~* Author's Notes *~

There are a lot of end notes/explanations.

We're getting back to the focus of the story now so expect to see some old themes reaper.

~*~ Chapter 64 ~*~

* Brill *

~ Salira~

Brill was on fire.

The water brigade only made things worse. Black and purple clad Forsaken foot soldiers rushed buckets of dirty pond water back and forth. Where they got so many viable buckets was anyone's guess. Every slosh of water carried the flames to the ground; the very soil burned. Someone had pissed off a very, very powerful Warlock and the whole town was paying the price.

Behind Salira the mage portal winked out. In her arms one of the living children shared her wide-eyed stare. The red-clad woman took almost no notice from the townspeople, so rare was the sight of a Scarlet warrior in this part of the Banshee Queen's territory. The last time the she saw Brill it had been in a similar state of chaos. Civilian Forsaken running every which way mimicked the panic of the living citizens from over a decade ago. Now, as then, they were screaming at each other in anger and fear; it was making things worse. The undead and the living shared a healthy respect for fire's ability to end oneself permanently.

The Dark Lady's mouth set in a hard line, hands flexing around the handles of her short swords. Through the back of her head Salira could almost see the scowl and anger glowing in her eyes. "That damned woman. Where the fel is that priest!"

To their left a woman in a baker's apron stood glaring at a flaming building with only half a roof. The accusing look she leveled on the building, arms crossed and flower-covered forks in both hands, made Salira feel guilty, though she didn't know why. It was as if the dried-up lady were blaming the building for having the audacity to catch fire.

Half the town roared in flames: green cinders falling from the wind; heat swirling into the atmosphere; smoke blacking out the sky. They had barely escaped one flaming deathtrap only to be teleported to another. The mage who had provided the portal just shook his head and muttered something about a recent law keeping "that woman" away from "civilian dwellings". The Dark Lady almost bit his head off with a quick rebuttal about someone refereed to only as "he" having the job of keeping "her sheathed so this doesn't happen! Find that damned priest." The mage took off at a run, with no intention of finding "that priest" if "that women" was sure to be anywhere near him.

The only buildings not on fire were the town hall and blacksmith, which was almost entirely made out of stone and metal because it very nature was to house fire, the Inn, who's proprietors were looking upon the rest of the burning houses with dollar signs in their yellow eyes, and the stables, which were similarly made out of stone. Everyone ignored the kicking and thrashing horses within, who's high pitched voices only added to the flurry of chaos (2). The purple light cast by the wicked purple flames of the sconces cast an eerie glow from the stables.

"Right, then. This way." The Dark Lady wove her way through the streets of Brill as if it were not on fire. The Frostfire and RazorWing filled in the gap between she and Salira; the living children filled in the gap again when it became bigger and then Salira finally was forced to follow.

The innkeepers could hardly argue with the imposing (pun intended) Banshee Queen when she strode up to them, took possession of their holdings and declared it off property to any undead who was taller than Michael. They looked at the Scarlet woman and pointed, hand up in question. The Banshee Queen laughed and said that if any harm comes to her that they could answer to Fordrin. They almost fled the inn at the thought.

The sun was up fully when Salira finished pushing all of the beds in the upper levels of the inn into one room. These she covered in surprisingly clean sheets and pillows that only smelled slightly of mold and dander. The children shrugged out of their filthy clothes and slept in pillowcases with arms and head holes cut out. The laundry was passed off to the barkeeper/cook/maid/man-wench, who had to be told three times to wash it with untainted water, else the Dark Lady would hear about it.

The children were in beds, RazorWing guards posted inside and Firefrost guards without, when Salira felt a tap on her shoulders. Turning, she came eye to eye with the woman who now owned the Brill-iant Inn (named so before the Fall of Loarderon, pun intended). The lady, who's name escaped Salira, was holding a neatly wrapped white cloth bundle. Bleary eyed, the Scarlet woman took the package from the undead woman, who shuffled back a step or two to give her room. Taking one corner of the cloth she shook it out, found the top and held it up.

A nightgown. A white, cotton nightgown. The blue L of Lordaeron graced the breast pocket, surrounded by the shield of service and backed by the swords of loyalty. Tears stung Salira's throat; her breath caught. Her shocked eyes met the innkeeper's waiting stare. She knew who Salira was and what she had been before the war. She knew, as Salira did, how hard it was to find anything in Lordaeron blue anymore. Arthas destroyed it all. This nightgown had probably cost someone their lives to hide, especially considering it was uniform for those guards who had lived in the castle. Salira had been promoted to just such a position not two days before Arthas had returned from Northrend. The first things she did was write her friends and tell them that she just couldn't wait till the end of the week to be issued her change of uniform and officially move into her new quarters.

