Of all the unusually frivolous thoughts that seemed to invade her mind lately this was undoubtedly the silliest. But walking slowly arm in arm with her mage down from the quarterdeck before the gathered crew still made Sylvanas think of some sort of wedding ceremony. Although such occasions did of course tend to involve two parties who were of similar race, opposite sex, alive and not exhausted to the point of needing the other one to actually stay upright.
Exhausted or not it took a direct order from her to make Proudmoore let go of her staff and call it a day. It was not that she tried to resist or in any way violate Sylvanas' conditions as such, if anything her mage was just loathe to give up and seemed almost close to pouting. Velonara had received the mage staff for safe keeping with the flourish of a fresh squire, but her reverence ended there. The ranger proceeded to point Proudmoore's staff in random directions and perform a wholehearted imitation of an archmage's spellcasting.
"'Fwooom'! Slow!" Velonara pointed at midshipman Gray, who played along and pretended to move at half speed most convincingly.
"Polymorph!" Velonara pointed at Haley.
"Ba-a-a-ah!" their lookout bleated.
Proudmoore sighed and leaned a little closer.
"To think that you all worry so much about me wielding that staff." she mumbled.
Sylvanas couldn't stop herself from smiling.
It was early in the evening still and Sylvanas lit a couple of lamps in the cabin while Proudmoore rested in her hammock, appearing tired but not yet sleepy. She had hung her jacket by the door and leaned back in her too large shirt and pants, yawning.
She had gotten freckles.
It was a completely irrelevant observation but it still stuck to Sylvanas' mind. Elves hardly ever had such marks, and were overall in fact somewhat bland in their unbroken uniform smoothness that humans seemed to prize so much.
Sylvanas returned to her reading material, or rather the notes of her mage in question that she pretended to busy herself with, but her eyes still wandered to Proudmoore from time to time. It was not just the freckles; she had changed over the week and a half since Sylvanas had brought her aboard. Her skin was not as pale and looked a good deal healthier, and she didn't seem quite so thin and frail anymore. If Sylvanas didn't know better she would say that being abducted like this appeared to have actually been good for her mage. At least the woman was in no immediate danger and would remain a very much alive hostage for them, and it couldn't hurt for the Forsaken to appear magnanimous enough to treat their prisoners well, could it? So Sylvanas had every reason to be quite pleased with what she was seeing. So far she had managed to keep a highly dangerous enemy spellcaster in confinement without any major incidents and without her antagonizing the crew, on the contrary in fact.
To tell the truth, Sylvanas caught herself forgetting more than once that Proudmoore was at the end of the day the head of an enemy nation and someone to be rightly feared by any Forsaken. Her non-ceasing vigil had gradually shifted from readiness to counter escape attempts towards watching over her mage to make sure that she had what she needed. Even the nights had turned out different than Sylvanas had planned. Leaving a lamp lighted was usually inadvisable at best because Proudmoore would keep herself awake studying Sylvanas until her yawns threatened to dislocate her jaw. So Sylvanas, or sometimes Anya, kept watch in the dark and listened to the creaking of the ship and her mage's steady breaths. It was oddly calming, and Sylvanas found that she did not particularly mind the lost opportunity to work as she usually did during the dark hours. It was in all honesty not like she had much to go over anyway in the way of paperwork.
There still remained the question of how she would deal with Proudmoore once they reached the Undercity. As much as the mage seemed to thrive, bloom even, at sea Sylvanas held no illusions that the sight of the ruined country and the decrepit state of the Forsaken, and many of them also far more bitter than her sailors, would not be utterly disturbing to her. Add to that the proximity to Alliance lands and the very concrete prospect of Forsaken doing battle against other humans, and who could tell if her mage would be as cooperative anymore?
