"Mistress, we have arrived."
Sylvanas glanced up from beneath the hood of her cowl. The towering gates of Silvermoon were clearly visible above the tree line. She bowed her head once more.
"Thank you, Sharlindra," she told the cloaked figure that rode alongside her, before lapsing back into silence.
The two rode slowly. Sylvanas set the pace. Apprehension grew at the back of her mind; it had been so long since she had last been here, and so much could go wrong. She felt vulnerable without her followers. Vulnerable, oddly enough, without the hulking form of Varimathras at her back. There was so much she had to jeopardise for this temporary illusion. To the casual eye, they would appear to be two elven travellers. She hoped it would be enough.
Their horses - living, of course - plodded through the gates and up the paved road that led to the Sunfury Spire, which stood majestically to the northwest. Sylvanas resisted the sudden urge to look up at the city she had died fighting for. Her eyes remained downcast, staring at the cracked surface of the road. Part of her was glad that the circumstances made it dangerous for her to show her face. She wasn't sure she wanted to see Silvermoon in its ruined state.
They approached the spire and dismounted. Leaving the horses where they were, they entered the building, and were greeted at the door.
"Have you an audience, travellers?" The speaker was a middle-aged male elf, short with prematurely silvering hair.
"I have," Sylvanas replied, smoothly picking up the Thalassian she had not spoken since death. "The Regent Lord will be expecting me."
The elf raised an eyebrow. "And your companion?"
"She will await my return here."
"And whom shall I say requests his lordship's attention?" The elf was clearly dubious. Sylvanas smiled to herself. When did Lor'themar ever get too important to speak to a couple of weary travelling folk?
"I have given no name throughout our correspondence. You may assure him that I am a friend."
Without allowing his sceptical brow to drop, the elf bowed low and spun around, walking away with an elaborate swish of his robes.
-------
"You have your audience, stranger. What is it you wish for me to hear that is of such importance?"
Sylvanas stared at Lor'themar with a blend of amusement and despair. The white-haired elf was standing with his back to an open window, bathed in the early afternoon light and all adorned in robes with the golden seal of the Regent Lord on his finger. It made for an impressive sight, and she had no doubt that he knew it.
She was not looking forward to this.
"Regent Lord Lor'themar, I have come to discuss matters of great importance to your people."
"My people?" he repeated suspiciously, a dangerous expression on his face. "Are they not your people also? You speak the language well for a foreigner."
"Whether they are my people or not would be a matter of opinion, I suppose," she said. Before he could reply, she pulled back her hood.
The response was instantaneous. All semblance of calm fled him. He took a step back, his white eyes wild with anger and fear.
"Undead!" he spat, his eyes darting from her face to the door and back again.
Sylvanas stood slowly, stretching out a placating hand. "Regent Lord, please. I don't want-"
"How dare you come here alone? Do you mean to assassinate me?" he hissed, warily stepping around her in an attempt to reach the door. She took a step back, severing his path.
"No."
"Then why do you come?"
"I come to offer you aid."
Lor'themar stopped, his expression changing. It flickered somewhere indistinguishable for a moment before settling on confusion. "Aid?"
"I am not one of the Scourge, Lor'themar."
A lengthy pause ensued, and then he reluctantly nodded. "No, I suppose you're not. The Scourge aren't exactly fluent in Thalassian."
They stood in silence for a while, regarding each other. Sylvanas' disappointment grew. It was becoming increasingly clear that he didn't recognise her.
At length, he spoke. "You must be from the Horde."
"Yes." She had expected him to work out that much at least. Most people knew that any undead that weren't from the Scourge were allied with the Horde.
"One of this infamous Dark Lady's... people."
"Yes," she said, ignoring the numerous implications in that statement.
"You must be trusted of the Dark Lady."
"Yes."
"Are you her?"
"I am." Sylvanas watched this information sink in. When it finally became clear to him that he was host to one of the most important and powerful figures in the Eastern Kingdoms, he visibly gathered his wits.
