They’re both standing waist-deep in the water and Barry tries to make his anxiety dissolve. Taako’s approval means the absolute world in this situation.

“I look up to Lup a lot…” he admits.

And Taako is graciously chill. He places his hand on the scientists’ shoulder comfortingly and speaks with rare seriousness. “Barry, you’re locked in and this wave’s crashing all around you, my man, and I— I don’t begrudge you anything. You know, we’ve lost a lot, uh, and there’s a lot more we might lose...but the one thing we do have is the thing that people in love rarely ever have enough of – and it’s time.” This is a side to Taako that he doesn’t show often, someone genuine and wise and openly affectionate.

The wizard’s words echo in his head often – “You got all the time in the world, my man.”

Barry is feeling relieved and grateful as he walks from the beach that day with his sunhat on. Lup will tease him about his sunburn but it will be worth it to be able to swim with her. As he reaches the part of the beach where sand transforms into foliage, something stops him in his trek – the sight of a hulking figure sitting on a rock. It’s Magnus. “Is this another training thing?” Barry asks cautiously as he approaches.

Magnus doesn’t look up. He seems dejected. “No, it’s not. I’m just thinking.”

“Um,” Barry fidgets with the string on his swim trunks. “You alright? What’s going on?”

“I dunno, you tell me, Barry!” Magnus says, gesticulating with his large hands. “What’s going on with these morning swimming sessions?”

Magnus looks disappointed and self-conscious; a combination Barry is very familiar with. He has to remind himself to close his mouth.

Magnus Burnsides is jealous of Barry Bluejeans.

Barry begins to laugh. This just makes Magnus’s cheeks turn red and his eyebrows furrow even more. “Fine, okay, you don’t need to –”

“No, no,” Barry interrupts, approaching the fighter. He places his hand on Magnus’s huge bicep. “Magnus, I don’t know how to - … Okay. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I’m not worried. You’re a good guy. It’s fine. I just thought that maybe…” Magnus shakes his head, and his expression clears. “I asked him if he could teach me to surf and he said he was too busy teaching you to swim so I guess I was just disappointed because I really wanted to…learn how to surf.”

“Magnus. Taako doesn’t want to…swim with me. And I only asked Taako to teach me because I wanted to swim with Lup.” Magnus looks up at him with hopeful dark eyes. “I really want to swim with Lup. I think I want to swim with Lup for the rest of my life.” Barry chuckles. “For a long time, I thought you wanted to swim with Lup!”

Magnus lets out a startled laugh of his own. “No, I… I want to, uh, swim with Taako. But I’m not sure he wants to swim with me.”

“Well, he doesn’t want to swim with old Barry, that’s for sure.” Barry shrugs. “I can ask Lup, maybe? She’ll know.”

Magnus stands up from the rock. His shoulders are relaxed now. “No, it’s okay. I think he needs more time. I’ll ask him myself one day.”

The Beach World is a gift they didn’t know they needed. They grow closer as a family. Lucretia commemorates it through portraiture. Lup and Taako continue to be firecrackers, burning bright, loud, and dangerous. And Barry and Magnus continue to stare with stars in their eyes.

Merle, Lucretia, and Davenport make bets.

In Cycle 25, Merle wins.

[blackdragonturds]

“Here” pt. 4!

Reader’s POV

Two hours later…

“ugh…What the hell happened?”

I sat up in my bed rubbing my pounding head. Erron was seated in the chair next to my bed but crawled onto my bed upon hearing me wake up. Sitting down next to me, he places his fingers on my wrist to check my pulse.

“Hey, are you…what the hell? There’s a black crescent moon on your forehead.”

“There is?”

He grabbed the small jeweled handheld mirror off the end table next to my bed to show me. True to his word, a small black jagged moon was on my forehead above my eyebrows in the center. It made me wonder how it got there. But…I kind of liked it. Placing the mirror down beside me, I finger comb through my hair.

“Shang must have done this. Are you doing all right?”

He had his mask off as I finally got to see what he really looked like. I felt something warm spread across my face but he smiled.

“At least you’re awake. I was well…”

“Hm?”

“Well…nevermind. Its not important. You hungry?”

“A little. Why?”

“Well, the Kahn told me to tell you that if you’re feeling peckish that you can join the banquet.”

“A…banquet? I’ve never attended a banquet before…what should I wear?”

Erron chuckled and got off my bed to present to me a gift box with a silk ribbon tied to it.

“The Kahn had his silk weavers make you something nice to wear for it. I don’t like to get all goody-goody with this kind of thing so here.”

I take the box from him, pulling off the ribbon. Inside was a beautifully knit silk scarf and a headpiece made of gold and silver, a delicate silver moon in the center.

“Its…wow…thank you.”

Erron fixes his hair as he reminded me,

“Also, since the Kahn wants you as his soothsayer, well…he would want you to show off your status to the royal court but it’s your choice. I’ll save you a seat at the dining hall.”

I rise from my bed and place my scarf around my shoulders.

“Where’s the dining hall?”

“Well, since you are of high status now you come with me. He did say he wants me to guard your life at all costs.”

“All right then.”

I put on my shoes as he loaded his pistols. The same ones he used to shoot off my restraints in the Outworld Market. I followed him out of my room and he asked me,

“I gotta know…what made you want to leave Earthrealm?”

“Well, you first.”

Erron sighed as he began in a somber tone,

“I left about a hundred or fifty so years ago. I felt that no one needed a guy like me. I didn’t score points with the ladies, I didn’t fit in anywhere, and I easily shot Jesse James in the dick in a high noon draw. I’ll never forget that.”

His warm brown eyes met mine as he asked,

“Now, what’s your story?”

I gulped as I told him,

“Well, I left because my home was invaded by now I assume Outworld. I remember these…men, with long sharp teeth and blades coming out of their arms. Most of them were bald and hideous-“

He cut me off with a question.

“Ah, stupid Tarkatans. They jump at the chance of invasion. So…what were your folks like?”

I thought for a moment thinking of what I should tell him,

“Well, I had a loving family…a baby sister, my little brother, and I was the oldest. We lived in a little cottage my dad built all by himself. I was an introverted kid and well…my parents died when Earthrealm was invaded. I was only five at the time, my brother was three and my baby sister was six months old.”

Erron asked gently,

“What of your parents?”

“They were loving and kind to all three of us. But those creatures slaughtered my family and kidnapped my baby sister. I was helpless because I was just little. I didn’t know what to do.”

Erron was quiet with his response.

“My father was a cruel son of a bitch. My mom hated me and I was beaten almost daily.”

I felt pity pinch me.

“I’m so sorry…”

“Well, It’s in the past and I wanna keep it there.”

“Okay. But I think you’re a nice guy Erron.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself. Mousey, a bit of a scaredy cat and a bit clueless but cool.”

His brutal honesty hurts but he’s right.

We approach a large wooden door as the sight of the dining hall came to view. Roasted cattle over an open fire, being rotated on a wooden pole, bowls of exotic fruits from Earthrealm and Outworld, a stuffed turkey, even some finger foods. I could smell exotic teas and what smelled like soups. Musicians bang on large drums as other musicians play various instruments. Dancers sway like leaves around the end of the room. Servants of multiple races served guests and court members eagerly as the smells and sounds made my stomach gurgle.

“Oh I’m so hungry! This looks delicious!” I squeal excitedly.

“Well, lemme show you to your seat.” Erron purred.

He led me to a fancy chair next to the end of the long table, and at the head of the table sat Kotal Kahn eating something pink and jiggly. I take my seat as Erron pulls a napkin off the table and laying it onto my lap.

“Thank you…”

Erron took his hat off setting it on the floor next to his chair. I tried to reach for an apple as the Kahn addressed me,

“Please, allow me.”

“Okay.”

He snapped his fingers as a servant came to his side. He ordered the man to take my plate and fill it with food. Erron waited his turn next to me, and soon, his plate came with ribs and some boiled potatoes. Mine had the same portion but a chilled apple with it

“Thank you Kahn.”

“My pleasure.” the emperor purred. As I ate, I could barely contain myself how delicious the food was. I saw D’Vorah across from me eating something like a pork chop and the same pink jiggly stuff the Kahn was eating. She was smiling feeding her slug creature.

The Kahn must be going through a lot to make me feel welcome…

I sipped my wine one of the servants poured for me as the Kahn rested his arm on the arm of his throne looking at me.

“Is the food adequate my dear?”

“Yes, it is thank you.”

“I’m sure you have many questions.”

I nodded putting my cup down.

“So if you’re the emperor of Outworld, why did you pick a slave to be a soothsayer? And what is a soothsayer?”

Koala Kahn sighed popping a few grapes into his mouth,

“Well, an indigo like you can easily feel things most mortals cannot. You perceive the world differently and you can have psychic visions. I figure you would be a great addition to my court.

It began to make sense now. he continued.

“If you were a sleigh beggy you would be an excellent mage.”

I asked cautiously,

“A sleigh beggy?”

Erron wiped his mouth and pointed to a girl with short red hair and beautiful green eyes. She was eating some ham and seemed to be chatting with a fellow mercenary.

“That’s the Kahn’s court wizard Robin.”

“She’s beautiful…” I mused.

Total Kahn agreed,

“Yes she is. Now you, you’re special. And that moon crest on your forehead?”

I touch my forehead as he went on.

“Is more proof you are worthy to serve me.”

**********

Thanks for reading!

[breanime]

Dynamite (Part Six)

Here we are, the last chapter... Hold onto your hats, kids, here we go! And I apologize in advance :(

warning: descriptions of violence, character death

*cover by @moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown​*

Part Six: The Bones

You’d only been to Miguel’s weird little murder bunker twice before now, and it was just as creepy as you remembered it. Miguel was standing a few feet away from you, talking quietly with Nestor. He’d given you a pretty good beatdown, and you licked your lips, tasting blood and feeling the cuts in them. Your arm was tied to the pew, which was still sticky with someone else’s blood, which…

…was probably not a good sign.

“This is the longest murder I’ve ever been to,” you sighed, leaning your head on your arm, “Are you going to kill me or keep kissing each other’s ears over there?”

They both turned, and you could see the uneasiness on Nestor’s face. He had been your friend before, and while you knew his loyalties lied with Miguel—always did, always would—you also knew he wasn’t happy to see you, bloodied and bruised, on the pew.

“You know,” Miguel said calmly, wiping his bloody knuckles on a rag, “you get mouthy when you get scared, mi amor.”

The sweet name made your skin crawl. “How long has it been,” you asked, sitting up, “since you actually meant that?”

“Meant what?”

“Mi amor,” you answered, glaring at him, “How long has it been since we loved each other, Miguel?”

He sighed, and for a second, you could see his features soften as he looked over at you. You could only imagine what you looked like, beaten down and tied to a wooden bench. It was a far cry from the way you’d looked on your wedding day, that was for sure. “I’ve always loved you,” he said back, his voice heavy with emotion, “and I always will.”

“Yeah? You loved me when you were knee deep in Emily?” You asked back. “You loved me then?”

He grit his teeth. “Unlike you, I can love more than one person at once.” He turned to you fully. “When did you stop loving me?”

“A long, long time ago,” you answered honestly.

He closed his eyes, nodding at your words. When he opened them, his eyes were hard. “Is that why you opened your legs to the help?”

“That,” you said, “and the fact that Johnny’s tongue is like a fucking wizard, and his cock—”

Miguel stepped over to you, wrapping his large hand around your throat, choking the taunts right out of you. “Do you even realize what you’ve done?” He growled, glaring down at you as you struggled in his grasp. “What you broke? Me and Emily that’s… That was…” He shook you, and you clawed at his arm with your free hand, your eyes wide. “I loved you. I love you! We weren’t perfect, but we were something—and you fucking ruined it!”

Your eyes were starting to roll back in your head, and it occurred to you, as you struggled for air, that your eyes had done the same thing a few hours ago when Johnny was inside of you. This was definitely a downgrade.

“Mikey.” Nestor’s voice broke through your musings, and you felt Miguel’s hand fall away.

You fell forward, gasping and sucking in air through your now bruised throat. Tears gathered in your eyes, and you coughed, the action causing you more pain. When you could see again, Miguel was pacing a few feet away, and Nestor was standing in front of you, his eyes sad. He turned from you, going over to Miguel, and suddenly, the reality of your current situation hit you.

You were going to die.

You let the tears fall, and you bent your head down, tucking it between your legs, as you cried. God, you’d come so close, so close to happiness. Johnny was back in your life, and even after the hard left the two of you had taken all those years ago, you were alright. You’d found each other again, and this time, your love was stronger, more mature; it grounded you, and made you feel like you could fly all at once. And you weren’t sure if it was fate or dumb luck or destiny, but even though you and Johnny had both messed things up with each other, you were still strong, still meant to be. He used to say, back when you were younger, that he was going to marry you. The two of you would lie on the beach, sand in your shoes and the sun on your skin, discussing all of your plans, the life you were going to build, strong and sturdy, with each other. But now, the wolves came, and your time was nearing its end, but at least you got to be with Johnny before you left this world, at least you got to hear those three words coming from his lips one more time. That alone made all of this worth it.

You gaped when you felt your hair being pulled, and Miguel yanked your head up, glaring down at you. “Why?” He asked. “Why would you do this to us?” You coughed, still trying to catch your breath, and he pulled at your hair again. “Why, Y/N?!”

“Because…” You answered, closing your eyes. If you had to go, you would go in peace, thinking about Johnny. “…I love him.”

You felt his slap like a hot poker in your face, and then…

…it was nothing but darkness.

Johnny had only ever seen Emily Galindo in photos, and she did not look like her picture at all…

…maybe it was because she was puking her guts out in a tiny cement jail cell.

“Emily,” Paige said, her hands on the bars of the cell, “We need to know where this place is.” She thrust the polaroid into the cell, and Emily wiped her mouth, crawling closer to look at it.

“Oh God,” she closed her eyes, but Johnny wasn’t sure if that was the nauseous or her own guilt that was plaguing her, “that’s Miguel’s church pew. It’s where he… Where he deals with the other side of his businesses.”

“What other side?” Mike prodded. “What does that mean?”

“It means he’s going to kill her,” Emily answered, her eyes went to Johnny, “I am so sorry.”

Johnny didn’t even question how she knew he was connected to you—his shaking, tense body was probably hint enough, plus he was sure Miguel had talked about him before. Miguel. If Johnny didn’t arrest him, he was going to kill him.

“Where is this place?” Paige asked, shaking the picture in Emily’s face to get her attention again. “We need an address!”

“I’ll tell you,” Emily said back, wiping at her eyes, “but please, get me out of here—I can’t have my baby in jail, please—”

“—The address!” Paige and Mike barked at the same time.

Johnny watched, feeling like the world was moving too fast for his mind to catch up to, as Emily gave them the directions to Miguel’s church pew. Johnny couldn’t speak, could barely breath; the fact that you were hurt had been bad enough, but this? Miguel was going to kill you if he didn’t get to you in time. He stared straight ahead of him as the team rushed out of the building and back into their cars, heading to the address, hoping it wasn’t a fake. How the hell did he have you—twice—and lose you? Twice! He’d promised you that he would take you away from all this, and he’d failed.

He hated himself.

“We’re gonna get her back, Johnny,” Briggs said, both of his hands on the wheel as he sped through traffic, “Keep your head in the game—we’re gonna get her back.”

Johnny closed his eyes, another wave of self-hatred crashing through him as he felt tears in his throat.

“We’re with you, baby,” Charlie reached out from the back seat and put a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, “We’ve got your back. She’s gonna be fine.”

He opened his eyes, his vision blurry from the unshed tears. “I love her,” he said, his voice breaking, “Charlie, I love her, I can’t lose her, I just got her back—”

“You’re not gonna lose her,” Charlie said, her voice and touch soothing, “okay? You are not going to lose her.”

“We’re with you, JT,” Briggs added, glancing over at him. For once, Johnny didn’t question him, for once, he could tell that Briggs was being honest. “We’re with you.”

The radio crackled, and Charlie grabbed it, switching to the right channel. “Hello?”

“We’ve got the warehouse surrounded,” Holden reported, and Johnny, Briggs, and Charlie exchanged surprised looks, “What? You thought I couldn’t track you?” The smirk was clear in his voice. “Galindo is in there with his number two, we don’t have eyes on them, but from the body heat count, they’re in there.”

“What about Y/N?” Charlie asked. Johnny’s heart was pounding so hard, it hurt.

“She’s there,” Holden answered, and a small knot released in Johnny’s chest, “I’ve got agents and a negotiator out here, but they’re not budging…” He paused, and when he spoke, they could all hear the emotion in his voice. “I got no sway here. I need my team.”

Briggs slammed his foot on the petal. “On the way, boss.”

Holden hadn’t been kidding. When they pulled up—Paige and Mike behind them—they were greeted with a slew of cops, federal agents, and an ambulance. Johnny hopped out of the car, followed by his team—his family—and ran over to Holden.

“Sit rep,” he requested, heart pounding.

“It’s a standstill,” Holden answered, “Galindo’s not coming out, not communicating…”

“And Y/N?” He asked.

Holden shook his head. “No word.”

“We gotta get in that building,” Mike said, stepping up, “how many entrances are there? Do they have surveillance? What do we know?”

“Not much,” Holden answered, and Johnny groaned, his fists balling at his side, “I think there’s a two-way camera, but no one here’s trained to hack it—”

“—Nah,” a familiar voice called out, “I can hack it.” Jakes stepped up, his face serious, and Johnny’s eyes filled with tears all over again. Jakes came right up to him, crushing him to his chest in a hug. “I’m here for you, brother. Let me help.”

The team—the whole team—gathered around Jakes as he sat at a computer, clicking away. In a matter of seconds, his screen was full of different camera angles around the building.

“There,” Briggs said, pointing at the corner of the screen, “there’s a shaft there and a slight blind spot in the camera. That’s our point of entry.” Johnny moved, ready to go, but Briggs stopped him. “You gotta suit up, Johnny.”

Johnny pulled back. “We don’t have time—”

“—No one goes in until they’re wearing full combat gear,” Holden spoke up.

Charlie rushed to the closest van and grabbed a bulletproof vest, pushing it into Johnny’s chest. “Then let’s move, people.”

It felt like hours passed, but in reality, it was only a couple minutes until Johnny, Jakes, Briggs, Charlie, Paige, and Mike were all dressed in Kevlar vests. They each had an earpiece in, keeping them connected to Holden and the others as they moved towards the building. Holden directed them, telling them when to fall back and when to move forward as the cameras scanned the premises. Johnny had never felt so on edge in his entire life. He was surrounded by cops and federal agents, backed up by the people he trusted the most in the world, but you weren’t with him, and every second he didn’t have you with him was an eternity to Johnny. Finally, they breached the perimeter. As soon as they stepped into the building, Johnny smelt the familiar, terrifying scent of blood.

Briggs was taking point, and he stuck his fist up, and they all paused. He turned, making eye contact with Johnny, and nodded. Miguel was just around the corner. This was it—you and him were in the homestretch of some hard times, but Johnny believed you’d make it through it; he had to.

“FBI!” Briggs called out, stepping around the corner with his gun out. Johnny was right behind him, and so was the rest of the team.

Nestor pushed Miguel behind him, and both men held their guns up.

“Put your weapons down!” Jakes demanded.

Miguel laughed, shaking his head. “You’re a fucking Federal Agent?” He asked, looking over at Johnny. “Son of a bitch…”

Johnny looked around, his eyes taking in all of the blood and dirt before they landed on you. You were tied to the church pew, laying on your side in a pool of pool.

His heart stopped.

Johnny moved towards you, but Miguel shot at the ground, and he stopped, glaring over at your husband.

“No, no, Romeo,” Miguel taunted, “that’s not how this is gonna happen.”

“You’re surrounded, Galindo,” Paige said, “There are agents and local cops all over this place. Just put down your weapons!”

“This isn’t going to end well for you,” Mike added, “Your ex-wife is in a jail cell right now, she needs you. The baby is going to need you.”

Miguel’s smug look faltered. “The… The baby?”

“You didn’t know?” Paige asked. “Yeah, Emily’s pregnant with your kid.”

“And let me tell you,” Charlie drawled, “It’s no fun to have your kid in prison.”

“Put your weapons down,” Briggs said again, “and we’ll let you see her.”

Miguel looked at Johnny, nothing but hatred in his eyes. The feeling was mutual. “You’re a Fed,” he said, disgusted.

“Mikey…” Nestor said, his voice low.

Miguel’s eyes didn’t leave Johnny. “Does she know?”

Johnny couldn’t look at you. “Yeah,” he answered, his gun heavy in his hands, “she knows. She knew from the second I walked through the door—probably even before that, knowing her.”

Miguel closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. When he opened them, they were wet with tears. He hung his gun on his fingers, stepping back with his arms outstretched behind Nestor.

“Mikey,” Nestor’s eyes looked from Miguel, to the team, and back again, “what are you doing?”

“Surrendering,” Miguel answered, his voice tired. He dropped his gun and stepped forward. “I know when I’ve lost.”

Johnny felt a thrill of relief go through the team, and Charlie stepped up to cuff Miguel. But then he grabbed Nestor’s gun, ripping it out of his hand, pointed it at Johnny, and shot.

It felt like he had been hit in the chest with a hammer, and Johnny flew back. He heard his name being called, and then there were more shots. Charlie and Mike were on their knees beside him, shaking him and saying his name over and over again. Johnny groaned, his hand going to the middle of his chest; he could feel the bullet, still warm, stuck in his Kevlar vest.

“Fuck,” he croaked, “Holden was right…”

“Jesus!” Charlie cried, tears in her eyes. Mike laughed, helping Johnny stand up. A few feet away, Miguel was on his back. Briggs was on top of him, beating the ever-loving shit out of him. Paige and Jakes had to lift him up. Paige cuffed him, turning him onto his stomach and pressing her foot into his back. Nestor was lying next to Miguel with a single bullet in his skull. As soon as Miguel had shot Johnny, Nestor had jumped in front of his friend, shielding him from the perfect shot Mike had aimed right at his head.

Johnny limped over to you quickly, he reached down, his heart pounding, and felt your pulse.

You were breathing.

Carefully, he lifted your head. You were unconscious, and his heart broke at the blood and bruises on your face. “I got you,” he whispered, cutting you free, “I’m here, baby… I got you.” He picked you up, leaning on Mike a little bit, and carried you out.

“She’s still my wife!” Miguel was yelling, his face in the dirt. “She’s my wife!”

Briggs kicked him in the face, and suddenly…he stopped shouting. “I’m sorry,” he quipped, “were you saying something?”

You had been existing in this kind of dark, hazy, dreamless world, and as you slowly came out of it, you started picking up on things.

“…looks badass,” a female voice was saying.

“…barely a wound,” a male voice snarked.

You could hear beeping, and you could smell anesthetic.

“…so much paperwork,” you recognized that voice—that was Mike.

You tried to shift, but your body simply wasn’t having it. So instead, you kept listening, slowly feeling yourself float back into your body. You felt sluggish, and you couldn’t get your eyes to open, no matter how curious you were about where the hell you were. You were just so tired, you felt yourself floating away again, ready to go back into that void, when you heard the most angelic sound in the world.

