***Long Ago***

Music drifted to Sylvanas's ears, a pleasant tune that almost always made her smile. She didn't often come to these festivals, preferring to train or go on patrol. Someone had to, after all, and Sylvanas was never as much at home as she was in the woods and forests, where she could feel life all around her. She was so attuned to the wilds that she sometimes preferred them to the company of people.

But today she'd come to the festival. Today she'd arrived with bells on, as the humans liked to say, and for a very specific purpose. But then, Sylvanas had always been a woman of purpose. And she watched her purpose talking with her mother.

Feydori Sundreamer was tall, taller than Lireesa Windrunner but not quite as tall as Sylvanas. She wore a light sundress, blue to compliment her dark hair, woven through with silver thread in leaf-like patterns. The skirt rustled around her knees in a soft breeze, and Sylvanas forgot how to breathe when she looked in her direction and smiled.

She wasn't used to this, the music and dancing and people in dresses. She felt naked in hers and could only imagine that Feydori felt the same. They belonged to the woods.

Someone touched her elbow and she jumped.

"Perhaps you should close your mouth and go talk to her."

Alleria stepped into Sylvanas's vision, holding the hand of a silver-haired child. Sylvanas ignored her older sister, instead reaching over and rustling Vereesa's hair. "You look lovely, little one."

"We're going dancing," Vereesa declared.

"First, we're going to help Sylvanas with a problem," Alleria declared, eyes sparkling.

"What sort of problem?"

"The problem where she's not dancing with Feydori."

"Alleria-"

Vereesa let go of her hand and rushed towards Feydori, shouting. "Feydori! Sylvanas wants to dance with you!"

"I'm killing you later," Sylvanas growled. Alleria's laughter made her face heat up, which only made her angrier.

Someone took her hands and she turned her glare from Alleria to - Feydori. Her gaze immediately softened as she allowed herself to be led away by her friend.

"So you wish for a dance?" The heat of Feydori's hands left pleasant burns when they rested on her hips.

Sylvanas gave her a smile. "To start."

She was rewarded with a flush from Feydori, and slid her arms around her. It didn't really matter what the bards played; her focus was on her fellow ranger. She swayed with her, taking them on a lazy loop towards a grove of trees.

"Did I tell you I got a promotion?" Feydori pressed her body in against Sylvanas, speaking softly as they were nose to nose.

"So I heard." Pride swelled through Sylvanas's heart; except perhaps herself there was no finer archer among their people.

"And here I was hoping to be the one to tell you."

They'd sway-danced right into the grove, disappearing from the view of the others in the festival. Feydori pulled away and Sylvanas felt her absence keenly even though she still held her hand. She studied the way sunlight filtered through the trees to dance on Feydori's face. "You look beautiful when you're happy."

"I'm not beautiful any other time?" Feydori laughed, letting go of Sylvanas and spinning around.

"Oh, you're always beautiful, Fey," Sylvanas assured her. "Even if I'm not used to seeing you dressed up."

"You should see yourself." Fey spun closer, and Sylvanas captured her in her arms. She leaned her head on Sylvanas's shoulder, and added, "So, we've danced. What's next?"

Sylvanas pinned her against a tree, her knee slipping between Feydori's legs and her lips pressing against the other woman's with a need that surprised even herself.

Strong fingers tangled in her hair and Sylvanas allowed herself to let go of her senses.

***Now***

It was the third year after the Undercity had been rendered uninhabitable, and it would be many more yet before anyone could reclaim it. Sylvanas had been treating the shifting demographics of Orgrimmar as a sort of trial run; Lordaeron would be the Forsaken's again, but they might just have to share it with the living.

She lifted her eyes from Jaina's left hand, turning her gaze to all that were assembled. Her consort had skipped the ceremony last year, and Sylvanas hadn't asked her to come this time; yet she had of her own free will. Perhaps she was curious to see what differences there were between Horde and Alliance customs.

It almost made Sylvanas feel something. She absently rested her hand on the tall Wickerman that had been built in front of Orgrimmar. This was an ancient ritual that both Lordaeron and Gilneas had shared; she felt great pleasure at how Genn must feel about the way she'd co-opted it for her people. It was, after all, the day they'd freed themselves from the Lich King. Greymane might burn his Wickerman, but it couldn't compare to the sense of freedom and independence that Sylvanas felt when she ignited that fire.

She'd changed her speech only twice in all the years she'd given it. First, after they'd retreated from the Undercity, to inspire her people and give them fresh hope. And the second time was for today.

Sylvanas raised her voice so that she could be heard by all, and was surprised when Jaina's subtle magic amplified her voice further. "Citizens of the Horde, heed my call! We have, each of us, suffered unspeakable tragedies. Our homes razed and burned, families and friends cut down. Some of us have even been denied the sweet release of death. Now we burn this wickerman as a symbol. A symbol of victory over old enemies and hope in a new dawn. We paint our faces with the ash to send a message to all who would oppose us, to those who would see us as monsters and demons. We are not monsters! We are not the boogeymen who scare children but something far worse! We are Forsaken!"

