Chapter 5: New Year's Eve pt.2
30 Haring 615 – 1 Wintermarch 616
If there was one thing that Daeldric von Selaniir could appreciate from Jaina's speech, it would be the fact that she actually bothered to name every single one of the twenty four soldiers that died during the Scourge assault. It pleased him that she emphasised the name of the tirassian marine that apparently died during the battle; if that was a testament of her good character or her pragmatism, Daeldric could not tell.
"The Lich King will regret ever stepping foot on our home," she said. "That I swear!"
The crowd enthusiastically responded to her words as Jaina stepped off the elevated platform. Then, she started personally greeting all of the civilians that had gathered in the cluttered inn to spend the New Year's Eve with their mistress. The arrangements were certainly nothing specials but the atmosphere was warm and friendly.
The only actual shortcoming of the celebration was that the tirassian fleet was simply too large to celebrate along with the people of Theramore. Only the high ranking officers would be celebrating the coming of the New Year onshore.
This in turn meant that dear Catherine had instantly suspected him the moment Jaina was stupid enough to bring him to the inn.
It was amusing how his old friend stood out like a sore thumb while surrounded by masked figures. Although he personally disagreed with her choice of disrespecting the ancient tradition, the fact that she had not change her behaviour upon being promoted meant that she was not a sell-out.
A Lady Captain now, Daeldric thought with pride. She may have been rewarded the rank under dubious circumstances but there was no man or woman that deserved the title more than her. Only her refusal to wear anything but the navy blue uniform of Lordaeron held her back.
When their eyes met, Daeldric brought his cup to his lips and downed the wine in a single swig. A gauche action that was certain to confirm to her his identity.
Catherine raised an eyebrow and considered him for a couple before shaking her head. She stood up and walked towards him, anger evident in her eyes.
Jaina was instantly alert the moment the first captain of Kul Tiras stood up, Daeldric gave her the tiniest nod. I'll be fine, it said. The Lady of Theramore returned to her conversation but kept him within the edge of her vision.
Daeldric narrowed his eyes on Jaina and observed very carefully. He grinned when he noticed the tiniest motion on her closed lips. The sorceress had just cast some kind of eavesdropping spell to hear about the potential conversation between two old friends. Or perhaps he was just being paranoid.
The booth table was located in a small alcove with white drapes to provide a semblance of privacy. Catherine closed the curtain—obscuring Jaina and everyone else—and sat at the other side of the u-shaped sofa.
Catherine opened her mouth to speak.
Daeldric tapped his hand on the table once, paused, and tapped them twice more. We are being watched, the signal said.
"What the fuck is this?" she said, instantly recognising his signal.
"Daeldric von Selaniir using a naive girl to bring law and justice to the corrupt institution that is Wrynn's Alliance," he said.
Catherine chuckled. "You could not have possibly picked a worse ally for that task."
Daeldric grinned. "It seems your promotion has made you stupid. Still a genius by Alliance standard but unworthy of your station."
She placed her pistol on the table. "Enlighten me."
"If a blackblood managed to seduce the Princess and turn her into a kinslayer, surely I can woo her to find her brother's murderer," he replied. "If she is a kinslayer by nature, I simply have to hand over the mantle of the Lord Admiral."
In a way, even if they were not far from the truth, it pained him to utter those words. But Jaina needed to hear them, the mere fact that she was treating him kindly did not atone for her sins… or so he tried to convince himself. Good acts do not atone for evil acts.
"And what is stopping me from reporting you to Alverold?"
"Because Alverold is turning Kul Tiras into a vassal state! You know it, I know it, and he knows it." Daeldric paused. "You might be unwilling to get your hands dirty but if you stop me, you are complicit to this crime."
Catherine jumped to her feet. She grabbed him from the neck with one hand, and placed aimed her pistol at his crotch. "Never. Question. My. Loyalty."
"Captain Rogers," Jaina said with her calm voice. "Leave us."
Shit, Daeldric thought. Placing the letter in Catherine's pocket would be infinitely harder now.
The Captain holstered her pistol and turned around. "Proud—"
"If you didn't realise, she told to get the fuck out."
Daeldric winced in pain when Catherine's right hook met his face. As his broken mask fell off his face, the illusion that changed the appearance of his face immediately disappearing, Daeldric placed the letter in her right pocket.
Catherine's eyes widened. She grabbed his linen napkin and cleaned her bloodied hand. "Be careful Lady Proudmoore," she warned, "or he will not be the only one swinging in the gallows."
When Catherine left, Jaina sat next to him, she looked to be close to the brink of crying. After she made sure nobody had seen the commotion, she poured water on the linen napkin and started gently cleaning his bleeding noise. "You silly, silly man," she whispered, "not everything is about having the last word."
