A/N: Sorry folks, Life is being a real funsucker lately. This chapter is a stalling tactic since I'm ungodly busy and haven't had time to give the next bit the attention it deserves, but the plot will resume next update. (You guessed it- it'll probably be late!) In the mean time, here's some bits and pieces that were floating around, presented in vaguely chronological order.
Chapter 7 – Intermission : Tales from the Citadel
1. Once Upon A Time in Dalaran
Jaina was thirteen. She had been studying in Dalaran for just over one year as a novice, and though it had taken some time to adjust to the unreal perfection of the magic city, it's pristine appearance had become ordinary. Perhaps that was why she noticed the bird. It wasn't perfect and lovely; it was dead, and it was out of place.
Jaina stopped and stared. It lay on the lawn beside a shop, black feet curled into tiny fists, wings spread awkwardly. A warm breeze ruffled the feathers on its breast. Jaina looked around. There were a few other pedestrians strolling the broad cobbled streets, but none of them were paying attention to her or the dead bird. She walked over and looked down at it. It was some kind of sparrow, mostly brown with a silvery chest. Its feathers were still mussed where the breeze had brushed it. Jaina could picture it alive, shaking the feathers back into place, or re-arranging them with its beak, but it was dead and couldn't smooth them out. She crouched down and after a moment, stroked it curiously with one finger. Her touch didn't fix the ruffled feathers.
She looked around to see if anyone had seen her pet the bird and self-consciously wiped her hand on her robe. What happened to dead things here? If her father or brother had found a dead bird, they would probably just ignore it. Jaina cocked her head. Should she tell someone? It wasn't a part of Dalaran's normal ambiance, so would someone come along and remove it? Did things rot normally like they did back home, becoming unidentifiable little piles of fluff and bones? Jaina didn't think there were scavengers in the city to eat the remains. Well, maybe there were rats in the sewers. Maybe they would come out at night and clean up.
Jaina thought perhaps she should take responsibility for it. Maybe that was how Dalaran worked, with everyone doing their bit to keep the city beautiful. What to do with a dead bird? Jaina bit her lip. She'd had a pet mouse once, just a regular house pest that she had secretly fed crumbs until it trusted her enough to let her hold it. Though the rats in the barn made her shriek and recoil, house mice were just too cute: big black eyes, fuzzy white eyebrows and tiny paws like little hands. Her father had yelled about diseases and bites and vermin when he found out, but Jaina was stubborn and seven years old and had cried when he threatened to dispose of the mouse. She'd kept it for a whole year. When it died, her father had dug a little grave for it in the garden and Jaina had said a prayer for it.
Where in Dalaran could she bury the bird? She and her father had buried the mouse in their garden. Jaina's apartment had a tiny garden...
A tolling bell made her jump. Jaina felt guilty, but she had classes to attend and they were more important than nameless, deceased wildlife. Besides, where was she going to get a spade to dig with? She glanced again at the sparrow and trotted off.
But Jaina thought about the bird all through the afternoon. If it was still there when she went by, she would pick it up and take it back to the little apartment her father had rented for her. She could dig with her hands and bury it. As she rounded the corner, she was so focused on reaching the tiny corpse that she almost failed to notice there was someone else standing on the lawn, looking down at the bird. Flustered, she tried to veer away, but as she did, she caught a glimpse of the stranger's face.
The glimpse froze her in her tracks. If it had been some merchant, another novice, or someone equally unimportant, she might have been able to leave. But this man was important.
Jaina was young, but very intelligent. She knew about the mysterious Council of Six, the group of wizards that ruled Dalaran, and she had deduced several of the members by process of elimination one boring rainy day during meditation class. She was 99% certain that this man was one of them.
"Oh, hello," he said. Jaina wasn't sure where to look. She didn't want to seem like she had been walking towards the bird, but he was also examining it.
"Hello, sir," she said quietly, standing on one foot, then the other.
"Poor thing," said the man, "Must've flown into the window." He nodded to the shop bordering the lawn.
"Yes, sir."
He turned to look at her, and Jaina found herself caught in his gaze. "You're the Admiral's daughter, aren't you?" he said, and Jaina nodded.
"Yes, I am," she said. "How did you know?" Maybe he could read her mind.
"You're the only girl among the novices," he said. Oh. Well, that was true.
