Hello all! So posting here is a cross post since I normally post on AO3 exclusively. This account has been dead for some years. With this chapter I'm caught up to AO3 so updates will come at 1.5 weeks so that I can keep the 3 chapter buffer.
I've steered clear of author notes here up until now, mostly because FFN is a terrible platform for trying to use them since they're included in the body of the work. This will be my last one. Thank you to the people who have read, and favorited, and followed. I appreciate you!
Sid
Sylvanas is blaming this strange world, and the lack of arcane, and the fact that this woman reminds her of Vereesa for her descent into fucking softie nursemaid. Normally she wouldn't be moved at the sight of an Alliance member sick or wounded, but Jaina looked dead when they brought her back and something in her just, ugh.
She's blaming the flash of fear and worry she had on the possibility of being trapped here in this wretched hold, not on Jaina's moans and obvious misery. The mage has been in constant pain since they landed here, and Sylvanas has never heard her complain. It's maddening, this burgeoning respect and compulsion to comfort. They are not friends; Sylvanas owes her nothing.
It disturbs her, nonetheless, that it was possibly concern that she felt while ensuring the human didn't die from whatever they gave her for the Harrowing. She straightens up and the movement draws Jaina's eyes to her. The mage has been hovering near her ever since the Inquisition spy came to talk to them. She obviously wants to keep prattling on about whatever she was going on about earlier. Sylvanas might as well get it over with.
"What?" She turns fully to look right into Jaina's eyes. They widen and drop, and she can't help but smirk before continuing. "You've been sitting here with your fafa, debating whether or not you want to ask me something. So ask. Then we can be done with this."
Jaina huffs, pendant zipping back and forth again before it stops and she clears her throat. "I miss the feeling of arcane and I was wondering if -"
"If I am still addicted?" Sylvanas cuts her off, shaking her head. "No, I don't need arcane to exist." There's no need to tell the other woman that although she doesn't need it, she enjoys drawing the arcane from Azeroth, that it's pleasurable, that it recharges her quicker than taking the blood and life force of another living thing.
Her mind flashes back to their earlier contact, when her bare skin touched Jaina's, how that arcane flowed from her. She almost shivers. She should not want to put her hands on Jaina Proudmoore any more than she already has. She has managed to avoid the temptation so far, "Instead of wasting time on nonsense, why don't we try to think of a way out of here, hmm?"
"Wasting time? I don't see how-"
The door opens and Sylvanas turns from Jaina to see who's come to gawk at them now. She's tired of feeling like she's an exhibit in the Suramar Menagerie, an oddity for the seemingly endless parade of people that belong to this Inquisition. Sylvanas is a woman of action; being idle this long has filled her with an anxious energy that can't be slaked by carving scraps of wood. She longs for her bow, arrows to fletch, Anya or Clea or Velonara to challenge her to spar, or shoot, or hunt.
"Finally, I get to meet the bas saarebas and her basvaarad!"
The doorframe is filled with a huge horned silhouette whose voice booms across the stone and wooden beams of the cells. Instead of remaining on her feet, Sylvanas drops to one knee, hands closer to her daggers than if she were standing. She looks over her shoulder to see that Jaina has pushed herself against the back wall, as far from the bars as she can get to give Sylvanas space should she need it.
The silhouette ducks and turns to fit through the door, and the ambient light reveals an enormous, shirtless man with a single leather pauldron-like piece of armor, straps running across his chest. His horns span at least a meter across, making thresholds inconvenient. Sylvanas guesses his people had no hand in building the keep they are in after watching him struggle in the doorway. His scars and eye-patch would be more imposing if he didn't have a huge grin on his face as he approaches their cell.
"It seems he favors your style of impractical armor." Sylvanas calls, sotto voce, back over her shoulder. Jaina just huffs in response.
"The Inquisitor's off on a mission, but she told us that you are both permitted to walk to grounds as long as someone will guard you." His voice continues the echo against the stone and her ears flick in irritation.
"We have guards." Sylvanas growls and throws her arm out to indicate the two men throwing dice next to a fire. They haven't bothered to look up since first checking to see who was coming in the door. "Why aren't they taking us?"
The grin doesn't leave his face as he confidently shoves both of his arms through the bars to lean heavily on the gate. Sylvanas bristles when he looks down at her and winks.
"The Inquisitor doesn't feel that your guards are quite," he leans down and whispers conspiratorially, "capable enough to actually guard, and since the Inquisition is paying for my services whether they take me on missions or not, she wants me to do something to earn my fee. So here I am, your escort for the day. Iron Bull, they call me."
