It's been so long since she's had a personal connection with someone who isn't one of her rangers that she almost misses what it is that's happening. She never lets anyone this close to her anymore, and not just in proximity. The pleasure of their arcane conversion is slowly being eclipsed by affection for Jaina herself, that energy link now just a bonus. Sylvanas is sure all the touching has something to do with it. She cannot think of the last time she shook someone's hand, much less held someone as they slept, all tucked up in her arms.
So why is it that she feels this worming twist of something dark and unpleasant pushing against the warmth in her chest? Because she doesn't deserve this; this pleasing bloom that she feels when Jaina smiles at her or tangles their fingers together. She's a monster. Tree-burner, deserter, traitor to her people and her cause - no better than those she cursed and killed.
She has, however, brought the Alliance and the Horde together like no previous threat had before; even Garrosh never lost support from the orcs. All of Azeroth is united in their hatred of her, save Nathanos and a few other loyalists. In all her destruction, she has managed to create, although at the cost of her existence. She's always had a martyr complex though, and while she was prepared to go down with the ship, there is a part of her that had wanted to see if the cards all fell where she'd planned. That had been the point of that last stand; to kick the hornets' nest and run to the Shadowlands with all of Azeroth behind her to defeat the newest nightmare.
But now they're here and no one knows her or of the atrocities she's committed but the woman currently curled against her, white hair a shining halo in the soft dawn pouring through the window. Perhaps Jaina's portal did bestow true death upon them both. Maybe this is their afterlife. She pulls her hand from the nape of Jaina's neck to trace along the shell of her ear and down the soft line of her jaw. There is no way that after everything she has done that her and Jaina Proudmoore would end up in the same place. And there's no way that Sylvanas would be the person to whom the other woman turns for comfort.
But here she is, in Jaina's bed, in Jaina's room, with Jaina's slow, deep breathing and steady heartbeat the only sounds in her ears. She's tuned everything else out: the birdsong trilling in the early light, the soft shuffle of footsteps along the balcony, and the muted call and response of soldiers marching drill in the far courtyard by the tavern. Her eyelids feel as heavy as her arms and for a brief moment she considers closing them and drifting to sleep; something she hasn't done in over a decade. Jaina's breathing lightens and she shifts slightly. Overnight, she had turned in her sleep so that now she is curled in a ball, her face almost against Sylvanas's stomach and her arm looped around the elf's back in a loose embrace.
" Elor aminu, kim'arkanadorei. " She murmurs, threading her fingers through Jaina's heavy fall of hair. Where this tenderness is coming from she doesn't know, but for once, it doesn't feel like a weakness. "Sleep serenely, little mage."
Her throat tightens when Jaina shifts again, face nuzzling into her abdomen, and she gasps when the mage's nose brushes against her. The sudden sound and flex of her body jostles Jaina, who wakes with a start, blue eyes cloudy with sleep.
"I am sorry." Sylvanas tries to push up and away, preparing for Jaina's inevitable shock at waking up in her lap. "I should not have presumed that you wanted me to stay the whole night…"
But Jaina's arm tightens around her waist, holding Sylvanas in place as she buries her face into the elf's stomach. "Be still."
"Proudmoore?" Sylvanas queries, still holding herself stiff, her earlier ease forgotten in the face of possible rejection. Jaina squeezes harder, and continues to mumble into her tunic.
"Jaina. You called me Jaina last night. Let's not step backwards. Besides, I haven't slept this well in years." Jaina rolls to her back, looking at Sylvanas from where her head still rests in the elf's lap, her face open and soft from sleep. Sylvanas holds both hands up awkwardly, unsure where to put them. She screws her face up into what she hopes is indifference -anything to try and put some emotional space between her and Jaina when they're this physically close- but Jaina just grins for a moment before the sunny smile drops into something hesitant. Sylvanas steels herself against the inevitable disappointment she'll feel when Jaina tells her this is all a mistake.
"What?"
"I don't want you to stay in your own room anymore." It pours out of Jaina in a rush, and she looks away, brow furrowed. Sylvanas's hands-still in the air-droop of their own accord. She wants to smooth away the frown with her fingers and bring back those unguarded minutes from a moment ago. Then she registers what Jaina said.
"Wait, what?"
Jaina pushes herself up and away to mirror Sylvanas's posture against the headboard. They sit side by side, looking straight ahead, both feigning interest in the writing desk. Sylvanas can hear the familiar zip of the anchor against its silver chain, and despite her want to ease this somehow-to fill Jaina's anxious silence-she tips her head back against the oak, closes her eyes, and waits.