"My apologies, I just—"
Jaina placed a finger on his scarred mouth, she traced the scar on his lips as she took her finger away. She knows the art of seduction quite well, Daeldric noted.
"I know…" she cooed and held the napkin on his nose to stop the bleeding, "I know that you feel angry, alone, and abandoned but… let me help you in my own way, the tongue is mightier than the blade."
"I am afraid you are severely overestimating the power of diplomacy, fair Lady."
"It is as much of a mistake to underestimate yourself as to overestimate yourself. And please, just call me Jaina."
"Ah!" Daeldric laughed. "You learned quickly how to get me to shut up, my L—Jaina."
Jaina's blue eyes brightened when he pronounced her name, Daeldric could not help but smile back. It was unfair how easily his childhood crash could disarm any man with her smile.
She took the napkin off him to see if his nose had stopped bleeding. Satisfied, she took his broken mask, cast some kind of mending incantation, and placed it on his face once again. "You know, if what you say is true," she said, "I have an entire book of Daelin quotes in my memory."
Daeldric sighed. "What's the point of knowing them if you don't believe them?"
"I love my father and I do believe in his teachings," she smiled a sad little smile. "Most of them anyway. My entire life I've been groomed by my father to be a diplomat and a sorceress not a military expert like Tandred and you; we have the same goals but our professions make us see things from a different angle…"
As they were talking, a plump but pretty serving girl walked in on them. Daeldric scurried to hide the bloodied napkin behind him. The wench blushed, perhaps thinking that she had interrupted a rather intimate moment.
Daeldric grinned at her, further increasing her embarrassment.
"Thank you, Janene," Jaina said and went to assist the woman with the plates. After three months in near seclusion, Daeldric could not help but growl at the prospect of eating one of the most famous dishes in Kul Tiras; lobster along with garlic butter.
It was a crisp night with the Great Dark Beyond bright from luminescent stars and a pale, crescent moon. Jaina was lying on a violet blanket at the top of her tower, the entire universe was within her grasp.
"Daeldric," she said, "watch the star with me."
"I am."
It was a lie. He was looking over the battlements towards Orgrimmar to the north rather than the beautiful sky. She could not see his face but it was easy to conclude that Daeldric was struggling to control his anger.
She truly felt for him. Growing up, Jaina despised the orcs too for depriving her of her brother and the general misery they had spread everywhere. But this had old changed by Medivh's words, the Battle for Mount Hyjal, and Thrall's good character had truly changed her perspective.
It was no longer about protecting Kul Tiras or the Alliance but about saving the civilisations of the entire universe. The leading class of humanity had a duty to set aside their hatred and unite all the races of Azeroth in preparation for the inevitable battle with the Burning Legion. "Then come sit with me."
Without turning towards her, he shook his head. "It would not be appropriate."
"It's only inappropriate if you let it be."
"Do you bring all your male friend or less-than-friends to stargaze?"
No, she thought, only Arthas. "Just sit down you fool."
"An order?" he laughed and sat on the floor to her left. Captain Rogers had delivered him with a mere stubble, Jaina could not deny that his growing beard looked very fitting on his face. He uncorked another bottle of wine.
Jaina extended her wine cup towards him. Daeldric shook his head. "Whyyy," she whined.
"You've drunk enough," he explained and started drinking directly from the bottle.
"I'm not—Fine!" she crossed her hands and pouted her lips. "Time for some astronomy lessons then, Lord Daeldric. Point towards Outland for me?"
Daeldric raised an eyebrow at her challenge. "A trick question? Surely you can do better than that?" He sighed. "The location of Draenor, if it is even from our universe, was not mapped by the astronomers of Dalaran before Ner'zhul blew up the planet. The portion of the world that became Outland is in the Twisting Nether and not the Great Dark Beyond."
Jaina clapped her hands. Daeldric seemed to have taken offense but her gesture was sincere. It was extremely rare to find a non-wizard knowledgeable about these things. "Have you ever visited Outland?"
"I visited Honour Hold seven months ago," he explained. "Why?"
"According to stories, Azeroth is visible from there."
"A fool's tale," he replied.
Jaina leaned on her elbows. "What do you mean?"
"Ser Arator, one of my paladins, informed me that it is plainly visible from the top of the Black Temple. I saw nothing from Honour Hold. That means Ser Arator saw an illusion or some kind of divination magic."
She pointed towards a formation of seven stars in the darkness. "Outland should be somewhere there."
Daeldric lied next to her and followed her hand. "That makes no sense to me. Then Azeroth would be observable from the entirety of Outland."
