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Chapter 20: Ouch!

Prince Arthas was giving instructions to his squire while packing his bags in Stormwind this time. He'd already bathed, and had got as far as putting his shirt on when the newspaper and his tea came. His valet Mr. Jameson was about as used to seeing Arthas in his underwear as his squire Zachary was, which put two men in Arthas' room working fast to finish up his packing and ignoring how bare his legs were.

Arthas had an odd feeling then, that it was a very strange thing to get used to. How had he ever come this far… the seedy underside to being a prince. Arthas smirked at the joke in his head, took the newspaper and unfolded it. He lifted the teacup offered to him in the sun-filled room and scanned the headlines.

He idly gave instructions while his servants were stressed and moved quickly, "Be careful with that one. I was… yeah, I was folding it myself, you see, because there's a tome from Uther in there. Having it with my best shirt is also the best way for me not to forget it."

Mr. Jameson hummed, did as he was told. "Yes, my Prince."

Arthas then wandered away from the bed, glad for his man to finish up instead. He had a careful seat in a green embroidered chair, with his tea. He looked over and noticed cold toast and an egg that he'd forgotten about on the small table. He set the cup back in its saucer, stretched out.

"Uh… your majesty?" This came from Zachary Lionheart, Arthas' squire. A man a little older than Arthas, but just as jovial. He had a lot of messy black curls he kept cut short enough to hide under a helmet, and blatant dimples on his cheeks when she smiled. Or, sneered. Arthas liked to joke that Squire Zach didn't like his dimples, but he still used them.

Arthas looked over, ready for whatever Zach's joke was this morning. But it was Sylvanas' hunting knife, fallen out of a coat sleeve.

"Yeah, about that…"

"A memento? From a high officer in the Farstriders, too. And a lady, of course. Bwhaha! So you've finally gone and flown the Silvermoon flag, majesty? High up the pole, too. Welcome to the player's club!"

The valet snapped at him, "Zachary Lionheart, I swear! We do not speak to his majesty in that manner at all…"

Arthas cleared his throat at both of them, "He's my squire, Mr. Jameson, I did choose 'em to be somewhat entertaining… Sharp eye, Zach." Arthas arched an eyebrow though, for Zachary to be discreet about the matter, hoping to leave it at that. Arthas cleared his throat once more, tried not to smile. Jaina came to mind again, how hurt she must be. Well, if she and her fatehr's spies had been snooping up on him once again. He banished it.

Arthas then wriggled feet in dark socks, turned to the next section of the newspaper.

"Oh, and your majesty, I was asked by King Menethil to tell you there was an incident in Dalaran, with the Dean. The Dean is investigating a horrible act that occurred at one of the university sanctums."

"Is Jaina hurt?"

Quiet, at first. Their prince hardly mentioned Jaina anymore.

"No, your majesty. The king wished you to be appraised of the situation, that is all. When the newspapers themselves travel so slowly in these parts. The dean is searching for the perpetrators who stole a certain kind of spell—"

"It would be the memory deterioriation spell, then. That's the most locked-up thing they have over there, Jaina always said. I had such high hopes for that countering the Plague. Damn!"

They waited for Arthas to say or do something more. His eyes held violence.

"If I find the piss-ant who's done it, I'll gut him myself. It's good that father told me, then—anything else, Jameson?"

"No, sir."

"I bet that train-wreck Kael'thas knows something about it. I can't say why I know that, but I do."

Arthas picked up his elven newspaper, next. Suddenly, Arthas sat bolt upright and stamped a foot on the floor.

His two servants looked over, briefly, then went back to working. Normally, it wasn't supposed to be any of their business unless Arthas told them that it was.

"What's this madness on the front page? Arthas scooted to the edge of the plush chair. "What is she doing? What is she… wearing?!" Arthas placed a flat hand on the page, beneath the careful sketch of Lady Sylvanas giving her speech before the Sunspire. Surely, the artist had taken… some liberty. Didn't they all?

"Oh." Zachary looked over his shoulder after he carefully stowed Sylvanas' knife in a side chamber of Arthas' case. "That would be the article about Sylvanas showing off, Mr. Jameson. You should give our prince your very thorough analysis on that, you know, about what this Sunthraze Matters thing is really about, that verbose what-all you told us all downstairs?"

"I'm sure his majesty doesn't approve of you wasting time teasing me either, Mr. Lionheart."

"Though one thing still wasn't so clear to us, this morning, about that article. Oh, Arthas—who do you think Sylvanas was really showing off for?"

Arthas went, "Leave me. Now."

Neither man wanted to go. Arthas' armor and his belongings were far from finished with. But Squire Zachary Lionheart and the butler Mr. Jameson each bowed and backed out of the room.

The door shut.

Arthas put down the paper in his lap, his eyes wide. Then, he looked over at the scrying orb by his teacup.

"Sylvanas said it was a riot, something to diffuse and conceal. But she handled it so… brazenly." His eyes scanned more of the article. A smile spread on his lips. Arthas slapped a hand over the large scrying orb, grabbed it. It began to glow.

Sylvanas lay in bed, a hand over her eyes. She was not yet ready to face the day. A kind of sadness seemed to be there at… the edges. Her eyes passed over Arthas' soul stone, on her nightstand. If you didn't know him well, didn't know what it felt like to be in Arthas' warm presence, then it could be anyone's, really. So Sylvanas left his soulstone out to be enjoyed, to be happened upon by the maid, she didn't care. It was a way to be with him.