"My apologies for my rude reception, Lady," he said, crossing the floor once more to take a seat on a comfortable-looking settee. She noted the stiffness in his voice with amusement. "Please, be seated. Would you care for something to drink?"
"No, thank you," she replied, sitting as per his request. He looked a little uncomfortable, perhaps wondering whether he had in some way insulted an undead woman by offering her refreshment, and she felt a little sorry for him. He would understand soon enough, but it would be difficult.
"Lor'themar. Do you recognise me?"
He looked up, startled by the question. "I..." he paused, obviously uncertain of where this question might be leading. "I don't believe we've encountered each other before, Lady. Though of course, I now know who you are, and I am honoured to have you."
Sylvanas laughed then, unable to believe the changes she saw in the man. Oh, she could sense the old Lor'themar under there somewhere, but he was clearly uneasy around the undead. Not that she could blame him; if she had survived the fall of Quel'Thalas, she sincerely doubted she would be able to sit in the same room as one of the Forsaken without putting an arrow through their head first.
"I knew I'd changed, Lor, but I didn't know I was that different."
The elf's face was like an open book. She watched the expressions pass over it, telling the story of his thoughts: irritation, confusion, apprehension, anger, and finally...
"You... fell at the razing?"
"Oh, come on, Lor," she said, disbelieving. "I know you're not this stupid."
He blanched. His mouth fell open. He gave a soft cry.
"Sylvanas?"
She said nothing, merely watched him as he processed the information he knew to be true. He was standing again, pacing around the room frantically as if hoping to escape this revelation. He couldn't, though, and he knew it.
At length, he stopped and turned to her, leaning forward against the settee. "How? What happened? I thought-" He choked a little. "I thought you died."
She smiled grimly. "I did. And by my killer's hand, I was raised to serve the Lich King. I don't any more, of course," she added, noticing his face was contorted with anguish.
"Who killed you?" he asked, to her surprise. He was taking this... not well, precisely, but better than she'd expected. "I will avenge you."
She barked with laughter again. "You will do no such thing, Lor. Arthas Menethil killed me, and I fully intend to do my own avenging."
Lor'themar paled further, but he dropped the topic. Sylvanas was grateful. After all these years, he still remembered how to be her friend.
-------
Sylvanas looked intently down the shaft of the arrow, frowning in concentration. The tip wavered slightly and then steadied as she calmed herself. With a hitch of her breath, she released the string. She watched as the arrow sailed through the air before lodging itself in her target's throat with a soft thud.
Smirking, she shot a glance at the young man who stood beside her. His expression was priceless.
"I win," she said, her voice doing nothing to hide her amusement.
Lor'themar scowled. "Win what?"
"Nothing," she replied airily as she unstrung her bow. "I just win."
With a snort, he walked over to the target dummy. Sylvanas busied herself with her gear, getting it all organised. She took good care of her things, especially her bow. She'd take better care of her arrows, too, if circumstances allowed it.
When Lor'themar had returned, arrows in hand, she was ready. She held out her quiver expectantly.
"You know, you wouldn't win so much if you didn't steal my arrows," he told her, eyeing the quiver with disdain.
"I wouldn't be able to compete, you mean."
After a pause, he sighed and put the arrows in. "I'll take what I can get."
She laughed, slinging her quiver over her shoulder and turning to walk away from the training yard. Lor'themar walked alongside her.
"Vereesa stole them again, huh?"
Sylvanas frowned suddenly, her mood fouled. Yes, again her younger sister had stolen her arrows. They'd had another argument about something or other - she couldn't even remember what it was now, though she had no doubt that Vereesa was still stewing over it - and this was Sylvanas' punishment.
Naturally, Sylvanas was always in the wrong. And naturally, there always had to be a punishment, just so Vereesa could show how morally superior she obviously was.