"Right after the Legion was defeated and the Nightborne brought down the dome, I started researching arcane addiction. We knew it was a problem for many elves; Kael'thas always downplayed the dependency but never missed an opportunity to return to Silvermoon and bask in the Sunwell's energies." Jaina wrinkles her nose at the mention of the former crown prince, then pushes on. "And Stellagosa told me about the horrors Valtrois and Thalyssra suffered while Nightfallen. But Antonidas had always said humans were immune. My guess was that it had to do with our significantly shorter life spans. Centuries to millennia of constant exposure and it becomes less of an addiction and more trophic, as necessary as food or drink. It seems that human mages just don't live long enough to become dependent...even with our extended lives."
Sylvanas turns at the pensive silence and sees that Jaina's staring off into space, fingers frozen around her anchor. Sylvanas clears her throat and Jaina starts then shakes her head.
"Sorry. Pondering one's mortality is humbling." She turns to capture Sylvanas in her clear blue gaze. "Anyway, I'm questioning his theory, because I don't feel right without it. And, after Theramore, maybe I'm not an ideal reference point. I'm sure my overexposure accelerated something. I mean, there's no way that I escaped with everything but my hair intact."
Despite the offhand comment, Sylvanas can hear the pain behind the words. Jaina escaped, and was physically whole, but she was nothing like the Jaina Proudmoore that Sylvanas had heard about in gossip from Dalaran. Anger flares as she thinks about Garrosh and all he destroyed- her baby sister sobbing in her arms and how the later betrayal ruined any hope she'd had of connecting with Vereesa again. How, when he had ripped everything from Jaina, he had made an enemy of one of the most powerful members of the Alliance, and how she, despite her grief, hatred and anger, didn't drown Orgrimmar.
Yet Iburned the tree.
Disgust worms and twists in her chest, and she just barely stops herself from groaning. She needs to be stronger; what's done is done and regret for doing what needed doing is useless.
More aggressive zipping fills her ears and they reflexively flick. Jaina continues to stare at the writing desk, studiously avoiding any eye-contact. Sylvanas looks over at her when the pendant stills again. "I couldn't sleep the past few days."
Tension hums in the air between them, and her skin prickles in discomfort. She fights the urge to smirk as a deflection; to regain control of this tête à tête, she will have to manifest more of the Warchief and less of the Ranger General.
"And while you might not need arcane, I think I've grown...dependant." Jaina continues, oblivious to Sylvanas's emotional turmoil.
Despite Jaina's vulnerable tone, despite half of her brain screaming at her to rein in her tongue, the other half-the half that ensures the towering walls around her remain standing- allows the cocky snark to slip from her lips. "On my presence?"
Jaina sighs, indignant, as she draws up her knees and wraps her arms around them. "Why do you do that?"
"Do what?" She damn well knows what, but why she does it, that's another story all together.
"Why do you hold me when I sleep and then mock me when I'm awake? Why do you care for me when I'm sick or injured, but taunt me when well?" Jaina's beautiful face is torn between irritation and hurt and for once, Sylvanas can identify the sinking feeling in her middle. Chagrin. "I am confiding in you right now, if you couldn't tell. This is not easy for me to talk about, and you're not making it any easier."
"I don't-"
"Stop. Just listen for once and wherever you go in yourself when you're looking at me with kindness, go there." Jaina rests her forehead against her knees and mutters this last request into her own lap.
All the snark slips from Sylvanas at the mage's defeated tone and posture. She could press the advantage, the Warchief would, but she remembers that Jaina is giving her the chance to remake herself. So she waits, hands folded in her lap, focusing on making her chest rise and fall slowly while she tries to pull the Ranger General to the forefront. She pushes and shoves the cold detachment of the Banshee and the barely restrained aggression of the Warchief to the back of her mind. It's been so long since she's let herself be who she was before because it hurts in a way that can't be soothed by violence or vengeance.
"I don't want you to stay in your own room anymore." Jaina begins again, tipping her head on her knees so she's facing Sylvanas, then quickly amends her statement before Sylvanas can scowl. " At night . Just during the night. I can understand your want for privacy, I do, but I don't think I can go much-"
"Proudmoore - J-Jaina, it's fine." Is she stammering ? Belore, what the hell is wrong with her? In her defense, she's never handled surprises well, and the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras asking her to stay in her room every night as she sleeps-that's something quite unexpected. She nods, convincing herself as much as Jaina that it is something she wants. "It's fine. I can do that. I mean, you have enough chairs in here."
