Even out on a campaign everyday governing did not wait for queens, Sylvanas had quickly learnt. Especially when out on campaigning. But she was queen after all and at the very least nobody could force her to work in the campaign tent all the time, at least not if they wanted to remain on the good side of her ranger lieutenant.
Sylvanas kept penning a response to an inept suggestion that she authorize the establishment of a road authority directly under the queen. This slightly unspecified department's first task would be to see to the roads between the Undercity and Brill, which was not an unreasonable idea in the long run. A few linked outposts outside their capital could serve them well. What was unreasonable was investing the resources right now and creating a secondary administrative organisation outside of the City Council she had established with the express aim of handling all of the civic matters. Sylvanas smelled a career-inclined or politically rivalrous rat here.
Eventually Sylvanas would need some sort of royal oversight of her growing kingdom. Varimathras was probably able, but she was not very keen on that particular candidate because of…certain past idiocies on his part.
The Dark Lady nearly bared her teeth at the very thought but took a hold of herself. It wouldn't do to lose her calm. Her mage was trying to sleep.
Well.
Her mage should be trying to sleep.
Anya and her squadron had built a reclining seat out of a few logs and a bedroll, obviously with the intention of undermining any argument from Sylvanas that she had to catch up with governing. They had shifted camp twice in the week since Hallows Eve and were now in the southern parts of Silverpine Forest with an advance guard that would be able to retreat quickly to Castle Pumpkin if the Scourge managed to muster another army. While they could only put up wooden walls and staked ditches for protection, Anya had managed to make their living quarters more elaborate in each new campsite. Jaina's tent now sported outer walls of interlaced braches against the wind, ditches against the rain, and a raised sleeping position for herself to keep the worst of the ground's chill away. Incidentally the mage's bed happened to be built right next to this woodland throne.
Sylvanas put down her finished response and allowed herself to lean back. While she didn't feel the need for rest in the old way, this was comfortable. She hadn't even frowned at the inane road-bureaucracy initiative.
Sylvanas was going soft with Proudmoore near her.
How could she not? Her mage was curling up with her head against Sylvanas' outer thigh and her eyes closed, illuminated by the yellow-red light of the fire and smiling contently whenever Sylvanas happened to brush her fingers against her ear or temple, or comb through her hair. That was really becoming a habit. Next thing she knew Sylvanas would be as far gone as Clea in that regard. No piece of internal Undercity affairs deserved to be allowed to ruin this moment.
Proudmoore wasn't asleep even though her eyes were closed. Sylvanas knew her better than that. No doubt her mage was itching to ask her a thousand questions like she always wanted whenever she had Sylvanas to herself. And the Banshee Queen of Lordaeron found that she had been sorely missing that.
"Hard to sleep?" she asked from the corner of her mouth and glanced at Proudmoore who opened her eyes wide, a little self-conscious. "It's alright. The rest of us tend to be restless at night too."
Proudmoore took the bait and huffed adorably.
"The rest of you happen to be undead so that hardly counts."
"You don't say?"
Sylvanas decided to put the remaining pile of papers away. There would be plenty of night left later.
"And here I thought I had worked you thoroughly to exhaustion earlier. Evidently I need to add another round of high jumps next time." Sylvanas teased.
"Thank you, those were quite enough. No need to ruin such a delight by making it repetitive." Proudmoore's pretended indignation could have fooled nobody.
"You've improved, my mage. You last longer than just a few weeks ago."
That was true about more than Proudmoore's endurance. Sylvanas spared a discreet glance at her mage's arm. She had gained some muscle tone on her arms and legs and shoulders that showed when Sylvanas entertained herself with putting her squadron through a pass of exercising earlier in the day. But most of all Proudmoore looked so very much healthier now than in the first weeks. Her skin was redder and she stood straighter, and Sylvanas could honestly not spot a trace of the former haunting signs of malnourishment.
She was secretly quite proud of herself and her rangers for that.
"Do undead get stronger from training?"
What an odd question. And a good one. Sylvanas looked into the fire as she pondered it.
"If we do, it is not in the same way as before. That much I can say with certainty. We can learn new skills and improve our old, and if dexterity and reflexes can be improved upon I would hope the same could be true for other aspects of our bodies. The necromantic magic that courses through us bends to our will and lets us move our limbs and register what things we can still sense. Perhaps it can be turned towards other things."
"So then you can train yourselves to sense and feel more than you do now?"
What a…kind thought.
"Possibly? No one knows for sure."
"I would like to learn more about it."
"You would like to become a necromancer?" Sylvanas quirked an eyebrow, amused by the idea. And really, it was not like she should be surprised to hear something like that from someone so insatiably curious as Proudmoore.
"Yes, I think I would. Not like the Scourge's or anything like that, I would never take someone else's life for my own benefit or force souls into slavery or something. But what I mean is, you're here now. You, the Forsaken, exist and are a new addition to the world and someone needs to study necromancy and death magic seriously to understand how we can help you. And maybe it would be possible to understand how the Lich King's control works too so more could be freed."