Jaina shook her head. "It's theorised that the sky right above the Betrayer's seat at the Black Temple is, essentially, acting as a second portal to our star system."
"According to my calculations," she continued, "Outland should be somewhere there but much, much closer."
"But the wormhole is too small to be observable with a naked eye…" Daeldric added and took another long gulp from the bottle, understanding that what soldiers saw as a fool's tale can sometimes be explained by magic. "Or a telescopic sorcery."
"You are well versed with astronomy," she said, surprised.
"I am a naval officer of Kul Tiras, not an idiot without interests."
Jaina was about to reply to him when she noticed trails of fireworks flying up the sky. "It's starting!" she exclaimed.
Moments later, the firework exploded into a thousand bright fragments. Some of the fireworks were more sophisticated and turned into creatures soaring up the sky. The most sophisticated of all the fireworks was one that animated into a red dragon engaged in combat with riderless griffons, it was truly a sight to behold. When the dragon was finally defeated, the heraldic symbols of all the nations of the Alliance appeared high in the sky.
"For the Alliance!" her people cried out when the sigil of the Alliance appeared.
As if competing, the tirassian marines replied with a war cry of their own. "Glory for Kul Tiras," they shouted back, louder, when a golden anchor on a field of green appeared.
Daeldric chuckled. "It's just a game soldiers play, Jaina," he whispered to her ear.
Jaina's face brightened, embarrassed with herself. She pulled him in a tight embrace, resting her head on his shoulder. "Happy new year!"
For a moment, she considered breaking the intimate embrace but she pushed the thought aside. She had never intended for this but, after spending an entire night with him, she could not deny that she felt something for this man.
Daeldric shifted uncomfortably but eventually relented. He brushed the golden strands that hid her eyes and cheek gently, the tender motion sending a shiver of delight through her spine. "I hope all your wishes become reality."
Something in his grim tone did not sit right with her. She opened her eyes and looked at his face, it was barely visible but there seemed to be a single drip of water under his right eye. With a beard on his face and most of his sidelong scar hidden, Jaina could not deny that he was unfairly attractive; in a rugged way like Varian rather than the handsomeness her previous lovers or Ser Arator held. "Daeldric...what's wrong?"
"I thought I had prepared myself for this but... I don't want to die in disgrace."
She kissed him on the wet spot and closed her eyes. "Don't give up on me Daeldric, I will find a way to save you."
"You can prove my innocence but the letters aren't fake... he can execute me for treason whenever he wants."
"I will find a way."
Daeldric sighed, unconvinced.
"And if I fail," she continued and placed a blanket over both of them to keep them warm after her warming wards run out, "you will die knowing that your Princess is watching you and that your family could not have wished for a more loyal servant."
He grunted and wrapped his arm around the back of her neck. Daeldric placed his other hand on her belly but flinched away instantly when he touched the naked skin.
Jaina chuckled and brought his hand back to that spot. "It's only inappropriate if you let it be," she reminded him.
"I was under the impression that Prince Arthas had taught you how male anatomy works."
"Oh!" she blushed, she tried to raise the blanket to confirm her suspicion when Daeldric slapped her hand away.
"Don't look!" he snapped. "This is already embarrassing enough."
"Aw… you poor baby," she cooed then burst into laughter while he blushed and shifted his body. When she calmed down, she closed her eyes one final time and fell into deep slumber.
It was two hours after midnight when Catherine Rogers found herself sneaking through the lush forest of Dustwallow Marsh. Even though it had snowed in the previous days, the warmth of the swamp had prevented any traces of snow or ice from appearing. She bit back a snarl towards the Lord Captain for making her do this when she stepped in the still warm, muddy waters of the swamp.
A heartbeat later, her prey looked backwards but Catherine dropped lower in the disgusting water. When the danger had cleared, she stood up and stalked after the SI:7 agent.
Catherine had instantly suspected Calia Hastings for being more than just a simple lieutenant the moment she had approached her with vein compliments. Initially, she had assumed that Jaina Proudmoore had ordered the woman that was unworthy of her noble name to keep an eye on her but that was obviously not the case.
As the Lady Captain assumed, the woman had approached her in an attempt to spy on the activities of Kul Tiras but when Catherine "accidentally" let on that there was no Jack Morrison in the tirassian fleet, Hastings had made the mistake and fled from her bed after Catherine pretended to be asleep.
Something twisted in her as she remembered her dead husband—a victim of the Forsaken betrayal after Garithos captured Lordaeron. I had to do it, she told herself, there was no other way.
Catherine dropped low and crawled to the edge of the hill. In complete contrast to the swamps of Dustwallow Marsh, the sandy beach was quite beautiful in comparison. Still, it did not compare to any beach in Kul Tiras or Southshore, nor did it compare to the waters of the lake the Proudmoore Mansion overlooked. Then again, nothing compared to that.