Instead of saying all this - she'd ranted to Lor'themar about her little sister quite enough in the past - she gave a noncommittal grunt. He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face, before looking at her.
"So, where are we going?"
-------
The minutes crept by at a snail's pace, as if struggling to push through the heavy silence. Lor'themar had his head buried in his hands as Sylvanas simply wished for the millionth time that things had not turned out the way they had. At length, the elf stirred, raising his head slowly to look at her with exhausted eyes.
"Why have you come, Sylvanas?"
She drew her attention back to the present and regarded him carefully. Yes, he was ready to talk business.
"I've come to offer you a chance at a mutual agreement."
"Mutual agreement?"
Sylvanas shifted, folding one leg beneath her. "Anyone can see that Quel'Thalas is struggling. How long can your people hold the Scourge at bay? You can't hope to rebuild Silvermoon with the threat of being completely wiped out hanging over you."
He glared at her. "You don't need to tell me the sorts of trouble we're in, thank you."
"Of course not," she said, nodding. "And when I was leading my Forsaken just after we were set free from Ner'zhul, I wasn't exactly in need of someone to tell me the sort of trouble we were in, either."
His glare held. "Are you suggesting we join the Horde?"
"No," she replied smoothly, "I don't have the authority to make that sort of agreement with you. I'm merely asking that you consider leaving yourself open to the idea."
"Why? What do you stand to gain?"
This time, she returned his glare. "Lor, I know I don't look the same as before. A lot of other things have changed, too. But I'm still as much a Quel'dorei as you."
He snorted. "You? You're dead. No, worse. You're undead! You're no elf."
"I'm Sylvanas Windrunner!" she snapped, glowering. "I'm Ranger General of Quel'Thalas!"
Silence.
"That aside," she continued icily, "unless I'm greatly mistaken, you're Sin'dorei now. I hardly think-"
"You aren't Ranger General, Sylvanas," Lor'themar cut in, his voice sad but firm.
She sighed and stood and wandered over to the window. No, she wasn't Ranger General any more. She hadn't been thinking when she'd said that. Suddenly, she realised she was looking out over Silvermoon for the first time in years. Even though it was the middle of the day and the city was still mostly in ruins, she could almost see it the way she remembered it had been in the autumn twilight. It was breathtaking and exquisitely heartbreaking.
"I assume you became Ranger General when I died." It wasn't really a question.
There was a pause, and then he spoke. "Temporarily, yes. Halduron Brightwing took the position when Prince Kael'thas made me regent."
"Is he any good?"
"Exceptional. Far better than I was ever going to be. I doubt he'll be as good as you were, though."
Sylvanas nodded and gave a noncommittal grunt. Her eyes were wandering over the ruins, trying to fill in the blanks her memory couldn't quite cover. Most structures looked fairly nondescript; they had probably been aristocratic residences, given their proximity to this building. That patch of rubble there, though... oh yes. That, her memory knew.
-------
Sylvanas stood to attention, steadfastly gazing at nothing. Anasterian Sunstrider stood before her, stooped over a desk and shuffling through papers like he didn't even realise he had company. After a long moment, he made a small 'ah' sound and picked up a crumpled leaf of parchment. Looking pleased, he set his find on top of the pile before turning to face her.
She didn't want this. She really didn't. She knew why she had been called. The general mood of Silvermoon's citizens these past weeks had been one of celebration, but something heavy lingered around Sylvanas and Vereesa. Ever since the expedition had set out, people had been hesitant to speak to them, but this morning there had been an almost frightened look on the messenger's face that was unmistakable.
"Ah, Sylvanas. At ease," he said, waving his hand dismissively. She found herself unable to relax despite the order. "Thank you for coming so promptly. How are you this morning?"
Sylvanas gave the king an uneasy smile. "Well enough, sir."
Anasterian smiled back, clasping his hands together and nodding. "Good. Please, sit." He took his seat behind the desk piled with papers. Sylvanas sat opposite him and waited tensely.
