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It was such a relief to have somewhere to direct the restless energy that plagued her. It was a relief to hear the sound of her glamored heels clicking with purpose through the stone halls of the Violet Citadel– or at least it would have been, if not for the anxiety that was clawing with an acidic persistence at the back of her throat.

The heavy oak door of Khadgar’s office opened for Sylvanas like it was nothing and it was only due to years of hard-earned self restraint that she did not remove it from its hinges entirely when she arrived at her destination.

“I would say that it is good to see you again, but it is not,” Sylvanas said tersely when the door was shut behind her, abandoning her glamor in an instant.

Khadgar, for his part, had the grace to only look surprised. He didn’t even lift a finger to reach for Atiesh behind him, something that Sylvanas silently credited him for. There weren’t many humans that could be confronted by an undead without at least an instinctual violent reaction.

Or deliberate, depending on the human.

“Sylvanas–” Khadgar started, glancing somewhat nervously behind her as if there could be more Horde waiting just behind the door, undead or otherwise. “I was expecting to have a meeting with a high ranking Horde representative this afternoon, not–”

“Is the Warchief not considered high ranking?” Sylvanas interrupted in a smooth drawl, not bothering to let him finish when there were matters of more importance at hand. “A private meeting is a private meeting and I expect you to give me the courtesy of the time and discretion that you would afford to anyone else, if not more.”

Her eyes swept over the room while she weighed the next words that sat heavy on her tongue, finding them to be almost too much to speak but still necessary, hopelessly necessary if only because Khadgar was the only person in Dalaran who could be of any help.

A glint of light caught her eye as she examined her surroundings– an antique windmill miniature that's silver body was cast in soft golds by the warm rays of the afternoon sun. That, more than anything, gave her the resolve to continue. Khadgar could be trusted, as much as she could trust anyone these days.

“When was the last time you spoke to Archmage Proudmoore?” she asked pointedly, keeping things formal.

White brows furrowing, Khagar shuffled some papers on his desk with no clear intention– a nervous tick, something that annoyed Sylvanas but that she could not clearly interpret as a sign of attempted deception. “Over two weeks ago,” he said flatly, “the Council of Six last met to discuss Argus’ sudden appearance in our skies but I haven’t seen or heard from her since, she’s been…”

Sylvanas didn’t need him to elaborate. Nor did she think he was particularly willing to as he trailed off.

She sat down in the chair opposite him, attempting to make him more comfortable since she’d come here fully armored– spikes and skulls and all. “I need to speak with her,” she told him, “the matter is urgent, regarding business for the war effort.”

“Only the war effort?” Khadgar asked, and the blue of his eyes held a sense of knowing that Sylvanas deeply misliked. The weathered and aged lines of his face made him look far more understanding than he ought to and she distantly wondered if this was some tactic of his, to appeal to others as a kind and concerned elder.

She would do the same were she cursed with the same kind of appearance at such a young age. But that was a level of cunning that she wasn’t sure he had.

“I’m not certain that you realize the gravity of what you’re implying,” she told him firmly, wishing that he would just hand over the information that she sought without struggle.

“I’m very certain that you realize the implications of your appearance here and your asking,” he countered easily.

Damn him.

“I can go somewhere else,” she gritted out knowing that really, she couldn’t, and that he knew that too. But all she had now were empty threats to save face. Jaina’s mirror hadn’t rippled since the last time she’d left and while that should have been fine on its own, Sylvanas just couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. Deeply wrong, and more so than just what was between them.

What had been between them, she reminded herself. Past tense. Jaina had made her position on the condition of their arrangement quite clear, even if she hadn’t intended to in the moment.

“You can’t,” Khadgar said with an odd sort of patience, “But I expect that it took a lot to bring you here, even if I lack the specific details. I can’t help you, though. Like I said she’s been avoiding me for the better part of two weeks and I know from years of experience that Jaina is best left undisturbed in instances such as–”

“Do you at least know where she is?” Sylvanas pressed, not needing a lecture on the merits of giving someone space in times of distress. She had nearly two centuries on him and he seemed to be forgetting that fact, aged appearance be damned.

Those white brows raised in an expression that looked appropriately haughty for an archmage. As if she’d asked him if he could do something as easy as breathing. “Of course,” he said quietly, pulling one piece of paper from his shuffled stack that apparently had purpose and laying it flat on his desk before them. “I monitor the whereabouts of all of the members of the Council of Six, especially now.”

He glanced up at her, the blue of his eyes surprisingly hard. “One can’t be too careful during wartimes. Especially when the other side has dreadlords.”

“It would be embarrassing at this point for the races of Azeroth to be tricked by something done repeatedly before,” Sylvanas agreed dryly, looking down at what she recognized as a map of Dalaran. And sure enough, all of the members of the Council of Six were present. Khadgar, here in his office, and Jaina, alone in her home. Sylvanas’ brows furrowed even though this knowledge should have been enough to satisfy her.