The issue was not unsolvable in the Undercity. The Lordaeron crown had warded some of its dungeons against spellcasters in the same way Quel'Thalas or other human nations of note had. In an ironic twist of fate those dungeons were currently some of the most intact areas of the city and also technically akin to the top floors of their subterranean capital. She could quarter Proudmoore there, it would hardly be more unhealthy than the damp catacombs and sewers where the Forsaken mostly dwelled. They could give her a proper bedroll and maybe some sort of brazier or makeshift fireplace to keep her warm.
Next question was how to bring a presumably less than enthusiastic archmage from the ship into the city's deepest dungeons without ending up with a fireball in the face.
Sylvanas resisted the urge to sigh. It all came down to the same damned conundrum as always. Proudmoore was too powerful to overpower without extreme risk and too important to let go. The option of assassinating the mage had of course crossed Sylvanas' mind several times but the thought made her dead insides twist in disgust. She may already be a monster and a murderer until eternity thanks to Arthas but damn if she would voluntarily add to that bloody list. She had not torn the shredded remnants of her soul free from the Lich King only to remain a mindless tool of death on her own!
So, with neither agreement nor force being reliable options Sylvanas would have to fall back on her original idea. She would have to break Proudmoore's will to such an extent that she would allow herself to be imprisoned and she would have to do it shortly after they had made landfall. It stood to reason that anyone with their wits about them, particularly such a curious and intelligent woman as her mage, would want to familiarize themselves somewhat with their new surroundings before making an escape attempt. And while Proudmoore was doing that it would be a good time to confront her with Arthas' crimes and whatever connection between him and her that the recovered marriage contract implied. Guilt, even misplaced – especially misplaced such – was a powerful emotion and in the face of Lordaeron's devastation and the full extent of the Forsaken's miseries even a seasoned ruler might just be shocked into feeling incriminated by even the vaguest affiliation with the treacherous prince responsible for it. And Proudmoore was anything but that.
It was likely to be effective, when her mage was so impressionable and seemed so easily affected by her. It was the best solution for the safety of all involved.
But the thought of having to hurt her mage did still not sit well with Sylvanas.
"A silver for your thoughts?" the very same mage asked, making Sylvanas aware that she had been frowning. "Though I don't actually have any coin on me of course, but perhaps a promise-to-pay note from the hostile nation of Theramoore's treasury for your thoughts, Lady Windrunner?"
"Mages." Sylvanas smirked, unable to help herself and secretly grateful for the reprieve.
"Still worried about my dastardly arcane powers? And here I was thinking the elves were the ones accustomed to magic and us humans the superstitious barbarians."
"All a compliment to your powers, Lady Proudmoore."
Sylvanas shifted her chair and stretched out so she faced her mage. Proudmoore lay on her side with her head resting against her hand and looked decidedly unthreatening. Almost absent-mindedly she raised her other hand slightly and a small line of arcane blue-white light appeared between her thumb and forefinger, turning into a large and unnaturally perfect snowflake that seemed to glow faintly blue and glittered in the light from the lamp as it danced over Proudmoore's fingers.
"There. That's all the blizzards you will get out of me for today." her mage mused thoughtfully.
She slowly raised her upturned palm before her and pursed her lips and blew softly. It was a strangely tender gesture, like the blowing of a kiss. The snowflake twinkled through the air and settled in Sylvanas' palm.
This was the sort of moment where Areiel would have tripped over herself to declaim how Sylvanas appeared to have suffered a brain-freeze.
The banshee queen sat still like a statue. If she had been able to breathe she would have held her breath. She felt that it was absolutely imperative that she did not move her hand the slightest and in no way disturb or, Belore forbid, damage this precious, beautiful object.
"It…it is certainly a well-crafted blizzard, Lady Proudmoore…" Sylvanas' words stumbled out of her mouth, stiff and unsteady.
At that her mage tilted her head a little, and an odd little smile played at her lips.
"About that" Sylvanas cleared her throat "if I may ask, what is it that a mage's staff actually does? It is obviously of great use to you."