"Yeah," she said, "there's lots more boys here than girls." She hadn't meant to sound so disappointed, but that was how it came out. "Sir, are girls worse at magic?" she asked, worriedly. She had always been told that she had talent, but no one told her how much. By her estimate, there was only one woman on the Council of Six.
"No," replied the wizard, and he sounded amused. "It's not a matter of magic. It's a matter of… hmm… society."
"Just like paladins," said Jaina, dejected, "and warriors, and the heroes in stories." To her surprise, he nodded in agreement.
"Personally, I don't care if you're a man or a woman, as long as you're good at what you do." Jaina looked away, smiling to herself. He's nice.
"I am Kel'Thuzad," he said and held out his hand. Jaina took it, heart pounding with excitement. Maybe if he noticed her, the other Councilors would too! Perhaps she could get an apprenticeship with one of them if they found her clever enough…
"I'm Jaina Proudmoore," she replied, remembering her manners and curtsied politely. Kel'Thuzad pointed to the bird.
"You were coming to look at it?"
"Well, I saw it on my way to class, sir. I thought... maybe I should bury it."
"Where?"
"In my garden, I thought. Is there somewhere… better?" She really wanted to ask if there was a special place to put dead things, or if dead things in Dalaran were unusual, but her embarrassment got in the way. He crooked his index finger under his chin thoughtfully and raised an eyebrow at her.
"I suppose you could bury it in my garden."
"Oh- I- I don't mean to inconvenience you, sir," she said, trying not to stare too hard at the mage. She hadn't had an opportunity to speak one on one with many of the senior wizards, and now she was aware of a sort of latent electricity that hummed around Kel'Thuzad.
"It's no inconvenience," he replied, "I was on my way home." He leaned down and scooped the sparrow up in the palm of one broad hand, balancing the tiny body with long fingers. "Come on." Jaina tagged behind him eagerly. He was past middle-age, shoulder-length hair gone completely grey, but unlike most of the other old wizards, he went clean-shaven, like the elves. Jaina marveled at his robes, richly embroidered and dyed a brilliant crimson. Someday she would be worthy of wearing something so distinguished.
They came to his home, in a row of large, well-appointed apartments, and he held the gate open for her.
"Here," he said and showed her a flowering apple tree beside the fence. He set the sparrow aside and picked up a spade, rolled up his sleeves and knelt down, knocking the tip of the shovel against the ground so he could avoid digging where the roots lay. Jaina glanced at the bird.
"It feels kind of weird, putting a bird in the ground," she blurted, "I mean, they fly and all."
"Ah. I suppose it does. But," he said with a grunt as he pushed the spade into the sod, "when dead things rot, all the elements they're made of come apart. They go into the soil, they feed the grass and the tree, become leaves and flowers and fruit."
Jaina was nodding. "We're learning about element cycling in Energetics," she offered, wanting to show how much she was learning.
"Very good. So it will fly again, as something else." Kel'Thuzad pulled out spadefuls of earth, piling them beside the hole. "This should be deep enough." Jaina didn't hesitate. She picked up the sparrow in both hands and slid it carefully into the grave. She watched the mage smooth soil over it and tamp the cap of sod back on top. Jaina felt awkward, so she smiled.
"It was nice meeting you," she said and held out her hand again. He shook it. There was a tiny silver feather stuck to the webbing between his thumb and forefinger.
"A pleasure," he affirmed.
Four years later, he was surrounded by the rest of the Council. None of them looked happy. Jaina delivered the item her master, Antonidas, had cryptically asked her to retrieve and glanced questioningly toward Kel'Thuzad. Antonidas called him a rogue, though he shook his head and would not explain the label to her, saying only that Kel'Thuzad was playing a dangerous, serious game.
Jaina didn't understand until nearly a decade later, and when she did, her memory momentarily flickered back to the mage's sure, gentle hands cupping the fragile corpse of a hapless sparrow.
I thought he was nice.
2. Indefinite Leave to Remain
Anu'Shukhet did not like the surface. She was accustomed to the weight of the earth above her and here there was nothing but insubstantial clouds. They smudged the horizon, blending land and sky into one indistinct haze. She felt as though she might drift away.
Anu'Shukhet found herself above-ground more and more frequently. In the years since the War of the Spider had been lost, she and her ragged kingdom had been living a furtive, guerrilla existence in the shambles of their old world, and eventually set forth into the strange above-below of crevasses and tunnels that opened Icecrown glacier down to the bedrock. The ice sheet was so thick in places that even in day-time, no light could filter through and although they technically walked the surface of Azeroth, they still had kilometers of material between themselves and the sky.