There was no reason to doubt the accuracy of Khadgar’s magics. And yet…

“How often have you seen Jaina in her home?” Sylvanas tried to ask casually. “Say, in the past month.”

Looking up at her in confusion, Khadgar’s answer came out as a question. “Every day?”

Standing and starting to pace, Sylvanas cursed. She hated this office and its tasteful decoration. She hated how it was almost familiar, yet not. It felt like a cage that only reminded her of Jaina.

“What? Why are you–?”

“She wasn’t there every day,” Sylvanas bit out. “Your map is wrong, mage.”

Khadgar just stared at her. Rather dumbly, she might say. It would have brought her amusement if it didn’t mean that the situation was potentially as dire as she’d originally thought. “I didn’t think–” he started and then had to swallow before he tried again with a hint of disbelief, “She took you there? Inside her mirror?”

Sylvanas guessed from the vague sense of awe written across his face that he had not been permitted into the secret dimension that Jaina had created. She was entirely unsure on how she felt about that, and smothered what small flutter tried to make itself known in her chest because of it.

“Yes,” Sylvanas said quietly, keeping her voice as flat as she could, “I’ve seen what’s inside the mirror.”

Not wanting to linger, she told him, “And that means that your map is wrong. She isn’t in her home. And if she is, it’s a case of coincidental accuracy.” Her eyes lifted to his and her next words were issued as an order. “Scry her.”

Maybe it was the firmness of her voice, maybe it was Khadgar’s own concern and shock that with just the simple knowledge that Sylvanas had been inside the mirror room, she was closer to Jaina than even he could consider himself, but he scried without question, casting the needed spell with little effort.

The image that appeared in the air between them made Sylvanas feel as if she couldn’t breathe, even though she had no need to. Her unbeating heart constricted in her chest, even though such a thing shouldn’t be possible. She didn’t say anything for a moment, just watching as the unmistakable image of Jaina decimated scores of demons around her, obviously on Argus rather than Azeroth.

“Fuck,” Khadgar said, exactly the word that would have left Sylvanas’ mouth if she had the mind at the moment to speak. “I should have known that she would do this, I forbade her from going alone knowing damn well how she is and I thought the tracking enchantments I’d placed would be enough to prevent something rash.”

“She’s always smarter than you think,” Sylvanas murmured, watching as Jaina glowed with arcane so bright that she was nearly difficult to look at as she single-handedly took down a pit lord like it was nothing.

“She is,” Khadgar agreed, grabbing Atiesh from its stand, “And I have to go to her. She was so upset at me for benching her when we raided Sargeras’ tomb, this is my fault, I have to fix this.”

Sylvanas could have just stood by and watched him go. He was already weaving the portal and was an archmage of power and potential that could almost rival Jaina’s own. Surely, he could have the matter well in hand.

And yet, she didn’t have a tendency to just do things the easy way, did she?

“No,” she said, stopping Khadgar’s casting with a single word. “As convenient as it would be to just let you go, I’m afraid that the fault is likely my own. I should be the one to travel to Argus, what’s another mage going to do anyway, other than attract more attention from the Legion? I can be quiet. Covert. It should be me.”

Khadgar didn’t argue. But he wasn’t willing to just leave it at that, either.

“And if she won’t come with you?” he asked. “If she refuses entirely and gets you both killed?”

Sylvanas fixed him with a grim look. “Then I won’t be coming back, then.”

Blue eyes met her own and just for a moment they were just as striking as Jaina’s, sizing her up with a single glance. Khadgar nodded after a moment, satisfied with whatever it was that he found– her conviction, perhaps, and resumed his casting.

“Good luck then, Warchief,” he said when she passed through the portal to Jaina’s last scried location. “I’m counting on you.”

The first thing that Sylvanas noticed was the smell of blood on the air. All demonic, of course. Even with her deadened senses she could tell that not a single drop spilled was one that belonged to Jaina.

She would have been impressed by that fact, were it not for the rippling currents of wild arcane left in the archmage’s wake. They stood out bold and multicolored against Argus’ harsh landscape, an almost welcome change from the fel-green that was so oppressive at the seat of the Legion’s power.

This was not a place to linger.

Growing increasingly concerned over Jaina’s state, Sylvanas navigated past currents of fel and arcane alike, stepping over bodies broken beyond possible repair. Some were merely reduced to glowing ash but others had suffered a fate far more gruesome, broken down into pieces, some of those pieces lay gasping dying breaths of fel-tainted air.

Sylvanas fixed her mouth into a firm line, too familiar with the grim sight of soldiers left as mere parts. She thought not on all of the times she’d found her own troops in such a state, focusing instead on resisting the fel energies that sang to her elven senses like a siren song. She didn’t know how Jaina was able to stand it here. The call of the fel was enough to bother even her, begging her to hazard a taste for the chance to corrupt her. For a magic user, and one of Jaina's caliber, the temptation of it must be maddening, but Sylvanas suspected that the frenzy that Jaina was in mitigated that fact.

