The seagulls flew above the port town, squawking about the masts and shores alike, blissfully ignorant of the festivities that transpired below. Tents had been erected in the streets, their shapes and colors varying wildly; white and gold pennant banners snapped and flew in the breeze above storefronts that had their best wares out on display, from blacksmith to baker, seamstress to stonemason. The ale flowed freely from the tap and music from various troupes and bards could be heard flowing from the streets. The sun shone brightly through the ever-present clouds, persistent in its efforts so that it too might not miss the day's events.
All of these things were happening around Jaina Proudmoore, and try as she might, she had far too much to worry about to enjoy herself.
It was just before noon and she was talking to this positively inane woman, attached to an even more boring husband. Lady Marguerite Desmond, wife of Lord Albert Desmond, apparently took to reading condensed novels and has an affluent taste for tea grown in the Wetlands. Her face was almost comically painted, white powder to mask her aging face, rouge meant to highlight her cheekbones stark and unnatural. Jaina had to wonder if she had a history of narcolepsy, for her chest was drawn so tight in her corset that she need only look down to rest her chin upon heaving breasts.
When the woman finally excused herself to converse with a cluster of hoop-skirted noblewomen nearby, she had to shuffle to the side to avoid knocking Jaina over, so wide as the pannier that supported her box-like skirt. That particular style of dress had begun to fall out of fashion due to its mobility issues. Jaina assumed that her lack of even a bustle underneath her own skirts would be cause for small controversy as it was more of an Elven style of dress. Soon enough, she was sure, the rumors would circulate of how it had been an old gift from Kael'thas or Arthas, hidden away out of sentiment, or perhaps, she thought with a grit to her teeth, Thrall. It's not as if that particular rumor was a fresh one though; they'd been whispering that one around fires since the battle of Mount Hyjal. And if they ever found out about their whiskey nights, she might as well burn the rumor mill down personally.
It was then that her attention was caught, by a polite cough from behind her. She turned gracefully to be met by a well dressed and well groomed man by the name of Davish Comstock. By the starch of his blue overcoat and the blinding polish of the gold buttons on his breast she could tell that he came from a strict, but wealthy household. His golden hair was parted on the side and combed over in a stylish wave- the kind that makes the young girls swoon- and his strong jaw was clean shaven.
"Good Afternoon, my Lady," he said, his mouth curving into a smile that revealed teeth: straight and white. 'Ah', she thought, 'magically corrected. Quite wealthy, then'
"And a good afternoon it is, Lord Comstock. It is not often that we get to enjoy so much uninterrupted sunshine." When she looked up, she noted that, indeed, the sun had won its struggle for dominance of the heavens.
Davish smiled almost shyly, a nervousness peeking through his well trained exterior, though for exactly what, Jaina was unsure. He shifted a little awkwardly, moving a wrapped object from under his right arm to under his left so that he could extend his hand to her.
"Lady Proudmoore," he said, inclining his head down in a subtle bow, "Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a walk?
Jaina smiled in a courtly way as to not betray her thoughts, and accepted with the faintest of curtsies. Though a little annoyed when he extended his elbow, she took it as well, grateful at the very least to be away from the growing array of noblewomen who whispered about one another behind the privacy of their lace fans.
They walked in silence for a distance, Davish apparently struggling to find a suitable topic of conversation. Jaina pitied him a bit; the poor boy kept an admirable composure but lacked the social confidence of most nobles. Or perhaps, she thought, he was just intimidated by the eyes that followed them from the throngs of festival goers. In any case, she would do him a favor and break the ice herself.
"It is surprising that the weather should be so clear this afternoon. The moons were red this morning."
When he looked at her with a cocked eyebrow she continued.
"It's an old sailor's tale: Red at night, sailor's delight; Red at morning, sailor's warning. My father had told me about it when I was a child."
"And what did you think of this, my Lady? I cannot imagine that you're the superstitious type."
Jaina chuckled softly. "I thought he was absolutely mad. He ruffled my hair and told me that one day I'd understand."
"And do you?" He asked, curiously.
"I'm not about to say that I put a vast amount of stock in sailors stories and old wives tales, but I must confess that the morning of our flight out of Lordaeron was marked with red moons, and it was if the sea itself wished to throw all of us off of its back."
"The captains of your ships must have been quite skilled to navigate through such weather safely. You make it sound so treacherous."
