Made as a sequel to my other story, 'What is lost' that is told from Vereesa's POV. I intended this to be a part of a fanfic I was planning on writing about the Windrunner family, but I realized that I'd never get that done and there had also been requests from others that I uploaded this. So here it is, from Sylvanas POV :)

Hope you enjoy it and please forgive me that it's so short ^^'

The cold was bitter but she did not care. During the years that had passed she became immune to it, having spent her days in places where warmth did not reach for what seemed like forever. Nor did she have time to sit still and philosophy between the difference of heat and cold. After all, there had only been one goal in her mind ever since she returned to her senses, having served as a mindless banshee for her own murderer. Revenge. She wanted him to suffer, just as much as she once had, by his hand. That was why she refused to give him a quick death, back when she had just broken free from his control. And now, she and the rest of Azeroth paid the price for that action. And for the reason she walked as if under arrest after the Warchief and Garrosh, it was also her fault.

She should have known better than to trust Varimathras. During those rebellion days, when she and her dark sisters desperately tried to find a way to defeat Arthas, the dreadlord offered them help. Eventually, she and Varimathras came to rule the Undercity together, and they were unstoppable. And subconsciously, how she blamed herself for it, she had come to trust him. She had left the ruins of Lordaeron in his hands while heading out to scout areas, to watch over her birthplace… Her beloved Quel'thalas that had been so quickly taken away from her. By him. The reason that brought her back to why she felt the need to watch the elven kingdom. She would slay Arthas, if it so was the last thing she did, as her life had already ended so long ago.

So why, Varimathras…? He wanted him dead just as much as she did. Once again she could only blame herself for trusting him, as he had "planned this for years". They're all the same. Lor'themar had warned her a long time ago, and he was right in that neither the Sin'dorei nor her Forsaken could trust anyone. It did seem like every alliance she had gotten herself into had failed.

That was only proved furthermore by her current position, Sylvanas thought as she glared at the Warchief's back. He had obviously aided her and her people by giving them shelter as they managed to escape the dreadlord, but after the Undercity was once again in the hands of the Horde, he and all the other leaders, even her dear friend Lor'themar, had given her the cold shoulder. Unpredictable? She thought not, since even she would have a hard time trusting someone who had not been able to keep her subordinates under control.

The Banshee Queen pulled her dark hood even deeper over her face, as to keep the combatants on the Tournament from recognizing her. Normally she would prefer to stay below the Lordaeron ruins, or even better scouting through the cold continent on another location, rather than spending her time at damned games. She had a hard time seeing the 'training' in this at all. Did Highlord Fordring honestly think that the Lich King could be defeated with blunted sticks? Or was this all his way to have the Horde and Alliance join forces once and for all?

Fighting at their side… She grew infuriated at the mere thought of it. And the constant pain in her body didn't do anything to help. But, after all that had happened, the worst thing she could do right now as the Queen of Forsaken was to let the world around her see her shame, and so she stood tall and followed the Warchief into the Coliseum.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Sylvanas did what she was expected to do, as the Forsaken leader. Sitting in a chair a bit lower than that of the Warchief, she followed the duelling combatants carefully and applauded at every victory, although a bit more whenever it was someone from the Undercity that won. She was also starting to suspect that with this tournament, Fordring was trying to bring the Lich King from the visitors' minds. A naïve thought.

She glanced at her side. Garrosh sat still, leaning his chin in his palm, while glaring down into the ring. Every now and then he would let out an annoyed sigh, or start growling, mostly whenever a combatant from the Alliance won. The Banshee Queen rolled her eyes, since she had never really taken a liking of the Overlord. On Garrosh's other side, Thrall sat on a high placed throne. His eyes weren't taking any notice of the game below; instead they sent intense signals across the arena. Sylvanas followed his stare. Recognized Jaina Proudmoore on the Alliance side of the arena. The young magician wasn't moving an inch, as if focusing on the Warchief with all her energy. And, sensing the vibes between them, Sylvanas had no doubt that they communicated through telepathy.

Of all the Alliance people Sylvanas had met during her time on the Horde, Proudmoore had been one of the very few that didn't frown upon her race. Quite the opposite; she worked hard so that the both sides could stand each other, if just barely. And it was perhaps because of that reason that Sylvanas could not help respecting her.

The muscular man at her side was a different story, however. King Varian Wrynn of Stormwind. Let's see, was it him that called her an 'evil witch' the last time they met? Narrow-minded brat. Once she would have fought with all her strength at the side of the Alliance, and perhaps she still would have. They only had themselves to blame. To her, it seemed like the greatness had gone to his head, and all he had done since he returned to the throne was to express his hatred for the Horde, letting it go out over his people.

And recently it all became worse.

