Five to seven days.
It shouldn't send her hand to her pendant, yet here she is, rubbing the smooth, cool surface of the anchor, sitting along the archery range while Sylvanas packs for the Fallow Mire mission back in her room. It's not like she even has anything to pack. Sylvanas doesn't sleep, doesn't eat, doesn't drink; she prefers her armor over comfortable clothes. They have been given precious little extra -smallclothes, socks, a couple of spare pairs of leggings and tunics- and what Sylvanas will take of that she could fit in her pocket.
Five to seven days. Just a week.
If she could figure out why this is bothering her, she could make it stop. It's not like she's going to actually miss Sylvanas. It's surely just the arcane access that she'll be missing. This is obviously some sort of game they are unwittingly playing together, running toward one another at full speed and see who turns their trajectory first: Sylvanas caresses her face with a tenderness Jaina never thought her capable, then openly flirts with her while discussing her clothing choices. Jaina curls into the elf's lap to sleep in front of the Inquisition's spymaster, and runs her fingers across the cool, smooth skin of Sylvanas's bare back on the archery range.
What are they doing?
"Would you like to spar, my Lady?" Krem approaches with a bashful smile on his face, his hands tucked behind his back.. "Iron Bull told me you've learned fancy swordwork at court. I thought you'd like to practice a little of it?"
She startles from her thoughts then smiles at his shy invitation. Over the past few weeks they had gotten to know Bull's Chargers pretty well, at least the ones that wanted to be known. Dalish, Rocky, Stitches, and Krem frequently accompanied Bull on those first outings, before they were free, laughing and joking with Sylvanas about ranger life. Jaina was on the outside of those conversations. While she's seen plenty of war, she's never lived the rigid, disciplined life of a soldier. Seeing this completely different side of Sylvanas fascinates her. The elf talks to Bull and Krem and Dalish with an animation and amicality that Jaina has never seen before, and isn't quite yet extended to her.
Yet .
She finds that she wants this banter with Sylvanas. While they are comfortable enough with each other now, there is still something missing, and she has no idea how to get it. She jumps again as Krem clears his throat, nervous confusion replacing his initial timidity. "My Lady?"
"Jaina, it's just Jaina, and I'm sorry! My mind is wandering today. It's been quite a week so far and I'm still adjusting. I do think I will have to pass on the bladework today, at least as a participant. It's been ages since I've actually used a sword. That, plus being this distracted, is a recipe for disaster."
His smile is still radiant. "Maybe later then...Jaina." He offers her a sweeping bow then jogs off to the sparring pit, leaving her to follow behind slowly. She can brood on whatever this is that is bothering her while watching Bull and his crew mess around in the pit.
By the time she makes it to the edge, there is a small ring of Inquisition soldiers around the fighters, stomping their feet and shouting out bets. Bull and Krem circle one another, the former's two-handed sword raised high and the latter with a smaller sword and shield held close in a more defensive position. Without warning, Iron Bull bellows and swings his blade hard enough to kill. She gasps as Krem throws himself forward into the blow, shield crashing against Bull's chest. The Qunari barely moves but to shove him back with a burst of laughter.
"Now that's what I call a shield bash! You almost knocked the wind out of me that time."
They circle slowly, both breathing hard, although Bull doesn't let it stop him from talking. "Watch your left, you're holding that shield out too far and leaving an opening."
Krem's eyes flick over to Jaina for a second before settling back on his opponent. He puffs out his chest and juts his chin in challenge. "It's not, old man, at least not far enough that you'd be able to take advantage of it."
The taunt draws oohs and whoops from the soldiers watching. Jaina sees Stitches, the Charger's medic, shake his head. Iron Bull's eyes glint and he snorts, his deadly blade catching the light for a moment, before, quick as an adder, he charges forward with a shout. Krem holds his ground, jaw set and eyes determined, and when Bull is about to make contact, Krem steps into the charge and locks his shield up and around the extended blade. Then he deftly pivots, letting Bull's momentum carry the larger man past where Krem was standing. He smacks the flat of his blade behind Bull's knees, in what would have been a crippling blow.
"Parshaara!" Bull shouts, part laugh, part order, "Enough! That was well fought and I'd have been hamstrung on the ground, ready for death. You have reminded me to keep a level head and to be more patient."
Krem grins and brings his hand to his heart in a salut. "And you have reminded me to remain steadfast despite the pants-shitting fear of being run through by a charging Qunari."