Sylvanas eventually turned over, twining the sheets around herself and the pink slip she wore. Her nails were painted. An exotic rose red. It had been ages since she'd done that. She felt a little silly doing that, last night. While she was up thinking of him. Really, fantasizing…

But it was nice, wasn't it? Going away to Stormwind for something serious weeks ago and sleeping with a gorgeous and powerful man while there, that was very nice. And so, she couldn't help feeling a little more… well, less of a ranger-general. More sensual, more free. Arthas made her feel free.

"More like the real me." She admired her nails and smiled.

Now she was facing a schedule of paperwork, meetings, and some were going to be disciplinary encounters with the most obnoxious people she'd met in life—crooked Farstriders who needed to be culled from service if she couldn't delicately untangle the issues underlying their behavior. And Nathanos, the new Human recruit. Odd exchange with the Farstriders, having a Human involved, but oh well.

Which also reminded her of a meeting with Britecleff about his little elect group. That was sure-as-hell long overdue. That business with the attack in Dalaran, all those mages dying and then the memory deterioration spell that went missing, Sylvanas needed to be absolutely sure that Kael'thas was well clear of it. And she just had this sinking feeling that he wasn't. Kael'thas was skilled, powerful, he had a grudge, and he was on campus for much longer after graduation than made any sense. And, he was working on a project related to stopping the Plague. Academic jealousy? Intellectual curiosity gone badly awry? There were numerous possible motives. And, Kael'thas also had the opportunity. The whole 'I'm not coming home with out Jaina Proudmoore' thing could have easily been a smokescreen for something else more sinister.

Worse, Britecleff and his people seemed so fond of Kael'thas. Kael'thas needed to be protected, sure. But if he was becoming an evil man, then they needed to know that too, for the sake of the kingdom. So, Sylvanas was running her own little private investigation into the Dlaaran incident on the side.

The scrying orb on Sylvanas' nightstand began to glow. It was so bright, so urgent, that the dark soul stone could no longer be seen behind the clear globe.

She forgot to think and was going to answer it in her underwear. Then, Sylvanas took a deep breath and thought very carefully, about what time it was, what she was wearing, whether or not she should. But, this scrying orb in her bedroom, at the Windrunner Spire, her family's estate, was on a secure frequency. She covered her chest with the sheets, to look more decent. Then, Sylvanas smiled to herself and decided to go for it. Completely. If she was wrong about the caller, and she was almost sure she wouldn't be… Well, the lucky Farstrider calling her in an emergency would just have to have a very, very nice morning.

Sylvanas smoothed down her hair, then decided to go ahead and lay down, raise the scrying orb and answer it.

"…Hello?"

On the other side, Arthas sat up in an emerald chair when her image must have come into view. That felt nice to notice. The whole vision of him was framed in ice blue. His fair hair almost looked frosted cold.

He said, "…You."

"Yes, Arthas. It's me. This is a secure frequency, by the way. I'm impressed you found it. And," Sylvanas couldn't believe she was about to say this to him, "We're also alone."

"Where are you?"

"In my bedroom, silly. I don't sleep at the Garrison. I'm the ranger-general. It's been ages since I did that."

"I'm in my bedroom, too. We're leaving Stormwind today, though. It took forever, my father and King Wrynn were still negotiating… things…" a dirty little smile then replaced his more decent thoughts.

"Arthas. Have you gone to see Jaina, yet? Have you ended things with her?"

Sylvanas' arms were getting tired. She nestled the scrying orb against her chest, like a teddy bear she was fond of. Then, she turned over and let the heavy thing rest in the sheets beside her. Cuddled it. Now, it was more than clear to Arthas that the artist for the newspaper had indeed drawn everything quite true to life. Sylvanas almost wanted to laugh at him, how awful it must be.

He got a little angry, "You know exactly what you're doing. Don't you?"

"… Yes, I do."

Arthas thought (or didn't), and then relaxed in his icy chair. After all, the sight of her, at this new angle, was making him want to snuggle up in bed, too. "So. I loved seeing you in the newspaper, darlin'. Though it's a shame news travels so very damned slowly from Quel'thalas to Stormwind, isn't it?"

"It might be." She shrugged a shoulder out of her slip. Practiced, but seemingly innocent.

"And I didn't know that you believed I was 'mighty,' you know, in your pretty speech. I also hear the riots stopped, almost immediately, after you appeared to the crowds, looking so angelic. I'd put down my sword for you, too. Well, unless you told me you wanted it-"

"Really? Which newspaper?" she said, but feigned disinterest. Her coldness in such a warm-looking bed was tantalizing.

"All. Of. Them. I'm having them all sent to me when I get to Lordaeron."

"Oh, my. I wonder if they got the right side of me? Being in that many newspapers, I suppose though, they must have got all my sides. So much of what you can't have. Anyway, let me know whenever you get back from Dalaran."

"I thought you wanted me to go back to her. Now you're changing your mind?"

Sylvanas pretended to become very interested in sweeping her soft, lightly curled hair out of her eyes, then extending her neck, arching her back. She pretended to stretch, then yawn.

"You know, ranger-general, I could definitely make a stop on the way-"

"I think it's obvious what a woman like me deserves. If she ought to be kept."

"Who are you, Sylvanas?" Arthas smiled once more, getting excited. He began to unbutton the top of his shirt, "You're not in any hurry, are you? So honey, let's talk for a while—"

"I'm your undu'diel, my sweet. Your best friend. Or, your worst nightmare. If you don't come and claim me."

"Undu-what?"

"Hold on, before I answer your question, I think I have one of my own." She waited to see if Arthas would calm down and listen. He seemed agreeable. "Arthas, who do you think attacked the dean, in Dalaran?"