He opens his hand and offers it, elbow resting on a crossbar, completely unconcerned with his proximity.
Sylvanas slowly stands, eyes searching Bull's open, smiling face, but doesn't reach to take his hand despite him seeming guileless. Her ears flatten as Jaina pushes past her and clasps his hand.
"Jaina, although I'm sure you already know our names." Jaina turns and points to her and she doesn't bother hiding the irritation she feels. Jaina would happily walk into a den of wolves if one of them wagged its tail. "And that's Sylvanas. You have to forgive her, she's had to deal with fixing me when we first arrived in Thedas, and then again after the Harrowing. Helping an enemy faction drains what little good temper she has."
The man just laughs, the sound thundering through the space and making her ears ring. "Pleased to meet you Lady Jaina, Sylvanas. Now why don't we go enjoy the sunshine?"
After Iron Bull sorts their relative freedom out with the guards, they wander into the courtyard of the keep. She'd gazed longingly at Deathwhisper and her armor, propped in a corner of another locked cell, but the longing is tempered by the illusion of freedom after being caged for two weeks. Jaina had the audacity to push her out of the door with fingertips pressed between her shoulder blades, but dropped her hand at the warning growl.
He leads them to a tavern, Herald's Rest, completely across the courtyard from the cells. It feels so good to move in a meaningful way that Sylvanas can ignore the stares and hushed gasps she gets from the refugees and members of the Inquisition alike. There's a woman singing inside, her clear voice carries easily over the low buzz of conversation and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend they are in The Broken Tusk in Orgrimmar. The only thing missing is Gamon's bellowing at whomever is trying to kill him.
Bull walks through to the back of the tavern to a table along the rear wall, nodding his head to a young man as he passes.
"This is Krem Aclassi, one of the members of my Company that is currently serving the Inquisition."
The man nods in turn, and saves a shy smile for Jaina. Sylvanas wants to roll her eyes, but she knows that the mage's power isn't just from arcane. There's just as much power in a pretty face, and the Lord Admiral doesn't want for beauty.
"Pull up a chair." Iron Bull waves at the barmaid who nods and moves to the bar. "My treat."
He settles his massive frame into the seat across from her and slumps his forearms across the table. She lets her eyes trail over him as he does the same to her. With his small, pointed ears, enormous horns, and an eyepatch, he looks vaguely like the result of a liaison between Baine and Lor'themar. She snorts before she can stop it, then schools her face back into impassivity.
"So Solas says you're undead." His voice is low and he holds her eyes without so much as a flinch.
Sylvanas sees Jaina cringe out of the corner of her eye. She sighs and leans across the table, "He does, does he? I wonder who gave him that idea? You were at the judgement, you heard what I am."
Bull only smiles, his eyes leaving hers to look up at the server approaching with a plate of sliced bread and cheeses, and three mugs of beer. She leans back into her seat as the server places everything on the table. The woman turns to go after side-eyeing her the entire time. At least she didn't hesitate to come to the table. Sylvanas pushes her beer between Jaina and Iron Bull. They can fight over it.
"Solas, Dorian, and Vivienne are all very talented bas saarebas..."
"Bas saarebas?" Jaina's curiosity is piqued. "You called us that back in the prison."
Sylvanas settles back in her seat and lets Jaina's inquisitive nature drive the conversation. Perfect. She prefers to observe since there's so much more to be learned when people forget you're watching.
"Non-Qunari mages." Bull waves his open palm from his head to his feet with a flourish. "I'm Qunari, bas saarebas is Qunlat, our language."
"What did you call Sylvanas?"
"Basvaard? Mage-handler." He gestures toward Sylvanas as if it should have been obvious.
She swallows a snicker, fully aware that the implication that Jaina must defer to her will immediately draw the mage's ire. She debates between the entertainment of watching the Lord Admiral go head to head against this clueless mountain of a man, or pushing him for more information when Jaina makes the decision for her.
"Mage handler?" The mage is obviously offended and hell hath no fury. An angry Jaina Proudmoore is a sight to behold, especially when that anger isn't aimed at her. All flushed cheeks and sparking eyes-delicious. To see her pointing that fire at someone else for once, well, it's tempting to sit back and enjoy, but there simply isn't enough time to let this play out for her amusement.