Salira rushed forward, taking the shrunken undead woman into her embrace and felt her care that some people were alive and some people were undead dissolve. You may know someone's story, but you can never know what they've been through. No gift anyone gave her would ever compare to this ten year old, unused nightgown. "Thank you-" even as she spoke the name came back- "Yvette. Thank you so much!" How long had she been hanging on to the bundle, waiting for the day Salira would die and be raised, and finally get to have a piece of that uniform she had written her about all those years ago?

Less than half an hour latter Yvette cracked the door open to the "living room" in the upstairs of her inn and smiled at the sight of un-armored, pale skin in white cotton, loose brown hair and soft snoring. Not a care in the world. Across the street at the blacksmith the forge was heated to 1370 degree and a pile of red armor finally began to melt into a glowing red puddle. The Dark Lady had issued armor for a new warhorse, and it just so happened that this was exactly what the blacksmith needed to get started.

~ Somewhere in Tirisfal Glades ~

~ Sylvanas ~

The Dark Lady hunted. Three of her pawns had gone missing over the last several days and she did not like that. The Druid would be easy enough to track down – how hard could it be to find a cat in a place which had no native cats? - but the ones she looked for now was somewhat more skilled at cloaking their piece on her board.

Jetadiah had gone missing the same day the Druid found her in the woods. This had been the most interesting Children's Week in all of Lordaeron, and only because it was Children's Week could she be assured the Inn would not become overrun and all the children slain. However, it was over tomorrow, so by noon Fordrin had better answer her summons or all he'd have for tithe will be bodies.

She felt magic, followed it. Elves radiated magic from their souls, their flesh and the essence of their being. Infused with it from the Well of Eternity ten-thousand years ago they could never hide what they were for very long. As one who's banshee spirit had been made by the Lich King to track down the magic infused in her own kind, she excelled at this kind of tracking.

It helped that there was only one of them in the whole of Tirisfal which leaked this kind of magic from his core. Somewhere between the disaster that was Brill and the Scarlet compound there was the faintest whiff of arcane essence infused with the Holy Light. Her boots barely made a noise, bow in hand as she pushed aside eye height branches and stepped over rotting dead branches. She followed the feel of the thinnest strand of the magic to it's source...

… and there she found him. The noble elf was collapsed against a tree, breathing heavily as if he had been running from something terrible and were about done catching his breath. The normally beautiful hair had not been brushed in some time and was fraying around the edge of the ponytail. Some humans sported this "fox tale" look, but elves did not prefer scraggly cuts over sleek styles. It was purely human influence on their culture that some were shaving they eyebrows off and spiking their hair. She did not like it one bit. His normal robes of power were gone and in their place a simple linen shirt, open in the front and showing claw marks that were several days old and unhealed, and linen breaches. He was weak from hunger, Hunger and thirst.

"Jetadiah," she purred approaching slowly. On hand covered his face as he rested against the tree, forehead bunched up in pain or stress. Or fighting the monster inside. That was surely it, she decided. Rarely did she see a Wretched, having left Silvermoon after Arthas forced her to help conquer it and only going back once to offer a deal to the man who now babysat a throne which should rightfully been hers. Seeing what became of those who had somehow managed to survive the genocide horrified a veteran who had already seen everything.

The priest did not look up. He didn't hear her, too intent on fighting the beast inside, on not becoming Wretched himself.

"What have you done to yourself, my poor Sin'dorei?" She spoke more to herself than anything else, as one might speak to a dog who fell asleep between the wheels of your wagon. He was oblivious to her presence, even as she drew closer and closer. "Have you burned yourself out completely? What on earth would cause you to unleash so much power as to risk becoming Wretched? What was so necessary that you would take yourself out of this world to do this thing?"

Kneeling in front of him she reached out to shake him aware – then stopped. No. Something was wrong. He wasn't just not paying attention, he wasn't present to the world. Something was very wrong. His energy was different, his magic. The fel taint which turned the eyes green of any magic wielder who fed from it was gone. Completely gone. Which means Corrosa...

The Dark Lady leaned back, took one of her swords from it's sheath and brought it to rest under his chin. Tilting the blade up made him jump, move his hands to steady himself and fall back completely against the tree. The Dark Lady's heart would have skipped a beat if it beat at all. She had not anticipated this. No wonder Corrosa was soooo protective. No wonder Jetadiah was so interested in helping her develop a cure for the Plague. They scheming pair had their own agenda all along, and it did not favor hers.

