She sits perched on a branch halfway up a large spruce overlooking the small clearing and silently bemoans the loss of her cloak. She doesn't need it for warmth, but it keeps the sticky sap off of her skin and armor. It's not that she can't feel the cold, it's just that it doesn't bother her. Despite the patches of snow and biting wind, she's perfectly comfortable.
Being undead has its advantages.
Not needing to breathe allowed her to remain conscious during their entire tumble through space and possibly time. It permitted her to land in this foreign world in relative safety, a few minor cuts and a cracked rib or two that were easily fixed with the life essence of a bizarre, furless, rabbit-eared animal.
Being undead also has its disadvantages.
The pain that had clawed at her was something she hadn't experienced in a long time and would prefer to forego in the future. She's not used to pain anymore, at least not pain like that. She wasn't allowed the luxury of unconsciousness, like the human, but then again, the pain was worth the awareness she currently has.
They aren't in Azeroth any longer.
The magic here is different. It's like drinking brackish water: unpleasant but serves its purpose. Another advantage of being a banshee, she can just keep draining those strange little animals and go without the arcane, even though arcane energy tastes better. If this magic is brackish water, life essence from animals is like water through goblin plumbing. Arcane energy though, arcane is like fine wine.
A whimper cuts into her thoughts and she glances down at the human curled on what's left of her purple cloak under a scraggly pine. Sylvanas had piled snow to make a windbreak and wrapped the woman's own cloak around her . Jaina's upper arm is bound to her body with strips of purple cloth, and her wrist is splinted in one of Sylvanas's bracers packed with more pieces of her ruined cloak to make it tight.
She watches Jaina cringe then cry out, muttering to whatever walks her dreams. This is far better than when they had first crashed to the ground here. Jaina's pained moans and cries had almost made Sylvanas feel sorry for her.
Almost.
A gust of wind whistles through the pines and pulls her attention up along the snowy mountain range. They could be in Dun Morogh if she squinted-the snowy crags and cliffs jutting up through the pine forests, a harsh landscape where only the strongest survive. She can appreciate its cold beauty.
Another cry from below draws her gaze again. Jaina has managed to work herself halfway out of the cloaks and into the biting air. Sylvanas rolls her eyes and climbs down to re-cover her before frostbite sets in. The living require so much maintenance to remain such. She would have let the other woman freeze to death if she were sure she'd be able to raise her. She wasn't needling the mage when she said she'd wait. Jaina Proudmoore in Horde red at her command is a delicious fantasy, and this isn't the first time she's ever indulged. She has no val'kyr here though, and to have such power succumb to true death would be a horrible waste.
When she reaches Jaina, she realizes that she can no longer avoid building a fire. The mage is shivering uncontrollably and still not conscious. If Sylvanas isn't careful, she may never wake. Wolfsong echoes off the rocky outcroppings as she gathers the driest wood she can find and clears away a patch of ground in front of the windbreak and as close to Jaina as it can be without setting her aflame. Pine needles and a spark catch and as the small fire pops and crackles; Sylvanas is pleased to see she's not lost everything from her ranger days. She turns her attention to the unconscious mage.
"Proudmoore," She moves to sit next to the prone form, "I wasn't joking when I said I'll raise you if you die. Wake up."
Jaina frowns and murmurs something again, her eyelids flutter but do not open. At least she is no longer shivering. Sylvanas debates shaking her a little to see if the stimulation brings her around quicker. She's gloved and has re-armored herself with everything but the bracer she is using to splint the mage's wrist. There would be no danger of Sylvanas drawing arcane from her again no matter how much she wants to. The memory floods back, calling up a shadow of the thrill she'd gotten.
She knew she should have kept her gloves on. The moment her fingers touched Jaina's arm, she could taste it; a jolt of divine pleasure. Pure arcane, like from Azeroth, with no touch of the foreignness of this place's magic. Anar'alah, but it was delectable. She had to actively stop herself from pulling it through the mage and into herself until she was brimming with it. It was as if Jaina's body was taking the magic from this land and trying to make it into something that the mage could use. She wonders if Jaina had felt it too.
