#happy belated consequences anniversary btw

[redisaid]

A Benediction

In which I am a liar and continue Consequences, when I said I never would.  Someone please free me from this AU.

I’m really done this time. Probably.

14171 Words

Read it on Ao3!

Liria Windrunner had just turned five years old a week prior, and had already immortalized that fact in her bright little mind, as was evidenced by the loud and proud answer she gave the young sailor who asked after her age. Though he had to have known it, really. Most people on Azeroth did, as this happy little girl’s birth had set into motion a series of events that no one had really ever expected to happen.

Least of all her mothers.

And the unexpected still came in droves. It seemed to follow little Liria wherever she went, though the child was blissfully unaware of it. She was giggling at the sailor as he waved goodbye and pointing at a particularly naughty seagull that a fishmonger was chasing off his wares.

And Jaina was busy contemplating the fact that she was watching her daughter experience the docks of Boralus for the first time, fresh off the ship that had brought them there from their home in Lordaeron. She was also contemplating that it was the first time she herself had set foot on these very docks in decades. And though the sailor who had knelt by them to talk sweetly to her daughter was kind enough, the rest of the eyes that were fixed on them--peering out from under dun tri-corner caps and the bucket helmets of port guards--were of the harder sort. They were still not quite ready to welcome Jaina back to her homeland, and not especially with Sylvanas Windrunner’s daughter at her side.

Even their escort of Proudmoore guardsmen scowled ahead of them, a towering wall of deep green and disapproval.

“Mama! Why is everyone so tall here?” Liria started, tugging at the sleeve of Jaina’s robes.

She was still very much in the “Why” phase. At first, Jaina had found it very endearing. Her little girl wanted to know all there was to know in this world already. After the tenth, twentieth, thirtieth why of the day, though, the endearment of it all began to wear off. Jaina still did her best to answer, though she had to admit Sylvanas was surprisingly much more patient than her when it came to all the why’s.

Luckily, she had another elf to step in to fill that role while her wife was absent today. Absent in that Jaina had requested to come alone. At least this first time. Sylvanas could join her next time, if there were to be a next time. Jaina still wasn’t sure of it.

So it was Anya, acting as their honor guard at Sylvanas’ insistence, who answered instead, speaking Thalassian, “We are in Kul Tiras, little bird. Everyone is tall here. Why do you think your mother towers over all of us dark rangers?”

Liria contemplated that answer, thankfully saving a follow up why that seemed on the tip of her little tongue. Instead she tugged harder at Jaina’s sleeve, then pulled her hand free from it to hold. She looked up at her with her eyes like molten silver, grey and glowing, but not so much as a full-blooded elf. Her short, pointed ears pinned back with concern.

“Mama, I thought you wanted to take me to Kul Tiras?” Liria asked, concern written plain as day on her little face.

She was too well-spoken for five, and flowed between all the many languages that surrounded her at any given time with relative ease to the point of delighting Jaina and confusing Sylvanas, who was always amazed at her daughter’s quick progression. She was still expecting her to be little more than a wild toddler until five or six, as elves were. But at least in this, Liria showed her human half and perhaps something else that couldn’t quite be explained by her heritage.

Jaina hadn’t realized it, but they had been just standing there for several minutes now, between the ramp of their ship and the guards waiting for them further down the dock. She had excused it as giving time for Liria to take it all in. Really, though, she was the one taking it in. The salt smell of the air. The cries of the gulls. The damp wood under her feet. The biting chill of the air. Even the perpetually cloudy skies. It was all exactly as she knew Kul Tiras to be, even without the skyline of Boralus looming above the harbor. All as she had left it when she was only a handful of years older than Liria. She’d only been back to visit a scant few times in her teenage years.

Yes, that would mean it had been a good twenty years since she had set foot on these docks. Nearly as long as that since she had allowed her father to die at the hands of the orcs on the shores of Theramore, and all but sealed her banishment from this place.

But her mother had invited her here. She wanted to see her. She wanted to meet her granddaughter. Liria had once again been the catalyst for change in yet another unrelenting heart--this time the one that beat in Katherine Proudmoore’s chest.

Jaina squeezed her daughter’s little hand gently. She kept it in hers as she knelt down before her on the dock. “I do want to take you here,” she told her. “I’m very excited for you to see the land I come from. But I haven’t been here in a very long time. I haven’t spoken with your grandmother here outside of a few letters we’ve traded these past few months. And one day, when you are a little older, I will explain why it is that the people here are not so happy to see me. It’s all a little scary for me, that’s all.”

She had made a point of being as honest as she could with her daughter, when she could. It was a difficult task, trying to balance what was appropriate to tell a small child, yet one who grew up around the undead, taking piggy back rides from the creatures spawned of Azeroth’s greatest shame and horror all in one. A child who had been present in war councils and treaty negotiations alike from infancy, yet still did not understand that her dear friends and all those aunties and uncles were the leaders of this world and its peoples.                                

“Don’t be scared, mama,” Liria said with one of her sweet little smiles. Her cheeks were chubby still, as Jaina’s had been at this age. “Anya is here with us.”

Anya scoffed at the child’s confidence, but smiled all the same, enough that Jaina could catch it out of the corner of her eye. She answered it in Common this time, flowing as easily through languages as her charges did, “I think your mother is more than capable of protecting us all, little bird. More than I am, at least. It’s a different kind of scared she’s talking about.”

Elves such as she had a habit of speaking to children as if they were not children. Jaina guessed it came from their virtual immortality. Why would one need to differentiate between a three year old and a three hundred year old?

Liria seemed to enjoy that, though, even if she didn’t quite follow such conversations in their entirety.

“You have to be brave,” Liria said after a slow nod to Anya’s words. “Minn’da always tells me to be brave.”

“You are very brave,” Jaina told her, caressing her cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding hers. “And we could all learn a thing or two from how very brave you are.”

Liria giggled at that, revealing that beneath that all seriousness and sincerity that could seize her tiny body occasionally, she was still just a girl of five years. five years, short in some ways, long in others. five years that had seen the world itself change around her.

Jaina couldn’t help but smile back at her, smoothing her wind-blown golden hair back over one pointed ear as she stood and noted, “Perhaps I will learn from it now and get on with this. Shall we?”

Liria nodded, still clinging tight to two of Jaina’s fingers as she stepped alongside her mother and up to the guardsmen on the dock wearing the colors of her other name. Because on most days, she was Liria Windrunner, by elven tradition of course, but when she was being particularly naughty or perhaps overly inquisitive far too early in the day, Sylvanas would take to calling her Liria Proudmoore.

Jaina supposed that it was what she deserved, after all, to be haunted by this little copy of herself, so bright and full of hope as she once was. She wondered if her mother would see it too, once they reached the keep--if she would see how much of her own daughter was packaged into this little half-elven gremlin of a child. This tiny totem of strength that was hers, by flesh, blood, magic, and maybe a bit of poor planning. This little girl who had changed the entire world just by existing.

“You’re brave too, mama,” Liria affirmed as they walked.

Jaina still wasn’t sure if she agreed with that, but Liria always made it hard for her to say no.

---

Sylvanas made a point of avoiding Silvermoon, under normal circumstances. It wasn’t that she wasn’t welcome there. On the contrary, Lor’themar would love to pull her into his office and talk her ear off like old times. Only his office wasn’t some cramped closet in Farstrider’s square now, but a royal suite where she used to give reports to Anasterian. And instead, he was supposed to be the one giving reports to her.

No, it had all died with her. The first time. That was exactly the problem. Nothing about Silvermoon was quite the same as she remembered it, from the red that painted the spire tops to the remains of golden statues, broken at the ankles, which had yet to be replaced with something or someone that wasn’t Kael’thas. The Silvermoon she had fought to protect was a thing that was gone forever, replaced by something close but not quite close enough. Like a favorite dish made by a foreign chef trying their best with unfamiliar flavors, or a perfectly well-made and well-balanced new bow that didn’t shoot quite like her old one did.

Even now, the way she came in was different. Not though the front gates to fanfare and excitement, or even slipping in from a side entrance to whispers and wondering. No, Sylvanas much preferred it like this, with just her and Velonara entering via portal in the early morning hours, greeted only by a sleepy magister who manned said portal, and a few guards who dismissed them as a few dark rangers out to perform some task or another for their queen.

