Day after day, night after night, Jaina felt her nerves fraying. It didn't help that her sleep was so often interrupted by bad dreams and nightmares. Most of them faded as soon as she woke up sweating or screaming, but a few lingered. Jaina was used to this; the last time she'd slept through the night had been before Theramore.

Sylvanas was never there. While Jaina saw her sometimes in their quarters, she never hung around in the evenings past the opportunity to wish her good night. Jaina couldn't tell if Sylvanas was being serious or if she was somehow mocking her, and she didn't know which was worse.

She developed a routine: make an appearance in Grommash Hold in the morning or when she was summoned, and otherwise memorize Orgrimmar. Jaina wasn't sure what she'd do after that, but it was a start. She had a hard enough time reminding herself that she wasn't powerless, because it certainly felt like it.

There were several locations she discovered that made for good hiding spots and yet somehow, invariably, Tyra would find her. It was frustrating when she just wanted a few minutes to breathe without eyes constantly on her.

By the end of the first week she was able to figure out the farthest she could go into Durotar without raising any alarms. It was harder for Tyra to find her there, and she spent a good hour curled into a ball behind a boulder. Jaina didn't cry, but she felt better when the only thing around her was stillness.

If given a choice, she'd prefer Thunder Bluff. Orgrimmar had its own sort of beauty if one really tried to look, but Thunder Bluff felt more welcoming and had a much better view from the triple-mesa than most spots in Orgrimmar. She arranged a weekly lunch with Baine, which Nathanos derisively called a 'tea party.'

Sylvanas had watched the exchange with a bored expression on her face, though Jaina could have sworn there'd been the ghost of a smile on Sylvanas's lips after Jaina had told Nathanos exactly where he could stick a teapot.

That had been several days ago. This afternoon Jaina perched on a convenient rock, out of the flow of traffic within the Valley of Honor. Most gave her a wide berth and her so-called bodyguard kept herself busy fishing in the water nearby. Tyra had once been a rogue, or so she claimed, which probably explained how a warrior could be so damn sneaky. But she was making no attempt to hide her presence today.

"If you're so bored, you could go somewhere else," Jaina suggested. "I'm not going anywhere."

Shrugging, the Forsaken baited her hook. "The Dark Lady commands and I obey."

"If the Dark Lady commanded you to jump in the ocean, would you do it?"

"She'd have a reason for it, aye?" Tyra cast her line and Jaina dropped the subject.

Her eyes fell to a line of ears dangling from Tyra's belt and she wrinkled her nose. Barbaric. Jaina refused to think who those ears might have once belonged to so as not to make herself sick.

So she looked somewhere else, watching a blacksmith work at an anvil. The Orc's powerful muscles rippled as she swung her hammer, sweat beading on her brow and biceps.

She lifted her shirt to wipe at her face, exposing chiseled abs, and Jaina stared for far too long before she glanced away, face heating up.

In that direction, a Sin'dorei woman sunned herself as if she was unconcerned with the dangers of Tyra's fishing hook catching her or the fact she was practically naked and being served a drink by a succubus. Was that really necessary? Jaina didn't know if she was jealous of the elf's freedom (and golden skin) or just that lonely.

The blacksmith was handing over a set of delicate steel bars-levers, maybe, tools or bridle bits-to a lanky Troll girl in dusty leathers. Jaina watched the muscles move under the orc's tight shirt and decided she was just that lonely.

"Oh." The realization struck her, hard: Jaina was never going to know another person's touch again. Not intimately. She'd had a few lovers after Arthas, but most of those had been before the manabomb.

Jaina was married to the Warchief. Her being unfaithful would have devastating political consequences. Even if she was the kind of person willing to seek out an affair there were few people willing to cross Sylvanas Windrunner; Jaina could probably find a lover willing to do so out of spite, but she wouldn't risk someone else's life for it.

Sylvanas was the only option, which meant Jaina had no options at all. She didn't even know if it were possible; and even if it were, that was a line she wasn't willing to cross. The marriage wasn't real and Sylvanas's hands were soaked in blood.

Let everyone assume all they wanted about what went on in the Warchief's private quarters. Jaina would never give them the satisfaction of being right-even if it meant no one would ever be touching her again.

If asked, Sylvanas would say that she no longer felt tiredness or weariness. It was a lie, of course. Even if her stamina and strength was beyond that of mortals, she'd eventually require rest. And she hadn't rested since well before the wedding.

Today she could feel an ache in her bones and a heaviness in her mind that she only felt when other people were being particularly grating. And today's aggravation had made her question her decision to keep Gallywix alive.

