There was no way to satisfy everyone, no decision or stance that Anduin could take that would have widespread support among his peers. He'd heard from several of them, usually repeatedly, some louder than others, and as he leaned back in his throne and listened to a debate between Genn and Velen he already knew what he would have to do.
Anduin lifted his hand. "Enough. What's done is done, and nothing we do or say will change that. What happened was an internal Horde matter."
"Jaina-"
He cut Genn off. "Jaina is a member of the Horde. And while the circumstances were less than ideal, even she admits that the decision was justifiable."
"So do you intend to say nothing at all?" Tyrande's voice interrupted them as the High Priestess strode into the throne room. Her eyes locked onto Anduin's and Anduin knew that his day was only bound to get worse.
"No, I'll have a statement. But I'm not going to condemn Sylvanas for something we've all mostly accepted by now." His eyes flitted to Genn, then back to Tyrande. "Or do you deny that the existence of the DNR stones has been a net benefit to both sides? It's satisfied the Warchief's desire to see her people expanded, without grave-robbing or desecrations. Or that there are now members of the Alliance, of your own people, who are Forsaken? That system only functions if the deceased's wishes are respected...regardless of what they choose."
It had been that realization that had tempered his shock and grief the most; that as High King he spoke not just for the living, but the risen dead, and a number of individuals from non-alliance races who lived and worked within Alliance territories.
The Compact, after all, had been more than just a peace treaty. It had been the first step to a legitimate coalition between the Alliance and Horde, and on many occasions Anduin had considered what a formal union between the two might look like.
It had survived worse than Sylvanas raising her wife.
"I deny none of that," Tyrande replied. Her stance was tense, though her face was inscrutable. The darkness of her eyes drew him in like a moonless night. She withdrew her own stone, the red glow of the runes turning her face into a blood moon. "There has been much weighing on my mind these past years. For three decades my people have seen more change and suffering than we have in the previous three hundred. Or three thousand. But without the Alliance, we would have been annihilated. By the Legion. The Horde. Or something else entirely."
The stone slipped back into her pouch. Her eyes fell onto each of the leaders in turn before resting once again on Anduin. "And for that, I am forever grateful."
Anduin opened his mouth to say something, say anything to stop what he knew in his heart was coming, but no words came. Tyrande held up her hand anyway. "What Windrunner has done this time plays little more into my decision than to solidify it as the right thing to do for the Kaldorei. And I knew you would not condemn it, which simply makes it easier."
"High Priestess," Genn said, almost slack-jawed as he stared at Tyrande. "Surely you don't intend to leave the Alliance?"
"I intend exactly that, my friend." She favored him with a smile even as all Anduin could hear was rushing in his ears. "I would prefer to remain on good terms, as friends and partners, and I would not deny any Kaldorei who wished to remain with the Alliance."
"You would lose the protection of the Alliance armies and navies," Genn pointed out. "Even if your borders remain open for trade."
"They will."
Genn fell silent, and Anduin wondered what he was thinking.
"And what of the Shal'dorei?" Velen asked, his head tilted as he stared shrewdly at Tyrande.
Tyrande seemed to expect that question, and her smile reminded Anduin of a nightsaber on the prowl. "I have already negotiated an alliance with Suramar, to help heal a rift ten thousand years old."
Anduin stood from the throne. What he should do, as High King, was fight to keep the Night Elves within the Alliance. To do otherwise would be to show weakness, to show the other members of the Alliance that he didn't value them, when the truth was entirely the opposite. But if he fought too hard, it might make the other factions feel as though they might be forced to remain members. While in some ways he despised that the High King role even existed, he had to acknowledge that it did help prevent some of the infighting that had categorized the older forms of the alliance.
Moving down the steps until he stood in front of Tyrande, he looked up at her. "I could waste all our time, start an argument, dig into the minutia of Alliance treaties, but I won't. At the core of the Alliance is the tenet that this is an Alliance. That while we are stronger when we stand together, no member is permanently bound to remain. In fact, the Alliance has lost and gained members constantly over the centuries. It is in that spirit that I make this offer, High Priestess."
She tilted her head, waiting.
"Do what you think is best for your people, as always, but consider a formal compact with the Alliance and the Horde, so that we might all remain friends."
Tyrande did not hesitate, holding her hand out in the human fashion. Anduin grasped her in a firm wrist clasp, wondering at what cracks might spiderweb from this decision and knowing in hindsight that even if it hadn't been today, this would have happened sooner or later.
