Chapter Text
Sylvanas did not sleep. Undeath brought many things with it, and her need to rest had long since ceased to exist. Among many other living needs and desires. Still, she kept a bed in her private chamber, splendid and old. Deep in the maze of Undercity’s tunnels and caverns, her room lay hidden. She went there when she needed time alone from them all – no one but her allowed in there. And tonight called for it.
The battle Undercity had left a bitter taste in her mouth. No real justice had been brought forth, and the orcs were already imposing sanctions on her and the city. The kor’kron were coming in force over the next few days, shouldering in on her sanctuaries. At least they did not know about this place.
The door only responded to her touch, and sliding it open caused small clouds of dust whirled up. It had been some time.
The paintings all stood leaned against the walls, canvases turned away. The furniture was old and heavy, former belongings of the Menethil royal family and now hers. She had taken the finest things from the royal quarters and then never used them, other than to the open a drawer and shove a dirty old necklace into it. Moths ate away at the bed linens and draperies.
She hoped Arthas had loved all of this, once, now that they were hers. She hoped his heart was rotting. Spiteful hopes were all that kept her going on bad days.
A rustle behind her made her draw a dagger and to her great surprise, Jaina Proudmoore stood there. Uncertain and apologetic. Soot and ash and probably blood still on her dress. She held up the empty palms of her hands as a gesture of goodwill, but it did not make Sylvanas lower her blade.
”Lady Sylvanas, I came to apologize,” Jaina began, keeping steady eye contact. ”For what happened today. For what Wrynn attempted to do.”
Sylvanas scoffed. ”Don’t apologize for your king. He is his own problem. Not yours.”
”Still, today was… It could have gone down better.”
”Indeed.” Sylvanas warily eyed the amulet Jaina clutched at her neck. ”How did you know about this place?”
”He had some favorite places in this city. Arthas, I mean…”
”Ah.”
Then they stood in silence, eyeing each other. They knew everything about the other – how could they not? As important as they were. As tragic as they were. Yet had never spoken.
”Wine?” Sylvanas offered, lowering her weapon.
”Excuse me?”
”Would you care for some wine?” she said, enunciating each word carefully. She did not expect Jaina to say yes and stay. She kind of hoped the mage would leave so she could set fire to the room. Holding on to what Arthas had once loved did her no favors, it seemed.
Jaina looked around the chamber. ”Here?”
”Does it not suit you, lady Proudmoore? Here, among the remains of your old lover? Among the spillage and ruins he left behind, with the banshee he discarded?” A wicked smile played on her lips.
Jaina winced – she tried to hide it, of course, but Sylvanas could see that the words had hit home. Good.
”I know a better place.” With a snap of her fingers, Jaina had teleported them both out of Undercity, and their feet were sinking into soft sand.
Sylvanas brought up her hand to shield against the sun rising over the horizon, setting the sea in front of them ablaze in a myriad of warm reds and pinks. The golden sand made her feet sink a little for each step she took, but Jaina simply kicked hers off and went to the waterline, her naked feet leaving indentations behind. She waded knee-deep into the ocean and let the waters soak her skirt, the dirt washing off.
Sylvanas remained on the shore, one step away from where the waves lapped at the beach. Looking back over her shoulder, she recognized the dark forests of Silverpine. Not far from home.
After a minute, Jaina waded back in, the water sloshing around her legs and splattering her dress. ”There’s nothing like the sea.”
”Spoken like a true Kul Tiran.” A sharp barb that hit home, much to Sylvanas’ cruel amusement.
Jaina did not reply and instead conjured up two glasses and a bottle, offering one to Sylvanas.
”So you have brought me here.” Sylvanas sipped at the wine. It tasted of nothing, at least at first, and then a barely perceptible aftertaste of bitter dryness. ”What do you want to talk about?”
Jaina paused. "Nothing, actually.”
"As you wish.”
They drank a glass each in silence. When they finished, Jaina took Sylvanas’ glass and refilled it. Their hands touched, hot and cold. Jaina flinched a little, then straightened her back and looked directly at Sylvanas.
”You’re not his ruins.”
Sylvanas looked at Jaina coolly, regarding the woman with as blank a stare as she managed.
