She wants to stand here in the sun and soak in the comfort that comes from the weight of her armor on her shoulders and her bow in her hand. They'd arrived back from Orlais well after the sun rose this morning, and the humans had all stumbled to their respective rooms to sleep off the alcohol and journey. The ride back had been electric; Morrigan rode in their carriage and the heavy silence between her and Leliana spoke more than they did. She'd wanted to ask why the arcane advisor to the throne was joining them, but Jaina had curled into her lap again and all she could do was pull the thread from the mage's braid and bury her fingers in her hair. She can't remember the last time she'd been this compelled to touch someone. Not since before she was raised, surely. Up until then, she'd been a very tactile creature. All elves are.
You are no longer an elf. She frowns.
Despite appearances, Sylvanas had felt right at home at the Winter Palace watching the Grand Game unfold around them. Orlesian nobles have nothing on Silvermoon high society with its thousands of years of practice stabbing one another in the back. Before Quel'thalas fell, it was a high art form, and she'd played with the best of them. In the end, she'd been bested, outplayed by Dar'Khan. So much time spent in the company of her rangers, loyal and protective, had softened her skills. She'd paid with her life.
You swore never again, and now look at you. The frown deepens and she raises her hand to run it along the vertebrae in the upper arc of her bow, soothed by the familiar bumps and ridges. She slings it across her back and walks towards the training grounds, hoping to have some time alone before the partygoers wake.
According to Leliana, they'd succeeded in whatever the Inquisitor's goal was at the palace. Deposed the Empress who'd gamed the throne out from under her cousin and rightful heir. The spy didn't seem pleased with the outcome, her eyes darting to Morrigan, as she explained that Gaspard, the new Emperor, sent the witch to the Inquisition as a sign of good faith. Sylvanas thinks it sounds more like a death sentence. Morrigan, herself, hadn't seemed concerned, instead she'd watched Leliana out of the corner of her eye until the dancing started. When the music began, Leliana had faded into the shadows of the pillars pulling Morrigan with her. Sylvanas caught something about red velvet and necklines and immediately tuned out. Not the gossip she anticipated, so she'd gone over to lean on the railing next to Jaina, and watched the dancers as they'd swirled below.
"Come to join us, demon?"
Iron Bull's booming voice snaps her out of her reverie and she realizes she'd stopped at the edge of the field and was staring off into space. She throws him a sloppy salute with her bow, smirking at the nickname; he's called her Lady Demon or some variation since that first day in the tavern. She has missed this camaraderie -the easy banter between soldiers- instead of holding herself above it to lead. She never wanted to be Warchief, but Vol'jin forced her out of the shadows and under a mantle that was slowly crushing her. She needed to get out or completely lose herself. Everything had been going to plan until Proudmoore came along. She clenches her jaw and shakes her head.
"Work some of that out on the range. Let's see what you've got." The challenge rings against the stone walls and she feels the thrill of it fill her. She strides to the end of the range, nocking an arrow as she goes, the draw centering her in a way that almost nothing else does. Nothing else except for Proudmoore's hands. The grounds get quiet as Bull's company stops their activities to watch her. Huffing at her thoughts and their looks, she turns her attention back to the dummy at the end of the grounds and promptly puts three arrows into its head, one right after another, all in a breath.
A cheer rises from the sparring pit, the Chargers crashing swords and shields together, and she smiles, pride and confidence flowing back to her. The young man from the tavern, Krem, comes running towards her, arrows in his hand. "Well done, Lady! We have pulley movement and throwing targets. Would you like one of them?" He looks very much like he wants her to say yes, his face much like the eager ones of her young rangers when they first came under her wing.
She nods as she takes the arrows, and he jogs back to where Iron Bull is standing. Above the dummies she sees the rope rigging and heavy wooden target of the pulley movement, and the sling and box of clays over at Krem's feet. When he looks back, she points to the ground, indicating the thrown clay discs. She's up for the challenge; she's not held her bow for a month, much less practiced. Sticking two of the arrows in the ground by her feet, she nocks the third and calls for them to throw the first clay.