Bull roars with laughter again, clapping a massive hand on Krem's shoulder that the Charger proudly endures with only a slight grimace. Now that the fight is over, the ring of spectators dissipates, each soldier off to whatever duty or training currently assigned and Jaina finds herself trailing after Bull and Krem out of habit as they go clean their armor and weapons. She speeds up to walk next to them and the silence, contemplative and companionable, shifts into something else the moment she is abreast of them.
"So what can you do, Lady?" Bull doesn't turn to look at her, but she catches Krem stealing glances at her from the corner of his eye. "Your demon is a most extraordinary shot, and it seemed like there was a bit more than arrows involved there at the end."
She recognizes the slight tingling in her chest for what it is - pride. She is proud of Sylvanas's performance at the range this morning. "Don't call her a demon, please, Bull, and yes, she is impressive with a bow."
She shivers slightly, remembering Sylvanas at Lordaeron, single-handedly taking out a siege machine and then downing a small cohort of soldiers with mist and wail, rallying her faction with her shouted ' For the Horde .' She tries not to think about the reaction of those same soldiers when Sylvanas killed Saurfang, then proclaimed them nothing to her. "And that is, by far, not all she can do, were she to have her full powers."
She realizes they've stopped in front of the Herald's Rest. She turns and smiles at Lace Harding before pushing through the door behind the other two men and following them back to their corner of the tavern. The dwarf scout had been one of the first people outside of the Inquisitor's immediate circle to greet her and Sylvanas whenever she saw them. What anyone else would call a mundane interaction meant a lot to her at that time, grounding her and returning her humanity. Jaina doubts she'll have the opportunity to actually tell Lace what those greetings meant to her at the beginning, but she can continue to show her appreciation whenever they see one another.
She slides into the open seat between Bull and Krem, catching another flick of the younger man's eyes on her. He smiles and ducks his head, his cheeks turning a warm rose color and suddenly it hits her: the invitation to spar, his bashful approaches, all these little glances her way… No, surely he's just being friendly?
She's at least fifteen years his senior, and it has been so long since anyone took an interest in her and not just her abilities that she isn't sure. She has treated him like Anduin, returning his shy interactions with affection. His sweet earnestness reminds her so much of her adopted nephew, so much of Azeroth that she didn't think of how he would interpret her smiles and encouragement. Has he confused her affection with attraction? She's running through possible things to say to let him know her interest is purely platonic when the barmaid arrives.
"You still haven't answered my question." Bull reminds her as he orders ale and food for the table. "I have a feeling the bas saarebas is as impressive in her own right."
She straightens to sit up as tall as she can. "I can hold my own."
Bull just looks at her, leaning back from the table as their food and drinks arrive. "I have no doubt, my Lady, but what is it that you can do? Dorian dabbles in necromancy, Solas heals and shields, Vivienne commands fire and electricity. Do you harness the weather? Alter time?"
She takes a sip of the ale, grimacing slightly at its bitter bite and room temperature. It doesn't have the pleasing body of a frosty Kul Tiran tripel, nor the fortifying burn of a shot of Corlain Estate 12 Year, but chilling it will make it more palatable. With a thread of the mana she has spooled inside of her she cools the liquid in the stein and takes another drink, sucking the foam off her upper lip in satisfaction. Much better.
"In Azeroth, I was archmage of the Kirin Tor. To be named archmage I had to be able to cast arcane spells plus spells from at least five of the other schools of magic like fire, nature, or shadow. My specialization is frost magic, but I consider myself proficient in the arcane as well."
Krem looks at her over his mug. "Lady Sylvanas said you flew a battleship across a continent to rescue your king. With all due respect, that sounds a bit more than proficient."
Her cheeks warm and her father's words rush back to her. False modesty is as bad as false pride. Know exactly what you are capable of at any moment, and act accordingly. Any other path is folly—and could be deadly in battle. "Funny that she would tell you that story, since I was rescuing my king from her." He shrugs and takes another drink.
Idly wiping the condensation from the sides of her mug, she sighs. "Alright, I'm more than proficient." She takes another slow sip, in a vain effort to steady herself and swallow down the shame that threatens to rise. "I can levitate battleships, blink entire armies from one place to another, and with a little focusing assistance, I almost drowned the capital city of the Horde with a tidal wave the size of a mountain. But, and it's a big but..."
When she looks up both men are looking at her with rapt attention. "I don't know if I can be that Jaina Proudmoore here. Those things that I told you about, they required enormous amounts of arcane energy, and I don't know how to tap into the ambient energy here in Thedas." And they also required my fury, my hatred, my desire to hurt someone as much as I'd been hurt. She traces the wet ring on the table where her mug sat, pulling in a slow, measured breath.