Anu'Shukhet was just inside the mouth of one such ice tunnel, peering across the tundra. She wouldn't normally debate leaving the safety of the frozen 'underground', but she had smelled something on the mild spring wind. There was a Nerubian out there, on top of the ice. Anu'Shukhet's chemical senses had identified it only as one of her own species and she sucked at the air for more information, pulling the scarce taste of some lost countryman into her mouth. Male. Older than myself. Magic-user, but what kind I don't know. He's hurt.
With a hiss that was half challenge and half defiance, Anu'Shukhet started toward the source of the scent. Her size and vivid colours left her exposed against the melting snow; the Scourge could probably see her from the Storm Peaks. As she followed the tell-tale chemical signature, she began to pick up other clues. There was blood on the wind; warm, mammal blood, and two smells of fur, one damp with water, and one foul and unwashed.
Anu'Shukhet drew close enough to hear the fight, though there was a broad nunatak still between them, a jutting piece of the earth so massive it reared above the embrace of the glacier. The unknown Nerubian hissed and shrieked, a Seer or a Vizier forced to physical violence. She heard his panicked steps as he scrambled around on the thawing ice. Heavy, artless stomps followed him. Magnataurs. Oh what fun. Though they were considered sentient in the annals of Nerubian biology, she had her doubts. She'd seen fish smarterthan the lumbering monsters.
Anu'Shukhet rounded the nunatak, coming in behind the two Magnataur hunters as they tried to corner the mystery Nerubian against the saw four small objects, polished wood and bone, dug into the snow behind the attackers, each giving off a different coloured light, and recognized them as a shaman's totems. If they belonged to the stranger, he had been driven too far from them to accept their help.
One of the hunters turned immediately when she issued a nerve-shaking roar. He raised a spear that looked like he had pulled up an entire spruce tree and tried to whittle the tip before giving up. Really, most things on the glacier couldn't survive getting bashed with a three-meter long club anyway. Why bother sharpening it?
He bellowed and brought the tree down. It snapped in half across Anu'Shukhet's shoulders and she recovered before he could stop staring at the splintered piece in his hand. With a yell, she reared up on her hind legs, putting him in shadow for a second before lunging downwards. He was an experienced hunter; some novices would have simply tried to dodge. Instead, he braced the roots of his club against the ground, presenting Anu'Shukhet with the broken end and hoping she would impale herself.
She lead with her claws, slicing the spear into three harmless sections like a scythe through wheat. Her front feet plowed into his torso, ripping through rotten pelts and unwashed flesh, her weight crushing bones and organs. She reared again and stomped a second time for good measure.
"Beware!" yelled the stranger breathlessly and Anu'Shukhet spun, claws crossed defensively in front of her, catching an enormous stone axe between them. The impact forced her onto her haunches. Her attacker pressed his imagined advantage and heaved the axe high overhead with both meaty arms. Anu'Shukhet lashed out with one claw, the edge opening his throat before he knew she had struck him. He dropped the axe with a gurgle and toppled.
She eyed the Magnataur hunters contemptuously, then looked to the shaman she had rescued. He stood awkwardly, braced on two uninjured legs with his hindquarters against the rock. At first she believed him too badly wounded to move, then noticed the heap of bloody fur between his feet.
"Th-thank you," he rasped at her, and crouched over the thing in the snow.
"Are you unhurt?" asked Anu'Shukhet, approaching to see what he was protecting. It looked and smelled like food. Maybe he would share with her.
"I'm- I'm- I'll be well," he answered. His words were slurred and badly pronounced. Half his face had been burned, one mandible deformed, the core eaten away by the acid used to brand him. Exile. For what? He was much smaller than he should have been too, but aside from that and the fractures on his hind legs, he appeared healthy.
He leaned over the furry lump and spoke in fluent Common: "Earthsinger- Earthsinger?"
"What is that?" Anu'Shukhet asked, switching to Common as well. He glanced up.
"M-my teacher," he said, suddenly fearful. Anu'Shukhet could smell his worry, hear his hearts pounding. "P-p-please don't hurt us."
The young King was somewhat disappointed that the furry thing wasn't food, but his fright made a more immediate impression. The last time he saw someone who looked like I do, they poured a cup of acid over his head, stripped him of his rank, and threw him out of the colony. No wonder he's afraid of me.