Krem loads one in the sling and begins to wind up for the launch. Bull is standing with his arms crossed, the other Chargers are leaning on swords or staves; all their eyes are to the sky, waiting for the throw. When she sees the red disc soar into the air, she tracks it for just a moment before letting the arrow fly. The clay explodes into fragments and dust, and they're cheering again. She furrows her brow at how easily they're impressed. She could have made that shot as a youngling, dead-eye Alleria as a child. She has more impressive things up her sleeve, but her intended audience isn't here.
Others are beginning to file in, soldiers and Inquisition members alike. Cassandra stands next to Bull, her head tilted toward him in conversation. Commander Rutherford is directing a group of soldiers in the vacated sparring pit. Dalish, the Chargers' "backup archer", joins her at the end of the grounds, and Sylvanas cannot help but laugh under her breath at the other elf's "bow."
"You aren't going to actually try to shoot with that, are you?" Sylvanas raises an eyebrow at the crystals adorning the top of the obvious mage staff carved into the shape of a longbow. "I don't even think I could manage the draw on that monster."
The other woman just winks at her, the extensive tattooing on her face green as the first spring leaves. "It wouldn't do to let you have all the fun. Plus, Bull thinks you need a challenge and Leliana isn't here."
"The Sister is an archer?" She responds in surprise. After seeing all the blades that the redhead straps to her person, Sylvanas would have guessed her to dual wield. Dalish just gives her a wicked smile.
"She is, and quite formidable. Varric is an archer as well."
She scowls, picturing the dwarf with his crossbow cradled in his arms. "A crossbow does not an archer make." Then she turns and looks pointedly at Dalish's weapon. "Nor a strung staff. You must magic that to draw it."
Dalish just winks again and smiles slyly, and they set themselves to practice. They take turns shooting clays out of the sky, then move on to the rope-rigged target. Everyone gets back to their training, pairing off in sword drills or slashing at training dummies. Sylvanas is so focused that she doesn't realize Jaina has joined them until she catches a flash of blue and white out of the corner of her eye. She sinks her last two arrows into the swinging wooden circle in quick succession, gives Dalish a nod, and then strides over to talk to the mage.
"Did you sleep enough? Have you eaten?" The questions are out of her mouth before she can think about what they project. She stops right in front of Jaina and studies her nails, trying to cover her concern with mocking sarcasm. "Our first day free and it figures you'd choose to sleep it away. I don't see why you're so partial to being alive. It's always eat this, sleep that, and then all of the waste. Disgusting."
Jaina's lips turn up in a coy smile, the blue of her eyes soft and affectionate. It's as if she stopped listening after Sylvanas asked the questions. "Be careful, I might begin to think us friends, with all these inquiries about my wellbeing."
And Sylvanas is lost. The snapping retort on her tongue dissolves at the bloom of warm tightness in her chest. She has no idea what she's doing—it's instinct taking over, the elven drive to protect and provide for a partner. But they aren't partners and anything elven in her died when Arthas dragged her soul from her body and flayed it. If she could blush, she's sure her ears would be burning and cheeks alight, but she cannot. Her heart doesn't beat; it is a dead thing in her chest, useless and unfeeling. She frowns and looks away from Jaina's open, smiling face.
"Why don't we see what you can do with this connection to Azeroth?" Jaina's voice is still friendly as she steps forward and lays her hand on Sylvanas's arm, turning her back towards the range. It's as if the mage senses her discomfort and is trying to put her at ease rather than revel in it. "Then maybe I'll take a few shots."
Out of a habit she thought long dead, Sylvanas offers her bent arm, and without hesitation Jaina tucks her hand up under the crook of her elbow. As they move to the range, those near enough to see stop what they were doing to watch. Were they her soldiers, they'd be running until they puked for their lack of focus, but they are not. Plus their commanders and the Inquisitor have come up alongside the field as well. This feels like an audition. She drops her arm and pulls Deathwhisper off her back, turning her head slightly to murmur, "How are we going to do this?"