She finally found her in the center of a cratered pit, not alone and standing on soil that emanated with trace heat and arcane– a wound in Argus’ surface that was freshly formed. When Jaina turned to her the arcane glow of her eyes was blinding, nearly making Sylvanas flinch back as they stood beneath the looming shadow of a massive Legion fortress.

“What are you doing here?” Jaina spat between heaving breaths, clenching her bare hand into a fist that shattered all of the frozen figures around her. They had been Eredar, by the looks of it, based on what little Sylvanas could make out of their red skin.

“I think that’s a question better posed towards you,” Sylvanas replied evenly. She sheathed her bow, suspecting that she wouldn’t need it for now– willing to do nearly anything to get Jaina to trust her. “I don’t recall the Kirin Tor planning any expeditions to attack Argus as of yet, and certainly no solo ventures.”

A derisive puff of breath left Jaina’s lips then and Sylvanas was thankful that while she appeared beyond angry and in a tremendous amount of physical pain, she was sober. “And you’d know, then, wouldn’t you? Does being Warchief of the Horde make you privy to everyone’s business, or just my own?”

Sylvanas’ fists clenched hard enough to make her clawed gauntlets creak, and she tried to remain patient. But the last thing she’d been expected to be met with was accusation.

Patience had never been her strong suit, anyway.

“I think that a rogue element unauthorized for travel to Argus is everyone’s business,” she countered, knowing that she had no ground to stand on but was still unable to resist despite that fact. “What position would we be in if you fell? Or worse, if you gave in to the Legion’s temptations?”

Eyes flashing, energy dancing across her skin crackling, Jaina strode up to her– so close that the free arcane bleeding from her made the hair on the back of Sylvanas’ neck stand on end. Sylvanas made a conscious effort not to breathe in the arcane that puffed hot against her lips, sorely tempted by the fast, angry breaths that accompanied Jaina’s words. “You dare insinuate–”

She tried not to remember the last time Jaina had panted against her mouth like this. And she failed, spectacularly.

It only made her that much more frustrated, an unfamiliar feeling twisting in her gut that made her continue to goad even when she knew better.

“I speak what I assume is on other’s minds,” Sylvanas interrupted coolly, toeing a dangerous line with little desire to stop. “I’d feel the same if it was Khadgar here. He sent me, by the way. Be glad I convinced him that I should go in his stead.”

“Yes, well,” Jaina looked into her eyes, gaze flickering before she sniffed and looked away, “I wouldn’t count on me being so glad about that fact.”

The cutting words found their mark, finding still open wounds with an accuracy that could have knocked Sylvanas’ breath away were she not already holding it so tightly. Fortunately, Jaina didn’t seem to notice what damage she’d wrought, already setting her attention back to her original purpose now that curious fel hounds nosed at the edge of the crater, undoubtedly lured here by the heady scent of her magic.

“Keep up or keep out of my way,” Jaina muttered darkly, already ascending to confront the fel hounds at the ridge.

It wasn’t particularly hard for Sylvanas to keep up, matching Jaina’s longer strides with her own with relative ease, but she was still surprised by the brutal efficiency with which Jaina attacked. Jaina struck with no thought for the consequences to her own body, lashing out almost blindly with vicious arcane even as the strain made her teeth grit while she cast with trembling hands. Each frostbolt met its mark in a fel hound’s heart with that same devastating accuracy.

“Why are you doing this?” Sylvanas asked her, cautiously wielding her bow yet again because there was no telling what this amount of arcane activity would draw. The fel hounds were merely the scouts, after all.

“Because I’m one of the only people who can,” Jaina gritted out before blinking several feet ahead, quickly leaving Sylvanas behind. Sylvanas had no choice but to shed her corporeal form to keep up. It wasn’t something that she preferred to do, but she gladly embraced the biting cold of it to keep Jaina in her sights.

“That’s not an answer,” Sylvanas told her when she reformed beside her, quickly firing arrow after arrow into the felguards that followed closely behind. The demons were coming in waves now, far too coordinated for their presence to be a coincidence but Sylvanas didn’t have time to spare it much thought in the speed of battle, not when she had Jaina to concentrate on as well.

“I don’t owe you an answer,” Jaina said breathlessly, pressing them back to back as the demons surrounded them. For anyone else it would have been hopeless, and for Sylvanas alone maybe it would have been– or at least nearly so. But between Jaina’s own power and the excess arcane that energized her from their contact they made quick work of the forces that attempted to overwhelm them, not stopping until every enemy was left unmoving, pierced by arrows and frostbolts alike.

This wasn’t the first time that they’d fought together, and it showed.