"I won't hurt you," she said gently. She stepped back to offer him space. "How can I help your teacher?"
He clearly didn't trust her, but his posture relaxed somewhat. "I don't know- I just need to- to- Can you check if there are more of those things?" Anu'Shukhet nodded and ambled past the pair of fresh corpses. She couldn't smell or see another Magnataur in the vicinity.
"You're fine," she reported, returning to the shaman. A bright green-white light streamed from his four hands. "You're a healer," she observed, impressed. He nodded.
"Sometimes," he said, without breaking concentration. "A better healer than I am a fighter," he choked as the light faded. He looked up. "We would have died without you." He laid the creature carefully against the ground. Anu'Shukhet wasn't sure what kind of being it was, but its chest was rising and falling, and that was a good sign for anything that wasn't undead. The shaman stood up in front of her, hands clasped together. "I owe you everything," he said softly, "Thank you. Thank you."
"It was no trouble," she said, mildly amused at his sincerity.
"Anything within my power to give, it is yours," he continued in earnest, taking a step forward. "I don't know how I can repay you for this. What can I do?"
"May I know your name?"
"Oh. Of course! I am Imuruk," he said, and bowed stiffly. Anu'Shukhet leaned down so they were at eye-level with each other. She saw him fighting the urge to pull away.
"What did you do to get exiled?" she asked, raising one claw and carefully touching the burn. He blinked his three remaining eyes at the exploration but didn't flinch.
"They didn't know I was a shaman. They thought my magic- they thought it was... broken."
"Ah. So you've not really done anything to deserve this, then."
"I suppose not."
Anu'Shukhet watched him. "You know about the war, yes?"
"It's over, isn't it? I thought there was no more Azjol'Nerub, but you... you're alive."
"I am Anu'Shukhet, King of all that remains." She paused, listening to his frightened heart beats. "We're all exiles."
"King? But you're-"
"A legion commander? Yes. Just as mis-caste as you are, now." Anu'Shukhet pointed at the shaman's teacher. "Is that thing going to survive?"
Imuruk crouched, stroking the creature's fur. "She'll be all right. She would have been able to fight them, except they snuck up and brained her before she could do anything." Anu'Shukhet turned to leave.
"Take care of her then, Imuruk," she said, "And be at peace."
"Wait!"
Anu'Shukhet stopped. Imuruk limped after her, carrying his teacher in his lower set of arms. "You're the King of... everything?"
"There's not a lot to be King of. Fewer than a thousand people, though we refuse to stop exploring, looking for other survivors."
"I will take Earthsinger back to her village," said the shaman, "But I can't ignore my debt to you. I will serve, in any way you require."
Anu'Shukhet pondered the offer. "You can heal," she said, "And you speak this language well. What other tongues have you learned up here?"
"Some human words, a bit of orcish. Pieces of this and that. I- I can read and write, too. I know the land. I can identify herbs, I know ways to use them. And I..." He stopped. Anu'Shukhet cocked her head.
"Well, go on. What is it?"
"The... the spirits tell me things. Secrets. Things invisible to the living, or things they learned in life and could never pass on." Anu'Shukhet felt suddenly cold, as though a cloud had passed over the sun.
"You do have talents that we desperately need. Your teacher- will she be safe without you?"
The little shaman looked down at the supine creature in his arms. "Oh yes. She's good at being on her own- she came up here by herself to learn from the Taunka and be close to the ice. I've been among them for so long, or by myself, but I don't like it. The Taunka- they- they're Earthsinger's kin, but not mine."
"Then take her back to her people, and come find me when you're ready to return to your own."
"I can't believe I was unconscious for the whole damn thing!" lamented Earthsinger. The Tauren, awake and livid that she had missed her companion's first renewed contact with his people, tugged her braids with frustration. "What was she like? Scary? Domineering? Hungry?"
Imuruk toyed with a loose thread in the hem of his tunic. "She was beautiful."
Earthsinger's disappointment at missing the event turned to a wide grin. "Really."
"I've never seen someone so perfect. She was polite, even kind! She understood, I think, and she didn't threaten me, or even stare too much." He put one slender paw to his burned cheek. "She touched me."
"Well," said Earthsinger, amber eyes glowing with fondness for her peculiar friend, "When are you going to meet with her again?" Imuruk shifted, awkward.
"I... I don't know. I mean, um, I don't know how to find her."
