#this man gives no fucks about anything but tira

[danse--macabre]

1, 6, 10, 20, 35, 42 :3

1. What were their first impressions of one another?

NOT GOOD.

Astarion on Tirazel: Beautiful. Full of herself. Upper City, clearly, even if she's a little tetchy about handing out her family name (not quite patriar material, are we dear?). And clearly not the competent raiser of undead armies she'd like to be, given we stumbled across her struggling to rouse even the meekest of spectres. A good thing, too – he doesn't exactly trust necromancers, given his condition. The last thing he needed to be on the leash of some wilful would-be Lady of the Dead.

Tirazel on Astarion: Beautiful. Full of himself. And gods, what a cad. Hardly a man of manners despite the affect – I mean really, pulling a knife on first sight? In Baldur's Gate, in slightly less desperate days, she might have had him gutted for the slight. Clocked he was a creature of the night almost immediately - naturally, given that she's trained in summoning the dead - but really, given everything else that's going on, she really couldn't give a shit. The only thing that rankles in that regard is the fact that his taste in fashion is at least a century out of date.

6. Do they have any pet names/nicknames for each other?

Tirazel doesn't tend to use nicknames (unless it's a pet displacer beast). In Astarion's case... I think Tirazel (astutely) guesses he is sensitive to being diminished, and would avoid a diminutive for that reason. I think she'd find anything based on 'Star' a bit nauseatingly sentimental. She is, however, extremely liberal with her use of 'darling', 'sweetheart', 'dear', 'dearest' - about as much as Astarion is, actually! (She's having a great time in the dialogue where she and Astarion are trading different flattering and faintly ridiculous pet names for each other - it's very much her speed). Later on in the relationship, after Cazador is defeated, she peppers in 'love' and 'my love' into the mix.

Astarion - on top of his never-ending use of 'darling' etc. as is written - will call Tirazel 'Tira' when speaking with affection to her. This is something she only allows people close to her to do – she'd bite the hand off most people trying. Astarion never does this when talking to anyone else - in conversations with others, she's Tirazel.

10. How do they make up after a fight?

Quite frankly? Having extremely charged sex. Sometimes I think they vary it up by going on ridiculously glitzy dates followed by a detour into wild adventure (usually killing someone who sucks <3) of some kind. I think if they don't fuck, they are least want to get bloodstains on their clothes after a wild evening out. Sometimes they do both!

20. What are they like when sharing a bed?

Oh, I think they both actually kind of hate it? They're very precious about their space. Princesses, both of them. Cuddling, in an ideal world, is something done for short to medium periods of time before then curling up separately in their queen size beds LOL. I think they also both have blanket thief tendencies. Tirazel spreads out across the whole bed and tosses and turns and kicks and so on. Astarion sleeps meditates flat as a board, exactly the vampire stereotype, and is cold, which Tirazel finds midlly unpleasant to hold or touch for long periods of time (i.e. more than an hour). Astarion needs far less sleep meditation, so cannot be pinned down or cuddled because he'll have to try and jostle awake so he can get up and read – but he can't do it too near the bed, because Tirazel is sensitive to the reading light, and has to settle for being in his reading chair with his blanket. Also, there's a chance he might thrash in his sleep if he's held (sorry).

If they don't have separate rooms, Tirazel will wake to find him reading on the other side of the room, and her first course of action is to kiss him sleepily on the head from behind as he flicks through variously: sewing patterns and techniques, tediously dull volumes on current Baldurian Law, or bad erotica he's swiped off a corpse (to laugh at).

42. Have they ever been jealous?

Oh, so this is actually a personal pet peeve of mine? I have no patience for jealousy personally.

I think Tirazel shares this trait, for a few reasons that make sense in context - she was treated like a pretty bauble with a handsome dowry growing up, and thus finds any hint of possession - including jealousy - deeply off-putting. She doesn't have much time for it whatsover. I also don't think there are many people who get even half as close to Astarion as Tirazel - so there's nothing really to be jealous of. Sure, people find him beautiful, but that's no 'threat' to her, if you force her to think in such odious terms (in her opinion!).

Astarion... can get possessive. You see this most starkly in his Ascended ending, but I imagine there are hints of this in the Spawn route. I think Astarion hasn't been able to have something that is entirely his own, and I think that can lead to possessiveness if there's not put in check. I think this is actually something Astarion and Tirazel have many many fights about about early on, and Astarion just has to eventually accept - many people like Tirazel. Many people will flirt with Tirazel. She's a beautiful rich lady who wields quite a lot of power. That's attractive! But I also think a difference between her and Astarion is that Tirazel is that she's willing to be kind, on occasion, if it's not a total inconvenience, and that tends to make her a lot more agreeable to others than he is, and so it's something he'll grapple with far more than she does. I think eventually, after enough fights, Tirazel ends up saying something along the lines of 'What do I have to do, to prove I'm devoted to you?' and that actually leads to a bit of a breakthrough. Of course, much of this just stems from insecurity on Astarion's part. But I think the clumsy conclusion they reach is that Astarion has to find ways of reminding himself - Tirazel is utterly, utterly devoted to him and madly in love with him, actually.

I think this actually leads to them both making a concerted effort to fill their house with tokens of their love. They commission portraits of each other. I think Tirazel ends up gifting him a pair of earrings with precious stones that were part-created by using a droplet of her blood. Astarion gifts her one of those deeply Victorian, ornate silver lockets with a lock of his hair and a miniature portrait of his likeness. They each carry mementos of each other and fill their spaces with that affection.

I think Astarion still grapples with jealousy at times, but I think over time he learns how to handle those feelings far better - or at least knows better than antagonise whatever insufferable soul is besotted with his beloved, as long as they're no threat to her.

[rofax]

I made this as a “thank you for 500 followers” and “holy shit my 100th post” on instagram, but wanted to share it here too since this is where Rhuk & Tira got their start uwu

[zeldasayer]

Loving Dyn III - What a Life, Huh?

Pairing: Mandalorian/Dyn Jarren x Reader

Summary: S M U T. But first, Daddy Dyn, Artist Mom & Baby get into an altercation.

Warning: Language.

Dyn held on to Baby with one arm, and held your hand with the other. Both of your hands around his as you speak excitedly after breakfast in town. You surprised him after his early morning class, the only of the day. Walking quickly through the streets, your words are cut off when a man shoulder checks Dyn.

“Come on guy, I’ve got a baby!” He says, irritated.

The man peers into Dyn’s arm and makes a face, “That’s not a baby. Little fucking freak.” And he continues to walk.

Your eyes widen and you look up at Dyn.

“What the fu-.....” Dyn whips his head back.

“Did he just....” Your voice trails off.

Dyn puts Baby in your arms and turns around walking after the man quickly.

“Hey!” He calls after him. “What did you just say?”

Dyn gets close to the man and speaks again, “Hey man he’s adopted.”

“Yeah, no shit.” The man grumbles. “No way that thing came out of her fine ass.”

The man nods in your direction and your mouth falls open. You clutch Baby closer to your chest.

“Oh is that what you think?” Dyn chuckles nodding his head.

“Yeah.” The man says matter-of-factly.

“Oh. Okay.” Dyn chuckles some more and turns to walk away. He takes one half step and spins quickly back around, punching the man square in the face. The man falls to the ground.

You gasp.

Dyn towers over the man as he holds on to his nose and he growls, “Don’t you ever talk about my girl, or my kid like that again.”

Dyn walks back to you quickly, linking his arm with yours, “Come on, we’re going home.”

“Yep, mhm.” You nod.

Back at home Dyn is reluctant to let Baby out to play as Tira waits for a response in the doorway.

“Of course he can,” you say, picking Baby up off the counter and setting him on the ground. He squeals and holds on to Tira’s leg.

“I don’t know-” Dyn starts.

“It’s fine, Tira. You come find me if you need anything, okay?” You chirp.

“Yes, Miss Y/N.” Tira smiles, “Come on, Baby. Bye Mr. Dyn.”

You close the door behind them.

“We should go too.” Dyn says.

“He’ll be just fine.” You sing, but you know Dyn is shaken by altercation from this morning so you reassure him, “These things are going to happen, darling. We just have to keep on treating him like the precious little boy he is.”

“Precious little boy that eats whole frogs.”

“Yes, exactly.” You laugh.

You brush your finger down the bridge of his nose, “Come and relax, daddy. I’ll read to you.”

“Oh thank god,” you say to yourself as you hear Dyn snoring softly, laying the opposite way as you on the couch. You settle in deeper now being able to just read to yourself, but it’s difficult to concentrate. Your mind keeps wandering to Dyn’s quick reflex to defend you this morning. You were too stunned to process it at the time, but laying here across from him, you can’t help but think about how hot it was. No one had ever punched someone for offending you before, nevertheless how he did it so seamlessly, declaring you as his girl as he looked over the pitiful man. Dyn declaring you as his always made your core feel like it was tightening into a knot, but this time it was so public. So protective.

You let your book drop on the floor, and you slowly slide your leg out from being pressed next to him. You drag your toe along Dyn’s clothed member and his body jerks. You can’t help but giggle, and he wakes.

Smiling, he asks you what you think you’re doing.

“I’m just thinking about you.” You purr.

“Oh, yeah?” He says holding on to your foot and stroking up your leg. “What about me?”

“How hot it was when you punched that guy out.”

“Really? You liked that?”

“I loved it.” You sing letting your other leg fall off the couch. “It’s making me wet thinking about it.”

Dyn sits up a little more, “Let me see.”

You pull the hem of your dress up slowly with delicate fingers, your lover watches, blinking slowly.

Your dress is up at the top of your thighs and you hook your finger in your panties and pull them to the side. You bring your fingers to your mouth and suck on two of them, you see Dyn’s lip twitch as he watches you. You bring them down, tracing along your body as you look at Dyn, your mouth parted. You close your eyes as you get closer to your core.

“No.” He sighs, “Look at me while you play with yourself.”

You feel his demand bloom deep inside you and it shoots up to your chest, your breath hitches.

When you open your eyes, you see Dyn pushing his trousers down, pulling his incredible cock out. He puts one arm behind his head, propping himself up to take you in, and starts to stroke himself.

You rub slow circles over your clit, looking Dyn in the eye. His own dark eyes burning holes through your skin. You dip one of your fingers inside of you and start to push your hand in and out. You can’t help yourself, picking up the pace quickly. Adding another finger soon after. You’re so wet watching Dyn stroke himself for you, you can hear it.

“That,” Dyn hums, sitting up and and sinking back down on his stomach, resting his face on your thigh, “Is one of my favourite sounds.”

He kisses the buttery skin of your inner thigh, his moustache tickling you.

“Keep going,” he whispers, pushing his hip up so he can stroke himself as he watches you up close.

You start to finger your self with more vigour, your other hand coming up to pull down the top of your dress, exposing your breasts.

Dyn looks up at you and the sudden eye contact overwhelms you. You moan out.

“Let me taste you.” Dyn mumbles.

“Oh please, honey,” You whimper. You remove your fingers and Dyn helps you remove your panties altogether. With your hips back down on the couch, immediately Dyn’s hot mouth is on your pussy.

“OH.” You exclaim, throwing your head back. Dyn laps up your wetness like a man finding a stream in the middle of the desert. Relentlessly.

He looks up at you, his exquisite nose pressed against your mound as his hand comes up to pull on your nipples. You can’t even look at him. It’s already too much. You keep your eyes closed as you weave your fingers through the waves of his hair.

“Look at me, Y/N” Dyn says against your clit.

“That fucking mouth,” you gasp, opening your eyes again.

Dyn moans into your pussy as he brings his hand back down to slip his thick fingers into you, tongue swirling over your clit.

Your hips start rolling involuntarily as you grind against his face, and he exercises his strength by holding your hips down so you can’t move at all. He pushes your thigh back roughly, your knee practically up to your shoulder, spreading yourself even further for him.

“So good-“ You moan through your teeth but Dyn pulls away and you whine.

Dyn keeps his hand on the back of your knee, keeping it pinned back as he crawls up to you, pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss is sloppy, as his tongue enters your mouth and you can taste yourself. It’s divine. He moves down to your neck, giving you open mouth kisses and bites, leaving your face wet with your own arousal.

“I need to have you,” Dyn mumbles into your neck.

He pulls off his trousers and sits back up on his knees, stroking himself, looking down on the mess he’s already made out of you. He rubs the head of his cock against your wetness and it feels like you’re being set on fire.

“Oh god, please honey give it to me. Please fucking give it to me.”

“Of course, my good girl.” Dyn says, pinning your other leg back.

He has you folded in half, completely submitting and exposed to him. You are helpless, ready to be taken.

He sinks into you slowly then wastes no time pulling back out completely. He plunges back in and holds his entire length inside of you. You let out a heavy sigh and shudder from the pressure as Dyn has an uncanny ability to find your sweet spot without much trouble at all and your body breaks out in a chill as he starts to move inside you.

He pumps his cock slowly, kneading his fingers into the backs of your thighs and he grunts, “I love your perfect little pussy, angel. Every single time feels like the goddamn first.”

His praise pulls on your deepening arousal and you whimper looking up at him and his glorious face. He looks both focused and possessed by you wrapped around him and he dips down for a peck on the lips and a bite of the nipples that makes you yelp.