A small smile ghosts over Jaina's face before she turns her head again and lets her whispered words get lost against her knees and in the heavy curtain of her hair. "And yes, maybe your presence. Maybe I did miss you."
And with those words, Sylvanas wants to touch her.
She wants to tuck the shining strands of hair back behind Jaina's ear and trace her finger along the soft curve of her neck. She wants to follow her fingers with her lips. The longing to do so is painfully intense, and she just manages to bite back a groan. Jaina is giving her a chance to start over, to shuck the reputation of the Banshee and the Warchief and to go back to being Sylvanas Windrunner again, to living again. Despite the nervous fluttering in her stomach, and in lieu of touching, she goes out on a limb and confesses under her breath. "I think maybe I missed you too."
She couldn't be sure, with Jaina's face shrouded by her white veil of hair, but she thought she saw the corner of her eye crinkle with a smile.
s§s
She'd left Jaina back in her room with the promise of breakfast and the suggestion that they practice offensive magic today. Her approach to Herald's Rest is stopped by Scout Harding informing her that the Inquisitor had taken Iron Bull, Vivienne, and Varric to the Hinterlands. Something about deep roads and dwarves, she isn't clear, but the implication is that they'll be gone for at least a week. Crossing into the room she waves to Krem and the Chargers dicing in their corner.
She calls out over their laughter, "Spar later, lieutenant?" He raises his glass with a grin and a nod before turning back to his pile of coin. She puts in an order with the barkeep and goes to mull over her Proudmoore Predicament in a shrouded corner by the bar while she waits for Cabot to return with the food. It is...odd, to say the least, to feel these things again. This quiet, gentle warmth that fills her chest and makes her feel a little less hollow.
And she notices when they're apart, she feels she doesn't deserve it. No, the Banshee Queen, the Dark Lady, the Tree-burner does not deserve to feel anymore. She certainly doesn't deserve Jaina's trust or strange, shy tenderness. Not with all the blood that stains her hands, not with all the lives she has cut short. As she is certain most of Azeroth would agree, she is a monster, and monsters deserve nothing.
Jaina could do far better than her , of all people.
"She doesn't think so."
A soft voice startles her out of her thoughts. Her hands immediately fly to her boots, fingers brushing the handles of her stilettos. Whoever had spoken had managed to somehow slip past her undetected, meaning they are either an incredibly skilled rogue, or she is being an incredibly maudlin fool.
"Who's there?" she demands, ruby gaze flickering across the tavern. No one else seems to hear the voice-the bard still cheerfully singing away, and the rest of the patrons still absorbed in their drinking and chatting.
"I'm not going to hurt you," the voice says again. She twists to face it, and is met by the sight of a pale human boy, face obscured by an outlandishly wide-brimmed hat. He is dressed in patched clothing, squatting on a nearby stool, hunched over and fiddling with his fingers. "I just want to help."
"Oh? And who are you, exactly?"
"My name is Cole. I… hear your hurt. I don't mean to hear it, but it is very loud," the boy, Cole, offers. Sylvanas narrows her eyes. He appears genuine enough, but better to err on the side of caution. For all she knows, he could be an agent of Trevelyan-
"I'm not like her," he interrupts suddenly, his mild voice gaining a sharp edge. He looks up at her, and Sylvanas sees distress swimming in ghostly-blue eyes at the accusation. "I'm not like her. I want to help ."
Is he… reading her mind?
"Yes. I don't- I don't mean to, but…"
"I'm loud?" she suggests, her grip on her stilettos loosening, but not fully releasing-a quick look around the tavern confirms once again that no one has noticed anything. Which is odd, because they aren't being exactly subtle, but this world is weird enough so she lets it slide for now.
"Yes."
"And how do you plan on helping?"
"Where does it hurt most?"
Sylvanas blinks. It had been a while since she'd heard that question posed in her direction. Though before she can reply, ghost-blue eyes have fluttered shut, and the boy begins to speak again in that lilting, serene voice.
"Ash on my fingers, blood on my tongue. Will I stain her if I touch her? Can't let her in, can't let her in. Can't unwind or I'll unravel."
For a moment he pauses, giving her an eerily piercing glance, as if he was trying to peer right into her soul—or lack thereof. It feels strangely disconcerting. She hasn't been this truly unnerved, felt this emotionally naked in years. It is unpleasant yet oddly liberating, the two coming together in a dizzying, confusing storm that leaves her feeling raw.