She was still questioning that decision as she started ascending the steps to her quarters, though she put it out of her mind as she got closer. According to Tyra, Jaina had spent most of the day in the Valley of Honor people-watching, with a detour through the Drag later in the afternoon. Tyra had also had a comment about beefy orcs and pretty elves, and Sylvanas would need to have a word about that. Jaina was hers; and if looking extended to touching, there would be consequences.

Sylvanas just didn't trust Jaina entirely. Too many times already she'd bent rules or pushed hard, trying to find weaknesses and loopholes. It was exactly what Sylvanas would have done-and that was exactly why trust would be withheld.

For now, if not forever.

Inside, Sylvanas moved through the hallway to the bedroom, spotting no sign of her wife. Her wedding armor still lay in the corner where Jaina had left it, and she let her cape drop to the floor followed by the rest of her armor. Leaving it there, she walked into the common area in only her pants and a thin, short top.

Alone was good right now. Sylvanas had already shown too much vulnerability around Jaina. To maintain her power, she must be seen as strong and ruthless, without any physical flaws. Sylvanas couldn't become tired. She could fight until her body fell apart, but she'd never show it.

Sitting on the couch, Sylvanas leaned back into the cushions, her head falling over the back as she closed her eyes. She actually missed sleep, but she knew if she ever did sleep, somehow, she'd be haunted by nightmares.

Thinking of nightmares made her think of Jaina, and she wondered what really plagued the mage at night. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out Jaina's hearthstone, holding it up to the light. Was it just the memory of Theramore, or was it something more? Did Arthas haunt Jaina's sleep the same way he haunted the black depths of Sylvanas's mind?

Hatred of Arthas had fueled her for years, and she'd struggled to find that same level of rage for anything else. A night like tonight, and Sylvanas almost thought the endless darkness would be better than the emptiness inside her chest.

Shuddering, she shook the thought off. No. There was nothing anyone could do to her that would make her long for that empty blackness. Against her will, the memory surfaced. Cold. Hopelessness. Her spirit had been whole for the first time since Arthas and still she'd suffered. Claws had torn at her, terrors in the darkness and Sylvanas could not scream for she had no mouth.

It was her future, this endless void of untold agony. Sylvanas had fled from it to the warm arms of the Valkyr and she could not deny, even to herself, that all of her actions since had been to spare herself that anguish.

Was that the fate of all the Forsaken, or just those who'd been directly tortured by Frostmourne?

Sylvanas lost track of the time and of herself for so long that she was startled when the door opened. By the time Jaina had walked into the room, Sylvanas had made sure the hearthstone was safely stored away and had shaken off whatever had affected her.

Jaina's eyes fell to the exposed skin of Sylvanas's stomach and the way her top threatened to ride up even higher, and Sylvanas quirked an eyebrow. "Find something you like?"

Coughing, Jaina disappeared. Sylvanas chuckled, sliding gracefully to her feet to follow her. In the bedroom, she studied Jaina's bare back as she undressed, her fingers itching slightly in memory of removing the wedding dress. It was a curious feeling, and Sylvanas set it aside to be ignored.

"Would you prefer the grotesque muscles of an orc? The warm skin of one of the Sin'dorei?" She stepped in against Jaina's back, hands on her arms as the woman stiffened.

"Whatever Tyra told you, she's exaggerating." Jaina's voice was tight, cracking at the end. "I'm perfectly aware that taking a lover will never be an option."

"Perhaps I could take you to Goldshire if you so desperately need to be fucked." Letting go of Jaina, Sylvanas peeled her clothing off as she stepped towards the bathroom. She turned towards her, allowing Jaina the full view and keeping her tone carefully mundane. "Or you could join me in the bath."

Sylvanas turned away again. She'd barely taken a step before a burning hand gripped her shoulder.

Jaina's voice was controlled and far too close to Sylvanas's left ear as the heat of Jaina's skin burned into Sylvanas's back. "For someone who spends so much time acting like a heartless bitch, you're really desperate to touch me."

Sylvanas clenched her hands into fists as the rustling of fabric accompanied an itch on her skin when Jaina teleported away.

Outside of the city, Jaina felt less like she was suffocating. She squeezed her eyes shut, but that did little to remove the image that was still emblazoned on her mind or the burning in her skin where Sylvanas had been touching her. This had been different than the last time. The last time there'd been blood and anger and the very real possibility of breaking the compact the very first night.

Jaina tried not to think of the fact that she almost craved being touched again, instead marveling that the cuts on Sylvanas's back had completely disappeared.