"Now, Sylvanas," he began, putting a few papers aside and resting his elbows on the cleared space, "as you are no doubt aware, it has almost been two months since the expedition." He waited for her nod, so she gave it. "We're in a time of relative peace now, but Silvermoon can't be expected to stand all on its own. We still have our more domestic issues to deal with. Not nearly as perilous as demons, of course, but important nonetheless."
He grew solemn as he spoke, and Sylvanas' sense of dread deepened. She had a definite feeling of hurtling towards inevitable doom.
"We can't be without a Ranger General for much longer, Sylvanas. Not while the trolls continue to assault our gates, and something tells me they'll be doing that for a long time yet." He sighed. "I won't say Alleria isn't coming back, but we have to keep ourselves safe. We can't count on her return."
Sylvanas paused, and then nodded haltingly, remaining silent. She was convinced that Alleria was still alive - how could she not be? - and would gladly hurt anyone who dared try to change her mind. She had to concede, though, that her older sister might be stuck there for some time, and that Quel'Thalas still needed protection.
"Sylvanas, will you take Alleria's place? I'm certain that there is no one more suited to the task."
"I will," she told him firmly. She most certainly would. For anyone else to succeed the role would be unthinkable.
The king smiled gently. "I'm glad. I will have a ceremony arranged, of course, but from this moment on, you are the Ranger General of Quel'Thalas."
To her own surprise, Sylvanas felt a thrill and a surge of pride as he spoke the words. She quelled it quickly; this was not a time for celebration.
Anasterian stood, and she automatically rose with him. "I believe your second-in-command will be Lor'themar Theron," he added casually. Sylvanas felt like laughing - Lor'themar? - and wasn't completely able to hold in a spontaneous chuckle. The king gave her an amused look before dismissing her.
-------
"So, Prince Kael went off somewhere and made you regent."
Sylvanas turned away from the window to look at Lor'themar. The elf was lying across the settee now, his long legs propped up on one arm and his head resting on the other, his hands folded across his stomach. She crossed the room to take her seat opposite him. "Where did he run off to, anyway?"
Lor'themar watched her cross the room with something like resigned curiosity before laying his head back down and closing his eyes. "The promised land," he muttered, barely moving his lips.
She stared at him sceptically. "Promised land?"
"Yeah. Paradise. Apparently it has all the magic we need. But you'd have to ask Rommath about that."
"Rommath?"
"The new Grand Magister. He's been there, with Kael. And he was the only one to return."
Sylvanas mulled this over for a moment. "I don't trust him."
Lor'themar chuckled, opening one eye slightly to glance at her. "I don't either, though sometimes I think I'm the only one in all of Quel'Thalas with the same reservations. Most people are happy to believe Kael's going to come back to lead us all to some sort of utopia." He sneered.
She paused. "You know something." She said this carefully, even uncertainly. It had been a long time since she'd last talked to Lor'themar, but something in his voice told her...
He opened both eyes then. Quietly, he regarded her, and then visibly came to some sort of internal decision. He sat up and leaned forward, looking her in the eyes. "You want to know?"
"Yes."
"Kael went to Outland."
Sylvanas was stunned. She blinked at him, retreating into silence. Outland was some sort of paradise? She had always assumed it was a demonic wasteland, torn up by everything that had happened there. She had almost come to believe the place was completely destroyed. After all, Alleria had never come back.
If Alleria was dead, so was Outland. Failure was not something Sylvanas considered her older sister to be capable of.
"So... this Rommath believes that Outland is a magic-filled utopia?"
"He claims that's the case."
The tiniest hint of hope nagged at the edge of her mind. Perhaps Alleria was alive, after all? Perhaps her prolonged absence was merely a result of an inability to return to Azeroth?
No. She forced herself to be rational. Alleria had gone with Khadgar. If she - or any of the expedition - were alive, Sylvanas would know it.
She denied outright that a small part of her wanted Alleria to be dead, just so that she'd never know what an abomination her little sister had become.