How natural and unquestionable her mage made it sound, that helping the Forsaken through magical means was a noble and necessary task that someone needed to take up. How precious it was to hear.
A part of Sylvanas wanted to make Proudmoore know that. But the stronger part of her fell back to safer territory and teasing her mage.
"So you want to learn all about us, every embarrassing little detail, is that it?"
"Yes of course – or, I mean, not everything literally. Some things are kind of private, even if most things don't seem to be amongst the dark rangers. And I would probably not want to know what goes into the Undercity's canals either."
At that, Sylvanas had to chuckle.
"Actually, I've been thinking about one thing about you." Of course she had. "Which may be very personal."
"I am all ears."
"I have seen you and your rangers fight. You are frighteningly good at it, you are fast and strong and just hopeless to score a hit on. Most of you must have more decades of experience than most human soldiers have years of."
"Is it not said to be impolite to speak of a lady's years among you humans?" Sylvanas smirked impishly and Proudmoore waved her comment away.
"What I mean is that when my city guards wanted to arrest you when you arrived in Theramore, I have no doubt you could have overpowered them rather quickly. My soldiers are good but not that good, and you were also much more used to small scale combat while Alliance footmen train to fight in large formations." Sylvanas nodded appreciatively. She enjoyed hearing Proudmoore reasoning about tactics. Rangers who had paid attention lasted longer. "But you still Wailed, which wasn't very discreet because it is, well, a big loud scream."
"I shall make a note about it for the next botched state visit." Sylvanas promised dryly. The problem was that Proudmoore had learned to see through such deflections with uncanny ease.
"So why choose to do it?" Proudmoore asked rhetorically. "I have seen and heard you Wail in battle a few times now and it doesn't strike me as something you do lightly or eagerly. It strikes me as something you would do when you were very angry or very afraid for someone."
Why did it feel like her mage could see right into her soul when she wasn't even looking at Sylvanas? And why did not the prospect bother her like it should?
"You Wailed when the Scarlets had hurt me." Proudmoore said very seriously and Sylvanas fought down the reflex to clench her fists at the mere mention of that despicable act. "And when the Scourge came for your city you did it too. And when Anya was cursed and looked like she would be facing that abomination all alone."
"One day I am most definitely going to have a long talk with her about that." Sylvanas blurted out before she could stop herself.
"Me too." Proudmoore said just as vehemently. That nearly made Sylvanas smile. Her squadron's lieutenant would have a lot coming to her.
"Dark Lady…was that night at the harbour like one of those times?"
"Yes."
But in a way it had been worse. It had been weeks worths of setbacks and frustration and the crushing weight of failure boiling down to that one moment. That moment when she nearly could have killed Proudmoore or her people.
"I am very sorry for what happened. It must have been terrible for you to have come so far and then be welcomed like that."
Now, wait, did her mage interpret it as her guards having frightened Sylvanas into Wailing? Of course there had been much fear in the moment but that was hardly all there had been to it.
"As far as first meetings go…there is certainly room for improvement."
"Banshee diplomacy…" Proudmoore giggled quietly into her blanket, both cheeky and shy at the same time, like she wasn't sure if it was really acceptable to joke about.
"Theramorian welcomings…" Sylvanas huffed back derisively.
She stood up to put another log on the fire. There was no need to worry about the extra light when Proudmoore was in this mood anyway.
"Do all rangers who are banshees Wail? Because some of you are part banshees and some are not, right?"
"I and those who are banshees possess our necromantically preserved bodies. We are banshees in full, or whatever term you prefer, but having a physical body and one that is our own also, makes our existence a different experience than if we had not."
"Does that make Wailing an…out-of-body experience then?" Proudmoore asked impishly.
Sylvanas pretended to growl threateningly and took hold of Proudmoore's ear and tugged at it, but only lightly of course.
"Shapeshifting would be a more accurate analogy when we take our banshee forms. And before you deviate more from your original question the answer is no. Clea can to my knowledge not Wail any more than she can scream physically. Anya has never Wailed since she was freed and I believe she never will. Alina on the other hand does it too easily."
"What are dark rangers who are not banshees? What do you call that kind of undead?"
"I heard the term 'darkfallen' being used once or twice I think but to the Scourge we were only minions. Nothing more."
"Darkfallen. That's kind of…bland."
"Undead taxonomy has yet to match the flashiness of arcane magic as an academic field. Thinking of writing a treatise of us one day?"
"Perhaps. Chapter three: Dark Rangers. Subspecies: Banshees and Darkfallen. Or should it be race instead? But that usually refers to looks and size and origin and you're all distinctly elf-y. Habitation: Lordaeron. Diet: Warm water. If you insist on it."
Any thoughts of work and the miseries of governance were kept far away by Proudmoore's incessant talking. Sylvanas smiled at her sleepless mage.
"One day I will take you to meet some of our regular banshees. They tend to dwell around Brill, most of them."