“We all know how much you love paperwork, Levi,” Johnny said, his deep chuckle vibrating through the air and piercing your soul.

And suddenly, you could open your eyes.

“Oh,” a woman with dark hair was looking down at you, “Johnny!”

You blinked against the harsh light. You were in a hospital, surrounded by Johnny and a bunch of people you didn’t know, and Johnny…

...was shirtless.

“That can’t be sterile,” you said, your voice coming out rough.

Johnny laughed, coming to hover over you. You caught Mike’s eye as followed the others out, a warm smile on his face. He reached out and ran his hand down your face, his touch careful and gentle and everything you’d always wanted. “Hi,” he said simply, his eyes soft as he looked down at you.

You reached over, your hand brushing against the dark purple bruise on Johnny’s chest. “Wh—what happened?” You croaked out, coughing.

“Shh,” he helped you sit up, wincing with you, and rubber your back, “The doctor said your vocal cords are gonna be a little rough for a few days.”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. You closed your eyes as Johnny’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close. He felt strong against you, he felt warm and sturdy and reliable—he felt like home. He kissed your forehead, and you smiled, even as the tears started trialing down your cheeks. Neither of you spoke, you just held onto each other, both silently vowing to never let go.

Later, you learned what had happened while you’d been unconscious. Miguel was arrested and being tried for a laundry list of crimes. Emily was doing time as well for aiding and abetting, and she wasn’t pregnant with Miguel’s child. Apparently, she’d hooked up with her first love, a biker named Ezekiel, and the baby was his. Nestor was dead, and for that, you were sad. His only crime had been loving Miguel more than anyone else—neither of Miguel’s wives had even come close to loving him as much as Nestor had, and all that love and loyalty had gotten him was a bullet in the brain. Johnny’s friends—who you owed so much to, but they asked for nothing—pulled some strings and got you a quickie divorce from Miguel, even finagling most of his assets, titles, deeds, and fortune and awarding them all to you. Briggs and Jakes had some friends in high places that made that happen. You had suffered a bruised throat, a busted lip, black eye, bruises on your torso and wrist, and a collection of cuts and other bruises. But you got Johnny, so…

…it was all worth it, as far as you were concerned.

You and Johnny moved to a nice beachfront property together, and you were married on the beach. Briggs, of all people, officiated the wedding. Jakes got Johnny a job working for his private investigation and security firm, and Graceland was officially retired, but the family stayed intact.

You went to sleep wrapped in Johnny’s arms each night and woke up every morning to his smile as the sun crept in through the blinds, which, of course, you didn’t mine.

After all, a little sunshine never hurt anybody.

*******************************************************************************************

Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think! And that was all she (me) wrote! Thank you all for reading this and indulging me in this time. I seriously wrote this series in one day, and I had so much fun. Please, please, please, tell me what you thought of this chapter and the series as a whole. 

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[mithranqueersmusings]

Starrison Week - Day 4 - Gardening

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo tries to find George in the garden.

Tags: One Shot, Fluff

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo hated gardening, as much as he tried to enjoy it for the sake of George, he couldn't manage to force it. The garden at Friar Park was beyond gorgeous, it was a haven of all things natural and Ringo loved it, he just didn't love the work it required. George on the other hand seemed to love the efforts more than the reward, something Ringo couldn't really understand but he still respected it.

Today was another scorching day, which meant George would be up at the break of dawn to hurry out into the garden. Ringo rolled around in bed for a few hours after him, only waking up when the heat became unbearable with the sheets sticking to his skin. 

Locating George in the garden was a difficult task, and it only got more difficult as the garden grew. Ringo fixed up a tray of ice cold water with two glasses, then headed out to begin his search. 

"George!" Ringo called out freely, it was always a refreshing reminder of how far away they were from anyone else.

No reply. Ringo sighed and ventured further through the trimmed grass, George could've been anywhere by this point. It was weather like this that made Ringo proud of his decision to always wear sunglasses, even if might have looked a little ridiculous wearing nothing else but his boxers.

"Georgie!" Ringo tried once more, he was desperate for a drink. 

Every time Ringo journeyed into the greenery, he always spotted something new. Each little flower or low shrubbery felt like a little piece of George, soaking happily in the sun. Ringo thought he'd never see George fall in love with anything as much as he loved music - or Ringo - but gardening had essentially taken over his life; the love of music was still there of course, it was never going away, but the gardening seemed to be a way of George distancing himself entirely from The Beatles, something they still had to do despite the several years since they broke up, and even from himself. Music was an art, but gardening was more spiritual and selfless in a way.

"A man who plants a tree knowing he won't live to sit in it's shade understands the true meaning of life." George would often quote, Ringo had heard it somewhere before but hadn't thought much of it or fully understood it. 

The sun beat down onto Ringo's skin, luckily there'd been enough men in the past who planted trees here so that there was available shade to rest in.

"George, where are you!?" Ringo shouted for the third time.

"Up here!" George finally responded, confusing Ringo a little who struggled to see above his own head with the blinding sun's rays.

Ringo let out a laugh when he made out the shape of George relaxing in a tree, his hat pressed down on his head to shade his eyes. His long hair spilled down his body, giving him the appearance of some kind of wisened fairy or young wizard.

"What the bloody hell you doing up there?" Ringo asked with a grin.

"What you doing down there?" George retorted, patting a space on the wide branch he was reclining on.

"Not very likely." Ringo scoffed "Come down and get a drink, love."

George shook his head "You've gotta come up here I'm afraid."

Ringo gave him a disapproving look, George and him often got into these playful disagreements but he definitely didn't have the energy for this one, but it didn't look like George was going to budge - he could be painfully stubborn.

"Please?" George softened after seeing Ringo's expression "It's really beautiful."

Ringo continued to look at him somewhat sternly, but he couldn't keep it up. He let out a sigh and set down the tray on the floor, he took a large swig from the jug before sizing up the tree. He hadn't climbed one since he was a little boy, scuffing up his knees and messing up his hands. No matter how old he got, George managed to remain youthful in his unique, ageless way and this was just another example as to how.

"The things I do for you." Ringo announced before reaching his hand upwards to grab a branch.

It must've been quite the sight, Ringo Starr in his boxers and signature sunglasses climbing up a tree. This was just the kind of freedom the seclusion of Friar Park allowed them, it felt very different to how many celebrities just owned a ridiculously large house, with the expanse of nature surrounding the building it made it feel like a world all of its own. 

Ringo struggled at first to find his footing, luckily he was strong enough to pull himself up. Maybe he should've gone back to get dressed first, but he reckoned that would've ruined the moment. It took him way less time than he would've expected, managing to get up to George's level only in a few minutes. He could feel his skin getting irritated in places, but he didn't really care, not if it meant making George happy.

He let out an exhausted huff when he reached the top, scooting beside George and letting his legs dangle below. Ringo was never a fan of heights, but he felt secure enough where he sat. 

"Nice of you to join me." George said with a smile, he looked completely at ease.

"You owe me a bath." Ringo joked, finally able to relax.

"I think I can manage that." George pulled his hat backwards so that Ringo could see his eyes better "Have you given up on clothes? Not that I'm complaining."

"I wasn't planning on staying out here long, believe it or not." Ringo answered, he started kicking his legs.

"But look at that view." George instructed gently, nodding his head forwards to guide Ringo's gaze.

Ringo hadn't really considered why George had even been up here in the first place, but it all made sense as soon as he turned to look around. Even from this height he couldn't see the edges of the gardens, but a great deal of its beauty was revealed. The sun danced among the leaves, sparkling across the water of the ponds, it was beautiful. Exactly how much was George's work, Ringo wasn't sure, but he knew a great deal of it was.

Looking out upon the variety of life blossoming, Ringo finally understood what George's quote had meant. 

[catsafarithewriter]

“Listen, I didn’t do anything this time, I was just there when things started to fall apart.” with Muta, if you'd please, that just screams him haha. i love your writing!

A/N: The idea for this prompt was inspired by this post. It’s just a bit of fun, with harmless Muta and Haru hijinks and extreme prejudice against polka-dots :) Enjoy!

(No real bowties were harmed in the making of this ficlet) 

x

Haru didn’t even mean to lose the first bowtie. 

Even if it was fugly. 

(“What,” she had demanded upon walking into the Bureau, “is that?”)

(”It’s a bowtie,” Baron had answered, as if he wasn’t wearing a blue polka-dotted monstrosity around his neck. He had righted it with some pride above the yellow  waistcoat it empirically did not match. “It’s one of my old suits; I’ve decided to take it out for a spin. What do you think?”)

(And he had looked so proud of himself that Haru hadn’t had the heart to reply honestly, which had mostly comprised of the genuine question of whether Baron was colour-blind.)

And so Baron, fugly bowtie and all, had accompanied them on the case, and only Baron had returned. 

Purely accidentally, naturally. 

And it honestly had been. There had been a costume change (Baron’s decision, obviously) and then a hurried exit (as usual) and by the time they had all escaped with only a minor dent to their dignity, Haru realised she had forgotten to grab Baron’s bowtie when she had swept everything else up. 

The second bowtie’s loss, however, might have been slightly intentional.

It had been a week after the previous case, and all thoughts of polka dots and fashion monstrosities had been replaced with things like groceries and laundry and trying not to get eaten by ogres. Regular things. 

And then it reappeared. 

Haru swung into the Bureau, already tying her hair back and securing her back over one shoulder when she stopped dead. 

“I came as fast as I got your message - we really need to find a better communication system than Toto dropping envelopes from above - just about anyone could pick it up, and it’s hardly subtle, but then again I guess those kinds of dramatics are right up your -- oh my god, it’s back.”

Baron turned to her, straightening out the tie beneath his collar. “What was that, Miss Haru?”

“The polka dots,” Haru said. “They’re back.”

“Ah yes, Well, as they say, you can’t keep good fashion down.”

“However much they may try,” Haru muttered. Then, “And the waistcoat, I see, is back in full force.”

“I believe yellow is my colour.”

Haru raised an eyebrow, but declined to comment. 

So when they needed something to tie the door-handles together to hinder their pursuers while they made a run for it with the giant’s golden goose, Haru suggested the bowtie with only the barest smidgen of guilt. It was either that or her belt, and she liked that belt. It had flowers decorated on it. 

And so fugly bowtie number two kicked the bucket when the door was kicked in. 

x

The third bowtie was when Haru began to get suspicious. 

After all, she could have believed that the first time, he’d somehow retrieved it without mentioning it to Haru, but there was no way that was the same tie. She’d seen it tear in half beyond repair, get trampled on, and possibly get eaten by one of the giant’s goats, for goodness sake. 

“Eh, maybe it’s a backup, Chicky,” Muta suggested when Haru brought it up mid-case. “Or maybe he grabbed it before it got damaged. You gotta admit, we weren’t exactly taking inventory while we were running for our lives last time.”

“We’ll see about that.”

So, to Haru’s shame - but not enough to reconsider her actions - she may have stolen the horrifying bowtie when (once again) they donned on disguises, and fed it to one of the pond koi. 

A week later, it reappeared. 

x

“It’s a conspiracy, I’m telling you,” Haru hissed to Muta at the Crossroads. She passed across a tuna sandwich to him. “Every time I think it’s been irreparably lost or damaged, there it is! One back-up tie I can believe - but two?”

“Maybe it’s a Creation thing,” Muta suggested around a mouthful of fish. “Like he can summon it back to him cause it’s something that was made alongside him.”

“Summon it?” Haru echoed. “Like in Harry Potter?” She had the fleeting, but no less amusing, image of bowties flying through the air like silken bats. She grinned, and then refocused on the mystery at hand. “We’ve got to get to the bottom of this.”

Muta yawn. “Have ya tried asking him?”

“Where’s the fun in that? Come on, this is a mystery, Muta.”

“You’ve already asked him, haven’t you?” he translated.

Haru deflated. “Yeah. He said that a gentleman never reveals his secrets.”

“Typical Baron.”

“Yeah.”

“So what do you need from me?”

Haru grinned. “We need to see how many lives that tie has.”  

x

It was frankly, Haru considered, quite amazing how many different ways one could destroy a bowtie if one got inventive enough. And, given the variety of worlds they visited, they had plenty chance to get creative. 

Bowtie number six bit the dust when it found its way - somehow - into the belly of an active volcano. 

Bowtie number nine got eaten by a plant.

Bowtie thirteen grew wings and flapped off into the sunset after a wayward wizard’s spell went rogue. 

And yet they kept reappearing. 

x

“Do you think he knows?”

Muta looked up from the newspaper he was flicking through. “Who knows what?”

“Baron,” Haru said. “About the bowties?”

Muta considered this, then folded down his paper to fix Haru with a solid stare. “Do I think,” he asked, “that Baron knows we’re systematically destroying his terrible polka dot tie after the kraken incident?”

Haru winced. “Good point.” 

“I mean, I ain’t gonna tell you how to scheme, but maybe tackling Baron in the middle of a sea monster attack and trying to fend it off with a tie.”

Haru nodded, lips pursed as she came to the inevitable conclusion. “So he’s toying with us.”

“Yep.”

 She continued to nod. “That explains why he looks so smug whenever he reappears with it.”

“Oh. So you finally noticed.”

“Well we can be sure it’s not accio-ing its way back to him,” Haru said. “After all, it’d be incinerated after the chimera incident. He has to have multiple bowties.”

“Maybe he’s ordering them in,” Muta offered. 

“Maybe, but...” Haru frowned. “That implies he has a tailor.”

“We’d have heard about that.”

“Yeah.” She considered. “He’d have strong-armed his tailor into making him a cape or cloak by now. Maybe he orders them wholesale from an online company.”

Muta snorted. “With his technology prowess?”

“...True.”

There was a long pause. 

“Of course,” Muta said slowly, “there’s always the possibility that he has a whole wardrobe of them. Like you see in the movies. Just hundreds of polka-dot monstrosities carefully folded in a drawer.”

Haru and Muta exchanged glances. 

“We really shouldn’t nosy...” Haru said, but without conviction.

“We shouldn’t...”

“But we’re gonna to, aren’t we?”

Muta grinned. “I knew there was a reason I got on with you, Chicky.”

x

Haru looked around the Bureau’s interior in despair, and then to Muta for help. “You know, I never thought about this, but there aren’t any wardrobes in here.”

“Where did he get the bowtie from in the first place?”

“He... You know, I don’t have the foggiest? He was already wearing it when I first saw it.”

“Eh.”

“Yeah, I know. Helpful.” Haru ran her hands through her hair. “I’ll look through the desk drawers, you check the books for... I don’t know, a hidden door or something.”

“Really?”

“Do you have any better ideas?”

“What about up there?” And Muta pointed to a series of boxes carefully stacked on the top of the bookshelves.

Haru looked up. And then up. And then some. “Pass me the ladder.”

“Are ya sure--”

“We’re getting to the bottom of this, Muta!”

He shrugged and collected up the ladder leaning against the corner, pulling it open and holding it in place. “Up yer go.”

“You know, this is all very weird,” Haru said as she scaled the steps. She glanced down at Muta. Or over at him, since the few steps granted her on eye-level with him. “I mean, there really aren’t any wardrobes in here, and Baron...”

“Face it, Chicky; how often have you seen him switch up his clothes?”

She wrinkled her nose. “No, I mean... no, he must change sometime...”

“Creations are weird, kid. You’ll get used to it.”

“I don’t want to get used to it. I want answers. I want -- I want...” She stuttered as she tried to pull the boxes loose, but they jammed. She tugged at them, and the shelf wobbled. “Come -- on -- out-- you -- stupid -- box --got it!” She gave a cry of triumph as she heaved one box away. “Hah! Oh.”

“What’s in the box?”

“Hm, well it’s not bowties.” 

There was a creak, and before Muta could ask anything more, the bookshelf began to lean precariously away from the wall. Haru squeaked, Muta yowled, and both dropped everything to grab the shelves before gravity could take over. 

The creaking stopped. 

Haru exhaled. “Well, that was a close call--”

The next bookshelf over toppled forward.

And then the one on the other side went. 

When the dust finally cleared, there was an audible sigh from both. 

“Okay, so that was--”

“Not another word to tempt fate, Chicky.” 

“I was only going to say--”

“No.”

“But--”

“Nada.” 

 Haru pouted. “You say that like you’ve never made a mess in your life.” 

“What in the world is going on here?”

Haru and Muta both spun on their heels to see Baron standing in the doorway, and as their grip slipped, the middle bookcase finally gave way. Haru squealed and leapt out of the way before she could be squashed beneath it.

Muta raised his paws defensively. “Listen, I didn’t do anything this time, I was just there when things started to fall apart.” 

“Baron. Baron, Baron, Baron.” Haru skidded over the chaos, stumbling against the desk that had narrowly avoided becoming a casualty, and reached Baron. “How do your bowties keep reappearing? I need to know!”

Baron gently set his top hat to one side, returning to old habits to deal with the fact that the Bureau had looked better when a tornado spirit had invaded the building. “That is what this is all about?”

“...Well, when you put it like that, it sounds so silly...”

“Just tell them, Baron,” Toto called from the internal balcony. He had arrived when Baron had, and the smile on his beak implied he had known the mystery that had plagued Muta and Haru and had taken great joy in watching the drama unfold. “Before they decide to blow up my column looking for your secret bowtie stash.”

Baron nodded. “Very well. Please watch.” He reclaimed his hat and carefully exhaled, sparks of magic flowing up and over him as he reverted to his inanimate form. 

“Is this his way of running from the answer?” Muta stage-whispered.

“Keep watching, pudding-brain.”

Sparks flew up again as Baron returned to his flesh and blood form, but as he did so, subtle changes took place. The classy red waistcoat shifted colour, like someone dragging a swatch through a colour wheel until it rested on yellow, and the royal-blue bowtie became blotchy, making way for white polka dots that had drawn Haru’s attention so strongly in the first place. 

By the time Baron was blinking the gemstone glaze from his eyes, Haru’s jaw had dropped. 

“You can shapeshift?”

“Not exactly.” Baron righted his tie, as if it hadn’t been perfectly straight before. “All Creations have a default appearance that we can subtly alter as our personalities and style shift. I can not grow wings or a second tail, but I can nudge the set pattern of my waistcoat or - in this case - bowtie to fit my liking.”

Toto cackled. “You should have seen his experimental stage. He had grey fur for a decade before he went back to ginger.”

“Yes, thank you, Toto,” Baron said curtly. “We all go through phases.”

 “Louise laughed until she cried,” Toto informed them. “She said that they looked like they were cosplaying as yin and yang if they stood together.”

“Thank you, Toto.”

“Please tell me there are photos somewhere,” Haru begged.

“There are,” Baron said. “In there.” And he pointed to the pile of books smothered beneath the toppled shelves. He raised an eyebrow at Muta and Haru. 

“Oh.”

“Yeah, kinda forgot about that...”

Muta trundled over to the mess, but Haru lingered a moment longer with Baron. She leant in. “Just for the record, I think you look great, regardless of your fashion sense.”

He grinned knowingly. “Even with the polka dots?”

She kissed his cheek. “Don’t push your luck.”

[celestialulu]

Nalu Halloween Oneshot

I wrote this a while back but I'm bringing it to Tumblr even though it ain't Halloween just have it.

-------------

It was the night before Halloween, decorations were being put up by all the guild members in Fairy Tail. Everyone had gotten assigned roles. Lucy darted her eyes up and down the list she had been given. She was in charge of buying all the candy.

"Lucyyyy..." Natsu Pleaded.

"Hm, what's up Natsu?" She responded.

"Let me come with you...! He cried into her back.

She looked up at him, confused.

She sighed, "Don't you have your own job to be doing?"

"Well," He started,

"It won't be nearly as fun without you..." He pouted, looking downwards.

Lucy looked downwards at the salmon-haired boy, blushing tints on pink across her cheeks.

"W-well.." She started, "We can go get Candy for the trick-or-treaters who visit my place later, okay?"

"Alright..." He states and flashes his grin.

"Also... Luce?" He continues,

Lucy turned back to face him, tilting her head.

"You look pretty cute today..." He finishes.

Lucy wandered aisles of the stores and browsed through the market stalls, mumbling after herself.

"Natsu... called me cute?" She mumbled.

Lucy slapped her cheeks with both of her hands, calling her list to fall and she quickly picked it back up.

She sighed to herself.

"I mean... I guess he has always cared about me... he is the densest idiot I've ever met." She chuckled.

Lucy continued to stroll through the different stalls and markets, Halloween themed items sprawled across most.

She walked through buying different candies and ticking all the candy one by one off the list.

Fairy Tail was holding a Halloween themed event/party and it would be starting in 2 hours time.

"Okay... I think that does it!" Lucy smiled happily and ticked the last option off the list.

Lucy struggled, stumbling towards the guild, bags of candy in her hands. She was obviously struggling with the weight of the bags, the list was pretty extreme. Lucy finally made her way to the guild doors, moving very slowly but going as fast as she could. As soon as she arrived, she tripped on a mini pumpkin and fell face-first into the floor. People nearly to entrance chuckled at her actions. She scratched the back of her head nervously and stood up to pick the bags back up, but ho have it snatched out of her hands.

"Luce, ya really gotta be looking where you're going" The familiar Salmon-haired boy laughed.

He carried the bags in and set them on the table with other decorations.

"Didn't hurt your self at all... did ya?" Natsu asked, his face inching closer to hers.

"N-no I'm totally fine..." She stuttered, giving him a reassuring smile.

"Alright then Luce, I'm glad."

Lucy smiled and then looked at the clock, one and a half hours till the event huh? She wondered if Natsu had even remembered to buy an outfit. Master said they must dress for the event. She'd need to be getting herself ready sooner or later. Lucy decided to head back home to ready for the upcoming event. She waved a farewell to her guildmates and made her way home, accompanied by her spirit companion.

Lucy had a long bath, scrubbing thoroughly through her hair and rising back out. She was wearing a towel wrapped around her head and a towel covering her body. She dried her hair and then made a few curls at the ends while adding a bit of makeup to her face.

"Hm, I wonder where I put it..." Lucy spoke to herself while darting her eyes around the room.

"Oh! here it is"

She held out the outfit in front of her,  it was a witch costume. The top part of the dress was white and buttoned with frills going up the torso, complemented with a frilly skirt part of the dress. Her witches hat was tall and toppled over the side of her head. Thigh-high socks that showed exposure to the top of her thigh and red-laced heels. A cape flew a bit above her waist and she held a wizard-like staff to herself.

"That's perfect" She grinned.

Lucy scanned the apartment and eventually peered over the window, taken aback to not see the salmon-haired boy climbing up her building wall to intrude in her space. The blonde celestial mage was kind of disappointed since she still had about 15 minutes till the event, she might've enjoyed some company until then. She sat up and walked in front of the mirror, giving herself a little twirl and a giggle.

"Finally!" She threw her arms in the air.

It was about time for the event. There was still no sign of the Rowdy Firehead she had been hoping to spot. As soon as she closed the door behind her, a cold breeze of air flew by, making Lucy rub her arms for warmth. Even with the cape and the full outfit, it was still a very cold night out. Clutching the fake staff in both hands, she slowly made her way to the guild in the cold air of the night.

"Woah... cool outfit Lucy!"

"Looking good Lu-chan!"

"Cute outfit Lucy!"