When Cole finally speaks again, his voice is different; brittle, as if worn down by the weight of his own words. "You- you hold it all so tightly. The pain, the anger. It hurts, but you don't want to let it go. Why?"
"It's- it's who I am. I have earned it; I deserve it." She is the Tree-burner, the one with enough innocent blood on her skin to paint the world red. With such a thing resting upon her shoulders she can't afford to be anything else—even if the weight of it may break her.
"But it's not all you are because you're also them, the ones with the ghost-songs, the ones with still hearts and fractal souls." The boy pauses for a moment, but when he continues he sounds almost desperate. "Do you not see? They are dissonant but they sing—a song from you and from them, of broken pieces stitched together not to be whole but to be a little less broken together; of freedom and life and second chances and love ."
"She wants to sing too, to know the notes of your song, but you won't let her. Why do you do that?"
Sylvanas has no answer for him, at least not one she will admit aloud, and from his mournful frown she doesn't need to.
Cabot's heavy footfalls draw her attention from the boy to the fragrant steam trailing from the wooden box in his arms. The barkeep sets the box on the table and holds out the tab for Sylvanas to sign. When he walks away, Sylvanas stands and, nodding to the boy, puts the box to one shoulder and heads to the door. His voice, though low and quiet, carries through the noise of the tavern.
"Your songs would harmonize, should they be sung together."
s§s
The training grounds are relatively quiet with the Inquisitor gone. Commander Rutherford works with a small group near the sparring dummies, his voice carrying over the rattle of armor and shields. Neither woman pays them any mind, instead, they cross through the grounds to the archery range so that both of them can get a little practice in. Leliana's ravens caw overhead as they fly to and from the rookery, relaying messages from across Thedas. A couple of the birds sit on the parapet and preen in the weak winter sun; Sylvanas watches their keen eyes follow as they approach the range.
"I'm not going to power any shots, but I might try to see if I can shift forms. Being able to wail would have been useful against the Revenant." She looks over to see Jaina deep in thought. She clears her throat, and when that doesn't catch the mage's attention, she simply stares, allowing herself to admire Jaina's profile and the sun glinting off her hair.
"You're staring again." Jaina echoes an old accusation with a wry smile. Sylvanas ignores the part of her brain demanding she respond with wit, and instead thinks back to the softness between them earlier this morning. The warm pleasure from kindness is still new and she's thought of it as a weakness for so long that she must consciously remind herself not to snap and snipe.
"And you're blushing again." She teases gently, "No one would blame me, you're easy to stare at."
Jaina's cheeks pink at the compliment and she ducks her head. Sylvanas reaches her hand out and hooks Jaina's forefinger with her own, the arcane opens between them immediately. "You first today, let's destroy that dummy. Don't hold back."
Sylvanas shivers involuntarily at the change that comes over the mage's face. Jaina's smile -fierce and predatory- thins pink lips and reveals clenched teeth. Jaina drops her finger only to take her whole hand, stormy eyes meet her own and she can only nod, gritting her teeth in anticipation of the pull.
And it is mighty.
If Sylvanas needed to breathe, if her heart beat, all would have stopped as the surge of arcane ripped through her body. As it is, she cannot stop her groan at the pleasure-pain as Jaina spools mana at a frightening rate. It is like the first night they touched and discovered their connection, except Jaina knows what she's doing this time. Sylvanas opens her eyes in time to see the mage leaning toward her, eyes glowing with arcane.
"Are you alright?" Jaina's words are a purr near her ear, and, drunk as she is on the rush, she has the wherewithal to muster a nod. "I'm going to let go now and see what I can do on my own. We'll try channeling at the end."
Sylvanas nods again, clenching her jaw as she collects herself. Energy snaps and crackles around the mage as moves her hands in a complicated pattern then throws them straight in front of her. The dummy is impaled on an enormous glacial spike, straw floating down from the rents in the burlap. The mage's grin is savage as she fists her hands and pulls them back towards her body and the spike explodes into shards of ice, pieces of cloth and straw raining on the ground where the dummy once stood.
A loud cheer goes up behind them and Sylvanas turns to see that the Commander, his recruits, and Bull's Chargers are on the small rise between the sparring pit and archery range. The Chargers might be clamoring at the display, but Rutherford's impassive face and the recruits' uncomfortable stances are worrisome. The Commander acts as Trevelyan's eyes and ears during her absence and this display of power could be perceived as a threat. Jaina's braid thumps against her back when she spins towards the noise.