Well, a few dark rangers and one ever-growing bundle nested beneath her own dark cloak.

“Mmm, where are we going, Minn’da?” Liria asked as she burrowed deeper into the dark silk that hid her from prying eyes.

She drew enough attention already for a girl so young. five years now since she was born, to the day. To Sylvanas, it felt as though no time at all had passed, yet her daughter was evidence to the contrary. It would be soon enough that she was too big to carry like this, when she was too sleepy to walk. But Sylvanas would meet that day when it came, and not a moment sooner.

“We’re nearly there,” she told her in a hush of whispered Thalassian. “Rest a while longer, I will carry you.”

Liria did not argue against this, and merely balled her little fists tighter in Sylvanas’ leathers as she held on and trusted in her to carry her as promised.

Jaina was already starting to become annoyed with this practice, stating that their daughter was getting too old to be carried like a baby and that Jaina herself could hardly even pick her up anymore. So why should Sylvanas?

Sylvanas had made a quip about making up for the nine months she couldn’t carry her while Jaina did, which earned her a laugh, then a sad smile from Jaina. And then there were no more such discussions.

So today, she carried Liria. And she likely would until Liria herself asked her to put her down, which she hadn’t yet. Despite the fact that this other mother of hers had cool skin and a dull throb of necromantic energy that sustained her. Liria loved to ask questions, but never wondered at that. At least not to the point where Sylvanas had been compelled to give her the full answer.

She’d overheard Jaina giving her some context though, one night in their tower top home, as she explained about the Forsaken, “A very bad thing happened to them, a long time ago.”

“And that’s why they’re cold?”

“Yes.”

Because death and the Scourge and all that had happened since was still quite a bit to process for a girl of four. No, five. Five today. Sylvanas had to remind herself, lest she be corrected once Liria woke up fully. That was still so young. Five years old. By elven growth standards, she should still be a babbling babe, barely stringing two words together. But no, not her Liria. She was even surpassing the faster human milestones.

“I am surprised Jaina allowed this,” Velonara noted at her side as they stalked down the still darkened streets of the city of the sun.

“Why are you surprised?” Sylvanas asked. “She is as much my daughter as hers.”

“Not like that,” Velonara answered in a rushed whisper, eager to dismiss any notion of disrespect. “She didn’t want to be with you?”

“She didn’t want to cause a diplomatic incident,” Sylvanas explained. “My wife is shrewd like that, plus Lor’themar would personally march her out of the city himself, perhaps at knife point.”

“Definitely at knife point,” Velonara agreed. “Is that perhaps why you are carrying her daughter beneath your cloak.”

“Our daughter,” Sylvanas corrected, but with an impish smirk all the same. “Our daughter who is up far too early in the morning because I did not want to turn this into a diplomatic incident either. Our daughter who could use a few more moments of sleep before her big day.”

“Your daughter, who you always have in your arms whenever you get the chance to, right,” Velnoara snarked back.

Sylvanas wouldn’t argue with the truth, so she just shifted the girl in her arms to draw her closer to herself as they made their way down the streets of the city that was now a homeland to none of them. Liria had never been here before. She had staked her little claims to the Undercity and Dalaran, Orgrimmar and Stormwind. She had been all over the world, but now in just one week’s time, would be travelling with her mothers to two places they did not ever go. At least, not anymore.

But Sylvanas’ feet knew the way. She didn’t even have to think about it. Even with the red banners replacing blue, or the green and gold eyes that stared after her and wondered. Even with her whole world colored in the wrong shades, the way to Liadrin’s was the same as it had always been. Before the war. Before death. Before all that had come after.

The sun had just begun to peek in over the city walls by the time they reached her door. Only then did Sylvanas set her daughter down, rousing Liria so she would stand on her own feet and she knelt with her.

“Morning sleepy one,” Sylvanas said to her as she rubbed at her eyes. Eyes that had not changed at all since her birth, and still looked back at her mother with a mirror of the color her own eyes had been in life. “Remember I told you we were going on an adventure today?”

Liria nodded, a ghost of her room-brightening smile tugging at her slumber-slack lips.

“First we must meet with a friend of mine who will help us on this adventure,” Sylvanas explained. “And I need to speak with her and ask her some questions. She might want to look at you a little bit and have you do some things to answer them for me. Can you be brave for me and let her do that?”

“I will be brave, promise,” Liria mumbled.

Her response was automatic and entirely unnecessary. Sylvanas knew she had little in the way of fear. While other children cried at storms and shied away from strangers, Liria would happily make friends with a dozen orcish orphans, or ride around on the shoulder of a curious abomination, if left unsupervised for more than a moment or two. Or honestly even when left supervised--it depended on the dark ranger who was supposed to be watching her as to whether or not such behaviors would be encouraged or discouraged.

Even then, Sylvanas watched as she woke up fully, taking in her unfamiliar surroundings not with doubt or fear, but with wonder. “Minn’da, this place is pretty. Where are we?”

“Silvermoon,” Sylvanas explained. “The city of the elves.”

What kind of elves, she had a hard time saying. Just like she would rather not notice the red where there should be blue. Just like she would rather not explain to Liria that she was cold because she was dead. Some things were better left unsaid. At least, for now.

“Your city?” Liria asked, perhaps not quite understanding the implications, and merely wondering if this were Alliance or Horde territory.

Because even as little as she was, she understood what those things were. But perhaps in another five years, she would not need to worry about such divisions.

“Not quite,” Sylvanas offered as an equally simplified explanation.

“She’s ready for you,” Velonara said as she emerged from the door to Liadrin’s office, having dodged in as soon as they arrived.

“Let’s start our adventure,” Sylvanas said to her daughter as she extended a gloved hand for her to take.

Liria grinned and nodded as she took that hand.

---

The walk up to the keep had taken no time at all. Jaina lost all sense of it the moment her feet hit the pavement. Boralus had not changed. The only thing different about the city was the lack of her father and his flagship on the docks. And of Derek sneaking her off to buy sweets on the way back home.

Jaina nearly asked their guards to stop so she could lead Liria down that very alleyway to the bakery--to see if they had the same sweet spiced cider and buttery fruit pies she remembered--but decided it was perhaps not fitting of the mood. Not when the men barely said a word to her, and acted as if they were escorting a prisoner to the dungeons, rather than a diplomatic visitor to their leader.

Or rather, one of the heirs to the Admiralty they served. Actually, make that two.

But now, she was sitting in a receiving room that was almost exactly as she remembered it. One where she and Tandred had once knocked over a vase during a particularly raucous game of tag. The end table it had been on was still empty, no other ornament having found a way to replace it in all these years. Anya waited dutifully outside, sizing up the Proudmoore guards she stationed herself with like she was counting either the coin she could win from them, or the sneers she could wriggle from them, depending on what type of distraction they were prone to. Though when the door had closed behind her, Jaina could still see the unease plain on the mens’ faces at the presence of an undead elf in their midst.

A reminder of the horrors of the world outside of their unchanging island, made flesh and bone, and wanting nothing more than to trade terrible sea puns with them or learn a new card game.

But now it was just Jaina, sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch cushions, feeling as though she shouldn’t touch more of them than she needed to. And Liria, of course, poking at the furnishings with abandon, but doing her best to be careful about it.

“What’s this, mama?” she asked, pointing at a polished bronze sextant mounted on the wall, just out of her reach.

“A sextant. Sailors use them to measure distances at sea,” Jaina explained.

“Is grandma coming now?”

“Yes, she’s going to meet us here.”

“Can I give her a hug?”

“I...I don’t think she’ll mind. Maybe. Let’s see what happens when she gets here, hmm?”

Liria lost interest in the ship in the bottle over the mantle, and wandered back to the couch. She sat next to her mother, pulling herself up onto the tall cushion without asking for any sort of assistance. She was so independent and headstrong, well, at least when Sylvanas wasn’t in the room, toting her around like oversized luggage.

“Mama,” she said as she sat triumphantly next to Jaina, grinning and pleased with herself for her climbing. “Why are you sad here?”

Perhaps this was the time for Liria to learn what nervous meant. But it wasn’t just that. No. Not really. There was a bit of sadness. A tinge of regret. A tiny sliver of hope. So many things. Too many feelings that roiled inside of Jaina like a stormy sea. The kind of storms she would watch from the battlements of this very keep with her father, happy that they had kept him at home with her another day.