"What are they like?"
"Let us say that they can be a little dramatic from time to time."
"Not at all like any of the rest of you, then…" Proudmoore giggled quietly. "I have another very personal question I think."
"You are one of us now, Ranger Proudmoore. If dark rangers are not personal with each other I do not know who are."
"Yes, so I have noticed." Proudmoore made a pause. "Your time in the Scourge. I have never heard anyone talk about it except very briefly. Like when we walked from the harbour to the capital. Is that, well, something you never do?"
"If by 'us' you include every Forsaken, I can not say." Sylvanas said slowly. "Among the undead elves and the dark rangers in particular I think the prevailing sentiment is to deny the significance of what the Lich King did to us. We would rather dwell on the memories and traditions of millennia than the atrocities inflicted during two years. Whether out of stubbornness, spite or self-preservation we cling to who and what we were to the best of our ability."
"You want to be more than what he made you into." her mage mused. "I can understand that."
"But something troubles you very much. What is it?"
"It's just stupid…"
"Proudmoore…" Sylvanas said warningly.
"It's just that I was afraid you – none of you – wanted to speak with me about those things because I am living. Which I would respect, but I have been wondering about it and it made me feel…left out at times. And now that you tell me that wasn't the case I feel like I thought less of the other rangers than they deserve."
Sylvanas stroked slowly across her mage's hair.
"Do you really think it strange that you worried about that when so much of your stay has been clouded by judgement faced because you in fact are living?"
"Maybe not." Proudmoore said in a much smaller voice as Sylvanas carded through her hair. Maybe that was the way to make her mage finally come to rest.
"The way I told you of some of the things we were forced to do was not gentle." Sylvanas' aching bad conscience about that resurfaced as she spoke. "My squadron would have noticed that and how it affected you. Besides that you have been working yourself to exhaustion to aid us for the better part of the time and had more than your fair share of horrors. If your squadmates have withheld anything it is out of concern and not lack of trust, that I can promise."
She could feel Proudmoore nod slightly against her hand.
"When we walked towards the Undercity I told you how a banshee is made to be a creature of rage and turmoil, that we all to some point struggle to contain. I think we all fear to let that rage loose for that is a path that leads to a Wail. We stay away from the subject of what we have suffered at the hands of the Lich King so that very same rage will not shape us more into his preferred shape."
"If…if any of you would ever change your mind and want to talk about it I would want to be there to help if you need it. I am not afraid of your Wails. I can shield myself even from yours, Dark Lady."
"My sweet little mage. If only you could know how much you help us already."
Proudmoore yawned. She had closed her eyes again.
"Tell me about your rangers." she mumbled drowsily.
"My rangers?" Sylvanas inquired, amused. "Surely you know them well enough by know."
"There are clearly things about them I don't know everything about yet. And I like hearing you talk about them. Just a little. Please?"
Who could say no to such an adorable request? The Banshee Queen was not among them in any case. Sylvanas shifted to slowly running her nails along Proudmoore's scalp and heard her mage sighing deeply as she begun telling.
"Clea is the squadron's big sister. She has been that to Kitala since I partnered them even if it took her some time to admit it, but I dare say she has adopted Lyana and Anya too by now. She is often the steadiest of them, except when at sea as I have recently learned, and generally very sensible. She is considerably trained and her size is a source of both pride and shame to her. Female elves are supposed to be lithe and light and graceful and the prejudice that rangers are neither, and tall and broad-shouldered rangers least of all, has always weighed heavily on her. The antidote is compliments, the more blunt and blatant the better, and for Clea to be needed and protecting those she cares about. For those reasons Kitala is the best ranging partner she could have."
Proudmoore breathed deeper now.
"Kitala can be as mischievous as Velonara but unlike Velonara she always knows when to stop. She can drop her foolishness in a blink when it is needed. She knows people far better than anyone – least of all herself – will give her credit for but not always how to act on her knowledge. Kitala was abused by someone very close to her as I know you have been told about, and was an unsuccessful ranger for a long time because of it. That has left a mark on her soul as well as her ear, and for good or worse she will rather hold tight to that than acknowledge the new kind of nightmare forced upon her by the Scourge. And I expect you to be well aware of how one makes Kitala feel better."
Proudmoore shuddered suddenly and then lay still again. She mumbled something unintelligible and soon after small snores sounded from her bed. Sylvanas smiled, pleased with herself.
"Lyana is the quietest of the squad for the most part, unless anyone is sick or injured at which time even Areiel would think twice about getting in her way. She is one of the best field medics I have ever met. She does not have a particular talent for medicine, and it took her more time to learn her trade than many others, but she had the will and the persistence to study harder and longer and I reserve the right to not give a damn about anything other than the end result. Lyana can stitch up clothes as well as she can stitch up people and no one knows which one it was that led to the other. She is well ordered and acts as Anya's quartermaster who keeps track of everything. I am sure her fascination with spiders can not escape anyone who gets to know her."