"Should I continue?" Despite the glow, her eyes look uncertain as they flick between Sylvanas and Rutherford.
"Oh, keep going." Sylvanas knows they must make it clear now that they aren't to be trifled with. Flex to avoid the fight. "They're only wary now, give them a reason to respect you."
Another wicked grin, and Jaina holds her hand out. "Top me off, please?"
Sylvanas smirks and takes her fingers with a bow. "My lady." The pull this time is far less intense, but the soft sigh Jaina lets out when she pulls her hand away is more bewitching than the rush. "Introduce yourself, Archmage."
Jaina takes her staff from her back and jabs it in the ground in front of her, the crystal already glowing the same blue as her eyes. Her left arm outstretched, it's almost as if she pulls the clouds down from the sky to swirl around in an ever widening mass until all of Skyhold is covered by the storm. The winds whip up and snow blows in a blinding cascade; Sylvanas can feel Jaina nearby, but there's another magical presence as well. She doesn't know the different signatures well enough yet to tell who it is, but there is significant power. I saw no one before we started this.
Although she cannot see more than a foot in front of her face, she can sense they are close. She tilts her head, ears swiveling slightly, and drops one hand to the dagger on her belt. Jaina continues to ramp up the storm, oblivious to the possible threat. It's hard to hear over the howling gale, so Sylvanas moves closer to her rather than shout her suspicions over the wind. She puts her back to Jaina's and waits, fingers twitching against the dagger hilt.
But when the bear rises next to them in the whiteout, roaring louder than the wind, Jaina proves to be more cognizant of her surroundings than Sylvanas had thought. One second they are in the center of the storm, the next they are standing next to the small crowd on the hill. Jaina slumps against her with a gasp, and the storm collapses leaving naught but drifts in its wake. One of the ravens from the parapet pokes through the snow, its yellow eyes bright against midnight feathers.
"Are you alright?" She tightens her arm around Jaina's sagging form and carefully lowers them both to the ground. The mage is pale and shaking against her chest; Sylvanas finds herself holding Jaina tightly against her, as if she could still Jaina's trembling form. "Jaina?"
"Was that a bear?" It's a pained groan, but even that is better than silence. Sylvanas sighs in relief.
"Yes, a bear. In the middle of the keep. And now it's gone." She keeps her voice low, murmuring against Jaina's ear so the soldiers who press in around them cannot hear. "Someone shapeshifts. I could feel another mage near us, but I don't know who. Solas or Morrigan. Whoever it was, they were powerful."
She stops for a moment, closing her eyes to focus her awareness to the whole training grounds. Whoever it is hasn't left. The magical residue from Jaina's blizzard is still heavy in the air, but she can still sense the other nearby. "They're still here somewhere."
"Help me up, please." Despite her obvious exhaustion, Sylvanas can hear the irritation bubbling in Jaina's tone. "Never thought I'd see the day again where I'm mana-drained from a blizzard and a blink."
"We'll come here everyday for practice until your endurance is back. It's been over a month since you've done anything more taxing than mirror image. It's alright." Sylvanas keeps her close as they stand, Jaina content to lean against her, their linked hands and flowing mana bringing some color back to her cheeks. "Can you cast something that will point out whoever is here?"
Jaina nods and murmurs something under her breath and flicks the fingers of her free hand. Sylvanas feels the slight tug on their connection as Jaina casts straight from it instead of the pool she's pocketed. Her eyes scan across the courtyard looking for anything revealed by the spell. Jaina snorts softly and she looks down at her in question.
"Whoever it is, they're reflecting magic. The detection spell bounced right off. I could try it again, but I'm sure they felt that spell so they'll reflect again and increase the effort behind it." Jaina shrugs and pulls away to stand on her own, but her hand stays clasped in Sylvanas's. Regardless, it feels like a loss and she frowns.
"That was quite a show, mage. Does the Inquisitor know your powers have returned?"
She can feel the growl rise in her chest, but she swallows it when Jaina squeezes her hand. "We have signed everything the Inquisitor has asked us to sign, I agreed to the phylactery, and Sylvanas used her powers to save Trevelyan's life. I think we have proved loyal enough that your suspicion is unwarranted."
Jaina's tone is as sharp and as biting as the air that swirls around them, her body pulling away slightly, chin up in defiance. Sylvanas' hand tightens with the shiver that runs down her spine compelled from Jaina's flushed cheeks and fiery eyes. She isn't chilled though, no, she's enflamed, a hot spike of desire she hasn't felt since Frostmourne's icy violation of her body and soul. Anger and assertiveness crackle in the brilliant blue leveled at Rutherford and when he drops his eyes, all she wants to do is sweep Jaina up and pin her to the nearest flat surface.