“Sometimes, it’s sad to be reminded of things that happened before,” Jaina tried to explain. “And sad that there are people who were once here but now are gone. But at the same time, I am happy that you are here with me, my little star. So no, I’m not really sad. Only a little bit.”

Liria had no wisdom for this, save to lean into Jaina’s side and hug her. Jaina bent down to kiss her head, knowing full well that this was all the wisdom she needed. And also to make an excuse to fix some of that wild golden hair of hers. Another Proudmoore trait that her daughter wore well, even if she whined about detangling it every morning.

This was how Katherine Proudmoore found her daughter and granddaughter. Her own golden hair had long since gone steel grey and severe as the rest of her.

Jaina looked up to find her mother as the picture of the Lord Admiral--great coat buttoned high, shoulders stiff in parade rest. But her eyes told a different story. They softened as they found Jaina’s, then flew to the little girl that still clung to her side.

“Jaina,” Katherine said, so softly it almost didn’t come out.

“Hello Mother,” Jaina answered, finding it in her to smile, despite the fact that her stomach seemed to have suddenly teleported into her throat.

“Grandma?” Liria implored, more asking for Jaina to confirm, but still staring up at Katherine all the same.

Only then did Katherine drop her militant stance, and take a step toward the couch. “I guess that’s what I am now, isn’t it?”

Liria wasn’t so hesitant. She vaulted off the couch, and got her hug. After all, it was very difficult to tell her no. A thing Katherine, it seemed, would have to learn rather quickly.

---

Liria sat on Liadrin’s exam table, her little legs swinging. She looked around the room, unsure of where she was or why or how she’d come to get here, but smiling all the same.

“How old are you, Liria?” Liadrin asked her in soft Thalassian, her deep voice surprisingly gentled in the presence of a small child.

“Five!” Liria proudly answered for the first time that day. “Today is my birthday.”

Sylvanas, as she leaned back against the far wall, was pleased to find that her daughter remembered the Thalassian numbers. She may or may not have held it over Jaina that Liria could count higher in Thalassian than Common.

“I’ve heard that it is. I hope you enjoy it,” Liadrin said to the child as she moved back over to the exam table. “Liria, I would like to check a few things. Is it alright if I touch you?”

Liria nodded to this, finally growing quiet in the face of apprehension for the first time that day, but still smiling.

Not at all like her Aunt Vereesa, whom Sylvanas could still remember bringing to this very office at such an age. No amount of candies or promises would keep her from bawling her eyes out at the very notion of visiting the healers for a check up, despite not being old enough to understand what any of that meant. She would kick and scream her way there every time.

Sylvanas wondered if she had been as angelic as her own daughter was about the whole experience. There was no one left to tell her, though. Alleria certainly hadn’t helped out with her raising as she had with her own younger siblings.

Liadrin started her exam by looking at Liria’s short, half elf ears. “How’s her hearing?” she asked of Sylvanas as she gently pushed one ear back, eliciting a giggle from the little girl.

“Too good,” Sylvanas answered. “Enough that she’s repeated far too many words that Gallywix has said half a room over. Her Orcish cursing vocabulary is now quite advanced.”

“It’s hard to say how things will develop with half elves,” Liadrin commented as she checked the other ear. “You’ve seen it yourself in your own nephews. Arator’s ears are a fair bit longer than Vereesa’s boys even. Time will tell with your little one here, of course.”

Sylvanas hadn’t met Vereesa’s children until Liria came along. And Arator, she hadn’t seen since he was a baby. But all of that had changed. So much so that at the end of all these visits to foreign and uncomfortable places for all involved, there was something akin to a family birthday party planned in Stormwind, of all places.

Stormwind, where Sylvanas now walked regularly through the streets with her sisters, her nephews, and her wife and daughter. Where only a few people still stared her down with malice. Most were content enough to see her as a sign of peace. A peace that seemed far less tenous than it ever had, now that it was united in blood.

Blood that was laughing as Liadrin poked at her nose and grinned at her, then tilted her head up to check her eyes.

“Surprising amount of glow she already has,” Liadrin commented. “Considering that she doesn’t live near a magic source.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Sylvanas noted. “She lives on the hip of one, actually. Jaina is as good as any font of power.”

“I suppose you would know,” Liadrin snarked, turning her attention back to her patient before Sylvanas could even think of a reply to that. “Can you open your mouth really big for me, Liria? As much as you can?”

Liadrin hummed at the state of Liria’s baby teeth. Her little canines were pointed and sharp, but not quite elven fangs.

“I suppose you have as much reason as Lor’themar to be wary of my wife,” Sylvanas finally let out, leaving it just at that. No reason to dredge up the past. Just being here, in Silvermoon, in this office, was doing that enough for her.

“I am wary of you and Jaina in the way I am of things I don’t understand,” Liadrin told her. “Because I still don’t understand it. But I’m glad of it. I’m glad to be here giving your daughter a check up, rather than commanding your troops on a battlefield.”

“Hard to say where I’d rather have you, personally,” Sylvanas drawled, drawing a quirk from Liadrin’s lips.

“Thank you, Liria. You can close your mouth now,” she said to her patient. “Have you lost any baby teeth yet?”

“Teeth?” Liria asked, repeating the word carefully and looking over to Sylvanas.

A Thalassian word she did not know. This was always how she asked.

Sylvanas smiled and opened her mouth, pointing to one of her own fangs as explanation before answering for her daughter, “Not yet. It will be a while yet, no?”

“Not if she keeps up with a human growth cycle. A year or two, at most,” Liadrin told her.

Liadrin had already measured her height and weight, both of which Sylvanas was sure were well off elven standards. Even now that she was talking to her sisters again and had been around her half elf nephews, she still didn’t know what to expect out of her child. Liria compared with her boy cousins in some ways, but not in others. Perhaps it was the Kul Tiran in her--the wildness of the sea that ran through Jaina’s veins. But Sylvanas was nothing if not a practical woman of facts. Facts she was hoping Liadrin had for her.

It seemed like she was the first to hear the footsteps that approached from the stairs to the apartments above Liadrin’s office. Their owner thought she was being very quiet and very sneaky, but not to a ranger. Not to the former Ranger General of Quel’thalas. Not to the Banshee Queen. Not to the Warchief of the Horde.

Not even to her own adoptive mother, as Liadrin’s own ears soon perked up at the sound. “Salandria?”

This elven child was quite a bit older than Liria in years, but not much bigger than her as she gave in and revealed herself in the doorway of the stairwell.

“Are you ready for school?” Liadrin asked.

Salandria nodded, eyeing Sylvanas warily and then looking toward Liria, who was instantly captivated by her. So much so that she was almost bouncing off the table with delight at seeing another child, ready and raring to play without even so much as asking if it was a possibility.

“You may ask the Warchief one question, and then if it’s all right with her, you can take Liria here to play for a little while before we walk to school?” Liadrin said, turning it into a question as she looked over to Sylvanas.

“That’s fine,” Sylvanas answered.

The elven girl clung to the door frame as she asked her question in a hushed whisper that was not nearly hushed enough for any of the ears in the room not to hear. “Is it really true, that the wars are over? For good?”

“I hope so, child,” Sylvanas answered her. “That is what we are trying for, at least. As impressive as Liadrin is on the battlefield, I would much rather she were here every day to walk you to school in the mornings. I’m sure you feel the same way.”

Salandria smiled at this, nodding her agreement.

Sylvanas turned to her own daughter, who was already climbing down from the table. Without permission. What a naughty thing. She loved her even more for it.

“Liria, this is Salandria. She is Lady Liadrin’s ward. I believe the both of you would very much like to go and play, yes?” she asked.

Liria answered that by rushing to Salandria’s side and sizing her up. No doubt contemplating what mischief she would be capable of getting into with her.

“Be good then,” Sylvanas warned, though she knew that request was mostly on Salandria’s onus to fulfill.

The girls quickly disappeared up the stairs in a flurry of excited footsteps and questions about toys.

“Her Thalassian is very good for as little as she is,” Liadrin said once they were alone. Velonara was out standing watch by the door. Not that it was particularly necessary. Mostly because she felt that she should.

“Thank you for pointing out that we need to work on body parts still,” Sylvanas noted.