There was the slightest rustle of canvas from the entrance. A less experienced ranger may well have missed it completely. Sylvanas leaned back in her seat with her eyes closed and her content smile still upon her lips.
"Anya is the squadron's commander and there is no humbler or more caring ranger lieutenant in the corps. She thinks of everybody else first and herself last or not at all. She is the stealthiest ranger imaginable and sometimes so quiet you can forget she is there, which is a shame for her council is very valuable and I would trust her with everything. You could never have a better guardian or one more devoted to your wellbeing, my mage. I do not know what I would do without her and never want to find out. And she is as brave as she is ravishing."
Sylvanas opened her eyes wide, looking right into Anya's.
"And I would very much like a kiss from her which you will regrettably miss, Ranger Mage Proudmoore, which I must apologize for since you made the cutest face when she and I kissed on Hallows Eve."
She beckoned for her ranger lieutenant to come closer and Anya was quick to obey. When Anya leaned over her Sylvanas grabbed her by the collar and resolutely pulled her down to catch her lips. They were smooth and soft and firm. They were alluring and addictive and Sylvanas was truly the worlds slowest dimwit not to have realised that sooner.
"I…wondered…if you needed something, Dark Lady?" Anya whispered into her ear.
"You mean something else?"
Anya looked innocently at nothing in particular while biting absently on her lower lip. She could compete well with Proudmoore regarding cute faces. And her fangs were peeking out again when she did that.
"We really ought to stop kissing only when Jaina is asleep. It's becoming a bad habit." Anya remarked.
"You may have a point. You had better apologise to her with a good-night kiss. I find myself quite pinned down at the moment for some reason." Sylvanas argued when Anya looked like she would object about propriety or something equally meaningless. Then Anya glanced at the sleeping mage and any sign of objections vanished from her features. She climbed out of Sylvanas' embrace and bent reverently over Proudmoore.
"Good night, Jaina." Anya whispered and planted a soft kiss on her cheek. Maybe she shouldn't have, for it made Proudmoore stir and grasp at anything within reach. Which happened to be Anya.
"I am not putting her to bed twice this night." Sylvanas said with a smirk. "Lie down and rest a bit, Anya. She has warmth enough for the both of you." At that, Anya looked almost longingly at the mage who held her hand. "I will keep watch."
Smooth and agile and quiet as only Anya was, she took her boots off and unclasped her cloak. Her armour required Sylvanas' help though when Proudmoore held her one hand. Anya cautiously climbed over the sleeping mage and crawled under the blankets behind her with the arm Proudmoore still held on to wrapped around her. Sylvanas watched how Anya closed her eyes and pulled Jaina closer to her. Her ranger's nose fit against the dip of her mage's neck and Anya was inhaling to feel the scent or the warmth of the hair. If a dark ranger could not sleep, this would at least be as close as any of them could get.
Her Anya and her Jaina.
For them Sylvanas would brave any amount of late night governing.
Westley would probably at no point in his earlier life have thought his present-day self sane if he had described what a typical day was like these days.
He was no longer fleeing from the undead, or toiling for the Scarlet Crusade to stay safe from the undead. Now he lived among the undead to stay safe from the undead.
Sort of. His earlier self would not have been interested enough to take the difference between Scourge and Forsaken into account. The undead simply had nations like the living did, Westley reckoned. And he was pretty lucky to have ended up in the right one. What if Cyndia had turned out to be one of the Scourge instead? That would most likely have been a short rescue.
She hadn't though, and that was what counted. For some reason Westley had managed to end up with undead elves that wouldn't touch him or Nick or Vicky, not even during their escape when Cyndia had been grievously injured had she harmed him. Nor had the other elves in her squadron of rangers, even if they were not exactly friendly either. Their commander Kalira was harsh, but never snide or insulting and fair enough in Westley's opinion. Nara and Lenara were cautious and distant yet kept watch diligently.
Velonara was the hardest to place. She was the closest to Cyndia and after her the one who stayed nearest Westley and the horses on most occasions, sometimes when Cyndia was not around as well. She almost always seemed angry about something, or dismayed maybe. Once or twice Nick and Vicky had taken an interest and sniffed for strange carrot-filled pastries in her hands and whatever Velonara was angry about was not them at least. Which of course left little doubt about who was at fault in her opinion.
Westley had tried to make up with her, or whatever you should call it, a few days ago and describe how much he appreciated being allowed to stay with them. Which he honestly did. It hadn't worked out as planned though. He had talked about how relieving it was to not have to worry about being kicked or beaten just because Wroth was in a foul mood, which was often, and being in a place where nobody wanted to eat his horses. Or him for that matter. It was then, when Cyndia had remained eerily silent and expressionless, that Westley had started to tangle himself in his explanation that Cyndia had answered his question about whether the dead ate with that dark rangers could do that but she would not. And she had kept her word and never raised her hand against them or let anyone else do that ever since they had started their ride for the Undercity.