Dyn continues his agonizing pace. Enjoying you writhing underneath him, begging for more. He draws lazy circles over your clit at the same frequency and you melt into the couch. This is the only thing Dyn has patience for. The only time he doesn’t want everything now. He enjoys the slow teasing coax of your orgasm.

But you are already too sensitive and you feel your orgasm starting to pool in your lower abdomen anyway, and as if he can feel it too, Dyn starts to pick up the pace.

“Oh, Dyn.” You cry. Eyes actually starting to well with tears as you feel completely overwhelmed in the most exquisite way possible. Everything is Dyn, he is consuming you from the inside, out. You wish he would let your legs down so you could have him flush against you, you want more of his skin. You want to taste his neck, his jaw. Even down to his shoulders. Feel the heat of him against your entire body.

You’re brought back out of your head as your whole body twitches, Dyn brushing your spot again. You can’t help but clench around him, your thighs quivering under his grasp.

“Come on. I’ve got you.” He pants, “Cum for me.”

Like he summons it, your back arches off the couch and your vision goes blurry from the tears in your eyes.

Dyn continues to fuck through your high, growling, “That’s my good girl, yes cum all over me. I love it.”

You cry out and Dyn let’s your legs fall around him. He pushes into you over and over, cupping your face in his hands. You hold on to his wrists as you start to come down.

Dyn wipes the tears off your face with his thumbs as he says, “You are so fucking pretty.”

More tears come as your body has reached its pleasure capacity, “It feels so fucking good, Dyn.”

“Come here, my sweet girl.” Dyn says wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you on top of him.

You’re in a daze, in between this life & Dyn’s as you help him take off his shirt and he carefully removes your dress. You collapse against his chest and he wraps his arms around you again, still moving inside you.

You push back against him, grinding in his lap as your wrap your arms around his neck. He lets out a sharp exhale as you kiss along his jaw and down to his collarbone. You lick up the column of his throat and kiss his chin and then his nose.

He smiles with his eyes closed, you could shower him like this forever.

“Cum inside me.” You whisper, tracing your finger up the side of his neck.

“Yeah?” Dyn grunts, moving his arms down from your waist to grip your behind.

You nod, your cheek against his and your voice comes out like syrup, “Yes, please Dyn. Cum inside me, I want to feel it. Cum for me, honey”

Dyn lifts you slightly and pounds up into you with an animalistic force that makes you cry out louder than you anticipated.

“You’re so fucking good to me,” Dyn growls, not letting up. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Dyn’s face falls to your shoulder and he stills inside of you. “Y/N” he pants. You feel it.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Dyn says, chin resting on his arm on the edge of the claw foot bathtub.

You smile with heavy eyes, watching him graze the top of the bath water with his finger tips as he sits on the bathroom floor.

“The sun rises and sets for you, you know.” Dyn says low and earnest, tapping the water’s surface, then looks up at you.

Your heart flutters, and you lean forward in the bath, taking his face in your hands. You kiss him and run your hand through his hair. He closes his eyes, leaning into your touch.

You hear rustling and children’s laughter outside of the cottage.

“Baby’s back.” You coo, your hand still in his thick, dark hair.

Dyn gets up and kisses your forehead. “Take your time, I’ll entertain Baby and make us something to eat.”

“Lovely, darling,” you smile.

It’s late afternoon now, and as you lay, submerged in the warm water, you can hear your love having a one-sided conversation with Baby.

“What did you do today?”

“Oh that’s cool.”

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Oh my god, no way, me too. Do you want up on the counter?”

“Of course you do, you’re never anywhere else.”

“Can I interest you in some picture-drawing supplies, perhaps a light snack before dinner?”

“Of course.”

“What a life, huh?”

Tags: @otherthingsinhead @aeryntheofficial @maryan028 @fahhhhq

A/N: I don’t know if I’m unhappy with this because it’s bad or because I’ve been staring at it for two days. I hope it does something for someone haha. I don’t think I’m that good at writing smut, Pedro Pascal has just been KILLING ME lately. Love, Zelda.

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (4/6)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 15,080

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

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

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

NOTES: 

I got about 10k words into this chapter before I realised I needed to split it up, otherwise it would be stupidly long. Plus I was going mad trying to scroll through my monstrously large gdoc last chapter and I didn't want to do that again. So, here you go. An early present.

Next chapter will be some big battles and then they finally smooch or something idk don't ask me 

--

This time, Sylvanas did not ask. 

“I am taking your cavalry,” she told Lucille.

For the last few days since the battle of Barrowknoll, Lucille had turned into Sylvanas’ primary point of contact among their new allies. She acted as an envoy between Sylvanas and Jaina, when the two of them would refuse to speak with one another. She had been puzzled by the abrupt change, but had not complained. 

Now, Lucille blinked at her, opened her mouth to dispute this, then thought better of it when she saw the look on Sylvanas’ face. Raising her hands as though in surrender, Lucille said, “They are yours.”

She found Hayles and the others enjoying a spot of Drustvar tea, which she had come to learn was normal tea with a healthy dose of whiskey tipped in for good measure. It was the third day since the battle of Barrowknoll, and their little army was still fortifying the town after wrenching it from the hands of the Ashvanes. Anya was there, playing dice with the cavalrymen, who had grown leery of her around cards and now insisted she use their dice. Somehow she still won nearly every round, and a few of them groaned about the luck of the dead as they handed over coins. 

When Sylvanas approached, Hayles glanced up from where he sat on a pile of bricks being used to repair the church. After their victory, he had warmed up somewhat to the Horde forces, but he was still wary of their leader. Still, he lifted his mug to her. “A good morrow, Warchief. Can I help you?”

“Gather up a scouting party, Captain. No more than thirty,” Sylvanas ordered coldly. “We are riding north.”

Hayles drained his mug then slammed it onto the ground. He wiped excess tea from his beard with the back of his hand as he stood. “Been waiting for clear orders from the Lady Waycrest. What’s the plan, then?”

“The plan is we are going scouting,” said Sylvanas.

“Aye, but we was hoping for a bigger picture. Are we wintering here?”

A number of his men were openly eavesdropping on the conversation now. Even Anya had stopped rattling around a set of dice in favour of listening. Sylvanas swept her gaze over them, then said brusquely, “Get on your horses.” 

With a shrug, Hayles pulled his gloves from where they were tucked into his belt and began tugging them over his hands. He looked over his shoulder at his men, who had not yet moved. “You heard the Lady!” he barked. “Get off your arses, you fussocks!”

Immediately, they began shuffling about, shrugging on their cuirasses over their buff coats, buckling their helms over their heads, and clasping their pistol belts around their shoulders. Hayles’ cuirass had a touch more tooling than the others and a broad white sash worn over it to denote his rank, but otherwise he appeared very plain. Anya herself had continued to favour the dark-washed cavalry buff coat she had won earlier that week, wearing it over her usual Ranger leathers, so she could still pull her hood up. Even from a short distance, she would have blended in with the rest of them without trouble. She rode at Sylvanas’ side, when the others preferred to stay a length or two behind the Queen of the Forsaken. 

“Are we looking for something in particular?” Anya asked. Somewhere along the way, she had acquired herself a living horse, one of the deep-chested smoky chargers bred in the area. 

“The enemy,” said Sylvanas, her tone curt. She did not offer any more explanation. 

Sylvanas' skeletal horse was out of place among the flesh and blood beasts of burden ridden by the cavalry. That and her armour meant she stuck out like a sore thumb, but she was long past caring. The Ashvanes by now knew who they were up against. Or if they didn't, they were fools. 

Scarcely an hour later, and they were riding north along the road to Fallhaven. They would not hope to reach it today -- not when it was another three days trek from Barrowknoll -- but there was plenty of evidence of the Ashvanes' retreat. Not even the downpour over the last few days could hide it. She would have joined the scouting expeditions sooner, if not for the rain. Until finally she could not stand staying still another second, and taken Lucille's cavalry for her own. 

They stopped every now and then to read the landscape. Hayles at one point disputed Sylvanas' tracking, claiming that the Ashvanes had clearly gone west. In response, Sylvanas had glowered at him until he sighed and fell back in line. She was not about to discount a few centuries of experience tracking game and leading armies in favour of a man who, in her culture, would barely be considered old enough to wipe his own backside. They headed east at a fork in the road towards Carver's Harbour, until midday when Sylvanas pulled back on her reins. 

She frowned down at the tracks in the ground. "They doubled back south," she murmured, pointing. 

Hayles grunted in agreement. "Not all of them, though. Just a lightly armoured company, if that." 

"On horseback, no less." Sylvanas tugged at the reins so that her skeletal horse veered off in that direction. 

Hayles followed, kicking his horse forward to trot after hers. "If we're unlucky, we'll get caught on both sides." 

Sylvanas ignored him. She urged her horse to a canter, loping ahead of the rest so that she reached the treeline first. Behind her, she could hear Hayles cursing and the sound of him drawing his weapon. The cock of a pistol clicked, echoed by dozens of others as his cavalrymen followed suit. She did not bother drawing her own bow slung at her saddle beside the matching quiver. 

Her eyes scanned the woods. They were a far cry from the dense and foggy Crimson Forest, though they were nothing at all like the woods of her homeland either. The trees here wended across the gentle slope, their trunks moss-covered and sporting growths of white fungi. She guided her horse briskly through the trees. Her ears twitched at the faintest sound -- the rustle of tack, the snort of horses behind her, the creak of branches in a stiff breeze, the chattering of birdsong, the purl of a stream narrow enough to step over. And finally the faint strains of human voices. 

Lifting her fist into the air, Sylvanas pulled back sharply on the reins. Without turning, she made a gesture and then dismounted. Anya was by her side in an instant, arrow already nocked in her bow, eyes bright and alert. 

“Four hundred paces dead south,” Anya whispered in Common for Hayles’ benefit, as he crept up beside them on foot. 

Sylvanas turned to Hayles, keeping her own voice low. “Do you know the area?”

He nodded. “Aye. There’s a small ridge by a stream just up ahead. Barely a feature, but it’s something.”

All it took was a meaningful glance from Sylvanas, and Anya vanished through the trees like a wisp of smoke. Hayles blinked at her sudden absence, trying to get a good look after where she had gone.

“Wait here,” Sylvanas told him. “Keep the horses quiet. When I give the signal, you will approach with me on foot.”

“Begging your pardon, Warchief, but that kind of defeats the purpose of bringing cavalry in the first place,” he said. “We’re not dragoons.” 

“Which is why they chose to hide in the woods rather than risk skirmishing out in the open. Now, hold your tongue.” 

He huffed, but said nothing further. His troops dismounted and tied up their horses. They drew their sabres and stuffed extra pistols into the broad sashes tied around their breastplates. Rain drizzled from the pointed brims of their lobster-tailed helmets. On horseback, they were confident and easy-going, but on foot they appeared uncertain and ungainly. They would occasionally exchange puzzled looks and shift their grips upon their swords while they waited. 

The smell of smoke drifted through the air, though Sylvanas could not make out a fire through the thicket. The Ashvane scouts had obviously set up a small temporary camp further from their main body to feed back information. The lack of movement on the part of the Waycrest and Drust forces over the last few days would have puzzled them. 

Anya returned on utterly silent feet. She ghosted through the underbrush like a shadow, stopping when she reached their position. Her hands started relaying the information she had gathered using Ranger signs, until she realised Hayles and the others wouldn’t understand anything. Picking up a stick, she drew formations on the ground and held up five fingers, then four and five more. 

Sylvanas nodded in understanding. She pointed at Anya then at a few of the cavalrymen behind them. Anya inclined her head, then motioned for a group of five cavalrymen to follow her. When one of them stepped on a fallen log, his foot snapped through the wet and rotten wood with a noise loud enough to make the birds go quiet. 

Sylvanas closed her eyes as though praying, and grit her teeth. When she opened her eyes again, the cavalryman in question was being glared at by everyone in the platoon. One of his squad mates smacked him upside the head, so that his helm tilted down over his eyes. 

“You fucking moron,” someone hissed. 

Hayles shushed them, and they fell quiet again. The man carefully pulled his foot from the log, and the little group went off, following after Anya. Sylvanas gave them a head start, counting in her head until she was satisfied. Then, she gestured to Hayles and without looking back, she crept forward on silent feet. 

Her trained ears could hear the rustle of their own approach. The cavalrymen creeping along in her wake were accustomed to scouting by roaming broad countryside and hills atop their horses in easy formations. They were not used to this. Just ahead of them, Sylvanas prowled forward until she could see the peaked rise of tents over the underbrush, until she could hear individual conversation, the crackle of campfires, and the stamp of horses’ hooves. The horses were tethered on one side of the camp, their noses stuck in their feed bags. A few of them merely flicked their fuzzy ears upon seeing the approach of the Waycrest cavalry, but raised no alarm. 

Sylvanas raised her hand in a fist again and stopped. The men behind her hid behind the trunks of trees and in the thick underbrush, lying low on their bellies and squinting beneath the rims of their helms at what awaited them ahead. Peering carefully around the trunk of a tree, Sylvanas quickly counted men. Forty-five in the camp, according to Anya, who had counted rightly. Five more on the ridge. That was nearly fifteen more than they had brought themselves. Another glance around the tree trunk, and she spied Anya and the small group of cavalrymen in position at the ridge, waiting. 