"How did you help Sylvanas?" Iron Bull drains his mug and waves it in the air, signalling for another. He pushes the plate of cheese and sliced sausages towards her with a meaningful look. "There at the end of the training. You were helping her somehow. She never missed a shot prior, but nothing exploded and those first two arrows are still embedded into solid stone."
And here it is, what she's been worried about since they discovered their connection. The Inquisitor doesn't know that Jaina has access to her powers again; she might not be so eager to leave her unsupervised. She knows Bull, his Chargers, Dorian, Solas, and even maybe Leliana are her friends-their friends-but that's because up until recently they had thought them powerless. Sylvanas reminds her repeatedly that her arcane signature is stronger than virtually all the other mages, Solas and Morrigan being her only equals. She wonders if Solas can sense arcane like Sylvanas can. It is possible they all already know, so her telling them here, now, may not be such a revelation.
"There is something that happens when we touch. Like…" She tries to articulate exactly what happens, but the intimacy of it leaves her blushing and fumbling for words. "We can convert the energy here into something usable for each other, somehow."
"Then why did you come here to Skyhold if you could already access your powers? Why didn't you heal yourself? Free yourselves from the cell? Strike down those that hurt you?"
"We didn't know we could do that then. We have to be touching, skin to skin. Sylvanas is the leader of the Horde, the Alliance's greatest threat on Azeroth, except for maybe Azshara or N'Zoth. It's not as if we were friends or lovers, to have reason to touch one another." Her voice catches on the word lovers, and she pauses to clear her throat. "We figured it out that first day you came and brought us here to the tavern. Sylvanas had noticed something when she set my wrist and asked to test her theory."
"That sounds...awkward."
Krem ducks behind his drink, obviously not intending to say that aloud, and she grins before replying. "It was certainly something. It would be like being imprisoned with Corypheus while injured and needing to hold hands with him to cast a spell."
Bull roars with laughter before he tilts his head toward her. "I saw what you did to your ale, and Sylvanas isn't here. How did you cast that spell?"
More secrets, but at this point why keep them close? Her hesitation lasts only a second. "We've been practicing for weeks since we found out what we can do. I've been trying to cache the mana." She frowns at the difficulty in explaining exactly what she does with the energy. "It's almost like a thread between us that can be pulled back and forth. When we touch, I collect as much as I can to hold for later. Like spinning almost, winding the thread around a spindle. What I did to the ale required very little energy. I would need a hundred times that to create a portal or hold a blizzard. Spells of that magnitude would need me to be touching Sylvanas while casting them so I could use her as a conduit." She shrugs and nibbles on a triangle of cheese from the plate, "At least right now. I don't know, we've not practiced offensive magic since we were prisoners. It might be that, at some point, I'll be able to store enough by myself."
She spins in her seat at the raucous shouting from the door behind her. The rest of the Chargers have cleaned up and are ready to take up their regular posts in the tavern. Krem drains his glass and stands, nodding once to Bull in thanks for the drink and lunch. Then he turns to her with a blush high on his cheeks, gently takes her hand, and presses a light kiss to her fingers. "Jaina." She can only stare, open-mouthed, after him when he goes.
"He's quite enamored with you, if you haven't noticed. I told him you're already taken, but he doesn't seem deterred." Bull chuckles and shakes his head slowly. "He's a fighter though, since before he joined the company. That's how I lost my eye."
There is so much to unpack in that statement that she doesn't know where to start. "Taken ... wait you lost your eye to Krem?"
"No, to a Tevinter tribune's flail. They considered him a deserter. He was caught between a rock and a hard place, and I know a good soldier when I see one, so I intervened."
"Why did he desert?"
"That's not my story to tell." He pushes back from the table to lean his chair against the wall behind him. She gets the distinct impression that he's done talking for the day. "Let him down gently, please, and soon. I don't want to lose another eye. Your demon is a hell of a shot."
The odd mention of Sylvanas snaps her eyes up to his, and she feels her cheeks pink at the look he's leveling at her. "I should go say goodbye."
Her eyebrows furrow at his sly grin at her words. "Tell her I'm looking forward to working with her." Then he winks and shouts out to the barkeep asking what the hold up is on his ale.
She snatches another slice of cheese as she gets up, waves at the Chargers, heads out the door and all the way across the courtyard to the stables. Worry creases her forehead again as she thinks about how Sylvanas is going to travel. As far as she knows, living animals are rather skittish around the undead. It's possible that Sylvanas could raise a mount here, with her channeling mana, but then what would she do to get home?