Jaina is already tugging off her gloves. They get stuffed into one of the pouches on her belt and her staff, strapped to her back before she steps back and looks Sylvanas up and down. "You couldn't be dressed more like your rangers? Then I'd have plenty of places to put my hands."
She deliberates a moment before responding, the deep breath she draws is more habit than anything else. Only her rangers know why the first thing she did, upon wresting control of herself from Arthas, was to have new armor crafted. She can't stop the bitter smile as she thinks back to Jaina's words after they touched the first time. You're so pretty. A sentiment with which she'd have agreed decades ago, when her eyes were still silvery gray, her skin warm, and her body unmarked by Frostmourne's violation. Now though, there is nothing pretty about her. She must decide how to respond: as the Banshee Queen, the Warchief, or as Sylvanas. The connection when they touch feels like living again, and she's been dead inside for so long she's forgotten that there's joy there. She's surprised by how fiercely she wants to keep it, but she still cannot keep the bitterness from her voice.
"You would not want your hands where my armor is, Lord Admiral, believe me. Let me remove my cloak and we shall see if that will do." She tries to keep the edge from her voice, but the reply rings harsh in her lowered ears.
Gone is the teasing from Jaina's eyes, but thankfully it isn't replaced by pity, just a gentle understanding. The other woman just nods and steps back to give her room to manoeuvre.
She pulls off her hood and unclasps the tattered fabric from her shoulders -it's lighter now that half of it is missing- and folds it before setting it with her quiver, on the ground near her feet. Feeling exposed, she shrugs her shoulders and swings her arms to settle and center herself. When she turns to Jaina, she sees the smile has returned, and there is something unidentifiable in those blue eyes.
"Between your shoulder blades, perhaps. Draw once, let me see."
She obeys, swinging the bow into position, and when Jaina hums softly at the flex of muscle, she smiles despite herself. She holds, bracing herself for the warmth of Jaina's skin against her own and the subsequent flood of arcane. They've learned to control the flow so that a simple touch isn't overwhelming, but the first contact is always a jolt. Jaina's fingers brush down her spine and she jumps from the gentle caress as much as from the energy. The mage lays her palm flat between her flexed shoulder blades, only enough pressure to maintain contact.
"Will this work?" Jaina murmurs softly behind her.
"For this, yes." She releases the draw for a moment, pulling and releasing to see if there would be any interference. "Let me get some arrows and then I'll tell them to throw."
Jaina's hand pulls away when she bends over to grab four arrows out of her quiver and sticks them into the ground. Sylvanas sets her stance, grabs two of the arrows, nocking one and holding the other by two fingers in her hand. She shrugs her shoulders a few times, and then nods, waiting for Jaina's hand. As soon as she feels the warmth on her back, she pulls on their connection and lets the energy flow through her. She calls out to Krem at the other end. "Throw two at the same time."
He waves and loads two clays, spinning the sling around and around waiting for her signal. She nods once and draws, pulling arcane to swirl purple around the arrowhead. The clays fly up, and she shoots the first arrow then flicks the second one up into position and releases again. When the arrows hit their targets; the clays are annihilated. There is no dust, no fragments fall to the earth. There is no evidence that the discs even existed. The arrows jut from the far wall, embedded into the stone halfway up the shaft. Iron Bull shouts loudly, and the Chargers cheer again. She notices that the Inquisitor and Cassandra are off to the side, heads together, discussing something.
"Throw a stone, as big of one as you can."
She pulls another arrow from the ground, relaxed and waiting as they search the grounds for a good-sized rock. Jaina's hand stays against her back, fingers flexing gently in a caress. "What are you going to do with that?"
"Split it in half." She doesn't mention that she plans on splitting the half again with her last arrow. Her cocksure grin at Jaina smacks of Ranger General Sylvanas, bright and flirtatious. The smile she gets in return looks almost indulgent. Her stomach flutters as Jaina leans in to murmur near her ear.
"I want you to try something that I've been working on. Pull now, as much as you can, and try to hold it, I'm going to let go. Envision filling a hole, or winding thread, some image in your head to help."