He stepped back, watching Tyrande depart, her shoulders set back and her back straight. Genn watched her go as well, seeming grayer, older and more frail than Anduin had ever seen him. His face was drawn, as if all the years had caught up to him.
"Genn?" He asked.
"I… have a lot to think about."
And then Genn was gone, leaving Anduin wondering if where the Kaldorei went the Worgen might follow. Slowly, he turned to look at the others. Velen was inscrutable and Anduin didn't want to think about what the Draenei might do. As much as Genn and Velen had been mentors to him, their people were so close to the Night Elves. Tyrande and Malfurion had brought both into the Alliance, positioned themselves as their closest allies.
"Ironforge stands with you, High King." The young King Dagran Thaurissan regarded him from where he stood near the representatives from Gnomeregan and the Lightforged. His intelligent green eyes seemed to take in everything and the whiteness of his hair made him look older than his 24 years.
Anduin wondered if he'd ever been that young, even if he was barely ten years the Dwarf's senior. "Thank you, Dagran."
Alleria's eyes remained transfixed down the hallway where Tyrande and Genn had gone, her face a carefully crafted mask.
Velen placed a hand on Anduin's shoulder and squeezed.
It was a small comfort, but one Anduin took anyway. He looked at the others, each in turn, before speaking. "The Alliance as a whole will maintain good ties with the Kaldorei, but you are all welcome, and encouraged, to seek diplomatic ties of your own."
They would get through this. They had to.
"With the right magical attunement the crops will practically grow themselves overnight," Valtrois said, leaning back in her seat, a glass of wine swirling in one hand and her legs crossed elegantly, one over the other. "There's the matter of exploding cabbages but that's what iteration is for."
The only thing that made today tolerable for Thalyssra was that it was not a day where Valtrois was offering her bedroom advice. It was usually good advice, but that was beside the point.
She rubbed two fingers against her temple. "And you just decided to get into agriculture because you were bored?"
"Naturally." Valtrois took a sip, eyeing Thalyssra over the glass as she did so. "I'd be a lot less bored if you'd only consider-"
"Tyrande is not interested," Thalyssra interjected. "No matter what you or Stellagosa might suggest to sweeten the offer."
"You've become such a prude." Valtrois scoffed, setting her drink down on a table next to her chair. "The offer remains open."
Thalyssra snorted, reaching for her own glass of wine to strengthen her resolve. Not just for Valtrois's antics, but for the speech she was preparing to give in just a few hours.
She stared at the scroll floating in front of her, a quill moving across the page as she changed her mind on sentence structure and order. Thalyssra became lost in the work, forgetting anyone else was there as she tried to fashion the most perfect speech-
Valtrois touched her arm and she nearly jumped out of her skin. "So it's true, then? We're to leave the Horde?"
Breathing out a curse, Thalyssra nodded. "Yes."
"And the rumors about allying ourselves with our kin?"
"If all goes well, all elves shall eventually be reunited under a single banner. The Covenant of the Skies." Stars, sun and moon, night and day. Perhaps the one thing that tied them all together was the sky and all that hung from it.
This time, Valtrois was the one taking a fortifying drink. Of Thalyssra's wine, she might add. "I'd say such a goal is impossible, but the Horde and Alliance are making kissy face together so what's possible or not went out the window years ago."
"Your confidence is reassuring," Thalyssra remarked. She reached out, rolling up the scroll; she had most of what she wanted to say memorized by now anyway.
"Covenant of the Skies." Valtrois tilted her head. "How pretentious, I love it. Your idea, or your paramour's?"
"One of her acolytes suggested it. Alyssa Moonsong." Another bottle of wine floated over and refilled their cups. "It really is delightfully pretentious, isn't it?"
"I'm surprised no one was petty enough to suggest the Darnassian League," Valtrois said. "A rather pointed thumbing of the nose at Sylvanas in particular."
The tone of Valtrois's voice gave Thalyssra pause. Her fellow mage had been quite vocal, if sarcastically so, during the early days of the Blood War and then steadfastly refused to speak to her until nearly a year after the signing of the compact. "I-"
"Listen. I'm beyond delighted that it is you in particular who's removed the stick that was lodged-"
"Valtrois."