“Oh, take a compliment for once,” Liadrin scoffed. “If not for you then for your daughter. She’s going to be a real handful once she realizes just how smart she is.”

“That milestone has already passed, believe me,” Sylvanas told her, propping herself up from the wall to approach Liadrin. “But...there’s nothing concerning? Nothing wrong?”

“Why do you think so?” Liadrin asked. “As far as I can see, she’s a healthy little girl, growing like a half human weed is wont to do, but healthy.”

“No reason, I guess,” Sylvanas answered. “I am just out of my depth. All I know of children is what I saw from helping with my siblings. Liria is not very much like them.”

“Certainly less tearful,” Liadrin agreed with a chuckle at herself. “And if you’re worried about children of Aranal’dorei, I can assure you that they are no different than any other.”

“Even if one parent is undead?” Sylvanas voiced her eternal concern. It had always been this way, ever since she first learned of the success of her and Jaina’s ritual. Ever since she had been surprised to hear that she would soon have a living child.

“Believe me, there are those out there who would love to turn your little family into a case study on the matter. But as a professional who is perhaps a bit rusty in returning to her peacetime profession, I can tell you that I see no reason to worry. And I’m not sure why you do,” Liadrin told her.

Sylvanas would be a liar if she said she wasn’t sure either. There was so much to worry about. A life in her hands, a woman who once screamed for death to the living. Now preserving and protecting that life was all she ever thought about.

“Do you think there will be any issue with what we mean to do today?” Sylvanas asked instead of voicing that turmoil.

“Not for her,” Liadrin commented with a low flick of her long ears. “But for you, yes.”

“I had meant to ask you. Will you take her from the boat? I would have Alleria or Vereesa do it, but they’re still as banned from the city as Jaina is. And of course I would, but…” she trailed off. Words so rarely failed Sylvanas. It seemed that only her wife and daughter could cause such things to happen.

Luckily, Liadrin seemed to follow her, “The Sunwell is a bastion of holy energy now, and you are undead. I would be honored, Sylvanas. I was going to suggest you and Velonara stay on the ferry.”

“She will behave for you,” Sylvanas promised. “I have not spoken to her about what we’re doing today at any length, but she is willing and usually eager to please. I didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“It’s not a problem,” Liadrin told her. “Though I was surprised you even asked.”

“If I did not do this, then I feared my mother herself would rise from her grave to haunt me until it was done. And you must understand that I cannot bear the thought of no longer being the only undead Windrunner. What have I to offer otherwise?” Sylvanas quipped.

“Ah yes, the Warchief of the Horde, the once Ranger General of Quel’thalas. Certainly nothing else to offer but your complex relationship with death and your morbid humor,” Liadrin laughed even as she chided her. “And now you are the great peacemaker. One of the two women who united a war-torn world with their love.”

“I suppose I have that going for me,” Sylvanas replied with a smirk.

“Yes Warchief, I will take your daughter to be blessed in the Sunwell’s waters. Not because you’re ordering me to, even if you think you’re not. No, because I am starting to see the Ranger Captain I once knew again--with the smartest, foulest mouth on her--who would come into my tent bleeding all over the place and grinning like a lynx every time. And it’s her daughter I will take to the Sunwell,” Liadrin told her.

Sylvanas also made it a habit of not meeting regularly with people who knew her when she was alive. Well, people were not also as dead as she. Lor’themar didn’t count, as he’d grown used to the changes in her long ago, and honestly seemed entertained by them anymore. Liadrin, though, had been someone she called a friend all those years ago. Someone who would look at her and expect to see someone else, someone she could no longer be.

But perhaps, that wasn’t entirely true. Even with this spire’s red roof and Liadrin’s golden eyes. With Sylvanas’ ashen skin and dual-toned banshee voice. With Liria’s short ears and Proudmoore gold hair--or perhaps it was gold like her Aunt Alleria’s. Only time would tell.

Only time would tell for all of them.

“You honor me, Matriarch,” Sylvanas said. “Or should I go back to calling you Priestess now?”

“Let’s not be hasty, Sylvanas,” Liadrin answered with a wave. “I don’t think I could go back to wearing robes. And I would miss my sword.”

---

Uncle Tandred had arrived later in the morning, and was an instant hit. It might have been because he had brought along a gift of a bright purple stuffed kraken. It might have been because Jaina hadn’t seen him since he was a gangly youth, and her little brother was now a man grown, a Kul Tiran captain in his own right. He looked every part of the heir to the admiralty in a way that made her heart hurt for Derek, but also swell with pride. But underneath his greatcoat and sea-reddened cheeks, he was still the silly boy she remembered.

And her daughter was loving it.

They were playing at sea monsters, with Liria on the floor with her kraken, attacking Tandred’s knees as he sat on a couch opposite the one Jaina had claimed.

“Ah, you’ve sunk me again, little fish!” he cried out as he collapsed against the cushions. “However will the fleet recover?”

Liria didn’t know what sound to make for a kraken, but seemed to have settled on a vaguely avian screech. She gave it a victory cry, lifting her new toy as high as she could.

Tandred slipped from his mock death for a moment to open one eye and grin at Jaina. She had perhaps been more afraid of his reaction to her than her mother’s. But as soon as she’d written Katherine back after that first tenuous request for contact, Tandred had written her three times as many letters as she had time to reply to.

In those letters, there had been no resentment. No blame. No shame. Just a brother who missed his sister, and who had spent the last two decades hearing about her exploits from afar. And who had been saving up every ounce of younger sibling torture for her, as it would seem. So much so that Jaina was surprised to find that the kraken toy didn’t make some sort of hideous noise.

His eye then fell to Katherine, noticeably separate from Jaina on the opposite end of the same couch, pretty much leaned against the arm of it. Liria had melted her a little at first, and provided a good enough distraction from any awkwardness that might have remained, but it came back with a vengeance when Tandred arrived.

“Say Liria,” Tandred started as he came back to life fully and bent down a bit to address the girl at his feet. “Would you like to go with me and see some old paintings of your mother when she was a little girl? If it’s alright with her, of course?”

“And Mr. Kraken,” Liria added, waving the toy at him again.

“Right, I think your mother’s approval takes priority over his, though, as fearsome as he is,” Tandred noted as he looked back over to Jaina.

Jaina knew immediately what was offering her. A thing she both dreaded and cherished. A thing she both wanted and wanted to run from. The opportunity to speak with her mother, alone, without distractions.

Jaina glanced over to her, finding the startled look in her mother’s eyes evidence enough that she understood as much too.

She had planned for this. With or without Liria in the room. With or without the questions she would have to answer from her, now or later.

“I think that’s a fine idea, if Mr. Kraken does,” Jaina answered after a moment of swallowing down her own apprehension.

Liria screeched his approval and stood up, looking expectantly at Tandred.

Tandred bent to pick her up, and could manage it well enough with his broad Kul Tiran frame--nearly as tall and strong now as his father had been. Liria, for her part, was delighted to be carried by anyone, though such occurrences were getting rarer and rarer.

Outside of Sylvanas, of course.

“Come on, little fish,” Tandred said as he settled her against his hip. “We’ll go on a tour of the great hall, and I’ll show you all the ugly portraits of me too.”

Liria laughed at this. She was so easy and accepting of people. No matter what shape, size, race, or relation they were to her. No wonder the world saw her as a symbol of lasting peace. She fit the part perfectly.

And in that moment, she reminded Jaina of herself. Of a little girl who would also be carried by a giant Kul Tiran admiral. One who would make her laugh and smile, who would sing her to sleep with songs he wrote just for her.

Songs that they now apparently sang in the dockside taverns to warn against her treachery.

Had she looked like that, in her father’s arms? A little blonde beacon of light. Hope embodied.

What did that make her now? Some days, she felt herself a ruin. Like Lordaeron had been when she first took up residence in her tower. These days, it was much improved. Far more than just Jaina and the dark rangers had come up from the Undercity to reclaim the city, and the flowers bloomed brighter and brighter from the once blighted soil every spring. Some days, Jaina felt she could match that growth. But it was hard. It was still very hard.

“We’ll be back soon,” Tandred offered as he turned and left the room, juggling his niece and the handle of the heavy wooden door with determination.

“Bye bye, mama,” Liria giggled as she was whisked away.