She nods, imagining a pocket inside her filling with the snowbright arcane, its familiar comfort settles over her. There is another shout from the far end as Iron Bull holds up a rock the size of his head. She nods, the corner of her mouth tugging into a confident smirk. Jaina pulls away, trailing her fingers across her back and along her draw arm to the elbow. It is certainly not a touch of enemies, it is not even one of friends. Even her rangers, who have served with her for centuries, do not touch her so familiarly. She doesn't have the time to address it, however, because Bull hurls the stone skyward with a bellow. She draws and shoots, watching intently as the rock is cleaved in two. Without taking her eyes from the falling halves, she pulls the last arrow from the ground and feels the rest of the energy drain from her as she powers the shot. She doesn't know if there's enough to split the stone, so she hopes to pin it to the wall if not. Either should be impressive enough. She releases the arrow and it sings through the air striking the lower of the two halves with a crack louder than the first. The half explodes instead of splitting, shards of rock raining onto the range. The Chargers whoop and holler as they scramble onto the stretch of grass to pick up the split pieces of rock.
"Can you always do that?" She is startled by the Inquisitor's voice near her shoulder. Cassandra stands off by Jaina, the two of them talking about something in low voices. At some point during her last few shots, the women must have made their way to this end of the field. Her ears twitch as she checks Jaina over for discomfort but the mage's posture is relaxed and her eyes are shining with arcane. Glowing blue rises to meet her gaze, and she is eased by the smile Jaina gives her. The fondness in it makes her chest tight and she pulls absently at her armor as she turns to Trevelyan.
"Not here, no. But that and more where I am from. We are still learning what we can do here in Thedas." The Inquisitor's jaw tightens and her eyes go hard, and she remembers that Trevelyan still doesn't believe them from a different world. She almost shrugs, she cannot force this woman into believing the truth.
"Your master looks to be gaining strength." The Inquisitor intones, steel grey eyes scan her face, watching every reaction.
She clenches her jaw, offering only a sharp nod. "She is acclimating to your arcane source, slowly but surely."
"And you?"
She is not sure how much of their situation to reveal. Jaina has been working so hard at recovering her strength and health that their focus has been solely on her, with good reason. Sylvanas can't make portals, can't blink entire armies to safety, can't fly a battleship into Lordaeron and rescue the Alliance's boy-king, his barking dog, and a surly elder sister from the Warchief of the Horde and her plague. She realizes she has closed her eyes; behind her eyelids toxic green clouds of blight fuel the orange flames of Teldrassil as all of the people she's killed and raised dance in a macabre parade around the fire.
"I'm doing well enough." She shakes her head, the image of the burning tree fades as the overwhelming urge to put her hands on Jaina moves to the forefront. "One doesn't need arcane to put an arrow through an eye."
"That's why I am here. We are in need of an archer for this mission." Trevelyan's matter-of-fact statement is more a poorly veiled command. Hard grey eyes continue their intense study of her face. Sylvanas doesn't know what the other woman's looking for; she doesn't bother to hide the disdain that permanently graces her face. Decades of crafted indifference and contempt have become her daily mask and it takes an effort -that she's currently not interested in making- to make it anything else.
She merely quirks an eyebrow, refusing to give the Inquisitor the satisfaction of her curiosity. The other woman shifts and sighs, obviously unhappy that she hadn't jumped at the offered opportunity. Trevelyan crosses her arms across her chest and clenches her jaw for a moment before she clears her throat and continues. "We will be traveling into the Fallow Mire, most of the population wiped out by a plague that turned the residents into undead. Cassandra and I can handle them, but fighting hip-deep in fetid water," she pauses as if regretting what she'll say next, "is unpleasant at best. Vivienne will accompany us as well, and is ranged, but it would be too much a drain on her to have to heal, shield, and attack."
She has to work to keep her face neutral. There are undead in Thedas? Jaina's eyes are boring into the side of her head from where she's standing with the Seeker, it's apparent that they were eavesdropping. Cassandra chuckles lowly, her rough voice as cajoling as she can make it. "Unpleasant indeed. The last time we had business there, I smelled like a bog for a week. It will be good to have an archer, especially one that can pierce stone."
