#shal'aran | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

roman-writing · 6 years ago

Text

no end in sight (1/?)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmoore/Thalyssra

Rating: T

Wordcount: 4,469

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

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

“I will scrub these hands raw. I will tremble at what they could not prevent.”

— Elizabeth Acevedo, “Spear”

The mouth of the cave was draped with lilac-tinged ivy. A pool of water floated with flowering lily pads beside an old altar, sheltered from the elements by pale marble darkened by time and weather. The sun drifted behind a haze of clouds so that the land was awash in a perennial dusk. Jaina tightened her grip upon her staff, and a crackle of wild mana leapt beneath her hand. She was unconvinced by the idyllic scene. Apparently her body felt the same.

“I did not think you would actually come.”

A voice, soft and cultured, spoke from beyond the depths of the cave. In the darkness, Jaina could just make out twin spots of light like purpled stars peering through the night. They blinked, slowly, consideringly.

Jaina lifted her chin and glared back at the eyes watching her. “Khadgar arranged the visit, and I said I would humour him. Nothing more.”

A thoughtful hum was her reply. “And because your friends in the Kirin Tor were unable to cure your particular condition.”

Again, that flare of uncontrollable mana; it flooded beneath Jaina's skin, lingering surface-deep. She shuddered and grit her teeth, tamping the surge of power down even as it clawed at her from within.

Those eyes tilted, as though their owner had cocked their head to one side. “I'm amazed the manasabers haven't swarmed you yet. I can smell you from here.”

“They did,” Jaina growled. Whole packs of them, roaming the lands from Azsuna to Shal'Aran, had hounded her every step. Until they actually found her. Then, they didn't hound anything ever again.

“Ah. You had best come in, on that basis. Nothing will trouble you in the shelter Shal'Aran, I assure you.”

Jaina did not move. “You expect me to walk right into your den, when you refuse to even show yourself to me? Do you think me a fool?”

For a moment, there was silence. Then: “Very well.”

The figure emerged from the cave, stooping beneath a veil of ivy vines before straightening to her full height. She was tall, like all her race, but unlike the other Nightborne Jaina had encountered in the past, First Arcanist Thalyssra was gaunt. Shadows clung to the sunken skin of her cheeks and ribs. She was a figure carved all from withered bone. Her face was partially obscured by a deep cowl, but nothing could hide the shine of hunger in her eyes.

The First Arcanist clasped her hands calmly before her. The gesture, combined with her appearance, made her seem like a wild animal pantomiming gentility. “Will you accept my invitation and come inside, Lady Proudmoore?”

Pursing her lips, Jaina nonetheless slung her staff across her back and stepped forward. “Lead the way.”

The First Arcanist held out a hand towards the cave as Jaina approached. Her other hand reached up to touch Jaina's shoulder and guide her inside. Immediately, the mana swelled up in Jaina's chest, inevitable as the tides.

Jaina shrugged her arm free. “Don’t touch me.”

The First Arcanist released her immediately and inclined her head in a respectful gesture. “Apologies. I will need your permission to touch you later, of course.”

Gritting her teeth, Jaina nodded. Together, the began their descent. The ground sloped beneath their feet, twisting wide and leading them deeper into the cave. The ceiling opened up into a broad domed structure over a circular room that reminded Jaina of Stormwind’s Cathedral of Light, fallen into disrepair and darkened in the twilight hours. Small signs of living were scattered all around the ruin: rich-hued rugs stretching across the cold stone floors, elaborately carved screens partitioning off sections of the wings from prying eyes, lantern-light casting their dim amber glow across the walls.

For all that, it was a space cold and ancient with disuse. Motes of dust glittered in the air. Jaina could taste the faint traces of mossy stone upon the air. As the First Arcanist led her round the room, Jaina peered down the steep stairwell leading to a cavernous room far below. In the darkness she could faintly see another figure moving about, movements sleek and vaguely predatory: another withered Nightborne.