She had always been talked about as the effect to Arthas’ cause. The forsaken were naught but his leftovers. Not even the Horde accepted them fully. Least of all her: the seething, vengeful banshee queen. Oh, how they spoke of her and thought she did not hear. How they feared and loathed her. And always, always she was a consequence of Arthas, of the Lich King.
Part of it was true. She was ruined. But she was not his, not anymore, and she would never be again.
Jaina licked her lips, her lips tinted faintly by the wine. How terribly alive she looked.
Sylvanas raised her glass in a mock-toast. ”Neither are you.”
Lady Sylvanas must forgive me for my intrusion last night. My adrenaline got the better of me. - J
You are forgiven. But I did enjoy the wine. - S
Sylvanas had never terrified Jaina. It felt odd to admit, even to herself, as they made their way through the Frozen Halls of the Icecrown Citadel.
Before, she might have looked at Sylvanas and thought: at least if Arthas kills me, there’s something more beyond that. A grim reminder. Now, she was not entirely sure what she thought. That the queen was intimidating, yes, but not without a flicker of recognition. That they had been affected by the same man – of course, nowhere near the same, but… Many things and all of them confusing.
Jaina had gathered one piece of information, a scrap of a clue, and Sylvanas had been there when she arrived, hot on the heels of her own intel. Neither had mentioned this to the other. They had not seen each other since that night, but they had exchanged courteous notes here and there, and at the tournament grounds, Jaina had felt Sylvanas’ eyes bore into her from across the court, but every time she looked up Sylvanas was watching the events below.
At night, she sometimes woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare of darkness unfurling in her bedroom like black smoke, a cool chill crawling up her body and then finally: the red eyes glowing, watching. Or well. She called them nightmares. They never felt threatening. Just overwhelming, and confusing, and as if they were pulling on a thread deep within her, tugging her towards a great unknown.
In front of her, Sylvanas motioned to two of her dark rangers to take out the enemies ahead. ”Do you feel it, lady Proudmoore? The chill of death here. The torment that lingers in the air. Nothing good has ever been wrought here.”
Jaina nodded.
The halls were deceitful, filled with lost spirits and furious ghosts. Sylvanas could pierce through them all with her cursed arrows and press on with an intensity that should unnerve her. But Jaina just felt it echoed in her. Different, but same. She needed to find this out. She had to know.
”Don’t listen,” Sylvanas said softly as they entered the pit of Saron.
”What do you mean?”
Sylvanas looked towards the open mine, the mineral veins glowing a dark green under fresh snowfall. ”His whispers. You will hear soon enough. Don’t listen to it.”
Faintly, at the back of her mind, a scratch and a call that made her shiver… Jaina. So vain to think you can turn the tide. You’re not the pride of Kul Tiras anymore. What power do you really have?
Sylvanas snapped her fingers an inch from Jaina’s nose. ”I said don’t listen.”
Jaina shook her head, swallowing. ”Is this what you heard, when you were under his spell?”
”Worse. Far worse. He was crueller then.”
”I’m sorry.”
Sylvanas paused, disgust passing across her features for the briefest second. ”He will be sorry soon enough.”
Following my banshee into your own ruin. You think you can trust her? You think she’s not ready to turn on you, cut your throat, laugh as you bleed out at her feet?
”What does he whisper to you?” Jaina asked, trying to put the thought out of her head.
”He’s trying to tell me you will kill me when I let my guard down. That you will always pick him before anyone else.”
”He tells me–”
Sylvanas put a finger over Jaina’s lips. ”I don’t need to hear it. You can keep his lies. All they do is fester like maggots in a wound, anyway.”
There was something harsh and sharp about Sylvanas in there. Jaina felt it too – the strings inside her tightening. Something was just within her grasp, and if it slipped out of her hands now, so close, she would… She did not know. It would hurt, and it would prove many unflattering things about her. Always at the scene of the crime, never one to stop it.
When a frostbrood wyrm rained down hard ice upon them Jaina instinctively wrapped her arm around Sylvanas’ waist and teleported them both out of harm’s way. Sylvanas was cold to the touch. Not frozen, not like icicles or glaciers, but as if she had forgotten warmth entirely. It felt odd to touch her, and she could feel Sylvanas tense up.