"Training tricks that I can only do with the help of my Lady at this time." Sylvanas knows she isn't really being given a choice, but she'll play along. "But I can outshoot any of you and have no love for mindless undead."
At the slight emphasis, Jaina looks at her sharply, hand on her pendant. The compulsion to go to her and take her hands is so strong she must actively stop herself. This is the first time they'll be separated for more than a couple of hours. "Where is this place and how long will I be gone? How will I guarantee my Lady's safety while I am not here to guard her?"
The Inquisitor frowns, surveying the two of them. "The Fallow Mire is two days travel. I don't imagine that our business there will last more than two or three days, and then another two days back. You have my word that she will not be harmed."
Jaina nods at her. "I'll be fine, Sylvanas. They have a large library here, so I've been told."
Leave it to an archmage to seek comfort and security in a library. She rolls her eyes at Jaina who grins, then she turns her attention back on Trevelyan. "When do we leave?"
"Now. Go pack and meet us at the stables." The Inquisitor smiles wickedly, "I have the perfect mount for you."
s§s
If the Inquisitor had expected her to be put off by the undead horse she'd assigned, well she was, without doubt, unpleasantly surprised. It had been impossible for Sylvanas to hide her delight when the horsemaster led the beastly thing to her, a grimace plastered on his normally pleasant face. Bog unicorn they called it, its peat-blackened skin tanned to its bones, mane and tail bleached copper, and a sword piercing up through its jaw and skull in a gruesome parody of a horn. She'd loved it at once, and had smirked at the wide berth everyone but Jaina gave her.
She'd been nervous about having to ride, especially since the living horses in Azeroth would shy away from her. She usually just raised something, threw a saddle over the animated skeleton, and went upon her way. This horse was like her skeletal steeds in that it needed no food, no water, and essentially, no rest. Unlike them though, this beast had drive and personality. The first night as the others slept -uneasily with her on guard, she remembers with a grin- it had come and nosed her in the back and snuffled her hair. At that point she named it Talah and whispered against its neck like a lovestruck adolescent, a familiar tug at her still heart as when she'd named her first hawkstrider. Thedas is making her soft, and unlike before, this doesn't make panic and fury rise up in her.
Their arrival at the Fisher's End camp is met with little fanfare. She pities the scouts and soldiers that have to stay and hold the Inquisition's presence in this Belore-forsaken land. Lightning and thunder are as constant as the rain. Mud and water squish up around her boots and she curls her lip in distaste. She'd take the Swamp of Sorrows over this any day, even gloomy Kul Tiras is more attractive. She'll recommend the Inquisitor brings Jaina if she has to come back. The mage is more suited to this mess than she.
They have two tasks on their docket. First, find and return Widris, a mage who has fled her Circle. Second, rescue a cohort of Inquisition soldiers from the Hand of Korth, an Avvar, who captured them to gain audience with the Inquisitor. By the set of Trevelyan's jaw and flash of steely grey eyes, Sylvanas thinks he's going to get more than just an audience. The Inquisitor also made it clear that their standing orders are also to close any rifts they encounter on the way. She ties Talah with the other mounts -to the requisition officer's horror- and grins with full fang at the poor woman.
They've barely struck out from the camp when they come across their first undead. Before they'd left Skyhold, Jaina had held her hand, murmuring to her to hold the arcane as long as she could. The pocket of energy has depleted slowly over their journey, she's sure the comfort she's drawing from it is where it's going, but that's a subconscious action and she needs to be focused on what is happening around them. Focusing on conserving the arcane could mean the death of one of them.
The first corpse bubbles up from the murky water off to their right. Cassandra draws her sword with a shout and prepares to charge. Trevelyan's axe is in her hands, but Sylvanas calls out over them both.
"Can either of you taunt? I can hit it from here, but without charging a shot, I'll need two arrows for a sure kill. Bring it in."