She notes the flash of discomfort in his face and files it away for later. They need to know more about the land they're in, and while knowing about its people is important as well, there's something to be said about the easy comprehensibility of geography versus culture. He's probably breaking protocol by having them here while the Inquisitor is away. Will he risk it again? There's obviously dissension in the ranks if Solas is giving differing information to the Inquisitor from what the spy and the mercenary seem to know. There's a tightness in her chest this time when she thinks about Baine and Saurfang and what had seemed like treachery may have been something different.
Sylvanas briefly debates the entertainment of watching the woman continue to go head to head against this clueless mountain of a man, or pushing him for more information. She clears her throat. "While I'm pleased to see that Lady Proudmoore is able to direct her anger at someone other than myself, I'm guessing that you've not brought us here to argue cultural semantics."
"Shut-up, Sylvanas. You're not my handler-"
"She's right. We don't have unlimited time to talk. The Inquisitor, Seeker Pentaghast, and Madame de Fer are in Val Royeaux recruiting for the Inquisition, and I don't anticipate them being there all day. While they are away, Solas wants me to tell you about Thedas, at least its current situation." He pushes the plate of bread and cheese towards them and she, in turn, aims a pointed look at Jaina. The mage has lost weight since they arrived here, her freckled cheekbones far more prominent than usual. Jaina picks up some of each, nibbling as he continues.
"The history of Thedas is long. For convenience's sake, I'll give you the low-down on the Chantry version of Thedosian history." Idly, his fingers trace the shape of a burning eye on the table. "The first time people tore a hole in the Veil and entered the Fade, it brought about the start of a really shitty series of events. The Chantry believed that for their hubris, the Maker abandoned this world and cursed the invaders to with the Taint, making them the first Darkspawn." His expression soured, and he took a swig of his ale before continuing.
"These Darkspawn and their Taint eventually found their way to an Old God, a fuck-all powerful spirit-dragon thing, sleeping deep beneath the surface of the earth. The Taint corrupted the Old God, and gave it quite the rude awakening. So the now corrupt and awake Old God became the first Archdemon, the turning point for Thedas to fall into a Blight-a full-scale, coordinated Darkspawn invasion of the surface.
"Is Thedas in the midst of a Blight?" Jaina interrupts, food forgotten on the plate before her.
"Jury's still out on that." He hesitates a moment as if deciding what is wise to guard and wise to share. "Back at Haven, we fought what we think was one of the individuals who breached the Fade. He was accompanied by a dragon, and our Warden contacts report hearing the Calling, but at the same time Darkspawn movement has been low, beneath levels we'd associate with a Blight."
Talking of whispers and Old Gods and dragons that destroy the world makes her uneasy. There are so many things similar between this world and Azeroth. "Why are you telling us this?"
The man looks straight at her and leans in unflinchingly. "The Chantry's leader was killed in an explosion that tore a hole in the sky. We thought the Lady Trevelyan, the Inquisitor, to be our savior. On her hand she wields the Anchor and with it the ability to close the Rifts. She is a fearsome warrior; she has the charisma to bend crowns and crowds to her will, but she is also cold, and merciless, and her scorched-earth agenda against the mages is dangerously shortsighted. At Haven, we thought we lost her to Corypheus and his dragon, and then we hear from Solas that a mage with an anchor and an undead elf dropped from the sky. Is it a sign?"
He takes a gulping swallow of beer and wipes his mouth on his arm. "Leliana and Cassandra wonder if you've been sent by Andraste to make up for the damage the Inquisitor bestows in her name. Solas wonders if you're the key to defeating Corypheus and his corrupted army. Dorian and Madame de Fer say nothing except you shouldn't die by the Inquisition's hands, but their status as living mages is too perilous for them to wonder in front of the Inquisitor. I don't get paid to wonder, but I am curious and unlike our host, I don't turn away potential allies. I enjoy living, so if you two are the key to ending Corypheus, then you need to know."
"My anchor doesn't close anything." Jaina's fingers are wrapped around it, rubbing slowly against the smooth surface.
Iron Bull only shrugs. Sylvanas doesn't bother to hide her irritation. "It sounds like you have decided on mutiny in the favor of two people you know nothing about." At least those who betrayed her knew who they were working with, a sign that Saurfang and Baine were just traitors, not stupid.
"Not at all. We're not looking to oust the Inquisitor. We're hoping to convince her that you both are needed in our fight. But first, we had to see how willing you would be to help us."
"Who's we?" Sylvanas needs to know the depth of the division in the Inquisitor's ranks. If the woman feels threatened by her and Jaina, they're already as good as dead. Given an opportunity to help, a position in their army, she would be back in her armor with Deathwhisper in her hands, but who would be looking to put a knife in her back?