Sylvanas caught Anya’s eye. They exchanged a brief nod, and then Anya struck. Quick as a bolt, she had a knife pressed against the throat of one of the sentries. The group of men with Anya burst forward as well, pistols raised, sabres at the ready. 

Straightening, Sylvanas stepped out from her hiding spot. “Gentlemen,” she said, lifting her voice, “how good it is to see you again.” 

A cry of alarm went up, and the men in the camp leapt to their feet. They tugged their weapons free, but their helms and cuirasses were still packed away. Their Captain drew his pistol and sabre, levelling the gun at Sylvanas. It was the same young Captain Ashvane that she had seen during her reconnoitre before the battle of Barrowknoll. His eyes were dark and sombre as he took in the situation -- the men with Sylvanas, the soldiers on the ridge with his sentries at knifepoint. Anya tightened her grip in the hair of the man she held steady when he tried to struggle, drawing a line of red at his exposed throat. 

Sylvanas spread her hands open to show she held no weapon, though Hayles stepped up to stand beside her, his expression grim beneath his heavy beard. “There needn’t be violence,” she said. “Cry ‘quarter’, and I will ensure you are well looked after.” 

Captain Ashvane grinned at her over the top of his flintlock. “Shame,” he said, cocking the weapon with his thumb. “I rather like a bit of violence with my afternoon tea. And you’ve come just in time, too.” 

“We have you surrounded, boy,” said Hayles, aiming down the sights of his pistol. “Best give up and come quiet now, yeah?”

Captain Ashvane swung his arm around so that his own pistol was now pointing at Hayles. “Not a chance, old man.” 

Hayles opened his mouth to speak, but the blast of a pistol snapped through the air. Captain Ashvane’s arm recoiled, the tip of his gun emitting a gout of smoke, and Hayles staggered back, grasping his shoulder. 

All hell broke loose. The Waycrest troops opened fire, and the air was filled with the crack of gunshot and shouts. Red-coated Ashvane scouts returned volleys, only for the two sides to toss aside their one-shot pistols and fall upon one another in a clash of swords. Hayles swore and fired his pistol at Captain Ashvane, but missed. The shot went wide, hitting a tree and scattering bark on the ground. On the ridge above, Anya had drawn her blade across the throat of the soldier she had been holding at knife point. His body was slumping to the ground as he gurgled and grasped at the tide of red spurting from his neck. She was already pulling back the string of her bow and firing arrows down into the camp. 

Captain Ashvane shoved his first pistol into the wide sash at his belt, and pulled out another. He aimed it at Hayles, whose eyes went wide. Moving quickly, Sylvanas shoved Hayles to the ground, and the shot narrowly missed. The Captain drew his sword and advanced upon her, arm raised, slashing down. She danced easily out of reach, moving away from Hayles so that the Captain would follow her instead. Foolishly, he did. He swung his sword in broad strokes, and Sylvanas avoided every blow with a calm assurance that only seemed to anger him. His face grew red. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a silent snarl. 

When one of the other Ashvane soldiers tried to attack her as well, an arrow sprouted from his back. Sylvanas did not need to even look to know that Anya had shot it. Hayles switched his sword to his good hand, and was fighting a group of Ashvanes with his own men, rallying them together for something more elevated than a mere brawl.  

The Captain did not do the same. He was content to let his superior numbers do the talking for him, leaving him free to pursue Sylvanas, who continued to elude his slashes. He was no slouch with the blade. She could tell by the familiarity with which he handled his sword. A young nobleman trained in gentlemanly pursuits used to getting his way. When he drew too close, she grabbed his wrist and tightened her grip until she could hear the crunch of bone and tendons beneath her hand. 

The Captain cried out. He tried to kick her away, but she stepped aside so that his foot hit nothing. She did not let him go. Instead she twisted his arm expertly so that he was forced to drop the weapon or risk breaking his arm as she jammed his hand into the small of his own back. He was a tall man, and strongly built. But standing behind him, she planted her foot behind his knees so that he was forced onto the ground. 

“Call them off,” Sylvanas murmured into his ear, while he jerked futilely in her grasp. “Or I will make sure you never swing a sword in your life again.” 

He continued to struggle, grunting in pain when she pushed his arm a little further up. He grappled for purchase at her leg, but could do nothing to dislodge her. She leaned in closer to speak again, when she saw a flash of silver. With his free hand, he had pulled the knife from her boot and struck blindly at her over his shoulder. 

Reeling back, Sylvanas clutched at her face. She hissed, feeling the cut at her cheek, which bled black and sluggish. Captain Ashvane was scrambling to his feet. He rounded upon her, brandishing the hunting knife given to her by her mother when she had come of age. The same knife that had been used in the ritual to summon undead ghouls from the sacred Ardfert bogs not four days past. She could feel the anger boil in her lungs, frothing white-hot and wild, welling up in her throat until she was nigh drowning in it.

Captain Ashvane’s expression changed as he watched her. Smug certainty gave way to confusion and then to fear. He took a step back, holding the knife before him like an animal backed into a corner. Some of his men did not notice. All they saw was their commander continuing to fight and break free of the enemy. Several of them moved into position around her, swords raised, while Anya continued to fire into the fray. 

Shadows coiled at Sylvanas' feet, slowly gathering around her. Rage was a living thing in the crucible of her lungs, burning like liquid fire, clawing at the backs of her teeth. With a wordless snarl, her form flickered. In a blaze of black necrotic smoke, Sylvanas swept over the Ashvane men advancing upon her, over half a dozen including the Captain. The coils of shadow billowed outward, curling around them and swallowing them whole, until the air was filled with the sound of a shriek that tore itself from her mouth, drowning out all else. The note shivered high over the treetops, sending a startled flock of birds to flight. Everyone in the camp -- friend and foe alike -- clutching at their ears. Some fell to their knees. Others cried out in agony, blood dribbling from their noses, dripping from their open mouths, choking them until they could not make a noise. 

When the boiling black fog faded, Sylvanas stood in the centre of a group of dead Ashvanes crumpled along the ground. Their bodies were contorted into foetal positions, their skin grey and clinging to their bones as though the very essence of life had been drained from them. Sylvanas' shoulders and the tips of her fingers twitched. Her face was an uncanny mask, her eyes burning like red coals through the gloom. 

Those left untouched staggered weakly to their feet. The camp had gone eerily quiet, the absence of noise in the wake of the banshee scream almost as loud as the wail itself. They were all staring. Hayles' eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the scene before him. His beard was wet and dark with blood. Even Anya watched warily from the ridge, waiting to see what would happen. 

Breathing out a long ragged sigh, Sylvanas straightened. It took effort to animate herself again as she usually did, as though her body had forgotten what it was like to pantomime life. When she turned her gaze upon a few of the Ashvane soldiers further away from her, they took a step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly to their chests. 

"Put those down," she said, and though her voice was soft, it still echoed with the vestiges of dark power that lingered in her chest like an unspoken threat.

Immediately they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their shaking hands. She turned her attention away from them, looking instead down at the dead body of Captain Ashvane. His fingers were still curled tightly around the hilt of her hunting knife. Reaching down, Sylvanas tugged it free. She took a moment to inspect the blade and clean it on his sash, before slipping it back into its hilt nestled away in her knee high boots. 

Hayles approached her slowly, his steps tentative, as though he were approaching a wild animal that might snap his arm clean off with one bite. "Your orders, ma'am?"

"Take them prisoner, and we'll drag them back to Barrowknoll for questioning."

"Pity about the Captain," he said, glancing down at the man's corpse. "He would've had the most information." 

Something in her expression must have changed, for Hayles went very pale and said hurriedly, "Not that it's a problem, mind. I'm sure the others'll have plenty to talk about when we bring them back to camp, ma'am."

Sylvanas tried to school her features into something resembling calm, but it was difficult when her muscles did not want to react normally. Her soul twitched in her body like a man wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes. It would take her a few hours to get used to having skin again. So, she merely nodded sharply at Hayles, then turned and began walking back in the direction of their horses. The Waycrest cavalrymen parted before her, staring as she passed. She lengthened her stride and paid them no heed.

Anya was at her side in a moment, trailing after her like a faithful shadow. She looked concerned, but said nothing. Not until they reached the horses, at least. While Sylvanas hauled herself into the saddle, Anya remained standing by the skeletal horse's side. She gazed up at her Queen, as if waiting to receive instruction.

"What is it?" Sylvanas asked. 

"Do you need me to fetch you an Apothecary, my Queen?" 

Sylvanas considered the offer for a moment before shaking her head curtly. "No."

Anya did not quibble. She just clasped her hand over her heart and bowed low. Then, she strode towards her own horse and climbed into the saddle. When she tried to urge the living horse towards Sylvanas however, it shied from the prospect, turning in a wide circle rather than get too close. Sylvanas pretended to not notice. 

By the time they returned to Barrowknoll, it was nearing the evening. On their ride back with prisoners in tow, it had begun to rain. Suddenly Anya’s fixation on an oiled buff coat did not seem so foolish. Sylvanas’ cloak was not nearly as effective as combating the elements in Kul Tiras. It was slower returning to camp than leaving it. The prisoners were not allowed to ride their horses. Rather, their hands were bound and they walked behind the Waycrest cavalry. Their horses were tethered individually to the Waycrest horses; it wouldn’t do to leave them behind. Horses were expensive. One could always find work for them in an army. 

Their return earned a few appreciative murmurs. Waycrest and Drust soldiers gathered round and asked questions of their friends in the cavalry as they rode into Barrowknoll. Jeers and hard looks were aimed at the Ashvane prisoners, but they were otherwise left alone before they were carted off for questioning. Hayles was approached by a Waycrest infantry Captain when he dismounted. Sylvanas eyed him sidelong as he clapped the man on the shoulder and began to speak with him boisterously. 

As if sensing her gaze upon him, Hayles turned. He caught her eye, and to his credit he did not look away. In fact, swept his helm over his heart and inclined his head towards her respectfully. Fearfully, even. 

Rather than reply, Sylvanas slid smoothly from her own saddle. She strode off, giving Anya a sharp gesture to imply that she wanted to be left alone. Anya did as commanded without question, returning, presumably, to the cavalry unit she preferred to haunt for company these days. 

Sylvanas headed towards her own quarters in Barrowknoll -- a repaired house near the Church, which itself was being used as the new headquarters. She quickened her step when she drew near the Church, knowing full well that certain unwanted parties often lingered within. Before she could make it past however, a voice called after her. 

“I see you’ve returned victorious from your little hunting expedition.” 

Going still, Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder. Katherine was walking towards her from the Church. Planks had been erected in a webwork of pathways across the muddy ground. The end of Katherine’s cane knocked against wood with every other step. 

With one last longing look towards her own private quarters only a few paces away, Sylvanas turned to face the Lord Admiral. She tucked her hands behind her back in an officious pose, trying to seem natural even when she knew she appeared stiff. “I did,” she said. 

Katherine stopped before her, and folded her hands over the top of her cane, leaning her weight upon it. She was undeterred by the rain. “Did we learn anything new?”

“Not yet.” 

Katherine cast a critical eye over her. “You look more dead than usual. Did something happen?”

“Your concern is touching,” Sylvanas drawled. “But unnecessary. I am fine”

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips. 

“Unless there is something else you wished to discuss, I shall -” 

Before Sylvanas could finish speaking and try to slip away however, Katherine interrupted. “There was, actually. How good of you to ask. I was wondering when we might all have a strategy meeting. Since you and the High Thornspeaker seem to be conveniently busy whenever I try to get you both in the same room these days.” 

It was true. Any time Katherine or Lucille would try to convene a meeting to discuss their next steps, Sylvanas would find an excuse to be elsewhere. It was at least gratifying to know that Jaina was doing the same. Though she doubted it was to avoid her. Most likely it was to avoid her mother. 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “These are busy times, Lord Admiral.” 

“Oh, spare me the bullshit, my dear. We all know what times these are.”

Sylvanas blinked. Not at the swearing -- Katherine was prone to cursing as fluently as any sailor worth their salt -- but at the endearment. Sylvanas had heard Katherine call people ‘my dear’ only when they crossed a certain unspoken threshold. For Tatanka it was with the first cup of tea. For Anya, after their first card game. For Arthur after exactly three seconds of conversation. For Sylvanas, apparently, it took nearly seven months and a victory on the battlefield. Some had more hoops to jump through than others, it seemed. 

"I want to know what the plan is," Katherine continued with a face like cold iron. 

"Since when was this my army?" Sylvanas sneered. "Last I looked, my people and I were just a resource for you to use."

Katherine scoffed. "Like you didn't want it that way. Still -" she shifted her weight so that she could tap her cane thoughtfully against the wooden planks beneath them. "I do wonder what the High Thornspeaker promised you to get you to deploy so many troops into Drustvar."

Sylvanas thought of the treaty in her personal quarters, stashed safely away, signed and sealed. Copies of it had been distributed to Jaina as well as to Durotar, so that no party could cry foul of the agreement. "That is between myself and the High Thornspeaker."

Katherine arched an eyebrow. "Not even a hint for an old woman?"

In reply, Sylvanas merely glowered. 

"You really think you can keep your arrangement a secret?" Katherine asked. "The truth will out eventually."

"Yes," Sylvanas said. "But not today." 