Earthsinger snorted. "Thrall's beard, you're a bad liar! What are you afraid of? Her? Them?"
Imuruk tapped his fingertips against each other and avoided her gaze. "She saved your life, and mine. Eosa, I owe her everything. But what can I give her?"
"If you must think in terms of barter, then give her a shaman. Better yet, give her another citizen for her empire. She let you go to make your own choice, Imuruk."
"What if she doesn't really want me? What if that's why she let me go?"
Earthsinger frowned. "Did it really seem like that to you? From what I understand there aren't many Nerubians left. My people, we were at war for generations with the centaur in the Barrens. We were many tribes and we had our differences, but we united in common interest to make a home for ourselves. What if that's what this... Ashu- uh, whatever- what if that's what she wants?"
"Anu'Shukhet. Anu'Hazad was one of the outer provinces. She was a legion commander..."
"Go talk to her. See what's become of your people. If it isn't what you hoped, come back. I'll always give you a job charting meltwater variances and working the auger for my core samples."
"Er, thanks. I think."
"Right. I always forget no one is quite as excited about ice as I am..."
"How fascinating," said the towering Vizier, peering down at Imuruk with calculating sapphire eyes, "I had always been told no one could survive above ground. Madness would take you, they said. The sky is too much for one mind; so vast a thing reminds you what a terribly insignificant creature you truly are."
Imuruk decided he didn't really like Anu'Shukhet's Vizier, but the man was his guide and guardian until the King returned from her patrol. Old habits die hard, thought the shaman, she must have lead daily patrols when she was just a commander. Maybe it gives her comfort, or some kind of normalcy.
"I quite like it," Imuruk replied cheerfully, "It's sometimes frightening to feel so small, but it reminds you that you are part of a large, wonderful system too."
"A psychological replacement for the colony perhaps," mused the Vizier, "An ingenious survival strategy."
"Vostok!" Both of them looked up as Anu'Shukhet approached. Imuruk clasped his hands together in equal parts excitement and trepidation. "Who's that you're intimidat- oh! Imuruk!" she said and Imuruk instantly forgot about his disapproving chaperone. She nodded to the Vizier but didn't look at him. She was focused on Imuruk. "I wasn't sure if I should expect you."
"It took me some days to find you. The entrance is very well hidden. I couldn't see it- I could hardly smell it!"
"I'm happy you found us," she said, "Come, let me show you around."
Vostok, the Vizier, followed them for a few minutes in silence until he was called away. "He's not exactly welcoming," Anu'Shukhet said apologetically. "Smart man, though." They walked together down a curving tunnel lit with hanks of phosphorescent lichen. In the blue-green light, Anu'Shukhet's armour took on almost gem-like vibrancy and depth, but when she moved, Imuruk could see every scratch, every abrasion and crack, every scar that marred her carapace. They had been buffed and sealed, but Imuruk found himself mesmerized by the hundreds of little stories written in those imperfections.
"Ah yes," she said, apparently realizing what he was looking at, "I've managed to keep our healers busy. Perhaps it's not becoming of a King, but we need every fighting body we can get." She lead him to an open grotto where a group of soldiers practiced with short spears. Ranged around the perimeter were crates and sacks, some bearing the blue mark of the Alliance, some stamped with the red Horde heraldry. I doubt very much that these goods were got in trade.
"No," said Imuruk, "I think it's quite becoming. Without those little marks, you would be merely lovely. With them comes proof of your dedication, your valour and skill. It makes your beauty downright intimidating."
Anu'Shukhet fluttered her wing casings. "Well you certainly have a way with words," she replied but behind the hearty exclamation was a sense he had genuinely flattered her.
"It's easy to be be honest."
Anu'Shukhet chuckled. "I like you."
They continued through the enclave. Imuruk found it relaxing to share with Anu'Shukhet. It became apparent that she valued truth more than tact, and he volunteered the tale of his youth, embarrassing though parts of it was. She replied with her own past and the new history of her mis-matched kingdom. As they began a second circuit of the settlement, Imuruk realized she was no longer pointing out features or locations, that they were no longer speaking of the war, or the Scourge, or their crumbling society. They spoke of themselves, giving little pieces of their lives to each other in words.
"I missed the lichen," said Imuruk softly as they returned to the entrance. "The colour. The... the gentleness of the light." He looked back down the long corridor. "Have you ever seen the aurora?"