"Leliana, Dorian, Solas, me and my group. We need an archer or someone's who's good with two blades. The opportunity for one came up, but-let's say the Inquisitor wasn't interested in working with her. Dorian and Solas walk a very fine line being essentially apostate mages, so they keep their heads down as much as they can. It helped Lady Jaina's case immensely that Madame de Fer also defended her given her status as a circle mage who approves of everything the Inquisitor does. Commander Rutherford is also a staunch supporter of Lady Trevelyan, , as well as Blackwall, our resident Grey Warden. Varric, Cassandra, and Josephine are neutral parties. All three are loyal and duty-bound, but have spoke up against your executions."
Jaina draws a sharp breath but Sylvanas isn't surprised. They are currently on borrowed time and they must prove themselves essential to the Inquisition's cause.
"I would fight." Her fingers itch for her bow and her shoulders ache for the comforting weight of her armor, but she will not speak for Jaina whose own fingers and soul long for something intangible. She does not want to look at her, or to sway her decision. It is hers and hers alone to make.
"I-I too will do what I can. I'm neither an archer nor blade-wielder except for fancy swordwork for court." Jaina speaks softly and Sylvanas can't stop the surge of pity for her. She, herself, despises feeling useless and the implied weakness that comes with that feeling.
Iron Bull looks at her quizzically. "But you're bas saarebas, you have a saartoh-bas." He hesitates, feeling around for the word. "A staff-I've seen it. You can heal or cast offensive spells..."
Sylvanas can feel Jaina's eyes on her, making sure they're on the same page, looking to see if she agrees with what Jaina wants to share. This was supposed to be their safety net; Jaina keeps her "bound" by magic and she attacks or defends on command. Mutual protection. She sighs and nods. Both Iron Bull and Leliana had openly implied that they knew she wasn't a bound demon. Solas is hopefully trusting the right people.
"I cannot cast spells here."
Bull sits back, his hand rubbing his chin. "Well, that is… an unpleasant but not unexpected surprise."
"You knew I couldn't cast?" Jaina asks, incredulous.
"I had a suspicion," he says easily, leaning back in his chair. "Your posture, stance, the way you react to things-they're all tells of someone, ah… incapacitated."
A brief look of irritation flashes across Jaina's face, but she smothers it into non-existence. "But I could learn. I can feel the magic in this land, I just don't know how - to twist it, to weave it into something useful. I could learn if someone were to teach me." Jaina keeps her voice low, but she is earnest, leaning forward in her chair, eyes bright. Sylvanas understands the need to be useful, the control it brings back. "Solas could, or Dorian, or even Vivienne if that would be best."
"Oh no, not the First Enchantress." He chokes down a burst of laughter. "Solas would probably be your best choice. I know little about magic. I prefer to be face to face with whatever I'm fighting-not that mages don't have their place in battle. I'll speak to him later. Now, however, I think we should get you both back to your cell. The Inquisitor will be back soon and I have much to discuss with Solas and Leliana."
They are quiet on the walk back. Iron Bull leaves them at the door, pointing to his horns and then the doorway. "It's just easier if I say out here. Someone will be here to escort you again tomorrow." He pushes a small bundle into Jaina's hands and throws an irreverent salute at Sylvanas. She just nods at him. She doesn't trust anyone here yet, at least not with her facsimile of life, and even though he appears to be as much on their side as someone could be, there's always room for a blade in the back when your guard is down.
The dicing has stopped, the guards who were here when they left have rotated to other duties. The two that are here now are more dutiful: one is polishing a stack of helmets while the other sharpens blades. They both look up when the door opens; the one sharpening just points the sword to their open cell. After Jaina came back half-dead from the Harrowing, the guards haven't been nearly as intimidated by them. She smiles. Being underestimated has led to a number of victories, and has allowed her the upper-hand in so many situations.
"I know what you're thinking, Sylvanas. No. We're right on the verge of being out of this cell, of being trusted."
She just rolls her eyes. "I didn't become Warchief of the Horde by being a naive fool. Look, they've decided we've earned a table and chairs. Just need a bed frame, and they'd be admitting you're human and not some animal."
They walk to the cell and Jaina pushes the bars closed behind her. She then moves to the closest chair, sets the little bundle of cheese and bread on the table and sits down, slumping forward to pillow her head on her crossed arms. Sylvanas slides out the chair across from her and pushes her thumbnail against the wooden top, testing its give. Soft enough to indent the surface, all she needs to settle the energy bursting inside her. Jaina's head turns in her arms and Sylvanas can hear her murmur into the table's surface. "I hate being helpless and useless and beholden."