“This way, please, Lady Proudmoore.”

Jaina jerked her head up to find the First Arcanist gesturing towards one of the partitioned spaces behind a screen. She waited for Jaina to pass, then dragged the screen shut behind them, enclosing them together, alone. A mat was spread on the floor alongside various pillows. There were even a few books stacked neatly beside the mat, their pages carefully marked with strips of dusky velvet.

The First Arcanist pointed to a raised altar-like slab of stone draped with pale lavender cloth. “Would you please disrobe? You may keep your small clothes on, but I will need to inspect you.”

For a moment Jaina hesitated. She had to force her fists to unclench. With jerky movements she balanced her staff against the small altar and began to tug at the clasps of her outfit. The First Arcanist did not turn away while Jaina stripped, but neither did she stare. Her eyes were respectfully lowered until Jaina stepped out of her robes and tossed them across the altar.

The First Arcanist held up a hand as if in the suggestion of touching her. “May I?”

The air of Shal'Aran was cool, but not uncomfortably so. The bare skin of Jaina's arms and shoulders prickled. The First Arcanist waited for Jaina's stiff nod of consent before reaching out to touch her. Those withered hands were surprisingly soft. The First Arcanist traced patterns with her fingertips across Jaina's shoulders, walking around to draw circles along her back.

Every stroke lured a surge of mana to the surface of Jaina's skin. She shuddered against the sensation. White-hot glimmers of arcane energy seared with bluish afterimages, sharp as lightning, wherever the First Arcanist touched. Jaina closed her eyes so she would not have to see them, but still they flashed through the muffled dark. The mana seemed to gather in the pit of her stomach and boil there until she could taste it, until every breath flickered, until she panted blue cinders.

Theramore was gone, but she was still burning.

“Stop, ” Jaina gasped.

She flinched away, shoulders caving inwards. She clutched her arms to her chest, but the First Arcanist had already stepped away. Indeed, she had stopped touching Jaina the moment she was told to do so.

“You are -” the First Arcanist began to speak, picking over her words with great care and consideration. “- oversaturated. Like cloth that has been soaked too long in dye. Or a focusing iris that had been overcharged, and is scattering pure arcane energy wherever it goes.”

“I am aware of the problem,” Jaina snapped. She fought back another efflux of energy, choking on the burnt aftertaste. With trembling hands, she reached for her clothes and began to dress herself once more. Her voice was not as harsh when she said, “Is there anything you can do?”

“I can help you,” the First Arcanist said slowly, then paused.

“But...?” Jaina supplied, suspicious of that pause.

“But I will need something from you in return.”

Jaina shrugged into her cloak, buckling it beneath her throat. “I expected nothing less. This is a transaction.”

“You must understand,” the First Arcanist spoke with a sincerity that grated, “were I in any other situation, I would be able to afford generosity.”

Jaina's lip curled. “I am not interested in your generosity. Name your price.”

“I have unearthed the location of an object I wish to be recovered.”

“Where is it?”

“To the northwest of here lie the ruins of Falanaar. In the tunnels beneath the temple of Elune, the object is guarded by a twisted Fal’dorei named Orathiss.”

“And if I do this?" Jaina pressed. "What exactly do you plan to do to help me?”

“I cannot cure you,” the First Arcanist said. “I do not know if anyone can.”

Jaina scowled. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak the First Arcanist raised her hands and said, “Your body will forever bear the havoc of Theramore, but I can stabilise you. Nothing more.”

That was more than Jaina had been able to accomplish so far, even with all the resources Khadgar and the Kirin Tor could offer. Not that they were on very friendly terms these days. “How?” she asked.

“With your permission, I will inscribe you with living leylines. It will take many weeks, and you must remain under my care during that time; I will need to check on you frequently to ensure your body does not reject the procedures.” The First Arcanist's face was difficult to read, and she spoke in a grave tone. “It will not be easy, and it will hurt, though I will do everything I can to lessen your discomfort.”