“Maybe you don’t,” Sylvanas said while she surveyed the barren landscape for any sign of movement, “but I still want to know. What’s your purpose here? It’s clear that you have no intent to leave and I have no doubts regarding my lack of ability to convince you,” she turned to Jaina when she was satisfied no more were coming for now, hoping that Jaina would do the same. “Let me help you, I’ve already proven that I can.”

The fortress they’d cleaved a path to cast Jaina in shadow, making her appearance even harder and the glow of her eyes even more eerie. Her face was lit only briefly by the fel-green lighting that flashed bright and quick in the sky and her arcane crackled dangerously in response.

She failed to suppress the wince that came with it, and Sylvanas’ frustration was instantly forgotten, reaching out to relieve her of that excess.

“Don’t touch me,” Jaina growled, tilting her head away. “You’ve made it quite clear that that’s a mistake.”

“I wasn’t the one who made that decision.”

“I don’t care,” Jaina muttered, looking too at home in the fortress' shadow. “I’m here to end things and don’t need your help. Go return to your precious Horde.”

Sylvanas almost couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Only almost, because she was plagued by the same self destructive tendencies. “You can’t possibly mean to–”

“Mean to what?” Jaina pressed, invading Sylvanas’ space, almost as close as she had been that last night in the mirror room. Except this time there was no trace of wine on her breath and she wasn’t leaning into her for comfort. This time there was only fury and rage and beneath it all that familiar hurt that Sylvanas had put there herself. “Mean to do something that actually matters? Sacrifice everything to save everyone else? Why shouldn’t I? There’s no reason for me to be here, Sylvanas, just let me do this.”

Sylvanas grabbed her wrist before she could blink away again, or worse, teleport beyond her line of sight. “No,” she said firmly. How, when the arcane flowing into her palm now was so overwhelming that it was nearly agonizing, she didn’t know. “I won’t let you.”

She couldn't let her. Sylvanas couldn't be left alone again, not like that. The fear of it tried to claw its way from her chest up into her throat to choke her. She swallowed it forcefully down.

The laugh Jaina let out in response was cold– unhinged and dripping with despair. “What?” she asked, searching Sylvanas’ gaze. “You’re going to give me a purpose?” She sounded almost hopeful, her blue eyes flickered with something like longing but it was gone just as quickly as it had formed. “I don’t think so,” Jaina said, tugging her wrist away. “This is my purpose, I know that now.”

Before Sylvanas could respond, an earth-deep rumbling sound cut her off. The gates lining the bottom of the Legion fortress raised, and a pair of fel reavers emerged.

”Shit,” Sylvanas cursed in Thalassian. She fumbled for the hearthstone in one of her belt’s pouches, actually worried at the sight of two fel reavers lumbering towards them. She’d seen Jaina take down a pit lord without issue but this was too much, even for her. She’d already expended so much arcane, there was no telling what way things could catastrophically go wrong—

With a cry of fury, Jaina raced to the fel reavers before Sylvanas could even react, blinking away in a blinding flash of arcane. Sylvanas reached too late for the spot she once occupied, hearthstone glowing impotently in her gauntleted hand.

Her fist clenched tightly around it. She wasn’t going to let her die here.

Racing with the dry, whipping wind, she followed after Jaina. A spectral scream left her mouth unbidden as she bled shadow and fell upon the nearest reaver with a reckless abandon that matched Jaina’s own.

She hated this, this feeling of no control– no grounding as she tore at the fel reaver’s armored body with ghostly claws. But she’d endure it if it meant that she could keep Jaina safe. Jaina, whose white hair floated on arcane currents that flowed around her, lifted as if by an invisible wind not so different from Sylvanas’ own misty form. There was an odd sense of irony to the fact that they matched even now, attacking with unhinged ferocity as they expelled every hurt felt for too many days.

It would have been cathartic were their lives not in immediate danger. The sight of Jaina binding her fel reaver with arcane would have been awe inspiring, maybe even something more, were it not so clear that her state was becoming increasingly unstable. The swirling patterns that scarred her palms climbed ever higher up her wrists, disappearing below her sleeves. Sylvanas didn’t know what that meant but she could do nothing at the moment but continue her attack, unable to do much else until she shed this form.

Thankfully, in a feat of equal parts might and lack of restraint, Jaina defeated her opponent quickly before assisting Sylvanas with her own. The fel reaver’s heavy body collapsed in pieces under the combined force of their power, more from Jaina’s than Sylvanas’ own, and Sylvanas soon found herself in solid form again, squinting to make out Jaina in the resulting cloud of dust.

She was easy to find, glowing brightly with arcane as she was, but she wasn’t standing like she should have been. Sylvanas’ heart lodged in her throat when she raced towards her, watching as Jaina writhed on the jagged surface of Argus’ unforgiving ground, clawing helplessly at her skin as she fought for breath. That swirling pattern was climbing steadily above the collar of her robes now, and it wasn’t stopping.