"Why do you ask? I thought Silvermoon only cared about Silvermoon, the last time we Humans asked for any kind of political assistance."

"You know that members of my family do care. Alleria, for one."

He rolled his eyes.

"Arthas, please. It was such gruesome news and I do worry about you, too."

"No darlin', this is naked ambition." He paused, his own choice words clearly distracting him. "I uh, am an angry man these days. I've been seeing the worst in people, constantly. Day in and day out. I have other reasons to loathe Kael'thas too, but…"

Sylvanas felt her pulse race, her lip quiver. If he had an instinct about it too, then? Wasn't he going to out and say it?

"No. I just hate the bastard. It's horrible but a part of me wishes he did it. Then I'd have a solid, clear reason to go and kill him, break his neck."

"You can't confess things like that to the ranger-general, Arthas."

"I didn't mean it—"

"I know that, but you can't."

They were both tense, unable to get past it.

Arthas met her gaze at last. "I have no intention of hurting Prince Kael'thas. Or anyone, or anything that he cares about."

Of course he was thinking of Jaina and Sylvanas knew that she hated it. She stuck to her job, though. "Good."

"So what was that underoos thing you were going to explain to me, darlin'?"

"I have to go."

Then, Sylvanas waved a hand over the orb, and shut the thing off. Maybe, one day, she and Arthas would be capable of having something other than a dangerous conversation, putting whole kingdoms at stake.

But, after a time, Sylvanas lay there, smiling. Her scrying orb began to glow again immediately after, but she decided she wouldn't answer it this time. That he'd tried, even though he was already with someone else, that despite Jaina, Arthas was unable to help himself, that delighted her to no end. Sylvanas felt it, that she was winning. Pulling ahead in the race. Not that she wanted to race… anyway.

"Now," and Sylvanas sounded bright as the day outside, "I think I can get up and have a wonderful morning!"

When Sylvanas finished reading Kael'thas' letter, she put it down on her desk. She then swept blonde hair back over her shoulder, placed chin and palm, thought carefully.

"Is this the only letter? Kael'thas hasn't sent anything else to Lord Sunthraze Sunthraze since the incident in Dalaran? This feels like old news."

"No. Is that a problem?"

Sylvanas glanced over at Britecleff in a casual sort of way, then looked back down at Kael'thas' letter in response to the very first one Sunthraze had sent. Kael'thas had been so willing to chat about everything under the moon and stars with Sunthraze. And he hadn't waited too long to respond either. However, Kael'thas had nothing to say to his old childhood friend about the horrible crime in Dalaran? Wasn't Kael'thas worried or concerned?

Perhaps, as a royal personage, that verged on getting political and Kael'thas knew he couldn't write about something like that. Something that might be construed as an official opinion and then sold to a Human, or worse, Elven newspaper. Though, King Anasterian had the thalassian press tightly controlled. But the issue was, Kael'thas just wasn't behaving so rationally or responsibly these days. All reports pointed to that. Up until this point, Kael'thas' pattern of behavior made sense. Then suddenly, silence?

Sylvanas sneaked another look at Britecleff. Something was wrong. Something was missing. But was it because Britecleff was covering for Kael'thas? Or was Kael'thas covering something? She couldn't tell where it was coming from, just good Farstrider instinct.

"I think this letter is promising, though." Britecleff leaned in.

Sorn sighed and rolled his eyes, "This is a waste of time. Why are we… dancing around the point—why can't we come out and tell our prince what we need him to hear? And Kael'thas is sharing so much personal information about himself to this Sunthraze, is that even right?"

Britecleff shook his head at Sorn, "This is my part of the assignment, remember? Once we do get to Dalaran, and Kael'thas is willing to let us get within spitting distance—which doesn't surprise me, when he has to deal with you all the time, Sorn—then you can take our prince and throw him into your cage."

"Boys." Sylvanas picked up the page again. It crinkled as she held it up to the light. "The truth is, this is a very good start. We've got excellent traction, here. Kael'thas does sound very interested. He wants to ask Sunthraze about his 'most curious arrest,' and he goes on to explain more about his, um… major in 'all the magics.' And then, the ah, personal advice Sorn mentioned. I mean, I happen to be bored to death, but Kael'thas seems genuinely engaged."

Sorn was impatient, though he clearly still did not agree, "Can we send the Prince my book now, then? We'll have to work that part in, next."

Britecleff griped, "Sunthraze goes from asking Kael'thas for money and saying 'hello,' to sending Kael'thas a book about his mother?"

Sylvanas wondered, "Well, why not? They're both intelligent, they both read. I'd tell my friend about a great book I recently read."

Sorn reached a hand out in Sylvanas' direction, "You see?"

Britecleff sighed, "It's too soon for that. You know, Sunthraze made a good point about this the last time…"

"Oh, what insight could a disinherited Sunthraze possibly have about the Sunstriders?"

Sylvanas gave Sorn a warning look, "We just did that, remember? Or do you want more protests outside of your home and place of work? I'm pretty tired of angry citizens camping on my doorstep when I come back from a romantic vacation."

Both men paused.

"Stormwind is a very romantic, heroic place. But it's also good to be home. Britecleff, bring up your point quickly. I do have a three o'clock after this, and the Amani Troll issue doesn't like to be kept waiting."

"In a nutshell, Kael'thas isn't an idiot. And there is no reason for Sunthraze to have a rare book like that. It'll look and smell and read like a set up, Sorn. Sylvanas, we have to do better than that."

She took a bright red pen and tapped it on her desk briefly. "Your alternative?"

"Sorn should send Kael'thas the book, on his own. I think we can do that in the next letter, after this one. Sunthraze will encourage Kael'thas to read in an understated kind of way. So, we'll approach from both sides, sort of a… pincer maneuver."