Any discomfort she was referring to couldn’t be worse than Jaina felt now. Even the simple act of picking up her staff to sling it over her back sent a bristle of raw arcane energy lurching through her arm until the stone of her staff glowed. With a brisk nod, Jaina turned to leave. “I will return shortly.”

“Before you go -?” the First Arcanist began.

Jaina stopped and looked over her shoulder, waiting for her to continue.

The First Arcanist gestured towards the opposite side of the circular chamber. “My colleague was hoping to speak with you. I believe you two share similar interests that might be beneficial to your trip.”

Jaina could feel her brow furrowing, but she nodded nonetheless. The First Arcanist did not follow her as Jaina made her way around the chamber. Beyond the arched colonnade, another Nightborne was pacing the ambulatory. His clawed bare feet clicked against stone with every step. At Jaina’s approach, his head lifted like a hound scenting the air. He whirled around so suddenly, she reached instinctively over one shoulder for her staff.

Whereas the First Arcanist kept her face carefully neutral, this man allowed expressions to dance across his face with a charm and artistry that not even his withered state could tarnish. “Ah! Lady Proudmoore, is it? Excellent. Excellent! Chief Telemancer Oculeth, at your service.”

He bowed, placing a gnarled hand over his heart. Jaina did not return the gesture. His eyes unnerved her; they bore the same unslakeable hunger as the First Arcanist's.

“I was told you wanted to speak with me?” Jaina asked coolly.

He straightened. “Certainly! I’ve been informed you are an expert in portals, among other things.”

Jaina nodded. “I am.”

“Barbaric, really,” he waved a dismissive hand. His eyes widened at Jaina’s shocked expression and he made a placating gesture. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, Lady Proudmoore. They have their uses, but nothing that can’t be accomplished by telemancy. Far safer than portals. Far quicker, too. More sensible in every regard.”

“Is there a point to all this?” Jaina asked. Her voice had dropped to a wintry note now.

Oculeth must have noticed, for his smile faltered somewhat. “Yes, of course. Forgive me. I was hoping you might reopen the network at Falanaar while you were there. It’s a simple matter, really.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Well,” Oculeth floundered under her unblinking stare. A flicker of mana sparked across her knuckles as she tightened her hands, and his gaze snapped to it. If anything, the hunger redoubled in his eyes. He licked his lips and took a surreptitious step back before his smile returned. “The moment you did, I could reopen the teleportation network. I could save you the return trip.”

“Or I could just portal back,” Jaina replied flatly.

Oculeth looked horrified at the thought. “What if one of us happens to be standing right where you decide to tear open a rift in space and time?”

“Then I recommend you stand somewhere else.”

“Well, that’s -! That’s just -! Just -!” Oculeth sighed, and shook his head. “Very well. Just make sure you portal in over there, if you please.” He pointed towards a circular anchor point on the floor, one of many lining the walls. “I will ensure nobody enters that area.”

She turned to leave without another word, but stopped when he held something out to her.

“Here,” he said.

Confused, she took it, turning it over in her hands. “What is it?”

He grinned. “A telemancy beacon. In case you change your mind.”

Rolling her eyes, Jaina strode away. She tucked the beacon into one of her bags nonetheless. Oculeth called out after her, “Good luck!”

The First Arcanist had failed to mention that the Fal’dorei were twisted spider abominations. Jaina had to find that out all on her own, when she wandered up to a cobweb-strung temple of Elune and was ambushed by enormous eight-legged creatures that once may have resembled elves, but which now only evoked revulsion.

Hours after trudging through the tunnels deep beneath the temple, the hems of her robes heavy with splattered spider gore, Jaina finally emerged with her prize cradled under one arm. By then, night had well and truly fallen over the land. The bodies of fallen Fal’dorei lay in her wake; some of their many chitinous legs still twitched in their death throes. She hefted the weight of the object cradled in the crook of her elbow -- a large golden egg, perhaps? -- then paused.