It wasn’t stopping.

“Jaina–” Sylvanas fell to her knees before her, finding her own hands unsteady when she reached out to her trembling form. Her arcane was too much, she’d used too much and for too long a time. The surge had no end, she had to—

“Don’t touch me,” Jaina repeated between gasping breaths. But this time her voice was desperate rather than cutting. Hurting. Fearful as she looked back at Sylvanas with wild, wide eyes. That familiar blue was gone now, replaced with the iridescent coloring of her magic. It would have been beautiful were it not so very terrifying.

“We have to go back,” Sylvanas told her as she swallowed down her rising panic, searching for her hearthstone again. Where the fuck had she put it? Why the fuck didn’t she have it ready as soon as she’d reformed? “One of the other archmages– Khadgar– he’ll know what to do.”

“No,” Jaina denied her, somehow able to shake her head even though it was clear the action pained her greatly. “No, there's no safe way to stop it now that it’s started. Go. Just go, Sylvanas. Please. I don’t want you to see–”

Another surge of arcane roared through her and it stole her remaining words away but Sylvanas was resolute. She wasn’t going anywhere. Especially not when a deep, echoing laugh sounded from one of the Legion fortress’ still open gates accompanied by slow, mocking applause.

“What a showing this has been,” that voice said when its owner came into view. A dreadlord, and a powerful one at that based on the energies that radiated from his winged form. Fel hounds trailed behind him, a little over a dozen by Sylvanas’ quick count. “You should both be proud,” he told her in his deep, rumbling voice, “This has been my favorite highlight of the invasion thus far.”

Instinctively, Sylvanas bared her fangs at him– a reaction untrained and expected from a ranger newly green. But she couldn’t help it, even as her long ears pinned back, even as she hissed a low, echoed warning of “Stay back.”

The bastard had the gall to smirk at her and chuckle his amusement when the fel hounds circled them to cut off any means of escape. She had no plays left to her, and they both knew that.

“I don’t think I will,” he told her as he stepped closer, hooves kicking up more of Argus’ dust as his eyes swept over Jaina’s still deteriorating form. “That one doesn’t have much time left and I’d like to end her myself. All of the best performers are owed a grand finale, after all.”

Sylvanas nocked an arrow and fired before he could speak another word, moving with a speed that was superhuman even for her. She’d imbued that arrow with her own deathly magic and it sunk deep into the grey skin of his exposed chest, right where his massive heart beat. It was enough to at least cripple even the toughest of enemies.

The dreadlord only smiled.

“A valiant effort but one wasted, I’m afraid,” he said as he snapped the arrow’s shaft and worked to remove the barb. His green eyes swirled with untold power, beckoning her to look into their depths. “My name is Malificus, little Warchief, and I will feed on your greatest fears before I grant you true death.”

Sylvanas’ vision tunneled rapidly as she held his gaze. Too fast for her to loose her next arrow. Too fast to do anything but worry, once more, for Jaina before darkness overtook her.

They were pinned against a farm.

Of all of the things– of all of the places to make a last stand, Sylvanas never would have predicted this. She never would have predicted pacing the interior of her tent, no longer a command tent but some aged, ramshackle thing one of the villagers had provided her with, looking down at a map of troops that she knew she had no hope of defeating.

She’d done everything she could. Destroyed bridges, sent runners, attacked him from the trees, the sky, even met him on the ground herself and yet…

And yet the scourge wouldn’t stop coming.

And yet even as she looked down at the map before her, gold leaf pressed upon its edges, enchanted ink showing ally and enemy movements alike, she could smell death on the air. Even here. Even as she could hear the breeze rustle the long grasses just outside, there was no question of what was coming.

The oddest thing was that to some extent things still felt so normal. Even as she felt the gnawing pangs of hunger and exhaustion, Belore’s light shone warm and easy through the thin canvas of the tent and the face of the elven ranger that joined her inside was a familiar one, too. Ranger Captain Anya looked no less exhausted than Sylvanas, but her eyes shone with a well-known glint, empowered not just by the magic of the Sunwell, but by her own grit and determination to see this through.

“They’re nearly here,” she said, words sharp and clipped. Defiant, even as she knew just as well as Sylvanas that the scourge would not be stopped in Fairbreeze.

“I know,” Sylvanas told her, watching as black marks coalesced at the edge of the nearest forest. There were more marks than trees. Just yesterday there had been so many trees…

“Let’s not keep them waiting,” she said firmly.

What met Sylvanas outside was no longer familiar.

Black, stinking death approached from a considerable distance. A distance that was being charted by all manner of horrors– abominations, meat wagons, her own people– twisted and raised in Arthas’ image by teams of necromancers. The very ground they walked on became tainted with their presence and even from this far away she could see the smile on Arthas’ face, a shining glint of teeth stretching bone-white skin. It was something fierce, something smug, and Sylvanas itched to put an arrow in him that could twist that smile into a grimace.