"Each has its own enchantments for one thing or the other, but their main function is to help the caster focus the magical energy more easily. It essentially gives me more mana and lets me use it more effectively."
"So you can last longer when channelling a spell like that?"
"I don't think so, but my staff will let me get more out of the time I last. In most cases, a mage's mana runs out long before anything else but when you have reached a certain level of magical ability" here the mage blushed slightly "you can many times find the physical and mental exhaustion that comes form the casting to be the most limiting. Imagine a woodcutter with a new saw, for example. He might be able to finish seven logs during the day instead of five, but it is still a days work and just as tiring."
Ever the engaged teacher, her mage was. But Sylvanas frowned at another question that this explanation raised.
"The exhaustion from spell casting you describe, how does it affect you, Lady Proudmoore?"
"Oh, well, you've seen most of it I suppose. I eventually begin to fall over where I stand. Apart from that it is my usual charming personality quirks in the form of acute migraines, nausea, lethargy and a rather bad mood I have been told." Proudmoore's eyes widened. "Wait, is that why you ask? Is it something I've said to your dark rangers, Lady Windrunner?"
Sylvanas had to stop herself forcefully from laughing. Was that what her mage worried about, of all things?
"Not at all, and you need not worry about my rangers' state of mind, Lady Proudmoore. I assure you they are a hardened lot, and besides they do on the contrary appear quite taken with you. You have been very graceful towards them, and all other things aside I am in your debt for that."
"I like them." she blurted out. "Even if they make fun of how I look. I don't think it is ill-intentioned."
Sylvanas' brow furrowed. The rangers' directness and honesty was a valuable thing and it came together with a long list of odd behaviours that had transcended death, but she would not stand for them insulting a foreign dignitary in their custody and least of all Lady Proudmoore.
"Would you please elaborate, Lady Proudmoore? I do tolerate the rangers' eccentricities to a certain extent but insults are in no way acceptable."
At her request Proudmoore looked embarrassed. Her eyes were downcast and showed off her extremely pleasant looking eyelashes as she explained hesitantly.
"It's just that…you have noticed how they like to…pretend to…well…to be flirting with me. To make me embarrassed. I know they don't mean anything by it - I know I'm not any lithe and graceful elf – and it's no big deal… Please let them have their fun if it amuses them, Lady Windrunner."
What in Belores name…? Sylvanas sat silent, too perplexed to think of what to say. Did Proudmoore actually believe the rangers' banter to be jabs at her human physique? And the wording may be casual but her dismay was written all over her face.
Her mage was clearly uncomfortable with the subject as well as Sylvanas' silence and made a plain attempt at changing the subject to something else.
"May I ask a thing about Forsaken elves, Lady Windrunner?"
"Naturally, though I do not guarantee an answer, Lady Proudmoore."
"The elves in Theramoore suffer from deprivation of the magic of the Sunwell, which I understand was destroyed by the Scourge. No one is keen on talking about it but I understand that they grieve it deeply and being cut off from the Sunwell has affected them terribly. Are Forsaken elves affected in the same way?"
"That is an interesting question, Lady Proudmoore, but I think it is based on an incorrect assumption. We may retain a similar appearance but undeath has changed us to the point where we can no longer rightfully call ourselves elves. We have not lost the Sunwell so much as we have lost our ability to at all connect with it, along with the other things of the living."
That answer did not sit well with her mage.
"Lady Windrunner, that can simply not be true." Proudmoore almost admonished her. "You do all most certainly feel things and don't you dare pretend to be indifferent to it all." Her small outrage was almost adorable. "The queen who choose to cross the sea blindly with a handful of guards and a single ship for the sake of her people – and we will have to talk about that in earnest – is not a queen who feels nothing for them. Besides, you said yourself that there are still things you can taste and you and the other rangers evidently sense touch. And you are very much capable of acts of kindness." Her tone had shifted from indignant to sincere. "So I will kindly have to ask you to present any substantial proof of your claims, Lady Windrunner, and until proven otherwise I shall regrettably have no choice but to regard you as elves."
