****Thirty-nine Years Ago****

Sylvanas could feel the ring cutting into the palm of her hand from how tightly she clutched it. The pain gave her renewed focus, and she forced her hand to relax. She opened it, staring down at the ring-now bloodied from where it had pierced her skin.

She had more important things to worry about, troll incursions among the most prevalent. Reflecting on a broken heart was not something she had time for. Sylvanas didn't dwell on such matters. Besides, she had a patrol to start.

"It is a good match," Feydori said, and Sylvanas closed her fist again before she turned around, face neutral.

Fey was still in her dress. Her hair was pulled up into a bun with wispy tendrils falling around her face. Her hair seemed to glitter from some kind of sparkly magic or enchantment and she'd painted her eyes a dark shade of green to match the forest colors of her dress. She had flowers in her hair and was quite possibly the most beautiful woman that Sylvanas had ever seen. It somehow made the injustice of it all much worse.

"Better than a Windrunner?" Sylvanas asked, coolly. To her everlasting delight, Fey stiffened, throat tensing.

"We already discussed this."

"Did we?" Sylvanas stalked towards her, the ring biting into her hand again. She came to a stop a few inches from the other Ranger and gods she still wanted her. Sylvanas could feel her body heat, taste her skin, hear her groans breathless in her ears. Feydori was so close and yet out of reach. "What exactly was it we discussed, Fey?"

Frowning, Fey started to answer, "We-"

Mocking and cruel, Sylvanas interrupted her. "'Sylvanas, how are we to concentrate on our patrols if we're so wrapped up in each other?' And I believed you." She reached up, pulling a flower delicately from Fey's hair. "The worst part was, you sounded like your mother."

"Your mother blessed my wedding."

"Only because she wanted me to marry a magistrate instead." Sylvanas spoke as though such a thing were beneath her. And it was. She would only ever marry someone who was her equal, and only another Ranger or warrior could come close. But right now, the one she wanted was standing in front of her. Only the one she wanted had chosen someone else, a fact that pained Sylvanas for a dozen different reasons.

Fey should have worn that dress for Sylvanas. No one else. She wasn't ready to let go of her and she wasn't sure if she ever would be. It made her bitter and angry, this personal failing, that Feydori could somehow find someone else better than her; and it was easier to focus on that than the raw chasm inside her heart. She'd loved her. She always would.

"It would be easier to have someone to leave behind and watch the kids if they weren't in combat with you," Fey said, though her expression soured when Sylvanas didn't laugh with her.

"Yes, such a lovely delight. Children." Sylvanas's expression darkened. "Was that it, then? You wanted children?" Feydori looked away and Sylvanas grabbed her chin and forced her to look at her. "I shouldn't be learning this now."

"You've never seemed the type to want any. The last time the subject came up you openly sneered at the idea."

"That was from my father. Did you ask?"

"Do you?"

Sylvanas frowned, then shrugged. "For you, I would have been willing to try."

"A child deserves more than 'willing to try,' Sylvanas. And it wasn't just that. You're so focused on your duty to our people that you forget I exist. You're my best friend and you're going on patrol on my wedding day." Fey retrieved the flower from Sylvanas's hand and placed it into her hair. "And I'm not that much better. We don't balance as well as we used to."

"Are you in love?"

Fey didn't look away, instead locking eyes with Sylvanas and murmuring, "Yes."

Clenching her jaw, Sylvanas inclined her head, every instinct screaming at her to find some way to fix what could not be fixed. "Be happy then. I'll be back later tonight."

"I'll save some wine for you."

Sylvanas turned away from her, retrieving her bow from where she'd left it leaning against a tree. She didn't return that night, nor for many more nights after.

***Now***

The New Year came and went without incident, and the only time over the following weeks that Jaina said more than three words to Sylvanas was when she was required to attend a meeting. It was painful, keeping up appearances. Even touching Sylvanas when it was appropriate to do so grated on her. And it chafed to remain in the Hold or the quarters, but she kept her word, mostly to prove a point.

But eventually that got to be too much. Without waiting to be ungrounded, Jaina left her quarters on the first morning of the Lunar Festival, her shadows falling into step behind her like they always had. Instead of walking into the hold, she crossed the Valley of Strength and turned towards the Drag.

"My lady-" Kalira started.

"I want some street vendor food, and I'm going to have some street vendor food," Jaina replied, tersely.

"Do you even realize the position you've put the Dark Lady in?"

Ignoring Kalira, she turned to the vendor, a taller than average Goblin, and held up four fingers and some coins. "Four sausages on a stick."

The goblin pulled out four sticks, jabbed them into sausages and then thrust the whole thing into some kind of frying contraption that Jaina feared might explode any second. It took about a minute before they were done, and the goblin held them out, wiggling his eyebrows. "Four long schlongs just for you, Lady Proudmoore."

Jaina took two, then looked at Tyra and Kalira expectantly. "For you."

Tyra started laughing, taking one of the sausages from the gobin. "Not usually my thing but I'll try anythin' once."