"-up Tyrande's finely shaped ass, and it is about time we put those petty differences behind us." Valtrois pressed her palm to her heart. "I'm with you in this. And while Stellagosa has to remain officially neutral, she is pleased as well."
"Where is your mate, anyway?"
"Some errand up north," Valtrois waved her hand dismissively. "As long as she brings me something fun to play with she can take all the time she needs."
Hell had always been a place of Jaina's own making. There were days and weeks and months where all she had to do was close her eyes and she could see her mistakes and her hurts like the letters on the page of a book. The people she hadn't saved, the ones she'd sentenced to death by her actions, the ghosts of her past that would forever haunt her.
There was a certain irony that she hadn't been able to escape death. If she took a moment and really thought about it, it was that fear of what awaited her that had stayed her hand in taking her stone.
There was equal irony in knowing what she'd seen in those seconds before she'd been torn back to the world. To know, to feel with absolute certainty that peace had awaited her, a peace that she would now never experience. Jaina was tired to her bones and it was a fatigue that would now be with her for as long as she existed.
Maybe that was why she was punishing herself by coming to Kul Tiras, to the place of her own murder. Jaina wanted, needed to know how her homeland now looked at her.
She was a little disappointed that she wasn't outright shunned. Some looked at her warily, a few with suspicion. No one really welcomed her the way they might once have, though she still found it in herself to summon a playful water elemental, and it drew out a few children.
The piece of ice that had replaced her heart thawed, just a little.
Jaina found herself near the keep, and climbed the ramparts to look out towards the port. A half-dozen ships were docked or lay at anchor, including two Kul Tiran sloops, a Pandaran trading vessel and the gilded lines of a Zandalari cruiser.
Gods, once upon a time the sight of that Zandalari ship would have sent chills down her spine and alarms ringing throughout the city.
"Mother," Kalira said, materializing on her left. Tyra had not accompanied them on this trip, her duties taking her to parts that Jaina didn't give a damn about right now.
She did not respond to her daughter, leaning on the stone, her eyes looking far out to sea.
Kalira put her hand on Jaina's back, holding it there. It was another long moment before she spoke. "I don't remember what it was I saw when I died. What I do remember is how it felt. The pain faded, the world became warm and calm, like being in the womb again. There was peace, and a sound like bells calling me home."
The blue of Jaina's eyes burned like cold fire as she swiveled her head and shoulders to stare at her.
"I was ripped away from that gentle embrace, lifted up into an existence I had neither asked for, nor wanted. I spent years wallowing in my own misery until I forgot what joy even felt like."
"You're telling me I should stop moping and get over it," Jaina said icily.
"No. All I'm saying is that I understand. Tyra too. But there's joy to be found in this existence, if you're willing to look for it."
Jaina pushed away from the wall, walking back down the stairs and away from the keep. Kalira followed and Jaina didn't try to lose her. Instead, she walked through the city, from neighborhood to neighborhood. She didn't intend to go anywhere in particular, but she found herself slowing as she began to recognize where her feet had taken her.
All right, she thought. Maybe it was a good idea. She did try to make it a point to visit the old lady whenever she was in Boralus, after all; it would be rude not to. The thought almost made her smile.
A rippling snarl interrupted her thoughts as they passed a jeweler's shop. Jaina jumped, and Kalira's hand twitched toward her bow; but the jowly mastiff didn't seem to be reacting to any threat. It had gone from sprawling in the sun outside its master's door to giving low, booming barks at absolutely nothing, backing into the doorway as-
As the two Forsaken on the street came closer.
Jaina's blood would have gone cold, if it wasn't already. The jeweler rushed to pull his still-growling dog inside, stumbling over apologies, and she waved the man off with a sharp motion. No apparent threat, she thought bitterly. That was a good joke.
"It's fine," she said, voice hollow. "It's only natural, after all."
She hadn't quite noticed it before, but she couldn't help it now. She wasn't certain whether yapping terriers in the windows were barking at her, or because that was what terriers did; but she was certain the street cats of Boralus had never bolted or hissed at her with this kind of uniformity before. And she doubted the carthorses and courier ponies thronging the streets were being pulled to the side of the road and held well back until she and Kalira passed because all of Kul Tiras suddenly felt extremely polite.
The tender part of her wanted to turn back, insisted there was no point in continuing just to hurt herself; but Jaina wasn't in any state to listen to that part. Nothing more to lose, after all. What could one more rejection do, anyway? Kill her?