"And treacherous it was. Were it not for my instruction we would've landed ourselves in what is now Durotar, rather than the land we tread now. A poor Proudmoore I'd be if I couldn't manage a compass or an astrolabe!"
They shared a chuckle before he asked, "But how did you know to sail here? There were hardly any maps of this continent before your landfall. It is fascinating you managed to find a suitable place for a city at all."
"To be honest it was more an intuitive move than anything. Medivh's beacon was rather vague; he had told me to sail both south and west to this 'forgotten continent'. Why, Lord Comstock, must prophets and shamans always speak in such mystic terms?"
Though the conversation had been going smoothly, Jaina smirked inwardly when the word 'shaman' gave him a bit of a pause. Can't make it too easy on him now, can we?
"I wasn't aware that Medivh studied shamanism as well" Davish managed with a measure of dignity.
"He did not." She said simply.
"Then you speak of the Horde's Warchief." He stopped their walking and turned to hold her hands in his, a look of genuine concern arresting his features.
"I do not mean to undermine your skill with the arcane, but it cannot be safe for a Lady such as yourself to meet an orc unguarded, let alone their strongest warrior."
And there it is, she thought, the assumption that she could not take care of herself. It never ceased to amaze her how that idea could follow her around even when many had seen her do battle at Hyjal or in Northrend, challenging the monstrosity that was once Arthas in his own halls. Rater than chastise the poor boy in front of everyone, she decided to make a joke about it.
"Your concern is unneeded, Davish." She said," Though it is true that he's quite intimidating in person, I assure you he is harmless. Besides, though it would never happen, I've often wondered who would win in a fight, he or I"
The look of shock at her flippancy was almost more than she could bear.
"That's not something you should joke about, my lady! That hammer killed Anduin Lothar!" He spluttered.
"But not by his hand. Arcane power may seem a bit abstract to you, but know that it allows someone with extensive training command over the forces of reality itself. I could turn him into a sheep before he could utter his battle cry."
Davish recovered from her casualness admirably, trying to keep the conversation amicable.
"So you think you would win?" It was stated as both a question and a statement, as if he was letting the gravity of that fact sink in. That she was, for all intents and purposes, an equal of the famed Warchief Thrall.
"Were he just a warrior, I think so, but those elements of his would cause a lot of trouble," She paused in thought, and then waved a hand," It would likely be some sort of tie. He'd be the technical winner, having laid a devastating blow, but his Kor'kron would have to figure out how to chip him out of a ten foot block of ice."
At his incredulous look, she added, "That is, when they've when they've walked back to Durotar from my viewing pool in the gardens.
As she laughed (and he looked at her in barefaced horror), they were interrupted by a stern cough to their side.
When they both turned to look, it was a gentleman in his late forties that wore the colors of the Stormwind navy. He stood tall, his dress uniform fitting well and the bars on his shoulders betraying his status as Vice Admiral. He had aged well, the lines around his eyes and mouth only faint traces of what they could be, his dark hair flecked with strands of gray. His green eyes spoke of a sharp wit and sharper intellect, but the worn sword at his hip told of a man who'd spent years fighting wars, perhaps even as early as the Second.
'Father would've liked him', she thought, and then laughed inwardly, 'Perhaps he did; he's certainly old enough to have known him.'
"Good day, my lady" he says with a small dip of his head, "It seems as though I'm interrupting you; I'm afraid I'm quite rusty with all of this courtly business."
Davish shakes his head politely, despite how much he probably didn't want to. "Oh, not at all good sir, I was about to take my leave."
He turned to take the package from underneath his left arm, "But not before I've given you this."
Jaina had spent many years in candlelit halls among dusty tomes, so when the carefully wrapped package came to rest in her hands she knew that sealed inside was a book. She pulled at the twine that held the paper in place, removing it carefully despite her growing excitement.
She was surprised at how old the tome was, the rich brown of the leather beginning to crack at the edges. The title, in faded gilded lettering read, 'The Missing Meitre: A Critical Hypothesis'.
'Ah,' Jaina thought, 'this is a conversation worth having.'
"Oh! How fascinating! I didn't know you were interested in this kind of history. Tell me: What is your opinion of the author's findings? Do you think that Meitre had looked into necromancy as his findings suggest?"
Her questions seemed to surprise him, his eyebrows shooting upward and his lips curving into a smile as she recognized his gift.
"I'm glad you like it, my lady," he said, his smile widening to flash his perfect teeth at her, "I had my best men search for a gift to suit your intellect. I am afraid that most of it is lost on me, however. They tell me that it is quite a rare find, an artifact from long before the second war."