Cassandra nods and raises her sword in front of her and bellows something in a different tongue. The corpse shambles closer, its stagger more pronounced now that it has a target. She pulls a little on her store of arcane and reaches out with her mind to see if she has any control over the undead here. Nothing. Its head is as blank as the Scourge. She puts it down with a single arrow to its empty head, the draw just hard enough to put the arrow through without going all the way. The corpse collapses into the muck at their feet, but before she can retrieve her arrow, Vivienne sets the corpse alight.
"I do not have an unlimited supply of arrows." She growls out at the waste of both the arrow and her effort at not sending it careening through the softened skull and out into the stagnant water.
The mage just sniffs. "My apologies, I was unaware."
Sylvanas just rolls her eyes and tucks Deathwhisper under her arm. Vivienne is the Inquisitor's problem, not hers. If she's out of arrows before they finish their missions, well she has her daggers. She'll be safe enough. They trudge on, she and Vivienne making quick work of the undead that rise from the swamp and lurch toward them. Cassandra and Trevelyan see no action until they all reach the crest of a small hill and see a glowing green portal in the valley below.
"Rift! Cassandra, go pull that rage demon away from us. I'll focus on the terrors." Trevelyan barks out, her battle axe already in her hand. As the two warriors run down the hill they are enveloped in shimmering shields. Vivienne's hands glow like the crystals on her staff as she raises it up and brings it crashing to the earth, lightning streaking from it to strike enemies below.
"Will we face worse?" She doesn't know to charge this arrow with arcane, or just shoot. "I only have enough energy to charge one shot."
Vivienne shakes her head. "Do not waste it on them. There may be worse on the second wave."
So she just shoots at whatever the women below her engage with, Vivienne healing and shielding with the occasional lightning bolt or fireball. 'Trevelyan and Cassandra are formidable fighters.' She thinks as she lines up her next shot, impressed at their fearlessness and strength. She's used half of her arrows but they only have the rage demon left, and it's fading fast. The Inquisitor swings her axe in a huge arc and almost cuts it in two. She lowers her bow but Vivienne shakes her head.
"Look sharp, second wave!"
The three new foes materialize from different points connected to the rift. Cassandra shouts a warning, and from Vivienne's gasp, she knows it's not good.
"Revenant! Vivienne, fire!"
The figure that materializes is larger than Iron Bull, with a sword and shield that rivals Cassandra's. The winged helmet gives it a sin'dorei profile and she hesitates a moment.
"What is that?!"
"A corpse possessed by a powerful demon. They are strong and they have a pull. Charge your shot." Vivienne's eyes are wide with fear, arcane swirling around her hands as she shields the warriors again.
Sylvanas runs off to the side, trying to get behind the creature. She shoots the two smaller demons -Terrors, like from the first wave- and crouches down behind the glowing rift to get a better shot. The Revenant moves quickly, slashing at Cassandra while throwing its shield out against the Inquisitor. They both are starting to look worse for wear; blood sheets down Cassandra's face from a gash on her forehead and Trevelyan looks to have a broken nose. Before she can line up the shot and charge it, the creature blinks across the valley and pulls Vivienne to it. The mage throws a wall of fire between them, and scrabbles at the tufts of grass to get back up the hill. Vivienne's not going to make it up, and the other two women cannot get over there in time. As she peers down the arrow, she can hear Cassandra try to taunt the monster into turning away from the mage. It doesn't even flinch. All sound pinpoints down to a hum and Sylvanas pushes arcane out to curl around the arrowhead. She knows it's not enough to kill the creature, but she will have its attention.
As soon as the arrow launches from her bow, she drops it and starts running toward the beast. The arrow pierces its armor, but doesn't go clear through. With the last of her arcane, she moves her hand in a downward motion and a purple chain forms from the arrow to the ground, preventing it from moving and reducing its range of motion. The Revenant bellows in anger and turns, reaching out with a gauntleted hand to pull the Inquisitor to it. She blocks its first swing with the head of her axe, but is driven to her knee.