She peered through her spyglass. Hastings was digging in the soft sand for something. Roger's checked her firearms. The rifle and one of her pistols were mostly intact while the other two pistols had been drenched in water and mud. When she finished briefly cleaning her working firearms, she pulled Daeldric's letter from her pocket.
Catherine,
Our letters to the Theramore dissenters were altered by SI:7 Calia Hastings to command them to aggressively fight Lady Proudmoore. I implore you to investigate.
Glory for Daelin
Although they had parted on hostile terms, Daeldric spoke the truth in his letter. She truly wanted to help her but Catherine was quite worried of what was to follow. On the one hand, nothing would please her more than to see one of her few, true friend being proclaimed innocent, overthrowing Alverold, and proclaiming himself Lord Admiral; after all, she refused to believe that he had any intention of giving the position to a kinslayer. On the other hand, knowing her friend, it disturbed her that Daeldric would not be afraid to declare war to Stormwind.
Hastings pulled a mechanical ravel from the footlocker she unearthed, scribed a letter, and strapped it across the raven's leg.
Catherine took aim, waited for the raven to be over of the tiny islet, and fired. The mechanical raven fell on the ground. This was necessary to ensure that Hastings would commit to a fight in order to protect and recover the letter.
The SI:7 agent turned towards her in surprise and jumped behind a rock. Not having any ranged weapons of her own, the woman was stuck deciding between making a run for it and rushing for the letter to destroy. Stuck in inaction, she picked the worst option—doing nothing.
Casually, Catherine reloaded her gun and walked down the hill.
"Parley," Hastings called out.
Catherine chuckled. "Very well."
When the agent stood up and drew her cutlass. Catherine dropped her rifle and drew her rapier but did not draw her main gauche with her left hand. Rapier versus cutlass, this was going to be too easy. "State your terms, whitewasher."
"I hate the orcs!" Hastings snarled. "I win, you die. You win, I will tell you everything."
Catherine nodded and hooked her off-hand around her belt, right next to her flintlock pistol. Duellists normally held their unarmed off-hand behind their back or firmly to their chest, hooking around the belt was not ideal but neither was it suspicious.
She brought her rapier to her chest and held it upright. "Death before dishonour."
Hastings started circling her, assessing her prey like a lion. "Excellent footwork," Catherine admitted, "and duelling stance."
The Captain maintained a much more relaxed stance that pointed to a far too confident duellist. In her defence, a rapier-cutlass duel without armour was simply not fair.
The cutlass fighter would offer a horizontal profile against a sword that was mostly used against targets with a near-sideways hitbox. At the same time, the near-sideways hitbox of the rapier wielder would be a very small target for cutting wounds. All the rapier master needed to do is to use the significant reach and speed offered by the rapier to dart in and out with quick lunges to butcher the wielder of a sword that was optimised for the close-quarters of a ship.
Catherine had no time for that bullshit. Without looking behind her, she walked towards a rocky bump that would certainly trip an unsuspecting person. When she intentionally bumped on the rock, the younger woman mistook her faint for an actual error and charged.
Catherine drew her pistol and shot at the kneecap. As Hastings fell down to her knees, the Captain followed with a punch straight to the face. Then, she punched three more times until the prisoner stopped struggling.
"Bitch!" Hastings shouted. "We were duelling."
The woman certainly had a point but she was technically incorrect, by the tirassian standards anyway. In Kul Tiras, duels were a sacred affair that were meticulously planned from top to bottom. The battlefield, the weapons used (usually identical and mundane for both combatants), the time of the dual, and—at times—even the duelling stance were decided by the second of each duellist with the challenged party having an advantage (within reason).
The procedure was by design so exhaustive that the rivalling nobles had long resolved their differences before their seconds decided on agreeable terms of combat. In fact, a duel without seconds present was considered null and void, and punishable by death since the seconds were honour bound to ensure that the outcome is respected by both parties and reported to the Lord Admiral.
Catherine laughed as she started tying up the woman with the rope she had brought. "You didn't state that pistols were disallowed."
Hastings spat at her face. "I will tell you nothing whore!"
The Captain laughed some more and knelt before the prisoner. "This whore was fucking you an hour ago."
"Is that really the best response you could muster?"
Catherine tore the woman's sleeve and tied it as a gag around the agent's mouth. She placed her main gauche on the woman's weathered face and run it across a healed scar. "A naked woman has few secrets, a flayed woman, none."
A/N: "A naked man has few secrets, a flayed man, none." —Roose Bolton
Time for a visit to Kul Tiras.