'Alas,' she thought sadly, 'too hopeful, too soon.'
"It is rare," she said, trying not to crush the poor man with what she was about to say, "This copy is an even earlier edition than the one in my own libraries. It still contains the texts that the Kirin Tor edited in later editions, but lacks the concluding thoughts of the author shortly before his death."
Davish's face fell when she said that it was a work she already owned and struggled to regain his composure. The man who had been waiting patiently beside them smirked beneath his moustache.
"This is a fine gift, Davish Comstock," she said dipping into a brief curtsey," You have my sincerest thanks. It will find a home next to its kin in my personal libraries."
His bow was awkward and stiff as he took his leave, obviously embarrassed to have been shot down in front of a man many years his senior.
"Goodbye to you, Lady Proudmoore. May we meet again another day."
"To you as well, Davish."
Jaina and the newcomer shared a silence until Davish was out of earshot, the speed of whom made for a short one. The man spoke first.
"Poor bastard. Too young to have known that his looks cannot get him everywhere and too wealthy to have worked a day in his life."
He turned to Jaina, extending his hand for a handshake and hesitating midway, realizing that it probably wasn't proper etiquette for a Lady of her status.
Jaina laughed, and then shook his hand anyway, remembering to stay firm as her father had.
"Honestly, I dislike this courtly business myself. Best keep that to ourselves, though."
He laughed, a short bark of someone in on a joke, and replied, "Indeed, wouldn't want them thinking we're human. Pleased to meet you, Lady Proudmoore; I am Delmore Sewall, Vice Admiral"
"Pleased to make your acquaintance, Admiral. It's good to see I can still identify naval ranks after so many years ashore."
"I find it is something that never leaves you, the sea. It's in your blood as much as mine, my Lady."
"Indeed. How long have you been a sailor, Admiral? You aren't an old salt yet, but you aren't a young one either."
He smiled, and Jaina could tell that he had been quite handsome when he was young.
"My first days aboard a ship weren't as a seaman but as a refugee. I sailed with my family north to escape Stormwind in the wake of the First War. I couldn't have been much older than fourteen. The first time I was a sailor, though was around my nineteenth birthday. Lothar called upon the remaining fleets to supplement the Kul'Tiras Navy, and I was assigned to a gun on the starboard side of a ship called the Demetria. I've been a part of the Navy ever since."
'And it's been the better for it, as it would seem.' Jaina stated, gesturing to the insignia on his chest, "It's good to know that Varian has experienced men commanding his fleets rather than a handful of landed gentry with ulterior motives."
"I agree wholeheartedly, my lady," Delmore replied, "I do not think I could take orders from men with soft palms and softer handshakes, no matter how much they'd pay me to. Were I a commercial man I'd have been a pirate!"
He laughed and Jaina riposted," Not about to turn Bloodsail on us, are you?'
He laughed again, a short percussive sound, and then turned to really look Jaina in the eye.
"…I didn't really know what to expect when I approached you, my lady. You are a mage, a ruler, a diplomat, a noble. These things are known to many. What surprises me is how personable you are. Talking to you is like talking to someone I've known for years, unlike every mage or noble I've ever met. They've got more power than their mettle is worth, but you are as level as your father had ever been."
She remained silent as he continued.
This was the worst part, Jaina thought: when they talk about her father. They all know how he died; it was no secret that she had allowed the orcs into her city as he occupied it, how she had told them of the goblin shipyards- now Ratchet- to the north. They always tried to both dance around the subject and remind her of her loss. Always, always skeptical of the non-aggression pacts that she and Thrall sign every year or so. She supposed it always comes up because she actually holds a conversation with them, rather than remaining aloof like all of the other noblewomen. It doesn't help that it's one of the few things about her that that they can easily digest, either. The old sailor certainly wasn't about to debate magical theory with her anytime soon.
She didn't have high hopes, but perhaps this one would surprise her.
"I must admit that I've always been uneasy about your truces with the Horde, but speaking to you now bolsters my confidence. You posses a great wit and intellect; you are honest and steadfast in doing what is right for your people."
All of this praise had Jaina uneasy herself. Though she was surprised that he approved of the measures she had taken in the past, she also wonders why he is taking the time to say it aloud.
'Probably sugaring me up for something,' she sighed inwardly, 'Great.'