The goblin guffawed, then grinned as Kalira took the stick from him almost daintily, staring at the greasy mess as though it were an abomination upon the very earth.

Jaina took a bite out of one of hers, staring at Kalira with a smile until the Dark Ranger took a reluctant bite. Kalira grimaced, chewing slowly, her face contorting through the five stages of grief before she finally swallowed.

The undead elf looked green, and Jaina felt a perverse delight. "Perfect! Come along."

Then she marched straight for Grommash Hold, finishing off her meal and holding the second sausage, untouched.

"Oh gods, I think I'm going to vomit," Kalira murmured. "Can I vomit? What foul magic is this?"

Tyra grabbed her by the arm. "Come on, I think she's gonna give the Dark Lady her sausage." She doubled over laughing again, slapping Kalira on the back and making her turn even greener.

Kalira gasped for breath she didn't need. "Quickly, I think she means to poison the Warchief!"

Jaina glanced behind her, grinning devilishly at them both. "Are you coming or not?"

And then she disappeared into the hold, leaving her shadows to catch up. She maneuvered around the elevator, peering into the throne room to check if Sylvanas was there. She was-and even better, she wasn't alone.

Sylvanas was speaking with several members of the Horde leadership, and she looked up when Jaina swept in. She gave Kalira a questioning look when the Dark Ranger stumbled in after her but Jaina drew her attention by stepping up to Sylvanas and thrusting her sausage in her face. In the most sugary voice she could manage, Jaina said. "I brought you breakfast. Sweetheart."

Behind her, Jaina could hear the other leaders shuffling about uncomfortably, but she had all her focus on Sylvanas, eyes flashing a challenge at her. A challenge Sylvanas couldn't very well back down from in front of half the Horde leadership. She reached for the stick, only for Jaina to tilt her head and tap the sausage against her lips. "No no, allow me."

Jaina waited while Sylvanas considered her options. A large grin spread across her face as Sylvanas took a bite and chewed slowly and surely, then swallowed. In a voice so even that it sent a chill down everyone's spines, Sylvanas said. "That is… very good. Thank you."

Then, to rub it in, Jaina turned towards the assembled Horde as Sylvanas took another reluctant bite. She smiled at them. "That will be all, thank you."

She'd never seen a Tauren, Goblin and Troll flee the Hold so fast. It was almost like they expected some kind of violence.

"Leave us," Sylvanas said, eyes moving to Jaina's shadows and the few others still in the hold. She took another bite as she glared at Jaina. As soon as they were alone she smacked the remains of the sausage away. "Do you want me to tie you down somewhere?"

Jaina wiped her fingers on Sylvanas's cloak before stepping back from the throne. "I'm not a child to be grounded, Windrunner. I go where I please and when I please, as long as I stay within the confines of our compact. I gave you a few weeks to soothe your ego, are you happy?"

"Do not test me. I will ban you from-"

"Please," Jaina said, giving Sylvanas a mocking curtsy. She straightened, holding Sylvanas's gaze as she lifted her chin in defiance. "Try."

That was the sword that Jaina held across Sylvanas's neck: she could not actually stop Jaina if she chose to leave. She could not stop Jaina from going just about anywhere she pleased. If so inclined, Jaina could destroy her, here and now, and they both knew it. And, apparently, she could humiliate her wife just as easily. Sylvanas stepped down from the dais, moving until she was chest to chest with Jaina. "You are playing a dangerous game, Lady Proudmoore."

"What will you do to hold me?" Jaina asked. She took Sylvanas's wrist, bringing her hand to her throat. "Fit me for a pretty collar? That chain you seemed so fond of? Don't insult me with empty threats."

"A very dangerous game," Sylvanas repeated, closing her fingers around Jaina's throat, a flare of anger in her eyes. Jaina met it with cold disdain, and twisted Sylvanas's wrist until she let go of her. She stepped away.

"I'm going for a walk. Your pets can come if they want, I don't really care."

With another mocking curtsy, Jaina turned, and walked away with her head held high. Neither Tyra nor Kalira joined her for the rest of the day and she didn't spot a single Dark Ranger.

The humiliation rankled Sylvanas and lingered far longer than the taste of that foul sausage. She knew that Jaina would expect some kind of punishment or retaliation, so Sylvanas did nothing.

And it proved to be far better revenge. She watched as Jaina's confidence wavered, the aside glances as she waited for Sylvanas to do something. Each day, Sylvanas simply greeted her as she always did, making sure that Jaina caught some kind of promise in her eyes. A promise of retribution that would never come.

Jaina was not a woman used to being ignored, and that on top of the subtle threat appeared to drive her crazy. She may have stretched her muscles but Sylvanas made sure that Jaina's paranoia was not without reason, as she doubled the number of Rangers in Orgrimmar.

Sylvanas couldn't predict what steps Jaina might take next, so she wanted to make absolutely sure that she was made aware of anything the mage did. She was no longer willing to give any benefit of the doubt that Jaina failed to understand the implications of her behavior. Not when she had exploited the compact's largest, glaring weakness so efficiently.