”Thank you. For that.” Sylvanas cleared her throat, and Jaina removed her arm, embarrassed she had kept it there for so long.
”You’re welcome.”
The whispers grew more enraged as they pushed deeper, and when they came upon Frostmourne, Sylvanas had her teeth gritted. ”He is near.”
”Are you sure?”
”Yes.”
The chill of the place went all the way to her bones. She shuddered, making a small noise, and Sylvanas turned sharply to glare at her. Then she unfastened the cloak slung over her shoulders and threw it at Jaina. ”It’d be a tragedy if you were to die of frostbite.” Her sarcastic tone made Jaina blush.
Jaina believed in goodness. She believed in redemption. She believed in so many things, and Sylvanas found it to be such a pity that the Lich King would crush all of it. Or if not him, then life, war, love. It would all wreck her. She was too open. Too willing to trust, and be empathic, and therein lied her future doom.
Despite the warnings of ghosts long dead, she pleaded for a solution. Could she truly be foolish enough to stare death in the face and bargain still? Her precious Arthas was long gone. Only ghosts remained.
And of course, the both of them.
”So we have walked into a trap,” Sylvanas mumbled as Uther droned on and on, calling Jaina endearments like little girl and berating her like she was a teen. The cruel thing about spirits – they never saw you as anything but what you used to be.
”Maybe,” Jaina replied, her eyes fixed on Uther. ”But we both knew this was a risk.”
”There must always be a Lich King, Jaina… There must always be a jailer of the damned. Strike Arthas down, but know that another must bear the burden.”
Sylvanas laughed. Of course. Of course that cursed entity had a hook, a detail that would force itself upon someone. Oh, what a terrible burden it must be to control the Scourge. Oh, what a truly noble sacrifice Arthas had made, killing and slaughtering and destroying, so that he could be the one to shoulder the heavy mantle.
Jaina looked horrified, but all this just made Sylvanas want to kill him more. Whatever came after didn’t worry her. Nothing else mattered than his fall.
”There must be some way…” Jaina gnawed on her lower lip for a moment before she spoke to Uther again. ”Is there anything left of Arthas?”
”Child… He does not feel for you like that anymore. He feels nothing that you would recognize.”
”But–”
Sylvanas felt a familiar, horrible tug at the back of her mind and grabbed Jaina by the shoulder. ”He’s coming. Now.”
She drew an arrow and readied her bow, but Jaina put her hand over Sylvanas’. ”I have to try to speak him. Please. Give me one chance.”
”You are a fool,” Sylvanas sneered.
Jaina held onto her staff, icy air swirling around her fingers. ”I know. And I know I likely won’t change anything. But if there is even a chance, even a fragment left of him…”
”Do you love him so much?”
Jaina winced, turning her face away from Sylvanas.
Love truly did make fools out of everyone. Sylvanas lowered her bow, just enough, and let her rush ahead to try and speak sense into the Lich King. It gave her time to approach from the shadows, to time her strike perfectly. If Jaina was so keen to be bait, let her. She was stupid enough to look death in the eye and plead for something long gone.
For a moment. And then something changed in Jaina’s expression, her eyes went dark and she attacked. She struck the first blow.
Maybe her assessment wasn’t entirely accurate, Sylvanas considered, taking aim at the Lich King with the intent to kill. Maybe Jaina had something hard in her. Maybe she could be dangerous yet.
”He’s gaining on us!” Sylvanas urged Jaina on as she staved off the assault of Scourge, cutting down rotting limbs and shuffling corpses while Jaina attempted to break the barriers halting their escape.
”I almost have it, just—” The ice wall shattered and Jaina teleported them a short distance forward before they broke into a sprint, the Lich King not far behind them. Even if he moved slow, this glacier was his to command, and the ice… The waters that made it were tainted, hard to control or push against. Jaina struggled against it, feeling his attempts at trapping them with him. She would not let him. She had already disappointed Sylvanas once today, she didn’t need to do it twice.
Sylvanas stopped in her tracks and caught Jaina by the arm before she plummeted ahead. They stared down an abyss. End of the road.