Her mage sounded so very, very much like Anya. Was she wrong? Was Anya wrong?
"I fear that only an utter fool would dare to risk your wrath by disagreeing with you right now, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas smiled and bowed her head in feigned deference.
"You mean the kind of woman who would entrust an archmage's staff to someone whose first instinct was to polymorph the next person? Perhaps I should be more concerned about whether there actually is a spark of arcane magic lingering in any of you." Proudmoore's eyes glittered.
"I have no idea what you are referring to, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas flashed a grin back.
Later in the evening when Proudmoore had at last turned in, or more precisely turned over, Sylvanas sat and looked at her, with the lamp still lit but dimmed.
Was her mage really so unsure of herself that she actually believed her rangers were mocking her looks with their constant teasing? How could someone with an intellect so apparent be so utterly mistaken?
But that was not how things worked, Sylvanas knew that well enough. Humans could have some really strange ideas of elves – she guessed she should have to yield to her stern mage and think of herself as an elf still – and perhaps their own ideals of beauty were equally strange. Moreover, Proudmoore's confidence in herself did not always match her abilities from what Sylvanas could deduce. She remembered their conversation over her mage's first meal onboard and how she had shied away and admitted to not eating enough. If Proudmoore really was working herself too hard and thinking herself insufficient Sylvanas knew perfectly well how easy it was to let self-depreciation spill over into all aspects of life.
The truth of the matter, strictly objectively speaking of course, was that Proudmoore was a strikingly beautiful woman. She was spirited, generous and compassionate, astoundingly competent in what she did and unflinchingly honest. She had overcome her lingering fear of the undead in less than a day to treat the crew as persons instead of monsters, and Sylvanas already regretted how harsh she had been to her mage at the time. If things could have turned out differently, Sylvanas no longer doubted that Lady Jaina Proudmoore of Theramoore would have heard them out.
And this was the woman Sylvanas planned to bully and break down once they made landfall. The mere thought of it sickened her.
The banshee queen looked down into her still unmoved hand. Only water remained in her palm, the snowflake having melted from the warmth of the lamp.
With a last glance at her sleeping, precious mage Sylvanas rose and walked out with quiet but heavy steps.
Jaina did not know why she had woken up. She couldn't hear anything specific that explained it, nor did she remember hearing anything that would have awakened her. It was almost pitch dark so it had ot be in the middle of the night still. She should probably try to roll over and go back to sleep but something just felt…off.
Wait.
There was nobody beside her.
Jaina sat up, at once fully awake. No one was watching her, she could…she could…
She could do what, really?
She could – probably – leave Sylvanas and her rangers that she was growing more and more fond of every day, and Davey and Haley Bones, and midshipman Gray who turned out to like fast sailing ships just as much as herself and reminded her so much of both Derek and Tandred at once, and the rest of the crew that had made her feel so proud of herself yesterday.
Out of the Tides-damned question.
But Jaina was still curious if she could do it. And if it was possible she could always leave another note for Pained. The night elf was probably rather worried…oh…
Correction: she absolutely had to leave a note for Pained!
Jaina rolled out of her hammock and double-checked the door. She saw or heard nothing. Well, if this was some kind of hidden test of her loyalty so be it. She stretched out after the leylines across the ocean, across Kalimdor, and found her own tiny corner of the vastness that was Azeroth. Between her hands formed a small portal over the floor, just out of sight from the doorway.
She had done it.
Jaina hurriedly bent over and once again scribbled a hasty note on the other side of the sea, but this time without water dripping from her. There was no message from Pained apart from one of Jainas sailcloth bags standing on her desk. Knowing Pained, it no doubt held some immensely practical content that she would be very cross if Jaina did not bring with her.