A raised circle was engraved on the stone floor of the temple’s atrium. Its stone was darker than its surroundings, and a tap of the end of her staff revealed it to be metal. At its centre lay an opening like an inlay absent its intended gemstone.

Her head was beginning to throb in a tell-tale sign of over-exertion that had become far too familiar these last few months. With a sigh, Jaina placed the golden egg onto the ground and fished around in her bag for the telemancy beacon.

“I knew your curiosity would get the better of you,” Oculeth’s voice sang out from the beacon, so suddenly she nearly dropped it.

Jaina scowled. “I’m tired, and I don’t feel like opening a portal after killing all these spiders,” she said by way of an excuse as she knelt down and set the beacon into place.

“For a moment there I almost believed you,” Oculeth’s voice said. “Almost.”

“By the way, you could have told me the Fal’dorei were monstrous spider people,” she grumbled.

“And ruin such a capital surprise?”

She pushed the beacon down, but it got stuck. With a grunt, she gave it a twist, and it clicked. For a long moment nothing happened.

Jaina tapped at the beacon’s surface with one finger. “Don’t tell me after all this, it doesn’t even work.”

As if in answer, the beacon flared to life. A portal blinked and rotated into existence above the anchoring pad. Jaina gathered up her staff and the golden egg, but before she could step through the teleportation system, Oculeth’s voice spoke once more.

“I wouldn’t do that just yet.”

She paused, lowering her foot back to the ground. “What now?”

“Nothing overly important. Unless you count calibrating the network to accept your biological fingerprint in order to keep you from being ripped into a thousand thousand pieces and scattered across the space-time continuum. But other than that -”

“Are you always like this?” Jaina asked.

“Like what?” Oculeth replied, but before she could answer he continued. “Ah, there we go! You can come back now.”

She stepped through and emerged back in Shal’Aran once more. There, she was greeted by the site of not just Oculeth, but the First Arcanist and the other nameless Nightborne she had spied in the lower levels of the ruins, a woman with long pale hair who still retained some of the sleek beauty from her previous life. A glance over the woman’s shoulder showed that Oculeth had indeed cordoned off the space he had pointed to before, stringing off a corner of the room with violet streamers and a sign that warned of a swift and grisly death to any that crossed the threshold.

“I didn’t realise I would have a full audience,” Jaina said dryly.

“You’re the most interesting thing to have happened to Shal’Aran in centuries,” the unnamed Nightborne remarked. “Which really isn’t saying much, to be honest. I’ve been driven out of my mind with boredom.”

And hunger , Jaina thought, but did not dare say aloud.

The First Arcanist’s gaze was fixed on the object tucked safely beneath Jaina’s arm. “Is that it?”

Jaina held it out. “Yes. Here’s your...egg.”

“It’s a seed, actually,” Oculeth pointed out. “The seed of an arcan’dor.”

Eyes widening, Jaina stared at the seed. Jaina had only ever read of arcan’dor in the past -- mythical trees perfectly balanced between arcane and nature magics, able to bear fruit infused with pure energies drawn from the very leylines of the earth. Suddenly she felt she should not have been so careless with the egg while retrieving it from the tunnels of Falanaar. She distinctly remembered throwing it at a giant spider to buy her just enough time to cast a tricky spell. The spider had exploded, and she had been forced to clean all the gunk from the seed with the edge of her cloak.

“Would you please take the seed and prepare it, Valtrois?” the First Arcanist said.

The other Nightborne woman reached out to take the seed from Jaina. She inspected it closely with a frown. “Is it...dented?”

Jaina shifted her feet uncomfortably. The First Arcanist noticed, and Jaina could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile, but all Thalyssra said was, “It has been in the possession of the Fal’dorei for a long time. No doubt it was not treated with the care it warrants.”