Sorn sank back in his chair, frowned, "With Kael'thas being squeezed in the middle…Well, that might be something."

Britecleff nodded, "Sunthraze will be encouraging, subtle… maybe he can talk about his own father." Then, Britecleff added, "Lord Roann Sunthraze. His memories there. A little nostalgia isn't suspicious and it should help. Well, not very suspicious in that we all have parents, for better or for worse. And since their parents were friends, it will be a natural topic."

Sylvanas and Sorn seemed alright with it.

"…and while I'm on a roll, can Sunthraze possibly have a copy of this letter? It's really an amazing response from Kael'thas, something to be proud of. And it'd go far to encourage him to conscript, a gesture like that."

Sorn sighed, "And now I've lost all faith in you again."

Sylvanas made a face, "Do you mean, like a souvenir, Britecleff? An elaborate kind of autograph from Kael'thas, for Sunthraze to show his grandchildren one day?"

Britecleff nodded.

"No."

"Ah. Well? Sorn, I guess it's finally your turn."

Sorn crossed a leg beneath his black robes and adjusted his monocle, "And my news will go down a lot better, I assure you." He slipped a wheat-colored page with writing in ink so blue one could almost read it from the other side, "the Lady Jaina Proudmoore herself thanks us for 'Whatever it is we said or did to get Kael'thas off my back.'" He then handed the page to Sylvanas for inspection, though Britecleff had reached for it first.

Sylvanas leaned over the page on her desk, read quietly to herself. Then, "So this is no longer an international incident? A fleet of Proudmoore ships aren't going to show up at Sunsail Anchorage blasting their cannons on us because Kael'thas can't keep his pants on?"

"I'd like to give our prince a little more credit than that." Britecleff looked outside the window.

"It's about what this whole mess amounts to." Sylvanas continued reading, "What's this here, Sorn, about Kael'thas spending too much time in the laboratory? Is this Faltheriel Darkweaver any threat? I've never heard of him, but she elaborates as if Faltheriel is a worse influence on Kael'thas than the Plague itself."

"Oh… that's nothing."

"Are you sure? She writes, 'Kael'thas is spending a lot of time after hours in the Arcanics Laboratory, sometimes most of the night. Worse, I'm sure he's spending time with Faltheriel Darkweaver.' So that means Jaina thinks this Faltheriel is a threat."

"No, he's just… extremely strange. A little obsessive. About his work. I've already looked into it, Sylvanas. A student of the shadow—a skilled, if nutty shadowpriest, actually. There are a lot of types like that on campus. Faltheriel just happens to be… the worst."

Sylvanas arched an eyebrow at Sorn. "Well, no crime in being weird. And what are we going to do, invent a crime for Faltheriel too, and lock him up?"

Sorn frowned at that shot she took at him.

"Though, I have no problem being diplomatic in this instance and looking him up. Let's have a contact keep an eye on Faltheriel, find out what he's really like. Does that please you, Sorn?"

"Ultimately, it pleases the king."

She chose to be icy, "Of course it does."

Sylvanas finished re-reading the letter, turned it over to make sure there wasn't any more. "No second page?"

Britecleff checked at that. A subtle accusation. "No, ranger-general."

Sorn cleared his throat, "I believe that Kael'thas' additional time in the lab is just more close focus on his work with the Humans, to stop the Plague. I do believe that's something everyone in this room wants, correct?"

Britecleff looked a little concerned, but in the end, there was no evidence of a problem.

Sylvanas leaned back in her chair, "It is a little funny that, at times, Jaina can't stand Kael'thas, but then at others she worries about him like she's his… sister, or something. Which makes her another weirdo."

Britecleff looked sideways, confused, "Or, she's just a caring person by nature?"

Sylvanas smiled pleasantly, chose not to respond to that, "This is very, very good news. But take note that it's just a… temporary retreat. It isn't completely resolved, is it? No one is there in Dalaran to keep Kael'thas in check. These letters from Sunthraze are critical. Britecleff, you've proven your worth many, many times in this meeting already and we won't be afraid of angry Sunstrider or Proudmoore parents making oaths of revenge. At least not yet. The crisis has officially been de-escalated. Congratulations. Let's keep it this way, gentlemen."

Sylvanas smiled, that clever sneaky smile again. She began to swing her chair back and forth, then leaned elbows on her desk, "Speaking of parents, what progress have you made with your future in-laws? I hear Judge Weaver is a little less intractable these days, since the release of the Double Sunthraze. He definitely did not want to take that case if it ever came up. I put in a good word for you, the last time he and I spoke. Since it was your arrest and release."

Britecleff livened up immediately, "Oh, thank the Sun for you, Sylvanas!"

"Well." She shrugged one shoulder, "They say weddings happen in threes."

Sorn stood, red and gold leather folio under his arm. "If you two will excuse me…" then, at the door of Sylvanas' office in the Sunspire, Sorn paused. "Sylvanas, what would the two other weddings be?"

"Hrm?"

"Weddings happen in threes. Well, deaths also."

Offense rose in her features. Sylvanas laughed it off, "Oh, your humor is dark. Of course, I'm referring to Britecleff and Lady Weaver, and then also Prince Kael'thas. And Jaina Proudmoore, obviously."

"…to Arthas."