"T-thanks"

Lucy suddenly felt weird... no one had gone to the extreme with their outfits like she did. Everyone had only been wearing Halloween themed onesies, jumpers or subtle outfits, unlike her who had gone mostly full out on her attire. She scanned the guild for the familiar pink-haired boy again, still no sign of him. The blonde walked over to her bluenette friend how was standing next to the well-known iron dragon slayer.

"Hey Levy... Or Gajeel for that matter, have you seen Natsu anywhere?"

"Sorry, Lu-chan I haven't..."

"Nope, sorry Lucy I ain't seen him from up here either..."

Gajeel earned a smack for that one.

"Alright, thanks for telling me!" Lucy waved.

It was about an hour into the event and Lucy still hadn't seen Natsu anywhere at all. She sighed, the Halloween show was about to start which means the event would be over by the time the show finishes.

"I wonder what the show will be about..."

"Probably something over the top, I mean its Fairy Tail after all!"

The guilds lights darkened.

"Hello all!" Spoke a familiar voice.

Master had appeared on stage.

"This year, we have a very special guest for our show!"

He took the mic and ran off stage.

"Of course we have a performance for us today, so, welcome... Mi-" Master had been cut off.

"MWAHAHAHAHAHA...!"

"I know that voice all too well" Lucy sighed.

Natsu jumped in from the roof, wearing a Vampire/Dracula type outfit with fangs bearing out.

"It is I... Count Natsdruca!" He cackled.

Master appeared and kicked Natsu off the stage, landing in front of Lucy.

"As I was saying..." Master's voice trailed off.

"Oh, Heya Luce." He grinned.

"I'm guessing you'd HAVE to make an entrance like that..." She smiled.

"Of course I would've."

"It also looks like you went over the top yourself..." He added.

"I thought everyone else would've..." She frowned.

"Not everyone." He denied.

Lucy looked up at him, confused.

"There's me." He stated happily.

"Of course it would be you, it would always be you..." She faintly trailed off.

"So you wouldn't mind me doing this...?" He smirked.

Lucy looked at him in concern, furrowing her eyebrows.

"What do you me-"

Lucy was cut off by Natsu's lips connecting with hers. They shared a sweet kiss under the guild's dim lights.

"Hehe," Natsu chuckled.

Lucy pouted and turned away.

"HEY! you liked it too y'know?" He reasoned.

"I did you, idiot..."

"But I can be your idiot now since we'll always be together."  

[thereal-linh-cinder]

Cinder’s Notes on Harry Potter & the Chamber of Secrets

We’re back with CoS!

Again, massive spoilers for the entire HP series (obviously)

Woo the hell plans where theyre going to stand when dinner guests arrive? you seem so unbelievably inhuman, which, i suppose the Dursleys are, but still...

DUDLEY’S COMPLIMENT FOR MRS. MASON

Because Harry is an unreliable narrator, is it possible that the Dursleys treat him slightly better than is described? Unlikely, but something to consider

Harry is so humble?

He’s also hilarious “[Voldemort] hasnt got a brother, has he?”

bars on the window are a bit extreme

the twins ooze chaotic energy

are the owls that wizards use magical? they always seem to understand humans VERY well...or is it just magic that gives magic folk a better connection w animals? Or is that just how owls are? Or do I just not understand how carrier birds work? 

rather convinient that only the bottom stair creaks and not like. the 13th from the top or something

“Draco made Dudley sound sweet” i mean. childish bullying at school  vs physical abuse for years but ok go off jkr

the twins are 14 and driving a car. in Britain. where you have to be 18. chaos

Mrs. Weasley reminds me way too much of my own mother

Percy wears sweater vests confirmed (are we surprised)

Please take a moment to imagine Percy’s reaction to Hermione becoming Minister

Lockhart + Rita Skeeter (idk what this means but its in my notes)

“got the impression that Snape could read minds” 👀

Lockhart is just gonna go through the whole rainbow huh

Lockhart really compared Harry almost DYING to him winning that stupid smile award. Bruh.

Lockhart has 7 books

I feel bad for Nick :(

There’s so much about the Vanishing Cabinets in this book!

that moment with the salamander and the firework is a gem

Do Ron and Hermione at least hear hissing in the walls?

so Lockhart is basically running the Hogwarts theatre department huh

why was Ron’s first thought toenails

Scarhead? Thats the BEST insult you can come up with, Malfoy? 

Yeah, let the 12y/o deal with the rogue bludger on his own, y’hear? (can you tell I’m a lot older now)

Honestly, Madame Pomfrey? Kinda a savage

If Voldemort was 70 when he died in ‘98, and he went to school with Lucius, how old is Lucius? 

Technically, if all purebloods are related, Harry IS a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. Not the heir obvs, but you know

honestly when you think about it, Fawkes’s death is hilarious. Like Harry’s just chillin and sees a cool bird and then it spontaneously combusts 

Did Crabbe and Goyle ever get their shoes back? 

Ron has REALLY good intuition

Why do they still have Riddle’s trophy on display? Like yeah not many people know that he’s Voldemort but that just feels like the equivalent of like...keeping up a trophy for the kid that turned out to be a sch**l sh**ter

Ok but the younger Weasleys have this knack for bullying Voldy. Twins pelted him with snowballs, Ginny flushed his diary down a toilet, Ron barfed slugs all over his special award....

well Harry if its a DIARY where you conventionally write personal stuff about your day or your crush, why are we surprised that it doesnt even have stuff like “dentist” and “aunt mary’s birthday” or “half past 3″ written in it

RON’S INTUITION BRUH “[the diary] coud be dangerous” “maybe [Tom Riddle] murdered Myrtle] yall know that theory abt him being a seer? yeah

I adore these characters so much bc theyre so real?? Lke we truly watch them grow up. Something about the way 11y/o Ginny covers her face and runs away vs how she acts in the later books just. I adore it. 

So this is where I broke my own heart and froze for a solid 15 minutes. I was beginning to write “I hope the twins sang ‘His Eyes Are As Green As A Fresh Pickled Toad’ at their wedding” before I realized that only one twin got to attend Harry & Ginny’s wedding. I trailed off at the S in twins and you can see how shaky my hand got in the writing (i wrote all of this out in a journal)

Riddle’s personality is so well preserved. (and then I remembered that he made his first horcrux that year and THATS why bc this is 16/17 y/o voldy’s soul)

In Riddle’s memory, he stops by the potions room after speaking to Dumbledore on the staircase. Slughorn is teaching that year. Harry says he is stuck outside that room for “what felt like an hour.” Is this where Tom asks about horcruxes? Technically at this point, Myrtle has already been murdered and its been a while but I’m p sure he asks about horcruxes after class one day. But idk. It really seems plausible, and It’s possible that he altered the memory to show Harry...

this is my least favorite book so i just wrote “this is the most boring book. I’m skimming.”

ah forcing 12 y/o to choose a career path

Quidditch mathces are EARLY (im used to sports matches in the evenings but i guess soccer matches are early and such so it makes sense) (my american is showing)

Is sitting at any table allowed? I never understood that and it used to bug me in the movies. Is it only required to sit at your House table during important feasts? Is that how a lot of inter-house relationships come to be? 

Fudge’s wardrobe was ROBBED in the movie. They really made him look like an established businessman when when we first meet the man, he’s wearing a pinstriped suit, scarlet tie, POINTED PURPLE SHOES and honestly woud it have been so hard to at least give him the lime green bowler hat? Such a staple of his personality

i feel like we tend to forget that hagrid has been to Azkaban

Ron saw Draco being racist and had to be physically held back by his friends. Mans was ready to THROW HANDS. 10/10 absolute icon

The prejudice against werewolves is very prominent.They clearly dont know a lot about them/arent taught (constantly expecting to find them roaming the forbidden forest EVERY NIGHT)

literally WHAT would they do without Hermione

still shocked that Hermione Jean Granger would willingly rip a page out of a book, especially a library book. But maybe thats just the fact that I’m the daughter of a librarian.

is the basilisk page from Fantastic Beasts? They really called it “a page from an old book” its literally in ur first year curriculum but ok boys

Why did Ron toss Lockhart’s wand out the window? He couldve used it instead of his spellotaped one. Granted, it wouldnt have been very good later on if he had, but. You know?

if this Tom is just an imprint of Voldy’s soul at 16/17, how does he even know who Harry is

he already has voldy’s laugh

OH Ginny told him about Harry that makes sense

Voldemort is SO dramatic. Imagine your buddy Tom one day says “hello dearest closest friends, I’ve decided I hate my name so I tried to make an acronym. Please only refer to me as Voldemort from now on. Also I could spell Lord with my name, so I am claiming my new status as a Lord.”

Also he’s holding Harry’s wand. Why is he sending this ginormous, super sow snake after this tiny scrawny 12y/o? Just kill him yourself. Even when Harry gets poisoned Tom’s like “take ur time bro imma watch u die i have nothing better to do” and only when neither of those first tow extra af options DO NOT WORK does he think “oh well guess i gotta use this WAND now ugh” like was he just not corporeal enough to actually use the wand yet or???? Buddy. If you really wanted Harry dead I feel like you could do better.

the fang SPLINTERED in Harry’s arm????????????????? uhm

Harry gets covered in ink a lot in the series

Dumbledore is such a simp for Voldemort honestly

I forget that Harry & Ron get trophies for special services too bro

did Arthur create the Muggle Protection Act???

...why DOES Lucius have Voldy’s old school things? 

Harry and Ron got a total of 400 points for this. But only 10 FOR TAKING OUT A TROLL AT AGE 11 

Lucius is LITERALLY on the PTA hes a school governor 

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (3/5)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 26,133

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

Despite the recently signed treaty -- or perhaps because of it -- Sylvanas did not hear from Jaina for nearly a week. It felt like a game. Like a childish staring contest, waiting to find who would be the first to blink. Even Nathanos pointed out that they should begin formal liaisons with Lady Waycrest in order to understand exactly what supplies and reinforcements she needed to fight off the Ashvane forces intent on invading eastern Drustvar. Sylvanas ignored him utterly, with orders to withhold any further gold or aid for the time being. 

And then a rapping came at her door in Swiftwind Post.

Nathanos answered it. The moment he opened the door, the harsh winds made the fire splutter in the hearth, threatening to extinguish the flames. Sitting at her desk opposite the fire, Sylvanas listened even while she continued to read the latest reports from Zandalar. 

“What is it?” Nathanos asked, his voice a gravelly murmur. 

“It’s the bird, Ranger Lord,” came the voice of one of her Forsaken guardsmen. “I know we aren’t supposed to -- er -- ‘develop a rapport’ but he says he has a message for the Dark Lady.” 

On cue, there followed a flapping of wings as Arthur flew inside and landed directly atop Nathanos’ head. To his credit, Nathanos remained perfectly still, holding the door open while Arthur made himself comfortable. 

“Sorry! Sorry!” said Arthur, scrambling to right himself. “It’s just very windy out there. Couldn’t stand it for another second.”

His black feathers were sticking up in all directions, and he looked positively harried. For a raven. 

Sylvanas lifted her attention from the parchment she had been reading. “Do make yourself comfortable,” she said sarcastically.

“Oh, why thank you! Don’t mind if I do.”

“I mind,” Nathanos growled, though his only motion was to shut the door firmly. 

Arthur seemed unconcerned by this addendum, for he began to preen in an attempt to fix his feathers. 

“Arthur,” said Sylvanas sharply.

“Hmm?” Arthur lifted a wing and began running his beak along the longer flight feathers.

“You had a message for me?” she reminded him. 

“Right. Yes. I do.” Shuffling his tail, Arthur righted himself atop Nathanos’ head and said, “The High Thornspeaker has bid you come over for tea. Wait -- you don’t need to eat or drink anymore, do you? A meeting. She bids you come over for a meeting.”

“When?” Sylvanas enunciated the word very clearly, letting her irritation through despite herself. 

“When it suits,” Arthur answered. “And by that I mean: now.”

How impatient humans were. And how mercurial. Rolling her eyes, Sylvanas set down the sheet of parchment and scraped back her chair to stand. “Where are we meeting?” 

“Her house.”

Sylvanas’ steps slowed in her approach to the door. “At Gol Inath?” 

“What?” Arthur sounded taken aback. “No. Nobody actually lives at Gol Inath. That would be terrible. And uncomfortable. And -”

“All right, yes. I get the point.” 

Holding out her hand, Sylvanas transferred Arthur from Nathanos’ head to her own shoulder. An act which did very little to improve Nathanos’ mood; he glowered mutely at the raven as though he were a stain upon Sylvanas’ pauldron. But there was no point in denying Arthur’s place on her shoulder when he would end up there regardless of what she did. 

“Hold down the fort,” she said to Nathanos before she left. 

For all that Arthur had said ‘now’, it was a four day’s trek by horse to the Crimson Forest from Swiftwind Post. Sylvanas managed to get this down to three days by taking an eagle to Arom’s Stand, and then walking the rest of the way. And even then, Arthur had clung to her shoulder the whole trip. He did not seem to need to sleep, much to her dismay.

Sylvanas had expected Jaina to live in the heart of the Crimson Forest. Somewhere near the great tree of Gol Inath. Or perhaps in a hovel dug into the ground, like a wolf’s den. Maybe in a swamp like a bog witch. She did not expect Jaina to live in a nondescript cabin along the westernmost reaches of the Crimson Forest, where the woods met the cliffs, their branches raking against the overcast sky. The trees were set at a severe angle from the sea, whence the winds raced. Now, the treeline rolled with a slow-moving fog. It obscured the cliff’s edge, so that Sylvanas’ every step taken was wary. She could hear the roar of the nearby ocean. Sea salt scented the air, mingling with the smell of fresh damp earth and the darker smells of the forest. 

The cabin was nestled amidst the trees. It peered out over the nearby cliffside through the mist. It was -- for lack of a better word -- cosy. It had a thatched roof and vine-clutched walls. There was an iron-wrought lantern lit beside the front door. The windows glowed with internal firelight. 

It was not the sort of place a terrifying primal Druid lived. There wasn't a single cursed wicker effigy in sight. 

Jaina herself was walking around the perimeter of the cabin. There was no way she could have spotted Sylvanas and Arthur approaching through the soupy fog, but she looked around when they got within a certain range. At that point, Sylvanas could feel something settling over her skin. As though she had just walked through a spider's web. The wards allowed her to pass however, and she continued striding forward.

"You're early," Jaina remarked, when Sylvanas was near enough. 

"I was told I should arrive urgently," was Sylvanas' reply. 

"Really? I wasn't expecting you for another day."

Sylvanas shot Arthur a scathing look, and he ducked his feathery head in an almost sheepish manner.

"Well, would you look at the time!" Arthur said far too loudly. "I gotta go. Bye!"

And with that, he flew off from Sylvanas' shoulder, heading deeper into the trees. 

When Sylvanas turned from watching his retreat, Jaina was looking at her with an expression of calm amusement. Her skull mask was nowhere to be seen. Even her robes were more casual than during their past encounters. She had foregone the druidic trinkets and the cloak, leaving only a comfortable set of robes that she had hiked up around her knees to free up her stride. Her feet were muddy and bare. Fresh scratch marks adorned her skin in narrow red lines from where she had pushed through the thorny underbrush. Despite this, the robes were fastened high enough at her throat that her neck was covered. Perhaps to ward off the chill in the air. 

"Come on in, then." Jaina motioned for Sylvanas to follow her. 

Sylvanas did so without questioning why she was here. At the front door, Jaina washed her feet in a pail of water that had been left outside for just that purpose. She shot Sylvanas' boots a pointed look. Bending over, Sylvanas unbuckled her greaves and boots. She left them beside the door alongside her weapons before she was ushered inside. 

The interior of the cabin was warm and bare-timbered. Along the wall nearest the door, the skull mask had been hung on a peg as though it were a commonplace gentleman's hat. As though Jaina sometimes were too preoccupied, and would have forgotten to wear it out and about if not for its strategic location by the exit. Jaina moved through the house with a familiarity that spoke of years of dwelling here. She crossed over to the fireplace and swung a blackened kettle over the flames. 

"Tea?" she asked. 

"No, thank you," Sylvanas demurred. 

With a shrug, Jaina went about preparing a pot for herself, leaving Sylvanas to stroll about the main floor. The place was crammed with books and scrolls. Every nook and cranny heaped up with them. They were stacked in corners. They were jammed into shelves built along the walls. They crowded the little table before the fireplace, and even the stairs leading to a loft where Sylvanas could just spy a bed. To climb those stairs would have required someone to pick their way up each step along a narrow path precariously perched with old tomes and a leftover cup of tea teetering near the top rail.  

Picking a book at random from a nearby shelf, Sylvanas inspected its leather-bound cover without any real interest in its contents. “Where did you get all of these?”

“Libraries,” Jaina answered vaguely without turning around. 

Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow at the title of another book’s spine. It was a rare Thalassian text that she herself had only ever heard about in her studies at home. “Drustvar doesn’t strike me as a place that is teeming with libraries. Especially not libraries with books like these.”

“Some of them I inherited from Ulfar. Others I was gifted by Lucille.”

Shuffling idly through a few pages, Sylvanas snapped the book shut between her hands. “And the rest?”

Jaina made a non-committal sound. “The rest I borrowed, you might say. From Dalaran.”

Sylvanas paused. Then, she placed the book back in its place. “So, when you’re not terrorising the local population, you steal books from the Grand Library of the Kirin Tor.”

“Just another one of my charming hobbies,” Jaina drawled. She finished spooning the proper amount of tea leaves into the pot and stoppered the jar, setting it aside. “I used to think it was a game when I was younger. Teleporting into the Violet Citadel and raiding the Grand Library for a new book to read before they could figure out I was even there.”

“I fail to see how triggering the wards of the world’s most powerful wizarding city could be considered a game.”

“Oh, the wards were the best part. They’re fun little puzzles, and you have to solve for the exact right piece to get in without being noticed.”

"You're mad."

Jaina laughed, and the sound was surprisingly light. "Maybe."

"Were you ever caught?"

"Once." Jaina leaned back in her seat, waiting for the water to boil. "But I just pretended to be an Archmage's apprentice, and they let me go pretty promptly. I was young. And afterwards, I was a lot more cautious about my little dalliances outside of Drustvar."

Sylvanas turned back to perusing the shelves. In one corner of the room there was a pantry stuffed full of goods, both fresh and preserved, home gathered and even purchased from the markets of Corlain. Sylvanas could recall a few goods in particular from the weekend markets, but she had no memory of seeing anyone matching Jaina's description there. Perhaps the locals left offerings of food at the edge of the Crimson forest, as if to a vengeful god living nearby. Or perhaps, given Jaina's obvious predilection towards sneaking into places, she had simply disguised herself with a spell and walked through the markets without a care in the world. Both seemed equally likely.

"And Ulfar let you go?" Sylvanas asked.

"As if he had a choice. I was -- how would my brothers put it? -- a filthy little bilge rat brat."

Sylvanas huffed with laughter. "That sounds about right."

"About me? Or about my brothers?"

"Yes." She aimed a smirk over her shoulder at Jaina, who appeared unfazed. "I have siblings as well, you know."

"Let me guess..." Jaina held up her hands as though framing Sylvanas in a canvas picture. "Middle child?"

"Says the youngest. I bet you were spoiled rotten."

Jaina's smile slipped. "Being the baby in the family only got me so far. If anything it made things worse in the end."

With a hum of understanding, Sylvanas dragged her fingers along the spines of a row of books. Motes of dust wheeled in the air in their wake. She paused when she arrived at a wad of pages that had been stuck between two books. There were noises behind her of Jaina swinging the kettle away from the fire and filling the teapot. With her host distracted, Sylvanas dug out the pages, careful to shield her actions with her body.

"Find anything of interest over there?" Jaina asked.

"Why? Are you afraid that I'll steal them?" Sylvanas shot back, keeping her tone light even as she managed to pry the pages free. They were pretty firmly stuck between the books, and the threat of tearing the wafer-thin paper persisted until she had loosened them enough.

"I was about to say you could borrow one, actually."

"According to you, those two things are the same."

A snort of laughter, the creak of iron as Jaina hung the kettle back into place, then the gentle clink of porcelain against porcelain. Turning over the first page in her hand, Sylvanas went very still. One edge of the pages were ragged, as though they had been ripped out of a book. And on the first sheet there was a drawing labelled: 'Fig. 66 - The Hero in Thros.' The drawing was done in a familiar style, all in cross-hatched ink, sketched by a studious hand. It portrayed a man hanging by the neck from a tree. He was impaled through the chest by a broken sword, his toes dangling over a body of water. A massive raven crouched on his shoulder. It was plucking out his eye and eating it.

A sudden chill washed over her despite the warmth of the cabin. Her thumb traced over the side of the image as she studied it.

Behind her, Jaina sighed, and her chair creaked as though she had just leaned back. "Come sit down. Let's chat."

Sylvanas had the urge to steal the pages, to hastily stuff them into a leather pouch at her belt and cause a scene which allowed her to leave without Jaina being any wiser of her actions. It would be a retributive kind of justice. A theft for a theft. Surely, Jaina wouldn't notice the missing pages anytime soon. But instead, Sylvanas folded the pages back up and put them where she had found them. When she turned, it was to find that Jaina was blowing on her mug of tea, which steamed in her hands.

"Chat," Sylvanas repeated. "About what exactly?"

Jaina must have noticed the sudden chill in Sylvanas' voice, for her head swung towards her with a startled frown. "About us. The Horde and Kul Tiras. About our plans moving forward."

"Is that all?"

Slowly, Jaina lowered her mug so that it was cradled in her lap. "What else do you think this is?"

"You tell me. You're the one who invited me here, after playing hard to get." Hearing her own words, Sylvanas' eyes widened fractionally. "Ah. I see. So, that's what this is about."

Jaina's face screwed up in confusion. "What?"

Reaching for her gauntlets, Sylvanas began to unbuckle them. She slid them from her hands, pulling off the gloves beneath them as she went. She approached the long, low-slung couch before the fireplace, tossing the gloves and gauntlets onto the backs of the cushions. "If you had told me this was what you wanted to begin with, we could have avoided this whole song and dance. Honestly, what a bore."

Jaina watched Sylvanas' actions with increasing bewilderment. Yet her gaze followed every small section of exposed pale skin beneath layers of armour. When Sylvanas began to unbuckle her pauldrons and cloak, draping them over the back of the couch as well, Jaina said, "I have no idea what you're implying."

"I've never been that inclined to using this as a means of negotiation, but I suppose you aren't so bad." The gorget was cast aside, and Sylvanas ran a bare hand through her hair. It was bleached in undeath, a pale mockery of its former golden hue. "If you would like to help me with the cuirass, this would all be a lot easier."

"Help you with your -?" Finally, realisation dawned on Jaina's face. Her jaw dropped. And then she began to laugh. It sounded equal parts amused, incredulous, and nervous. "What? No! This isn't -! No. I don't know how you could have possibly gotten that impression."

Hands freezing on the stays of her cuirass, Sylvanas shot her a disbelieving look. "You're serious."

Jaina managed to school her expression, but for the tell-tale curve of her lips in a smile, and the slight pink tinge to her cheeks. "Very serious. This is not a seduction attempt. Though, I'm flattered you would consider it. I think?" She lifted her cup of tea to her mouth for a contemplative sip. "Yes, I've decided I'm flattered."