"No. What is it?" asked Anu'Shukhet.
"I confess I don't really know. Earthsinger tells me it's some natural phenomenon of energy and weather. But it looks like soft light, ribbons of it in the night sky. Usually when its very cold out, so cold it makes your exoskeleton brittle, and it moves..." His voice trailed off and he lowered his hands, containing their gestures. "I'd stand out there in the brutal cold because sometimes it was this colour, the same as the lichens."
Anu'Shukhet touched his elbow briefly. "I think I'd like to see that."
"It's hardly a worthy trade for my life and Earthsinger's. She saved me. She taught me. She didn't..." he sighed. "I'm sorry. I would like to be part of your kingdom but I'm... I think I've forgotten how to be a citizen."
"Forgotten?"
"I don't think I ever learned."
Anu'Shukhet nodded. "I suppose you didn't." They stood in silence together, blinking into the night beyond the mouth of the tunnel. The sky was clear and Anu'Shukhet could see a sprinkling of stars.
"Can I come back? To talk with you? Am I welcome?"
"Of course," said the King. "As far as I'm concerned, you are a citizen. You've every right to come and go. Or to remain."
3. The Lich King's Lament
Jaina wrapped the cloak around her, pulling the thick fur up to her neck. She'd spoken briefly with the Troll huntress upon her return, just long enough to receive her disappointing message: no. No, no, no. Emphatically no. Every messenger had brought her the same answer so far. No one wanted a partnership with the Lich King, or at least, not an official one. Jaina sighed. The wind slipped past the folds and ruffled her hair free of the collar. She tucked it back behind her ear.
The sun had set three hours before, and dark clouds had swept in from the east at almost the same time, bringing fits of snow on frigid wind. Jaina had found herself more restless than the weather, however, and had been roaming the high ramparts and balconies of the Citadel since the huntress had delivered her message. It wasn't just because her overtures of alliance were being systematically denied, it was being cooped up in the Citadel monotonously, with the days getter progressively shorter and darker. Jaina had spent months in the north up to Arthas' defeat, but they were spring and summer months, in places far enough south that the soil was frost free for long enough to grow more than lichens. She came from Kul Tiras, a rugged, coastal land that boasted all the combined bounty of land and sea. And until recently, she had considered Theramore her home. It was warm, humid, draped in lush flora, populated with more animal species than Jaina could count, and flooded with light.
She hugged herself and rubbed her arms to warm up, raising her gaze to the pin-point stars visible through brief gaps in the cloudbank. Since she had come to Northrend, Jaina had kept a silent theory that here, at the roof of the world, the stars were closer. They were definitely brighter. If she had voiced that thought, someone, perhaps Tirion, would have suggested it was more likely that the sprawling darkness simply made them more vivid.
Jaina turned when she heard the steady click-click-click of Dreilide's claws on the stone. The plague hound's tongue lolled out the side of his mouth happily and he thrust his damp nose into the palm of her hand when she held it out.
"Hi, dog," she said, and smiled despite her heavy mood. Dreilide licked her glove, then turned away, bat-like ears pricked towards something in the distance. Jaina looked where he was looking out of reflex. There was a tiny sound that Jaina couldn't immediately identify, high but sustained, then it dipped and hummed into nothing. Jaina frowned. It was a familiar sound, but she couldn't place it. She looked down at Dreilide.
"Shall we go have a look, then?"
They ambled along the rampart, Jaina hunching her shoulders as the wind picked up. She stopped twice to turn around and put her back to the gale, breathing into the fur that cupped her face to thaw her lips. They came into the lee of the Citadel as they rounded the corner. The wind relented, and the sound rose again, a long, mournful wail. The note simmered and then see-sawed back and forth, and Jaina chuckled.
"A fiddle? Out here in the freezing cold?" She put her gloved hands on the railing and leaned over, peering into the ice-fog. Three stories below, huddled against the dizzying height of the Citadel wall, were six figures gathered round a bonfire. Jaina identified the Troll huntress by the brilliant braids splayed over her shoulders. She was leaning against the shoulder of another Troll, laughing and gesturing with a cup of something steaming hot. The fiddler stood across the bonfire from the couple and though Jaina could only see the top of his head and shoulders, she knew it was Starkweather.
She'd seen no reason to keep the Death Knights locked up any longer. She knew their intentions toward her; they had lost the element of surprise. She'd also shown them that she could effectively defend herself. Kagra had growled, Xochi shrugged and refused to meet her gaze, but Starkweather had nodded and thanked her.