Britecleff saw it too, the tension, the heat. He knew what it was, instantly. How many times had Tempest done the same, whenever Pyorin mentioned his latest conquest accidentally? Britecleff just didn't understand where it was coming from when it came to Sylvanas. Then, something more occurred to him. His two silly underlings might not have been so silly, after all. Perhaps they'd hit it on the nose, back in the carriage the other day. That, coupled with the fact that Sylvanas rarely acted like this…

"Of course." Sylvanas said, carefully. But sure anger was there, somewhere, "Arthas will marry Jaina Proudmoore. I could care less who Kael'thas marries, as long as he marries well. Our prince is of age, and will have his pick once he comes home from university. I hear our Kael'thas is first on the dance cards of a few of the most eligible ladies in Silvermoon City."

No. That wasn't it at all. Britecleff held his breath, wondering if Sorn had caught it.

Sorn opened the door. "I thank you both for your help, today. We have made real progress, that is definite. Soon, we'll be able to tell the king of this progress, which is precisely what we will need to do, soon."

The door closed.

"Aren't you meeting with Lord Sunthraze at the Garrison in a little while, Britecleff?" Sylvanas pulled a notebeook out of a drawer, opened it, and began to turn a few pages. "My do you know your… Farstrider flesh. You handled Sunthraze as well as he handles the Hawkstriders on his own ranch, I'm sure." She took her pen and began to make some notes.

"Please, Sylvanas. Be careful."

She paused. They were both very skilled, talented at what they did. Sylvanas was at the apex of her career. Britecleff was a prodigy, far too young to be in his position as a recruiter and handling a few sensitive projects for the Farstriders, yet he excelled at what he did. Britecleff himself might progress to become the Ranger-General someday, after the Haldron Brightwings and Lorth'remars of this world were through. Especially when those high officers all liked him so much. And Sylvanas herself liked Britecleff and trusted him. She returned his knowing look.

Then, Sylvanas tried not to look too emotional about it. "I'm… fine."

"Are you certain? Because there are other ways to get King Anasterian's support, concerning the Plague and the Human kingdoms."

"You act like I'm after King Wrynn himself, trying to kick his queen out of Stormwind."

"No, not Wrynn. Not him. I'm actually not sure who you're aiming for, and I don't want to know, I don't want to guess—"

"Not that it would be any of your business."

"I care about you." His clear blue eyes met hers, "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to the best ranger-general Quel'thalas has ever had, in ages. And I'm so proud to serve under you, Sylvanas."

Sylvanas looked like she was going to cry, then looked up at the ceiling and let out a breath, "And you're a case in point that all the good Highborne men are already taken."

Britecleff sat back, he hadn't been ready for such a high compliment from someone he admired so much.

"As I said… I am fully in control." She shook her head, slowly, "Don't worry about me."

"Then please, take one more word of advice from someone who knows, who deals with young Farstriders who are constantly hiding their romantic entanglements, day in and day out, "That you admire him, whoever he is, and that you are jealous of others in that same circle who are moving on with their romances… it is very obvious. You should do something—"

Impatient, "Are you suggesting that I go get laid again soon, Britecleff? Are you offering?"

"Uh… ah… N-no. I didn't you know you and him… in the first place? Anyway, I-I couldn't!"

"Then it's a forbidden subject. Goodbye, Britecleff. Dismissed."

He stood, saluted, and went quickly from the office.

Sylvanas put her pen down, closed her notebook. She gazed out the window. There was no three o'clock appointment.

Sylvanas covered her smile. A smile for Arthas.

A few weeks, a few months more, maybe? One little trip to Dalaran and back. Sure, she would be getting… him… on the rebound. But then, like any wounded twelve-point-buck in the clearing, then she would have Arthas completely.

At dusk, the boundary between Quel'thalas, the land of the Highborne Elves, and the rough Human countryside, was much easier to see. The new night tinged everything with purple. Faint hints of arcane dust rose and fell in the moonlight, sparkling, here and there, like the stars. It confused the fireflies.

Arthas sat on his white charger, observing all this. He'd trained his horse to be like him in times like these, deathly silent. The decay of the Plague on his side of the magical ward took the form of a blight that blackened tree roots, and leaves that curled and withered just on the brink of the violet shield. Arthas looked down at that, summoned his resolve not to feel anything about it, not anymore. Not anything in particular. The Highborne had told his father many times that they would not help Lordaeron with 'their Human problem.'

It was just the way things were. Elves in their own world. A second, secret place. Everyone else lived in the real Azeroth. When everything first got started, Arthas thought it was strange for his father to even think of asking the Highborne for help with the Plague. They were so… separate. Weren't they?

Now, of course, Arthas knew the wisdom in it, that this was really a superficial boundary between two mortal races. The one thing he did agree with his father King Menethil on.

Arthas raised his eyes to look at the white and red towers of Silvermoon City, easy to see from up on this hill. As perfect as the gleaming moon. And their neat round houses, their trees, their golden grass rolling on forever with not a dandelion weed in those fields…

It was all so easy to hate.

His horse leaned its thick neck down, champed at the bit. Arthas sat up straighter, eager to go as well. But one did not rush into things like this.

"Let's not despise them so easily, however difficult it is, Invincible. We will wait a little while longer on these Elves, I think."

It was very funny, actually. Some men stood on the brink of a woman's doorstep or her front yard, waiting to get up the courage. To just… knock, say hello, confess feelings, or use some clever little flirtation to be admitted inside the house. Arthas stood at the edge of her empire. He felt ready to rip the land apart in order to have her, he was so angry at everything in his life. And the magical ward between them, that only made it worse. Or, better. He didn't know.

Invincible moved back a step, resting his other hindeleg. The black bit and reigns clicked softly. Arthas smiled at the many images of the the ranger-general turned seductress, coming back to warm him in the nights, "Syl-van-as…you didn't think I'd get here so fast, my darlin'. Did you?"