Jaina wouldn't be helpless for long, if Sylvanas could keep her alive. The woman is so attuned to magic that her body was already trying to provide her with mana she could weave. Jaina would just have to learn how. She is so dangerous, so powerful, and when able to spellcast again, I'll have no leverage. She needs a plan. First though, get Jaina awake.
"Wake up, little mage." Shaking her could reinjure the shoulder or cause enough pain for her to stir and pass out again. So instead, Sylvanas tries a trick she's seen Liadrin do on unconscious soldiers. With the tip of her clawed gauntlet she moves the silver anchor pendant from between Jaina's breasts and then pushes a bent knuckle against her sternum, the metal scales digging enough to be uncomfortable, but not break skin. The human is so fair, Sylvanas sees that she'll probably bruise, but it can't be helped. She's tired of waiting.
Jaina frowns and tries to roll away from the pressure, but Sylvanas doesn't relent until she sees the striking ice-blue of Jaina's eyes, unfocused and blinking. "Stay with me, Proudmoore. I want to be able to show Liadrin my handiwork when we return." For a moment, she glimpses the Jaina Proudmoore of old: open and unguarded. Then the mage realizes where she is and who she's with and she closes herself off with a scowl.
"Take your hand off me, Banshee."
At the disgusted remark, Sylvanas slips back into the Warchief. She dips her words in sarcasm and drawls out "Anar'alah belore, you wound me, Lord Admiral. I saved your life."
"Ama noral'arkhana, no noral'diel." Jaina retorts, wincing as she levers herself up with her good arm and tries to pull both edges of her cloak together with one hand.
Sylvanas doesn't let her see that she's surprised by the perfect Thalassian. "Oh it was your magic that saved you, I had nothing to do with it?" All that time with Vereesa, no doubt-managed to pick up both the language and the attitude. It pains her some, to think of her sister.
They sit in stony silence, Jaina still struggling with the cloak, until Sylvanas cannot take it any longer. She knows the Alliance calls her imperious; their hypocrisy is stunning. It's obvious their archmage would rather freeze to death than ask her for help. She jumps to her feet and slings Deathwhisper across her back. "I'm going to find you food, unless your arkhana can do that too." Her emphasis intentional, she waits, eyebrow raised, until Jaina slumps and drops her hand into her lap.
"T-thank you, that would be nice."
Sylvanas steps past the fire toward the mage. She smirks when Jaina shrinks back, but waits for permission to enter the mage's space. Jaine holds her eyes, the fire's leaping flames reflected in them, then drops her chin just enough in acquiescence. Sylvanas loosens her gloved fingers from the gauntlet and reaches down to buckle the cloak below Jaina's neck. She forces down the urge to pull off her glove and trace along the line of that collarbone to taste the arcane that would rise to her fingers. She shakes her head, irritated at her lapse in control.
"Stay by the fire and yell if you see anything. There are wolves." Sylvanas suppresses as much echo out of her voice as she can. If Jaina can play nice, she can too, for now. "I'll be back soon."
Jaina just nods, tugs her hood up, and hunkers down as close to the fire as she can get.
s§s
Sylvanas watches as Jaina daintily picks bits of roasted meat with her front teeth, turning the bone this way and that to ensure she got it all. The rabbitish animals were easy to find and even easier to kill; this one had practically thrown itself in front of her arrow. The lack of challenge is vaguely insulting, she'd hoped a good bit of tracking would take her mind off this situation they find themselves in. So much for that. When Sylvanas had returned with the animal slung over her shoulders, Jaina was sitting in the same place where she'd left her, forlorn and staring into the flames. The elf had watched her as she absently toyed with the pendant around her neck, her eyes far away in thought. The Lord Admiral is as used to being in control as I am. She is mistaken if she thinks me to be the first to bend.
The fire crackles and a plume of sparks climb into the sky when Jaina tosses the bone she was picking into it. She pops her index finger and her thumb into her mouth to clean them off and her cheeks color slightly when she catches Slyvanas's eyes.
"You're staring."
"You're blushing."
Jaina's jaw tightens and she narrows her eyes, "Out with it. Just say what you need to say and stop trying to kill me with your eyes."
"I won't need to kill you if we stay here much longer. The mountains will do it for me, then I'm stuck here, wherever here is."