“Be good,” Jaina called after them, knowing that neither of them was likely to comply.

Still, she trusted her brother. She had trusted him since the first letter he wrote to her in decades.

Her mother, just a few couch cushions and throw pillows away? Perhaps not so much.

“So,” Katherine began, perhaps even more aware of the frigid silence that threatened to descend on them than Jaina was.

“So,” Jaina replied, equally daunted by that notion, but unsure of what to say.

Because there was so much. Apologies and explanations danced in her mind, but the notion that she owed her mother neither of these things threatened to break up their careful waltzes. It felt like a lifetime since Jaina had been alone in a room with her, and honestly, she had gone through more than a lifetime’s worth of experiences since then. Tragedies and joys. Things both inevitable and entirely unexpected.

“I have received an invitation from your friend, High King Wrynn, to negotiate Kul Tiras’ place in the peace agreements next month,” Katherina started. “I have yet to reply.”

“Zandalar has already been working with the Horde on their terms, if that helps,” Jaina told her. “And I understand that you’ve already been in a ceasefire with them for quite a while now?”

“Yes, but that wasn’t my only concern,” Katherine said. She remained as stiff as Jaina had been when she first sat down.

And even Jaina had finally come to relax against the couch cushions, if a little warily still. “We are working to make a world with no enemies for anyone, mother. And to ensure that it remains that way. I don’t want Liria to grow up like I did--not knowing if you or father or Derek would make it back home every time you sailed out.”

Katherine looked at her, but ended up looking past her, such was the distance in her eyes. Distance that could not forgive, could not rationalize, could not understand.

Perhaps it was all that had transpired between now and then that made Jaina so numb to the idea that it was her who made it so her father never returned from his last voyage. But no, numb wasn’t the right word. She felt that regret every moment she thought back to it. She’d spent many a night awake, mumbling out the words she could have said to him instead, could have used to make him just listen.

She still did it, to the point where Sylvanas had stirred from her still and corpse-like rest next to her at night, and asked what in the world she was doing.

Now, she would listen, and would not offer advice or condolences, but would hold Jaina until she ran out of those words.

“So much of this world has been shaped by war,” Katherine finally offered, her gaze still distant. “So much of our lives and the lives of those that came before us. I worry that there are many here in Kul Tiras who would not like to see a world without war. And for you, my Jaina, I worry there are many more in other parts of this world that would agree with them.”

“It is not an easy task, this peace,” Jaina agreed. “But I’m determined. Anduin is determined, and Sylvanas too.”

“Your wife,” Katherine added.

“Yes, my wife.”

Their wedding had been as small as they could make it, which was not very small. Jaina wanted to say it was not politicized either, but that was impossible for them. Still, Jaina knew that she had married a woman she had grown to love. The mother of her daughter. And yes, the Warchief of the Horde. But Sylvanas was so much more than that. Like everything that had happened since Liria was conceived, she was so unexpected.

Sylvanas had been beautiful in her wedding dress. She so rarely wore skirts of any kind, even though she had taken to wearing her armor less and less these days, but Jaina loved to see her in any sort of dress. And Liria had made for an adorable, if rather ineffective flower girl. She wasn’t even two then, so maybe only a few petals made it out of her basket and onto the aisle, but even back then, she had the most skeptical and wary guests smiling and laughing on both sides of the aisle.

Katherine finally dropped her militant stiffness to laugh and sigh at the same time. “Tides, you are married to the Warchief of the Horde,” she breathed as she slumped onto the arm of the couch.

“Would you believe me if I told you that was never my intention in all this? Everyone seems to think that us--that Liria--it was all some sort of ploy for peace. The Alliance whispers it was to cover up the shame of a Horde surrender. The Horde thinks I’ve enchanted their leader into becoming my love slave.”

Worse things had been said on both sides, of course. There were those that did understand, too. Those that could believe the story as she and Sylvanas told it.

But yes, it was a strange one. Jaina could understand why the people struggled to find the reasoning behind it. But she loved Sylvanas Windrunner, who took such good care of both her and their daughter. Little else mattered to her.

“You took the time to explain it in your letters,” Katherine said. “I’ve no reason to doubt you. I’m only thinking about what your father would say to all this.”

And there it was. Daelin Proudmoore was still larger than life, filling up the room, and he had been dead for nearly twenty years. Every inch of space between them was haunted by the ghost of her father. The weight of her guilt.

Jaina had robbed her mother of her rock, her solace, and through that, eventually found her own in the arms of a woman who represented everything Daelin fought against. The leader of the orcs and trolls who took his eldest son. A woman who had fought on his side of that war, but who was welcomed back to the red banners of the Horde instead when she rose again from undead servitude.

“I suspect he would probably not be very happy with me,” Jaina offered, because what else could she say?

What else could she do? The familiar walls of Proudmoore Keep suddenly felt like a prison. The memories of this place, barely changed with time while Jaina herself had changed so much, were her chains.

But Katherine, she was an enigma. She had wanted this. She had wanted to see her again. Even before Anduin had invited her to negotiate, before Kul Tiras was called to mind the new laws of this peaceful world.

Why would she, when it was so obvious that she still wasn’t ready to forgive Jaina? When the nation that had born her so clearly agreed?

Katherine moved over to sit closer to Jaina, defying that notion. She took her hand in hers and squeezed it gently. Her hands were both smoother and bonier than Jaina remembered them being.

Not all things in Kul Tiras were immune to change, so it seemed.

“But he would have loved that little girl of yours so much,” Katherine told her. She looked at Jaina now, not through her. “And that’s all I’ll say about it. For now. You said it yourself, Jaina. Peace isn’t an easy thing. It takes work. I am willing to work, for you, for King Wrynn, for your wife, and for my granddaughter.”

Jaina squeezed her hand back, then pulled her mother into an embrace she did not know she needed. This wasn’t forgiveness. It wasn’t an end to guilt. But it was a start. Of what, she could not know yet.

But things had only been getting better. And Jaina could allow herself to think that they might.

---

Sylvanas had never been fond of sailing. It was a necessity she learned to tolerate over the years. In her life as an elf, she would rather deal with the vertigo-inducing use of portals instead. But death, if anything, had taught her patience. And sea voyages, even short ones such as this ferry ride, often required a great deal of patience.

But her daughter loved the sea. Every time they were near to any shore, she would be content to chase the waves and the gulls all day. And boats and ships of all manner held no fear or mystery for her. She would marvel at each, and beg for a ride upon them, only to grin and play in the wind as it rippled through the sails.

Today was no exception. Velonara was hovering over Liria as the girl leaned on the railing of the elven vessel that would carry them across the narrow channel to the Isle Quel’danas. Velonara, who was even less inclined to sailing than Sylvanas. Perhaps she should have brought along a different ranger. But no, Vel was best for this task, and wouldn’t speak of anything she didn’t need to afterward.

Plus she was one of the few that actually encouraged good behavior from Liria. And her protectiveness over her tiny charge knew no bounds. It had been that way since she first delivered the girl herself. Sylvanas was more than content to leave her daughter in the hands who had been the first to hold her.

And even those rangers who didn’t share such a symbolic tie. Even Nathanos proved to be more than a willing guard to Liria, who could make even that eternal scowl of his turn into a smile on occasion.

Nevermind the time that Sylvanas had caught them having a tea party with a stuffed rabbit and a shaman’s totem that Liria had somehow appropriated to fill the fourth seat at their table.

“You should probably tell her what we’re doing,” Liadrin noted next to her, rousing Sylvanas from her thoughts as they stood near the prow of the ship together. “We’ll be there in just a few more minutes.”

Indeed, she could feel how close they were to the isle without seeing it. The heady throb of the Sunwell was different than it had been during her life. Gone was the pleasant warmth of arcane, like mulled wine warming one’s chest as it went down on a winter’s night. Now, its holy energy felt a dull throb to her, like an ache awakened from a too hard touch to bruised skin.

She wondered how it would feel to her daughter. And despite Liadrin’s assurances, she was still afraid it would feel the same for her.

But so far, Liria hadn’t seemed to notice anything that wasn’t related to the ocean that surrounded them.

“Ever correct in your advice,” Sylvanas agreed, and took her leave of Liadrin to approach the rail. “How I will miss you as a commander at my war table.”

She couldn’t see Liadrin rolling her eyes at this, but she could certainly feel it.