“Hmm,” Valtrois said. Nevertheless, she strode away with her prize without another glance in Jaina’s direction.

Jaina watched her go, unable to stifle the familiar urge of curiosity that itched at her. “What are you going to do with it?”

“Plant it,” the First Arcanist answered.

“What else does one do with a seed?” Oculeth added.

They had a good point.

Another flash of mana flickered in the pit of Jaina’s stomach. She grimaced and rubbed at the pain growing behind her eyes. Months ago, while Theramore still smouldered like a bed of coals, Jaina had tried expelling the mana that flooded her system in any way she could in the hopes that she could run herself ragged and dry until there was nothing left but a memory. Whatever strange effects the mana bomb left in its wake however, had extended well beyond so simple a solution.

She could drain herself to the dregs of magic, and then the blinding headaches would come. And with them, shockwaves of energy as the well of mana within her replenished itself by draining any source it could find.

As if from a distance, Jaina could hear the First Arcanist say softly, “You have pushed yourself too hard today. You should lie down.”

Jaina dragged a hand down her face and shook her head. “I’m fine.”

“Oculeth, have you set up a space for our guest during her visit?”

“Only the cosiest!” he replied with dutiful joviality.

“Thank you,” the First Arcanist said, turning to walk away. She tilted her head for Jaina to follow.

Leaning heavily on her staff, Jaina trailed after her. The staff’s crystal would pulse with an intermittent glow in time with the pulsing of her growing headache. Still, she tightened her grip and kept her steps resolute as she allowed herself to be led to a far corner of the circular room, beyond a set of pillars and archways. The First Arcanist pulled back one of the screens and ushered Jaina inside.

A glance around informed Jaina that was indeed a cosy space. Small, but more than suitable. It was nearly identical to the partitioned area where the First Arcanist had inspected her earlier that day, but for the fact that the mat had been spread with a dark green cloth. Whether this was purely for aesthetic reasons, or whether it was meant to harken back to Jaina’s Kul Tiran heritage, she did not know. Nor did she particularly care at this moment.

Jaina balanced her staff against the wall, and reached up to unhook the clasp that held her cloak together. She shot a scowl over her shoulder at the First Arcanist, who lingered at the threshold as if waiting for something.

“Is there something you want? Some other task you require of me?” Jaina asked, unable to keep an irritable hiss from her voice. She shrugged off her bags and tossed them into an empty corner.

The First Arcanist clasped her hands before her once more in that manner of poised gentility. Once it must have seemed effortless, but now it appeared feigned -- a mask donned to cover something raw beneath. “Not presently.”

“Then why are you still here?” Jaina began unlacing the front of her mage robes. To hell with decency; it wasn’t anything Thalyssra hadn’t seen just earlier that day, anyway.

“I had hoped to ask you a few questions.”

“Can it wait?” Jaina asked pointedly.

The First Arcanist remained silent for a moment. She studied Jaina with a quiet, intense gaze, before saying, “You have come to seek my help, yet you do not trust me or mine. I fail to understand why.”

Jaina arched a cool eyebrow. “I trust you enough to carve leylines into my skin. Is that not enough?”

“Only because you believe a transaction justifies my actions, like I am some sort of cornerstreet medic, whose services are sought by those who have nothing else to lose.” When Jaina opened her mouth to protest, the First Arcanist waved her excuses away. “Don’t bother denying it. I saw how you leapt at the thought of a trade. Are you so incapable of accepting another’s kindness?”

Perhaps it was the headache. Perhaps she really had pushed herself too much lately. Something ugly and far too recognisable stirred in Jaina’s gut, slithering like a scaled thing through her ribcage. Her expression darkened, and she could feel the sparks of mana overflowing from her fingertips despite herself. “I know about your little rebellion. I know you are courting the Horde. I know your discussions with the Alliance are a farce.”