"Then why have you brought me here? Surely you must want something."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina cupped her mug between her hands. "If we're going to be working together, then I want to get to know you better." Sylvanas’ expression must have been skeptical, for Jaina straightened in her seat, looking indignant. “I mean it. I just want to talk.”

With a lilting hum, Sylvanas rounded the couch. She pushed aside her various articles of armour, and sat down. She did not bother putting it all back on just yet. Not when Jaina’s good eye lingered along the hints of Sylvanas’ figure beneath all that remaining leather and chainmail, before she realised exactly what she was doing and shook her head, as though annoyed with herself. 

Sylvanas casually crossed her legs at the knee and leaned back, slinging one arm over the top of the cushions. “Ask your questions, then,” she permitted in a magnanimous tone that made Jaina snort into her cup of tea. 

Despite the approval, Jaina did not say anything immediately. She thought for a moment. “What is your next step? After Kul Tiras, I mean.”

“Do you mean: do I intend to wage a pointless war with the Alliance, during which thousands of lives will be lost all for the sake of seeing Horde banners spread across a map?” Sylvanas sneered at the idea. “No. I won’t roll over for the Alliance, but I won’t fight them without good reason, either.” 

“So, you think there can be peace between your factions?”

Sylvanas toyed with a frayed edge of the pillow. “I think peace is only permitted when people have nothing to gain.”

“That’s very pessimistic of you.”

“Dying a few times does that.”

For some reason that reply made Jaina’s brows furrow. She tapped at the sides of her mug, then asked, “Do you -?”

“Ah, ah, ah.” Sylvanas raised a finger and waggled it as though at a spoiled child. “For every question you ask, I get to ask one in return. You want to be fair to your new ally, don’t you?”

With a huff of irritation, Jaina sipped at her tea and nodded for Sylvanas to continue. 

Carefully watching for Jaina’s reaction, Sylvanas asked, “If your brother had lived, if he had become the Lord Admiral and this civil war had never happened, what would you do?” 

Jaina answered without a hint of hesitation, “I would attempt to mend bridges between the Drust and the Kul Tirans, starting with my influence with House Waycrest.” 

“Your ambitions are rather…” Sylvanas sought the right word. “...lacklustre.” 

“And yours are rather megalomanic,” Jaina shot back. 

Sylvanas merely shrugged off the accusation.

“My turn.” Sitting forward in her seat to pour herself another cup of tea, Jaina said, “Do you like being Warchief of the Horde?”

“It is an honour, and a title I am proud to bear,” Sylvanas said the words like a mantra she told her constituents. The only thing Orcs loved more than strength was honour. Or at least the loose concept of it. 

“Yes, but do you like it?”

The immediate acerbic response died in Sylvanas’ mouth. She narrowed her eyes, her tongue running over the backs of her teeth in quiet contemplation. “I like power. I like the control it gives me. Do I like being Warchief?” Sylvanas tilted her head side to side as though weighing two options in her mind. “No more than I liked being Ranger-General, I suppose. But most of all I despise being helpless. Weak. At the beck and call of others. That is a fate I will not endure again.” 

Jaina hummed an understanding note. “I understand your past has been fraught -- for lack of a better word. The Emerald Dream can sometimes offer catharsis, if you have the right guide. I can take you back, if you wish.”

“Is that what you did with your horrible wicker man in the woods the first time I was trying to find Gol Inath?” Sylvanas’ lip curled. “I have no desire to Dream again. Nor will I ever.”

“Suit yourself,” Jaina muttered into her mug. 

Sylvanas gestured towards the scar on Jaina’s face. “How did you get that?” 

Reaching up with one hand, Jaina traced the scar that slashed down the right side of her brow and cheek. Her blind eye peered from between the cage of her fingers. “I was foolhardy and brash,” she answered with a tight smile. She lowered her hand. “It’s a wound of overconfidence. I rushed in and my opponent dipped when I thought he was going to dash, so to speak. And I paid the price for it.”

Jaina was dodging the question, but Sylvanas could not deny that she herself had done the same. Instead she remarked, “I’m amazed your eye survived intact.”

“It didn’t,” Jaina said darkly. “But it’s my turn, now.” She waited for Sylvanas to motion her to continue, and then asked, “Are there times you wish you were still alive?”

The contest of who would blink first was back. Sylvanas was strongly reminded of a childhood game she and her siblings used to play. Two truths and a lie. Each player had to guess which of the three statements was false. Vereesa always lost. She was too easy to read. 

Now, Sylvanas wondered if this were really an exercise about building trust -- as Jaina had implied -- or if it were only a means of sussing out the other player’s tell. A pity for Jaina. Sylvanas was an expert at this game. The trick was to cheat and always tell the truth. 

How that truth twisted itself to meet reality was another proposition entirely. 

“Yes. All the time.” The truth wrenched itself from Sylvanas’ lips in a hiss that made the fireplace flicker. “Do you ever wish you had been sent to the Tidesages or the Kirin Tor, instead of being smuggled off to the Drust?”

The firelight played across Jaina’s face, casting her blind eye in shadow so that it seemed to peer like a nocturnal animal’s through the gloom. “Yes,” she said softly. “All the time.”

A log in the fireplace cracked and popped. Jaina set down her tea on the table in order to lean forward and prod at the fire with an iron poker that had been leaning against her seat for just that purpose. She set the poker back down, but left her tea on the table. When she spoke she seemed to address the hearth, “How many times have you died?”

“Why does it matter?”

“Do you want to finish the game?” Jaina countered, turning her head back towards Sylvanas.

So, she thought it was a game, too. Convenient. Baring her teeth in a grim smile, Sylvanas said, “Three times.”

A strange expression flickered across Jaina’s face, but it left as quickly as it had come. Sylvanas tried to figure out what exactly it had meant, why that number was significant, but Jaina was watching her expectantly for another question. And so Sylvanas asked, “When you Dream, what do you see?”

Jaina’s mouth opened, then shut again. She busied herself with unfastening the tucked up hems of her robes so that they hung around her ankles once more. Finally, she said far too casually, “I see many things in the Emerald Dream.” 

“That’s not an answer.” 

Shooting Sylvanas a bitter look, Jaina steeled herself before saying, “I see a tree that grows from the sea. Its canopy reaches the stars. Its roots pierce the depths. I am hanging from its branches. I see my father’s flagship wrestling the waves. He stands on the quarterdeck and yells every vile curse he can think of at me. He calls me a plague upon his House. He calls me the ruin of Kul Tiras. And beneath the shadow of the tree, the Great Fleet burns, and I can hear-” 

She cut herself off, clearing her throat and looking away towards the hearth once more, as though it might offer her some solace. 

“Yes, that sounds very cathartic,” Sylvanas said dryly.  

Drawing herself up, Jaina grabbed her tea from the table and took a heady gulp. “My Dreaming is different. It’s -” she grimaced. “- compromised. I can guide people through, but when I enter by myself, things get complicated.” 

Sylvanas sighed. “Trust a Druid to never just give a straight answer. What cryptic nonsense.”

“Like yours are any better.” Jaina tried to regain her airs of nonchalance, but it was ruined by the way she kept fiddling with the now empty mug in her lap. “Do you really think we can win this war?”

A slow confident smile tugged at the corner of Sylvanas’ mouth. “Now that I’m here? Absolutely.”

Jaina shot her an exasperated look. “Are you always this cocky?”

“Is that another question?”

Waving her away, Jaina said, “No, no. It’s your turn again.”

Sylvanas thought of hanged men. She thought of pages torn out of books. She thought of Gorak Tul, of ancient Drust, of secrets stashed between dusty tomes in Jaina’s personal library. Leaning forward on the couch, Sylvanas rested her elbows upon her knees. “Why don’t you like Arthur talking about what happened in Thros?”

Immediately Jaina’s face hardened. Her once open and amiable airs vanished like a whirl of smoke in a gale. Gone were the teasings of camaraderie, the mutual probing for information -- parry, riposte -- and in its place an unyielding quality in her gaze. Even without the mask and the dressings of the High Thornspeaker, she was once again that terrifying figure who loomed in the maw of Gol Inath, crowned in bone and blood and starlight.  

“I think we’re done with our game for today,” Jaina said with a voice like cold iron. “You may show yourself out now, Sylvanas. No doubt we will be seeing each other again soon.”

--

A gale was spitting down rain at Swiftwind Post. Sylvanas stood at the window of the second floor command building. She watched the tussock grass and heath far below the hills billowing in the wind like a sea of copper and verdigris. The land of eastern Drustvar was dotted with new snow. Patches of white gathered in the saddles of hills and the corners of valleys. Even now the wind drove the bluffs with flecks of white mixed through with rain. The air held a biting chill that would only continue to deepen as the land settled into its winter months with the inevitability of the grave.

Sylvanas’ personal quarters were bare. There was a bed with dark cotton sheets, in which she never slept. A single unoccupied chair crouched in one corner, its legs spidery; they creaked under the slightest weight. She had brought no personal effects with her to Kul Tiras. Indeed, she kept no personal effects in Grommash Hold either. Any scraps dear to her were locked away in the Undercity, or otherwise buried and decaying in Windrunner Spire. This room on Swiftwind Post was a mere placeholder. A simulacrum of personal space. A place where she could -- upon occasion -- be alone with her thoughts. It might as well have been a broom cupboard. 

She was looking north, as if trying to see a glimpse of the landscape in that direction. But not even her gaze could pierce the veil of rain and snow that blurred the distance into a canvas of faded white. Barrowknoll was a three day’s march north of their current position. She would need to walk the ground there herself before long.

It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Anya’s reports. Only that she did not trust this place to be what it seemed. And there was something about Barrowknoll that Jaina was refusing to tell her. It made Sylvanas uneasy.

A soft knock sounded at the door. Sylvanas did not turn around. Her reflection in the glass painted a grim overlay to the landscape beyond. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Nathanos stepped inside. Snow melted on his shoulders. He bowed. “You have guests.”

“Who?”

“Lady Lucille Waycrest.”

Sylvanas remained still as a statue, her hands clasped behind her back. “I will receive her here. Have her come up.”

Executing another shallow bow, Nathanos murmured, “Yes, my Queen.”

When he departed, he left the door open a sliver. The sound of voices drifted up the stairs, followed by the hesitant creak of footsteps on the stairwell. Sylvanas did not need to turn around to know that Lucille was dawdling just outside the room; she could hear the intrusion of her breathing, of her furiously beating heart.

“Do you think I am going to devour you in my lair?” Syvlanas drawled, keeping a close eye on the window, even while using the reflection in the glass to see what lay behind her.

Lucille’s reflection cautiously pushed the door open a little wider, but she still did not cross the threshold. “You do seem the type, you know.”

Sylvanas smiled to herself, and with her back turned her amused expression was not visible from the door. “If only your friend in the woods treated me with such caution.”

“She doesn’t scare easily.”

“So, I gathered.” Turning around at last, Sylvanas fixed Lucille in place with her gaze. “What can I do for you today, Lady Waycrest?”

Lucille stepped inside, bracing herself as though for a blow. “Quite the opposite, actually. You once asked me if there was something I could do for you.”

Now, that piqued Sylvanas’ interest. She leaned her shoulder against the window frame. Her armour scraped against the wood there. “Yes. I remember.”

“I have someone who needs shelter, and has sought me out for it. But if I were to give it to them, I would put a target on both our heads.”

Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow. “I fail to see how sheltering someone for you gives me anything of use.”

Shaking her head, Lucille said boldly, "You are mistaken, Sylvanas. I am doing you a favour."

Upon hearing her name, Sylvanas’ face darkened. Her eyes blazed, but when she spoke her voice was deadly quiet. "You will call me 'Dark Lady' or 'Warchief.'"

Lucille took an abortive step back, only to steel herself. "But Jaina calls you Sylvanas."

"You are not Jaina."

Nervously, Lucille wet her lower lip. Still, she held her ground. “Maybe not. But I have something you want, even if you don’t know it yet.”

Arms crossed, Sylvanas tapped her fingers against her opposite arm. The motion made a metallic click every time her clawed gauntlets touched her armour. “And if I do this for you? What do you expect in return?”

“Ten thousand soldiers,” said Lucille without a hint of hesitation.

Sylvanas blinked. “I’m sorry.” She pretended to shift her hood as though it had obstructed her ears. “I thought I just heard you say you want me to nearly double your forces in exchange for giving a single person shelter.”

Back straight, jaw squared, Lucille nodded. “That’s right.”

“I’m struggling to tell whether your intention was to make me laugh, or to make me angry.”

“Just -” Lucille waved her over. “- come downstairs? Please? I’ve brought my guest with me.”

Nathanos had mentioned guests. Plural. And Sylvanas would be lying if she said she wasn’t intrigued by the boldness of Kul Tirans, if nothing else. 

Pushing away from the window, Sylvanas strode towards the door. When she brushed past Lucille, she growled, “If this is a waste of my time, then I’m going to be very irritated.”

“It won’t be,” Lucille insisted, but she sounded less sure of herself when Sylvanas was glaring at her over her shoulder than when Sylvanas was safely across an empty room. 

The stairs did not creak beneath Sylvanas’ feet when she descended to the first floor, though the creaking came when Lucille followed closely after her. Voices continued to murmur from downstairs, growing louder with every step Sylvanas took. When she reached the bottom step and turned, she froze, her ears canting up in shock. 

Katherine Proudmoore was seated in a chair by the fire. She was engaged in a pleasant conversation with a Highmountain Tauren druid standing beside her, who was serving her tea. Sylvanas had not even been aware that they stocked tea at Swiftwind Post, but apparently they did when the Lord Admiral visited. Katherine’s legs were crossed. A silver falcon-headed cane leaned against one side of her chair. 

When the Tauren noticed his Warchief’s presence, he jerked upright, nearly scraping his impressive rack of antlers against the ceiling. The teapot seemed sized for a gnome when clutched between his massive hands. 

For her part, Katherine merely turned to look in Sylvanas’ direction, calmly sipping at her cup of tea. “Oh, good. You’ve finally deigned to grace us with your presence.”

Sylvanas regained her composure quickly. She inclined her head towards Katherine. “Lord Admiral. I was not expecting to see you so soon.”

“Lucky you,” Katherine said dryly. “I would stand to greet you, but -” she tapped the head of her cane with her elbow. “- needs must.”

Eyes flicking towards the Tauren, Sylvanas jerked her head to the door. Without question, he set the teapot down and departed with a bow. 

Sylvanas approached, placing her hands behind her back. “An old war wound or a new one?”

Shrugging, Katherine sipped at her tea. “A bit of both.” 

Sylvanas stopped by the fireplace. There were no other seats, save her own behind the large desk on the other side of the room, and one across from it for the rare occasion when one of her rangers or generals were delivering a report. She cocked her head curiously down at Katherine, then looked over at Lucille. “Why did you bring her to me here and not to -?”

Before Sylvanas could finish her sentence, Lucille shook her head sharply from where she stood at the foot of the stairs. Sylvanas stopped speaking, her mouth shutting with a click of fangs. Katherine frowned between the two of them. 

“Bring me to whom?” Katherine asked, lowering her teacup and saucer so that they rested upon one knee. 

Lucille did not say anything, but she was still giving Sylvanas a significant look that spoke volumes. 

“Nobody,” Sylvanas lied smoothly, her face giving away nothing. “I only meant to inquire as to why Lady Waycrest cannot shelter you herself.”

Katherine appeared entirely unconvinced by these antics. Her storm-steel gaze moved to Lucille, trying to see if she would be the first to crack, but Lucille held her ground. Eventually, Katherine turned her attention back to Sylvanas, and she explained, “My enemies know that my last base of power is within Drustvar. What with my family being from the region originally. Lucille is a distant niece, of sorts. I knew she wouldn’t turn me away, should I be desperate.” 

“I see.” Sylvanas did not mention that Katherine had called Lucille ‘a paltry ally’ during their last discussion, though she was sorely tempted to do so. Instead, she said,  “And you don’t want to give your position away by running directly into the safety of Waycrest Manor.” 

“It’s best that my exact location remains unknown. For now, in any case.”

“Which begs the obvious question.” Sylvanas took a step closer, so that she stood between Katherine and the fire, so that she was silhouetted in flame. “Why?”

Lips pursed, Katherine picked up her cup of tea once more. She seemed to mull over her answer in the dregs, before draining them as if for courage. “The Great Fleet is in turmoil. Lord Stormsong has declared himself Lord Admiral on the basis that I have no Heir, and therefore must give up my claim to the title. He has children of his own. His line is secure.” 

From the sidelines, Lucille added, “He also controls the Tidesages, who are assigned to every major ship of the line.”

But Katherine waved that detail away impatiently. “Yes, but that is not what swayed over half the Navy to fly the colours of House Stormsong.” 

“And what is your plan?” Sylvanas pressed. “How do you intend to win back the Navy’s loyalty?”

At that, Katherine’s eyes flashed. Glowering at Sylvanas, she set aside her cup of tea and sat up in her seat. “The Great Fleet of Kul Tiras remains devoted to the Admiralty. That is not within question. This is a problem of succession, not of loyalty.” 

“Then who do you intend to name as your Heir?” Sylvanas gestured towards Lucille with a sneer. “Her?” 

Lucille looked affronted at the notion. Meanwhile, Katherine shook her head sharply. “Certainly not. Lucille hasn’t a drop of Proudmoore blood in her. Whoever it is must be related to Daelin’s line, or the balance will never be restored. As soon as the Ashvanes and Stormsongs have finished sweeping up Drustvar, they will turn on each other, and Kul Tiras may know civil war for generations.”

And yet for reasons unknown, Lucille had stopped Sylvanas from mentioning Jaina’s name at all. She could tell her anyway. Doubtlessly both Katherine and Jaina would be in her debt. 

But instead Sylvanas smiled. “Well, well. How times change,” she murmured. She approached Katherine’s chair and picked up the falcon-headed cane. “One moment you did not want my help, or even to keep my company. Now you need both.”

Katherine’s expression was pinched and sour. “Elves always did love the sound of their own voices. Spit it out. What do you want in return?”

For a moment Sylvanas merely toyed with the cane, tracing the falcon’s beak with her thumb. When she put pressure beneath the curved beak, the grip came away, revealing that it was in fact a sword cleverly disguised as a mere walking implement. Admiring it, Sylvanas sheathed the weapon once more. 

“Nothing.” Sylvanas handed the cane back over to Katherine. “Yet. You may stay at our encampment on the Eastern Cliffs near Falconhurst. You will be safer there. It’s further from the action.”

Snatching the cane sword from Sylvanas’ hands, Katherine snapped, “I didn’t spend the last six years of my life at sea commanding Azeroth’s greatest Navy only to hide from battle like some milksop.”

“I think the Golden Fleet of Zandalar might have opinions about that particular statement, but I’ll not quibble over semantics.” She stepped away from Katherine so that she was no longer looming over her. “You may remain at Swiftwind Post, but I am assigning you a protection detail.”

Propping her cane back against the side of the chair, Katherine sniffed. “Jailors, more like.”

“Your bodily safety is of utmost importance. And, I’ll admit -” Sylvanas said, “I cannot permit you to just waltz about my camp without some manner of escort. If you speak with me beforehand, I can arrange for my people to take you wherever you need. Within reason, of course.” 

An expression of hastily restrained disgust flickered across Katherine’s features. “You don’t mean for my guardsmen to be Undead, do you?”

Sylvanas levelled a dark look at her. “You come crawling to my doorstep,” she hissed. “and you have the gall to -?”

To her surprise, Katherine sighed. She brought a gloved hand to her face and rubbed at her brow. When Katherine looked back up, the steel had gone from her shoulders. In the place of the implacable Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras, there sat a tired old woman. Her voice was warmer, softer, more sincere. “Forgive me, Sylvanas. That was inappropriate, given the circumstances.” 

Scowling, Sylvanas bit back the acrid taste of indignation and something uglier that brewed in her gut. She did not realise the fire had dimmed in the presence of her anger until the shadows lengthened across the room. It was a challenge to keep her words low and even. “They will be Tauren, if you prefer.”

To that Katherine said nothing. She merely inclined her head in quiet acceptance. 

From the base of the stairs, Lucille cleared her throat. “So, she can say your name, too?” she accused, pointing at Katherine. 

Sylvanas rolled her eyes. “Last I checked, you’re not the Lord Admiral, either.” 

Sylvanas walked towards the front door and opened it. A quick command was all it took for the Highmountain Tauren from before to tower in the doorframe. He needed to turn sideways and duck down in order to step inside. Once through the door, he stooped, his massive shoulders remaining hunched. 

Sylvanas gestured to him. “This is Tatanka Thunderchaser. He will be your escort and primary point of contact. Tatanka,” she pointed to Katherine. “This is the Lord Admiral, and your new ward until I say otherwise.” 

Katherine was rising to her feet, one hand using the cane and the other pushing off from the arm of the chair. She took inventory of Tatanka’s appearance, his dark shaggy fur, his palmate antlers, the streaks of bold red paint around his face and arms. When he bowed to her, she returned the gesture with surprising grace for someone who walked with a heavy limp in every other step. 

“I don’t suppose you have any more of that excellent tea of yours?” Katherine asked as she crossed the room towards him. “Honestly, you could make a fortune smuggling the stuff into Boralus.”

His answering chuckle was a deep rumble in his chest. “I’m not much of a smuggler, Lord Admiral, but I’m sure we can manage another cup for an honoured guest.”

When he offered his arm, she took it. As the druid was showing Katherine out -- the two of them already engaged in friendly conversation once more -- Lucille went to follow but Sylvanas stopped her with a hand at her upper arm. 

“Not you.” Sylvanas murmured. “I would like a few more words with you before you slip away again, Lady Waycrest.”

Lucille winced, and Sylvanas loosened her grip. She hadn’t thought she had been holding her so tightly, but that seemed to do little to lessen Lucille’s discomfort. Sylvanas released her entirely, and Lucille shuffled away a few steps until there was some distance between them. 

Ah. So, that was the issue. 

“If we’re going to be allies, you’re going to have to pretend to tolerate my presence,” Sylvanas said dryly. The sting of social stigma had long since lost its bite. Sylvanas barely felt it these days. Not unless there was some sudden rude reminder of her past -- seeing her sisters; seeing her homeland. 

“It’s not that,” Lucille insisted, even as she balled her hands into fists and looked anywhere but at Sylvanas. “It’s just -” She made a weak gesture towards the cabin that served as Sylvanas’ headquarters. She appeared faintly ill. “I have bad memories. Of the Undead. Of witches. Of my family. It’s not you, or your people.”

Sylvanas had heard stories of the Drust incursion some years ago, the conflict that took the lives of the previous Lord and Lady Waycrest. How Lady Meredith Waycrest had attempted to summon Gorak Tul into the mortal world, leading a coven of witches, corrupting her husband into a ghoulish construct, defiling Waycrest Manor until it was a ghostly shadow of itself, teeming with undead. The people of Corlain still whispered that the place was haunted. What Sylvanas had seen of it atop the hill had loomed like a gothic portrait, all spires and gargoyles and clinging darkness lanced through with lightning, something she might read about in a penny dreadful sold on the streets of Dampwick Ward. 