At that mental image, she shivers again and can feel that focused gaze turned on her, confused by the uncharacteristic movement. She gives a little shake of her head, sucking in a deep breath to quell the urges to plunge her hands into the Jaina's thick braid and unravel it, to drag her lips up the pale column of her neck.
The crowd of Inquisition soldiers around them dissipates with Commander Rutherford's deference, falling back into whatever drills they'd been working on before the blizzard, occasionally throwing mistrustful looks back at the pair. The Chargers all drop respectful nods as they, too, return to their work. Only Krem remains, his eyes on their joined hands, poignant. She waits for Jaina to let go and put some distance between them, even if she has no interest in the young man, but Jaina surprises her yet again, threading their fingers together so their hands are palm to palm. He just glances up, catching her eyes and gives her a small resigned nod that she returns. He straightens up and the smile he gives Sylvanas is a warning if she's ever seen one. She bares her teeth in what could be a smile, if the person on the receiving end was blind or a fool.
"That was as impressive as you've been made out to be, my Lady. I look forward to the day we go to battle together. With power such as that we can't lose." He raises his hand in a wistful little wave before turning on his heel and walking back to the others.
"It seems you have an admirer, Lord Admiral." Her teasing tone holds a hint of bitterness, despite her efforts to the contrary. She has no rights to the mage, so the green tinge of jealousy is unfounded.
Jaina scoffs and tugs on her hand, pulling her toward the courtyard. "He's undoubtedly half my age and I'm not interested. It would be like romancing Anduin, blech ." Even Sylvanas cannot remain impassive at the blatant disgust in her tone. Thank Belore that Jaina is ahead of her and cannot see her fight to keep the amusement from her face. "Come on, it had to be Morrigan, she strikes me as a shapeshifter, moreso than Solas. I want to know what the hell she was thinking, attacking us blind like that."
"He is rather handsome though, and seems the sensitive, thoughtful type. Perhaps he's looking for a teacher?"
Jaina snorts and calls out pointedly without turning around, "Shut up, or I'll recommend someone with centuries more experience than I."
She cannot believe that Jaina hasn't let go of her hand, even with all the teasing. She obviously intends to hold it all the way to the gazebo with the way she's pulling. Their connection pulses through her, heightening her alertness with its thrumming. The pocket that she imagines to store the energy bulges with power; the crackle of it makes her want to try to wail just for the thrill that releasing her powers gives her, but it would be dangerous here with no actual enemies to target.
"Morrigan!" Jaina shouts out before they reach the courtyard, finally releasing her hand to stomp ahead, "What the fuck was that?"
She speeds up to pull even with Jaina just in case this results in confrontation. While Morrigan is civil with them (she doubts the witch is ever actually friendly), she knows Morrigan's loyalties lie with Leliana and herself only. Paired with Jaina's temper, this could end very badly indeed.
"What the fuck was what?" Morrigan drawls out, her tongue wrapping around the curse word, making it sound like the action not an epithet. She waits, leaning against the gazebo's frame, her face the picture of innocence except for her smirking yellow eyes. Where have I seen those before?
"Why would you attack us?"
Those cat eyes just track back and forth between the two of them, faux innocence slipping into her trademark smirk. "It wasn't an attack, it was a measurement -for lack of a better word. I was thinking about our conversation the other day and became curious-"
Sylvanas cuts her off, angry at the pretense that this woman would endanger them all to satisfy her curiosity. "That was stupid, risky in a way that ends in death. Either one of us could have killed you by mistake, then where would we be but back behind bars."
Morrigan lifts her chin, haughty in a way that Sylvanas immediately identifies, with a touch of shame. "Tis no secret that bars wouldn't hold you any longer, and truly, you killing me would only endear you to the Inquisitor. I needed to see what you could do under duress. The destruction of the dummy was a neat trick, but it was obvious to me that it barely touched on your capabilities. The blizzard was more impressive, but that movement while still channeling, that was what I wanted to see."
Jaina scowls, indignant. "You could have asked . Even if we were safe from you, you put yourself in danger. Thank the tides that Sylvanas could sense another mage-"
"She can what?" The smirk slips into a round O of shock. Sylvanas savors the woman's surprise like a fine wine. "You can sense magic? Recognize actual spells? How does that work?"