-------
She held the pen tightly. It hovered just over the paper, ink slowly gathering in a black bead at its tip. A heavy silence weighed down on her as she struggled to think.
How was she supposed to do this?
Glancing over to the corner of the desk, she placed the pen beside the inkwell and picked up a scrap of parchment. She read it, despairing. 'Presumed deceased'. How could she possibly write a fitting memorial when she was forced to use such cold, hard language?
She snorted softly. Memorial. She'd seen most of the other 'memorials' already. They hadn't exactly been heartfelt. She knew what was expected of her.
She picked up the pen and dipped it in the inkwell. With more than a little bitterness, she began writing.
Renowned Troll Hunter of Quel'Thalas. Lead Scout and Intelligence Agent for the Alliance Expedition that marched into the orc homeworld of Draenor. Presumed deceased.
Yes, she thought, her lips twisting in a sardonic half-smile. Quite a fitting memorial.
Setting the pen aside, she picked up the paper and began to lazily wave it around, drying the ink. Her thoughts wandered inexorably to the last time she'd seen Alleria. It had just been a glimpse. She'd stood among the roaring crowd, watching her as she'd mounted her horse. Moments later, all sight of her had disappeared amongst a flurry of hopeful cheers.
The last time they'd spoken had been a few days earlier.
Angrily, she slammed the paper down on the desk. This was ridiculous. She took the pen up again, dipped it in the ink and began to scrawl furiously.
Your heart flew straight as any arrow upon the wind, sister. You were the brightest of our Order. You were the most beloved of our kin.
Her vision blurred as she tossed the pen aside. She blinked defiantly.
-------
Sylvanas forced her doubts from her mind. She would deal with them later.
"Assuming it's true, we share a common goal."
"Oh?" Lor'themar raised a questioning eyebrow.
She nodded. "We both need to get there."
The elf looked at her long and hard. His eyes narrowed in thought. Finally, he spoke, slowly and carefully. "I don't deny that I would appreciate being able to get in contact with Kael. Sitting here and waiting for him to return is foolish, especially considering the fact that we lose precious lives every day to those blasted undead. It makes the rebuilding of Silvermoon seem pointless. But Sylvanas, are you sure you want to go?"
Sylvanas bowed her head. Lor'themar knew her too well. "I'm not sure," she admitted, "but I do want to... know. About Alleria. I want to send some of my people there, at least."
He sighed. Lying back down on the settee, he closed his eyes again, obviously lost in thought. Sylvanas leaned back in her own seat, waiting. Despite everything, it was kind of nice to be here again.
"I wish I could want to accept your offer, Sylvanas," he said at length, his eyes remaining closed. "I really do. But there's so much wrong with it." His voice shook a little. "Even if I could accept the aid of undead, my people never would. If only you knew..." He trailed off, opening his eyes and turning his head to the side to look at her. His expression told a story of agony. "I... it can't work. Please understand."
Rather than feeling sorry for this man, her good friend for many years who was obviously torn, Sylvanas felt anger flare up within her. Carefully keeping her temper in check, she spoke. "Do you not trust me?"
Lor'themar sighed loudly, one hand flying to his forehead as if nursing a headache. His jaw clenched. "How do you expect me to? Undead attack us day and night. Undead have slain my friends and family. Undead killed you." He growled. "I don't know whether to believe you're really the Sylvanas I knew or not. Are you evil? As much as you tell me you're not, your word is just your word. And who are you? How can I trust you?"
"I haven't assassinated you yet," she snapped, though more out of frustration than spite.
"And that's why I haven't ordered you killed!" he said, exasperated. "But what more can I do? I don't know..." He trailed off again, this time sinking into deep silence. His hands were pressed into his closed eyes in his frustration, and Sylvanas felt very much like doing the same.
Seconds passed, flowing into minutes. Sylvanas found herself wondering how long she'd been here, and how much longer Sharlindra would wait before suspecting something was amiss. It must be difficult for the banshee to remain patient - this had been her home, too, many years ago.