Her people, her charge and reason for existence raised their voices and their weapons.

A bitter smile crossed Sylvanas's face."We are Sin'dorei!"

There was a brief murmur of surprise before Elf voices joined in.

"We are Orc! We are Troll! Tauren! Shal'dorei! Pandaran! Goblin!" Sylvanas continued through each of the races of the Horde, voices joining her as they were called out, until they all shouted as one reverberating roar.

"We are the Horde!"

Before Sylvanas could reach for the torch, Jaina lifted her hand, a small, dim flame forming in her palm. She waved and ignited the Wickerman. Sylvanas kept her face neutral, feeling something that wasn't quite amusement, but wasn't anger either. Jaina could still surprise her.

As the flames ran up the straw and wood, she held her hand out for Jaina. Jaina took it, and Sylvanas watched the fire reflected in her eyes. She stood unmoving as the Wickerman burned, fingers laced with Jaina's as ash fell slowly onto them like smoldering snow, the only light from the bonfire and a few torches scattered around.

Jaina stepped forward, scooping some ash from the ground and turning to Sylvanas. She stroked her fingers across Sylvanas's eyes, and then each of her cheeks. The passage of her fingers burned; Sylvanas couldn't tell if that was the ash or just Jaina's natural heat.

She did the same to Jaina, thumb lingering after drawing a single line down the center of her lips. Jaina looked hauntingly beautiful, her cheeks smudged and dark grey ash around her eyes and on her lips.

They then stood in silent vigil as her people jostled forward to complete the ritual. Some marked the faces of their mates and their friends. Others marked their own. A few did nothing. An Orc smeared her entire bare chest with both hands, her face ghoulishly painted with the soot. Tyra took up a vigil to Jaina's right, slightly behind her. Her own face was absent of ash save for a single streak on her left cheek.

It was the same every year, for her. A single streak, same spot without fail. Jaina looked at her curiously and Sylvanas leaned in, voice low. "If she wishes to explain, she will tell you. We each have our reasons. Some paint themselves as ghouls to frighten or protect. Others carry marks for those they've lost, or to remind themselves of who they once were. It can be very complicated and personal."

A troll cartwheeled past them, and Sylvanas sighed.

"And sometimes they're just idiots."

Jaina's eyes flicked to Sylvanas's cheeks, expression chagrined. Sylvanas felt herself smile, though it came across as a dark smirk.

"I have no particular custom of my own for this." She took in Jaina's face. "Not until now."

Anduin leaned his chin on his fist, watching Genn as he all but wore a groove into the ground. The older man had been pacing for the better part of twenty minutes, his footsteps echoing off the marble floor. Anduin sniggered.

"Did you just laugh at me?"

Anduin shook his head and pointed at a Worgen rogue who was flipping through some papers. She snapped her head up, indignation in every inch of her bristling fur, and he shrugged apologetically at her with a sheepish grin.

Genn snorted, but he stopped his infernal pacing. "I'm just concerned."

"We all are." Anduin held up a hand, and turned back to the rogue. "Talet. The Horde ship should be arriving soon. Could you please escort their envoys to the Keep?"

Talet flicked her ears in acknowledgement, cast a wary look at Genn, then beat a hasty retreat before the king framed her for anything else.

"Really Anduin? Blaming the champions?" Genn folded his arms, some amusement edging into his voice.

Grinning at him, Anduin leaned back on the throne. "Maybe you should settle down. Your nervous energy is giving my nervous energy nervous energy."

"The banshee is up to something," Genn insisted. But he always insisted Sylvanas was up to something; suspicion was his natural state of being. It wasn't as if Anduin was without his concerns, but there came a point where vigilance turned into jumping at shadows.

"She's up to diplomacy. How terrifying." Anduin grinned at Genn's expression.

"You should be terrified." Genn fixed him with a look. "Our spies report everything is quiet in Orgrimmar, and has been for some time."

It was always a bit concerning when Sylvanas went quiet. But they'd learned the hard way not to read too far into silence. It was never good to trust any of their intel when the Horde was chatty, either; not without a lot of second guessing. "What do they say about Jaina?"

Genn scowled, then spat out begrudgingly. "Nothing. She's taken on… duties."

Anduin waited patiently as Genn moved his jaw like he was chewing on the words, then prompted, "What sort of duties?"

"Paperwork. She's managed to turn the Horde's paperwork into something resembling neat and tidy."

"Jaina always enjoyed that kind of thing," Anduin pointed out, feeling a spark of excitement. It felt good to know that she was finding an outlet. "You're acting like we've lost a tactical advantage."

"We have, your majesty."