Sylvanas's wry grin greets her as she crosses under the arch to the stables. She sits high atop one of the most horrific things that Jaina has seen since waking in this wretched place. Even the human-handed rabbit creatures aren't as off-putting. But Sylvanas is smiling, and she is so beautiful with her relaxed posture and softened eyes that Jaina will not shy away from the terrifying beast for fear it will wipe the obvious delight from Sylvanas's face. Tides, I hope it has a better disposition than its rider.
"Come see my horse!"
Jaina snorts behind her hand as she approaches, but it's impossible not to return Sylvanas's smile; the elf is almost bouncing in the saddle. The Inquisitor, Grand Enchanter Vivienne, and Cassandra secure packs and bedrolls and other notions to their mounts away from them. It seems that no one really wants to be too close to Sylvanas and her horse, Jaina included, but she tamps down her own terror and gets close enough to see the rust pattern on the sword running through the poor beast's skull. She's never seen Sylvanas like this, practically ebullient on her nightmare mount, and she realizes she'd pet the thing if Sylvanas asked, just to see that grin stay on her face. Sylvanas leans down to whisper conspiratorially.
"It's called a bog unicorn and Trevelyan hates that I'm not insulted by her assigning it to me. Why would I be when everyone is terrified of it?" Her ears are up and her grin shows both fangs and Jaina is stunned by a sudden urge to kiss her. The Forsaken Queen. The Warchief of the Horde . She's almost dizzy at the thought.
"Are you alright?" Sylvanas undoubtedly notices that her cheeks are aflame. She stammers, searching for a reasonable excuse to be blushing when she hears the familiar creak of leather and armor behind her as the three other women mount up. Rescued by her jailors, how convenient.
"Take off your gauntlet and give me your hand. Remember, take as much as you possibly can, and try to hold it."
Sylvanas tugs off her glove and holds out her hand and Jaina tangles their fingers together, drawing a hissing breath at Sylvanas's immediate pull. Red eyes meet hers in apology, but neither lets go. "Save it for when you need it. Be careful, please." Come back so I'm not alone.
"Why Lord Admiral, it sounds like you might be worried for me." Sylvanas drawls, and the strange feeling in her chest is quashed by a flare of indignation. She shoves as much arcane as she can, smirking as Sylvanas's eyes flutter a moment before yanking her hand away. She feels the heat in her cheeks at the elf's smug grin.
Sylvanas pulls her gauntlet on as she wheels the horse around, falling in line behind Vivienne. Jaina walks far enough that she can see as they ride through the courtyard, through the throng of people waving and shouting blessings, then through the gate. Just before she is out of sight, Sylvanas turns and Jaina raises her hand in a little wave that the elf solemnly returns.
s§s
She manages to make the spooled mana last for four days; the comfort she draws from its whitebright sharpness soothes enough that she sleeps fitfully instead of not at all. The nightmares she always suffers are more intense when she aches for arcane. Sylvanas should be back by tomorrow, so she need only suffer a night without sleeping.
It is a bit disconcerting, she thinks as she walks towards the garden courtyard, that she slept so well in the cell when she knew Sylvanas was near. Now that she's alone, she barely gets three solid hours a night. She'd attributed her initial improvement to having access to arcane, but this past week is evidence that her theory is full of elf-shaped holes. She didn't sleep well in Azeroth, and mana was ambient. The stress of constant war, her responsibilities to the Alliance and to Kul Tiras, and her wretched history of always choosing wrong: Theramore, Dalaran, Arthas, weighed heavily in her dreams even when she had constant access to the arcane.
If she's ever to sleep, Sylvanas needs to be in the room. She presses her hands to her flaming cheeks as she imagines how this conversation would go. She'll ask and Sylvanas will tease and mock her, then pointedly refuse just as a torment. At this point, she thinks she'll actually beg. Sleep deprivation leads to intrusive thoughts and dreams that she'd rather not acknowledge right now, and she can't afford how it rounds her edges and dulls her mind.
"You look troubled."
She starts and discovers she's made it to her destination only to be standing in the middle of the garden with her hands on her frowning face like a fool. She drops her her arms to her sides and turns towards the voice, undoubtedly the person she is here to see anyway.
Initially, Jaina was hesitant to go about the keep in anything less than full battle garb. She takes the time to lace up into her sleeves, to belt on both sets of skirts over her legging, and to don the caplet-style jacket with her cloak, foregoing only her pauldron and gauntlet. One look at the woman in front of her and she decides she'll shed a few layers tomorrow.