“Form up,” she ordered her troops, not needing to raise her voice much to command immediate obedience.

There weren’t very many of them. Certainly not enough to provide any real sort of contest against what approached. But Sylvanas made do with what she had and if she could only slow him to buy her last runners enough time to evacuate the city, well, that would have to be enough.

Even if ‘enough’ was still a failure, one that settled like a lead weight in her gut, as cold and heavy as the saronite armor protecting her enemy.

What ensued next was chaos. Black, sludge-like blood spilled into those swaying grasses. Red, bony masses pelted their line, painting what few buildings lay behind them with putrid gore.

She tried not to pay attention to what was in those masses. The eyes. The ears. The scraps of too familiar armor. That same armor grew ever closer on shambling bodies, following arrows that were just as familiar.

To her troops’ credit, there were no cries of fear. Only righteous, primal fury as they fought down to their last, fought down to just her, bereft of her arrows and armed only with her mother’s blades.

“Finish it,” she told him, panting for breath and suffering from far too many wounds when it was all over. “I deserve… a clean death.”

Arthas smiled at her and this one was… different. Something about it wasn’t quite right. It was smug, victorious, but something else. Something that had never been there before.

“And separate us forever?” he asked her, voice almost sweet. Almost crooning in a way that turned her stomach. “No, I don’t think I will. You will reign with me eternal, my love.”

And before Sylvanas could do anything– before she could yell or question or raise even a single blade in her defense, Frostmourne was piercing through her. The chilling, icy metal rent her, body and soul and an echoing scream tore from her throat. The pain of it was like nothing else, felt through every nerve ending, agony on every plane of existence and when she looked down at her shaking, bloodied hands she saw what was wrong. What was different.

Her hands were bare, soft, bereft of her ranger’s gloves. They glowed with arcane below white torn and billowing sleeves. The hair that fell into her face was blonde but honey gold, not the pale hue she’d known her entire life. With crushing realization she looked up at Arthas as he wrenched the blade free, taking her soul with it, and the tears that streamed down her cheeks burned like scorching fire.

“Rise, Jaina, and join me.”

Sylvanas was falling. Plummeting through inky blackness as she was assaulted by horrifying images of what came next, visions that gripped her with terror unmatched by nearly anything she’d ever felt before.

Only one thing reached her through that blackness. Only one sound, whispered from fearful, trembling lips.

Her name.

Sylvanas fought her way towards that sound, waded through the raging river of horror that assaulted her no matter how much effort it took. She stumbled more than once, almost succumbed to it even, but when her vision cleared the first thing she recognized was color. Fel green and Azeroth blues and Jaina, still on the ground, iridescent tears streaming down her face as she lay staring through Malificus who stood above her.

Staring at nothing, trapped in her own hell as she spoke Sylvanas’ name.

There was only enough time to recognize that despite her state, Jaina had somehow stabilized. If she’d had the ability to look beyond the archmage, Sylvanas would have recognized that the reason that swirling marks no longer climbed their way up Jaina’s face was several fel hounds reduced to glowing dust while the rest siphoned even more arcane.

But there was no time to recognize any of that. No time at all, because Malificus was pulling back his hand that held a wicked looking spear and it was clear what he meant to do next. So clear, as the seconds stretched out into a length of time that suddenly felt like hours.

It was almost as clear as what came next. As clear as the simple, urgent command in Sylvanas’ mind that urged her to move, feet pushing against Argus’ soil in an effort to get there first. To stop him, even if the only way to do so was to offer up her own body instead.

The pain of the spear piercing her was horrible, but not nearly as horrible as what she’d just seen.

The sound of her breath rattling through a newly punctured lung was terrible, but ultimately better than the sound of Jaina’s fear. Malificus cried out in surprise at the interruption and Sylvanas didn’t know if it was that or the impact of her body colliding with Jaina’s own, but Jaina blinked her vision clear, no longer held under Malificus’ spell.

And that was a relief that instantly made all of the pain and effort worth it.

The rest of it was a blur.

There was only her name, once again falling from Jaina's lips. Quiet and stuttering while warm fingertips pushed her hair out of her face. There was only a magic shield that suddenly enveloped her and only her, and for so many seconds Sylvanas was only able to see that familiar, iridescent arcane. Only able to hear a faint ringing in her own ears, an effect of Jaina's magic, perhaps.

And then there was Jaina. Just Jaina when that shield came back down. Just Jaina kneeling over her in what Sylvanas distantly recognized as a newly formed crater, this one even deeper than the first. Jaina, whose trembling touch brushed tentatively over the hole in her chest and whose tears were the source of the sudden moisture on Sylvanas’ face.

Jaina, whose name left Sylvanas’ lips in a rasping question.

“Don't,” Jaina begged her once again, blue eyes searching her own. “Please, don't. Hold on until we portal back. Your val'kyr will find us and then we can fix this.”