Anduin burst out laughing. "A filing system gave us a tactical advantage?!"

Genn huffed in displeasure and Anduin started laughing again. "Orgrimmar has a public library now, thanks to Lady Proudmoore. And she participated on Hallow's End, lighting the Wickerman."

"These are good things, Genn." Anduin wiped a stray tear from his eye. They were good things, he truly believed that. "And it sets my mind at ease. I know you were suspicious about her letters, but the tone matches what our spies have passed on. Jaina is okay." He got to his feet. "Now, let's greet our guests and get on with the business of this trade agreement."

The old wolf nodded, then looked down the ramp leading to the throne room and his eyes about bugged out. Anduin followed his gaze and straightened as Jaina Proudmoore led the Horde envoys towards him. That was unexpected, and Anduin found himself completely unprepared for the sight of her. Her hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, bangs hanging loose and making her seem younger somehow with the way they framed her face. More surprising was the colors of her robes. They were red, with gold running down her neckline. Was Jaina the Horde envoy?

She looked determined, though when she caught him staring at her a glint appeared in her eyes.

Sensing that formality was required here, he found his voice. "Lady Proudmoore! This is a surprise."

Jaina grinned at him, inclining her head to the both of them. "King Wrynn. King Greymane."

He put his hand on Genn's shoulder before the man combusted. Genn growled under his breath. "What is she doing here? This is unacceptable. If she is here, how can she keep Sylvanas honest?"

Hearing him, Jaina quirked her left eyebrow. "You forget I can teleport there in an instant, should the Warchief choose to break her side of the Compact while I'm here. But she won't do that, any more than you would risk breaking it yourselves. Everything is fine, Genn. I promise, both as your friend and as an envoy of the Horde."

Anduin felt like his stomach was going to drop into his knees. Jaina spoke for the Horde so casually, and for a brief, horrible moment he envisioned Jaina strapped to a chair while Sylvanas tortured her and broke her mind. He shook the image from his mind. If Jaina was in a state like that, he'd know. Instinctively, he'd know.

Genn sneered but Anduin held up his hand before things went in an uncomfortable direction. "Well then, let's get the preliminaries out of the way and then I'll have someone show you to where you'll be staying for the duration of this conference."

It was strange, Anduin thought. How they were all here talking and yet every person in the room had buckets of blood on their hands from battles that had occurred barely 16 months ago. Some of them had probably faced him; he remembered the face of every person he'd killed, and wondered if someone who'd loved them was at this conference.

It was a guilt that kept him up most nights. Over leading the Alliance into war, over the death and misery that they'd suffered, that he'd inflicted on others.

When he was very small, his father missing and assumed dead, Bolvar Fordragon had taken him aside one night.

A wise and just king never seeks out war, Bolvar had told him. But he must always be ready for the day it comes.

Even Bolvar had assumed that war was inevitable, be it from the Horde or another outside source. And he'd been right, for the most part. Anduin had strived to make his father understand those words; often, he wondered if that was what had gotten him killed.

At least he could genuinely say that Sylvanas had been the one to bring the last war to him.

His eyes fell on Jaina. Their greatest hope and their greatest fear. He remembered the time, when he was still in that lanky, awkward stage of his life, when Jaina had been everything he'd wanted to be. Kind. Just. Peaceful yet unyielding in the face of danger.

Her change had broken his heart, so to see her like this, deftly walking both sides through the trade negotiations, was a salve on his heart. He was glad he'd come to observe today.

"She looks well."

Anduin turned his head slightly as Velen leaned in beside him. "I'm glad. Her letters have been brief, and I couldn't tell if she wasn't allowed to say much or just unsure how much she could get away with. But she does look like she's in her element. Even Genn has relaxed."

Velen turned his eyes to where Genn was standing stiffly, shoulders tense. "About as relaxed as he ever gets."

Managing to keep his face straight, Anduin regarded his mentor. He'd had a long line of them, starting with Bolvar, but Velen was so ancient and wise that it was intimidating. Even Tyrande and Malfurion were half Velen's age. He sometimes felt like a baby in comparison. "How are your people faring? We haven't had much chance to speak of late."

"They are well. We have spent so long in the shadow of war that I was grateful for this peace. We need to remember what that was like. We need to remember how to stand down."

That was a lesson the whole of Azeroth needed to learn. Anduin leaned his elbow on an armrest. "Have you heard from Tyrande and Malfurion?"

Velen inclined his head in a short nod. "Malfurion is still working with Magni, communing with nature to heal the damage we have wrought on our world. Tyrande has taken the seed that the Herald of Aviana discovered sprouting within Teldrassil and intends to plant it somewhere in the Eastern Kingdoms with the aid of the Ancients and the Cenarion Circle."

"Do you know where?"

Velen looked at Genn again, and Anduin sighed heavily.