Now, he tapped one booted foot, fingers skittering up and down the neck of the instrument, undead reflexes immune to the effect of the cold. Beside him, the red-headed human woman with the hyena clapped a rhythm. The melody bounded in circles, teasing a grin to Jaina's lips, but she sighed, despite the song's playful tone. She couldn't join them. It would be too awkward, too inappropriate.
She turned away, putting her back to the railing and the cloudy night sky. She looked at her hands, in fur-lined gloves almost every day, and listened as Starkweather wove a joyful song into the keening wind. He finished, to the applause of those gathered, and started another tune. Jaina heard boots shuffling and stomping. The Death Knight played faster, to the appreciation of the dancers, and Jaina wondered where he had gotten the fiddle. Was it his? Had he, upon resurrection in thrall of the Lich King, returned to whichever camp had once been his and retrieved it? Or had he stolen it? He played well and he played easily; she had to decide that it was his own instrument.
How little she knew about any of them. She had never asked the Death Knights personal questions, especially after she found out they wanted her dead. The things she did learn about her new comrades were hardly ever the result of direct curiosity; not Imuruk's culinary skills, or Kazimir's patient instruction, or Dreilide's devotion. They demonstrated their personalities, whether she asked or not, like any autonomous people.
In Theramore, she had prided herself on knowing the names of her citizens, of remembering sons and daughters, personal interests and crises. She sent notes of sympathy and congratulations, and when her schedule was open, she attended weddings and parties and funerals. Martin Starkweather plays the fiddle. Hesitantly, Jaina allowed herself to file the fact away. She shivered inside the cloak and pushed away from the railing. If she walked along the rampart, the movement would warm her and she could stay within earshot of Starkweather's performance.
Jaina strolled, listening to Starkweather play energetic, joyful tunes. As she walked, she stared at the stars, humming to herself. There was a sort of glowing green mist in the northwest. It shivered and undulated as she watched, gaining discernible edges along the top, growing brighter in the middle. It hung like a ghostly curtain, lowest tips rippling lazily across the stars. Then it shifted, writhing like a serpent, and the brightness diffused to the edges. Jaina stared, awed, as the aurora wound and stretched, flickering and fading in no earthly rhythm. Once the eastern end turned crimson and Jaina gasped, eyes round with childish wonder. Tirion had told her about it one night, but they'd never managed to see it. His description was, she realized now, technically accurate, but there weren't words to convey the breath-taking, eldritch spectacle in motion before her. It mesmerized her, and she forgot about the cold and the snow and the piercing wind for almost twenty minutes, and then it was gone.
She continued her walk, trying to replay the vision, but it was intangible, so instead she savoured the feeling of awe and joy it brought. Eventually, Jaina found herself back where she started. Starkweather paused, letting the rest of the group take a breather. There were twice as many people down there now as there had been and even three stories up, she could tell someone had brought ale. Jaina sat down, back against the railing, Dreilide's chin resting on her boot, fleeting streamers of light moving in her mind's eye.
Starkweather drew a long, sorrowful moan from the fiddle and Jaina knew this wasn't going to be a reel. The Death Knight played on, notes mixing with the ice-ridden wind. The instrument whimpered and wailed, begging for solace, for completion, for life and love, and comfort. Jaina heard her own story in wordless skeins of sound. She plunged into memory, eyes brimming with tears, and struggled not to cry as the fiddle's voice swelled with yearning and loss and heart-ache. She bit her lip as the music rose and fell, one moment rising with hope, the next careening into fear and dismay and plans gone wrong. Jaina gave up and sobbed into her gloves.
There was a muffled sound in counterpoint and she looked up, finding Dreilide's ugly snout filling her vision. She blinked and wiped her eyes.
"I'm okay," she assured the animal. "Stupid violin." Starkweather was still playing, but the instrument had lost its grip on her. Jaina stood up and wandered away with a deep sigh. "I just miss him," she said to the plague hound. "And I know it's stupid and he wasn't the same person I remember, but... he was... my friend."
He was my friend. Jaina knew it was just her thoughts echoing her statement, but it seemed almost as though that particular thought wasn't hers alone.
I miss him.
"I miss him a lot." Jaina shook off the eerie echo and scratched Dreilide's head. "Enough of this moping around, right? I've got an empire to build." She yawned. "In the morning."
