Sleep did not come so easy to Jaina. The archmage lay in her bed, eyes open to keep the room from spinning, staring at the supports of her ceiling. She had already begun to recall all that was said on the butte, mulling those implications over in her mind.

'Was I hitting on him?'

Her eyebrows tilted upwards at the ceiling, as if it held an answer, or could reply at all. Her inner self filled in.

'You've essentially told him you were horny all of the time but that you need to know the man before you get to it. And really, do you even have any other male friends?'

She kicked her head back in frustration.

'Way to fuck this one up, Proudmoore. You're friends. Your advances probably make him feel awkward and he's just too polite to bring it up.'

In truth, it wasn't something she did consciously, the flirting. It just kind of happened. It was why Arthas had been so smitten with her; it was likely the cause of Kael'thas' infatuation. She thought she had trained that trait out of herself, but it seems to be an undeniable truth that people ignore those kind of rules when intoxicated.

And really, it was a bad idea to even entertain that idea- that such a romance was even possible; Oh, she must really be drunk to admit that bit to herself. If Kael'thas was a bad idea, then Thrall was surely the worst, though mostly politically. Why did he have to be so damn easy to get along with? Light, if he were human this wouldn't be a problem, but no, fate was not kind to her, never was. And these unrequited feelings hurt the worst. Kael'thas, she supposed, was getting the last laugh now, in whatever hell he currently resided.

Ugh. Jaina ran a hand through her hair, the heel of her palm resting on her forehead as if trying to control the thoughts about to be had.

'Thoroughly'.

Her inner self was back, "That doesn't make it any easier does it?" She would be lying to herself if she said she hadn't imagined what that would be like, to make love with him. It was a thought that only surfaced on nights like these, when her inhibitions were so low as to even admit things to herself, like how it would feel to bury her fingers into his black hair as she writhed beneath him, his impossibly strong arms holding her in a gentle embrace. Or perhaps the ever thoughtful chieftain would suggest she ride atop him, so that he might not harm her with his size, whichever way she wanted to take that metaphor. And light be dammed, knowing he was good at it didn't help at all, not one bit!

She rolled over in frustration, hoping that, like usual, she would forget this part of the evening by the time she awoke on the morrow. She closed her eyes, the room pitching and swaying like a ship in a storm. But she had spent many of her days aboard ships, and sleep soon found the conflicted woman.

It was more often now than before that Jaina awoke with the thought 'Never Again.' She rolled over in her bed, in a feeble attempt to return to sleep, but the incessant throbbing in her head dictated otherwise. She cracked her eyes open, the crisp early morning light only proving to sharpen the pain behind her eyes. She looked around to find that her maidservant, the only one who knew about her whiskey affairs with the Warchief, had set out a glass of water and a cup of some herbal tea. Jaina made a mental note to give the kind elderly woman some extra holiday leave, her service was invaluable.

Holiday leave. Ah, yes. Theramore's Founding Festival was but a week away. Attendance was expected to be much higher than usual; it would seem the members of the Alliance took every opportunity of celebrating in these dark and trying days. It would certainly boost morale for all of the soldiers home for military leave. This was a good thing.

Jaina picked up the cup of steaming tea and tentatively took a sip.

But there were also problems with such a celebration. Personal ones. Varian Wrynn was sure to make an appearance, along with more than a few well-off Stormwind Nobles, all of whom were certain to make a grand attempt at sweeping her off of her feet. Jaina sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger.

In public, no doubt. Using the pressures of her peoples wishes to corner her into making a decision. Pitiful. Witless cowards, all of them. She took another sip, burning her tongue but not caring in the slightest. Did none of them understand that she was not interested in marriage? Not yet, and especially not with men as superficial as themselves. Well, Varian was different, but she'd dealt with enough emotionally difficult men in her lifetime to know that it would be a relationship doomed to failure, at least on her end. And sure, there was a part of her that found the gladiator king attractive, all muscular and scarred up as he was, but that was not enough to counterbalance his quick shifting moods and his blind hatred for the Horde. So many of her efforts has he undermined simply by being present!

And now he's gotten it into his head that she would make a fine bride. And her answer was as much 'no' as if Garrosh Hellscream had asked the same question. She cracked a cynical smile to herself; the whole scenario probably wouldn't play out all that differently either.

Jaina shifted her gaze to the stack of letters that occupied her desk, neglected due to last night's festivities. They were what were left of her formal invitations to the festival; she had sent out many to the leaders of the Alliance and other people of import. She had also sent one to Thrall, as she had done in years past. It was more of a polite, formal gesture than anything- it was obvious he could never attend- though he always sends her a reply just the same.

At the thought of her unlikely friend, Jaina felt a niggling in the back of her mind, as though she was forgetting something important. The only realization she came to was that, indeed, she didn't remember teleporting back home. Again. She reprimanded herself about just how dangerous that was; she could've popped inside of a wall or appeared at the right location but the wrong altitude. All it would take is one little misstep in the incantation. But in reality, this was just a token protest she made to appease her conscience. Jaina had been pulling this particular stunt since her days in Dalaran, and was so accomplished that she no longer required incantations to cast such mundane spells.

She took another sip of her tea, the herby brew already beginning to ease the pain in her head, its warmth seeping into her bones. Light bless her maidservant; the woman was truly a miracle worker. Jaina stretched her arms over her head, one last morning yawn escaping her lips as she made her way to her to her armoire to ready herself for the doubtlessly taxing day ahead.