"Gilneas is not among the lands barred to the Kaldorei for such purposes in the compact," Velen pointed out, a smile growing on his face. "Even Windrunner would have to concede that she was outplayed in that."

A World Tree in Gilneas, Anduin thought. It was almost as strange a thought as the rumors he'd heard of Tyrande reaching out to the Shal'dorei. "I pray she at least gives the Horde a five minute warning before planting the thing, even if she technically doesn't have to." He paused, then turned more fully to Velen. "Herald of Aviana?"

"A Kaldorei druid with a particular affinity for Aviana," Velen explained. He pointed his chin towards a dark-skinned champion standing at attention nearby. "Her mate."

Aviana was some kind of guardian or wild god. Anduin remembered something about her having a relation to both harpies and ravens.

He nodded as he studied the woman Velen had pointed out. "I remember. They were on board the Windwhistle where we first discussed the idea of the compact. Yukale's sister. It's sometimes really difficult to keep track of our champions."

"It's a good thing that I've developed a very good memory over the years," Velen said, his eyes twinkling. "A few hundred champions is relatively easy compared to the names of every single Draenei."

Which would be a lot easier than attempting that feat even with Stormwind alone, Anduin thought. He didn't want to sour the mood, so he kept that thought to himself.

By the time the discussion had adjourned for the night, Jaina was hungry and tired, but she felt content. She'd forgotten what this had felt like; planning, preparing, moving the cogs of diplomacy. It seemed like that part of her hadn't entirely been lost.

Anduin approached Jaina. "Care to join me for dinner, Lady Proudmoore?"

She looked at him, feeling oddly content despite the sudden rumble in her stomach. "I think I'd like that."

It had been a hard few days. Worthwhile and productive, but she'd barely had time to enjoy anything about the city except sneaking out to her favorite little hole-in-the-wall for a hearty meal on the second day.

She took Anduin's offered arm. "I'm hoping to have a little extra time now that we've negotiated the schedule and meals."

Anduin started. "I'm sorry, that's as far as you've gotten?"

Jaina laughed. "I was just seeing if you've been paying attention."

"I've had a lot on my mind," he admitted. "And my representatives can handle most of it without me."

She could guess at a few things that had plagued Anduin's mind, though she was also inclined to tease him and spend at least an hour with a friend where they discussed nothing of consequence. She offered, "Girl troubles?"

Anduin blanched at that, shooting Jaina a look that spoke volumes.

Jaina raised her eyebrows, before saying in a sing-song voice, "Boy troubles?"

He coughed, sounding flustered. "I, uh…"

Jaina's smile widened. "Just make sure you follow your heart." She shifted her voice into a fair approximation of Tyrande. "And do not worry about heirs, it is not an insurmountable problem." Laughter burst from Anduin, his shoulders relaxing. Jaina squeezed his arm under her hand. "I would be very happy if you married for love, Anduin."

She'd given up that hope for herself long before Sylvanas.

"There is no one yet." Anduin glanced at her, shaking his head. "But I'll try to keep that advice in mind." He nudged her with his elbow and turned her comments around on her. "What about you? Have you uh...marital...uhm."

Jaina narrowed her eyes. "Anduin, if you're asking what I think you're asking, you stop it right now."

She looked around, then sighed. They seemed to be alone-but if it got back to Sylvanas, it got back to Sylvanas. She'd suspected for some time that Tyra wasn't her only shadow. Sylvanas herself might not follow her personally, but every once in awhile she could feel a thrumming of similar energy, as if someone had tripped a string of dark magic nearby. She felt nothing of the sort right now. And if Tyra were nearby, she was being discreet.

"That's not what I- I just mean-" Anduin sagged, then laughed softly. "I'm no good at small talk."

"Asking about someone's sex life isn't small talk."

"Case in point, that's not what I was asking." He blinked, then looked at her. "Wait, are you?!"

"Oh gods." Jaina let go of Anduin's arm, trying not to think about strong fingers in her hair or the peaks of Sylvanas's breasts at her back. "That's never happening. I've resigned myself to a celibate life."

"How are you feeling? Are you well." Anduin tapped his chest. "Is she … "

"She's not beating me, if that's your concern."

"I trust our spies to have noticed that much, but there are other ways to hurt a person. Manipulate them."

Jaina took Anduin's hands, squeezing them. "You don't need to worry about me. I'm safe and I'm in my right mind. I know it's hard to believe, but the Horde can in fact act as allies in keeping the peace. Even Sylvanas. I… I think I needed the reminder myself, to be entirely honest."

She could tell that Anduin wantedto be convinced, so she squeezed his hands again. Then she spotted something in the gardens and let go, forgetting her hunger and rushing over to investigate.

Anduin followed her, peering around her shoulder. He smiled. "Do you want one?"

Jaina's eyes lit up. "Sylvanas is going to hate this. So yes. I do."