She shifted a bit under his steady gaze and said only, "Thank you, Admiral. Not many hold that opinion." Best to keep it neutral, she thought.
"Ah, no need to thank me, my Lady. It is the truth. But, as you are aware, politics are a constant shifting of power and the Horde is no different. Should this peace you've won deteriorate I want you to know that you will have my fleet at your disposal. Just as I have lent my hand before, I will do so again."
He punctuated his sentence with a courtly bow, akin to a swearing of loyalty.
Jaina, in an attempt to cease his courtliness, "Oh, you needn't bow, Admiral. For a man who despises aristocracy, you're doing quite well at putting on its airs."
He hitched in his movements, not expecting to be called out on it. His face remained impassive, quickly recovering in a manner that was both apologetic and insistent.
"You'll have to excuse me, my Lady. I am afraid I lack the ability to tell when I'm trying too hard," he joked, "But it certainly doesn't help that you're looking quite lovely this afternoon."
This time he really did stammer.
"Ah…I suppose that was rather bold. My apologies."
Jaina was about to forgive the man when she heard a stiff cough from someone to the side of them.
Varian.
Delmore practically jumped to salute, his heels clicking together with such a practiced quickness that he appeared to 'snap' to attention.
"At ease, Admiral. I see you've met our gracious host," said Varian, amicably but sternly.
The sailor's reply was rigid and matter of fact, "Indeed I have, my King. She was just showing me around her grand city."
"It is quite lovely, yes. You must excuse me Admiral; I believe I must steal the Lady Proudmoore from you as we have a few matters to discuss."
'Oh great, Matters' Jaina thought, 'Perhaps Esther wasn't wrong after all.'
'Of course, your majesty.' The Admiral bowed, first to Varian and then to Jaina, "And a good day to you, my lady."
He turned on his heel and left, filtering into the crowd until all that could be seen of him was the tip of his hat.
Varian laughed, "You look like you're having fun."
Jaina snorted, a wholly unladylike gesture, and gave him a look that spoke volumes.
He laughed again, "If it is any consolation, his daughter been after my son for some months now. Looks like they both have a penchant for wooing the younger crowd."
"He failed to mention he was a father. How old is she?" Her words were stated dryly, but not humorlessly. The day must have been quite taxing for her to find herself being so familiar with Varian; though for as long as she has been friends with him, she preferred to keep somewhat of a professional distance. Arthas had introduced them shortly after his induction into the Knights of the Silver Hand, when the cheers of congratulations had slowed to a low din. Varian looked younger then; He looked whole. Married only a year to the radiant Queen Tiffin, who held a tiny, squirming Anduin to her chest, he had everything he could have ever wanted. His closest of friends had just received one of the highest honors that can be bestowed upon a knight and priest and when he had shook her hand (even then he had detested bowing) he gave Arthas a knowing look, almost as if to say, 'One day you will know the happiness that I have, friend.'
And now that happiness is gone, dashed in with an ill-thrown stone; torn into polar opposites and hastily sewn back together. There are moments like these where the Varian-that-Was shines through and one could almost forget all of the horror that he has witnessed. Conversation is easy at these times; He laughs, he jokes, he smiles and looks at the good in people and in himself. But those glimpses are intermittent, unpredictable. She knows that his relationship with Anduin suffers for it, straining the already tenuous bond between estranged father and rebellious son.
If only there were a more immediate solution to his sickness than the healing ebb and flow of time itself.
"About seventeen, by my estimation," He said, his reply pulling Jaina into the present. "She's not bad to look at, but my Anduin turns twelve in the spring. I doubt he can even register her advances as what they are and I'm not about to tell him. I don't want her getting in the way of his studies."
"He's told me that he's become very interested in the older texts regarding the light."
"It is true. And though I am not one to say that it is an ill course of study, I must admit that I wish he would pick up a sword every now and then."
At Jaina's depreciating look (they've had this discussion more than once), he said," I worry for his safety. Surely you can understand that."
"Of course, but a scholar can also make a great king."
Varian made a face as though he were refraining from saying something he'd regret and said:
"Look. Jaina. I came here to celebrate your nation's perseverance, not to get into an argument. Let us forget this for a while and have a few drinks with your people."
And though Jaina didn't necessarily want to become inebriated around him, she would be a poor host if she refused him in her own home. However, he had impressed her just then with his show of restraint and willingness to interact with the common people of her city. Perhaps this day could pass without problems after all.