“I shall maintain my distance, then.” Tilting her head, Sylvanas indicated that Lucille should take a seat upon the chair opposite her desk. She herself rounded the desk and sat in her own seat. Sylvanas waited until Lucille had made herself comfortable -- or at least given the semblance of comfort, given her obvious uneasiness around the Undead -- before speaking, “Now, tell me: why the secrecy about our beloved High Thornspeaker?”

Lucille did not answer immediately. She fiddled with a pleat in her dress. “I’ve known Jaina for a long time. Since we were children,” she finally said. “When she disappeared into the forest, I didn’t see her for years. And when she came back out she was -” Lucille shrugged. “- different. Harder. She’s had every opportunity to go back to Boralus after her father died, but she’s never done it. I may not know the reasons why she stays away from her family, but I know better than anyone that family can be...complicated.” 

Sylvanas grimaced. Her only reply was a hummed note of distaste and understanding in the back of her throat.

Clasping her hands together in her lap in an attempt to keep herself from fidgeting, Lucille straightened in her seat. “Use Katherine as leverage, if you must. Oh, don’t give me that look. I know what this is about. I’m not stupid. But please -” Lucille cast Sylvanas a pleading glance. “- speak with Jaina first before saying anything. That’s all I ask.”

“That rather defeats the purpose of leverage,” Sylvanas drawled. “But your point is well received. I am not as cruel as you might have been led to believe.”

Lucille’s expression could only be described as wary. Like a prey animal that was locked in a cage with a lion. “Aren’t you?”

Sylvanas smiled at her, baring a bit of fang. “Only to my enemies, Lady Waycrest. Are you my enemy?”

Hastily, Lucille shook her head.

“How fortunate, then.” Picking up a pen, Sylvanas dipped it into an inkwell. She pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards her, and began to make notes. “Now, I’m going to need some information from you about your latest deployments and military expenditures. How is your supply corps holding up?”

Lucille seemed startled by this sudden line of questioning. “They’re fine, as far as I’m aware. We have enough food to sustain us through to next spring even without Jaina's help. Why?”

“Because,” Sylvanas shot her an amused glance over the table, “I’m going to need to know, so I can give you those reinforcements you asked for.”

--

For the last two weeks, Jaina had been sending information regarding troop positions and plans via Lucille or Arthur. He would arrive in various animal forms outside Sylvanas' command centre at Swiftwind Post. Not once had he appeared human. Most notable was the time he shoved his way through the front door as a bear with twisted branches for legs and a bleached skull for a face. The Forsaken guardsmen had long since learned to recognise him on sight and let him in without any hassle, but Nathanos maintained that Arthur's manner was utterly inappropriate. Moreover, that Arthur ought to be taught a lesson on propriety in the presence of one's social betters. Nathanos would often say this while stroking the handle of an axe, glaring holes at Arthur, who in turn was completely unconcerned with the murderous intent nearby. 

Today thankfully he arrived in the form of a raven, which seemed to be his preferred form most times. "Knock, knock!" Arthur said as the Forsaken guard opened the door and allowed him to fly inside. 

When he landed on Sylvanas' desk, she did not even glance up at him. She continued reading her latest reports from Orgrimmar, news of border disputes and power plays between various internal factions. "Long flight?" she asked. 

"Not too bad, thank the Tides." 

"I hope you have good news for me."

He held out his leg, to which paper had been tightly bound in a coil. "Nothing but the best for you, Dark Lady."

She did look up at that. "My, my," she murmured, setting down her report and reaching forward to untie the scroll from his leg. "I see Nathanos has finally managed to teach you some manners."

Arthur held still until she had finished taking the scroll off, at which point he shuffled his feathers. "Anya told me I should call you that in private, and then call you by your first name when he was around."

Sylvanas snorted. "And you listened to her?"

"I like Anya. Even though she cheats at whist. And dice."

"Have you considered that Anya told you that so Nathanos would be even more tempted to shoot you?"

Arthur cocked his head in a very birdlike manner. "Maybe. She did seem kind of angry when I helped that old lady beat her at cards. But it seemed only fair."

A small chuckle escaped Sylvanas in spite of herself. She began to unroll the paper, but stopped with a furrow in her brow. "Wait. Old lady?"

"Yeah!" Arthur hopped around her desk, inspecting the map of Drustvar and its troop movements. "The one with the cane and the nice coat. Is she a defect from the Navy or something?"

Sylvanas did not know what information was more startling. That Katherine played Anya at cards and won -- no small feat in and of itself -- or that he did not know who the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras was on sight. Perhaps it spoke more to Arthur's own seclusion within the region. The Drust were not particularly fond of the Navy, and with good reason. Years of the press and other indignities did not endear them to Kul Tiras' ruling body. Or perhaps the Lord Admiral really was so lofty a position that the average citizen could never dream of seeing her in person. She had not noticed Kul Tiran currency stamped with the faces of their rulers, as was the custom in many other places. The coins and banknotes here tended towards abstract images: anchors, ship’s wheels, cephalopods, oars, and the like. 

Regardless, it was a mercy. Arthur was the High Thornspeaker’s eyes and ears at Swiftwind Post. News of Katherine’s presence in the camp would not have reached Jaina yet.

“You might say that, yes,” Sylvanas said. She tapped the scroll against her wrist, watching Arthur. When he began to pick up tokens in his beak and move them around the map -- as if purely out of corvid pique -- she rapped her knuckles against the desk, startling him. “Stop that.” 

He stopped, but only to hop over to another part of her desk, where he began fiddling with the bronze cast base of a candlestick. She placed the tokens back into place, then unfurled the scroll. It was a dry tally and update of the mustered Waycrest cavalry units at Corlain that would be making their way over the pass at Arom's Stand before the snows got too deep. Sylvanas made an unimpressed noise as she read over the brief report. There were barely enough mounted units to justify two cavalry battalions. But they would have to do for now, until the Horde reinforcements could arrive in three months time. By that point, the Waycrest forces would be wintering in Fallhaven and repelling a full-blown siege.

If only Jaina hadn't been so stubborn. They might have been able to muster a force to Drustvar's shores sooner.

Setting aside the report, Sylvanas picked up a pen from its inkwell. She tapped a swell of ink from its nib and then updated her own ledgers. "Arthur," she said.

"Hmm?" Arthur was busying himself with prying apart the candle-holder's handle with his beak. Better that than her maps and charts, she supposed.

"I need you to send a message to Jaina for me."

At that, he turned a milky white eye upon her. He did not seem to need to ever blink. "Sure thing. Do you want me to take a scroll or something?"

"That won't be necessary. Tell her -" Sylvanas set the pen away once more. She considered the words of her message very carefully before saying, "Tell her that I must speak with her urgently. About her appalling cavalry numbers."

"Appalling cavalry numbers," he repeated slowly under his breath, as though reciting it to memory. "Right. Got it!"

She added quickly, "And tell her I will come to her again. Save her the trip."

"No problem. I'm on it."

Despite his words, Arthur did not move. Sylvanas picked up another report but paused as he continued to watch her expectantly. "What?"

He lifted a clawed foot in her direction, his talons grasping the air. "Can you open the door for me?"

She scowled at him. "Turn into a human and do it yourself."

"If I call you Dark Lady again, will you do it for me? Please? Oh, Queen of the Forsaken?"

Sighing irritably, Sylvanas stood and crossed the room to open the door just to get him to leave. 

Less than a week later, Sylvanas was once again making her way through the Crimson Forest with Arthur on her shoulder. The fog had retreated from the sea. When she arrived at the white cliffs, she could see well into the distance, where the ocean silvered beneath an overcast sky. Her wine-dark cloak whipped about her ankles. The wards permitted her presence once again without issue, but Jaina was nowhere in sight. 

Sylvanas gave Arthur a questioning look, but he lifted his wings in an avian shrug. A brief reconnoiter around the cabin proved that Jaina was not there. Sylvanas was about ready to ask Arthur to see if he could scout around, when she heard a rustling in the trees behind them. Her long ears twitched towards the noise, and she turned. 

Jaina was trudging slowly towards the cabin. For a moment Sylvanas thought she was wearing the skull mask, until she saw that the antlers belonged to a stag. She was carrying the dead animal from the shadow of the woods, its front hooves draped over her shoulders so that its back hooves dragged along the ground behind her. Blood soaked her robes. It dripped from the animal carcass and down her neck. She left red footprints in her wake. When Jaina looked up, her eyes seemed to gleam through the dim dusky air, but that might have just been a trick of the light. 

"You have a habit of catching me at bad times," Jaina said by way of greeting.

Sylvanas nodded towards the stag. "Did you go hunting?"

"I did."

Jaina continued towards the cabin, dragging the stag beneath a partially covered awning that Sylvanas had originally thought existed for gardening purposes. She heaved the carcass onto a workbench, then wiped at her face with her hand. All it accomplished was smearing the blood even more. It was then that Sylvanas noticed her hands and arms were wrought of dark and twisted wood again. 

Jaina pointed to the hilt of the hunting knife tucked into Sylvanas' boot. "Can I borrow that?"

"Only if you give it back." Even as Sylvanas said it, she reached down to pass it over. Arthur shifted on her shoulder so that he could maintain his balance. 

Jaina took the knife. She carefully ran her thumb across its edge. The moment she did so, the woodgrain began to crawl down her arms, retracting into her skin until her hands were mere flesh once more. "I thought your people preferred gold over silver."

"If you are referring to the sin'dorei, you would be correct. But my family liked to give me gifts of silver as a reminder of my namesake." 

Jaina took a moment to admire the blade. "It's a fine piece of craftsmanship," she said. Then with a fluid motion she stuck its point into the deer's stomach, cutting a slit from its neck all the way down its belly. "You wanted to talk to me about my -- how did you put it? -- appalling cavalry numbers?"

With a glance at the raven on her shoulder, Sylvanas said, "Arthur, give us some privacy."

Arthur waited for Jaina's nod before he took flight and winged off back over the trees. 

“Well, now I’m worried,” said Jaina dryly, even as she returned to gutting the stag. She worked quickly and efficiently, dumping the organs into a bucket on the ground -- all but for the heart, which she carefully severed from the carcass. When she pulled it free, she inspected it thoroughly before setting it aside in a wicker basket on a corner of the benchtop.

Leaning against the wall of the cabin, Sylvanas crossed her arms in a creak of leather and chainmail. “An unexpected guest has shown up at my door at Swiftwind Post.”

"Are we playing a guessing game this time?" Using the knife, Jaina began to make strategic cuts in the deer's hide. "Was it Lady Ashvane? She is the type to be lured by the promise of coin, of which you seem to have plenty to spare."

Sylvanas watched as Jaina set aside the knife on the counter in order to lift the carcass onto a hook from the awning's frame so that the stag's head dangled almost to the ground. She would have offered her help, but Jaina hauled the dead weight around with surprising ease. 

"No," Sylvanas murmured. "In fact, it was your mother."

Jaina went stock still. Beneath the bloody smears, her face paled. She turned slowly to stare. "What?" she rasped.

"Lord Stormsong has proclaimed himself Lord Admiral, and she has lost the support of the Navy due to her lack of an Heir," Syvlanas explained. 

Jaina's hands were trembling slightly. She swallowed. "Does she -? Did you tell her about -?"

Sylvanas shook her head. 

A sigh of relief escaped Jaina. She chewed at her lower lip, then snatched up the knife, gripping it tight, and turned back to the carcass. "Good," she said. Then repeated more firmly. "That's good. That's -" Jaina had begun to use the knife to peel the hide starting at the stag's hind legs, but stopped. "Why didn't you tell her?"

There was suspicion in her voice. She was gripping the hunting knife in a white-knuckled grasp, her hands slicked red and gory. 

Sylvanas cocked her head and replied calmly. "Should I have?" 

"I don't know. I am trying to think of what you have to gain by coming to me first. Or maybe you're lying again."

"You can come to Swiftwind Post and see for yourself. She's currently terrorising my Dark Ranger at cards. I'm sure Anya would see your intervention as a kindness," Sylvanas offered with a shrug. "Or you can just ask Arthur."

Immediately Jaina shook her head. With jerky motions, she set the knife back down and began tugging the hide free in a single unbroken sheet with nothing but her bare hands. "No. I'm not ready. I can't -" Jaina drew in a deep shaky breath, and pulled hard on the hide. "I can't talk to her yet."

"I understand." 

Blinking in shock, Jaina stopped and turned her wide-eyed gaze upon Sylvanas. 

"Family reunions can be difficult. Especially when they thought you were dead. Or worse." Sylvanas gestured to herself. "So, yes. I understand. And I will keep my silence. It is, after all, not my secret to tell."

Jaina's shoulders sagged in relief. Some of the colour was returning to her cheeks. "Thank you," she breathed. "I did not expect that of you. In fact, I - I owe you an apology."

Grimacing as though at a bad taste in her mouth, Sylvanas waved that notion aside. "I would prefer it if you didn't."

But Jaina continued as though Sylvanas hadn’t said anything. "I misjudged you. And for that I’m sorry. I thought you would use this as leverage against me somehow."

Her expression was far too sincere. It made Sylvanas uncomfortable. She much preferred it when Jaina was acting lofty and bored. So, of course she said, "I haven't ruled that out, mind you. I’m not above a little blackmail." 

"You won't. Not with this, you won’t.”

The confidence with which Jaina said that and returned to her task was perhaps the most aggravating part about this entire encounter. Mostly because she was right. Sylvanas hated it when she was right. How utterly infuriating. 

Jaina wiped the bloodied knife clean and handed it back. “You said silver was a reminder of your namesake?”

“A nickname. My sisters used to call me Lady Moon.” Sylvanas propped her foot atop the bucket of offal in order to sheathe her hunting knife once more in her boot. Its silver handle gleamed at her calf, always within easy reach. 

“And I presume they didn’t take it very well?” In explanation, Jaina made an all-encompassing gesture at Sylvanas. 

“They did not.” 

Most times, Alleria refused to talk to her. When she did, it always ended up in a screaming match, which benefited no one. And Vereesa spoke to her as though speaking over a grave. Everything in the past tense. Lots of tears involved. Sylvanas could hardly stand it. Not to mention, she wasn’t allowed anywhere near her nephews. Both for being Undead and for being Horde. 

But as Lucille had said: family was….complicated. 

Jaina had returned to skinning the deer. She seemed more relaxed now. She certainly didn’t give the impression that she wanted to be alone. Sylvanas had learned from her last visit that Jaina could, at will, have an aura of menace that rivalled her own. But she didn’t have that now. 

“When was the last time you saw Katherine?” Sylvanas asked. 

Giving a particularly vicious yank downwards on the deer hide, so that it peeled away from the membrane that attached it to muscle, Jaina grunted. “At the gallows in Unity Square. She made me watch them hang Tandred. And later that night, she had a loyal guardsman put a bag over my head and drag me to Drustvar.”

Sylvanas frowned. “Human ages are strange to elves, but twelve seems rather young even for humans.”

“It is.” Another vicious tug at the hide. She pulled it over the carcass’ shoulders. “My brothers were quite a bit older than me. Tandred was nineteen when he died.” 

“Hmm.” Sylvanas nodded. “There’s an age gap between myself and my siblings as well.”

“Oh?”

“That’s not an invitation for me to talk about them, though.”

Jaina snorted. “Hypocrite.” 

Gamely accepting the accusation with a shrug, Sylvanas said, “I will make sure Katherine stays at Swiftwind Post, so you don’t go running into her by accident. I propose our future meetings to discuss the coming battles be either at the Horde encampment on the Eastern Cliffs, or here. Whichever you prefer.” 

At last Jaina managed to tear the hide the last of the way free. It peeled back like the rind of a nectarine from the incisions around the stag’s neck and legs, so that she held it up in one sheet, perfectly intact. She folded it into a roll, and then placed it on the ground by the workbench to be dealt with later. Wiping at her brow with the back of one hand, Jaina nodded towards her. “Do you still have that token of mine?”

Jaina was holding out her other hand, still grimy with dried blood. Digging around in one of the leather pouches at her belt, Sylvanas passed the fang to her without question. Jaina took it and without another word, stepped around the deer carcass and started walking around the cottage. Puzzled, Sylvanas followed. A short stint found them both standing near the front entrance, where Jaina unexpectedly squatted down on the ground. Daubing a bit of coagulated blood from her clothes onto her fingers, she drew a series of runes on the ground. When she whispered in an ancient unintelligible tongue, the sound echoed faintly on the breeze, and the hair on the back of Sylvanas’ arms and neck stood on end. 

The fang hung from its string over the runes, suspended in air even when Jaina let go of it. As soon as she finished mumbling whatever spell she was casting, the fang dropped to the ground with surprising weight, heavy as a lodestone. 

Clearing her throat, Jaina picked up the fang and stood. She casually handed it back to Sylvanas as though nothing out of the ordinary had just happened. “There,” Jaina said. “If you ask this token nicely, it will now teleport you to this spot.” She indicated the runes on the ground with her foot. “And when you use it again, it will return you to the exact location you were before.” 

Rather than be pleased, Sylvanas glared at her. “You couldn’t have given this to me sooner? You know it takes at least three days to get here?”

“I didn’t trust you sooner.”

With a disdainful sniff, Sylvanas nevertheless stuck the fang back into her pouch. “I don’t suppose you have a map inside? We should go over a few things while I’m here.”

“I do. But I was rather hoping to take a bath before it grows dark. In case you haven’t noticed -” Jaina gestured to the blood and mud caked onto her clothes, her arms and legs, even on her braid. “- I’m filthy.”

“Tomorrow?” 

Jaina thought about it before saying, “I should be free in the evening, yes. So long as you don’t mind if I eat while we talk about military matters.” 

“Fine,” Sylvanas relented. "I meant what I said, by the way.”

Blinking in confusion, Jaina said, “About what?”

“Your cavalry numbers really are abysmal."

Jaina laughed.

--

When Jaina had said she needed to ‘ask the token nicely,’ Sylvanas hadn’t thought she had meant that literally. Standing in her private quarters at Swiftwind Post, Sylvanas held the fang by its string. 

"Take me to Jaina," she said. 

Nothing happened. 

With a scowl, she lifted it to eye level. "Take me to Jaina," she growled, then added, "Please."

There was a wrenching sensation in her gut, as though a harpoon had been lodged in her stomach and then yanked. A whirl of colour and darkness, and suddenly she was standing on the glyph of blood marked outside of Jaina's cabin. She stuffed the fang back into her pouch, then knocked on the door. 

Jaina opened it and waved her inside with a wooden cooking spoon, "Shoes off, please." 

It took Sylvanas a moment to rid herself of her greaves and boots, leaving them at the door along with her weapons. Jaina had already disappeared back inside. The skull mask greeted her on its hook by the exit. Closing the door behind her, Sylvanas stepped further into the living room.

The house was filled with the smells of cooking. Jaina was already spooning herself a serving of what appeared to be a hearty stew into a bowl. She did not offer any to Sylvanas. That suited Sylvanas just fine; she did not like eating unless absolutely necessary. Usually that necessity was due to the living wanting her to keep up appearances for their sake. She had not needed to eat to sustain herself for years. And ridding her stomach of whatever she consumed was always messy. 

This time, the table before the fireplace was stretched with a map of Drustvar. It was far more detailed than the one in Sylvanas' outposts. Extra notes had been scribbled here and there in Jaina's cramped handwriting. Most notably were the addition of extra sites that Sylvanas had never encountered during her time here. All with the 'Gol' preffix before their names. Drust sites, then. 

Jaina sat in the same chair she had frequented last time, gesturing for Sylvanas to take the nearby couch again. She tucked into her stew, balancing the bowl in her lap so she could study the map while she ate. "You'll be pleased to know that I've managed to levy an extra five hundred infantry."

Sylvanas' eyebrows rose. "Since yesterday, you mean?"

Spoon in her mouth, Jaina nodded smugly. 

"You work quickly," Sylvanas murmured. She sat on the couch, resting her elbows upon her knees and leaning over the map. She pointed at Fletcher's Hollow. "Ah, yes. I see them here. Do you have a spare pen I might use?"

"Mmm!" Jaina hummed a note of affirmation around a mouthful of food. She set the bowl down on the map, and went to bustle around a bookshelf. When she returned, she handed Sylvanas a quill and inkwell. 

"Thank you," Sylvanas murmured, taking the items. 

She pulled a small ledger from a pouch at her belt, a mirror of the larger one she kept at each Horde outpost. While she updated it, Jaina sat back down and returned to her meal. 

Sylvanas looked up from her notes. “I don’t suppose you’ve acquired any more cannons in the last twenty four hours as well?”

“We now have a total of fifty,” Jaina said. “And roughly two thousand artillerymen to man and supply them.” 

Flipping to another page in the little notebook, Sylvanas scratched a few figures onto the parchment. “Make it one hundred guns and four thousand artillerymen.”

“We can’t. We simply don’t have that number.”

Sylvanas shot her an exasperated look. “No, I am giving you those numbers.”

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Jaina’s chewing slowed. She swallowed, then said, “You told me you weren’t storing munitions at your sites.”

Sylvanas blinked innocently at her. “I wasn’t.”

“Sylvanas.”

Lifting one shoulder in an elfin half shrug, Sylvanas said, “I was stowing them offshore. In Suramar, if you must know. And since it’s only four weeks to sail from Drustvar to Suramar, I ordered them to begin shipment three weeks ago. They will arrive here just in time for whatever action we may require.”

Jaina made an irritated noise.

“You can hardly be angry with me for being a bit inventive,” Sylvanas said.

“I can. And I will.”

In reply Sylvanas rolled her eyes. She lowered the notebook and pen into her lap, hand poised to continue writing. “I received news from Zandalar recently. We managed to sign a treaty. They are now going to be counted among the ranks of the Horde. Which means we’ll have ships to help break the siege of Fallhaven come spring.”

Slowly Jaina lowered her spoon back into her bowl. She regarded Sylvanas carefully. “Congratulations, I suppose.”

“Thank you.” 

“Another notch for your belt.”

Sylvanas sniffed. “How crude.” 

“But true.” Setting aside her bowl as though she had lost her appetite, Jaina said, “Don’t ship them off just yet. I’ll need to ensure we can properly support them. Food isn’t a problem of course, but other supplies might be.” 

“And how many battlemages do you have in total now?” Sylvanas asked.

“House Waycrest has none they can spare. Many either died during the incursion a few years ago, or are no longer able to fight. Too young. Too old. Too injured.” Crossing her legs and leaning back in her seat, Jaina said, “But I personally have about forty druids that we can field. Including myself.” 

Sylvanas could feel her eyebrows rise in spite of herself. Back when she was the Ranger-General of Silvermoon, battlemages were parcelled out to her very rarely. She’d had to rely far more heavily upon standardised artillery than upon mages in wartime. Even now as Warchief of the Horde, having forty mages attached to a single division was -- in short -- a luxury. 

Mages were both like and unlike fancy artillery pieces. On the one hand, you couldn’t just order in a new set from some goblin factory. But on the other hand, they could win you the battle through feats of raw firepower alone. Quite literally, in some cases. 

“And you expect that we won’t finish until next year?” Sylvanas said incredulously. “When you have forty battlemages?” 

“Druids,” Jaina corrected. 