Rather than deny it, the First Arcanist hummed a neutral note. “Nobody exists in a vacuum, Lady Proudmoore. Our decisions are influenced by our situations, our environments, by the people in our lives. All we can do is what we believe necessary. For the wellbeing and survival of my people, I will do what I must.”

“Garrosh Hellscream is still warm in his grave, and you think joining the Horde will grant you peace?” Jaina laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound. “May the Light help you, First Arcanist. You’ll need it.”

“Their new Warchief, by all accounts, is a good and honourable man. One who was instrumental in tearing down Garrosh from within,” the First Arcanist replied calmly.

Jaina sneered. With jerky movements, she tugged her robes free and stepped out of them until she stood wearing nothing but a shift and smallclothes. “Perhaps. But how long will he last? They change leaders like the seasons, and for the most spurious of reasons, too.”

For the first time, the First Arcanist’s expression hardened. “And what would you suggest I do? Kill them for offering to help me overthrow the shackles of my oppressors?”

Jaina flung her robes into the corner with weary disgust, and dropped heavily onto the mat on the ground. “Trade your old shackles for a shiny new set, for all I care. I’ll be gone soon enough; I doubt we will see each other after this is all said and done.”

The First Arcanist watched in silence as Jaina began to tug at the laces of her boots and chuck them over with the rest of her things. When Thalyssra spoke, her words held a hint of steel, “Perhaps that is for the best.”

Jaina grunted in wordless agreement. She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, and rubbed until she saw whirling patterns of light. She waited for the sound of the First Arcanist’s footsteps, hoping that she would be left to sleep in peace even as she knew any sleep would be fitful at best -- just as it had been since Theramore.

Instead, Thalyssra waited before saying, “I’m afraid you’re going to have a long night ahead of you.”

Peering up from her hands, Jaina narrowed her eyes. “What is that supposed to mean?”

The First Arcanist cocked her head. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“A light lunch before I arrived at Shal'Aran. And you didn’t answer my question.”

In answer, the First Arcanist handed her a small glass vial. It was filled with a viscous liquid that warmed the glass to the touch. “You will need to drink this. It will purge you during the night in preparation for the procedures tomorrow. I am sorry. It will be uncomfortable.”

With a sigh, Jaina rubbed at her brow with one hand. She held out her other and felt the First Arcanist drop the vial into her palm, careful that their skin did not actually touch.

“There’s a bucket in the corner for you. You will need it. Try to get some rest while you can,” the First Arcanist murmured. “I will find you in the morning.”

And with that she left, dragging the screen shut.

The screens did little to shelter the space from any lantern-light. Jaina cast a glance at the bucket in question. It was perched within arm’s reach, ready for use. Beside it was a pitcher of water and a goblet. She grimaced. At least she wouldn’t be dehydrated come morning. Unless the Nightborne had already decided she wasn’t worth the trouble, and given her something far more sinister than a potion of purging. Then, dehydration would be the least of her problems.

Jaina turned the vial between her fingers, studying the way the liquid inside clung to the surface of the glass, dark as unwatered wine but twice as thick. She unstoppered the vial and did not care to check its contents before draining it in one smooth motion. The moment she drank it, her stomach began to turn. Fighting back a shudder, Jaina set the vial aside and crawled beneath the blanket. Already, she could feel the acidic burn of mana rebelling against the potion.

Her hands tightened into fists around the blanket, and she curled in upon herself. It was going to be a long night.

Notes:

the title is taken from the following:

“To be outside a situation so violent as this is to find it inconceivable; to be inside it is to be unable to conceive its end.”

— Simone Weil, “The Iliad or The Poem of Force.”

#jaina proudmoore #thalyssra #first arcanist thalyssra #wow #world of warcraft #legion #all aboard the rarepair express #noot noooot #roman writes #I have no idea where this is going but my brain just blurted this out yesterday #so here we are

46 notes · View notes