In much higher spirits Jaina conjured a small light in the air before her and sat down to go through what Pained had packed for her. She almost immediately started to laugh. The small bag held a couple of tunics – those would be divine – and a weeks worth of Jaina's underwear – Tides, that was embarrassing but she was thankful to her bodyguard even as she blushed from head to toe at the thought of Pained going through Jaina's drawers. Or Jaina's chest of clothes as it were, her room did not actually have any drawers. Wrapped safely inside the bundle of clothes was at last Jaina's toothbrush and a box of Kaldorei tea.
Jaina promptly complemented her current attire and put the rest of the clothes back in the bag and stowed it away in a drawer under the ordinary bed to her side. After the rush of excitement she was starting to feel what time it was and creating a portal over such a distance was no picnic. After sneaking off to the privy down the aftmost gallery, for once without the discomfort of an undead ranger guard waiting outside, she decided to go and look for Sylvanas. It felt silly, but it was also very unlike her to leave Jaina unattended and by now she had gotten so used to the quiet presence of deep red eyes to her side that she found herself missing them.
Up the stairs, Jaina was met with a blanket of wet fog. Not even her arcane light provided much illumination.
"Hello?" she called out.
"Hello? Lady Proudmoore?" It was Kitala.
"Yes. I couldn't sleep. Ehm, where are you?"
In answer Kitala's hand appeared from the mist to Jaina's right and rubbed at her arm.
"Here."
"Is something the matter?" Jaina asked and shivered in the wet air. "There's always one of you keeping watch. Usually, or whatever you call it." she yawned.
"Hm, you are right. That is odd." Kitala frowned. "I believe the Dark Lady is at the bow, we should go and ask her."
"Ask me what, Kitala?" Sylvanas appeared in the mist before them. Jaina thought her eyes were somehow dimmer than usual, but it was hard to say for sure in the dark and the fog.
"Is everything alright, Lady Windrunner?" Jaina asked. "I just woke up and nobody was around so I worried something had happened." Now that she said it, it felt like she was overreacting. Maybe Sylvanas was just trusting her more, like yesterday when she had allowed Jaina access to her staff.
"Yes, I can understand that." Sylvanas sounded so different, as if something weighed heavily on her. And of course a great deal of things did, and Jaina could only guess what it must be like to be responsible for such a mistreated people as the Forsaken, but Jaina had never heard her sound…resigned? Weary? "There is no need for concern, Lady Proudmoore, we are fine. In fact, my captain expects us to have some wind tomorrow. He says he can feel it in his…bones."
"Awful one." Jaina snorted.
"In that we are doubtlessly in agreement."
Sylvanas tone was like a smile that did not reach the eyes. Jaina looked closer at her.
"Are you sure there's nothing wrong, Lady Windrunner?"
"A great many things are wrong, Lady Proudmoore." Sylvanas still sounded absent, like her thoughts were elsewhere.
"Do you…wish to talk to Areiel about it? Or Anya?" Jaina tried. She didn't really know what to say but perhaps Sylvanas' rangers would.
At last Sylvanas looked up and seemed to focus on something else than what weighed on her.
"It's just my impression, and I don't mean to pry or anything, but you seem to trust them very much so I thought that maybe could help." Jaina tried to explain without sounding too awkward. "I mean, I could listen too of course but I guess with the whole enemy archmage thing I'm not exactly the first choice to share sensitive information with." she shrugged.
To Jaina's surprise Sylvanas laughed, but even that sounded wrong. A short and mirthless laugh. Ironic. Bitter.
"Far too kind." Jaina heard Sylvanas whisper in Thalassian. "Too kind for your own good."
She wondered if the words were intended for her but decided not to comment in case they were not.
"I…I guess I'll go back to sleep then. Do you want to keep watch, so I don't turn your crew into frogs during the night?"
"Yes, I will watch over you." the banshee queen almost sighed.
Jaina was yawning wide before they had reached the bottom of the stairs. She would probably fall asleep within minutes even if she racked her brain over what it might be that weighed so heavily on Sylvanas. On a whim, Jaina let her hand hang out a little over the edge of the hammock, as if she had let it rest there unconsciously.