That had been part of her little game, her careful little rules. Well, they weren't hers. They were the unwritten rules of courtship, for Elves and Humans both. Probably Gnomes and Dwarves also, whatever. It was what kept fine ladies and gentlemen from wrestling each other to the ground and tearing each other's clothes off with no thought about the future or the ones that they'd hurt. Getting a woman to marry you, or her getting the man she wanted, to finally propose.

Or politely asking another kingdom for help and then just scraping and bowing to them, backing off if they said 'No,' even if your people were dying, everywhere…

But he was about to break all those faux rules. Rules like resisting every kind of temptation and real offers in Dalaran for two long years, doing all you can to stay loyal to… her… and not upset her while you wait for her to just hurry up and graduate and work the details out between your familes. While you face the Plague and worse and confide in her, only her… thank the Light for her… But then, all that sacrifice, all that work, only for Jaina to cheat, have an affair with Kael'thas of all people! And now, Arthas was expected to… to just go back, like nothing happened? Back to… her… and that kind of life. Waiting and worrying all the time. Hoping, pointlessly hoping and nothing ever changing. Why?!

Arthas didn't like rules anyway and he was beginning to care less and less every day, about… Azeroth, really.

He raised his sword. The slightest tear in the arcane magical veil, against the edge of a tree root was like any other. Able to be stretched, rent further. Arthas had heard rumors about it, and found it after only a few days. It was a thing that could send spies in, buy them vital intelligence about the Elves. Save lives and armies. Or, this.

Arthas felt the lust surge in him, let his heart race as he continued to raise the golden blade higher, still higher. Finally, the tear in the purple magical barrier was as tall as a man seated on his horse. Man, on animal, went. Quietly at first, gently. Then, charging in like hellbats.

The frenzied hoofprints behind Arthas, flecked with white ice crystals, melted into the dying grass.

Britecleff worked fingers up into his overly expensive haircut, feeling how it was already starting to grow out, by inches. His heart raced, thinking about that and how he was actually sitting in the legendary Windrunner Spire—in a reknowned estate as prominent as it was tragic. Dark gold at the tops of ancient graying stone columns, once white, and a long hall covered with Farstrider weapons and trophies gave a dull, ominous glow. Sylvanas was somewhere beyond all that, getting ready for him. That's what the butler had said.

Servants moving around in the rooms just beyond the hall of trophies didn't make very much noise. Just faint echoes, whispers… The place was not as vibrant as it probably had once been, when the Windrunner sisters were children and their mother was the ranger-general, with their father and grandfather leading the clan, their two brothers also… the Second War had taken away so much. The most spectacular fighters the Farstriders had ever seen all came from this house, this one mansion. And they'd left ghosts behind.

Now, he was here.

Britecleff was starting to feel like one of them. Just as forgotten in the Windrunner library. He reached for his gloves at the edge of the table and freaked out when he noticed his fingers brush what could have only been the dusty urn of of some ancient Windrunner relative. He watched it wobble for a long moment before realizing that it was his fault, he'd upset it and he'd better dare to touch it if he was going to stop the thing from crashing to the ground.

Britecleff grasped the urn, eyebrows raising, slowly, while he tried not to think about how this was probably Sylvanas' great-grandfather or uncle, or perhaps even her mother! He spread fingers, let it go and sucked in a nervous breath.

Why did he always feel like he was going to be shot out of a cannon, whenever Sylvanas summoned him?

"Bart."

Britecleff stood immediately. He knew her voice, but he wasn't sure where it was coming from. Not from down the hallway, where the butler said she had gone. Well, no need to make himself look like an idiot, now.

Sylvanas started laughing at him. Britecleff took a step, then shuffled around, craned his neck to see up the spiral staircase.

A dressing gown slipped over her shoulder. It was gold with broad leaves of black lace down the front. She had been leaning down, to call to him. Now, Sylvanas straightened and placed a hand on the dark wood railing.

Britecleff counted himself as lucky, that beautiful women always caused him to relax. Nerves weren't really a problem with him, when it came to the opposite sex. Which saved a lot of otherwise awkward situations, and meeting Lady Weaver the first time, for one. Attractive women just made him very easy going, confident. Pleased to be alive. He smiled at Sylvanas as he gazed at her.

"I admit that I forgot I summoned you last night. When they reminded me that you were waiting, and had been here since before breakfast, I ran down here to make sure you didn't… well, I did forget, but I haven't forgot about you, Britcleff."

Britecleff finished putting his gloves on and smiled down at his hands, "…My pleasure."

She lingered, staring at him as well.

"I… well, I've already sort of made an ass of myself. Please, sit. We'll talk there in the library so that I don't waste any more of your time."

Sylvanas walked down the stairs, then stood in front of him, gathered up her golden robe about herself, then sat.

Britecleff cleared his throat when he remembered to sit again, following her lead.

"And then we can have breakfast together. I haven't eaten yet, either. I… slept in."

Britecleff smiled down at his hands again. When he'd pulled himself together, out of whatever his overly happy thoughts were, "How may I be of assistance to you this morning, my lady?"

"Arthas—" she stopped herself, "Prince Kael'thas… somehow, I mixed up my princes. Erm… Well, I wanted to re-assure you that he did receive Sunthraze's letter."

"Oh. I didn't realize you had a way of knowing that."

"Anasterian's spies are my spies, are Sorn's, at the end of the day. We're watching the Humans carefully already, and it's no big thing for someone handy to notice whether or not Kael'thas smiled while he opened his mail in the local coffee shop."

Britecleff laughed at himself for not realizing it.