Sylvanas waved Velonara back as she took her place at Liria’s side, leaning against the railing to look out over the Isle as they approached it.

“This place is so pretty, Minn’da. And it’s so warm here,” Liria shared, her eyes fixed on the spires and manicured trees that dotted the land before them.

Sylvanas could not feel that warmth, but she could remember it. She’d known enough to help Liria sleepily dress in lighter clothes that morning, despite the fact that it was still the edge of winter in every place but Quel’thalas.

“This is a very sacred place, Liria,” she began to explain. “The reason why it is warm here and so pretty is because of a great font of magic that our people created many many years ago. It has ever been the heart of this land, and you are going to get to see it today.”

“Our people, the elves?” Liria asked, looking up at her finally, instead of out over the sea.

“That’s right,” Sylvanas replied.

“But I’m only a half elf,” Liria noted sagely. “My ears are little and my teeth too.”

She had remembered the word from before, and pronounced it near perfectly in Thalassian.

She and Sylvanas had always spoken Thalassian to each other, even from times before Liria could speak it back. Sylvanas wasn’t sure why it was so important to her that she ensure her daughter knew her mother tongue. Common was as good as any language, and these days seemed to be trending toward becoming the official language of the newly united world, or at least what its treaties and laws were written in.

But Liria was a little polyglot, like her other mother, and took to languages like a duck to water. So Sylvanas indulged herself, and spoke to Liria in the language of her people. Their people.

“That matters little,” Sylvanas assured her. “You are still an elf. This land belongs to you as much as it does to any with such heritage. That is why I wanted to bring you here today. I wanted you to receive a blessing here, as all elves do when they are small.”

“A blessing? Did you get it too?” Liria asked.

Of course she had. Sylvanas was too young to remember, of course, but had been present for Vereesa and Lirath to receive theirs. It was more of a ceremonial thing, as much of elven life was. Just a drop of the magically infused water placed into the child’s hands while a prayer was spoken.

Sylvanas had never considered herself a particularly devout follower of Belore, even in her younger, living days. And now that she had seen the push and pull of the gods and cosmic forces that held this universe together, she wasn’t so keen on invoking the help of any of them. But, like all things, this was a matter of tradition. A matter of wanting to repeat the past, as foolish as it might seem.

A matter of the fact that she could just see her mother now, tapping her toe and asking when she planned on getting that child of her’s blessed.

How Lireesa would have loved Liria, and all her questions and mischief.

“Yes,” Sylvanas answered after a moment.

“Then I want to do what you did,” Liria answered with confidence. “I want to be like you, Minn’da.”

Sylvanas couldn’t recommend such a practice. Not as broken as she was. Not as angry as she had once felt. This world of theirs was not a fair one, or a just one. It was not as blessed as the priests and priestesses claimed it to be. Even here, in eternal Quel’thalas, Sylvanas was surrounded by the reminders of her own failures.

As the captain looped the boat around the isle to find the docks on the other side, she could see the damage that was still done to the citadel of spires that protected the Sunwell. Some of it had been repaired, but the scars and blight around the mended walls were still abundant. Here, she had crossed the sea with Arthas on a path of ice, already a dead, enthralled thing--without a body and a mind of her own.

And there, along that shore, she had watched as the butcher cut Anasterian down and made his way past the last defences of the magisters and priests that were trying to save the very livelihood of her people. All she could do was watch. Watch, and fight alongside the man who had just killed her that same day.

“Lady Liadrin will take you once we reach the shore,” Sylvanas told her daughter, trying to look at her instead of this place. “And she will give you the blessing. Before the wars, she was a priestess of Belore, the goddess of the sun. Do well to follow her instructions and listen to what she has to say.”

“You’re not coming with me?” Liria asked.

“I cannot,” Sylvanas told her.

“Why, Minn’da?”

Because she already failed this place. Because she could feel it rejecting her very essence. Because she was no longer blessed by it, and doubting she ever had been.

But still, she wanted Liria to have her chance.

“Because I cannot,” Sylvanas said, trying to punctuate it with gentle finality.

Somehow, she believed that Liria probably already knew the answer. She knew what death was. She knew why the Forsaken were cold to the touch. It was only a matter of time before she put it together, and who was she to say that she hadn’t yet?

Still, Liria nodded and accepted this answer. Then she grinned up at her mother.

“It’s because I have to be brave, isn’t it?” she asked.

“Something like that,” Sylvanas answered.

“Then I will be brave.”

---

“Who’s that?”

“Your great uncle Jeffrey. I only met him once. He was mean as a bucket of eels, though. You wouldn’t have liked him,” Tandred answered.

He still carried Liria, though she had sagged lower on his torso as they strolled through the hall together. Even his broad frame was no match for the added weight of her growing body.

Jaina watched with her mother and Anya at the door, almost afraid to go in herself. Not afraid, really. Moreso not wanting to ruin the moment.

“I don’t think he looks mean,” Liria announced. She pointed her kraken toy at the man in the painting. “I like his beard.”

“What about my beard?” Tandred asked.

“It’s scratchy,” Liria replied with a laugh.

“Imagine if it were growing out of your face. You would never escape the scratchy! Ah, let’s see, who’s up next?” Tandred shifted the girl on his hip again before striding over to the next portrait.

The one that hung above the large hearth at the front of the hall. The one of the current admiralty, which included all of the Proudmoores, in their younger and living years. Katherine’s hair was still blonde. Derek was barely into his adult years. Jaina was perhaps only a year or two older than Liria, and Tandred, for all his beard and broadness now, was only a toddler.

And of course, in the center of them all, was Daelin. Big and hearty and grinning. He’d kept that grin up throughout most of the portrait session that day, laughing at his own jokes. Jaina could almost still hear him, and how his bellowing laughter echoed through the halls of the keep.

“Who’s that?” Tandred asked as he pointed to the image of Jaina.

Jaina tried to calculate how old she had been at the time. As the years of her life multiplied, though, such exactness was harder to come by. But she could remember the itchy wool of the winter dress, how drab its dark green was against her golden hair.

“Mama?” Liria answered, unsure to the point where she leaned in Tandred’s arms to get closer.

“Yes that’s her, and me as a little baby there in Grandma’s lap,” Tandred reported.

“You were so small, but you’re so big now,” Liria noted, turning back to her uncle. “Am I gonna be as big as you?”

Tandred laughed. “I don’t know about that,” he said. “Maybe if you eat your vegetables.”

“I like vegetables, Uncle Tandred,” Liria chided him. “I like peas and carrots. And the soup Minn’da makes.”

“I don’t know that word, little fish,” Tandred told her. “What’s Minn’da mean?”

“My other mama,” Liria told him.

“Oh, that’s what you’re saying when I don’t understand. Elf words,” he noted. “They’re all very pretty, just like you, of course. And speaking of how big you may or may not get, Uncle Tandred’s arms are getting tired. Can I set you down?”

“Yeah,” Liria agreed.

Tandred gently lowered her to the floor beside him, rolling his shoulders as she stood on her own again.

Liria, for her part, was still looking up at the portrait, hugging the kraken toy to her chest as she did. “Who’s he?” she asked, pointing to Daelin.

Jaina had half a mind to break up the scene and finally enter the room. She didn’t know what to do about it, only that she had to do something. Anything.

And worst of all, her mother would have to watch it.

“That’s your grandad,” Tandred answered, unknowingly. “He was a hard man, and stuck to his beliefs.”

Jaina stopped herself again.

“Was he mean as a bucket of eels too?” Liria asked her uncle.

Tandred chuckled and shook his head. “No. Stubborn as a mule, though.”

“He’s gone now, isn’t he?” Liria asked. “Or else he would have come to see us too.”

“You’re very smart,” Tandred noted. “And you’re right.”

“Mama seemed so sad to be here at first. She said it was because it reminded her of people who were here and now they’re gone.”

Tandred looked up, and seemed to catch the others in the corner of his eye finally. He gave Jaina brief glance, then set a hand on Liria’s shoulder as he explained, “You must be patient with your mama, little fish. She has a lot of people who were here and now are not. But she also has you, and your Minndy.”

“Minn’da,” Liria corrected him.

“I’m no good at elf words, I see,” Tandred muttered into a chuckle. “But you know what I mean, don’t you?”