As she drifted off to sleep Jaina noticed something cold carefully placing her hand back onto her. Perhaps the wind captain Bones had predicted had started to blow, for it felt like the ship was rocking a bit, or at least Jainas hammock was.
The next day the wind had indeed returned just as captain Bones had predicted. Unfortunately the wind was easterly.
"Of all the worm-ridden Tides-damned keel-breaking miser'ble shark-buggering…" Davey Bones were blaspheming loud enough from the foremast to be heard all across the deck.
"…crab-brained mutineering barnacle-blistering bloody directions this bloody wind has to choose it has to bloody pick the bloody opposite of our bloody course!" a rising clear voice added from astern. For someone so disinclined to shout at people Lady Proudmoore knew an astounding amount of swear words. And now she did appear to be in a profoundly bad mood for a change, Anya noticed.
"Aye, couldn't 'ave said it better meself!" the captain acknowledged Lady Proudmoore. "Hope ye had a better night than us, my lady. Tangling with that mizzen in the dark gets no more fun when ye're dead, I tell you."
"We're not getting to Lordaeron any time soon on the mizzen and foresails."
"No, we're not." captain Bones sighed. "Gray! Get over here for a minute!"
Anya stayed within hearing distance as midshipman Gray approached. She liked listening to people talking and guessing what they would say next. And she liked watching Lady Proudmoore. As usual a few other rangers kept a close watch on her too without having been explicitely ordered to.
"Gray, we're moving like a dismasted Stormwind carrack in this wind. Can you jury rig a spanker for us like on one o' those brigs ye've been on?"
Anya could hear a series of less than discreet giggles following that comment, and apparently so could the officers and Lady Proudmoore.
"What's up with them?" Gray asked and nodded towards the amused rangers, and Velonara in particular which Anya didn't find especially surprising.
Lady Proudmoore rolled her eyes.
"They're being landlubbers." she said dismissively. "Yes it is called a 'spanker sail', just as hilarious as 'poop deck'! If you find it so funny I'm sure Areiel could flog you all if you asked her nicely!" she shouted at the rangers and shook her head.
"Yes, well, I guess I could, captain, but I don't think it would do her much good. No good tacking if we put it up there." Gray pointed. "Maybe it would add some stability but we already have the fore-an-aft sails for that."
"Dammit." captain Bones muttered while Lady Proudmoore sighed.
"I guess it's back to the quarterdeck for me today then."
"Hmm, if ye've got anything like yesterday to give I won't say no to it." the captain mused. "But, correct me if I'm wrong 'ere, this current of yours has been something you've had to adjust on the fly to keep the ship steady, right?"
Lady Proudmoore nodded.
"An' that's been takin' a lot of juice out of you, right?"
Another nod.
"Well, we 'ave some wind today after all. Would it help if you let us handle the steering on our own an' just focus on thrusting forward with all ye've got?" he asked.
"SHUT UP!" Davey Bones, Gray and Lady Proudmoore shouted the next moment in unison at Velonara.
Anya smiled at that but followed Lady Proudmoore as she made her way astern. Something didn't feel quite right.
"Good morning, Lady Proudmoore." Anya revealed herself at a polite distance.
"Morning, Anya." Lady Proudmoore answered with an unusual lack of enthusiasm.
"Is something the matter?" Anya tried to sound as neutral as she could.
"I didn't see you back there but I will assume you heard everything, right?"
"I think so. Is that what's bothering you, Lady Proudmoore, channelling the current spell?"
"'Current spell'…" Lady Proudmoore smirked and Anya realised she had unwittingly taken a step towards Areiel territory. "In a manner of speaking. I guess I had just hoped we would actually be sailing for real today. I'm just more tired than I expected to be, probably slept badly or something."