"I don't see why the secrecy in the first place."

It was so tempting. She could tell her so easily. Jaina's secret hung by a thread in Sylvanas' hands, ready to be severed with a single swipe of a sentence. There was little to gain by telling Katherine, but the pure spite of the deed was almost enough to sway her.

Almost. But not quite.

Finally, Sylvanas said, "I have died for secrets in the past, Lord Admiral. You’ll not suss them out of me with conversation alone.” 

There was a bullish squaring of Katherine’s jaw that followed. Sylvanas had seen it many times before on Jaina; the two shared more mannerisms than they likely knew. 

Sighing, Katherine said, “At least tell me what the plan is for the next week? What have you and the High Thornspeaker discussed?"

Sylvanas’ face darkened. In truth, she and Jaina had not exchanged a single word over the last few days. Every time Sylvanas so much as saw her, she began walking in the other direction. Thankfully Jaina never gave chase. "Ask her yourself,” Sylvanas said. 

"I tried. She refuses to talk to me.” This time when Katherine rapped her cane against the planks, it was annoyed. “I figured you would know, seeing as you're close allies, supposedly. Though I'm having second thoughts, now."

"Then ask Lady Waycrest," Sylvanas said. She turned away and continued striding towards her lodgings. 

"I wasn't aware I was marching alongside children,” Katherine called after her before she could take more than a few steps away. 

Stopping, Sylvanas glared over her shoulder. "I'm older than you."

"Physically, perhaps. But in other ways? Evidence suggests otherwise."

Taking a few steps after her, Katherine stopped and fixed Sylvanas in place with a look sharp enough to skin a hare. "If you ask me -"

"I'm not."

"If you ask me," Katherine repeated, undeterred. "This sounds like some petty row."

When Sylvanas did not answer, Katherine clucked her tongue in an admonishing sort of way and shook her head. "Dear me. Do I really need to encourage you and the High Thornspeaker to use your words? Sit down? Have an adult conversation?"

"The same way you used your words with your husband?" Sylvanas sneered. "Yes, I can see why you ended up widowed and childless."

Katherine went still. Her eyes were like chips of ice. "You mean to shock me, throw me off my tracks and derail the conversation. But I made my peace with myself years ago."

"Clearly."

"What's more interesting is that you would compare your relationship with the High Thornspeaker to mine with my late husband." Katherine sniffed delicately at the notion. "Well, if I'd known this was a lover's quarrel, then I wouldn't have intruded. What a messy business."

Sylvanas growled, "It's not. And we are not having this conversation."

"Might I suggest leaving what goes on in the bedroom out of our military affairs?"

Again, Sylvanas turned to leave. She had scarcely stomped a few steps away, when Katherine called after her, "Kindly pull your head out of your ass. Before we all die, preferably." 

When Sylvanas did not stop this time, Katherine raised her voice, "Do you really intend to let the Ashvanes take the initiative? For such a storied military leader, I honestly expected more from you."

Sylvanas froze with her hand gripping the handle of the front door. Her grasp tightened. She could feel the wrought iron handle crumple beneath her fingers like paper. Behind her, she could hear the intermittent thump of the cane against the sodden wood walkways until Katherine stopped just behind her.

"We cannot winter here," Katherine said firmly, yet softly enough that they would not be overheard. "You know it. I know it. Lucille knows it, but only because I told the poor girl. Does your High Thornspeaker know it?"

Without turning around, Sylvanas said, "She is not 'my' High Thornspeaker."

"I don't care what or who she is," said Katherine. "What I care about is winning. If I had to play go-between for the two of you, I would. But neither of you seem very inclined to speak with me, despite my best efforts. Now, if I can condescend to try and settle this debate or quarrel or what have you, then you can eat crow and talk to that Tides-forsaken druid for five minutes. I'll settle for three minutes, even. Enough for us to agree on a plan and execute it. Have I made myself clear?"

Unclenching her fingers made the iron door handle screech slightly. Pulling her hand away, Sylvanas straightened her shoulders. She rose to her full height and turned, her movements too smooth, too mechanical. Even with a slight stoop due to her leg, Katherine still stood a few fingers taller than her, but the implacable expression on Sylvanas' face made her brow furrow. Katherine leaned back slightly, her eyes suddenly wary. 

When Sylvanas spoke, her voice was quiet; it slithered like a dark echo. “I have no intention of losing. You will have your victory, Lord Admiral. Make no mistake. But do not presume to tell me how to handle my affairs, personal or otherwise.”

Katherine scowled, but this time she did not try to stop Sylvanas as she turned to tug the door open. Walking inside, Sylvanas shut the door behind her, hearing Katherine mutter to herself, "Damn high-handed elves."

Even in the cold damp reconstructed house, there was little peace and quiet. Nathanos was bowed over a table, arranging reports and maps and ledgers in preparation for her arrival. He straightened when she faced him. 

"Anya told me what happened," he said. "She also told me that you refused an Apothecary." 

"I don't need an Apothecary. Or a mother, for that matter. So, you can drop the act," she added snidely. Crossing the sparsely furnished room, Sylvanas rounded the table and sat behind it. "What I need is the latest news from the ships sailing to our position, and the movements of the Great Fleet. If the Zandalari ships don't manage to slip Lord Stormsong's noose, those reinforcements will never arrive, and we might as well abandon this for a lost cause."

"I wish you would," Nathanos replied. “I wish I could sway you to leave.” 

She had considered it. A few times over the course of the last few days, if she were being honest with herself. Leaving Kul Tiras would have been the more sensible approach. There was no use throwing good coin after bad, as her father had been so fond of saying. And knowing when to cut one's losses was a key trait in any military leader worth their salt. Still, the idea rankled.

It was about more than thwarting the Alliance, now. This was personal. And if there was one thing Sylvanas hated, it was losing. 

Sylvanas pulled the first report Nathanos had arranged for her on the desk. Her eyes skimmed over the lines, but every now and then she would glance at him over the top of the parchment. Despite her earlier rebuke, Nathanos hovered nearby. He seemed to have no intention of leaving her alone right now. Annoyance prickled at the back of her spine, but it was tempered by a grateful flicker of feeling as well. 

She did not often use her powers. It was never pleasant -- mostly for others, but for herself also. There were no days, no minutes where she could pretend she was anything than what she had become at the hands of the Lich King, but there were certainly times that were worse than others. An Apothecary could only do so much with their potions and poultices. Her body was a mere vessel for the spirit chained within. They could but settle her corpse, urge it to be soothed for a brief respite. She generally only submitted herself to their care for the sake of others rather than herself. The Forsaken -- her Rangers included -- felt better if they believed she was properly looked after. As though the thought of her distress or loss caused them pain of their own. 

It was the threat of her absence more than anything else. What it would do to them as a people and as a society were she to no longer be there to guide them at the helm. 

The thought rose unbidden in her mind, then. Jaina's offer. Being 'cured.' The possibility of it ached. How would they see her if she lived once more? What would they do? Would she abandon them? Would she stay? Would they even want her to? 

"Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas lowered the report back to the desk. Others found Nathanos difficult to read, but she had never found that to be the case. His careful veil of uncaring haughtiness was the most inhuman thing about him, but his actions were his ultimate tell. He would say one thing, and then do another. Spiteful words of ridicule in one hand, and selfless acts in the other. For the longest time, even back when they had been alive, he had thought she never noticed, but she was not one to reward skill alone. One had to have the proper disposition. 

Now, he hovered, and it was anxious despite his cool tone and his perpetual lofty sneer. 

Lifting her hand to her face, Sylvanas explored the cut on her cheek with her fingertips. She could withstand blows that would kill any living person, but her body did not heal normally, not like it once did. It would take time for the necromantic powers laden upon her spirit to knit this corporeal form back together. The process was slow. The flesh was weak, but the bond between body and spirit was weaker. She could get her Val’kyr to mend her, but she did not like wasting their powers for such trivial matters. 

Finally, she said, "Bring me an Apothecary, then. If it will soothe you, Nathanos."

"It is not I who needs treatment," he said, lying to himself. Sylvanas let him. He bowed and strode out of the house. 

With a sigh, Sylvanas leaned back in her seat and waited for him to return with an Apothecary in tow. Perhaps after letting herself be fussed over for an hour or two, she could get some actual work done. 

Nathanos returned not long later with an Apothecary at his heels and -- to her surprise -- a familiar raven on his shoulder. Now that Nathanos knew about Arthur, he was tolerated rather than actively despised. Arthur had taken to ruthlessly abusing this change in status, much to Nathanos' annoyance and Sylvanas' amusement. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"He saw me getting the Apothecary, and wanted to see how this worked," Nathanos explained, shutting the door behind them. "I told him that it was not my decision to make."

With a shrug, Sylvanas rose to her feet. "He can stay, if he wants." 

"Yes," Arthur whispered triumphantly under his breath.

Since discovering what he was, she had watched his interactions with the Forsaken in a new light. Suddenly his queries about their undeath made sense. She had initially thought them to be curiosity, or him digging up information for Jaina. And perhaps there was a bit of that, to be fair. But it certainly was not the whole picture. 

The Apothecary was a mass of heavy robes. Strapped to his chest and back were darkly lacquered boxes, filled with all manner of potions and reagents. His rotting face was hidden behind a deep cowl, but his eyes gleamed golden through the dim light like candles. He limped as he walked, and even with his hunched stature he was still taller than Nathanos. When Sylvanas turned her gaze upon him, he bowed low. 

"If it would please the Dark Lady," he said in a gravelly voice. 

"It would," she murmured. 

He shuffled closer and began to disassemble the boxes upon the desk. They folded out with clever hinges, revealing a labyrinth of compartments within. While he worked, Sylvanas walked around the desk to stand before him, waiting quietly with her hands clasped behind her back. 

Candles were lit as well as incense. Soon, the room was filled with the smell of chrism and rose oil. The Apothecary took his time. He swung a thurible by its chain, walking around her and murmuring in Gutterspeak. She stood still, allowing the ritual of the process with a bored kind of familiarity. The air grew thick with smoke. When various bowls and vials and candles had been arrayed just so, the Apothecary bowed before her once again. Without needing to be told what to do, Sylvanas lifted her arms somewhat to allow him to begin disrobing her. Every piece of armour and scrap of cloth above the waist was removed and placed aside, handled with care and reverence. He even waved the thurible over her pieces of armour, muttering more incantations. 

On the other side of the room, Nathanos had turned his back for this process. Arthur on the other hand, shuffled around on Nathanos' shoulder to keep watching. That was, until Nathanos plucked one his tail feathers in admonishment.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Nathanos growled.

"You always were an awful prude, Nathanos," said Sylvanas, watching them with some amusement. "I do not care if he watches."

There was a bit of dark grumbling at that, but Nathanos said nothing more. He maintained his own discretion, keeping his back turned, while Arthur looked on curiously. 

When her torso was fully revealed, Arthur made a whistling noise. Nathanos appeared on the brink of strangling him, but Arthur only said, "Does that still hurt?"

Sylvanas did not need to look down; she knew what he was referring to. The Val'kyr could mend many things when they reconstructed her body, but the wound made by Frostmourne was not one of them. The gash slanted across her abdomen just beneath her ribs. Along her back, the exit wound was a mirror. It had been expertly sutured back together and packed with a variety of reagents that she did not care to know more about beyond the fact that they smelled of warm myrrh and smoky incense. 

Rather than answer, Sylvanas countered, "Do your old wounds still hurt?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Well, then. There you have it." 

It was not strictly true. Sometimes, she could still feel the cold presence of that cursed blade as though it were sliding between her organs anew, splitting against her lower ribs. Those times were mercifully rare, and usually only occured when she used too much of her powers or spent too much time out of her body in nothing but spirit form. As though returning to her body reminded it of the very concept of pain. Today was not such a day. 

She lowered her arms, and the Apothecary began to unstitch the wound. He went carefully yet expertly, snipping the sutures loose and tugging them free with a pair of pliers and scissors plated in silver. Arthur craned his feathery neck to watch, trying to gain a bit more height to peek over the Apothecary kneeling at Sylvanas' feet and treating her. 

"Are there more Undead among the Drust?" Sylvanas asked. 

"There are lots of them!" Arthur said. "But not like me, no. They're mostly ghouls or restless spirits. They don't remember who they are or anything." 

The Apothecary was repacking the old injury now. His hands pressed the cavernous wound full of reagents. She did not flinch or even glance down at what he was doing. Instead she continued speaking to Arthur, "Do you have a difficult time remembering things?"

Arthur shuffled his wings. "Sometimes, yeah."

Immediately Nathanos' head twitched. Though he did not look around or speak, Sylvanas could tell he was listening very intently to the conversation now. 

"Does Jaina tell you to do things, and you seem to wake up later, not able to remember the past few days?" Sylvanas asked.

Even the Apothecary paused in his ministrations. Sylvanas glanced down at him sharply, and he returned to his task, though he too was now eavesdropping. 

Meanwhile, Arthur cocked his head in bemusement. "No?" he said, sounding confused. "I've never had anything like that happen before. The first year or so after she raised me though, I struggled with basic things. Walking and talking and stuff. I got better at it. She was very helpful."

"How?" Sylvanas tried to keep her tone light, so that Arthur would not get suspicious of this line of questioning.