Sylvanas can hear Cassandra yelling behind her as she, too, tries to run to Trevelyan's defense. Ten more feet and she'll be able to slit its throat. She pulls the dagger from its sheath on her belt and throws it, but the monster smacks it away with its shield. Trevelyan hacks at its legs, and manages to catch another sword swing that would have separated her arm from her body on the haft of her axe. Sylvanas jumps, reaching for both stilettos in her boots. The Revenant's sword is locked with the Inquisitor's axe so it raises its shield at her advance. She uses the shield like a springboard, going up and over the monster and landing behind it on her feet. Before it can turn she crosses the daggers and with a shout, severs its head from its shoulders. The body collapses, leaning against the shield at an odd angle. Anar'alah...
Trevelyan lays back on the ground with a grunt, breathing heavily. Cassandra drops to her knees next to the other woman, shaking hands pulling at her gauntlets. She tugs off the Inquisitor's helmet and pushes her so that she is on her side and the weight of her armor isn't pushing on her chest. "I am sorry, my Lady, but you still need to close the rift."
The Inquisitor just groans and, with Cassandra's help, gets into a sitting position. She holds her hand out toward the glowing green portal and a beam of light shoots between the two. Her arm shakes and she braces it with the other until the rift implodes in a burst of light. A rustle of fabric makes her ears flick, and Sylvanas watches Vivienne hand both women phials of healing potion. The mage turns to hand her one as well, but she shakes her head, rising to go retrieve her bow where she dropped it. Trevelyan calls after her.
"I am indebted to you." The woman hesitates, clearly trying to think of what to call her, Demon decidedly too rude for someone who has just saved her life. "Sylvanas. I have given you no reason to save me."
She doesn't turn to look back at the woman addressing her. She can imagine her face, screwed up at the bitter taste those words leave in her mouth. Sylvanas would feel much the same, in fact, she did, a month ago, when she sat next to the woman who tried to kill her but was her only way home. Pride is one of the few things Sylvanas can still taste and it is bitter going down.
She picks up her bow and replies offhandedly, "Don't worry, I'll collect one day."
While Cassandra and the Inquisitor sit for a minute to allow the potions their maximum effect, she walks around the valley picking up any arrows she can find and stowing them away in her quiver. Once everyone is ready, they continue southwest trudging through mud and mire. She doesn't speak unless spoken to, idle chit chat has never been her thing, and they seem to forget about her as she trails behind them. Two hours into their march to the keep at the other end of the territory, Vivienne has chattered enough for all four of them.
"You know, Cassandra, you really ought to have armor with gilding. Or dragon scales. Preferably both."
The Seeker is as frugal with her words as she is with her movements. Nothing is wasted. "Would that not be impractical?"
Vivienne isn't deterred. "It would be dramatic, my dear. Half the value of armor is intimidation."
"I prefer the half that keeps blades out of my innards, personally."
Sylvanas snorts before she can stop herself and Cassandra's dark head turns to offer her a conspiratorial smirk. Vivienne harrumphs and sulks until the walls of the crumbling keep appear in the gloom of fog.
The Avvar don't put up much resistance and the Inquisitor beats the Hand of Korth, mastermind of the kidnapping, in less time than it took Sylvanas to unhook her bow from her back. The shaman of the tribe, Amund, meets them at the keep's gate, eyes on the body.
"There lies the brat. His father, chief of our holding, would duel me for the loss if he cared enough."
"The Inquisition has a purpose your chief lacks. Join me, help us stop the breech." Trevelyan's fervor compels, there is no wondering why Skyhold is approached daily with new additions.
"Is that why the Lady of the Skies sent me here? To help heal the wounds in her skin?" Amund shifts his warhammer onto his shoulder, his eyes keen behind his visored helm.
Vivienne looks at him with disdain. "Who?"
"I'm talking about the Lady of the Skies. Do you not know her? Can't you see the warnings she writes through the bird flocks in the air?"
"Preposterous superstition."
"Preposterous is what you wore to a bog, Orlesian."
Cassandra coughs to hide a bark of laughter, and Sylvanas cannot keep the wry smile off her face. Vivienne looks like she's eaten a lemon. He peers at each one of them in turn before he turns back to the Inquisitor.