“I know,” Liria stated proudly. “I know a lot of things, Uncle Tandred. I know that mama gets sad sometimes, but that I can make her happy again. Minn’da can always make her laugh. She likes jokes and hugs.”

“Don’t we all, little fish,” Tandred said with a grin. “And speaking of your mama.”

He turned them just slightly so that Liria could see Jaina, now standing just inside the doorway, still in mid-stride.

“Mama!” Liria shouted, running at her with abandon, her kraken tucked under one arm. She impacted maybe a tad too hard against Jaina’s legs, but didn’t seem to care, and hugged her knees fiercely. “Mama this castle is so big and dark. Minn’da would like it here, I think.”

“You think so?” Jaina said as she bent to return the hug properly, and gathered the little girl in her arms.

“Mhm,” Liria agreed. “We should bring her here when we come back.”

“Oh, we’re coming back, are we?” Jaina asked with a smile in Tandred’s direction.

“Uncle Tandred said he’d take me fishing when we do,” Liria told her.

“And Uncle Tandred has no clue just how excited you get about fishing, does he?” Jaina wondered at her brother, who offered a silent shrug in response.

“It would be nice to meet my daughter-in-law,” Katherine mused from behind, while Anya let out an audible snicker.

“I suppose we shall have to come back with Minn’da then,” Jaina said.

And she supposed that meant she was welcome back. That she wasn’t going to face her ridiculous worries about this day after all. No, her mother wasn’t going to lead her away in chains for crimes she committed decades ago. She wasn’t about to forgive her either. But things changed. They could keep changing, keep growing.

And Jaina supposed that this was a good thing. A very good thing. The world needed to change. And it was changing. Slowly, but hopefully, enough.

“Maybe by then we can bring my little sister too,” Liria squealed with excitement, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Come again?” Katherine coughed at that. “Little sister?”

That wasn’t exactly how Jaina had hoped to break the news. Perhaps, in hindsight, it would have been a better idea to have a very stern talk with her five year old right after they finished the Aranal’dorei about when such things would be appropriate to say. Not when she was not certain of the existence of said little sister. Not yet, at least. It had only been a week, after all.

Jaina cleared her throat, squeezing Liria’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go find us some chairs at the big table over there hmm? I have a feeling your grandma will need to sit down again.”

Liria complied, smiling and innocent of the knowledge that she had just made today a little bit more difficult than it needed to be.

“Another one, really?” Katherine asked as her granddaughter skipped off.

“I can explain,” Jaina offered.

At least, this time, she could explain herself. She loved her wife. She loved their daughter. She was nearly forty and might not have a chance at another child.

And she had more love to give, still. And perhaps, a much better reason to give it.

---

“Velonara,” Sylvanas began as she and her ranger watched as Liadrin and Liria rounded a corner and finally disappeared from view, “I have a task for you.”

“Yes?”

Sylvanas could remember a time when Velonara was just a shell of herself, still much like the banshee she had been. She took orders and repeated words and didn’t do much else. A good soldier, yes, but not nearly the woman she had once been. Kind and caring, nervous and thoughtful.

But now, it seemed, she had spent too many of these years with Anya and her lot, and what would have once been a dutiful, “Yes, Dark Lady?” had become one little word with a hint of a sarcastic bite.

Sylvanas liked this better, she decided.

“You are to stay here,” she told her. “And you are not to tell on me.”

“What?” Velonara asked.

Sylvanas answered her by leaping off the boat and into the shadow of a small building near the docks.

And as soon as her feet left those planks, she could feel the consecrated ground beneath them start to reject her. To push at her. To prod her and ask what she was, only to burn and sting, trying to drive her out like a prey animal with poison and spines.

But Sylvanas was nothing if not a determined hunter. And her quarry was not far. She could endure some minor discomfort to obtain it.

Minor, of course, became not so minor the further she strayed from the docks. She grit her teeth and defied it, though, this rejection of her homeland. This castigation of her past sins. This reminder of the last time she had walked these shores--a dead thing, serving only death.

Today, she wanted to tell this land, she was serving a decided opposite cause.

Today, she was satisfying the will of the dead, yes, to keep their traditions alive, but she had another reason for coming here. Coming to an island that knew no such thing as winter. An island that forever remained in a mild, pleasant spring. Where flowers bloomed and trees burst to life with new growth.

Where lilacs were always in season.

She drew blood biting her lip by the time she found them. Thick, black blood. She hoped that a drop would fall on the ground and that the Sunwell itself would choke on it. Vile thing. She just wanted one thing, and it could not let her have that without more suffering.

Though Sylvanas supposed she had her suffering to thank for many things these days. A little more would not hurt her.

The trip back to the ship took longer than her wild chase out from it had. She was careful and slow. And she had an armful of flowers to protect, after all.

Velonara, for her part, stuck to her assignment. She greeted Sylvanas as she climbed back into the ferry with a raised brow and a beat of silence before asking, “What...why?”

“I needed them,” Sylvanas offered as she deposited the flowers in front of herself and hauled her body the rest of the way up the ladder.

“Belore, you’re going to do it again,” Velonara sighed. “Did Jaina put you up to this?”

“Not entirely, no,” Sylvanas replied. She bent to pick up the flowers, checking over them before removing her cloak and figuring out the best way to stash them within it. “It was a family decision.”

“Excuse me?”

“Jaina wants another child. I want Liria not to feel pressured to take over anything she doesn’t want to when she’s old enough to worry about such things. Liria wants a little sister,” Sylvanas reported. “See? A family decision.”

Sylvanas looked up to find Velonara staring at her, her red eyes digging deep.

“You’re going to say I’m mad, aren’t you?” Sylvanas asked of her. “Let’s hear it then. Get it over with.”

“I...no,” Velonara said with a shake of her head. “You’re bleeding, you know. Here.”

She reached for the corner of her own dark cloak and dabbed it at Sylvanas’ chin.

“And for the record, we will love the second one as much as the first. But you know that already,” Velonara went on as the cloth came back even darker.

“Please save the sentiment for her then, and not for me when I’ve just trekked across holy ground for the better part of an hour,” Sylvanas said.

“Don’t expect me to offer to rub your feet then. Make Jaina do it,” Velonara sneered.

Sylvanas let a smile eek out that had been easier to allow. More and more as the years went by. And Velonara returned it with one that looked as close to her old one as it could.

Further snark would be interrupted by the clear cry of “Minn’da!” from the docks, as Liria and Liadrin returned.

And soon enough, all ills and pains were set at ease when Sylvanas lifted her daughter up from the last rung of the ladder, and into her arms.

“Were you brave?” she asked her.

“It wasn’t scary,” Liria reported. “Liadrin just put some water in my hands and said some pretty things. The Sunwell glows. It feels warm and nice like hot cocoa.”

Sylvanas snorted a laugh at this rather blase description of the ritual. It was all such a silly little thing. But Liria still looked up at her with her own silver eyes. There was no holy glow to them. No great transformation. No rejection. No fear.

It would be fine. She would be fine. They would be fine. After all, all of them were survivors, in their own way. Her and Jaina. Liria too. They had all defied the odds.

And Sylvanas would do it again in a heartbeat, even if her heart no longer beat.

“You did well then,” Sylvanas told her. “My Liria, not frightened of anything.”

“But I missed you Minn’da. You smell like flowers,” Liria stated.

“Oh, do I now?” Sylvanas asked with a grin.

---

They met as a family again on the cliffs overlooking the sea in Lordaeron. Sylvanas carried the lilacs, and led Liria by the hand this time. It was nearly dusk, and Jaina’s form was highlighted in red by the flames for the bonfire, and in blue at other angles by the mana crystals.

She was beautiful like this.

“Minn’da,” Liria started. “Why is mama building a fire? Are we having a cookout?”

“No,” Sylvanas answered. “We are...hmm. How do I say this? We wanted to do something very special for your birthday. Something we had been meaning to do for a while.”

Liria seemed to ponder this as they approached the ritual circle, and Jaina smiled at them as she turned away from the flames and toward her wife and child.

“Hello little star, did you have fun in Silvermoon today?” Jaina said as she bent down and opened her arms for a hug.

“So much fun,” Liria said as she ran to her other mother and returned that embrace. “We went to Lady Liadrin’s house and I played with Salandria there, and then I got to see her school. And we went on a boat ride and Lady Liadrin took me to the Sunwell. And then she yelled at Minn’da about something but took us out to lunch anyway. I got to order dessert and got a honey cake.”