"You know. She would make potions for me, and braces for my legs, and stuff. But she never could help with the wounds or anything." Arthur blinked, his eyes pale blue and filmy. A corpse's eyes. "I don't think she's very good at necromancy, to be honest. I mean, she's good at a lot of magic, but every magic user prefers some things over others. Like, I can turn into animals all day, but I'm terrible at healing people." 

Sylvanas frowned. "But if she gives you a direct order, can you disobey her?"

An incredulous caw was Arthur's answer. It sounded like a laugh. "Oh, yeah! I disobey her all the time! Why?"

The tension drained from the room. Sylvanas, Nathanos, and the Apothecary all relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Sylvanas even let out a little sigh.

Bemused, Arthur looked between the three of them. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

But Sylvanas merely shook her head. "It's nothing. Nevermind." 

Arthur leaned down over Nathanos' shoulder, his tail feathers jutting up into the air for balance. "Have you ever raised anyone from the dead?" 

"I have," Sylvanas said truthfully. "Never without their permission. If you had been given the choice, would you have come back?"

For a long moment Arthur puzzled over that query. He shifted his weight back, and shuffled his tail. "I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe. It's not great, but I like it enough. And I didn't like dying. At all."

A surprised huff of laughter escaped Sylvanas then. Even Nathanos chuckled quietly. 

"No," Sylvanas mused with a faint smile, her killing blow on display. "No, I can’t say I did either." 

The rest of the procedure went forth without trouble. The Apothecary stitched her back up with a hooked needle and thread. He anointed her in oils like a god king, until she fairly gleamed. Death magic was woven heavy in the air, heavy on his fingers, as heavy as incense. By the time he worked his way to the more recent wound on her face, she already felt calmer, as though the Apothecary had sewn her soul more firmly into place. 

There was little more he could do about the cut on her cheek than stitch it together and seal it with fragrant chrism and a necrotic spell chanted from his lipless mouth, but it would help quicken the process along. 

The Apothecary helped her back into her clothes and armour, his bony fingers as deft with clasps and buttons as they were with a needle and thread. Soon she was shrugging her cloak around her shoulders, and allowing him to buckle her pauldrons into place as though he were dressing a high priest of the Light in sacred vestments of office. 

A knock came at the door. Sylvanas waved at Nathanos to answer it. When he did so, she could see a number of Forsaken soldiers clustered around outside. News of her minor scrape must have spread through the ranks like wildfire. She had to hold back a grimace. 

"Arthur," she called, gesturing for him to fly closer.

In an ungainly flap of wings, Arthur flew from Nathanos' shoulder and landed on the back of the chair behind the desk. "Yeah?"

"Change into your usual form."

After a moment's hesitation, he did so. There was a whirl of druidic magic, and he stood behind her chair looking curious but faintly uneasy by the way Sylvanas and the Apothecary were eyeing him up. When Sylvanas waved for him to approach her, Arthur rounded the table to stand before them, his pale gaze flicking between the two of them.

Tilting her head to one side, Sylvanas reached out and touched the rent flesh of his wrist. His clothes were scuffed and worn, but not in rags. They were a mark of a man who did not care for clothes, rather than a mark of neglect. His shirtsleeves had been rolled back above his elbow, revealing his hands and forearms, large portions of which had been peeled of flesh and muscle. 

"See what you can do for him," Sylvanas told the Apothecary. 

Without question, the Apothecary bowed to her, then gestured for Arthur to stand where Sylvanas had stood not moments ago. 

Arthur balked. “Oh - I don’t - I don’t know if -”

“Jaina’s speciality is not death magic. It is this man’s, however,” said Sylvanas firmly, indicating the Apothecary. “You will feel better after. I promise you.” 

Sheepish, Arthur allowed himself to be herded where the Apothecary wanted him to stand. He awkwardly held his arms out to the side, all while shooting Sylvanas a look that she could only describe as abashed.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and walked towards the door. He was not so bold when it was himself being undressed in front of others. 

Humans, she thought to herself with a wry shake of her head. 

Nathanos was shutting the door once more when she reached him. “Did you tell them they could stop their worrying?” she asked.

“I did, though doubtlessly they will remain outside until they see you.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

“I also received word from Captain Hayles,” Nathanos continued. Lowering his voice, he said, “Apparently, one of the prisoners you brought back from your little scouting expedition has decided to talk.” 

Sylvanas’ ears canted up in surprise. “That was fast,” she murmured. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder back towards Arthur and the Apothecary, she said, “Do we know the High Thornspeaker’s current whereabouts?”

Arthur was not paying any attention to them. He was too busy pestering the Apothecary with rapid fire questions, which the Apothecary answered in a dusty wheezing voice. 

“The people I have assigned to watch her informed me that she vanished from camp sometime this morning,” said Nathanos. “Nobody has been able to ascertain her position since then. She has a habit of disappearing without a trace and reappearing again. I suspect portals and other translocation magics are at work, but none of the Forsaken mages I’ve designated can crack where she goes to so often.” 

Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “I have an inkling.” Tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, she said, “Stay here. Keep an eye on the camp while I’m away.”

Nathanos’ brows furrowed. “And where are you going?”

“Belore. You’re as bad as the others.”

“Incorrect,” he said with an affronted sniff. “I’m worse.” 

With a snort, Sylvanas reached past him to open the door. “I am going to speak with Hayles and the prisoner. And then I’m going to do something I will probably regret.”

He stepped aside to let her pass. “Which is?”

“I’m going to find the High Thornspeaker, and have a conversation.” 

  The fang was heavy in Sylvanas' hand. She weighed it in her palm, considering her next actions very carefully. Then she lifted the token by its string and said, "Take me to Jaina, please." She growled out the last word like it was a penance. 

That feeling hooked behind her gut as though latching onto her spine and pulled. In an instant blur of colour and darkness, she appeared at the entrance to Jaina's cabin. The fog had returned. A chill nipped the air. A shallow shower of snow dusted the grounds. On one side the cliffs were shrouded in white, and on the other the dark vastness of the trees seemed to vanish into the mist like the long march of time itself. As though this place were caught in a stasis, torn between the woods and the sea. 

Sylvanas tucked the fang back into her belt pouch. She stood before the front door, which had been hung with a wreath woven from blackthorn branches. The berries were dark and clustered along the wreath. Whether it was purely decorative or served some greater magical purpose, she did not know. She used studying it as an excuse to not knock on the door. Eventually, steeling herself, Sylvanas reached out a hand and rapped her knuckles against the door. 

There was no sound from within. Brows knitting together, Sylvanas leaned to one side in order to peer through one of the windows, but the glass was misted from the chill outside. It was impossible to see anything but the indistinct shape of furniture within. 

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Rocking back on her heels, Sylvanas tongued at the back of her teeth contemplatively. She had been so sure that Jaina would be here. Or perhaps she was, and she knew it was Sylvanas outside. Perhaps they were both avoiding each other. 

She was reaching for the door handle, when she heard a voice behind her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Jaina said. 

Sylvanas whirled around. It wasn't everyday someone could sneak up on her. The only people who could consistently pull it off were her Rangers. And, apparently, Jaina. It was so reminiscent of their first meeting, that Sylvanas narrowed her eyes warily. 

Jaina stood behind her, wrapped in a robe. A towel was slung over her shoulder. Her feet were bare. Her hair had been undone from its usual braid so that it hung, wet, over her shoulders. It was a rare occasion to see Jaina with her scars on full display, the neckline of her robes a low-draped décolletage revealing the rope burns at her neck and the hint of a sword wound over her heart. She faintly steamed in the cool air, as though she had just stepped from a pool of hot water.

Which was, Sylvanas realised, exactly what she had done.

"I have the house warded," Jaina explained. "If you try to force your way inside...well, it's not very nice. Let's just leave it at that."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. "Noted." 

They looked at one another for a long moment, until Jaina cleared her throat and stepped past her. "I suppose you'll want to come inside. Unless you really were hoping to rifle through my things without my being here."

"I wanted to talk," Sylvanas said. 

"Now, I'm really worried," said Jaina dryly. 

There was a rusted old lock on the door, but Jaina used no key. She did not need to unlock the door. It opened at her touch without any trouble. Sylvanas wondered if she even locked it conventionally at all.

Jaina did not wait for her guest to follow after her; she simply stepped inside and left the door open behind her. Sylvanas removed her shoes, but hesitated to leave her weapons behind. Eventually however, she balanced the bow and quiver and knife against the outer wall of the cabin, and walked inside. 

The door shut itself softly behind her as though a draught had caught the edge. Jaina was standing before the fireplace. When Sylvanas had peered inside, there had been no light emanating from within. Now, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Jaina stood with her back to the flames and toweled her hair dry. 

The skull mask glowered at Sylvanas from its customary spot hanging on the wall. This time, the scythe-like staff was leaning against it. The runes carved into them glowed stronger when she drew near. Sylvanas moved past them both, entering further into the cabin. She made no motion to make herself comfortable. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back as though awaiting an infantry inspection on parade. 

Jaina pulled the towel down, her hair a mess until she began raking her fingers through it. "You're very quiet for someone who came all this way to talk to me," she said. 

From this angle, the fire lit Jaina from behind so that she seemed gilded. The soft fabric of her robe was brighter at the edges, more saturated, so that her body beneath was but a silhouette. 

Tearing her gaze away, Sylvanas wandered over to the table strewn with books and scrolls and various maps. She dragged her fingertips along the ragged edge of a vellum map. “I’m sure you will have already heard that I took Captain Hayles and a few of his men for a reconnoitre this morning.”

“I did,” said Jaina. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed the room and joined Sylvanas, careful to keep the table between them.

“We caught a few prisoners. Fortunately for us, one of them decided to cooperate.”

That got Jaina’s attention. She draped the towel back over her shoulder, and asked, “And what did they say?”

“There is a feature just to the northeast of Fallhaven,” Sylvanas said. “They call it Watermill Hill.”

“I am familiar with it, yes.”

“The Ashvanes have orders to take it from the defenders, and use it as a fort to bombard the city.”  

Jaina fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the table, and she began digging up a more detailed map of Fallhaven and its surrounding countryside. She pulled out her ledgers, placing them atop the map and scowling down at the both of them. 

Finally she said softly yet vehemently, “Shit.” 

Sylvanas hummed in agreement. 

Sighing, Jaina sank down into a chair. She rubbed at her eyes, scratching at the scar on one side of her face. “I had hoped to gain control over the peninsula by taking Carver’s Harbour from the Ashvanes.” 

“It is far too late for that, now.” Reaching over, Sylvanas tapped at a section of the map between Fallhaven and Carver’s Harbour. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make life difficult for them in the meantime. We just need to take the initiative.” 

Jaina nodded. She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. “So, we march for Fallhaven, and hope we can arrive in time to reinforce Watermill Hill. Otherwise we’ll have to take it back before they can blast through the eastern walls with artillery and create a practicable breach.” 

“And then we winter at Watermill, and harass their position at Carver’s Harbour until they wished they had never set foot in Drustvar.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Jaina admitted. “Though somewhat predictable, given the present company. I understand guerilla tactics are a favourite of yours.” 

Sylvanas gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. “We all cling to our little foibles. Mine happen to involve a penchant for shock and hit-and-run doctrine.” 

Jaina smiled, but it was a fleeting thing. Her face looked raw and recently scrubbed. She held Sylvanas’ gaze and said, “You smell like death.”

“Don’t I always?” Sylvanas drawled.

“No,” said Jaina. “Not like this. What happened?” 

Sylvanas tried to make her shrug nonchalant. “I got a little carried away during the scouting expedition.” 

Jaina looked at the cut on Sylvanas’ cheek and murmured, “I see.”

"To add insult to injury, your mother cornered me upon my return."

"Oh?" Jaina's tone was light, but she would suddenly not meet Sylvanas' eye. She fiddled with the ends of the towel slung over her shoulder, picking at stray threads, her actions uneasy, faintly apprehensive.

"She wants to call a meeting to discuss our strategy moving forward."

"Good thing we have one now, then," Jaina said, gesturing to the map of Fallhaven. 

Sylvanas caught Jaina's eye and said, "I don't think that was all she meant."

In reply, Jaina swallowed thickly. The apprehension was more than faint now. She gripped the end of the towel tightly in one fist until her knuckles were white. A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across her features. She did not say anything.

"The truth will out," Sylvanas said. "That was what she told me. And she's right. This war will end, and our agreement will come to light. You cannot hide forever."

Inhaling deeply, Jaina lowered her hands to her sides and said, "I know." She chewed at her lower lip for a moment before asking, "What happened with you?" 

Sylvanas frowned in quiet puzzlement.

"When you -- you know -" Jaina made a strange motion with one hand. "When you saw your family again after you had died? How did they react when they saw you like this?"

The map was suddenly incredibly interesting. Sylvanas traced circles around Watermill Hill and its surroundings, wishing beyond all else that they could return to topics of war and strategy and killing, things she was infinitely more comfortable discussing. Not this. 

"My younger sister, Vereesa, was the first to see me,” she finally said, her tone blank and matter-of-fact. “It was awful."

"What happened?"

"She hugged me," said Sylvanas.

Jaina laughed, until she realised very quickly that Sylvanas was not laughing at all.