"Fine, I'll join you. Let me make peace with my kin and I'll find where you set your flag."
The rest of the mission is a blur. Trevelyan kills the apostate, Widris, without so much as an offer to return to the circle. Sylvanas refuses to fire a single arrow. She could see in the Inquisitor's posture that Widris would not be given the option to return and the only thing that came to mind as they killed her were resolute blue eyes and gold-streaked white hair. Is this how Baine felt when she raised Derek Proudmoore? She feels dirty.
Their travel back was silent and efficient. Even Vivienne said little, sitting in contemplative silence on her horse and, when they stopped to camp, near the fire. Sylvanas stays near Talah, the undead animal's quasi-affection a small comfort as she broods over her role in assisting a zealot. As the moon hangs high in the sky, they cross the arching walkway into Skyhold, and the only thing on her mind is getting to Jaina as quickly as she can. She leaves Talah with Master Dennet and practically flies through the keep, taking the stairs two at a time until she is standing in front of the mage's door.
She is undoubtedly sleeping. You can wait until morning. She chides herself for her impatience, frowning at the compulsion to put her hands on the warm silk of Jaina's skin. She steps from the door but her ears twitch at a pained whimper and low cry that comes through the oak.
Nightmares.
It would be a kindness to wake her, but kindness something with which Sylvanas is woefully unfamiliar. She bargains with herself: she will wait a few minutes and if Jaina does not cry out again, she will go to her own room. She rests her hand lightly against the door, ears swiveling subtly as she listens. It starts as a whimper again, but scales quickly to end in a shriek. She shoves through the door and sees Jaina sitting up, covers bunched around her hips, breathing heavily, eyes wide but unseeing. She walks slowly toward the bed, unsure if the other woman has enough mana to frostbolt her to true death.
"Proudmoore." She holds her hands up in front of her just in case the other woman can actually see her. "Jaina, shhh. Wake up."
The mage blinks rapidly, the sleep slipping from her eyes as they well up and her face crumbles. She holds out her arms like a child looking for comfort. Sylvanas moves to the bed, cursing her armor and gauntlets as she pulls Jaina against her. She manages to work off one glove then the other, shifting the other woman back and forth in her arms. She slips one of her hands into Jaina's hair, nails softly scratching her scalp. "You're alright. It was a dream. You're alright."
Jaina's breathing slows and she stops clinging so tightly to her waist. Sylvanas gently pushes her up and looks her over, eyes roaming over Jaina's pale face. "Can I touch you? I don't have my gloves on."
Jaina nods, eyes slipping closed as Sylvanas cups her face and wipes away the dampness on her freckled cheeks, arcane humming between them. The mage turns her head to nuzzle into one of her hands, lips brushing against her palm. Sylvanas still doesn't think the other woman is fully awake; it would explain her actions. Jaina mumbles something but the words are lost against her hand.
"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
"I said, stay here with me please?"
She is speechless for a moment; her first instinct is to protest. Then Jaina tightens her arms around her waist and gives a shuddering sigh. "I haven't slept well since the carriage ride to the Winter Palace and almost not at all since you've been gone. Please, even if just for tonight."
How can she refuse?
"Let me get out of my armor. I will return shortly."
She goes back to her room and strips out of her boots, mail, and breastplate, then throws on a cotton tunic and pads back to Jaina's room on bare feet. The mage has moved over to give her room on the bed. She sits down gingerly and moves so that her back is against the headboard where she waits for Jaina to truly wake and scream at her to get out. It doesn't happen, but what does tightens her chest and warms her belly.
Jaina curls sideways like she did in the carriage, lifting her head and stuffing her pillow onto Sylvanas's lap. She lays down with another sigh, this one tinged with relief. Sylvanas rests one hand on her neck, thumb moving gently along the nape while maintaining their connection. She combs through Jaina's hair with the other. The mage is asleep before she can pull her fingers through a second time, her slow, steady breathing fills Sylvanas's ears like music. For the first time since they landed in this cursed land, she lets herself fully relax.