“That sounds lovely,” Jaina told her. “Did you know that we were planning a surprise for you?”

“Is that what this is?” Liria asked as she looked around. “What’s the surprise?”

“You’ll have to wait a while for it,” Sylvanas answered. “But I think you will be very excited when the time comes.”

---

And a week later, they would meet again along the docks of Stormwind Harbor. Well, a week and a day. It was a long trip from Kul Tiras all the way down to Stormwind, but Jaina didn’t mind the sailing. It gave her time to think and process all that had happened, and gave Liria more time on the water, which she always loved.

Jaina wondered if she’d soon be seeing it shape to her little girl’s call, as it did for her. If the elementals would start to flock to her, and seek out her power. It was still early yet. Still not a certainty. Even if it never happened, if Liria was more a ranger than a mage, she wouldn’t mind. Perhaps, that might be easier. After all, a combination of naughtiness and magic was not the best thing for a little girl to have.

Jaina should know.

“There she is!” came the cry of a Windrunner, but not the one Jaina was looking for.

Arator met them first. He was a tall thing of lean muscle and big grins. He was the most elven-looking of his cousins by far, but had his human father’s height and broadness.

He offered a hand to Liria as she made her way down the ramp on her own, ahead of Jaina.

“How was your trip, cousin?” he asked.

“Good,” Liria told him. “So good! I saw so many boats.”

“I bet you did,” Arator said. “Your Minn’da is waiting with mine at the inn. I’m here to escort you and Jaina there.”

“For my birthday party?” Liria asked.

“Of course,” Arator answered. “Though why you get to have a whole week or so for a birthday, I don’t understand.”

“I’m special,” Liria informed her cousin.

And to Jaina, she was. She always would be.

The inn was stuffed to the brim with Windrunners. Vereesa and her gangly, red-headed boys. Alleria had even managed to get Turalyon out of his armor and into a set of comfortable clothes of the occasion. And Sylvanas, of course, flanked by a dozen or so dark rangers who would not be left behind for such a celebration, not of their favorite little charge.

Liria ran to her, of course, and Sylvanas picked her up. The room was so loud and full of people that Jaina couldn’t hear what they were saying, save that they whispered to each other in soft Thalassian, as they usually did, and that Sylvanas smiled as if the world had suddenly become a better place when her daughter was in her arms again.

Jaina peeled her gaze away from them and made the rounds, greeting the others. She would see her wife soon enough. She was more than happy to wait in line behind Liria for that privilege.

Vereesa was the last she managed to greet. “You’re looking well, Jaina. I see the trip back home agreed with you?”

“I wouldn’t quite call it home, but yes, it went better than expected,” Jaina told her. “And thanks to Liria, it looks like we’ll have to plan a return trip soon.”

“That charmer, I knew she’d melt your mother’s heart,” Vereesa said. “I’m glad to hear it, though. Can I get you some wine?”

“None for me, thanks,” Jaina said with a wave of her hand.

“A whiskey then? I think I spotted a good bottle of Admiral’s Reserve on the way in,” Vereesa pressed.

“No, I’ll just stick to water tonight,” Jaina told her.

“Jaina,” Vereesa said, eyeing her up and down.

“What?”

“I have never ever seen you go without a drink at a party,” Vereesa observed. “Not to make a comment, but…”

“I’m just tired from sailing all the way from Kul Tiras,” Jaina offered as an excuse, even though she was pretty certain that any ruse she could offer now would do nothing to dissuade her nosy sister-in-law.

“You did it again, didn’t you?” Vereesa asked, immediately proving that notion to be a correct one.

“Did what?” Jaina tried, giving it one last attempt.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Jaina. You’re too smart for that. If you don’t fess up, I’ll ask Sylvanas. She can’t lie to me. Little sister rights,” Vereesa continued.

“You’re making me want that wine,” Jaina warned.

“But you can’t have it, because you might be pregnant again,” Vereesa filled in.

Jaina groaned, sighing in defeat as she held her forehead in her hand. She should have known better. “Just--it’s only been a week. Will none of you just let me be sure?”

“You are in a room full of people who do not give up and do not know when to leave things well enough alone,” Vereesa informed her. “And you thought you could lay low? Please, Jaina, give your family some respect here.”

“You’re right,” Jaina chuckled. “I’m sorry.”

“Remember that twins run in our blood too,” Vereesa said with a sly smile, and went to sip on her own wine.

As if to prove this statement, her boys ran past in a flash of red, chasing after Liria as she proudly hoisted Mr. Kraken above her head and screeched through the common room.

“Please don’t wish that upon me,” Jaina begged.

---

It would be yet another day before they were finally back in the tower in Lordaeron. The same one Liria had been born in. The place that Jaina meant when she said the word “home”.

It had changed, of course, in those five years. They’d added a receiving room on the bottom floor, as the Warchief spent too much time here not to have a place for visitors. With it came some anchored portals, to Orgrimmar, Stormwind, and Dalaran, of course, where Jaina had joined the Kirin Tor again in an official capacity. She could have taken apartments there, of course, but she never had. The tower was enough.

More than enough now that they’d added a floor below the top one. Here, Liria had her room--filled to the brim with stuffed creatures of all sorts, both mythical and real. The kraken now rested among her pile of favorites on her bed.

And next to hers, an empty room, awaiting on occupant. Perhaps one that would come along soon enough.

But for now, the three of them were on the floor above, laying in bed, but not quite asleep. Sylvanas was reading her reports. Jaina had a book in her hand, but was being distracted by a fidgety Liria, still too full of energy from her exciting week of travels and parties to get to sleep on time.

So much so that she’d come up and asked to be with them, because she wasn’t tired and she was bored.

“Mama,” she asked Jaina as she wriggled between her and Sylvanas. “What are you going to call my baby sister?”

Sylvanas answered that quickly, not even looking up from her reports. “We do not choose the name before, Liria. We will name her when we meet her.”

“Is that how you picked my name?” Liria asked.

“Yes,” Sylvanas answered, not bothering to elaborate on how she had pretended to be indecisive about that decision, even though she had suggested Liria early on in the discussion. Even though it was fairly obvious that was the name she wanted all along.

Nor did she mention that it came from her mother’s name, and her brother's. From the grandmother Liria would never get the chance to meet, and the uncle who would never have the opportunity to win her heart over with stuffed toys.

“We might need to try again,” Jaina told her, wanting to be as honest as she could, lest Liria be disappointed. “These things don’t always work out.”

“How will you know?” Liria asked.

The questions just never ended with her, did they?

“Mama will start throwing up all over the place,” Sylvanas stated calmly. “She almost threw on Anya shoes when she had you in her belly.”

“Ew,” Liria replied with a laugh. “Anya would have been so mad.”

“She was delighted, actually,” Jaina reminded Sylvanas, poking at her over Liria’s head. “Because she knew my secret.”

“At least, thanks to our families, this one won’t be a secret to anyone,” Sylvanas said.

“And neither of us could do a thing about that, you realize?”

Sylvanas smirked and shuffled the pages in front of her. “I suppose not.”

Liria went on with her constant barrage of questions, though this one was preempted by a yawn. “How long do we have to wait to meet her?”

“Quite a while,” Jaina told her, running a hand through her golden hair. “But it will be worth the wait. Go to sleep, little star. It’s been a long day.”

“‘M not tired,” Liria protested as she yawned again.

“Sure you’re not,” Jaina laughed.

It was only a matter of a few more minutes and a few more wriggles against them before Liria was asleep. Sylvanas had made a habit of carrying her back to her bed, but seemed disinclined to that night. Jaina gave up on her book after a while and just watched her wife in the light of the fire’s dying embers as she kept reading through her reports.

“Are you well?” Sylvanas asked, looking over at her.

“I’m great,” Jaina told her. “Better than I’ve ever been.”

The fingers of her one hand were still tangled in Liria’s hair, brushing it back from her temple as she slept. The room around them was small, certainly no royal suite, no palace fit for a king, or fortress for a Warchief. But it was enough. It had always been enough. And that was all Jaina wanted.

Sylvanas smiled at her, and leaned over to kiss her briefly. “Then so am I,” she declared. “Better than ever.”