"You have been doing this for several days now and you allow yourself very little rest. Is it unreasonable to expect that you should tire more quickly now?"
Lady Proudmoore sighed.
"No, no it is not. You are right. Prolonged casting does drain you, everyone knows that."
Anya went rigid.
"Wait a moment, Lady Proudmoore. Drain you? What does that mean?"
The mage looked at her quizzically for a moment.
"Oh, sorry, just a poor figure of speech. What I mean is that it exhausts your body and mind to the point that it can take a long time of recovery before you are at your full potential again as a mage. Maybe a bit like straining your shoulder or something like that, nothing serious."
"Don't let Areiel hear you talk like that, Lady Proudmoore." Anya commented with a smile. "Or Lyana." But she was not at all satisfied with that answer, for it felt far too much like what a certain Dark Lady would say when it concerned herself. And speaking of which, it was unusual and unexpected not to see the Dark Lady at the mage's side and Anya decided that it was worth looking into.
She found Sylvanas still in the cabin she and Lady Proudmoore shared, for lack of a better word.
"Dark Lady?"
Sylvanas looked up.
"Lady Proudmoore considers it necessary to channel her magic today as well since the ship sails so badly against the wind."
"I will not raise any argument if that's what she thinks."
Sylvanas sounded distant and Anyas concern grew. When it came to matters concerning Lady Proudmoore, Sylvanas had so far been anything but that.
"I am concerned for her. She complains of prolonged exhaustion and describes it as a side-effect of channelling her magic for so long during the last days. May I suggest we let her make use of her staff the whole day today?"
"Agreed."
"I believe this isn't good for Lady Proudmoore. I think she will drive herself too hard if she isn't already."
Sylvanas nodded slowly, as if the thought was not news to her.
"I think so too but for now the need to get home quickly takes precedence. But…keep an eye on her, please, Anya?"
Sylvanas almost sounded pleading. Keep an eye on her yourself, Anya wanted to say. What had gotten into Sylvanas? The way she spoke almost sounded like she was about to leave the ship or something.
"Sylvanas?" Anya asked hesitantly, and continued when the use of her first name made Sylvanas nod. "Have you two been arguing?"
"Arguing? Why would you ask that?"
"You both seem so down today, and you are hiding down here while Lady Proudmoore is up on deck cursing the wind and snapping at Velonara. Yesterday you both seemed so well. What is wrong?"
"I can't speak for Lady Proudmoore but as for me…" Sylvanas shrugged. "I…do not relish what will happen when we reach Lordaeron and the Undercity. Regarding her. What will she do when she's no longer confined by the distance of the ocean? When nothing but deadly force can truly stop her from teleporting to Dalaran? I will have to find a way to keep her from turning on us or attempting to escape at the sight of our, admittedly, ghastly realm until she is safely under lock and key in the Undercity's dungeons."
Anya wanted to kick something. She wanted to turn the wheel around and sail back to Kalimdor, to cruise the seas indefinitely for all she cared, for at least here they had found some small little corner of the world that was something else than grief and pain and death. But of course they could not do that because Sylvanas was the Dark Lady and Anya was her lieutenant and their sisters and all other Forsaken relied on them and Lady Proudmoore was for some right now incomprehensible reason the enemy and everything good and hopeful that practically fucking radiated from that woman had to fade away.
"Anya? Anya, what's wrong?"
At least now there was something more than hollowness in Sylvanas' voice. Always something, Anya thought bitterly.
"Must it really come to that? Throwing Lady Proudmoore into some hole without warmth or daylight?"
As she spoke, Anya realised that the thought was plain disgusting to her now. Beyond criminal, sacrilegious perhaps. And Sylvanas did flinch at her words and harsh tone.
"I have no better option." she said quietly. "To keep us safe from her. And to keep her safe from us…"
The silence between them was painful.
"The keeps dungeons are not necessarily worse that the rest of the rest of the Undercity. Or what if they wouldn't have to be, at least?" Sylvanas finally said, slowly.