Sylvanas waved away the technicality. “Do the Ashvanes even have battlemages of their own?”

“We have to assume they are still using Tidesages for now.” Sighing, Jaina rubbed at her forehead. “Have your backup artillery and soldiers ready to march for Barrowknoll soon. We’ll group just north of Swiftwind Post, and move from there.” 

“Have there been any Ashvane movements that I should be aware of?”

“None yet. But there will be. Call it a hunch.”

“One you can see from orbit.” Checking to see if her words were dry on the pages, Sylvanas set aside the quill and ink. She snapped her little notebook shut. “In any case, you look tired, and I should take my leave for the evening.” 

Still kneading at her brow, Jaina gave a little murmur of appreciation. Sylvanas rose to her feet and turned to leave. Jaina said nothing further on her way out, though Sylvanas paused at in the entryway. 

The skull mask watched her. And just below it on the ground was the singed little wicker effigy made by Mace. She had not noticed it when she had first entered the cabin. Now, a chill raced across her skin. She glanced over her shoulder, but Jaina was scowling down at the map and scrawling more notes on its surface. 

Jaina must have felt the weight of Sylvanas' gaze upon her, for suddenly she looked up. She smiled, but it did not seem to reach her eyes. "Good night. Will you come around again tomorrow."

"The day after," Sylvanas answered. "I have a few things of my own to attend to."

"I look forward to it."

Yanking open the door, Sylvanas stepped outside and left. 

--

Even when she had been alive, she had always been suspicious of events going according to plan. There was always something that threw a wrench into the mix, so to speak. Over the next week, Sylvanas kept a watchful eye out for any such wrench, and was stymied when she could not find it. 

The ships from Suramar arrived, slipping up the eastern coast of Drustvar and past the Ashvane forces without any hassle, even though Sylvanas had contingency plans put in place just in case. Her rangers were not needed to save the ships from a watery grave, and the arrival of guns and artillerymen were well received. Jaina and Lucille had both been equal parts thrilled and relieved to hear the news. 

Mostly relieved, if she were being honest. And she could hardly blame them. One could never have too much artillery. Back when she had been Ranger-General of Silvermoon, her troops had teased her for her increased emphasis on artillery, calling them 'Windrunner's Kings.' The artillery division had even given themselves patches with a crown insignia on their uniforms, a fact which Sylvanas had always dreaded would make its way back to Kael'thas one day. And indeed there had been political hell to pay for a few years when it had. 

The arrival of more artillery did little to brighten her mood, however. Sylvanas approached the Highmountain Druid assigned to Katherine one day, questioning him about the Drust. He proved himself next to useless. While he thought the Drust odd, he could find no fault with their magic even if it was rather more macabre than most other Druidic schools. When he started droning on about 'the balance between life and death' and 'the fascinating equilibrium of mortality,' Sylvanas lost all interest. 

If there was one thing she had never been good at, it was listening to long-winded explanations of magic. And Druids were the worst sort. Always on about vague mysticism this, and restoring the balance that. What drivel. 

Jaina herself was no help either. Now that Sylvanas could take frequent visits without wasting precious time, she did so. Based on how long it had taken her to convince Jaina to agree to this arrangement in the first place, Sylvanas had prepared herself for the worst. As it turned out, Jaina was surprisingly cooperative now. Mostly this seemed to extend to the fact that Sylvanas had not told Katherine about her daughter. 

And even Katherine was not as difficult to deal with as Sylvanas had originally thought. The world really was coming to an end. When Sylvanas started probing for more information about the information Katherine had received during the Drust incursion, the Lord Admiral merely leaned back in her chair before the fireplace with a mournful look.

“This is what you interrupted my game of cards for?” Katherine asked, though she sounded more weary than belligerent. “I would have beaten your little Ranger again, too, given a few more minutes.”

“I have no doubt of that. Tea?” Sylvanas offered a cup, pouring it from a pot and adding a splash of milk. It had been how she’d lured Katherine away in the first place. 

“Thank you.” Katherine held out her hand and took the cup and saucer. “Why the sudden interest in the Drust incursion?”

Sylvanas propped her ankle atop her opposite knee, sitting with one leg splayed. She did not partake in any tea herself. “Originally, I’d thought you only had two children, but I’ve recently learned you had three. A daughter. Jaina.” 

The cup stopped dead in its tracks before Katherine could take that first sip. She set it back upon its saucer, then balanced both atop the arm of her chair. “I did,” she said softly. 

“What happened?” Sylvanas asked. She kept her voice delicate and aloof.

With a sigh, Katherine picked up the cane that was leaning against her bad leg. For a moment Sylvanas thought she was going to push herself upright and hobble away, but Katherine only turned the cane between her fingers, as though admiring the falcon head wrought from pure polished silver. “It’s not that complicated, really. She developed magical talents very young. Her father and I fought about it. There’s no magic blood innate in his side of the family, you see. So, of course it was all my fault. And then he wanted to cloister her away with the Tidesages, to live out her days as some mute, robed Sister.”

Katherine snorted in derision and shook her head, falling silent. Sylvanas said nothing. She waited for her to continue. 

“I thought that by sending her away to the Drust, I was protecting her. And then -” Katherine gave a wave of her hand. “For naught. In the end, I might as well have let Daelin send her to the Monastery. Grief comes for you in strange ways,” she mused, fiddling with her cane. “The news came to me over a week after she had died. Somehow, the idea of her being alive was a hope in and of itself. And after I knew she was gone, I saw emptiness everywhere.” Then she gave an unexpected snort. “I was even sad to hear the Old Bear had passed away.”

“Old Bear?” Sylvanas repeated, puzzled.

“Ulfar. The last of the great High Thornspeakers.” Katherine smiled wistfully at the flames dancing in the hearth. “I remember my grandfather telling me tales when I was a child of Ulfar haunting the forests and mountains. A great bear lashed together by bone and vines that would protect the animals from greedy hunters by eating their livers.” 

She chortled, and Sylvanas shot her a puzzled look. Kul Tirans had a very queer sense of whimsy, indeed.

“From what I understand,” Sylvanas said. “The last time she was seen in Boralus was at her brother’s gallows.”

Katherine went white. She jerked in her seat so suddenly she nearly sent the teacup and saucer crashing onto the floor. “Who told you that?”

In reply, Sylvanas only shrugged. 

Setting down her cane to steady the cup, Katherine took a moment to collect herself. She fussed over the spot of tea she had spilled onto the saucer before answering, “Whoever your sources are, they’re very good.”

“They also wish to remain anonymous,” Sylvanas said. 

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips. She took a sip of the tea. “It’s true. And she was wroth with me. As wrathful as only a child can be. But it served its purpose.”

“What purpose?”

“Well, she never did try to come back when her father was still Lord Admiral, did she?” Katherine gave her a thin smile and added, “Better angry with me and alive, than the alternative.”

--

Through the second story window, Sylvanas was overlooking the valley below Swiftwind Post when she received the news. In her hand, she toyed with the fang token, rolling the texture of it between her fingers. She hummed to herself idly, a half forgotten tune of home. The notes lingered in the dusty corners of the room that she called her own here in Drustvar. This place could not have been less like Quel’Thalas, yet the memory of home had washed over her today like a storm. 

“You’re in a good mood,” remarked Nathanos from the doorway behind her. 

The song trailed off in the back of her throat, but her next words still held onto it, as though reluctant to let it go. "There's no threat of the Legion. We have signed a treaty with Zandalar. We have the Alliance on the back foot. And we are on the cusp of instigating a revolt in foreign lands." Sylvanas said. Her reflection in the glass smiled, and she turned around to face him. "I haven't had this much fun in years."

"Perhaps I should caution you on having too much fun." Nathanos gave Jaina’s token a pointed look.

Sylvanas stiffened. Her hand gripped the fang so tightly she could feel its point dig into the leather of her glove. She aimed a glower at him and stashed the token away again. All levity vanished. "And perhaps you should hold your tongue."

He inclined his head in a quiet apology. But what he said was, “I do not share your ease, I’m afraid. This whole situation feels off. I keep expecting to find something behind every corner. Like a Draenei nesting doll. Hosts within hosts within hosts.”

Her mouth twisted to one side, but her ears cocked inquisitively. “Yes,” she said. “I can understand that sentiment.” 

Nathanos held up a small scroll, the kind that was usually wrapped around Arthur’s leg. “The High Thornspeaker has sent another message.” 

In reply, Sylvanas held out her hand. He crossed the room and gave it to her, then stood back in respectful silence while she unfurled it. Her crimson gaze skimmed across the message. She looked at him over the scroll, then handed it back to him. 

“Assemble the troops,” she said. “We march on Barrowknoll tomorrow morning.” 

With a bow, Nathanos turned heel and left to do as ordered. 

It took two days for a division of twelve thousand soldiers to march west for the hills due south of Barrowknoll. Sylvanas was used to personally commanding more impressive forces -- at the very least whole corps fifty thousand strong -- but she had fond memories of smaller detachments like this. Back when little had been expected of her, when her older sister was next in line to inherit the title of Ranger-General of Silvermoon, and Sylvanas was left to the excitement of border skirmishes and tactical missions with a trusted coterie of colonels and captains at her beck and call. 

Now, Sylvanas rode, bored, at the head of a force her younger self would have been eager to command. The horse beneath her clattered softly with every step, the rattle of its bones muted only somewhat by a saddle and royal drapery. She had been able to summon a skeletal horse to ride. This far east, Jaina’s iron-clad will over the dead was not as strong as it was in the heart of the Crimson Forest, allowing Sylvanas to snap her fingers and bones to rush from the ground with soothing familiarity. 

What wasn’t so soothing was the Lord Admiral’s presence at her side. Katherine rode as though she had been born in a saddle. Her wound did little to diminish her skill. Her bad leg was set in a brace, and her silver-headed cane strapped where a cavalry sword would have normally sat for easy access. She wasn’t the chatty sort -- thank the Sun -- but Sylvanas always had the impression that Katherine’s silences were secretly passing judgement. As though every order Sylvanas issued could have somehow been improved. Sylvanas ignored her as best she could, speaking instead to her rangers to pass the time.

On the end of the second day, they met Jaina and Lucille at the foothills southeast of the pass from Arom’s Stand. The two divisions combined created a motley army, all a-clash with colour and equipment. If Sylvanas had been younger -- and alive-- the lack of standardisation and coherence would have given her hives. As it was, she merely wrinkled her nose.

Sylvanas was already ordering camp to be made for the night, when Jaina and Lucille rode up to greet them. While Lucille sat astride a smoke-dark charger, Jaina’s mount was a more unconventional stag. It looked like the Wild God from the forest, but smaller and with a less lustrous white coat -- an offspring of Athair, perhaps. With her skull mask, and her dark mantle of leaves, and a massive raven perched on her shoulder, she looked every inch a High Thornspeaker. 

Straightening in her saddle, Sylvanas said, “You’re not looking so unkempt today, Arthur. Did you finally discover the joys of a bath?”

The raven on Jaina’s shoulder snapped its beak in reply. Sylvanas lifted an eyebrow in surprise. 

"That's enough of that now, Adalyn," Jaina chided. Then she turned to Sylvanas. "Don't mind her. She's just very protective."

"I can see that,” Sylvanas murmured. “I trust the mountains weren’t too difficult to cross?”

Lucille shrugged and answered, “They could have been worse. We won’t be getting back over them anytime soon, though.” 

At Sylvanas’ side, Katherine shortened her grip on the reins when her horse stamped an impatient hoof and began pawing at the soft ground. “You must be the new High Thornspeaker.” She nodded curtly to Jaina in a greeting. "Katherine Proudmoore. Lord Admiral."

"I know," Jaina answered. Her voice was even and cool.

Frowning in confusion at this chilly reception, Katherine remarked, "You're not a bear. Or any other type of animal."

"No. But I can be."

"And what is your name?" Katherine asked.

Jaina's answer was wintry. "You may call me: High Thornspeaker."

An uncomfortable silence descended over them. Eventually, Lucille cleared her throat awkwardly and jerked her head for Katherine to follow her. “If you’d like to come with me, Katherine.”

“I think I would.” Katherine shot Jaina one last puzzled look, then kneed her horse to trail after Lucille’s. The two of them rode off towards the Waycrest camp.

Sylvanas watched them go. “Follow them,” she said to Velonara and Tatanka. “Keep reporting back, as you have been.”

Both nodded, and went after the pair, leaving Jaina and Sylvanas alone. Apart from Adalyn, who continued to glower at Sylvanas with a peculiarly corvid intensity, and Nathanos, who matched Jaina’s raven bodyguard glare for glare. 

“Well then,” Sylvanas said after another moment of awkward silence. “I thought that was a good start.”

“Don’t,” Jaina warned, her tone dark and echoing beneath the mask. 

“I am being very sincere right now.”

“Sylvanas.”

Throwing caution to the wind, Sylvanas continued talking, “To be honest, I am disappointed. There wasn’t a single punch thrown.” 

And with a sound of disgust, Jaina wheeled her stag around, riding off towards her own Drust troops. 

After she had gone, Nathanos said, “Remember what I said about having too much fun?”

“In fact, I had already forgotten,” Sylvanas drawled. “But I am sure you’ll remind me.”

He bowed in the saddle. “Only doing my duty for my Queen.” 

“Yes, that is the problem.”

--

On the third day, they rode north, abandoning their hold on anything further south than Swiftwind Post. The only thing Sylvanas thought they had accomplished by holding out for so long to the south was depleting Asvhane’s resources. It seemed to do very little however. House Ashvane had very deep pockets, and a liberal manner with gold. Indeed, a few Waycrest troops had been lured over to wear the red by virtue of higher pay alone. Sylvanas had thought Jaina would be angry at this blatant act of disloyalty, but when Velonara reported back on figures lost, Jaina just sighed and updated her ledgers.

By mid morning of the fourth day, their combined forces had at last reached Barrowknoll. Rising up on her stirrups, Sylvanas looked out across the fields. The river Reilig wended its way through the town of Barrownknoll, forded by two bridges, both heavily guarded by Ashvane forces to the east. There would be no crossing there. Not without a bloody battle on their hands. Bloodier by far than what they could hope for here at the town proper. On the easternmost side of the town, a graveyard sprawled with tombstones of various sizes and states of weathering. It surrounded a church, which milled with artillerymen loading carts of munitions onto oxen-pulled wagons. Further east on their side of the river, a swamp spread in a great mass, extending nearly all the way to the first bridge. 

The only feature worth taking at this point was a rolling hill just south of the riverbend in which Barrowknoll was nestled. Pulling sharply back on the reins, Sylvanas nodded towards the hill. “We should establish our artillery there and shell the town.”

“I agree,” Jaina said promptly, while Katherine nodded in approval. 

“Are we confident the town has been evacuated of all civilians?” Lucille asked.

“Do you hear that, Velonara?” Sylvanas drawled. “Lady Waycrest doubts your reconnaissance.” 

“That’s not -! No, I just mean -!” Lucille spluttered, while Sylvanas and Velonara watched her flounder with amusement. 

Poor girl. She wouldn’t have survived five minutes in an elvish army. The teasing would have killed her stone dead. 

Jaina did not let this go on for long. “I’ve had a raven fly over the area closely. There are no civilians. They’ve all fled north to Fallhaven.”

Casting her a curious glance, Sylvanas asked, “Arthur?” 

But Jaina shook her head. “No. He wanted to fight. He’s in the infantry ranks.”

Sylvanas opened her mouth, realised she was going to protest, and then closed it again with a frown. 

Meanwhile, Katherine had spurred her horse forward. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s set up the artillery, and then rain fire down on these bastards.”

A number of guardsmen, including the Highmountain Druid Sylvanas had assigned, went trotting after Katherine’s horse as she rode towards the hill. Lucille followed, pulling her horse up beside Katherine, who had already begun barking out curt decisive orders with the kind of inherent authority that had Waycrest officers leaping to attention. 

Sylvanas watched all this, and said aside to Jaina in a low voice so that her words would not carry, “Your mother certainly has spirit.”

She couldn’t see any expression beneath the mask, but Jaina’s head turned towards her with a distinctly exasperated air. And rather than reply, Jaina urged the stag to chase after Lucille and Katherine. 

It took the better part of three hours to get all of the artillery into place. Oxen pulling massive carts strained at their yokes, leaving deep grooves in the wet earth behind them. Their handlers hauled at their nose rings, coaxing the oxen up the hill and into position where their goods could be unloaded. While the artillerymen carefully placed their cannons and took measurements to judge the range between them and the town, the rest of the army began to dig into the southeast of the hill in anticipation of battle. Only a stone’s throw away from their artillery, but sheltered enough by the slope that they would not be caught in the enemy crossfire. 

Sylvanas trained a spyglass on the enemy within the town, watching them do much the same. Soldiers in bold red coats scurried about in front of the church and all along the bend of the riverbank. They peered down the length of their own tools and and spyglasses. They adjusted their guns to point just so, reacting to every new order given by the unlikely Alliance between the Drust, House Waycrest, and the Horde. By the end, both battalions were sweating despite the cold damp atmosphere of Drustvar, and not a single shot had been fired yet. 

By the time they started exchanging barrages, the groundworks were nearing completion and Katherine was being poured her first cup of tea. The roar of the cannons was so loud it made the air tremble. Katherine spilled tea all down the front of her greatcoat.

“Oh, blast!” She swore. "They couldn't have warned us before they started?"

“I would have thought you’d be used to a bit of cannon fire by now,” Lucille pointed out.

Katherine scoffed. “It doesn’t work like that.” When Tatanka passed her a delicately embroidered handkerchief from one of his pouches, she murmured, “Thank you, my dear.”

When Sylvanas shot him an odd look, the Tauren shrugged his massive shoulders. “She made it for me.”

“That does not make this any better,” she growled.

“Oh, do calm down,” Katherine sighed. “Have a cup with me. You too, over there.” She waved over Jaina. “Or do you really never take off that bloody thing?”

Upon being addressed by her mother, Jaina’s already rigid posture seemed to go impossibly more tense. She mutely shook her head, turned, and strode away towards the Horde and Drust troops, which were working further east along the battlements. 

Lifting her now refilled up of tea to her lips, Katherine sipped contemplatively. She studied Jaina’s retreating back over the rim of her cup. “Your High Thornspeaker isn't very talkative," she remarked to Lucille.

“Ah, no,” said Lucille. “I mean -- sometimes she can be a bit -- well, she’s very -- uhm --”

At a loss for what to say and not give everything away, she cast Sylvanas an imploring glance. Shaking her head in exasperation, Sylvanas went back to her skeletal horse and lifted herself easily into the saddle. She tugged at the reins, wheeling the steed sharply around, and said to Lucille, “Give me your cavalry.” 

Lucille blinked up at her. “What for?”

“For their primary purpose: scouting.” 

“Just give them to her,” Katherine said. “She’s going to be boorish about it. I can tell. Always needs something to do, that one.” 

Sylvanas didn’t dignify that with a response. She waited for Lucille’s reply. 

“Very well,” Lucille relented. “Go. Scout.”

“Velonara, stay here. Nathanos, keep our High Thornspeaker company. Anya, with me.” Pointing to each of them in turn, Sylvanas did not wait for Anya to mount up before she was urging her skeletal horse forward. She could hear Anya swearing in Thalassian behind her as she tried to mount up and follow quickly enough. 

The cavalry Captain, a burly bearded man by the name of Hayles, was puzzled and initially suspicious of being ordered about by the likes of the Warchief of the Horde. But he did not question it much, despite his obvious displeasure. When Sylvanas fixed him with a crimson glare, he shoved his helm onto his head and mounted up with the rest of his battalion, grumbling all the while. 

Sylvanas led them towards the river Reilig, sweeping wide of the bend to avoid the back and forth barrage of artillery fire between the two sides. Even so, sprays of mud would explode near enough for the living horses to shy. The cavalrymen had quick hands on their reins, easily holding formation as they rode. 

There was a fork in the river on the western side of the town. Sylvanas pulled her skeletal steed to a halt at the first branch, then rode up and down the bank a few paces. She stood up in her stirrups to get a better look at the water until she found a suitable spot. 

"Here," she said, digging her heels into the horse's bare ribs out of habit alone. It only needed the lightest of touch at the reins to do her bidding.

The skeletal mount splashed out into the water, fording the river. Hayles, Anya, and the others followed. At the deepest point of these shallows, the water just barely reached the horses’ chests. Deep enough to dissuade an infantry advance, but not deep enough to completely discount it. Certainly easy enough to ford for cavalry. 

On the other side of the river, the Ashvane troops had long since noticed their presence. Now, red and white coated cavalry in far greater numbers than their own shadowed their movements. Hayles kept a grim eye upon them, drawing his sabre and resting it expertly against his shoulder as he rode a length behind Sylvanas. Meanwhile, she ignored the enemy cavalry utterly for now, paying more attention to the landscape. 

The next branch in the fork was shallower still than the first. She kept her distance. The Ashvane cavalry captain across the way was close enough that she could see the eagerness on his face beneath his crested helm. He appeared young. Hungry for a fight. Clearly he believed his numbers advantage would win him anything. He didn't realise exactly who it was that waited for him on the other side of the water. For a moment Sylvanas considered baiting him across the river for a bit of a skirmish just for the fun of it -- she had been cooped up for far too long on these rain-lousy islands, and the idea of luring a headstrong youth to his untimely demise was, admittedly, very appealing -- but eventually after a few hours of scouting and posturing, she turned the cavalry battalion back towards the southeast. She could almost hear the sigh of relief from Hayles behind her. 

The artillery barrage had not slowed during their time along the Reilig. They had arrived in the late morning, and already the sun was beginning its descent towards the horizon behind the thick bank of cloud that covered the sky. All along the fields between the hill and the town, the earth was churned up with great gouge marks from the cannonballs ripping into the ground. In the distance, the town's buildings had been mostly reduced to rubble. Only a few houses furthest away from the river had escaped unscathed. The church's belltower had collapsed. Holes riddled its wooden roof, and the air was filled with an acrid smoke so thick it was difficult to see the enemy artillerymen loading their guns. 

The cavalry had to weave their way between patches of relatively flat earth so that the horses would not break their legs. Much to Sylvanas' dismay, a drizzle had started up. The craters in the ground were starting to fill with water. Her own cloak was thoroughly damp as well. She would give her ears a periodic flick to rid them of rain, to very little effect. Anya would do the same. Hayles and the rest of the Waycrest cavalry on the other hand seemed unperturbed by the change in weather.

As they rode up behind the artillery, Sylvanas could see that the infantry had made temporary camp behind their groundworks. Soldiers were beginning to serve themselves dinner, settling in for a long evening. Every few minutes, a cannon would go off with a recoil that shoved the entire artillery piece back a few meters, and a group of twenty to thirty men would rush about like a swarm of bees to get it back into position for another round of firing. After each blast, a flinch would shiver through the ranks of infantry and cavalry nearby. Sylvanas could tell just by the reactions which were veterans and which were green bloods. 

Most, she was pleased to see, appeared to have seen battle before. Surprising, considering how quickly Lucille had levied troops. The Ashvane ranks would be filled with new blood. The Navy marines would be tied to Lord Stormsong now, and Lady Ashvane would have thrown gold around to attract anyone young and foolish enough to have a gun shoved into their hands and a red coat draped across their shoulders. 