Morrigan's surprise turns quickly to curiosity, and Sylvanas is immediately reminded of Jaina and her insatiable desire to understand. She shrugs, ears flicking with the motion. "I can just feel arcane. Each mage feels a little different; it's like a signature except virtually impossible to replicate. When Jaina casts a spell -it's like being near the ocean, sweet sea grass and salt. I haven't been around Dorian, Solas, or you enough to pin down your signatures. As for individual spells, I can't sense that. I only know you must be using magic to shapeshift, which is different from druid shapeshifters in Azeroth."
Morrigan's smirk is back, but it's tempered by the still unfulfilled desire for knowledge. "Can you sense magic if it's not being used? Did you know I was there before the blizzard, or was it just when I shifted to the bear?"
Sylvanas shakes her head a little and thinks back. "You were the raven! The bold one!" Her lips twist thoughtfully, remembering the yellow-eyed bird on the parapet, and later, picking through the drifts on the range. "There's the vague sense of magic on a person -I can sense mages- but the full blown signature, I can't sense that until they cast, so I couldn't tell you were there until you shifted. The bigger the spell, the easier it is for me to feel it."
"Reflecting magic was a nice touch too." Jaina's flat observation belies the obvious respect she has for the other woman. "Had you not been, we would have found you then."
Morrigan hums in agreement as she turns and steps up into the gazebo, beckoning for them to follow. "Sister Nightingale has mentioned that Trevelyan is looking to take you both on her next campaign in Ferelden. Since your amicable relationship with that horned monstrosity is obvious to the entire Inquisition, and she has business dealings with the Qunari at the Storm Coast, you'll both be brought along as support for her axe and the Iron Bull's sword. Leli thinks it wise to debrief you before you go."
Morrigan turns her cat's eyes to Jaina, lips twisted into a frown. "The Inquisitor trusts Sylvanas as much as she trusts any outsider -which isn't much, but 'tis more than she does you. After that display on the training grounds, with her besotted Commander as witness, remain on guard at all times. There is no knowing when your usefulness to the Inquisition will be outweighed by Trevelyan's zealotry and ignorance."
"Do you not fear for your own life?" Sylvanas leans closer to speak low enough to not be overheard by the others walking the gardens or tending the plants. She can feel Jaina's arm bump against her when the mage shivers at her words. Before she can stop herself, she catches Jaina's fingers in her own, immediately calmed by the arcane flow between them. Morrigan eyes their joined hands and sets her jaw, the frown from earlier disappearing into impassivity.
"I have survived a great many things that have endeavored to kill me. Trevelyan will not be granted the satisfaction of my death, at least not by her own hands. Her tenure will not be forever; the Inquisitor's role is to close the rifts and serve the Chantry until a new Divine is chosen." Morrigan's eyes flick up towards the rookery before returning to jump from Jaina then settle on Sylvanas. "There are still those that understand the need for different arrows in a quiver: broadheads, bodkins, and forked."
The weight of the statement is as heavy as her gaze, Sylvanas can feel the significance of her wording as Morrigan continues to study her face, her gold eyes as unnerving as Sylvanas knows her own to be. Gossip around the hold has Leliana as one of the Inquisition members being considered for Divine and she had been sympathetic to them at the beginning. While she has no confirmed opinions from the other two candidates, Cassandra and Vivienne, Leliana seems most likely to loosen the Chantry's tight, intolerant grip on magic users. Sylvanas wonders if Trevelyan has caught onto the relationship between her Spymaster and the apostate mage and is simply biding her time before dropping the axe. She wonders, too, what would happen between the two women if Leliana is chosen.
"Leliana bid me to send you both to her, so my audience at your training session served dual purpose," Morrigan's purses her lips as if she can read Sylvanas's thoughts, "one to satisfy my own curiosity and confirm a few suspicions, and two, relay the little bird's message-"
Jaina's fingers tighten on her own as the mage bristles by her side, her voice angry but even, cuts across Morrigan's. "You only just now told us Leliana wants to see us. If we hadn't come here we would never have known."
Morrigan's lips just pinch tighter and her eyes sharpen. "Tis no surprise to me that you are both here - I knew you would come and would tell you then. Leliana dances daily on the knife's edge, and my presence here makes her steps all the more dangerous. I would do nothing to jeopardize her position here in the Inquisition, much less her life. You would have been contacted."