It was just unfair how explaining something very simple became a mess when he was trying to explain it to Cyndia and Velonara. The longer he talked the more out of place did he feel.
Finally Cyndia's face broke into a grin and she snickered almost maliciously.
"I drained two Scarlets of life during our sortie from the cosy little monastery." she explained to Velonara. "One being the scum responsible for the entertainment during my stay. Wroth. It sufficed to heal most of the damage."
"Most of the damage?" Velonara asked a little suspiciously.
"The rest has pretty much regenerated by now, don't be a baby Velonara. Our dutiful stableboy raised the relevant question of whether we undead ate, as mentioned, and I believe I answered in the negative unless one counted what he had seen me do earlier. I think my assurance that I felt pretty full at the moment and that he shouldn't have to worry was a selling point."
"And I am grateful for that. Really much." Westley just felt awkward. It was like trying to talk to Amy Diane in his village when she had her crew of judgemental sidekick girls with her. It never worked out well. Why did girls have to stalk the world in packs all the time?
Not that any village girl was anything like Cyndia.
"Then of course, that was then and it has been a while…" Cyndia said as if she had come up with something. "And all this running back and forth in the countryside does get you a little hungry, wouldn't you agree Vel'?"
Her displeased ranging partner had slowly started to grin.
"Maybe it would be a good time for a snack." Cyndia continued and flashed a smile that showed all her pearly teeth, as white as her wavy hair. "Something filling from the local Lordaeronian cuisine…"
When Velonara started to snort with laughter Westley knew it was high time to leave. Human or elf, villager or dark ranger, girls in packs were the worst to make sense of. He was probably reddening all over too now. It felt like that in any case.
Some time later in the day Westley realised that in spite of everything Velonara had ended up laughing. Maybe not exactly friendly but not angry either. And hadn't that been the whole point?
If he harboured any illusions of the conversation being forgotten Cyndia quickly dispelled them when the evening grew late.
"Good night, Westley. Good work. I'll most likely eat you in the morning."
Westley was very, very convinced that he could recognize more laughs than Velonara's this time.
And the thing was that Cyndia kept saying that. Every night, always with a smirk.
Good night, Westley. Good work. I'll most likely eat you in the morning.
It wasn't quite that he worried about Cyndia making good on her threat. She wouldn't do that. He was sure about it. Almost, at least. But Cyndia still managed to make him nervous all the time. Which maybe wasn't so very strange given how hard and stern she usually was.
Today, Cyndia appeared with a new surprise in the shape of Jaina and Velonara in tow. Jaina was maybe a little bit crazy, but she was a lot easier to talk to than the dark rangers and genuinely kind and friendly.
"Hi Westley!"
"Hello. Good morning."
"Can we feed the horses today? Unless there is a call-up and I have to take these two and jump?
Yes, sometimes Jaina talked really strangely. It was probably a mage thing.
"If you like. You know what they eat." Westley shrugged, not really prepared for the request. Jaina had become steadily better at conjuring basic foods, having moved on from carrots to trying with apples. Maybe she wanted more practice.
"Great! Me and Velonara could curry them too."
Westley was about to say that there wasn't much water at hand yet until he remembered that, again, that thing with magic. To be honest Nick and Vicky were looking quite decent but they liked the company so Westley wouldn't object to that either.
Velonara looked much more hesitant when she followed Jaina but then Vicky walked over and started to search for carrot buns and other treasures on her, and the dark ranger became busy trying to explain how Jaina was the one to ask and how her own pockets were empty.
"With them handling the grooming it seems we'll have to do the ranging today, stableboy." Cyndia remarked.
"I'm sure Kalira would have ordered hard drills all day from dusk to dawn!" Velonara teased.
"Don't you mean from dawn to dusk?" Jaina asked.
"Whatever."
"Drills it is." Cyndia agreed. "Did the Scarlets teach you anything about fencing, Recruit Westley?"
"Uh…no?" Westley admitted. Why would they? He had been a servant, a peasant. Nobody worth bothering with to teach fencing.
"Idiots, but that has already been established." Cyndia said dismissively. "Excuse me a minute."
She disappeared into the nearby trees and a few sharp cracks later she emerged again with two stout sticks about half as long as Westley.
"Your noble blade, Sir." Cyndia handed him one of them. There was only one way this could possibly end but Westley decided that he would at least try to make a good effort. He took the stick in his left hand. At least it wasn't heavy. Nothing like a spit or a shovel.
Cyndia pointed to the flatter piece of ground next to the fence.
"Alright. First thing in fencing is mobility. And second. And third. And that is usually where stuffy instructors starts losing their audience because they think people will listen more if they say the same thing thrice and give the appearance of not knowing how to count or of memory loss."
Cyndia started to circle around him and Westley assumed he was supposed to do the same.
"Back straight, shoulders relaxed, legs slightly apart." Cyndia commanded. "The point is to not tense up and stiffen when the enemy lunges!" she roared and Westley almost lost his balance when she did just that, but without stepping forward so her stick did not quite reach him. Westley quickly moved out of the way.