The Priest's eyes gazed up at nothing, pupils dilated the size of silver pieces, almost blocking out the edge of electric blue. Traitor, she though. Lying, deceitful betrayer of everything your people are working for. "What's the matter, Priest? Didn't eat your Fel Flakes this morning? Starving for some Mana Munchies?" She stood, disgusted, knowing only one way to deal with those who betray their own. The Sin'dorei were already weak as it was; the last thing they needed was to find out about this. Raising the sword several inches – it would only take a light thrust – she poised to put an end to the one they called Jetadiah Li-

"Not another move, or I end you." A woman's voice, like someone who smoked several packs a day, accompanied a light, sharp nudge to the spot above and behind her eye.

"Corrosa dear, so nice you could join us." Though her voice was lighhearted, there was nothing joking about the saronite arrow gently resting against her temple. At this range, and with her hands already full, there was no way to avoid what would be instant death. Jetadiah moaned at her feet, slumping forward to hold his head once more. No doubt his mind as well as body were on fire with hunger.

"Leave, and I'll pretend you didn't see us."

The Banshee Queen turned slightly to face her opponent. Corrosa's stance was perfect, elbow high and string pulled back to the corner of her mouth. The bow was a simple thing, just a piece of shaped and heated wood with a piece of gut for string. The arrow was one of Arthas, with that new metal from Northrend that was harder and sharper than mithril. The sleeves of Corrosa's torn and wrecked robes were pushed back out of the way. Only an extremely experienced archer could fire a bow while wearing those kinds of sleeves.

"Walk away." the archer said again, commanding and deadly and not at all like the warlock who had been the Banshee Queen's loyal servant since they served together under the Lich King years and years ago.

"What is this, Corrosa? Did you find some toys in the armory on your way to the High Inquisitor?"

The barely checked temper of the warlock brought red into her eyes at the Dark Lady's words. Jetadiah may be fighting for control, but right now Corrosa had control to spare. Whatever dormant bit of the warlock was showing right now, it must have been buried since the moment she drew her last breath.

"He's a-"

"Don't say it. Once you say it then we can't pretend anymore. I'm not child but I'm well aware that being an adult involves more make-believe than children ever got to play." She took a breath in, one lung working and the other missing completely. "I would only have a mild problem ending you, and you know why. Don't make me choose."

The Dark Lady's mouth twitched up in a smile, "Choose? All Forsaken have chosen to follow me. I am no Lich Queen."

The archer did not like to hear that, a different kind of anger bubbling up. It was around the time the red tint in her eyes got brighter than the Banshee Queen finally understood that the warlock was serious. She would kill her queen and not give it a second though. She was Corrosa, and the Forsaken may put a bounty on her head for the death, but between her and the priest it would take an army to collect. Her people would be forced to choose between an allegiance with the Horde and their loyalty to the High Priest. And the Lich King would sit back and laugh as a single pair slaughtered his enemies for him.

"So," the Dark Lady says, "what happened to him?"

"We did."

When nothing else was forthcoming the Dark Lady had to meditate on the words. It took only a few seconds to realize what the archer meant. "He burned himself out stopping you from-"

"He burned my magic away to stop me from burning down all of Brill(3). He needs a new source. My demons ran off. I went back to the monastery and got this lovely piece from the armory. They have a secret chamber filled with all sorts of Scourge goodies. I figured to keep my salvation alive I would only need one arrow."

The Dark Lady actually tried to swallow reflexively, eying the arrow and fully understood. The archer knew it was only a matter of time before she found them. The arrow had only ever been meant to put her down should she find Jetadiah before he found a new fel source(4). The Banshee Queen alone was the only threat great enough to need a special weapon to kill.

Just one arrow. Damn the two of you. Blights on everything you touch.

"If he's in such a … delicate... state then why is he not a-bed somewhere while you get him a mana crystal? Do you not travel with any?"

"He used them all … to get me out of the monastery. That was your fault; the message you sent at him through Meatsack(6)." Pausing a moment she risked a glance at her struggling companion. "He's trying to get to the compound to rescue the idiot sack of meat. The collar around that thing's neck monitors danger levels and it's been at red all night. He felt the Scourge on the move; he felt Whitmane's Light; he felt the magic in the fire." She was furious with the Dark Lady, "You just turned her over to the Scarlets? Just another pawn in your game, I suppose. No more of value to you than I was." The last line was said with increasing softness till the last words trailed off bitterly.

"I value you, Corrosa-"

"Don't you dare!" The archer was furious, shaking with rage now. The tip of the arrow quivered, as did the string. One slip and it would all be over. Any sudden moves and it would all be over. "Don't you dare pretend like you ever cared about me. All I ever wanted was to serve you and look at us now!"