Anya reckoned she probably looked at Sylvanas rather surly.
"Because I find it all the more reasonable that the comfort of a foreign head of state in our capital city should be of utmost priority. And since I unfortunately will have to be elsewhere for extended periods of time it would only be proper of me as queen of Lordaeron to put the safety and comfort of Lady Proudmoore in the hands of a ranger lieutenant without equal. Particularly one who I knew could be counted upon to conjure a hot bath out of gravel and rubble."
"The wards of those dungeons are not disturbed by the presence of a doorway. So it stands to reason that a fireplace and chimney would not necessarily pose a problem either." Anya suggested slowly.
"A sound theory that I will expect to be tested. If necessary, the rest of the structure apart from Lady Proudmoore's quarters is expendable. And in fact it need not have to be a permanent solution. There are shackles warded to prevent spellcasting as well and once we have acquired or crafted a pair we can move Lady Proudmoore to accommodations befitting her."
"I bet she would be at home in the keeps library." Now Anya was almost, almost smiling.
"Lieutenant Eversong, can I count on you to guard Lady Proudmoore's life and see to her every need once we reach Lordaeron?" Sylvanas asked with her most commanding voice.
Anya straightened her back and answered with a perfect ranger salute.
"My personal ranger squadron is at your disposal." Sylvanas was also almost smiling. "I will rest easier, knowing you are with her. Now I just need to find a way to keep her from turning us to cinder as we present the idea to her."
"I'm sure you will think of a way." Anya leaned forward. "You can be…quite persuasive, my Dark Lady." she whispered as she softly kissed Sylvanas' cheek.
Sylvanas made no motion, but her eyes were fires again and Anya drank in every little detail of that welcome sight.
"Come, let's go outside. Our mage needs her Dark Lady."
The sight that met Sylvanas when she stepped onto the deck was one she had not once imagined seeing since her mage had stepped onto her deck for the first time. The woman had the steadiest sea legs she could ever have imagined but none the less Sylvanas found her bent over the reeling, retching and coughing.
"What is going on here?" she ordered rather than asked.
Proudmoore waved at her with her hand, as if asking for time to explain. With a visible shudder she straightened herself somewhat and turned around.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry…I can't eat this."
Sylvanas' eyes were drawn to a plate of fried fish at Proudmoore's feet. It did not take a genius to deduce what had prompted the reaction.
"Just how old is that fish?" Sylvanas demanded from the crowd of concerned, and by now increasingly shame-faced crewmembers gathering behind Proudmoore.
"I'm very sorry, my lady. We can't smell the difference anymore." one of them answered solemnly.
Proudmoore did, of course, wave the apology away. "Just take it away and toss the rest overboard. I'll conjure some mana bread, or something…"
Her mage had sunk down on the deck, leaning back with her eyes closed and pinching her nose. Anya was right. She really did not look well.
"I do hope the food is better in your lands, oh queen of Lordaeron." she mumbled.
"To be fair none of us have really bothered to find out lately." Sylvanas knelt next to her mage. "But my people do swear that tasting the famous Lordaeronian grain is nothing less than a life-changing experience..."
"Oh, spare me please, it's too early in the day for morbidity."
"I would normally advice against taxing yourself without proper sustenance but since I can regrettably not provide anything better in that regard I think it would be more becoming of me to keep quiet."
"So abducting innocent archmages and making them run your ships is normal procedure but in this particular case you just happened to be short on victuals, Lady Windrunner?"
"Oh, you have no idea, Lady Proudmoore."
"Seriously though, is there any food in Lordaeron?"
"Yes. It is hard to find and nowhere near to support any notable living population, but not everything is blighted or devastated. Rest assured that I will not let you starve, Lady Proudmoore."
"I'll look forward to you inviting me for dinner when we arrive then, Lady Windrunner." Her mage groaned and rose up. "Let's get this ship underway."