”So it has come to this.” Sylvanas knocked an arrow and took aim. ”Can you not teleport us out?”
”There’s something in the ice, in the water, it blocks my attempts.” Jaina felt the wind tug at her clothes, howling and vicious. ”We will die here. I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”
”He will kill you, yes.” Sylvanas let her arrows fly, none of them piercing the swirling ice around the Lich King as he approached. ”But it is what comes after that should worry you.” She looked out over the cliffside, and down. ”The fall will be long. But it will save you from worse things.”
”That’s… No… It can’t end like this…”
”But it will.” Sylvanas grabbed her by the collar and shoved her, and Jaina instinctively grabbed at Sylvanas and dragged her down with her. Neither screamed.
As they fell, Jaina kept snapping her fingers, trying her best in a last-ditch attempt to save them. For each second she got closer to being able to manifest a spell, even as the wind tore at their clothes, tangling their hair together. She looked up at Sylvanas’ face, and saw… It was like she truly saw Sylvanas, for the first time. No shadow cast from her hood to obscure her features.
Sylvanas had her eyes closed, her face free of any anger, or sorrow. Just peace. Acceptance. As if she had waited a long time for this moment. It made Jaina’s heart ache, made tears sting at the corner of her eyes and freeze to ice before they even made it past her eyelashes.
They deserved better.
The magic suddenly rushed into Jaina’s hands and she teleported them instinctively. Her back slammed against an old mattress and knocked the air out of her lungs, and Sylvanas landed on top of her. For a moment Jaina could not breathe, and she thought her torso had been crushed, but then she could draw breath and she gasped for more, greedy and shaky and…
Sylvanas opened her eyes, looking down at Jaina below her. She put a finger to Jaina’s neck, feeling the pulse in her artery, then giving a small smile. ”We live.”
Jaina struggled to say anything back, her breath shaky, her entire body trembling. They were alive. They were alive.
Sylvanas snorted, a short soft noise. ”A convenient teleport to my home, I see.”
Looking around, she saw that they were in the chambers of the queen. It looked almost the same as last time she saw it, just as neglected and dusty. Just as depressing as then. It hurt to be here, somewhere deep down in her, but above all – she felt relief. Pure and sheer and joyful relief.
It bubbled up in Jaina and without thinking she reached up and pressed her lips to Sylvanas’. Her lips were cold, colder than Jaina’s, but soft. So strangely soft. It was just a brief kiss. She didn’t think. She always thought before acting, before doing anything. She never gave in to instincts or feelings, staying calm and level-headed, but she had never brushed this close to death before in her entire life. And she just did it.
When the reality of what she was doing – kissing Sylvanas Windrunner, the Banshee Queen – she pulled back and covered her mouth, teleporting away.
She landed with a harsh thud in her own tower in Theramore, the windows wide open and the room flooded with warm light. She blinked several times, then fell back onto the floor with a groan. She kept touching her lips until the chill went out of them, but she could not forget how the kiss had felt. How it made her feel. So odd. And so alive.
We would both be dead were it not for you throwing us off that cliff. Thank you. - J
You have odd ways of showing gratitude, lady Proudmoore. - S
We almost died. Also: I forgot to return your cloak. - J
Keep it. It’d be a shame if you got a frostbite. - S
They were both there, as Arthas fell. Where else could they be? Each moment in the halls of Icecrown Citadel felt unbearable, yet he did not call out to them once. So many other souls pushed at him for attention, and he seemed to not care about them. Not anymore. As if he had forgotten everything about them. Jaina felt relieved at that. She did not want him digging around in her, grabbing at her emotions and twisting them into something horrid.
They stood shoulder to shoulder the entire time. As if proximity could stave off all doubts.
They watched as ghosts claimed what lingered of Arthas. Jaina felt something wither in her chest – not enough to make her cry. Just the last dust from a long time ago vanishing into nothing. All that from that time of her life had passed on now. It was all gone.
They both remembered the words – another would have to take his place – and looked at the helm of the Lich King, discarded next to Arthas’ body, black like charred coals and endless nights. A crown for a doomed ruler. A crown demanding a soul to suffer.
”I could do it,” Jaina said quietly, the first one to speak in the tense minutes after Arthas’ passing. ”Someone must.”