Jaina Proudmoore had just proven that she could commit treason with impunity. That she knew this. That she was willing to flaunt it. Unless Jaina's actions risked a consequence more disastrous than an all-out war of attrition against a unified Alliance, Sylvanas had no recourse but to choke down her pride and keep the violation under wraps lest the warhawks hear of it; as of now, technically, the compact could be considered dead, and there were powerful factions only waiting for an excuse. Even should she decide to retaliate, her options short of assassination were limited. And the assassin capable of killing a paranoid Jaina Proudmoore would be rare indeed...

So she kept it quiet and kept it in, patience fraying and paranoia growing; but hopefully Jaina would be a nervous wreck too before Sylvanas exploded.

"That will be all." She waved her hand, dismissing the trio of orcs in front of her and not really paying much mind to whatever it was they'd been saying about mounted traffic regulation. In actuality she hated this part of being Warchief. Sylvanas loathed holding court, loathed the day to day activity-she vastly preferred planning and field work. To think, she'd been considering giving her consort a longer leash; Jaina actually enjoyed this nonsense.

Tyra lingered, after everyone had left. "Dark Lady?"

Feeling like the curse of death should not include headaches, she replied, "Yes?"

The warrior's armor jangled as she shifted on her feet. "Can I speak freely?"

Well that was interesting, and Sylvanas looked in her direction. "Proceed."

"Have yeh an' Lady Proudmoore considered… an' I know this is a tall order but ... yeh know. Talkin' it out?"

"My dear Tyra, are you suggesting that my consort and I talk to each other like adults?"

Grinning, Tyra nodded enthusiastically. "It's jus' yeh were kinda startin' to get along. A little bit. An' it's better for yeh both when yeh do."

"You mean it's better for you and the Horde," Sylvanas remarked, eyes narrowing.

"... well that too. The entire city is kinda on edge. Everyone is holdin' their breath an' waitin' for the spark that ignites the bonfires of war."

"You're fond of her," Sylvanas stated, realizing that Jaina had somehow ingratiated herself in Orgrimmar. That had been the original plan, to prey upon the human's weakness with close ties. And yet, what if they sided with Jaina, over her, their Warchief?

Sylvanas could count on one hand the number of times in recent months that she'd had to lash someone for disrespecting her consort, and thus her. It was a number that had dropped from the early days.

Tyra just shrugged. "She listens when I talk. She's… a friend."

Eyes moving from Tyra to the general direction of the exit to the Hold, Sylvanas considered that. "She has probably begun working Kalira, too…But is it genuine, or is she manipulating us all?"

Tyra stiffened as Sylvanas stood, staring up at her as she loomed over her. "I think she don't even know she's doin' it."

"Do you remember much of before you heard my voice?" Sylvanas pushed aside some of Tyra's stringy hair.

"Jus' a little. Pain, mostly. Cold. Never really went away, but it's worth it to serve you."

"Were I to order you to drive your sword into Lady Proudmoore's back, you'd do it?"

"Without question." Tyra tilted her head.

Sylvanas studied her a moment longer, then asked, "Is that all?"

"Actually there's… somethin' else." Tyra cleared her throat, a raspy, sandy sound.

"What is it?"

Movement drew her attention above as Kalira seemed to emerge from the shadows and drop to the ground in front of Sylvanas. She remained on one knee, until Sylvanas touched her chin and urged her to stand. Kalira started to unroll a tube. "Some artists have been taking liberties, my Queen."

Taking the parchment from Kalira, Sylvanas stared hard at it, fury flaring in her eyes. Then she rolled it back up and spoke with the kind of calm that preceded a storm. "Are there any other copies?"

Kalira shook her head. "I put his stall to the torch."

"And the artist?"

Tyra simply opened a pouch on her hip. "I took his hands."

"Very good." Sylvanas stuck the tube under her arm and put a hand on each of their shoulders. "This is never to be discussed again. Understand? Jaina Proudmoore can never know of this."

They both nodded.

"Good. Take the rest of the day off. Where is my consort?"

"She told me she was going to meet with Bloodhoof in Thunder Bluff," Kalira said.

Tyra moved to her side, almost too close to Kalira for Sylvanas's comfort. "I don't think she'll be back for several hours."

Frustration made its way to Sylvanas's face, and she left the Hold without another word. Once she reached the western cliffs she took the steps two at a time, and let herself into her quarters. Once the door closed behind her, she unrolled the parchment again.

Jaina Proudmoore was posed nude among ice-encrusted shackles, chained and collared in a lewd position with her assets greatly exaggerated. Growling, Sylvanas crumbled it up and held it over a candle until it caught flame. Once it was burned to ash, she started towards the training room to work out her frustrations on an unfortunate target dummy, wishing Tyra had taken more than the artist's hands. Something intimate and considerably more thematically appropriate, for starters.

The only problem with her plan was the way magic itched at her skin as she realized Jaina was home, throwing frostbolts at one of the dummies.