With a soft sigh, Sylvanas stood and paced aimlessly across the room, finally coming to a halt at a bookcase. Her eyes flitted over the spines of the tomes, looking at the titles but not truly reading them. Without thinking, she reached out and plucked one from a shelf. She opened it and began to leaf through, though she had her mind somewhere else entirely.
"At least," she said eventually, not turning away from the bookcase, "allow me to send troops to aid in the defence of Silvermoon. Until it's rebuilt. As soon as your own defences are established, they will be withdrawn."
Silence stretched on, punctuated by the soft rustle of turning pages, before he finally spoke up. "No."
Something in Sylvanas snapped. The anger she had suppressed earlier flared up once more and spilled over. With a wordless shout she threw the book. It crashed into a vase, shattering it. She then turned on Lor'themar, fuming. The elf was sitting up now, looking as if he had been caught entirely off-guard.
"You don't understand, do you? I'm Sylvanas!" she hissed. "I know I'm dead. It's not exactly something I could easily forget, now is it? I'm still me, though. Lor..." Her voice began to strain. "Lor, I'm still the same. I'm the same woman that trained with you. I'm the same one that used to steal your arrows when she forgot her own. I'm the same one whose sister you fell in love with. Remember the time we tried to jump across that roof, but she stopped us?" She was almost pleading with him, now. He had to remember.
He stared at her, mouth slightly agape. He nodded haltingly. "Of course, I remember. I-"
She turned and strode to the window, effectively cutting off whatever it was he was about to say. She didn't want to hear it. If he knew all this and still could not trust her, there was nothing more she could do. In fact, she no longer cared to try. She could scarcely believe she'd held on to the belief that her people would accept her. Truly, she hadn't even realised she still clung to that irrational hope after all this time. She snorted in self-derision, leaning on the sill and staring out the window.
She wasn't the same Sylvanas, was she? There was Sylvanas the Quel'dorei and Sylvanas the Dark Lady. With Frostmourne, Arthas hadn't just destroyed her life. He'd destroyed her entire identity. Then he'd made her a new one, a pathetic copy, and slapped on a few memories to make her new 'life' particularly miserable.
He would regret it one day. Then, she would be free to die properly, her vengeance complete.
-------
She awoke to the sound of birds singing. It was dark.
Memories came in a confused flood. There was blood, and there was wailing, and there was endless agony.
She opened her eyes.
The sunlight was bright. Her vision dimmed to compensate. She frowned. Her body was numb. She tried to move. Her hand lifted with ease. Frowning, she stared at it. It looked... wrong, somehow.
She sat up. The numbness lingered. It ran throughout her body; she felt nothing at all. Even as she stood, she couldn't feel the grass on her bare feet.
Curiously, she pressed the palms of her hands together, watching the contact as it happened. Again, she felt nothing. Her eyes narrowed as she peered more closely at her hands. She turned them, studying them carefully. They were pale. Upon further inspection, she realised that all her skin was just as pasty.
It was then that she realised she was naked. She wondered why. Finding nothing in her memory, she decided to ignore the fact. It was irrelevant for now.
In a rush, the memories lingering in the back of her mind arranged themselves into horrific clarity. She recalled it like a vivid nightmare; the endless slaughter at her hands, the chaotic fury that coursed through her, binding her, and his voice, cold and harsh, biting into her very soul. A sense of loathing, deeper than any she had felt before, grew like a tumour.
She would take his life, and she would make him suffer just as she had suffered. Just as her people had suffered.
-------
A hand rested on her shoulder. She turned.
"Sylvanas," Lor'themar said gently, turning her slightly so that he could squeeze in beside her. He leaned on the sill and pushed a loose strand of hair out of his eyes.
"I'm sorry," he continued, looking out the window. Her eyes were trained on his face. "I... think I might understand, now."