"Thedas, here is called Thedas. Their sky is torn too. Maybe that's why we ended up here."
Sylvanas raises an eyebrow.
"While I was unconscious, I went… somewhere else? I don't know exactly, it was green and there were huge floating rocks. I thought it was just another dream, but then someone else appeared," Sylvanas follows Jaina's fingers as they seek out the pendant again, sliding it back and forth on its chain. The shadow of a two-lined bruise is clear on the pale skin where the pendant was sitting. She feels a moment of regret before reminding herself that she needed Jaina conscious. "Another elf, a mage, and he told me a little about where we are and that we need to find them."
"Sin'dorei?" Sylvanas tries for nonchalance, tramping down the hope that Jaina was just dreaming and they were in some yet undiscovered part of Azeroth where Jaina's magic doesn't work. Foolishness, something that she doesn't tolerate in others is absolutely abhorrent from her own mind. She scowls.
"No. Well, I don't know, maybe?" Jaina's brow furrows and she stops when she looks up at Sylvanas. The elf tries to school her face into something less murderous. She prides herself on her pragmatism, and hope has no place there.
"He might be a half-elf? His ears aren't like yours, they're - smaller." Jaina adds warily with a pointed look at her hood.
She feels her right ear flick in response to the attention as she stands and slips Deathwhisper across her back once more. "Well, what are we waiting for? Hypothermia? We've already established that you'll do me no good dead." Jaina throws her a withering glance as she struggles to stand.
They aren't going to make very good time with Jaina injured and the terrain as rough as it is. If they can stick to the wooded parts of the mountain, the snow isn't as deep but the ground is uneven with rocks and tree roots. The clearing that runs along the valley to the east of them would be smoother terrain but deeper snow. As she deliberates, she picks up what's left of her cloak and snaps it against a rock to knock off the clinging snow. Jaina stands awkwardly, upper arm bound against her side, broken wrist resting in a makeshift sling across her chest. She picks her way carefully over to her staff leaning against a tree at the edge of their camp.
"Do you know where we have to go, or how far we are from it?" Sylvanas feels along the heavy fabric of the cloak for areas that might be soaked through. With this one, plus her own cloak, Jaina might make it to wherever they were going without freezing to death or losing any limbs to frostbite.
Jaina closes her eyes and tips her head back slightly, hand grasped tightly around her staff. The feeble glow the crystal emits pulses rhythmically; Sylvanas realizes it's mirroring Jaina's heartbeat. Her lips move faintly, a small frown creasing her brow before she drops her chin and opens her eyes to stare straight into Sylvanas's. "Tarasyl'an Tel'as. We need to go north. I don't know how far though."
Sylvanas holds her eyes for a moment before simply nodding and kicking snow over their fire. She shoulders Jaina's pauldron and two leg pieces of the roasted meat that she tied together with another strip of cloth. No sense in wasting everything, especially since Jaina would need something while they travelled. The rest of the animal she'll leave for the wolves she heard calling to one another through the night.
"Here, you need this more than I do." Sylvanas walks over to Jaina holding the cloak in both hands. When Jaina goes to turn Sylvanas shakes her head, "No, like a tunic."
She clasps what's left of the heavy material so that it hangs in front of the other woman, providing more coverage and protection from the wind. The strips cut from it have shortened it so that it rests just above her knees.
Sylvanas looks at it ruefully. "You'll owe me another when we return to Azeroth. Something dwarvish, tightly woven. This one was a particular favorite."
Jaina just rolls her eyes.
They walk for hours, Jaina's staggering growing more and more pronounced as they trudge through snow. Sylvanas develops a system where she makes a small fire and leaves Jaina to rest and warm near it while she breaks through the knee-deep snow for a mile or two. Then she circles back to follow behind the other woman to keep her from falling. She dreads the ascent they undoubtedly have to make. At this point, Sylvanas will have to figure out a way to carry her. They've slowed almost to a crawl. Jaina's eyes are drawn and teary from pain and exhaustion, but she makes no complaint and continues to put one foot in front of the other. Sylvanas begrudgingly admits that she might have been wrong in her assumptions about the other woman, that she's delicate and spoiled from courtly living . Sylvanas hates being wrong.