"Maintain your breathing. And your balance. You can't keep falling over without being hit, that will take the fun out of it for your opponent and that is unsportsmanlike." Cyndia kept jabbing at him high and low and gleefully pointing out things to improve, which were most.
"If you feel up to it, try to block my swings now."
"And what if I don't feel up to it?"
"Then you had best start running!"
Even Westley could see how slowed and obvious Cyndia's overhead swing was and he caught it on his stick somewhat awkwardly. Now what?
Now another, it turned out. And another, steadily quickening in pace.
"Footwork, stableboy! Unless you want to remain here and be hacked to pieces."
Westley did his best but there were uncooperative roots everywhere he needed it to not be and Cyndia and Cyndia's swings and lunges were already quite a lot to keep track of.
But it was actually a bit fun too.
"I admit that you are better than I am." Westley panted as he nearly failed to dodge a sweep from the side. He hadn't gotten a single swing at Cyndia yet.
"Then why are you smiling?" She lashed out and hit his thigh moderately painfully.
"Because I know something you don't!" Westley cried out triumphantly and quickly moved his stick to the other hand. "I am not left-handed!"
He made a wild swing against Cyndia who backpedalled with a wide smile. It turned out that although it was easier to wield the stick in his main hand it was not easy to face someone still wielding it in her left.
"I have a confession to make." Cyndia swatted his stick aside and left a stinging mark on his hand. "I'm not left-handed either."
Westley actually knew that just like Cyndia should probably know the same about him, but it was still enough of a distraction for Cyndia to come at him with her stick in both hands, beat his aside and somehow she managed to jump and vault over his shoulder in a black and white blur. The next moment he was pinned by Cyndia holding her stick against his chest and trapping his arms.
"The day is mine. Do I have your surrender, Master Westley?" Cyndia whispered smoothly close to his ear.
While he may be unable to move his upper arms, Westley had carried heavier burdens than Cyndia. He took hold of the stick with his own hands and then bent forward, lifting the elf up on his back like a rucksack.
A howl of laughter sounded from the paddock. Velonara and Jaina were apparently being less than effective grooms and watching the contest eagerly.
"Break in your new steed quickly, Sir Cyndia!" Velonara shouted as Westley tried to shake her off. "He looks wild!"
Ranger or not, growing up with Amy Diane as your best friend taught you one or two things about keeping clingy people off your back.
Westley sprinted forward, crouched down and held tight to Cyndia's stick.
"Yaaaaow!" The dark ranger shrieked as she flew forward over Westley's head and landed in a laughing heap in front of him.
Westley panted and sat down heavily next to her.
Above them, Nick and Vicky were munching thoughtfully on conjured carrots and looking at Westley and Cyndia like they thought them exceptionally stupid.
"Dear Pained,
Like I have told you before, the dark rangers are incredibly useful.
Last day I woke up with Anya wrapped around me and I have never ever slept better I think."
Jaina blushed and quickly removed the second paragraph with an anti-ink spell. She would have to come up with some less private example of the dark rangers' usefulness, which shouldn't be too hard. The trouble any ruler or captain would have with them would never be lack of competence or skills but their abundant mischief. It was probably not very surprising that Areiel had one of the whitest shades of hair of them all.
She put the draft away in one of her pockets. It would be time to go in a minute and her correspondence would have to wait until later. Jaina had improved her long range portalling lately and found that she had no particular difficulty transporting a busy queen and her less busy ranger bodyguard to her capital and back when things were looking calm on the Silverpine front.
Being able to go home and check up on things in person did Sylvanas good, Jaina could see very clearly. The Dark Lady had been growing more relaxed and casual as the Silverpine campaign proceeded without further notable setbacks but she was still dissatisfied unless she was sure that everything important was as she had left it or ordered it. As a ruler Jaina thought that Sylvanas was more than anything meticulous. She accepted that she could not control everything and to some extent had to rely on others and hope for the best, but still loathed it. Not because of personal distrust as far as Jaina could see – Sylvanas on the contrary gave subordinate commanders and officials a great deal of leeway so long as they delivered results – but more like a need to be everywhere and keep watch over everything.
It was probably understandable. Even if Sylvanas almost always managed to emit confidence she governed a nation that remained in the most precarious position. The slightest misstep could be the one that led to death or renewed enslavement for them all.
Jaina was more than happy whenever she could make things easier for her Dark Lady. And her squadron. Sylvanas had promised to give them a couple of hours off to drop by Loras' family (for lack of an identifying surname) while she took care of matters of state. It was endearing how she always tried to make time for her rangers even when there was nearly none to spare.
"Ranger Proudmoore!"
"Coming!" Jaina hurried out of her tent. Sylvanas waited at the head of her small column and Jaina took her place at her side. She begun to cast the intricate portal spell, reaching across Azeroth's magical lines and conduits and focusing on the keep's entrance, on the side of it where it was unlikely anyone would be standing.