"There's a lot of sexual tension between us. Isn't there?"

Britecleff looked ready to fall out of the chair.

"It's just best to say things out loud. I like to be direct. Though… Alleria says I'm too direct for my own good."

Britecleff felt the onset of a panic attack, maybe. He couldn't meet Sylvanas' eyes, gripped the arm of the chair.

"But it's no good. You're… engaged, aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes, I remember being engaged."

"And I'm… well, Stormwind was a successful… convocation. So we're fine."

"Ah." Then, not following her at all, really, "How are we fine?"

Sylvanas moved on. Britecleff got the feeling that Sylvanas was bragging, somehow. Or, she wanted to.

"Anyway, it's not that you or your team made any mistakes. Everything has gone well. But Kael'thas has to choose to write back and he's been making himself busy with his studies and so forth… he finds something else to study after he's graduated. Bad timing for us, but it's good, I suppose, that he wants to keep his mind off of things."

Sylvanas hugged her arms, she was starting to feel cold, she said.

"Shall I call the butler?"

Sylvanas frowned, "No, no—this house is always freezing. Nobody can do anything about it in this part of Eversong." She relaxed in the chair and was able to appear almost as if she sat on a throne.

"Mainly, I wanted to ask you something, confidentially, while you're away from the Garrison, and certainly far from the king and his Sunspire."

Britecleff furrowed his brow.

"I want to know if you have heard of someone… Lady Vashj?"

He focused on the clock at the far wall, while he thought.

"Not from the Silvermoon great families that I know of. But the name is too exotic to be Human. Not Dwarven is it?"

"Lady Vashj was once one of the incorruptible Moon Guard, before she, like her sisters-in-arms, succumbed to the power of the Legion. Along with Queen Azshara." And, as Britecleff clearly still didn't get it, "She's a Naga. The dean of the university, Archmage Sweeney, just falsified her arrest records, saying she was an Undead thief dragging herself through university grounds with a rotted limb, but we know better." Sylvanas fished a key from a chain around her neck, leaned over, then unlocked the drawer of the small table.

"Whose urn is that, by the way?"

"Mine."

Britecleff looked freaked out all over again.

"Whenever I'm dead, they're putting me in there. Or, one of the other ones I've been sent. Morbid, but I'm just trying to enforce some sanity and order in this house. You should hear how Mr. Langoler whines about 'what he's going to do without us,' so now we're planning for every eventuality until he feels better." She looked up, "You shouldn't have asked. This house gets spookier every year, I swear."

"Sorry." Britecleff winced.

"Death is a part of life… or is life the beginning of death? Well… don't ask about that, either. Sometimes I have weird… thoughts." She handed him a small box from the drawer, asked him to open it.

"A scale?"

"No, so you're not one of the conspirators, definitely not. Anyone who's seen a Naga scale before, been close to one, has a reaction to seeing one of these—that is, breathing in the faint arcane essence on the scale. Your pupils aren't dilated now, so I'm satisfied this was worth your missing breakfast and me being seen in my underoos this morning."

Sylvanas took the box back, replaced it in the drawer, then practically slammed it closed.

"That's all."

"That's… it?"

She nodded.

"Also, you said 'underoos.'" He smiled, "You sounded a bit like a Human, saying that."

"I guess one of them is rubbing off on me." She smirked.

Britecleff leaned in, it was on the edge of his tongue. But he just couldn't do it. Ask about the ranger-general's personal life. Very, very personal life. Then again, didn't she want him to ask? Wasn't that was all this vague hinting was about?

"Well, then. With your permission, I have at least two nutty Farstriders to wrangle before they cause more trouble back at the Garrison."

"Britecleff."

"Yes?"

"I don't know why Archmage Dean Sweeney is hiding a Naga on his campus, but if Kael'thas mentions anything about it, you need to bring it straight to me. Not to Sorn." Sylvanas yawned. "Not to anyone but me, do you understand?"

"Why do you think Kael'thas would be… interacting with a Naga?"

"Well, he's got to get his kicks in somewhere."

"Uh… Sylvanas?"

"Trust me, if there's something woman-like and exotic on that campus, especially if she can't defend herself, Prince Kael'thas has found it."

Feeling offended somehow, "You don't think Lady Vashj, or whomever she is, may be trying to find him? I just don't think that everything bad that happens to Kael'thas is down to his, well, perversion. I hate to put it that way, but I am aware of how his entire schooling experience at Dalaran has gone…"

"And this is why I wanted to talk about this here at my house. Now that the Farstriders know there is a Naga in Dalaran, we can be very honest with ourselves and keep an eye out on that front, too. Sound fair?"

"Kael'thas just isn't that bad, Sylvanas."

"I hope that he isn't. But I've planned battle strategy more obvious than this and I'd be neglecting my good Farstrider instinct if I didn't tell you to keep an eye out. Sorn will just freak out and go straight to Anasterian—you did know that's how Kael'thas went away for school in the first place, didn't you?"

"Huh?"

"Anasterian found a succubus in Kael'thas' room, and at an age where no… teenage warlock is supposed to even have a pet imp. And now we're hoping a Naga isn't involved in this delayed letter." She held back.

"Sylvanas. Was there something else?"

She exhaled, her eyes flitted elsewhere. "I know that you like Sunthraze and trust him. But there has to be another letter. A missing letter. Kael'thas must have sent a second one. Kael'thas didn't wait for a response, then write back. No. This second letter was something that Sunthraze did not initiate. Kael'thas must have sent something to Sunthraze, on his own. And that is precisely why you missed it, Britecleff. That would have been easy for Sunthraze to hide from you. No one saw it coming."