"Can we stop a moment?" Jaina's voice is small and soft and tinged in regret.
Sylvanas doesn't answer. She simply pushes through the snow to the nearest cluster of trees and sets the pauldron down for the mage to sit on. They are losing daylight; Sylvanas doesn't want to chance another night out in the elements but they don't seem to have much of a choice. They've seen no signs of anyone during their trek. Jaina insisted they were on the right path when Sylvanas asked, and right now, she has no reason to doubt her.
"We're going to have to stay here for the night." Sylvanas throws back over her shoulder and she circles the area looking for branches and downed trees. "I won't be able to let you sleep long, though. Too dangerous."
She hears Jaina murmur something under her breath as she lowers herself onto the piece of armor. She catches the muttered dangerous and impossible and something that suspiciously sounded like elf as she returned to where she kicked away the thin snow to make a bare patch.
"Keeping secrets, Proudmoore?" She doesn't even bother to turn from where she's stacking sticks into a pyramid and scraping dry pine needles from under the snow. She blows gently on the spark-caught needles and smiles as it flames immediately. She tucks the starter under the tented sticks and keeps feeding it pine needles and small twigs until everything is aflame. She then turns to look at the woman behind her. "Well?"
Jaina's eyes are defiant but her good hand is under the cloak, shifting back and forth, back and forth nervously. Sylvanas can hear the faintly musical glide of metal on metal as Jaina's necklace takes the brunt of her energy. The Lord Admiral has a tell. Sylvanas smirks and rises from the fire to lean against the nearest tree.
"The leader of this land doesn't - appreciate magic users. The elf, Solas is his name, called them the Herald. Apparently, they're missing, but their Commander is as apt to kill me as the Herald." Jaina's voice is tight and she pauses a moment, puzzled, "But the elf seemed to be a mage, he carried a staff like mine, and he said he would call to me through their magic. I'm not sure why he still lives if being a mage is a death sentence-"
"Why are we going to them if they're just going to kill you?" Sylvanas interrupts with a frown, gesturing with her hands. "I'm not doing all this to keep you alive only to have them off you at our approach. If you want to die, Lord Admiral, just not by my hands, simply say the word. I don't need to kill you to raise you."
"Shut up." Jaina hisses at her, "Stop it. Stop threatening me whenever I say something to you. I don't want to die, although sometimes I wish I had with all your bluster. You need me, you've said it yourself." She hesitates a moment and all the anger washes out of her, "And now it seems, I need you again, too."
Sylvanas tilts her head, leery of Jaina's change in tone.
"Solas knows I cannot cast spells, but no one else does." The metallic zip of the pendant sounds one, two, three times, then it stops and she pulls her hand out to study her nails. "So he suggested that you be evidence of my magic. He said you'd be in danger here too, an abomination, they'd attack you as well."
"-I- would be evidence of your magic?" Sylvanas narrows her eyes, their red glow growing sharper, "How's that now?
Jaina ducks her head and brings a finger to her mouth to chew at the nail. Sylvanas had noticed when she set her wrist that the other woman's nails were brutally short, several bitten to the quick. This woman is a ball of anxious energy and now, without access to arcane, it can only get worse. She waits in silence, frown creasing her brow.
"As if you were bound to me." Jaina looks up at her with just her eyes. Sylvanas bears her teeth and vehemently shakes her head. She wants so badly to lash out at the mage, to hurt her like that word burns in her chest.
"Never. Never again."
"You wouldn't truly be bound. You'd need only to pretend." Jaina's cheeks flush, as if her request shames her. Then her eyes go hard and cold. "I couldn't bind you anyway, even if I had my magic, I'm no lich."
"Thank the gods for that." Jaina Proudmoore as a lich is a terrifying thought, and Sylvanas shivers despite herself.
"You would essentially protect me, and I you, until we can find a way back." Then she does something that Sylvanas never expects. Those blue eyes hold her own and she pleads. "Please, Sylvanas. I've done nothing but try to think of another way. There isn't."
As her name tumbled from those lips, without scorn or disdain, she knew she would play her part. It seems that nothing's changed, in her millenia of existence she's always been a sucker for blue eyes.
**Ama noral'arkhana, no noral'diel - Saved by magic, not by you.