Sylvanas edged a little bit away from him, just so their shoulders didn't touch. She was unused to physical contact, now. "No, you're right," she sighed, turning her gaze back to the city below. "I'm not who I was."
There was a pause, and then Lor'themar nodded. "You're not. You've changed. A lot." He chuckled quietly, his bitterness showing. "But at the same time... you're you. I mean, nobody else could be quite like you. Not even an undead pretending to be you." His lips quirked in a semi-smile.
She felt herself calming down. If she could just ignore the ever-present, clammy grip of undeath, she could almost imagine she was the same person, sharing the same city with the same old second-in-command. It was a pleasant feeling.
"I wish this hadn't happened to you," he said, his voice lowering to a near-whisper. "It's not easy being Regent Lord. You'd have done a much better job."
With a snort, she glanced at him. "I always kind of feared you'd take over my job one day, you know." The irony of her statement did not escape her.
"Me? Replace you as Ranger General? While you were still alive? Ha! Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not," she replied simply, looking back out over the city.
Lor'themar chuckled softly to himself. He lingered at the window for a moment longer before backing away. Sylvanas could hear his steps as he headed for where she'd broken the vase. She said nothing, just listened to his movements as he recovered the book and placed it back on its shelf.
The afternoon was growing old, she noticed with surprise. If she stalled here much longer, she and Sharlindra would have to travel by moonlight back to the Undercity. While this was not at all a problem, the worgen in the area made it wisest for average folk to stay indoors after hours, so two hooded travellers would look rather suspicious leaving Silvermoon's safe walls at that time.
Having no desire to stay in this city overnight, she turned to face Lor'themar. He was kicking the fragments of the shattered vase into a neat pile with a slippered foot, balancing himself by leaning against the wall.
"I should go," she said quietly. He looked up in surprise.
"So soon?"
"It's late afternoon. My companion and I would look suspicious enough leaving now."
"Your companion?" He was shocked. "You brought someone with you?"
"Well, yes. You're not the only important person in this room, you know." She raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly, and he laughed.
"Of course. I just... is your companion undead, too?"
"Lor, we both got in here without being recognised for what we are. I hardly think Sharlindra will struggle."
"Sharlindra?" His expression grew confused. "I know I recognise that name..."
"She was a ranger, too."
"Oh," he said, suddenly looking awkward. Sylvanas didn't know why - she'd thought he was becoming accustomed to the idea of undead elves - but the moment passed, and he smiled sadly. "Well, I suppose you should be off, then."
She nodded, glancing at the door and then back to Lor'themar. "Listen, Lor. Will you at least consider a peace treaty, if not an alliance?"
His thoughts were etched clearly on his face - he was at first apprehensive, but it wasn't long until he'd grudgingly admitted to himself that a treaty could be nothing but beneficial. He said nothing as he walked a few steps to a nearby desk. Taking a quill and parchment, he quickly scrawled something, and then folded the paper, sealed it and gave it to her.
"Give this to Thrall. It pleads consideration for the treaty."
Sylvanas took the paper from him with a small smile. "Thank you."
He smiled in return, placing his hand on her shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie the likes of which she hadn't experienced for years. "Hey. If I can ignore the fact that my best friend is undead, I can put up with not being allowed to attack a couple of orcs and trolls, can't I?"
Stiffly, she placed her hand on his forearm. "If I have to put up with them, so do you."
He laughed then, placing his other hand on her other shoulder. For a moment she thought he might give her a hug, but instead he gently turned her to the door and pushed up her hood. She reached up and adjusted it so that it properly hid her face. A moment later, she stood with her hand on the knob of the open door, facing him.
"I'll keep in touch," he promised.
Wordlessly, she bowed to him. He graciously bowed in return, a sardonic grin on his face. Sylvanas was feeling nowhere near as cheerful as he apparently was. She was grateful the hood hid her expression. She didn't trust it right now.
In silence, she turned and left.