She let herself in by the rear gate of an old alehouse, managing not to step in anything as she let herself into the yard. It was hardly a sprawling estate; but that there was paddock space at all behind their stables spoke to the inn's stature as a very old establishment, and the yard was well-kept and clean. Chickens and a goose picked their way freely in the thin grass, a pig dozed in a pen that was mostly mud but smelled clean, and a fine black stallion was enjoying his oats in the guest stables. Jaina, distracted by fiddling with the latch on the gate, didn't realize she was being approached until big yellow teeth tugged firmly on her sleeve. .
Jaina froze, turning to look into sunken dark eyes, ears as long as her forearm flicking forward in cheerful recognition. Always white-flecked with roaning, the fur around Millet's muzzle and ears was much greyer than the last Jaina had seen her, and her back drooped in a gentle U. It reminded her a bit of Khadgar.
Millet huffed, nuzzling at her again, frustrated by the lack of an apple or another treat. But she didn't flinch away from Jaina's scent. It was as though she was still the woman who had cared for her when she'd been sick and then spoiled her rotten every time she saw her, much to a certain Troll's displeasure.
Jaina swallowed, throat somehow still working through the psychological response, and ran a shaking hand down Millet's neck. "H.. hey girl. Does Ihz know how bad your manners have gotten?"
Her friend would probably forgive her for the bad habits, all things considered. Jaina had bought Millet herself when Ihz, wringing her hands and swallowing thickly, had confessed the big draught mare was nearly past work. A kind word and a quick, painless death was the best thing a working supply-train handler could offer an elderly mule; but Jaina had slightly better means and access to the Proudmoore Keep stables. The innkeeper's son had served under Tandred; he'd been more than happy to provide a quieter retirement home for an old friend, once he heard the Lord Admiral was looking.
It was hard not to love Millet, after all, Jaina thought through her daze as the old lady lipped at her ear.
It took a lot of training and time to get any animal used to the scent of the undead; for a prey creature it was twice as hard. Jaina had always known that Ihz put a great deal of effort into her counterconditioning. She'd understood, intellectually, that the vast majority of living animals feared the Forsaken by instinct, she'd just...never fully realized what that meant, in practice. But Millet pressed her big, blocky head into Jaina's chest,and it was all Jaina could do to not bury her face into the fur that was still soft after all these years. If she'd been capable of crying she would have sobbed her feelings out.
She conjured a little treat, a sweet mana apple that nearly cost her a finger. Jaina had created that spell just for Millet, and she grinned for the first time since she'd learned of her mother's death and smoothed a bit of fur on Millet's nape.
"I guess it's true; no matter how much things can change, others remain the same. Here I am, my life turned upside down, talking to a mule. Only we're both different. Getting on in years."
Unlike Jaina, Millet wasn't frozen in time. Over twenty-five years as a working pack mule took their toll, even with Ihz's careful attention. She couldn't tell how many more years the elderly lady still had, but they were finite in number. For a brief, mad moment, Jaina wondered how Sylvanas would react if she asked her to raise a mule.
But she dismissed the idea out of hand. She couldn't do that to her old friend, and Ihz would kill her if she tried it anyway.
Jaina gave in and pressed her face into Millet's neck, holding that position for a long time, moving only to supply the mule with further mana apples.
Movement made her lift her head. A girl approached, maybe eight or just a small for her age twelve, Jaina couldn't really tell. Her voice sounded a little too rough as she asked, "Is Millet yours?"
"Me grandsire's," the girl said, her Kul Tiran accent thick. She climbed onto the fence on the opposite side of Millet's head and sat on it, brushing her hand down the mule's neck. "He bought her off a Troll a couple seasons ago. Can still pull a wagon or a light sleigh, but I think grandad jus' likes havin' her around."
"She's a friendly face," Jaina agreed, conjuring another apple and tossing it over Millet's head for the girl to give to her. "And a war veteran. Did you know that?"
The girl shook her head. Like Millet, Jaina's state didn't seem to bother her.
"Yes. The Lady has seen many conflicts, and has been a dear friend to me for…" Longer than that girl had been alive, really. "A very long time."
Jaina looked at her own hand, fingers like pale icicles against Millet's fur. The mule turned her head, butting it against Jaina's arm. Jaina found herself speaking before she could stop herself. "She's saved my life a few times, including the day we met. Once, it was just after the Old God attack on Orgrimmar…"