If she thought too long and too hard, she could still feel Vereesa’s arms around her, crushing her with a warmth that scorched. It hurt to touch her. To be reminded of the heat of life she could never again share. To want to be the person her little sister remembered and idolised -- a yearning so strong it tore her up inside until she thought she could feel a blade piercing her ribs.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Sylvanas said before she could sink too deeply into that melancholic memory.

“Please,” Jaina said, sounding relieved, almost eager for any scrap of advice in this surreal situation.

Sylvanas glanced up at her sharply, and her eyes burned crimson. “Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

A little huff escaped Jaina at that. “I think we’re well beyond that, now. She’s thought I’ve been dead for years. Since before she even became Lord Admiral. I’m sure she’s made her peace by now.”

“She hasn’t. She told me she had, but she is lying.” Sylvanas ran her hands along the back of a chair tucked beneath the desk, her thumbs counting the rings of polished wood grain. “Grief is reaching out in love and finding nothing, and then filling it with something, anything to make that void a little less yawning, a little more manageable. The longer you wait, the more disruptive your return will be.”

Firelight played faintly about the strands of Jaina’s hair. She engoldened in the dim glow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment of silence. “For assuming what you wanted. It's just that back in Ardfert bog, I thought -”

Sylvanas shook her head curtly. “No. Stop.” 

“Sylvanas -” 

When Jaina tried to round the table, to draw closer, Sylvanas slipped further away. She used the table as an obstacle to keep them apart. “I am not here to accept your offer. And I never will.”

Jaina did not try to pursue her further. She stopped, her hands coming to rest on the desk between them, just lightly touching a space between a stack of worn, well-read books. “I still don’t understand,” Jaina said slowly. “But only because given the choice, I would leap at the chance.”

The cabin was warming up, the fire lapping at the hearth and filling the space with a pervasive roiling heat. Sylvanas wished nothing of warmth. Not now. It was too close to body temperature, and she could feel her own skin begin to react to the heat, to drink it in and hold it fast as though hungry for it. “It is not just about what I want. I have an obligation,” she said, and the words felt as though they were being scraped from her throat. “To more than just myself. I cannot be selfish. I will not be.” 

That was how it always had been. Self-sacrifice above all else. Living for others and not herself. Wishing she could be selfish, but knowing she could never do so; she would hate herself if she did. And she did not need any more reason to hate herself. Especially now.

“If there is one thing you are allowed to be selfish about, it is your own life,” Jaina said, her words chosen with care and precision.

But Sylvanas was already shaking her head, even as Jaina was speaking. “Not mine. And not yours. Not anymore. We are more than people. We are symbols and titles.”

A scowl crossed Jaina’s face, though not one of anger. “Do you allow yourself nothing?”

“You are new to your position. Relatively speaking,” Sylvanas added when Jaina opened her mouth to protest. “There is a balance you must find between personal wants and public needs. I found it long ago when Quel’Thalas demanded a military leader of my family. It is easy for you now. You want to save Drustvar. You want what is best for you people. But there will come a time, when you will do things that go against your better conscience not because you want to, but because you must.” 

“And you believe you must remain dead?” Jaina asked incredulously.

Sylvanas’ answer came without err or hesitation. “Yes.” 

With a sigh, Jaina shook her head. Again, she raked a hand through her hair, which by now had begun to dry somewhat. 

“Your relationship with your mother is a prime example,” Sylvanas began, watching her reaction. “You don’t want to reveal yourself to her, but you know you have to eventually.” 

Jaina chewed at her lower lip again. Her brows knit. Finally she relented with a nod. “Yes. I know.” 

“It is easier if you think of yourself as two different people.” Sylvanas lifted her hands, palms facing up as though weighing objects between them. “The future Lord Admiral, and Jaina Proudmoore.”

A bitter smile twisted Jaina’s lips. “It seems you need more hands, if we’re going to talk about your personae,” she said with a nod towards her. 

Sylvanas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When you live as long as elves do, you might need more than two, as well.”

“I will.”

At that, Sylvanas blinked. She looked at Jaina for clarification. 

“Druids live as long as elves do. Even human ones,” Jaina said. Then she grinned, amused by Sylvanas’ confusion. “It’s a perk.” 

“And here I thought the Kul Tiran nobility would be clamouring for you to conceive an Heir the moment you became Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas drawled. 

“Oh, they probably will anyway. But they’re going to be very annoyed when they find out that I’ll outlive them by a good few centuries at least.” 

“I can hear the cries of outrage from Boralus already.” 

Jaina’s grin widened, then softened. Her fingers played with the cloth belt holding her bathrobe together. “I have to say, this certainly has been a surprise.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to one side.

In answer, Jaina gestured between the two of them. “I thought this conversation was going to be far more unpleasant.”

"I can make it unpleasant, if you would prefer."

Jaina made a face. "Please, no. I thought we were doing so well."

When Sylvanas smiled, it did not reach her eyes. Her fangs glinted in the firelight. "Make no mistake. I am still very angry." Her gaze seared crimson.

Jaina made a noise at the back of her throat, something between a hum and a grunt. "I can see that. I don't suppose there's anything I can do?"

"More concessions when you become Lord Admiral wouldn't go unappreciated."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina said, "Anything that doesn't involve me whoring out my nation?"

Sylvanas tapped at her chin, pretending to think deeply on the subject. Finally she said, "No. Nothing."

With a snort of wry amusement, Jaina said, "Well, do let me know if that changes." 

"I will keep it in mind." A keen expression crossed Sylvanas' face. "I never forget when I am owed a favour." 

"Now, that is just ominous." 

"Good. It was supposed to be." 

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sky had fallen dark as night swept across the land. Glancing through a window, Jaina sighed. "I suppose I ought to make myself presentable and face the firing squad."

"I very much doubt your mother will draw a pistol on you, though I will admit that she is a difficult woman to read." 

"That's an understatement," Jaina muttered under her breath. She had begun to pick her way up the stairs, manoeuvring through the stacks of books haphazardly arranged along the steps. 

When she reached the mezzanine, she dropped the towel onto the bed and untied the belt of her robe. Sylvanas pulled the maps closer to herself to study them while she waited, but her eyes would stray up to where Jaina was getting dressed. There wasn't much to see through the pillars of the balustrade and the piles of books. Glimpses of skin and cloth here and there as Jaina pulled on a fresh set of formal robes. There was an exit scar on her back, where Gorak Tul had struck her through with a sword, right between her shoulder blade and her spine. 

A few minutes later, Jaina descended the steps, still tying the laces of fabric at her throat to hide the scars of her neck. Her cloak was draped across the back of the couch, and she shrugged it over her shoulders. The fabric rustled like the wind through dense branches. Sylvanas had long since given up the pretense of pouring over the maps, and stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Are you ready?" 

Jaina fiddled with her loose hair for a moment, as though contemplating taking the time to braid it. Eventually though she nodded. "Yes. Let's go." 

When they reached the door however, Jaina stopped. Her hand had immediately grabbed up the sickle staff, but she hesitated at the mask. Sylvanas waited patiently a step behind for Jaina to make up her mind. 

"No," Jaina said softly to herself, turning away from the mask. Before she could take another step towards the door though, she turned back to the mask. "Or...? Well...? Hmm." She grabbed the mask. "Yes." Then almost immediately she put the mask back on its hook. "What am I thinking? No."

Sylvanas sighed. "You are worse than a cat at the door."

"All right, yes." Jaina snatched up the mask, spurred into action, and pulled the door open. Once outside she placed the antlered skull over her head, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat, as though the idea of extra layer of protection was soothing. 

Sylvanas followed, closing the door behind them. She took a moment to pull on her boots and greaves. Once she had slung her bow over her shoulders, she pulled the fang from her belt pouch, but Jaina just held out her hand instead. 

"I'll take us back," she said, hand outstretched, waiting. 

Slowly, Sylvanas tucked the token away, and reached out for Jaina's hand. Jaina clasped their fingers together. Her skin was warm and calloused. Sylvanas could feel it even through the supple leather of her gloves. 

The dark sockets of the skull's eyes glowed with pinpricks of light, and Sylvanas tensed. Jaina tightened her hold, as if she were afraid Sylvanas would wrench her hand away while the spell was still taking form. And then that familiar hook-like sensation gripped at Sylvanas' stomach and gave a mighty tug. When the world righted itself again, they were standing on the second floor rafters of the church at Barrowknoll. 

The roof had been reconstructed with rough-hewn lumber. Stacks of bricks and munitions were piled up all around. The space was dimly lit from candles scattered around the main floor below them, and the sound of voices floated up the nearby set of stairs. 

"Tides help me, if you don't tell me this instant, Lucille Waycrest -!"

"I don't know anything! You must believe me, Katherine. If the Warchief or the High Thornspeaker had said something to me, they would have said it to you as well. I swear it."

"You’re hiding something. You all are. Oh, don't give me that doe-eyed look! You always were a terrible liar."

"I told you, I don’t know anything!" 

"You know I was there at your birth? Your mother held my hand. Nearly squeezed it right off, if you ask me. That woman had a death grip like no other."

"Yes," Lucille sighed wearily. "I know." 

"And when Meredith fell to the Coven? Who was the first to offer you aid?"

Lucille mumbled something under her breath.

"Speak up, my dear." 

"I said: You were."

"That's right. I was. And when those fools at Corlain attempted to burn you at the stake for some far-fetched witchcraft conspiracy, who got wind of it and rallied the Marshal for a rescue attempt?" 

"You did."

"And yet you have the nerve -- the absolute gall -- to look me in the face right now, and lie to me." There was the sound of boot steps, and the faint clack of a cane against wooden floorboards. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was low but not at all soft. "I had thought I could rely upon you, the last of my family, distant though you are. But I see I am cursed to live a life of disappointment, through and through." 

“That’s not fair,” Lucille sounded like she was choking on the words, or trying to hold back a wave of tears. “You know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. 

"You have a very poor way of showing it." 

"What am I supposed to do? Perform every action of my life as though I'm grovelling at your feet just to show how thankful I am?"

"Of course, not. You're being ridiculous."

"Don't say that! Don't you say that to me! You know I can't stand that, Kath!"

"Don't you 'Kath' me, young lady!"

As they eavesdropped, Jaina was gripping Sylvanas' hand hard enough that her fingers trembled. Sylvanas stole a quick glance at her. It was impossible to see what her expression was beneath the mask, but her back was too straight, her shoulders too rigid. 

Sylvanas squeezed her hand back, and Jaina's head jerked towards her in surprise, as though she had only just remembered that Sylvanas was present at all. But it was only to get her attention, for Sylvanas jerked her head meaningfully at the stairs, and gave Jaina a pointed look. She could hear a faint indrawn breath beneath that mask, and then Jaina let go of her hand. 

At the first creak of the floorboards beneath Jaina's feet, the two voices went silent downstairs. Sylvanas followed as Jaina descended the stairs, her own footsteps silent as a whisper. 

Lucille and Katherine were standing very close together before the large rectangular altar that had been converted into a planning table. Scrolls and scraps of notes, missives and ledgers and stacks of maps were strewn across the altar. The papers were weighed down with bits of brick and bronze lamps. Both of them appeared startled at the interruption and the idea that their conversation was being listened to. Katherine recovered more quickly, grasping the falcon head of her cane in both hands and schooling her features to their usual hard neutrality. On the other hand, Lucille’s lower lip trembled. Despite that, her gaze was sloe-eyed and unyielding. 

"Forgive the interruption," Jaina said, her voice cold beneath the horned skull. "But I thought I should step in." 

Lucille jerked her chin up and said steadily. "It's fine. We just got a bit sidetracked from a strategy discussion." 

Jaina hummed. She approached the altar, her hand reaching out to rest upon the stone surface. "Sylvanas has informed me of new developments that we all need to discuss." 

Hearing this, Katherine shot Sylvanas a look that could only be described as startled, though she tried to hide it. In return Sylvanas gave away nothing. She did not draw nearer the altar, keeping her distance, watching Jaina, waiting for what she would do. 

"I'm glad to hear you two are talking again," Katherine said carefully. Then she turned her attention upon the altar, waving Lucille and Sylvanas over to join them. "Shall we -?"

"No, not yet," Jaina said, cutting her off. Her voice was determined, but there was the barest hint of shakiness lingering beneath the surface. "You were right. There was something Lucille was keeping from you. And I think -- for all our sakes -- we ought to clear the air."

Lucille's eyes widened. She gave Jaina a panicked look. 

Jaina gave no indication that she noticed. Slowly, her hands reached up and clasped the base of the skull mask, lifting it away to reveal her face. Katherine was watching her with a bemused frown, which only deepened when Jaina set the mask atop the altar. Opening her mouth to speak, Katherine paused. She blinked. Then she went white a sheet, and her jaw slackened as the realisation visibly dawned on her. 

Katherine shook her head. “No, that’s - that’s not possible,” she breathed. “You died. They’d told me you died.”

“Yes,” Jaina said. Her hands were gripped into tight fists at her side. She held herself as though expecting to be struck.

From this angle Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s expression, but she could see Katherine's with all too much clarity. Something raw and painful shifted across Katherine’s pale face. Anger and anguish, disbelief and dread. Her hand tightened around the cane. She rapped the end of it against the ground, her jaw tight but her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I planted a sword in the grave for you,” she rasped. “And yet here you are.” 