When Sylvanas dismounted and dismissed Captain Hayles for the evening, he grudgingly saluted with his sabre before sheathing it once more at his saddle. Meanwhile, Anya was already chatting up a few of the lower ranked cavalrymen, who were easily won over by a pretty face and the idea that they would get a few games of whist with their supper. Sylvanas left them to their fate -- knowing full well that Anya would clean out their pockets and leave them high and dry before the night's end -- and went in search of the command tent. 

No less than four guardsmen flanked the command tent's entrance. On one side, the Highmountain druid assigned to Katherine and a Forsaken heavy infantryman. On the other, a Waycrest guard in full plate and a Drust in the form of a sabre cat. The Drust sat on the ground like a sphynx, its gnarled, branch-like paws crossed almost primly. It glowered balefully at Sylvanas as she approached. 

"Good evening, Adalyn," Sylvanas greeted dryly.

A rumbling growl rolled from Adalyn's fanged mouth in response. 

Sylvanas ducked beneath the tent flap and entered. Inside, Lucille, Katherine and Velonara had their heads bent over a table bearing a detailed map of the area. Lucille was drawing notes directly onto the map with careful penmanship, while Katherine pointed to various places with a murmur and a frown. On the other side of the tent, Nathanos and Jaina were engaged in an unlikely alliance, conversing softly together in their own corner. Jaina of course still wore her mask. Luckily whoever had erected the tent had taken this into account, and made the ceiling high enough that neither she nor the Tauren outside would be at risk of puncturing the canvas with a stray antler. 

The moment Sylvanas stepped inside, all heads turned in her direction. She took a moment to clean off her muddy boots before venturing further in, but she still left prints in the rugs that had been strategically placed along the ground. 

"Did you learn anything of interest?" Katherine asked immediately. 

"I did." 

Sylvanas crossed over to the table. She was joined by Jaina and Nathanos so that they all crowded around the map. They stood so close together that Jaina's elbow jostled her own. Sylvanas made a motion towards Lucille, who handed over the pen. When she tried to mark the map however, she had to dip the nib into fresh ink before trying again.

"On the banks of the loop nearest enemy territory, the Ashvanes have built up groundworks anticipating a frontal assault on the church." Sylvanas drew a crescent-shaped line while she spoke. "Meanwhile to the west there are two areas where the river can easily be forded, should we decide to attack in that direction instead."

Leaning heavily on her cane, Katherine jerked her head towards the cluster of Waycrest troops represented by black tokens. Currently they were sitting alongside the green and purple tokens denoting the Drust and Horde forces respectively. "Lucille and I will ford the river. We'll take the Waycrest infantry and cavalry, and make the Ashvanes think we're going to push hard for their flank. They'll need to divert quite a few men to head us off. That should thin their ranks enough for you to take the town in a frontal assault."

When Lucille's name was spoken, she glanced at Katherine. Not with surprise, which Sylvanas had expected, but with gratitude that there would be an experienced guiding hand helping her along. She leaned forward to arrange the tokens as Katherine had suggested. When she had done so, suddenly the Ashvane forces holding the town were equal to the Drust and Horde's. They would still be holding a defensible position, though. And the numbers advantage granted by the Waycrest movements was better than mother, but unideal.. 

"Be aggressive, but not too aggressive," Jaina said. "I would hate to see the Lord Admiral shot down in a land battle." 

Katherine let loose a bark of laughter. "No. You're right. A Lord Admiral should die at sea, as the Tides intended." 

Remaining silent, Sylvanas licked at the backs of her teeth in a contemplative manner. Nathanos was watching her carefully. "Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes at the map. "No," she murmured after a moment. "It's a good plan. We will go ahead with it."

Katherine gave a curt nod, pleased at her plan being so easily approved by the others. "Well, Lucille," she said, starting to limp towards the exit. "We ought to find our own tents before it gets too late. Nothing like a poor night's sleep to ruin a battle."

"I will show you to yours." Lucille very nearly hopped to attention to follow after her.

In another life, she would have made an excellent Captain, given the chance and the right commander. Eager to please, but ultimately lacking in her own vision. Sylvanas had known many Ranger-Captains like her. Had she not been born to a Great House, she doubtlessly would have lived an unremarkable life. Which, to her credit, probably would have been preferable to the excitement that had already been crammed into her life so far. 

Turning to Nathanos and Velonara, Sylvanas said, "Give the orders. Make sure the officers know the plan."

With a bow, they too left. 

Outside, the non-stop clamour of artillery had crept to a desultory halt. Both sides would have been running low on munitions, keeping enough for the battle proper, but otherwise finished trading blows for now. The lamps that had been lit in the tent were now necessary to see, as night had swept over Drustvar. The sounds of soldiers and oxen and horses wound their way through the canvas walls. There was no such thing as privacy in a military camp. Everyone practically atop everyone else. And at any moment, someone might burst into the tent with report of enemy movements. 

Sylvanas picked up one of the red Ashvane tokens from the centre of the town map, and frowned at it. 

"Nathanos was right," Jaina said. "Something is troubling you."

Though the tent was now empty but for the two of them, Jaina had not moved away; they still stood close enough together that their arms brushed. Shaking her head, Sylvanas set the token back down, angling it so that the line of Waycrest forces was curved in an encircling crescent across the Reilig. 

"No," she said. "It’s fine."

The skull mask watched her impassively. "You're lying again. You know, I thought you'd be better at this."

"Battle?"

"No. Lying."

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas rounded the table and headed for the exit. "You're the only person who's ever told me that."

"Not even your siblings?" Jaina followed, ducking to get through the canvas flap after Sylvanas. 

"We are not talking about my family," Sylvanas said firmly. 

That comment earned her an odd look from the remaining guards outside of the tent. Straightening her shoulders, Sylvanas stalked off in the direction of the artillery still lined up along the hill. She heard Jaina murmur something to Adalyn, and then footsteps trailing after her. The stench of gunsmoke still burned in the air, but it was fading. The winds were not as harsh here as they were further south. At least her Rangers would be pleased by this change of pace. 

She stopped when she had a good view of the town. Firelight flickered like motes of dust through the darkness. With the moon hidden behind a bank of cloud, the river snaked across the landscape, darkly gleaming. 

"I didn't think you would be the type to run away from a situation you didn't like," said Jaina's voice behind her. Jaina herself stepped forward so that they stood side by side, facing Barrowknoll. 

"The irony of you saying that does not escape me," Sylvanas countered. 

"At least I'm honest with myself."

"Do you always look for a fight when you're nervous?"

"I'm not looking for a fight."

"Then you might consider not baiting me further." Sylvanas' voice slipped to a lower note, something more dangerous. A warning. 

Jaina had no reply to that. They fell silent. Sylvanas was content to let that silence stretch, when Jaina asked, "What would you do, if you were me?"

Glancing over at her, Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. “You’re actually asking my opinion?”

“You’re here, aren’t you?”

“When has that ever made a difference?” 

“I’m curious. Indulge me.” When Sylvanas still said nothing, Jaina sighed. “You didn’t like my mother’s plan. Why?”

“I liked it just fine,” said Sylvanas evasively. “It’s very conventional.”

“But you don’t like conventional and obviously would do something different.”

Turning her eyes back to Barrowknoll, Sylvanas scanned the area for weaknesses through the gloom. The Ashvanes had gotten the upper hand in every regard. They had cut off the retreat to Fallhaven. They had taken the defensible position. They had more munitions, more soldiers, more time. Even if they simply waited, the combined Wacyrest, Horde and Drust forces would need to give up and find shelter or risk losing their lives to ice and disease through winter.

Well, the Waycrest and Drust, perhaps. Not her Undead. And maybe not the Drust, now that she thought about it. 

Sylvanas nodded, pointing to the east. “That swamp. They’re treating it like it’s an impassable wall. I would order the cavalry to screen our left flank. Then, I would throw everything at the centre, draw the enemy in, and when the fighting to the south starts to thicken, I would send an unarmoured division across by foot to flank them by surprise.”

“The artillery wouldn’t be able to support them,” Jaina said. “There’s no way you're getting cannons into that bog.”

With a shrug, Sylvanas replied, “If their sacrifice would mean my victory, then so be it.”

“Such sacrifices aren’t always necessary. And from what I understand, there aren’t many of your people that remain.”

“And to which people would you be referring?”

“You know which.” 

Pursing her lips, Sylvanas gazed out over the night-darkened fields. Beside her Jaina shifted her staff between her hands almost nervously. Noticing this, Sylvanas remarked, “You haven’t seen much battle, have you?”

“Not as much as you, perhaps. But I’ve seen enough,” Jaina answered, her tone grim. “Enough to know that being a military leader is not my first choice of professions, by any stretch of the imagination. Unlike some of us.”

Sylvanas peered sidelong at her. “You think I wanted to be Warchief? Or even Ranger-General, for that matter?” 

“I don’t -”

“No,” Sylvanas interrupted coolly. “You don’t. So, I would suggest you keep your assumptions to yourself.”

The skull mask swung towards her in silent contemplation. Finally, Jaina said, “you’re awfully good at being a war leader.”

With a soft grunt, Sylvanas looked back towards Barrowknoll. “People get good at what they do. In time, you will grow to be a perfectly serviceable Lord Admiral.”

A self-deprecating laugh was Jaina’s answer. “Well, I don’t know what I was so worried about, then. That’s high praise from you.”

“I have very exacting standards,” Sylvanas agreed. 

“Careful,” Jaina warned, and even though Sylvanas could not see her face her words were playful and chiding. “That’s twice you’ve flattered me, now. A girl might get ideas.”

It was Sylvanas’ turn for a huff of self-deprecating laughter, almost a scoff. She gave Jaina a dismissive wave. “Go. Try to get some sleep. My people and I will keep watch.” 

She expected some resistance, but Jaina simply inclined her head and left. 

The night was short, and nothing at all interesting happened. No raids. No alarms. The Ashvane forces were risking nothing for the sake of initiative. They kept their position, confident in their safety in numbers. They sent no more scouts. They slept until the first grey watery light of dawn crept over the horizon. 

They were, in short, complacent. Sylvanas liked that in an enemy. It was a refreshing change of pace. 

The morning was misty and dim. The foothills to the west appeared almost idyllic, until they sloped into the fields torn up by artillery fire. All through the night, the bold red medical tents had worked, tending to those wounded in the exchanging barrage. When the camp was packed up, the medical tents were some of the few that remained behind to continue their work away from the fight. 

By the time all the troops had been organised into position, it was only a few hours until midday. The sky remained overcast, but mercifully free of rain. Not that it helped much. The ground was still horrible and soggy. It reminded Sylvanas too much of fighting in the rainy jungles of Zul'Aman. She had bad memories of leather boots completely rotting away after being saturated with mud for weeks. 

Sylvanas was sitting atop her skeletal horse beside Jaina on her stag, when Anya rode up beside her. Breaking away from her conversation with Jaina, Sylvanas gave Anya a once-over. "I don't recall issuing you a Waycrest cavalry coat."

"I won it," Anya said smugly. 

"Along with a great many other things, I'm sure."

"There's a helmet that comes with it, too."

"Is this your way of telling me that you want to ride with Velonara in the Waycrest division?"

"No," Anya replied. "I will be guarding you while Nathanos heads the troops."

"Do I get any say in the matter?"

Anya did not answer.

"Wonderful," Sylvanas sighed. She shifted in her saddle to turn towards Jaina. "Whenever you are ready."

Jaina's deer stamped one of its cloven hooves. Her head slowly turned as she swept her gaze over the troops arranged on the field before them. A mass of uniform colour to their left being the Waycrest troops in three block formations, along with a cavalry screen. And a mismatch of Undead and Druids in various forms comprising the solid blocks of infantry directly ahead. Lucille and Katherine could be seen with the Waycrest cavalry, surrounded by a cluster of other officers on foot and on horseback. 

Jaina nodded towards their own cluster of officers in attendance. Flags were waved. Trumpets were sounded. And the Waycrest forces began their march towards the river. 

In the town, large numbers of troops in red coats were broken up by the buildings. But in the fields behind them, even more Ashvane troops were arrayed in formation. Across the distance, more horns were raised, and the bulk of the Ashvane troops began to move in lockstep with the Waycrest's, both angling towards one another across the river. The only advantage of Katherine and Lucille's lesser numbers was that it allowed them to move more quickly.

Sylvanas leaned forward in her saddle to better watch as they forded the river before the Ashvane troops could cut off their advance. The moment the first Waycrest infantry had crossed the river, Sylvanas turned to one of the Forsaken officers nearby. "You there, get those guns firing again," she ordered. Then she said to another, "And you, sound the advance."

With a bony-handed salute, both of them trotted off to do as commanded. Soon, the artillerymen behind them were scurrying about the cannons. The first round of artillery fire of the morning sent a flock of startled birds into flight from the bog to their west. Sylvanas could feel the shudder of the earth even atop her horse. And then, they began to march. 

It was a slow steady plod through the mud. The officers brought up the rear just to the left of the advancing soldiers, leading a small cohort of reserve troops that would be able to accomplish very little on their own should it come to that. Enemy fire roared out in answer from the town. Cannons ripped through the advance, sending sprays of mud through the air flecked with blood and teeth as men fell screaming. But for every enemy shot, two were stalled by the presence of their own artillery blasting away at the town. More still were stopped completely by magical shields thrown up by clusters of Druids arranged along the infantry ranks for just that purpose. The shields flashed across the air in front of the advance, deflecting cannon balls into the mud, where they bounced away or cracked into pieces like shrapnel. 

One such cannon hurtled in the direction of the reserve troops, but Jaina raised her hand and it shattered in a fan of iron ore like a wave breaking against a pane of impenetrable glass. Sylvanas had never been so grateful to have mages fighting on her side. 

From the east, Sylvanas could hear the pop of shots fired. Her ears twitched towards the noise. She stood in her stirrups in an attempt to see what was happening, but the ground from Barrowknoll sloped gently upwards towards that direction. Lowering herself back into her saddle, she asked, "Do we have eyes on the Waycrest forces?" 

Jaina turned to Adalyn, who was trotting alongside the stag in the form of a sabre. "Go get vision and come back." 

Without question, Adalyn turned into a raven and swept off into the air. She returned a few minutes later and landed on Jaina's shoulder to whisper in her ear. 

"They have engaged in earnest," Jaina relayed to Sylvanas. "Nobody has given ground yet. The cavalry are attempting to outflank one another, but Hayles is holding his own." 

Sylvanas spoke directly to Adalyn. "Get flying again and keep us informed. I want to know exactly if and when someone starts to buckle." 

In response, the raven gave Sylvanas an extremely unpleasant look with one black and beady eye. But Jaina murmured something in a low tone. With a caw of complaint, Adalyn nevertheless took flight from Jaina's shoulders, wheeling back towards the east. 

The main advance on Barrowknoll slowed when they reached the river. Soldiers lifted their arms above their head to keep their muskets dry as they crossed. The Ashvane forces continued to fire from their position. Their artillery were beginning to run low on ammunition, but a line of muskets would aim and take fire over the groundworks, while others took shots from the second story of the ruined church, and even from the rooftops of nearby buildings. It may have just been a mound of dirt built as tall as a man and stretching in a crescent shape between the river and the town, but the earthworks was enough to give them cover for any returning fire launched in their direction. The Ashvane soldiers would duck back behind the earthworks when lightning was called from the sky, sending sprays of earth in all directions and leaving behind the stench of burnt ozone and flesh. 

Sylvanas and Jaina remained on the other side of the river with their reserve troops and cluster of officers. Even though Adalyn did as told and returned with regular updates on the enemy position, Sylvanas urged her skeletal horse to pace along the riverbanks to and fro. Anya shadowed her every movement, along with a few Forsaken and a Tauren in the form of a bear with streaks of green warpaint on his fur. Glowing crimson eyes trained along the fight, searching every angle for a hint of weakness. A gap, perhaps. A flagging flank. A faint faltering of morale. The stench of gunsmoke was acrid and thick. It clouded vision beyond a hundred yards even for her excellent eyesight. 

The Horde and Drust line were fighting to take the earthworks, both sides using the long mound of compacted dirt as cover, neither willing to commit to a charge, lest they be met with deadly resistance on the other side. 

"Find anything of interest?" Jaina asked when Sylvanas rode back to the reserve troops. 

Yanking on her reins and wheeling her horse around, Sylvanas shook her head. "Not yet. I still don't like our numbers. We need to find an advantage. Preferably more than one." 

In front of them, a surge of red-coated troops washed over the earthworks on their left with a battlecry for Kul Tiras. They scrambled atop the mound of dirt and shot down upon the Horde and Drust flank. Flashes of flame spouted from the muzzles of their muskets as the gunmen made space for infantry with pikes to push their advantage. The Ashvane pikemen shoved against their left flank like a wall of living spears, while the Forsaken chopped at the pikes with hooks and axes, or otherwise stabbed at exposed feet in an attempt to break the sudden counterpush. 

When the Horde and Drust flank began to cave slightly into a fish hook shape, Sylvanas tensed. She drew her bow from her back, hands steady and expression grim. Before she could fire a single shot however, a druid on the front lines of the left flank was stabbed in the shoulder with a spear. He flung back his head with a bellowing roar that shuddered the air. His body bristled and grew massive, and he swiped at the wall of spears mid-transformation into an enormous bear. Thunder careened from his paw, shattering a huge gap into the pikemen. He lunged through, his massive jaws closing around the throat of an Ashvane pikeman and shaking like a dog with a rat. Forsaken poured after him, using the space he created to push back the counterattack. Swords flashed, and the Ashvane pikemen trying to retreat back over the earthworks slipped in pools of their own blood. Forsaken soldiers fell upon them like wolves, hacking them to pieces before scrambling to pursue the rest over the artificial hillock. 

Slowly Sylvanas lowered her bow. "That was a welcome development, at least." 

Beside her, Jaina hummed in agreement. "The break between Lord Stormsong and Lady Ashvane is more serious than we thought." 

Sylvanas frowned at her. "What do you mean?" 

The skull turned and Jaina's voice was positively gleeful. "You didn't notice? That magic wasn't counteracted. They don't have Tidesages. Or if they do, they're certainly not here." 

Sylvanas' eyes widened in understanding. She wheeled her horse around to start giving commands, but Jaina beat her to it. 

"Concentrate what druids we have onto the front," Jaina snapped to an officer standing nearby. "Have them break up the enemy line. Tell them to expect only physical resistance." 

"What about those we've reserved as Healers?" the officer asked. 

"They can stay where they are," Jaina said. 

Immediately, the officer raised a hand to her temple in a salute, then rushed off to do as she was told. She took a group of the reserve troops to escort her across the river and relay the orders. Meanwhile, Jaina rounded on what remained of the reserve units. 

"The rest of you," she said, lifting her voice. They all straightened, their faces eager and steely beneath their helms. "Push hard into their right flank! I want that church taken as a foothold in the next hour! Go!" 

What remained of the officers began relaying orders to start the march. Soon, the reserve troops were crossing the river to support their forces on the left, where the fight was raging the thickest. The Ashvane forces were faltering, giving ground slowly but steadily. Word of the new orders must have reached the front lines, for lightning careened down from the sky with a deafening crack. It struck the church, where a group of Ashvane musketmen had been raining down shots onto the approaching Horde and Drust. Those that weren't struck dead, were left reeling, fumbling for cover as another blast of lightning rained down upon them. 

Sylvanas had slung her bow back over her shoulder, but her fingers itched for the weapon. Where she had seen no chaos to take advantage of before, she now saw it everywhere. Every hard-earned instinct and years of experience were telling her to leap into the fray, embolden the troops, take the victory for herself, as she knew she could. She was tightening her hand on the reins, preparing to do just that, when Jaina spoke beside her. 

"Sylvanas, I want you to come with me to the western banks." 

Her head jerked around, her long ears slanting back in a mixture of surprise and aversion. "What?" she asked. Rising up in her stirrups, she looked to the west, but saw nothing of interest. The Ashvane line was faltering directly to their left, but to their right, the enemy was still holding strong. "Why on earth would we go there?" 

"I mean to overrun them." 

"With what troops?" Sylvanas waved towards their left, where the reserve troops were starting to fight tooth and nail over the church, even as they repelled an attempted counterflank from a platoon of bold Ashvane musketmen hoping to catch them in enfilade fire. 

“Leave that to me.” 

Jaina started off towards the west without another word. Swearing, Sylvanas turned to Anya and said, "You stay here. Help Nathanos hold the line." 

Anya shook her head. She opened her mouth to protest, but Sylvanas cut her off. "That's not a question, Anya. You will do this." 

With a glower at her queen, Anya looked like she was going to fight against the order still, but eventually she turned back to the remaining small cluster of officers and began issuing commands. Satisfied, Sylvanas wheeled her skeletal horse around and followed Jaina. 

No troops followed them. Not even a handful of guards. Sylvanas kept a careful watch on the enemy through the gaps of buildings, but nobody was paying any attention to two people slipping away from the thick of the fight. They might as well have been deserters fleeing the battle. When they reached the swamp, Jaina dismounted and continued on foot, leaving her stag behind. Sylvanas jerked at her own reins and called after her, "What the hell are we doing out here?"

Jaina did not turn around. She continued picking her way through the bog. "You said you wanted another advantage? I’m getting us reinforcements."

"What reinforcements?"

"Just come along already."

Grinding her teeth, Sylvanas slipped from the saddle and trudged after her. The bog was a mess. There was very little hard ground upon which to stand. Tall tussock grass masqueraded as safety, only for Sylvanas' foot to plunge into hip deep water and mud. She had to claw her way out, cursing all the while. By the time Jaina stopped, the hems of her robes were drenched, and Sylvanas' armour would need a thorough cleaning all around. 

In Barrowknoll, the fighting continued. From here, Sylvanas could not see the Waycrest troops further east. She tried rising up on her toes, but only sank a few more inches into a bit of mud. 

"I am beginning to lose patience," Sylvanas hissed. 

Jaina ignored her. She was kneeling on the ground at the edge of a deep pool of water. She held out her hand towards Sylvanas. "Your knife. Give it to me."

"No." Sylvanas crossed her arms. "Explain first. Knife later."

"Really?" Jaina glanced at her in exasperation. When Sylvanas refused to budge, Jaina rolled her eyes. She gestured all around them. "You wanted to know what was so special about this place? Bogs are sacred burial sites for Drust. This one in particular was used for generations to inhume the Drust dead. Now, give me your knife."

With a frown, Sylvanas begrudgingly handed over the silver hunting knife. Jaina took it, and then pulled out a very familiar looking singed wicker man from a pocket of her cloak. She placed both before her, and then fumbled around in a pouch for another reagent. When she withdrew a stag's black and shrivelled heart, she placed it over the wicker man's chest. A quick flash of the blade over the back of her arm drew a bright line of blood along her skin, and then Jaina plunged the knife through the heart and the wicker man, staking them together. 

She began to mumble in an ancient tongue. The sound echoed from the depths of the skull mask, growing louder as though joined by a chorus, chanting the words back to her. The air around her writhed, and the wicker man caught alight. It began to burn beneath her hands, but the fire did not consume the wicker man the way it should, as though the mass of twigs were still resisting the touch of flame. 