The glowing and pulsating oval disc of magic snapped into place before them, displaying a hazy view of the capital city.
Sylvanas looked appreciatively at her with a lopsided smile.
"In single file, my rangers, forward march." Sylvanas commanded. Each looked unusually proper and well brushed. They knew that their Dark Lady could such a show-off.
Unfortunately there was nobody there to see the flashy entrance and they met few on their path down. The Undercity itself was all the busier and there the squadron had to dodge and duck through crowded passages and construction material just about everywhere. Any human ruler Jaina knew of would have made some sort of demand to be let through but Sylvanas led her rangers with effortless agility between the obstacles. For her this was sport. The Dark Lady was not the kind of queen who asserted herself through pomp and demanded subservience, she was a general of her realm who struck fear with her unannounced inspections, Jaina smiled to herself. If they would sometime visit Theramore Jaina would feel the need to run ahead and tidy up her rooms. She would probably not need more than a week.
Loras' many children were apparently out and after escorting Sylvanas to her office they had to search through a winding track leading through some recently dug out caves. Jaina dearly hoped they were stable. Deeper inside they discovered the awaiting prize – a small underground pool of clean-looking water wherein seven small, but vicious, Greater Dire Murlocs dwelled and emerged to ambush hapless and unknowing dark rangers with splashing water.
While the laughing victims hurriedly put away bows and sidearms and other fragile things Jaina remembered her letter and quickly put it under her cloak to keep it safe from the wet.
The pool was not too deep, not enough to swim in but sufficient for a bath. Kitala demonstrated by throwing Clea in with a huge splash.
"Kitala!" Clea sputtered while the children screamed with laughter. "I will so get you for this! Just wait!" If there had been the slightest tint of sincerity in her promise of retribution Jaina would maybe have considered being worried.
Clea took her predicament in stride and the murlocs had to hide, for a fearsome crocolisk – a dreadful river-dwelling creature of Kalimdor that Jaina had told about – was on the prowl. The crocolisk was not too successful though, for she repeatedly stood on her hands with her legs in the air looking through the lake's bottom while the murlocs deftly escaped to another side and then had to resurface and scrounge up her face in confusion.
Jaina had been half asleep already when Sylvanas had told her bedtime story about Clea a few nights ago but she remembered it well enough to think that all the snooty elves who had thought lesser of her protective friend were dim-witted twats. Just looking at her legs on display made Jaina vow to do that other round of high jumps on her own accord. And damn, ranger pants were not tight when they got soaked, the were clingy.
And you shouldn't ogle your sisters-in-arms, or maybe it should be sisters-in-cloaks instead, when they were being marvels with kids who deserved to be able to run outside ten times more often.
Hm.
Jaina tried her best to think of something else. Like…where was Anya? Had she disappeared again? Unbelievable. Or had she some business she needed to attend to, maybe that was simply the case. She was a ranger lieutenant after all, however unassuming she was about it, and had a lot of responsibilities.
Anya appeared after an hour or so, after a tense crocolisk hunt followed by a naval battle between Commodore Deathstrider and Kitty Starshadow the Pirate Kitten, directed and narrated by Jaina to add the right naval details and nicknames. Or at least Anya's voice appeared.
"Jaina! Sylvanas wants to see you."
"What's the matter?" Jaina shouted back and wondered if she should be worrying.
"It's not an emergency. The rest can stay, I'll escort you. I think she needs your advice about something."
Jaina grabbed her cloak and staff and curiously made her way out to meet up with Anya.
"Your shirt is all wet." the dark ranger commented.
"Dire murlocs. We never saw them coming." Jaina explained and heated the air along her front to dry some of the worst of it off.
It wasn't too far to get to Sylvanas' sparse quarters and nobody was out to accost them on the way. Under such circumstances it was quite pleasant to walk through the interesting Undercity, so long as they didn't have to linger too close to the canals.
Anya knocked on Sylvanas' door and opened it without waiting for an answer.
"I need to go see to some things. We'll meet up here when it's time to go back."
Sylvanas was seated by her desk when Jaina entered cautiously. Anya had seemed unbothered by the lack of answer but you should wait to be let in into someone's office and home.
As often, Sylvanas seemed to know what she was thinking about.
"That Lieutenant Eversong." The Dark Lady pretended to click her tongue in disapproval. "What are we going to do about her lack of manners?" She indicated for Jaina to sit down in front of her.
"I am sorry for stealing you away from a well deserved break. I need your help with something much more unpleasant."
"Is it the kind of occasion that calls for a mana bun?" Jaina asked just a little cheekily. Sylvanas sounded so severe that Jaina wanted to lighten her mood just a little if she could. And when Lyana happened to be elsewhere and not in a position to threaten Jaina with fish soup for dinner if she ate too many of them, a cunning mage should not let the opportunity go to waste.
"For two, probably." Sylvanas didn't even smile. "I require your advice, Lady Proudmoore, as a human ruler rather than as my ranger."