Jaina doesn't lower her chin or lighten her glare until Sylvanas squeezes her hand gently and tugs her toward the nearest stairs to the rookery. The last thing they need is a showdown between two of the most powerful mages in the hold. She doesn't turn fully, simply calling over her shoulder in a low rumble, "We want to be aware of any further testing on your part, for all of our safety, Morrigan."
A quick swivel of her ear catches the defiant hrmph despite the sounds of Jaina's petulant stomping and the low noises of the others in the courtyard. The corners of her mouth want to tug upward at both Jaina and Morrigan's obstinance. Her thoughts move to Anya and Velonara and the fistfights that would break out between them; how they would have beat one another bloody one minute but band together the next to protect the other.
"You could have a great friend in her, you know." Sylvanas shortens her stride on the stairs as she realizes that Jaina is struggling to catch her breath. Too proud to say anything too . She rolls her eyes and slows so she's no longer pulling the other woman along behind her.
"Did I ask your advice?"
She looks back, unable to stop the amused smile this time, and meets Jaina's angry blue eyes with her own. Her mirth only seems to enrage the mage all the more, and she yanks her hand away and stops dead, eyes flashing.
"I am not a child, Sylvanas. I don't need you to play nursemaid and find companions for me." Jaina's panting breaths drain most of the intimidation from her outburst and Sylvanas feels a warm burst of affection in her chest. She drops her chin in deference and shrugs, unwilling -for the first time ever in her life and undeath- to escalate this into an actual fight.
"You are right. It is not my business. Apologies, my Lady."
For a moment, Jaina just stares, open-mouthed, before she snaps it closed, eyes narrowing in suspicion as she searches Sylvanas's face. Their rapid trip through the garden and up the stairs has caused the shorter hair unsecured in Jaina's braid to fall around her face and into her eyes, and Sylvanas's fingers itch to reach out and tuck the wild strands behind her ears. Taking a slow deep breath and throwing caution to the wind, she musters up the courage and reaches her hand out, slowly enough that Jaina can duck away or tell her off.
Narrowed eyes widen in surprise, but hold her own resolutely as all the noise around them tunnels to a pinpoint then drops away. When her fingertips brush against the warm, soft skin of Jaina's temple, time seems to stretch. She sees everything in slow motion, still images she wants to cache away into her memory: Jaina's chest rising and falling with a hitching sigh, her long lashes flitting against her cheeks just above the sprinkle of freckles that stand out against the blooming pink on her pale skin, the gentle bob of her throat as she swallows.
As she so very gently strokes her thumb across the spray of freckles, Jaina leans slightly into her hand and the desire to feel the rosy softness of Jaina's lips against her own flares to life again. She is tired of self-denial, of fighting against this wanting. What had the spirit boy told her in the tavern? That she is not only of her poor choices and actions, but also of her good? Her belief that the Forsaken deserve a second chance at life and love should extend to herself as well? She leans forward slowly, eyes first on Jaina's lips then flicking up to see if her intentions are understood.
The moment their eyes meet, the connection buzzes stronger between them, the arcane seemingly fueled by her intent. She watches the blue of Jaina's eyes get swallowed by the expanding black of her pupils just before they flutter closed; the quick peek of her tongue as she runs it across her lower lip. With the hand still cupping Jaina's cheek, she tilts her head forward until their foreheads touch, then nuzzles her nose against Jaina's until she feels warm breath wash across her lips. Closing her own eyes, she mouths a short prayer to whatever gods might be listening to give her this moment, to let her have this weakness so that maybe it will make them stronger, to choose rightly and justly in order to build rather than destroy.
Just as she presses forward, the sweetness of Jaina's lips almost against hers, the loud scream of an eagle cuts through the crisp mountain air and sets the ravens lurking in and around the rookery above them into a cacophony of caws and trills. They both startle at the noise; Jaina's open eyes, still blown and glassy, look up at her, as she worries her lower lip with her teeth.
Sylvanas forces a regretful smile as she again draws her thumb across the sprinkle of spots standing out in high relief against the flush on Jaina's cheek and then pulls her hand away, almost gasping as their connection is severed. Jaina's bereft sigh at the loss tugs at the tight warmth in her chest and she reaches out to take her hand, threading their fingers together and pushing energy in what she hopes is a comforting wave.
"Come on, I'm sure Leliana is waiting." She tugs Jaina gently towards the heavy wooden door to the rookery. There is resistance for just a moment, then Jaina steps forward and wraps herself around her arm, head tipped lightly against her shoulder for a moment. When she feels Jaina sweetly push her own pulse of arcane back, she reads it as clearly as ranger slashes carved into a tree.
More. Again.