“Here I am,” Jaina echoed.

“If this is some trick, I swear to all that’s good, I’ll -” Katherine cut herself off with a rough swallow, breathing in heavily through her nose. 

“I’m real.” 

Katherine opened her mouth to say something, but words seemed to escape her. Hesitant, she reached out with one hand, but Jaina’s shoulders stiffened, and Katherine lowered her arm before she could touch her daughter. She had to muster up the ability to speak again. “You’ve grown very tall,” she said, a weak smile trying but failing to take shape. Her eyes flicked to Lucille and Sylvanas, and then her face hardened, her voice gaining strength. “How long have they known?”

Lucille looked like she would rather die on the spot than answer that question. Sylvanas herself kept her mouth firmly shut, letting Jaina answer. “Long enough.” 

Pain twisted Katherine’s features. “And you didn’t tell me? Why?” 

“Are you really asking me that? After what you did?” 

Katherine drew herself up to her full height, but the top of her head barely passed Jaina’s chin. “I did not want to, but I had to,” she said. “Everything I did, I did to safeguard Kul Tiras. I will not apologise for that.”

“Letting Tandred hang was all part of your plan to ‘safeguard Kul Tiras’?” Jaina asked incredulously.

“You were too young to understand,” Katherine snapped. “The political situation at the time was volatile. I did everything I could to change Daelin’s mind, to find some work around, to exile Tandred instead, but he would have none of it. And the gentry were baying for blood after the orcs had killed so many during the First and Second Wars.” 

Jaina scoffed. “Oh, great. So, dad wasn’t just a power-mad bastard. It was all because of politics. I see now why I should have come back to Boralus the moment he died. How foolish of me!”

Katherine’s face was quickly regaining its colour again. The two of them were locked in a glaring contest, tempers rising, mingling with grief and years of bitterness. They continued speaking as though they had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Katherine said hotly.

“Then what did you mean? Enlighten me.”

“You should have told me! Have you never heard of a letter? ‘Dearest mum, I am alive. Love - Your daughter, Jaina.’”

“You’re unbelievable! You -!” 

As silently as she could, Sylvanas crossed the room and murmured to Lucille, “Come. Let us leave them be.”

Lucille nodded without hesitation, and the two of them slipped away. Neither Jaina nor Katherine seemed to notice. 

“I could have protected you!’

“Oh, yes, because you’ve done such a good job of that in the past!” 

“How dare you! I am the reason why you survived at all!”

“You don’t know anything about what’s happened for me to survive! Or have you already forgotten? You threw me away!”

“I did no such thing!”

Sylvanas shut the side door to the church behind her, so that the sounds of their voices were muted. Outside, the night was dark and drizzly. Most of the soldiers were camped in the fields just to the north, but some still wandered the town performing their duties. Sylvanas kept her hand firmly on the latch of the door as though afraid it might burst open at any second, while Lucille leaned against the outer wall with a ragged exhalation, staying beneath the shelter of the eaves. 

Sylvanas studied her profile, then said, “You did well. I thought you would crack immediately under questioning.” 

A soft shaky laugh escaped Lucille at that. “Thanks,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. She glanced towards the door. “Should we wait here? How long do you think they’ll be?”

Sylvanas’ only answer was a shrug. “They will take as long as they take.” 

“Then they’ll be a while. ‘Stubborn as a Proudmoore’ they say in Tiragarde Sound.” Lucille ran a hand across her brow. She pushed herself away from the wall and said, “Would you like to join me for a drink? I desperately need one.”

“I don’t drink. And alcohol is wasted on me. It does nothing.” 

“Right. Of course. My apologies.”

One of Sylvanas’ ears tilted towards the door, hearing the rising volume of the voices within. She grimaced. “On second thought, I will join you.”  

“Thank the Tides,” Lucille sighed, already gathering up her long hems so that they would not trail in the mud. 

Sylvanas followed Lucille out into the rain, the two of them making a dash towards a nearby reconstructed house. She may not be able to enjoy a drink, but it was a better proposition than staying put; she had had enough eavesdropping for one night.

  Lucille had nearly finished what remained of the flask of whiskey she kept hidden in the drawer of her work desk, and Jaina and Katherine still had not emerged from the church to the Tides. Sylvanas sat in a chair beside the fire, while Lucille nursed a glass. Conversation was halting at first, but eventually Lucille's tongue was loosened by drink. Sylvanas took the opportunity to suss out any additional helpful information about Jaina and Katherine. Most of it she already knew. Some of it however, she did not.

"I wanted to go to Jaina's burial in Boralus, but my mother forbade it," Lucille said. She had draped a blanket over her legs to ward off the cold, and her chair had been pushed nearer the fire. 

"Why would she do that?" Sylvanas asked.

Lucille sipped at the amber spirits in her glass. "In hindsight, I think it was because she had already well fallen under the influence of Gorak Tul. But it wasn't just that. There really was bad blood between the Houses back then."

"Unlike now, where you all get along swimmingly," Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille snorted a laugh into her cup. "I didn't think you would actually have a sense of humour, you know. It's kind of nice."

"I'm a woman of hidden depths." Sylvanas waved for Lucille to continue. "Now, you were saying about the Houses?"

"Yes. Well. Katherine was right back in the church, really. Terrible business, the First and Second Wars. There aren't many people in Kul Tiras to begin with. Then nearly a quarter of the entire population died fighting the orcs. We are still recovering as a society. I don't know if we ever will. Not really." Lucille cradled the glass of whiskey between her hands as though praying that it would warm her. "Derek Proudmoore, Jaina's eldest brother, was one of the people to fall. Daelin and Katherine were crushed. But he wasn't the only one. Lady Ashvane's Heir died. Her husband, too. And some of Lord Stormsong's family. Everyone was affected. Then Tandred goes off and helps those shipwrecked orcs? I know he was being kind -- he was a kind soul, if a bit of an ass at times -- but it was a scandal. Everyone wanted him to hang. My mother included. The Proudmoores nearly lost the Admiralty over it. There was talk of overthrowing them back then. My mother said theirs was a whole line of traitors. That they weren't to be trusted. And there were plenty of people who shared that sentiment. An example needed to be made."

Sylvanas hummed. "A sacrificial lamb led to the altar to appease the masses."

Tipping her glass towards Sylvanas as though in a toast, Lucille said, "Exactly that."

"Which doesn't exactly bode well for me."

"Oh, definitely not," Lucille said. Alcohol made her earnest and far too honest. "I think it would be a disaster, personally."

Sylvanas gave her a dangerous look. "How reassuring," she said in a silky warning tone.

Usually Lucille got the hint, but not when she was four glasses deep and reaching for the flask to pour herself a fifth. "The only thing that might salvage the relationship is the fact that you're not an orc. Kul Tirans tend to be a bit -- uhm -- how do I put it nicely -?"

"’Negatively predisposed towards those of orcish descent?’" Sylvanas supplied dryly.

“That works, yes.” 

“And what does this have to do with Jaina’s burial, exactly?”

“Well -” Lucille expertly balanced the glass on her knee while she screwed the top back onto the flask. For a moment Sylvanas thought the glass was going to crash to the floor, but Lucille was apparently as Kul Tiran as any, for she snatched up the glass without fail or fumble. “There wasn’t a body, obviously, but Katherine wanted a funeral anyway.”

“People often do.”

“Anyway, it was a big public event. The Lord Admiral couldn’t keep it secret that she no longer had an Heir. Before that, she’d told everyone that Jaina was living with us in seclusion at Waycrest Manor.”

“Ah,” said Sylvanas. She leaned back in her seat and crossed an ankle over her opposite knee. “Yes. I see where this is going.” 

Making an affirmative noise into her glass, Lucille finished her sip of whiskey and continued. “When my mother refused to let any member of House Waycrest attend, it was a public indictment in all but name. A show that the Lord Admiral’s power was slipping in Drustvar. And to top it all off, my dear mother was already neck-deep in her dabblings with Gorak Tul and the Coven, so of course she wanted the Lord Admiral out of her business, so she could take over Drustvar without any hassle. It was a damn mess.”

Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. “And what do you want for Drustvar?”

“Me?” Lucille blinked, as though surprised at being asked that question at all. 

“Yes, you. You are Lady Waycrest, are you not?” 

Turning her gaze to the fireplace, Lucille stared into the flickering hearth. “I want a Drustvar free from corruption and at peace with itself. I want to clear the smirch on my family’s name. And I want to follow a Lord Admiral who has a clear vision for Kul Tiras.”

“And you think Jaina will give you those things?”

“I do,” Lucille said with real conviction. 

“Even if it means aligning yourself with people like me?” Sylvanas gestured to herself. 

Lucille’s mouth opened, but before she could answer the front door swung open hard enough that it hit the wall and bounced back. Jaina stormed into the house, skull mask beneath one arm. Rain was caught in her cloak and her loose hair, droplets gleaming like stars. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had scrubbed recent tears from her cheeks. 

Katherine was conspicuously absent. 

“Right,” Jaina said, slamming the door shut behind her and stomping towards the fireplace to stand between their two chairs. “Well, that was awful.” 

Wordlessly, Lucille held out the glass of whiskey. To Sylvanas’ surprise, Jaina took it and slugged back its contents as easily as though it were water. 

“Welcome back,” Sylvanas said.

“Why did I listen to you?” Jaina asked, handing the glass back over to Lucille for refilling. 

“Think of it this way: you only have one surviving family member, so you’ll never have to do it again,” Sylvanas pointed out. 

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina grumbled.

Lucille handed the glass over to Jaina, filled with a good three fingers of whiskey. “Do we have a plan?”

“We have a plan.” Jaina took the glass. This time she did not immediately drain it in one gulp. Rather, she tipped it back and forth as though admiring the way the liquid slid against the interior of the glass. Then, she took a sip and said, “We march to Windmill Hill tomorrow morning to chase off the Ashvanes and wait out the winter. Or -” She craned her neck to peer out the nearest window, where the faintest sliver of dawn was creeping over the horizon. “Later today, actually. Ugh, but I need some sleep.”  

“And the Admiralty?” Sylvanas asked.

“You’re looking at the official Heir to the Admiralty and Scion of the Great Fleet. Cheers.” Jaina lifted the glass in the air, and tipped it back. What few drops remain, she cast into the fire, which spit and hissed furiously. 

Lucille and Sylvanas exchanged silent glances. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvanas said. 

“Yes,” Lucille agreed, though she sounded far less certain. “Congratulations, I suppose?”

In response, Jaina heaved a weary sigh. “Fuck me.”

[things-i-want-2-tell-u-but-cant]

12/12/18 - 9.39 pm

I’m broken and numb. My mind is fuzzy, my stomach is in knots and I feel sick. I don’t know what to think, feel or do. Everything is up in the air and I hate it. I hate all of this.

After 7 months with you, going on 8, I never expected us to be in this position. Tip toeing around our problems, hurting each other. I have never been so unhappy as I have been this past month. And don’t think I’m blaming this on you, because I’m not. I know I am just as much to blame, if not more. After our talk on Friday I’ve realised that a lot of our problems have come from me. I say things expecting you to realise what I’m meaning, when you take everything at face value and dont read into anything. Which, I would say is probably the only cause of our problems really... and for that I am so fucking sorry. My heart is literally aching thinking about everything I’ve caused.

You’ve told me before that I need to be honest, and to tell you things - the reason you’re perspective has changed. And that I understand, but I hope you can see things from my side and see my reasoning behind why I can’t. The truth is I’m terrified. As it is, I don’t know what you want. And I feel like if I tell you the truth and how I’m feeling... I’ll ruin every chance with you and you’re going to leave if you don’t like what I have to say. And I know that probably won’t happen. But at the moment I feel like I am gripping onto us by a thread.

Which is where the whole things with other girls come in. It is true, I did tell you that it was okay to see other people. But I didn’t actually mean it in a sense. When I found out that you were talking to Khadra and that it seemed more than I thought it was... I was hurt. My heart broke and my stomach dropped. Truth be told, I knew the whole day while you were at my house on Sunday, I just didn’t want to let you know it effected me so much. But from that, I instantly felt like I wasn’t enough for you. You already had told me you wanted nothing from me but a friendship, you had been messaging girls on tinder asking to meet up and god knows what else... so thats why I said it was okay. Because after saying that you would either tell me you didn’t want to - and tell me I was enough for you.... or you would go to other chicks and prove that you didn’t want me at all... which unfortunately is what happened. And in my mind I already don’t feel good enough. So instantly all I could see was that you had found someone skinnier, prettier funnier and probably nicer than me. And that hurt. I’m not blaming it on you at all either, I just wanted to explain the reasoning behind why I said it and then got so upset by it all - its 100% still my fault it happened. 

Another thing I accept is that my type of communication is not the best. I struggle a lot to be able to say what I’m thinking - like forming the words is really hard for me and something I struggle with a lot. I generally have so much going on in my head that the only way I can make it make sense is by writing it all down - which is why I generally send you long messages like this haha (SORRY). But yeah so thats why it also may seem like I may hold back. Just know, it isn’t because I dont want you to know, its because Im literally just overwhelmed by emotion and I can’t make sense of it until I am able to sit down and write it all down. If i dont it literally will take me days to realise what the fuck is going on haha. But if you decide to take a shot on me - I’ve got a way around this dont you worry!