The air was crisp and a little chilly. Jaina pulled her nightrobe closer around her body as she found herself near some of the pig farms, the gates of Orgrimmar a shadowy silhouette behind her. She felt so tired, so drained, the stress threatening to push her to the edge of a breakdown. Part of her wanted to give up. In the distance she heard the sound of music. Weeks since the wedding and some celebrations were still ongoing. She supposed it was the same in Stormwind, though a dark, angry part of her hoped that they wore black in Boralus.

At least it was silent out here, except for the snoring of a nearby pig and the repetitive sound of hoofbeats and a quiet voice.

Unable to help herself, Jaina approached the sound of that voice. Near the road leading towards the Barrens, a Troll walked in a small circle, guiding a roan mule. Jaina recognized her from the Valley, earlier in the day. She'd been picking up tack rather than engineering parts then, most likely.

"Tha's it, beauty. Keep movin' now, steady on." The mule stopped, digging her hooves into the red dirt and trying to pull her head around toward her stomach until the troll put enough steady pressure to get her moving again. "Wha'd I jus' say? Pick it up there, Millet. Easy lovely. It's not pain that'll kill you 'less you let it, beautiful girl."

Trying to make sense of the scene, Jaina leaned on a rickety wooden fence. "Is she okay?"

"Colic."

Colic? Jaina had never known mules could get colic.

Reading her surprise, the troll gave a short grunt. "All dis excitement," she murmured, running a hand over the mule's neck as it tried to kick at its stomach. "Mules don' colic easy but she's a shy li'l thing, you know? An' dis nonsense, all th' noise an' crowds, spendin' too much time cooped up in a stall, city rations too rich...ah, beauty. My fault. Na-ah. Stay on yer feet girl."

She had vague, distant memories of helping the innkeeper in Theramore with her daughter. Her heart clenched at the memory of Janene. She'd refused to leave with the rest of the people they'd evacuated before the attack and had perished along with everyone else. The baby had been given to Janene's brother to raise.

"I know a spell that might help," Jaina said, watching as the troll and her mule circled in her direction. At least, it had helped the baby feel more at ease.

The troll squinted at her, then replied, "Na."

To Jaina's surprise, she found the rope thrust into her hands. "What-"

"Keep her movin'," the troll said, hopping over the fence.

"But-"

"Movin', so she don't go down. Walk inna circle, if ya can figure it out." Without waiting for Jaina to reply, she jogged off towards the city.

Jaina looked down at the rope, then sighed and climbed over the fence, her robe snagging for a brief moment.

She rubbed her hand along the mule's snout, wondering if the troll even knew who she was, or who she was married to. Jaina was so far the only permanent human resident in the city, though that might change as the months wore on.

She tried to imagine Orcs walking freely through Stormwind and to her surprise she could barely feel any revulsion at the thought. Maybe she was just too tired for it. Maybe part of her already believed in the sham. Maybe she was still thinking about that damn blacksmith.

Better her than Sylvanas, anyway.

Tugging on the rope, Jaina got the mule reluctantly moving. "I know it hurts, but you can't lie down right now. You can't."

She understood the animal's reluctance. How much easier it would be to give in to the pain, to just… curl up and die. Jaina pursed her lips, as the mule stopped again and this time refused to budge. "Come on. I'm stubborn too. This is a fight you're not going to win."

Still, the mule stood there, then started to get down on her knees.

Shit.

"You have to keep moving. You have to walk through the night if you want it to get better," Jaina said, feeling stupid for talking to a mule like it would somehow understand her. Stroking the beast's neck, Jaina managed to get the mule standing again. "That's right. Don't give in, don't lie down. If you do, you'll never get back up. Do you really want to die that way?"

She could read the pain in the mule's dark eyes, and she produced a muffin in a swirl of the arcane. Sometimes you just had to resort to bribery. "I doubt you're hungry right now, but I've got more of these where they came from if you just make it through this. It was Millet, right?"

Jaina spoke calmly, evenly, weaving reassurance into her voice like a spell. It seemed to work; at least, the mule got to moving again. She gave a relieved sigh. Jaina hadn't been sure how she could have talked Sylvanas into letting her access her accounts to buy some troll a new mule. And a new mule could never soothe the ache of losing one of your animals, anyway.

Thinking about it, she realized she needed to talk to her about the accounts. Just not tonight. She'd seen far too much of Sylvanas tonight.

She lost track of the time, moving the mule in a slow, endless circle. Occasionally, Millet would nibble at the muffin in Jaina's hand. Just a little bit, and hopefully a sign she was feeling better. She made for a good listener, at least, as Jaina poured out her frustrations and fears to the animal.

It wasn't until much later, after the troll had returned with a short, gruff apology for taking so long, after Jaina had left a basket of mana muffins for both master and mule and returned to the city, that Jaina's own words to the mule really sank in.

You have to keep moving. You have to walk through the night if you want it to get better.