Sylvanas’ brow furrowed against weakness she should not feel. It was strange, this wasn't even close to the worst wound her undead body had ever suffered and yet her strength was leaving her with a rapidness that should prompt overwhelming fear.

“I don't…” she tried, confused, “I don't think I can. The spear. I think it was enchanted. There's not enough time.”

No, there wasn’t enough time, Sylvanas was sure of that. This was some kind of fel-magic, some spell meant to sap all of her strength and unlife. She fumbled for the pouch Jaina had enchanted at her belt, blindly, because her vision was tunneling once again and she was rapidly losing her ability to see.

Her fingers closed around the cold metal of the Soul Cage and she pressed it into Jaina’s warm hands, somehow unable to feel the fear she should when she was soon to be sent back to that accursed place in the nether. Back to that darkness, for however a time brief.

Maybe Malificus’ torment had robbed her of the ability to feel that emotion. But that couldn’t be right, she’d been so afraid when he’d held that spear…

“No,” Jaina protested, taking the Soul Cage from Sylvanas anyways, “don’t ask me to, there has to be another way.”

“Use it,” Sylvanas told her, “You can keep me here, I don’t have to go back.”

Jaina hesitated but Sylvanas could feel that she was already channeling through it. She could feel a grip on her soul, something like a hook but far more gentle. A hand, maybe. A hand holding hers, warm and tight.

For the first time in weeks, Jaina’s slumber was dreamless.

Maybe it was the severity of her exhaustion, having all but collapsed in a heap when the Val’kyr arrived to heal Sylvanas. Maybe it was the fact that somehow, despite her unconscious state, she knew that she was not alone.

Whatever the reason for the reprieve from her nightmares, Jaina awoke confused. Confused that there wasn’t a scream dying in her throat or the threat of tears burning in her eyes. Confused that when she opened her eyes and looked up at the bed’s canopy above her, the colors that greeted her were bold reds and blacks.

With a start she realized that those were Horde colors, and instinctively summoned her magic into the palm of her hand as she prepared to defend herself from whatever it was that had brought her here.

Long, cool fingers wrapping gently around her wrist snuffed that magic out with the familiarity of their touch before she could cast any spell, though.

“None of that here, please,” Sylvanas asked of her calmly, “I don’t think that Uda would take very kindly to damage to her inn, even if an honored guest of the Warchief was the one responsible. Besides, you still need your rest.”

Jaina could only blink up at her, relieved to see her alive and whole or at least, as alive as she could be. Jaina remembered too clearly the damage that Malificus’ spear had done to her. Remembered far too clearly what Malificus had shown her with his visions.

She remembered her own near death experience and her handling of the Soul Cage too, but she pushed those things as far as she could from her mind.

“We’re in Dalaran?” she asked when she had the wherewithal to stop staring. Sylvanas didn’t seem to mind, dressed down and out of her armor. Out of those skulls and spikes and all of that weighty metal. Dressed in something rather comfortable looking, actually, a simple shirt and breeches that looked about as homely as the rest of the room.

And that was a shock to Jaina, too. That the Horde would have rooms that, despite their aggressively dark color scheming, could look something sort of cozy. A fire blazed in a stone hearth just close enough to the foot of the bed for her to feel its warmth and she found herself sinking even further into the bed, not quite willing to leave the softness of its sheets.

Jaina Proudmoore making herself comfortable in the Warchief’s presence in what was undoubtedly the most private and lavish room in a Horde inn was a thought that was supposed to be unthinkable. And yet…

And yet Jaina turned onto her side to face Sylvanas wishing, distantly, that Sylvanas were in the bed next to her or at least sitting on its edge. Some position closer than where she was now, sitting a respectable distance away on a hand-hewn chair that looked more regal than it had any right to be, as if the Warchief would issue orders and take counsel in a small inn.

It was an odd thought to have. One that arguably, she shouldn’t be having at all given the last times they were alone together. But Jaina couldn’t help it, and she found that at the moment she didn’t particularly want to, either.

Before Jaina’s thoughts could keep running away from her, Sylvanas responded, confirming her suspicions. “We are,” she said as she leaned back in her seat, no longer leaning forward with her sharp elbows resting on unarmored thighs, “I hearthed us back here since I lacked the means to summon a portal. Uda was kind enough to key the hearthstone to my private suite so no one saw us arrive. And none will see you leave,” she added, offhandedly.

Jaina probably should have focused on the fact that their privacy was still maintained but the only word she really honed in on was the word ‘suite’, feeling a soul-deep ache for a warm bath at this moment. Certainly, she could simply portal to her apartment and be done with it, but she was hesitant to leave Sylvanas right now. Hesitant to leave that elegantly angled face that she’d seen twisted with pain from a fatal blow meant for her. Hesitant for more reasons than that, maybe.