How could he not realize that they had more important things to focus on, like the Lich King? It was his fault that the events at the Wrathgate even happened at all. Because of him that the brave Saurfang the younger was slain. It was because of him that Putress created that foul plague…

No.

Putress did it all on Varimathras orders. Behind her back. So that she too would fall victim to it one day, and disappear forever. Sylvanas clenched her fist. So many losses had all been her fault, for being the stubborn, vengeance – driven witch she was.

She snapped out of her thoughts when the audience around her stood up, applauding wildly. The winning dwarf bowed deeply at the cheers and whistles from around the arena, while his defeated Forsaken opponent threw a shamefaced look at his queen. Sylvanas held her mask, without even raising an eyebrow at him.

The tournament's onlookers slowly started to take their seats again as the new combatants entered the arena. Sylvanas prepared herself for yet another boring match, when a flash of silver caught her eye.

The Banshee Queen widened her eyes, nearly gasping in shock as she recognized the all too familiar features. The bright eyes, the silvery locks, her white skin… Vereesa.

Her youngest sister seemed just as bored as her, if a bit tired. She leaned back in a high back chair, grabbing the hand of the red-haired man sitting next to her. Her husband, Rhonin. Sylvanas' gaze returned to her sister, who also seemed… curvy, in some way. But yes of course, that was natural when you had given birth recently, to twins furthermore.

The blue and purple curtains that hung loosely by their side of the arena told Sylvanas clearly their business here. Diplomacy, just as her. The leader of Dalaran and his wife, the founder of the Silver Covenant. Oh, Sylvanas had surely heard about it. A wide-stretching organisation that opposed the blood elven infiltration of the magical city. How ashamed she must be, to have old friends such as Halduron and Lor'themar that fought their hunger for magic everyday. How shameful, to have a living-dead sister that had sided with the Horde, and was now dragged around like a dog.

All of her memories, they bubbled up at the same time, mixing with anger, shame, sadness and, happiness.

Alleria who left for the Outlands, and never returned. Lirath that was slain right before her eyes, just like her parents, her cousins, her aunts and uncles. The Scourge invasion. Arthas, standing before the Sunwell…

Tears stung behind her eyes, she quickly rubbed them away. But she couldn't stand this anymore. Her sister. Too many memories were connected to her, memories that she needed to forget if she was ever to defeat her nemesis. Why was she here, staining her innocent sister's presence with her own?

She stood up, ignoring the surprised stares from her own Forsaken, as well as the confused ones from the rest of the Tournament visitors. Without even glancing at the others, she started to head for the exit, walking very quickly. Something was pounding within her, begging her to move even faster.

A loud thump was heard behind her and in a few seconds she heard Garrosh yell; "SIT DOWN!!"

Sylvanas stopped abruptly and sighed heavily. She looked over her shoulder, studying the Warlord very carefully. He looked completely infuriated, and his veins were thumping like they were ready to burst any moment. He was aiming a newly sharpened axe at her, its shining steel glimmering in the winter light that searched in through the entrance.

The Dark Lady snorted at him, cursed him in thalassian under her breath. Then she turned her gaze back to her path, catching a glimpse of Vereesa again, shut her eyes and started moving, not stopping this time.

"STOP!!" he screamed, but she ignored him.

Vereesa, oh her dear, beautiful little sister. Married with two children. Illusions passed before Sylvanas' eyes, as she pictured the Silver Covenant leader with her family, smiling and laughing together with them. Would that have been her? If she had survived, if Arthas had never invaded the city, then had she too lived a happy life right now, by the side of the only man she had ever loved…?

As she hurried down the final steps of the arena, two of her Forsaken mages already stood outside, most likely having teleported themselves by the time she stood to leave. She signalled them, and they immediately began working on a portal. She waited impatiently, held her arms. She was shaking.

Finally, the magical rift grew into a gate, reflecting the entrance of her kingdom on the other side. Releasing her breath, she stepped closer, waiting to be transported any second now. And when she had arrived, she had to move further into Silvermoon. She had to speak with Lor'themar.

Then, from out of nowhere, a voice reached her ears. A harmonical and light voice, to feminine to be Garrosh's. She was calling her name.

She turned.

Watched her sister run, like she had when desperately chasing them through the Eversong Woods, stumbling, landing face first in the snow…

Her surroundings changed, and Vereesa disappeared.

This was the way it was supposed to be, Sylvanas told herself while brushing off herself and trying to move as steadily as possible towards the Orb of Translocation. It had to be like this. Vereesa had to be far away from her, as to not see what kind of a monster she had become. The Sylvanas who had happily chased her siblings through the woods was dead, and she had to remain that way, not only for Vereesa, but to herself as well.

The End.