And from the depths of the bog, a hand reached up. Sylvanas watched as more followed, and corpses began to drag themselves from the water and mud. Their bodies were preserved as though mummified, shrunken and wet, dyed dark from the peat. Bits of bone jutted from shoulders and arms, knees and spines. Jaina's droning chant reached its zenith, and an army of the dead rose to answer her call. 

Sylvanas stared. An undead nearest her waited blankly for a command, as did all the others. There was no sentience left within them. They were empty vessels. Ghouls animated by a greater will. 

Before her, Jaina rose to her feet. Through the dark sockets of the mask, her eyes blazed with pale fire. Leaving the wicker effigy burning upon the ground, she turned to Sylvanas. "Now, we can go." 

"How long will this spell last?"

"Until the fire burns out. We have only a few hours." Jaina stepped over the wicker man, looking towards Barrowknoll. "You will get your knife back, then."

Warily, Sylvanas followed as Jaina began to stride from the bog and towards the town. Thousands of ghouls shambled blindly after them. As they drew nearer fording the eastern side of the river, Ashvane troops began pointing furiously in their direction. An alarm was raised, a frantic horn blaring a single note over and over again as the red-coated soldiers attempted to rearrange themselves in time.

Clambering up onto the opposite shore, Jaina pointed at the line of red-coated soldiers and shouted a gutteral word in that ancient tongue. Behind her, the ghouls shrieked in response, an unearthly wail that Sylvanas had heard all too many times, before they rushed forward on all fours. Shots fired out from the lines of gunmen among the Ashvane ranks, but before they could get off even a second volley, the ghouls were upon them. No amount of shot could stop their charge. Musket balls embedded themselves in rotting flesh, accomplishing little. Rows of pikemen lowered their spears and tried to shove them back. Others still drew swords and began hacking at the undead masses. Impaled ghouls continued clawing their way down the spears, and severed arms twitched along the ground. 

Jaina herself waded into the thick of the fight. She towered over the shambling army of undead, bloodied, crowned in antlers, eyes blazing like twin points of flame. When she swept her hand, broad blades of frost sliced through the air, cutting through swathes of enemy soldiers. When she clenched her hand into a fist, a clump of Ashvane troops were encased in ice, frozen in rictus agony. 

A platoon aimed down their sights towards Jaina, and Sylvanas drew back an arrow. Whispers of death magic darkened its tip, and the arrow exploded with the echo of a banshee’s wail upon its destination. The musketmen dropped their weapons to clasp their hands over their ears, crying out in pain. She managed to shoot a few more arrows before the ghouls overwhelmed them, claiming that platoon for the dead.

Sylvanas tried to regain her bearings in the chaos. In a few lithe motions she had climbed atop the shattered roof of a house to get better ground, her bow half-drawn and ready to fire. In the centre of the town, the Horde and Drust soldiers were beginning to renew their attack, emboldened by the sudden presence of reinforcements from the east. The Ashvanes were suddenly the ones on the back foot, forced to hold their ground as an onslaught came now from two sides. 

A platoon of Ashvane musketmen noticed her position. They fired a volley of shots at her position. Sylvanas ducked. Chips of stone flew around her as the gun fire missed and hit the stone walls of the building. In the time it took for them to reload, she had made most of them pincushions; they fell to the ground grasping at black-fletched arrows that stuck from their throats and chests, gurgling on pools of their own blood. 

Below her, a group of Ashvane troops managed to hold their ground against the oncoming ghouls by funneling the undead into a spear wall and shooting over the pikemen. One of the soldiers saw Jaina advancing past their position, and in a fit of bravery near madness he threw down his musket, drew his sword and charged for her. She turned just as he slashed his blade in an upward strike, narrowly missing but managing to knock her mask loose. 

She stumbled back a step. The skull went careening onto the ground, one of the points of the antlers breaking off in the scuffle as ghouls continued to press past her. When she straightened once more, her eyes blazed. She loomed over the soldier. He swung his sword down like a cleaver, but Jaina grabbed his wrist, halting the blow. Sylvanas had an arrow drawn to shoot him, but stopped. With her other hand, Jaina was lifting the soldier by the scruff of his neck until his toes dangled above the ground. He dropped the sword. It clattered at her feet. Grasping at her forearm, he opened his mouth to scream but instead veins of black crawled across the skin of his face. As Jaina drained the life from him, vines burst from the ground, curling around the other soldiers and dragging them down into the earth. 

When Jaina tossed his lifeless corpse aside as though he were a ragdoll, Sylvanas leapt easily down from the building, landing beside her. "I didn't know Druids were in the habit of practising necromancy."

"You didn't ask." Jaina nodded towards the rooftop. "What's the situation?"

Casually, Sylvanas lifted her bow and fired an arrow at an Ashvane soldier as she answered. "I don't know how Katherine and Lucille are doing, but our forces in the town are gaining the upper hand." 

"Then we should press on and finish this quickly." 

"Agreed." 

Jaina smiled down at her. "Is this unconventional enough for you?"

An army of ghouls, summoned by the will of a powerful mage with an aura of icy menace was far too familiar, in fact. But Sylvanas merely said, "It will suffice. Shall we?"

Nodding, Jaina rounded on the next line of soldiers already being set upon by the undead. 

Within the next few hours, they had managed to push the Ashvane army back, capturing the town and sending red-coated soldiers fleeing north east for Fallhaven. Barrowknoll was a ruin of its former self. Some of the buildings burned, their thatched roofs caved inwards in a shower of sparks and ash. Drust infantry had begun rounding up prisoners. Whenever the Forsaken drew too close, the Ashvane soldiers would panic and draw their blades or raise their pistols or otherwise cower or try to run away, thinking that all of the Undead were ghouls like those Jaina had summoned from the bog. The ghouls themselves were slowly trudging back south. Some crawled their torsos across the ground. Others had been chopped to pieces, and the twitching life animating them was beginning to ease. 

Sylvanas' quiver had long since run out of arrows, and she had been forced to steal a sword from the body of a dead Ashvane soldier. Its blade was caked with dried blood. She herself was still covered in mud and gore. While she may not have sweat any longer, she was still looking forward to the day being over so she could have a bath. 

Jaina was issuing commands to a group of Drust soldiers and assorted druids, who nodded and rushed off to do her bidding. She still had not donned the skull mask since it had been knocked from her head during the fight. She looked haggard from holding onto the spell for so long, though she hid the raw weariness in her bones. Strands of hair had come loose from her braid and now stuck to the side of her neck and cheek. She swept them aside irritably as she approached Sylvanas, but that only sent a swipe of coagulated blood across her jaw from her bloodied hands. Her eyes still blazed with pale fire, though it was fading as the spell began to slowly wane. 

Sylvanas tossed aside the sword she had stolen. "Any news from the Waycrest line?"

"In retreat," Jaina answered wearily. "It was a stalemate. Thanks to our push here, the Ashvanes are all pulling back." 

Inclining her head, Sylvanas said, "Congratulations are in order, then."

"Are they?" Jaina asked. She looked around at the destruction of Barrowknoll. The wounded were being grouped up and triaged. Makeshift bandages were tied around limbs and faces. The worst of the lot were being carried away on stretchers back towards the healers tents, where more Druids would see to their injuries in due course. "I don't feel very victorious at the moment."

"Give it time." 

"My Queen," said a familiar voice behind her. 

Sylvanas turned to find Nathanos striding towards her. He wove his way through a group of prisoners, most of whom shied away from his presence. His twin axes were sheathed at his belt, and his own quiver of arrows was as empty as her own. 

He bowed and stopped before her. "Forgive me, but I didn’t recognise you beneath all the mud. Otherwise, I would have come sooner.”

“What is it?” Sylvanas sighed.

“Lady Waycrest and the Lord Admiral have crossed the river. They will be here momentarily."

"Very well." Sylvanas turned back towards Jaina then paused. 

Jaina had gone white as a sheet. She reached up to touch her own face as if only just now realising that she no longer wore the mask. Her fingers trembled. 

"Shit," Jaina hissed, frantically looking around her.

"This way," Sylvanas said, and began to walk towards the position they had been in where Jaina had lost it.

Jaina was hot on her heels. She kept her head ducked, as though afraid her mother would round every corner and come face to face with her. When they came upon the site however, the mask was nowhere to be seen. With a frown, Sylvanas swept her gaze over the area. She eventually found it behind some wooden rubble that had fallen loose from the barricades during the fight. 

Picking it up off the ground, Sylvanas brushed it free of as much mud as she could. However, Jaina was already reaching out for it. The flames of her eyes had dwindled nearly to normal by this point, and her expression was agitated. Their hands brushed as Sylvanas handed it to her. Jaina shot her one last grateful glance before pulling the mask over her head and covering her face once more. 

The sound of horse hooves and the jangle of tack announced the arrival of what remained of the Waycrest cavalry accompanying Katherine and Lucille. The two of them rode up looking unscathed. Behind them Captain Hayles sported a sabre cut on his upper arm. He handled his reins with his good hand. Jaina checked her mask for a second time as if to reassure herself that it was actually there before turning to face them. 

Katherine pulled back on the reins. “Glad to see you’re both still alive,” she said by way of greeting, then glanced apologetically at Sylvanas. “Mostly.” 

"How many dead?" Lucille asked.

Sylvanas looked to Nathanos for an answer, and he said, "About four hundred casualties."

"Which brings the total to seven hundred and fifty," Katherine said. "Not bad, all things considered. It could have been much worse." 

"Better than the Ashvanes," Jaina replied. She sounded far more calm than she had looked just moments ago. 

Katherine grinned down at her. "Oh, yes. They'll be feeling the sting of this for a while. We ought to consider our next move before they have too much time to regroup." 

With a nod, Sylvanas said, "We'll meet you back at camp this evening to discuss it. For now, let us tend to the wounded and prisoners. If we're lucky, we captured someone worth ransoming." 

"That would be nice," Lucille sighed wistfully.

"Until later, then." Inclining her head, Katherine wheeled her white Kul Tiran charger about and headed back across the river towards camp. Lucille and the rest of the Waycrest cavalry followed. 

The moment her mother was out of sight, Jaina's shoulders relaxed slightly. Sylvanas could have sworn she heard her breathe a sigh of relief behind that skull mask. 

"Nathanos," Sylvanas said. "Find Anya and get everything cleaned up."

"And where are you going?" he asked.

She had already turned and begun striding off towards the bog. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "To retrieve something of mine. I'll not be long." 

He did not trail after her. She could hear him begin exchanging words with Jaina, but Sylvanas did not linger to hear what they were discussing. 

Most of the ghouls had made it back into the bog, clambering to their final resting place. A few were still struggling to crawl the last stretch of distance. Sylvanas might have felt more pity for them had they any sort of sentience left. As it was, she strode through their ranks unaffected. They paid her no heed. They hungered only for the flesh of the living. To them, she might as well have not existed. 

Seeing them at all brought back unpleasant memories of her days shackled to the Scourge. If the spell binding them had been indefinite, she might have had strong words with Jaina. As it was, Sylvanas pursed her lips and continued striding through the bog. And all the while, that unpleasant feeling remained, as if something was wrong that she just had not yet discovered, as though all these carefully laid plans were about to be unraveled by one loose thread. 

She found the wicker man still smouldering. The heart pinned to its chest was black and shrivelled and flaking away into hard clumps of ash. When she reached down and pulled her blade free, the wicker man seemed to give a little wail, though that may have been the wind rustling through the bog. She wiped the silver blade clean on a ragged corner of her cloak -- it would need a proper cleaning later -- and sheathed it in her boot. 

Turning to head back towards the camp to the east, Sylvanas paused with a frown. Not far off across the bog, a Forsaken soldier was waving at her with a cheerful dessicated hand. Their face was obscured by a helmet. They approached her with a bounce in their step, clattering like bones in a tin can. It took them a while to reach her across the mud. 

"Can I help you?" Sylvanas asked in Gutterspeak.

A familiar voice reverberated from inside the helm. "Woah. I have no idea what you just said, but it sounded awesome. Can you say it again?"

Face screwing up in bewilderment, she said, "Arthur?"

Arthur flipped up the visor of his helm, revealing his rotting face. "Hullo!"

Sylvanas stared at him. The skin of his lower jaw looked like it had been peeled away from the bone by claws. He appeared partially mummified, as though the moisture had begun to leech from his body when he had died, leaving him brittle and brownish, like the last leaf clinging bravely to a tree in autumn. 

Finally she said in a flat tone, "You're Undead."

He smiled a ghastly smile. "Yeah! Of course! I thought you knew that?"

"I did not." Sylvanas pursed her lips. "How long have you been like this?"

He shrugged. "Since Thros. So, you know, a few years. Seven, maybe? I can’t remember very well, to be honest."

"Ah." Realisation dawned on her then. "Gorak Tul raised you."

But Arthur shook his head. "Oh! No, no! Jaina did!"

Sylvanas tensed. Her eyes widened. "She -- what?"

"Arthur."

Their heads snapped round at the sound of Jaina's sharp voice. She stood alone near the edge of the river. Her skull mask was tucked beneath one arm, and her face was pale. She jerked her free hand in a gesture for Arthur to approach her. He trotted over to her without question, clanking and squelching through the mud all the way.

"Go help Tavery and the others tend the wounded," Jaina ordered. 

Arthur blinked in surprise at her brusque tone. His smile slipped. "Okay," he said uncertainly.

As he turned to leave however, Jaina stopped him. She cupped his withered face with one hand, and her expression softened. With a sad smile, she gently patted his desiccated cheek. "Off with you, now. Don't cause too much trouble."

And with a parting grin, Arthur transformed into a raven and took wing back towards the town. Jaina watched him leave, waiting until he was well and truly gone before turning to face Sylvanas.

"What," Sylvanas said in a voice that was far too calm. "is going on?"

Jaina did not answer. She walked over, cradling the skull mask as though it were a shield between them. 

Mindless ghouls were one thing. But this was something else entirely.

Lifting her hand, Sylvanas pointed towards the direction where Arthur had flown. "You raised him from the grave?"

Jaina's jaw was squared bullishly, but her eyes were guilty. She stopped only a pace away. "Yes,” she said.

"Why?" Sylvanas hissed.

“It’s not what you think,” Jaina insisted.

“Why?” Sylvanas repeated, taking a step forward and glowering up at her.

"Because," Jaina said, but stopped to draw a deep breath. "Because I’m the reason he died. And I would have hated myself for not trying."

With a wave around at the bog, at the mindless dead still settling themselves back into their watery graves, Sylvanas asked, “Did you even give him the choice?”

Jaina opened her mouth to reply, but stopped. She shut it with a click of teeth.

Sylvanas could feel her own lip curl in disgust. “Of course, you didn’t.”

“He -!” Jaina started to say, and paused to collect herself before continuing. “He didn’t deserve that end. He deserved a chance to -” 

Sylvanas did not give her the opportunity to finish. She bared her teeth, eyes blazing. “Don’t lie to yourself. You did it because you are selfish.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jaina spat. 

At that, Sylvanas laughed and it was an ugly sound. 

Jaina’s expression was stricken. She held her mask so tightly her fingers trembled. “Stop it,” she said, her voice growing louder as Sylvanas continued to laugh. “Stop! You weren’t there! You don’t know what happened!”

Sylvanas stopped laughing, but her lips were still pulled into a savage smile. “I can guess well enough. It doesn’t take a leap of genius to see that your irreparable hero complex and that boy’s fate are linked.”

“That’s not -! It wasn’t -! I did it because it wasn’t fair!”

“What? Dying? Nothing is more fair than death,” Sylvanas sneered, and she parroted back the words Jaina had used against her during their first encounter. “Everybody dies. I didn’t think I would need to lecture a druid on that topic.”

Jaina flung her skull mask onto the ground. “It’s not fair that I got to come back, but he didn’t!”

Sylvanas’ head jerked back as though she had been physically struck. “What?” 

“I told you. Back when you first came to Gol Inath. You said everyone thought that I had been killed during the Drust incursion. Well,” Jaina gestured to herself. “I was. I died.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes. I did.”

“No,” Sylvanas growled. “You didn’t.”

“Sylvanas -”

“If you had died, you wouldn’t be -” she pointed to Jaina, “- like this.”

Jaina gave a helpless little shrug. With only the two of them there, the bog was eerily quiet. Sounds of the military in the nearby town seemed muted across the stretch of water and mud. Or perhaps it was something else about this place that made it feel liminal, like visiting a tomb. 

“All Druidism is about balance. The cycle of things. The Drust understand that better than anyone. Ulfar brought me back. A life for a life. I thought I could do the same with Arthur, but I was -” she swallowed past an obstruction, and then choked out a bitter laugh, “- a rare exception to the rule.” 

Those words had been spoken before. Sylvanas could remember them clearly, when Jaina had jokingly said she couldn’t recommend a ‘cure’ for Undeath. Eyes narrowing, Sylvanas asked, “How?”

Jaina would not meet her gaze. She wrung her hands together and worried her lower lip between her teeth. “Gorak Tul dragged Arthur into Thros as bait. I knew it was a trap, but I was so confident I could -” Jaina had to stop to clear her throat. “I followed them. And when I got there, I fought Gorak Tul. I thought I could win. He blinded me, stabbed me, drowned me, and then hung me from a tree.”

With trembling fingers, Jaina tugged at the front of her robes. She slowly pulled the layers of fabric down just enough to reveal the scars. They were looped around her neck, and gouged into her chest just beneath her left collarbone. Ragged mortal wounds that had been healed over with livid pink scar tissue. Sylvanas could see the pulse leap at her throat, bold and bright and very much alive. 

Jaina pulled her robes back into place. “We call it the Threefold Death. Among the Drust, it’s reserved for heroes, gods, and kings. It was given to me as a mockery. A reminder of my pride. Punishment for being foolish enough to think I was the hero foretold to bring about Gorak Tul’s downfall.” Her hand lingered at her throat. She stroked her fingers over the scarring left by whatever rope had strung her up in the air. “I don’t know how long I hung there until Ulfar found me. I remember being cut down, but the rest is...hazy.” 

Sylvanas shook her head. “If you remember it, then you weren’t dead.”

“Thros is not like here. Life and death are intertwined there. But trust me. I was very dead.” She lowered her hand, clenching it into a fist at her side. “Prophecies tend to find a way to have some sort of self-fulfilling irony. And by killing me that way as a show of his contempt, Gorak Tul devised his own ruin. He made me that hero destined to defy death and be his downfall. And so, I was. I came back, and I was proclaimed High Thornspeaker for my deeds. Though I did not deserve it.” 

It was like the last piece in a puzzle clicking into place, completing a picture. Katherine receiving news of her daughter's death. Lucille murmuring unsettling words about how different Jaina seemed after she emerged from the Crimson Forest. The ripped out pages of an old book on thrice-killed heroes and horned god-kings.

“All I hear is a tale of arrogance,” Sylvanas snapped. “You tell yourself the Drust understand ‘balance’ as if that means anything. You’re no better than a Lich.”

Jaina drew herself up to her full height and her expression grew stony, guarded. “I may have fallen to my pride once before, but I will not make that mistake again. I accepted your help, didn't I?"

“So, that’s why you changed your mind about this war? Because you think I’m like Arthur?” Sylvanas bared her fangs. “I am not some helpless young pup in need of a saviour.”

“I know that. And that’s not what I meant.” 

“Isn’t it? Look around. You have clearly learned nothing.” Sylvanas flung a hand up in disgust and angled herself away so that she looked across the fields towards the camp miles eastward. “You should have left the dead well alone.”

“I had to do something.”

“No. You didn’t.”

Sylvanas was giving every indication that she would not be swayed by any argument. Her ears were slanted back. Her arms were crossed. Her glower could strip the paint from the hull of a ship. 

And yet, Jaina ignored all those signs. She stepped around so that she stood before Sylvanas, and she said, “Didn’t you tell me you wished you were still alive?”

Shooting her an ugly look, Sylvanas growled, “That’s different. I wasn’t given a choice. If I had been given it, I would never would have chosen to be raised in the first place.” 

“But what about now?”

Sylvanas’ brows drew down sharply. She faltered for a moment. “What do you mean?”

“I’m saying: What if I gave you the choice now?”

It was then that she realised exactly what Jaina was offering. Her eyes widened. She opened her mouth to reply, but no sound came out. As if sensing this hesitation like a hound scenting blood in the air, Jaina drew closer.

“You already told me you died three times. But you never did tell me exactly how you died.” Jaina began to circle around her, as though eyeing up a prime cut of meat at the market. “Were you wounded? Drowned? Poisoned, perhaps? Did you fall from a great height? Was your death inevitable, as if foretold? A cruel irony of fate?”

Sylvanas sucked in a sharp breath; it was a gut reaction, something she could not stop herself from doing. She remembered the long drop from Icecrown Citadel with savage clarity. Her lungs were still clogged with golden blossoms, the broad scar on her abdomen evidence of Frostmourne’s cold edge. And they never had retrieved the bullet lodged in her chest by Lord Godfrey; the iron pellet was rusting away somewhere between her vertebrae like a poisoned pellet. 

When she was standing behind her, Jaina leaned forward to murmur in Sylvanas’ ear. “If I’m right, you might also be a rare exception to the rule.”

Sylvanas jerked her head away. She whirled about, taking a step back to put distance between them. Her eyes seared crimson. “Now, who is the liar?” she spat.

“I’m not lying.” 

Ice plunged deep into Sylvanas’ chest. It felt like an all too familiar blade. Worse. It felt like hope. Her lips pulled back in a wordless snarl. Suddenly, Sylvanas wished she had arrows left in her quiver. The urge to nock her bow was strong enough that her hand nearly reached over her shoulder for it. 

Jaina eyed her warily. “You would attack me and ruin this alliance you’ve fought so hard for?”

“I am seriously considering it.”

Jaina’s face screwed up in confusion. “I don’t understand. I’m offering you the choice that was never given to you. You should be pleased.”

“I don’t want to hear any more of this lunacy right now.” Sylvanas turned and began to stalk off through the bog in the direction of Barrowknoll. 

“Sylvanas, wait -” 

She felt the warmth of a hand brush against her arm. Immediately Sylvanas wrenched her arm away. In a single fluid motion, she drew her knife and whirled around. She had the blade pressed up against Jaina’s throat before Jaina could even blink. 

“Don’t touch me,” Sylvanas hissed. “Not unless you want to die a fourth time.”

The edge of the blade whispered against the ragged edge of scar tissue. Sylvanas’ hand was white-knuckled around the hilt, her fist closed so tightly that veins of black magic bled into the silver handle, coiling at Jaina’s throat. Jaina gazed steadily down at her. There wasn’t the faintest flicker of fear in her eyes. “At least consider my offer. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

Slowly Sylvanas pulled the knife away; they stood close enough that she could feel the rise and fall of Jaina’s chest against her own. She stepped back. “I won’t.”

Without another word, she left. And this time, Jaina did not try to stop her or even follow. 

--

NOTES:

-for those of you who like maps, here’s one I prepared earlier:

-the fifth chapter I’ve added to the list is, predictably, going to be an epilogue from Jaina’s POV

-and for you Nine Years’ War aficionados, you’ll recognise the Battle of Barrowknoll as the Battle of the Boyne 2 this time with more zombies