Sylvanas understands that sentiment on a primal level. There's a stab of pity in her chest but she crushes it as quickly as it comes. Jaina barely wants her help and certainly doesn't want her pity. Maybe now would be a good time to test out her theory that they work like converters for each other. She is definitely doing this for research and not because that sip of pure arcane is so tempting, and definitely not because feeling that energy again would be a comfort for the other woman as well.
"Do you remember when I set your wrist?"
Jaina doesn't even lift her head, she just shakes it on her folded arms. Her voice is still muffled against the table. "I've tried to shove everything about that night out of my head. You were awful and so was the pain."
She doesn't know why this observation stings, as correct as it is. Pushing her nail into the table's surface, she begins to draw as she talks. "You deserved me being awful. You'd just tried to kill me by shoving me into a portal. Plus, I don't recall you being particularly pleasant yourself." She turns her voice into an eerie mimicry of the mage's and singsongs, "Ama noral'arkhana, no noral'diel…"
That gets Jaina's attention. Head up, she sits back in her chair, suspicion in the squint of her eyes. "Why do you want to know what I remember from then?"
She keeps her own head bowed, eyes on the grooves she's etching into the tabletop. "Because I wanted to see if you remembered when I touched you-if you felt the same thing I did."
Jaina stiffens in her chair, but she pretends not to notice, keeping her attention on the lines emerging under her thumb.
"I do remember a second of that, before you started moving the bones. I could feel my magic for a moment. Do you think that's because we were touching? What did you feel?"
She shrugs as nonchalantly as she can before looking up into Jaina's hopeful face. The other woman has pushed herself to the edge of her chair, leaning forward in her eagerness, not a hint of the dislike that tends to shadow her face when she's talking to her.
"I felt arcane. Azeroth arcane. None of the muddy magic that's floating around us now." She stops her hands from their etching and folds them in her lap. Looking down at them, she wonders if the mage can get past her revulsion of touching an undead. "If you could feel your magic, maybe you can spellcast again?"
Silence falls between them, louder than their previous words. Her ears tilt at the rustling from the other side of the table and she looks up to see Jaina has laid her arm on its surface, palm up, eyes holding hers in challenge.
She hesitates, mentally trying to prepare herself for the rush that hit her last time, swearing that she will let go the moment Jaina says or does something that shows the contact is no longer wanted. Jaina's fingers curl gently, asking, without words, for her hand. She grasps the edge of the table with one hand and lifts the other, hovering over Jaina's outstretched fingers. She searches the mage's face, looking for even a shadow of fear or doubt, but those blue, blue eyes are shining in anticipation.
"If either of us says to let go, let go." She wants to make it clear that one doesn't lose their bodily autonomy for the benefit of the other.
Jaina nods and wiggles her fingers again. "Just give me your hand."
She did not prepare enough for the burst of pleasure and pull of arcane that sparks as soon as her fingers tangle with Jaina's. She sucks in a breath completely out of reflex, but otherwise holds herself completely still. Her eyes shoot open at Jaina's cry of pleasure; the mage's fingers tightening around hers trying to pull her closer.
"Oh tides, Sylvanas." Jaina gasps out, eyes hooded, voice indecently and probably unintentionally sultry. "This is nothing like I remember."
She smiles, unable to stop the corners of her mouth from turning up. She likes the way her name sounds falling from Jaina's lips like that, and their connection just feels so good. "Can you cast anything?" Even she sounds breathless, fighting the urge to pull the arcane through the mage is taking every bit of her concentration. The flow between them is slow but balanced; neither pushing or pulling the energy in either direction.
"I need more." Jaina sounds every bit like a Farstrider just returning home to the Sunwell, desperate for the comfort and pleasure it brings. The mage's hand scrabbles for more solid contact with her own, throwing back her head when they are palm to palm, fingers wrapped around each other's wrist.
She brings her other hand up from where it was clutching the edge of the table and wraps it around the back of Jaina's. The flow between them increases, and Jaina moans before snapping her mouth shut. They are drifting into dangerous territory but Sylvanas finds she doesn't care. Jaina looks so alluring with her head thrown back and her neck bared, and she, herself, hasn't felt this good since before her death. Loathe to end their connection despite the voice in her ear telling her to let go, she tightens her hands around Jaina's and purrs. "So take it."