I apologize for everything I have said to you the past week - I know some of it would have been hard to hear and probably hurt you.. I didn’t intend on that. I think I’ve just been hurting for so long, I couldn’t it anymore. The truth is, I don’t think I can do the just friends thing. I tried my hardest, I really did. But at the end of the day I love you. And i know you don’t feel the same. But I just can’t sit there while I’m just “one of the boys” to you and I consider you to be my whole word (little bit of an exaggeration but ya get my point). 

You told me that I need to look at myself in a more positive light... And I get that. But one part of that is realizing I deserve better than just to be some girl who sits there waiting on a man she loves hand and foot while Theres a good chance that he could be fucking some other girl the whole time without her knowing. And I know that’s probably dramatic in your eyes. But I’ve spent so many years of my life doing this for other guys. I sit around, giving them my all, only to get sidelined and used as a toy when theyre bored or in between girlfriends. I love you with all of my heart but I don’t want to go back to that. To feeling useless and worthless.

So the choice is yours. I don’t expect you to come up with an answer within a day. You can take as long as you want or need. But before you do. Theres some things I need you to know. 

Firstly, I know you’re used to people leaving. But i swear to you, that isn’t going to happen with me. If anything, the past few weeks have proved that. Even in the hardest of times, like the past month, I will choose you. I will fight for you the whole way through, and never ever give up on you if you let me. And I also know, that its also YOU having to leave which scares you. But i hope you get that if we’re together, I would go with you as soon as I could. And until that day I would save every cent I had to be able to visit you every chance I have. I would call you every day. I would do everything I could to stick by your side. Because I know you haven’t had much of a chance to have someone do that, to have someone that stays by your side no matter what happens and no matter what the distance. But i promise you, if given the chance, I would do that all for you and so much more. Because, believe it or not I have the same fear. You’re the only person who has stayed... everyone else, even my friends has given up on me. Even my family. When i moved up to Auckland I literally went 6 months without once seeing my mum. So i know what its like for people to be ripped away from you or to leave your life.. and I would never ever put you through that. I’m sticking with ya until the day you tell me youre done. 

I also need you to know that it’s okay. You have this strong fear associated with me. You’re so worried and scared that you’re going to hurt me or fuck my life up. And because of that you hold me at arms length. Every time you let me close and become vulnerable, you push me away and go back to wanting nothing to do with me. I know you think you’re a mess. That could be true, but fuck. Look at me, I’m the biggest mess of them all. But that doesn’t mean anything. It doesnt mean you dont deserve love, it doesnt mean you���re going to hurt everyone in you’re life who gets close to you. We have a lot to still learn about ourselves, and thats okay. But I need you to know that I’m willing to go through that all with you. We’ve grown so much as people in the last 7 months, just imagine what we can achieve with more time. And if you haven’t fucked my life up by now, I’m pretty sure that it won’t happen considering I’m growing stronger every day.

And that’s another thing. I still don’t think you believe how much you mean to me. Like Tira and I constantly told you on Friday but you wouldn’t accept it. And I think the one thing that highlights that, is the fact that after feeling the way I’ve been feeling and after everything, I’m still here. Even when I said we were done - I couldnt help but message you everyday. I was constantly wondering if you were okay, etc. You’re the first person I’ve even done this with, trying to talk everything out. Usually I would give up and just walk away. But with you... I can’t. 

I know I probably sound fucking crazy (my bad if i do), I just love you. 

I love the fact that you can write a rap in less than an hour - and a fucking good rap at that. I love the way you get self conscious and shy when you tell me about the things you like or find funny and always do the typical “hahhahaha nah i dont know”. I love the way you’re starting to open up to me, like on Sunday morning telling me about your childhood and your songs. I love the way even when you thought you hated me, you still went out of your way to check if I was alright. I love the way how you always put me first - like you were so mad and upset on Sunday morning but as soon as you saw I was crying you like melted and were so kind to me. I love the way I feel so comfortable at youre house, like ugh, I adore your mum shes so lovely. I love the way you make me feel at home, something I haven’t felt since I was year 6. I love the way you believe in me more than anyone else i know, and even when we’re not in a good space, you still stand up for me. Theres not one thing I don’t love about you, apart from you’re farts, those are raaank. But at the end of the day what I’m trying to say is there isn’t anything you could do that would make me hate you. We’re young, we have so much to learn about ourselves and each other. There are going to be days when we want to kill each other. Theres days where we may hurt each other. But I know for a fact, that we care for each other so much, and only want the best for each other. I just idunno, I’ve spent over half a year with you... and ive enjoyed myself so much it feels like its only been about 3 months. I wouldnt have wanted to spend the time with anyone else and im so greatful and appreciative of you. 

I’m not asking you for the world. I’m not expecting you to want to be in a relationship with me and start calling me you’re girlfriend over night. Thats unrealistic. But for me, It’s more a choice of whether you want to pursue other girls like khadra, megan and morgan. Or you want to delete your tinder, and give us a shot. We can still start off as friends. We dont have to have sex, or kiss or hold hands - i mean i love doing all of that and would do it in a heartbeat. But what im trying to say is I dont have any expectations. I just want to know if you’re willing to take a shot on me and not flirt with other girls, etc.... or if I should do everything in my power to move on from you and let you be...

Either way, just know that you’re an amazing person. you deserve the absolute world and the best love the world can give. And i’m sorry if you dont think I can give that to you

hope work isnt too bad tomorrow! Wish you were coming to graduation with me - Im going to miss you. LY xx

[noxperditus]

So, a little while ago Zarkon’s blog hit 200 followers...unfortunately I was sick as all hell and I couldn’t do much besides sleep and be miserable. So we’re a little late on the milestone, but hey! Any excuse to share some love.

LOYALISTS -

-Those who have proven their allegiance//Friends & fun people, in no particular order

@paterfamileo - Tali, holy crap. You are one of the people who has most affected my portrayal of Zarkon. From silly things like his (anti-)social drinking problem to the true depths of his possessive type of affection, your input has really helped me shape the muse. And your Alfor? He is perfection, I love him so much. Beyond Voltron, we’re into so many of the same things - from HZD to LoZ, I have so much fun talking to you about every little thing. I feel lucky that I can call you a friend.

@ograndsovereign - Devil, I’m gonna eat your delicious brain. You have NO IDEA how hyped I was when we started talking about Zarkon. I was practically vibrating in my chewed-up computer chair just... SUPER hype to talk about Zarkon with someone else who adores him. I love the differences and similarities between our Zarkons - and I still have that babby Zarkon starter in my drafts! - and our headcanons. We’ve talked about silly things and salted enough to season like a thousand pounds of steak. I love the way you write, and I love hearing your thoughts on the Galra. You’re also a very patient and understanding person, at least in my experience. I’m glad we met. Next on the docket for myself; downloading Warframe.

@bladechosen & @leaderchosen / @starchosen - Ari and Seka! Putting you two in the same paragraph since you’re like, inseparable entities in my mind. You two were some of the first to engage and plot with me on this blog, and I’m super happy you did. You’re both sweethearts, and I love the way you portray Keith and Shiro - and though it’s slowed down over the holiday season, I’m grateful you offered to help with the event I had planned. It’s still gonna happen if you’re still up to it, but there’s no rush on anyone. Ya’ll are also angst connoisseurs after my own heart. We haven’t plotted or talked that much recently, and that’s partly my fault for falling off the face of the earth. When you guys are feeling up it, I’d love to get back into things with you. Maybe a Discord group chat would be easier than separate tumblr chats?

@neurotiickind / @willowedpaladin / @terraveined / like a million other blogs - ALLY. Ally, you are a fucking gift unto this world. You’re hilarious and sweet and so easy to talk to. You were the first person to interact with me on this blog, and I’ve always been super grateful for that. I’m pretty sure I said it before in an ask, but you really helped me get comfortable in the VLD community. And holy shit, every muse you play you play them so well?? Hunk is the one I’ve interacted with most, and he’s such a cinnamon roll - but you know to let him have faults, and how to balance out his character. I love the way you write him, and I love his interactions with Zarkon - both crack and serious rp. The crack gives me life though, ngl.

@two-paladins - Ah yes, the culprit behind me developing a love for Zarkon/Trigel, both platonic and romantic. Dude, I was so hyped to see an active Trigel, and I LOVE plotting with you. And then you added Blaytz to your muse roster, because you were fucking sent from the heavens to bless us with that good OG Paladin content. Our first thread (which I have in my drafts, sorry for all the wait) was instrumental in developing the depth of Zarkon’s devotion to his Paladins. I just... I’m super glad we got to meet, man.

@voidborneleones / @devourer-heir - And here we have the other person who has most affected Zarkon’s development. Your take on the Lions is so deliciously creepy - I love how similar Black and Zarkon are in their obsession with and devotion to each other. We’ve made so many cool AUs, everything from Black returning to Zarkon’s side to the Voidtouched AU where she takes him as a child. I just love all the creepy, unsettling places we can go with them. And when we talk about them... gosh, it just sends chills up my spine.

@lionessofthestars - I was hella surprised when you followed me. Looking through your blog like, how did this quality writer find me?? You haven’t been as active recently, and I hope you’re doing okay. I loved talking and plotting with you, and I love how sassy your Blion is. It makes me smile to think of Blion climbing up onto Zarkon for mandatory cuddle times - and man, the pain she must feel seeing what he is now. There’s so much to explore with these two.

@viridisborne / @solumperditus - I mean, do I even have to say anything? You’re my best friend, and I wouldn’t be where I am today if you hadn’t reached out to check on me - at the time a total stranger - several years ago. We’ve been through a lot since, and you’ve helped me become a better person. I’ve never felt more at home and safe than I did those weeks I spent at your place.

@freedomsought - King! I see you haven’t been too active of late, so gonna assume hiatus. Hope you’re doing okay! I had a lot of fun chatting with you in IM, everything from plot to salt to stupid silly shit. I just...such a quality Shiro. I can’t wait to see our muses beat the shit out of each other some more.

@grievousdivinity - I don’t know if you want your identity revealed, so I’m just gonna tag you on this blog. We haven’t done much IC, which is totally fine - no rush. But with your writing skill, I have total faith that you could write a killer Haggar. OOC is a different story, however. I really enjoy talking to you on discord, and now that I’m done dropping off the face of the earth I look forward to talking more~

@v-oidheart / @leaderwarrior - We ship a lot of the same terrible things. Delicious sin. It’s wonderful. Ship stuff aside, I love roleplaying with you. Your responses are always so well thought out and written, with insight into how your characters are thinking. I’m hype to get the event done and kick off the connecting AU - ‘cause playing Shiro and Kolivan opposite evil Zarkon is great, but man would I love to see how they react to a Paladin Zarkon. Particularly Kolivan.

@goofbcll & @galra-druid - Putting you two together because y’all were so kind enough to include me in a verse! You both fed my need for that unholy dark content. Like seriously, give me all of the corrupted Paladin plots. I’m already rubbing my tiny evil hands together at the thought of all the chaos a corrupted Hunk can bring. Ash, your OC is super cute and super creepy, and I love how she internally freaks out around her God-Emperor. And goofbcll (can’t recall your mun name, sorry!) I love how you write Hunk’s internal struggle. He is corrupted, but pieces of him remain deep down.

@suppressicn & @indcmiitable / @warbcund & @lifebcund - You two were some of the first to actively interact with me and Zarkon, and it was hella fun. I still have one thread in my drafts (because Zarkon is an uncooperative prick.) Ya’ll are also super sweet - you’ve checked in on me a few times when I wasn’t doing so hot, and it was very much appreciated. You two were hella fun to have on stream too - I hope you join the next time I host a movie night!

@depthsbled - So we haven’t talked too much, but I just wanted you to know that our thread (which like most is...sitting in my drafts) is one of my favourites. Lance doesn’t even know it but he is hurting Zarkon so much and it’s beautiful. I love the way you write Lance - I can hear his voice in the dialogue.

CHAMPIONS - 

-Those who have left an impact//Interaction has been minimal, but very much enjoyed!

 @iincendixm - @vrepit-sa - @beryllion - @haxuss - @cruxsought - @princesaleonaa - @silentconfliction - @galacticdemon - @pinkformourning - @rahbarii - @compassionateretainer - @intelsought - @takashi-s-g / @kings-virtue - @the-lost-lieutenant - @conqueror-heir - @iustuseo - @lnstinctive - @starredsouls - @officialmemekinglotor - @wxterbonded

SOLDIERS - 

-Those I have seen from afar//We haven’t interacted or spoken yet (or if so, very little) but I am interested in interaction should you ever wish it!

@ambiinchious - @blazerought - @battlethought - @invitoduce - @princepsstella - @el-tira-dor - @kogane - @astriium - @stasismort - @exiiledbrat - @impxriium - @exiledprincelotor - @inspireloyalty - @crueldiplomacy - @marksmcn - @galrheir - @luneleia

Alright, I think that’s everyone. Just to be clear, if you haven’t been listed it does not mean I do not want to interact! The people listed above are people I get along with, or people who have writing styles I find interesting and/or play characters I would love to interact with - and they play them in a way that sticks out in my mind.

Suffice it to say, if I follow you it’s because I want to try interacting.

So, thanks for 200+ everyone! See you at the next milestone~