"My Lady…" She fumbles a minute as she realizes Leliana never gave them more than a given name.
The answering laugh is deep and rich and she is sure that the blood in her face will never go back to wherever it goes when she's not blushing. It doesn't help when gold eyes rake across her flushed face and ruby lips twist into a sardonic smile.
"I'm no lady, so no need to bother with a title. Morrigan will suffice."
She just nods. "Morrigan it is, then."
She fidgets with her necklace a moment before taking a deep breath. "We are hoping you can help us."
"You and your demon?" Morrigan manages to sound disinterested, but the raised eyebrow and sparkle in her eyes belie her tone.
Jaina looks around the courtyard and, seeing no one, steps closer to the other woman, voice lowered but firm. "She's not a demon, as I'm sure you know. You and Leliana are thick as thieves, so I'm sure she's told you as much. I'm also sure you've met the Inquisitor and understand why we continue the charade."
Morrigan's eyes narrow but a smirk tugs at the corners of her mouth. She tips her head toward the nearby gazebo. "Shall we talk then? Unfortunately, I believe Sister Nightingale is currently occupied in the rookery."
"I'm here to talk to you. Solas is busy and Sylvanas said only him or you would be worth the effort." She explains as she steps onto the wooden platform and drops, rather ungracefully, to a wooden bench. She itches for arcane, or Sylvanas's soft, cool skin, the thought of which drag her mind back to the flexed muscles of the elf's shoulders and back. She closes her eyes and clenches her teeth, hissing out an exasperated sigh.
Morrigan just waits, yellow eyes unabashedly studying her, the corners of her lips almost smugly tipped up. Jaina rolls her eyes for a moment, the similarities between the witch's and Sylvanas's vexing caught-canary look are uncanny. They both also armor themselves in impassive masks, that perpetual antipathy difficult to chip away . That is, until Jaina describes her experience with Thedosan magic. Then suddenly, that golden gaze is focused and she has question after question for Jaina. They talk through most of the afternoon, Morrigan not losing an ounce of her acerbic wit but obviously listening to Jaina.
She still knows next to nothing about the other woman, but she's sure the apostate has her reasons for keeping her cards close. Morrigan tips her hand only once, referring to the Inquisition's spymaster as Leli in a passing comment- but Jaina has the wherewithal to act as if she doesn't notice. It's not like she's oblivious; they might not have been outwardly demonstrative, but the eye-fucking in the carriage was something to behold. Jaina hopes Morrigan's involvement with Leliana offers her some protection from the Inquisitor much like Leliana's friendship with Jaina provides.
The sun is hanging low in the sky when Leliana appears at the gazebo steps. She smiles at the both of them, but her sharp blue eyes soften with affection when her attention turns to Morrigan. "Trouble, sans doute. What are you two up to?"
"Oh, you know, magic business." Jaina winks, then sobers a bit thinking about how a discussion about magic probably puts Morrigan in a precarious position. She's still not sure she understands why the woman wasn't killed on sight, much less accepted into the Inquisition, but that's a conversation for another day. "Although we couldn't get anything accomplished. I'll come back tomorrow. Sylvanas should be back late tonight or early tomorrow morning so we can do a demonstration. Thank you for talking with me today."
She departs with a little wave but the other two women have eyes for each other only; their distracted goodbyes rushed. Regardless, she smiles to herself on the way through the keep to her room. The friends that she makes here in Thedas like her for who she is, not what she can bring to the table. They listen to her. They ask questions about her and her life before. She's always had Anduin's friendship, and somewhat by extension, Valeera's. Vereesa has been by her side for years, but that's it. Everyone else has wanted to ally with her, wanted to fuck her, or required her help. Once it's received, they're off on their next quest. She sighs, passing through the small group of people eating in the keep as she makes her way to her room.
She dreads nightfall and the necessity of sleep. Her nightmares of late have been different than those that plagued her in Azeroth, but she's as sleep deprived as she normally is. Usually, Daelin curses her as he dies in her arms, instead now, her hands are black with ichor and Sylvanas's eyes look at her traitorous face in shock and pain. Sometimes, instead of her mother, cold-eyed and stern, ordering her execution, it's Sylvanas, haughty mask in place and lip curled in disdain. Lately, Sylvanas has featured in most of her dreams and while the majority of them rip her, screaming from sleep and in a cold sweat, there have been a couple that rouse her for more shocking and confusing reasons. The small fire on the hearth crackles as she turns down her bed and climbs in, already anxious about how the rest of the night will go.