Sylvanas shook her head. ”Do you think this is your destiny? To follow in his footsteps? It ruins whoever takes it on. You would not be yourself anymore.”
”A sacrifice has to be made.”
Sylvanas grabbed Jaina’s arm, halting her. ”And you think you’re the one to give everything up for this? After everything? This is not noble. It’s not bravery. It’s just death, and death is…” She narrowed her eyes, reading Jaina’s face, then let her arm go with a look of disgust.
Jaina reached her hands toward the crown, her fingertips grazing the dark helm. As they did, visions passed through her mind: that she would never feel the warmth of the sun or the softness of the sea again, that she would never see her beloved Theramore, that all she would love would wither and die in her heart the moment she put the crown on her head. The magic in her would turn to ash, and other, darker things would rise up to take its place. And she would never know this life again. All about it would be memories, but memories unable to soothe or sweeten, just… Cause hurt and pain to wrack her eternally.
She didn’t want to. But she had to.
A burning pain closed around her wrist and made her scream, but it wrenched her hand away. ”Jaina. That is not your fate to bear.”
”Bolvar…”
”There is nothing left among the living that comforts me.”
Bolvar’s temples burned her fingers as she lowered the crown onto his head. She whispered thank you to him, tears streaming down her face, but he did not react. When she turned away from him, Sylvanas gave her a dark look she could not decipher.
The celebrations were muted. Exhaustion ran so deep that no one stayed at it for long, and Dalaran fell silent earlier that night than usual.
Sylvanas waited until Jaina was alone on the balcony of the Violet Citadel before she approached. ”You almost took it,” she said, not sure if she was accusing or admiring.
Jaina, startled, jumped a little before she saw who it was. ”Someone had to.” She still wore the cloak Sylvanas had given her. How… Sentimental.
Sylvanas poured herself a glass from one of the half-empty abandoned wine bottles. ”Did you want it? Truly?”
Jaina lowered her eyes, looking out over the frozen expanse of Icecrown. ”No.” She bit her lower lip, just enough for Sylvanas to see one of her incisors – surprisingly sharp for a human. ”I didn’t love him. Everyone said I did, afterwards, said I loved him too much to see him go down that dark path. But I didn’t love him enough to follow him. I didn’t love Arthas at all.”
”I did not come to hear about your failed love life.”
Jaina shrugged. ”Then why did you come? To gloat?”
Sylvanas stepped closer to Jaina and took her chin between her fingers, angling the human’s face upwards. She studied Jaina’s face closely – the dark circles under her eyes, the soft two lines next to her right eye when she smiled were almost hidden now. A birth mark on her cheek, a bronzed shade to her features that had begun to fade from lack of sunshine. She took a sip from her wine without letting go of Jaina. ”Are you content?”
”Yes,” Jaina breathed, her voice a mere whisper.
”A small victory. If one at all.” She offered a crooked smile, exposing a fang. ”You know, scholars theorized all the Forsaken would die at this moment. That whatever curse held us in this undead state would let go. Yet here I am. As undead as ever. I guess there is a future for me after all. Yet the Lich King remains. Tempered, for now.”
”If a future comes where he rises, I will not hesitate. Not again.” Jaina looked dead serious.
”It is good to see you learn.”
Sylvanas offered the cup to Jaina, who drank a small sip from it, droplets lingering on her lips. Sylvanas brought her thumb up to swipe at Jaina’s lower lip, feeling a sting of jealousy over how warm she was, how dreadfully alive she remained.
”Why did you kiss me that time?” she asked, playing with Jaina, enjoying watching her squirm.
”I – I’m not sorry about that,” Jaina said, her cheeks flushing. Oh, how easy the living were. How deceitful their blood was. ”I wanted to.”
”A good enough reason, I suppose,” Sylvanas mused, taking another sip before she put down the glass and leaned in to kiss Jaina.
Jaina smelled of the sea, of salty waves and rotting seaweed, of ships decaying in harsh waters. She was a human, and despite all the power she held, all the magic she commanded, she was dying. Day by day, year by year. The wrinkles at her eyes, the exhaustion in her voice. Sylvanas could practically smell death when she kissed Jaina. It was intoxicating.