“I see,” she said quietly. “I appreciate… your discretion. And for transporting us back as soon as you could. I don’t think what little luck we’d had left would have held out for long if we’d remained on Argus.”

“No,” Sylvanas agreed solemnly, “I don’t think it would have.”

Swallowing, Jaina wanted to apologize, even though she couldn’t quite find it within herself to feel appropriately guilty. She was guilty that she failed, perhaps. Guilty that Sylvanas had followed her and had nearly died because of it. But that didn’t change her reasons for going. That didn’t change the ache and sense of loss that had driven her to attempt an undertaking of such high stakes.

She didn’t have words for any of that right now, though. She probably wouldn’t for a while.

So Jaina just swallowed all of that down too, opting to examine her hands instead. The glowing marks that had spiraled up her arms were fully receded now, back to their normal state of illuminating only her scars. That was a relief, as much as a relief as the fact that those scars no longer writhed on her fingers and palms, static as they should be.

She closed her hands into fists despite that relief, though. Did so because the sight of them made that vague feeling of guilt grow stronger, or maybe it was shame that was responsible for the twisting feeling in her chest instead. She wished that she had her gloves to at least cover her scars up for now but that, too, would require her to leave, which was something she was decidedly unwilling to do.

The faint sound of fabric rustling drew her attention back towards Sylvanas, finding her standing now, at a finely carved dresser that’s wood was nearly Horde red but a touch more tasteful. What she removed from the dresser had Jaina holding her breath, stomach swooping low in a way that was not entirely unpleasant.

“I…” Sylvanas started, looking a bit unsure which was just. That was just preposterous. She was the Warchief, they were in her territory, technically, and yet the cant of her ears was entirely unsure when she faced Jaina again, gloves in hand.

Gloves made of Quel’dorei silk. Gloves of an instantly recognizable color, not white or purple or even gold but burgundy. The same burgundy that Sylvanas was so well known to wear, often wrapped and shadowed within it, since she was so often outfitted with her cloak.

“I had these made for you,” Sylvanas said stiffly, standing almost at attention at the edge of the bed, “back before. I don’t know if you want them now. They’re not enchanted, of course but you can use them to–”

“I’ll take them,” Jaina cut her off softly, already reaching to take the silk from her, unable to say anything else. Certainly unwilling to as something knotted in her throat that she couldn’t quite swallow down.

But Jaina didn’t need to say anything, because the gloves fit perfectly. They looked perfect, too, such a nice contrast to the paleness of her skin. Sylvanas let out a little breath when Jaina looked back up at her. Something like relief, perhaps, Jaina wasn’t quite sure.

She wanted to thank her. But that wasn’t something that she felt equipped to do, either.

“They’re soft,” she said rather lamely, and she tried to follow it up with something else that was positive. “The lack of enchantments isn't a problem. Not after all of those fel hounds did their worst, at least.”

Head cocking to the side, ears tilting in a way that was achingly familiar, Sylvanas remarked, “I had wondered about that. I don’t think that Malificus realized that he was actually helping you rather than hurting you.” Her lips curled into the smallest of smirks. “I suppose that dreadlord ended up no smarter than his dogs in the end, perhaps he’ll regenerate with a few more brain cells.”

Jaina couldn’t help a weak laugh at that, the thought of it compared to everything that they’d gone through was so absurd. “Let’s hope not,” she told her, “I’m content for him to regenerate with just as few brain cells as he had, thank you.”

That laugh had prompted her to take a deep breath, though, one that prompted her to ask, “What’s that smell? Something smells… fucking delicous, actually.”

It was Sylvanas’ turn to let out a small laugh of her own. Though hers was much more subdued but no less fond for it. “That would be orc barbeque,” she replied, “Uda keeps some grills running downstairs. I’ll fetch you a plate, you must be starving.”

She looked over Jaina, contemplative when she finally smiled a small smile, “And certainly in need of something more substantial than the simple selections of fruits and cheeses that you’re so fond of.”

Jaina blinked at that smile, remembering with visceral clarity what it had looked like when it had disintegrated just as the mana bomb made contact with Theramore. She remembered how tragic it had been, how final, and how Sylvanas’ name had burned her throat raw when she’d screamed her grief.

Jaina willed away the vision, returning a much weaker expression back. “You’d best hurry, then. Before I die of hunger from being so malnourished.”

Sylvanas shook her head in quiet amusement before she left, walking with renewed purpose, and Jaina sank back down into the sheets when the door was safely shut, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

What could she do now, that they'd slipped into their roles so easily? What could she do with the knowledge that she was still just as comfortable in Sylvanas’ presence, even when she was Warchief? Even in unfamiliar territory surrounded by colors that haunted some of her worst memories but that somehow weren’t so horrible and imposing when accompanied by warm hearths and warmer smiles?

Jaina didn’t know. And she wasn’t so certain that she wanted to find out.