"He… did hide it from me. And yes, he confided in me that there was a second letter."

"Why in the world of Azeroth didn't you report this to me? We can't have Sunthraze acting like these letters from Kael'thas are his personal possessions. They belong to the state, the Farstriders."

"I didn't want to report half of something to you, ranger-general. The letter was actually sent from Kael'thas, to Celestia. But, we all know that he would never do that. So something is seriously going wrong over in Dalaran."

"How so? Maybe Kael'thas got angry and simply sent his stepmother a hate letter."

"I just don't know. I was hoping to have more time to get that information out of Sunthraze, the exact contents of the second letter."

"He's a Sunthraze. Sunthrazes are old money, they've always had their charms. He's hard not to like. I suppose we're still besotted with him, after the whole kingdom, it felt like, came out to support him. But this is a ringing reminder that Sunthraze is useful, but he's still a double agent to Celestia, according to Sorn. I thought that was a load of bullshit myself, something Sorn made up when he couldn't have his way."

"Sunthraze is not a double agent for Queen Celestia."

"Oh? Then why is he covering for her, destroying letters that were sent to her? Or, is Sunthraze covering up for Kael'thas?"

Britecleff feared to answer at first, "But it's so uncharacteristic of Celestia to choose someone lowly like Sunthraze for a spy."

"Right. But we can't ignore that Sunthraze said it, to Sorn, to his face, and that's been documented as well. That's in his prison record, Britecleff. Really now, it's extremely clear it was close to a confession that Sunthraze had decided to team up with Pyorin. Sometimes betraying the Farstriders to Queen Celestia, and sometimes not. Did you have any sense of that happening when interacted with Sunthraze?"

"I… Sunthraze did also admit to helping Pyorin with his letters to the palace."

"Why have you told me none of this!"

"I was investigating it, on my own. I didn't have a chance to… fully look into…" Then Britecleff wondered why he did get delayed getting to the bottom of everything. He realized that he'd been distracted with Daphne over the last few days.

Sylvanas took a step closer. "If Sunthraze is choosing Pyorin over the Farstriders, and hiding letters from Kael'thas, what is actually in them and getting away with it? Then Sunthraze has been compromised, too. He's practically a double agent as well. So I'm right."

"I still think I can bring Sunthraze on, into the Farstriders proper. This is exactly why, Sylvanas! He's no spy. Sunthraze has no real idea what he's doing. But he's clever enough to be in something like this, he can survive it. If I can mold him, guide him. He's a sharp knife that no one has got their hands on at the moment. If someone could just grab hold of the kid!"

"I'm sorry, Britecleff, but we need to keep a very close eye on Sunthraze, still. Who's that Farstrider that you said wants to get in his pants?"

"That's Tempest."

"Use her. Lean heavily on that."

"I'm not comfortable with it, Sylvanas. I don't want to get in the business of manipulating people's feelings, their lives. But… I know know my duty."

"I know you liked him. I was starting to like him." She waited for Britecleff to look like he was coming around. It felt cold when she pressed the issue again, into his sore spot. "Britecleff, there is one last thing to consider carefully here. What do you think was in that missing letter? What do you think was so important, so dangerous, that Sunthraze was willing to betray you?"

Britecleff couldn't meet her eyes. He furrowed his brow and kept looking at the tiled floor.

"I think we both know what was in that letter, Britecleff. We've been in this work too long."

"Why would…" He hesitated, "Why would Kael'thas confess to something like that in a letter? He'd have to be an idiot."

"Or? Simply very, very upset. And ashamed. I'm told, by certain sources, that Kael'thas has no other friends on campus."

"Or maybe it's just one source, that's been telling you."

She ignored it, "Faltheriel Darkweaver might count as a friend, maybe. But then again, two students were involved, that's what the papers have been saying. Students in Naga glamours. Kael'thas. And then Faltheriel. That makes two."

"That's still speculation!"

"Britecleff, please. You're yelling."

"I just am so weary with all these dumb, dumb recruits, and I want this resolved. And Sunthraze is an almost-recruit. If I could just get my damned hands …"

The floorboards creaked upstairs, about where Sylvanas had been standing earlier, greeting him out of his line of sight. Britecleff was tempted to look up there.

Join me for breakfast." She stood and beckoned for Britecleff to join her, "I dragged you up here, upset you, and now you're demoralized. Think of it that way. You're one of my best officers and it's the least I can do."

"I really shouldn't—"

Sylvanas walked up, smiled and linked her arm in Britecleff's.

"Please. This way…" she nearly sang it, "I miss having a man around, I guess. But you don't mind, do you?"

Britecleff allowed himself to be guided into the dining room.

Then, before the door closed he said, "…I did tell you that I was engaged, right? I'm pretty sure I'm engaged."

"Calm down, Bart. It's just oatmeal. And me enjoying messing with your head is almost a sport by now, or hadn't you noticed?"

"Alright, but I want my oatmeal very plain. No frills. In fact, do you have gruel? Because that's the only way Lady Daphne is going to let me get away with this…"

While they were inside the dining room, a Human man with pale blonde hair, almost white—and about the shape of Prince Arthas, made his way down the stairs from Sylvanas' bedroom. He carried his boots carefully, went silently in his socks. He went down the hall, through the back way, out through the kitchen, and left the house.

"Sylvanas? I could have sworn I heard footsteps upstairs, above our heads in the hallway. And then again, just now."

"Hrm? Oh, well I didn't. You must be slipping, Britecleff."

Britecleff narrowed eyes at her, "Maybe it was a ghost."

Sylvanas remained deathly serious, "Maybe we're all ghosts."