The white eyebrows of the Dark Lady drew together, "I don't know what you're talking about. Perhaps you and Serz Huzad could get together sometimes for tea. It seems you have mutual interests in treason and archery."

The archer laughed indignantly, ignoring the question, "Of course you don't remember me. I was a ranger who lived in Andorhal-"

"There's your first problem-"

"You have no idea how badly I wanted to serve you!" The archer's voice rang through the clearing, bringing attention to the scene. Her voice turned bitter again, accusing, "You wouldn't have it. The letter I got back from Silvermoon said, 'The High Elves of Quel'thalas do not accept help from those humanoid "rangers" at Andorhal.'-"

"Andorhal was infected with Plague-"

"Do you know, my Lady Windrunner-" The Dark Lady's breath caught at that, because very few people knew her living identity(5) -" that I still have that letter? I've lost my soul, my family, my give-a-damn, but I still have your fel-damned letter?! Because it meant to much to me, I went back and got it. I went back and got it."

After a silence the Dark Lady said softly, "After you died. You went back and got it after you died."

"Yes. And I helped burn Andorhal to the ground to get that letter from the desk in my study." She shook, hard, trying desperately to hold onto the part of her which needed the Banshee Queen to live. Trying not to give into the hatred for the Ranger General who had laughed at her and, in the end, caused her death. "I was just another arrow in the quiver though. The one that wasn't the favorite, but that you knew was there. In the end I volunteered to defend Quel'thalas, and you couldn't say no anymore. I though that if I served well enough I could impress you. I served well. I died well. I rose again and I served Him well . Then I was freed... and finally I got to serve you. Who knew I'd have to be reborn twice to finally get what I wanted. And it the end... it was never you. I didn't want to serve you because of you. I wanted to be closer... closer to..."

"..ian?"

Both of them looked at the Priest, struggling to see through the darkness of the undergrowth and the bright light of morning dawning. He didn't see the Dark Lady yet, instead was pulled to the surface of his own mind by the emotion in his companion's voice. She didn't sound like Corrosa that he was familiar with. He sounded like the woman she was in life, who finally ended his boredom with books and finally took him out of doors.

The Dark Lady and archer looked at each other. The Banshee Queen mulled over what to do while the saronite arrow found a resting spot between her almond shaped eyes. A moment latter she let go of the tension stored in her body, put her blades away. She flashed hand signals at the archer which she had used and taught as the Ranger General of Silvermoon to communicate to her troops. "I was never here."

She was surprised despite herself when the archer signaled back without hesitation, flawlessly, "If only that were true."

Before the Priest's eyes cleared not only had the Dark Lady vanished, but so too had the bow and saronite arrow. She would never be able to make him believe she would need such a powerful thing for anyone but the Banshee Queen herself, and better he not know the Dark Lady knew the truth. She was bad at keeping secrets from her priest. He was bad at letting her have her secrets.

~ End Notes ~

1) It wasn't until this last x-pack (Pandaland) that you could make your warlocks' fire spells green. They were always suppose to be green, but the technology wasn't developed till recently which allowed this in-game. Knowing this I always tried to remember that anything a warlock sets on fire will be green flames.

2) When this scene was planned out it was pre-Cata and Brill was still just a handful of buildings as described here. If you would like a reminder of what the town used to look like, I would suggest either youtube or google image search.

3) Mana burn. Back in early BC (the time this story was set) I remember three shoting a hunter with mana burn crits. Shortly afterward it was nerfed for Holy and became a Disc spell. Since this story just so happens to coincide with the exact timeline as this spells OP duration, I decided it would be OK to have it here. Blast from the past, aye?

4) If a single regular bullet from a single regular gun fired by a single regular NPC can one shot a current level 40 man raid boss, then I assume that "next expansion" ammunition can certainly threaten to do the same. Most of the player base are incline to believe that whole "Sylvanas getting shot to death" is the biggest plot hole in WoW lore, ever. I'm agreeable, unless someone else has a better one. That doesn't stop me from exploiting this plot hole to write this scene.

5) According to wowwiki, the number of people who know Sylvanas Windrunner is the Dark Lady/Banshee Queen can be counted on one hand, and probably not use all the fingers. The lie told to the Sin'dorei people is that Ranger General perished valiantly while fighting Arthas in single combat. The current Regent Lord of Quel'thalas has hidden the truth from his people because knowing the truth would crush them. Agreeing with this is why Sylvanas would have no problem eliminating other beacons of hope who turned out to be "traitors" to their cause.

6) The warlock's nickname for the Druid, just in case anyone forgot :)