Lady Proudmoore. It had been some time since anyone called her that. It almost felt stiff to hear it now.
"What has happened?" Jaina did conjure herself a mana bun but didn't relish the taste as much as usual. Now she was concerned and thinking that she had better keep her energy up to be of good help.
"You are aware of the situation with certain Forsaken suspected of collaborating with the Scarlet Crusade and you have seen the greater part of the testimonies." Sylvanas begun slowly and with palpable discomfort. "They do not add up."
"No, they don't." Jaina said quietly with a very sinking feeling of where this was going.
"Areiel has completed her investigation, meaning that she believes she has found whatever is to be found. The evidence is disheartening. Eleven of my people are heavily implicated, of which one is a child of thirteen. They are by all accounts guilty of the lowest kind of betrayal imaginable short of selling out their kin to the Scourge instead."
"Are you…completely sure?"
"No. I am sure enough that it would be foolish of me to hope to discover anything else."
Jaina nodded. She understood how Sylvanas meant.
"You are human and familiar with Lordaeron as it was before and you rule the remnants of her exiled people. The rest are with me or with the Scourge. In a way, you may know as much about how my people think as I do." Sylvanas let the words sink in. "For the moment there a few who know that I hold eleven Forsaken imprisoned and even fewer who know why."
"What are you going to do with them?" Jaina put down her mana bun. On second thought she wasn't feeling hungry any more.
"I am not sure what I should do. That is why I want to hear what you think."
"Let the child go."
"Let us for the moment assume that my vengeful people will let me get away with that. I take it that Lordaeron did not prosecute children acting on the instructions of adults?"
"IF they did it would have been wrong!"
"On that principle I can agree, even if elves and humans have something of a differing view on what age constitutes childhood." The little trace of dry amusement was gone as quickly as it had appeared. "And what would a Lordaeron ruler do with the other ten?"
"Sentence them for treason and...hang them." Jaina choked slightly on the words.
Sylvanas looked evaluating at her. Calmly.
"You do not want that. And not for the fact that it would have limited effect on those who are dead already." Sylvanas stated it rather than asked. "You have seen some of the darker sides of my people, of us. You know what the Scarlets do to us. I think we can guess what expectations will be placed upon me as a queen dealing with traitors."
"If you execute them you will at best be seen as just another ruler of Lordaeron who is no different from her predecessors." Sylvanas nodded slowly. "But if you show yourself to be more merciful you would appear less like the bloodthirsty undead that Scarlets and others like them claim that you are."
"If those neighbouring rulers took such an interest in Forsaken internal affairs that my decision in this case would move them, yes. But at that point, would I not already have achieved my goal?"
Jaina clenched her teeth together, defiant but finding herself agreeing with Sylvanas' reasoning. So long as the world still considered Forsaken to be monsters it would hardly care if their queen was lenient towards them or not.
"It could still turn out to be valuable."
"Were other Alliance rulers like the Archmage of Theramore I have no doubt it would. Are they, though?"
It was almost a rhetorical question, but not spoken with malice. Jaina looked down and shook her head. But the topic of other rulers made her think of something.
"How about this, then? These acts of treason were committed outside Forsaken territory and jurisdiction or at the very least before you had laid claim to the land in question. The rule of the Banshee Queen of Lordaeron did not apply and while you condemn the actions morally you will not presume to judge acts committed outside your own kingdom. Since you are not the Lich King and do not presume to rule over all undead just because they are undead."
"Clever…" Sylvanas smiled and there was almost an unspoken 'clever girl…' in her vocal smoothness. Jaina would have longed for more of the same if the occasion had been anything else. "A Quel'Thalassian court would likely be receptive to the argument and maybe our neighbours could be reassured by my concern for borders. The commoners of the Undercity may be another matter, though – and don't answer that yet. I can see that you are thinking."
"The territory where the crimes were committed was not under your rule…" Jaina spoke slowly, thinking out loud while Sylvanas waited for her with encouraging patience. "…but that does not mean nobody ruled it. Because it was in fact…under the rule of the Scarlet Crusade. And therefore your people did in fact obey the lords of the land where they travelled, and should have been treated better by their former fellow Lordaeronians! And since they were not, since the Scarlets have proven themselves to be torturers and murderers, the traitorous Forsaken were oppressed citizens of the Scarlets more than anything else, who were threatened and tricked into doing bad things. Little wonder that you are now at war, after that."
Sylvanas shook her head firmly.
"You make a spirited attempt at applying a level of civilization to our existence that is not there, Lady Proudmoore. The Scourge and the Scarlets are monsters to us that have hunted us since we regained our will again. We do not have a 'conflict' with them, we are prey or we are predator. That is how my people see it."
"Is it how you see it?"
"It is now. The Scarlets were given a chance to negotiate. They spat in my face and nearly cost me my mage. They will not be given another." Sylvanas' eyes blazed hotter as she spoke.
"They seek to kill every last one of you. You do not need to do their job for them."
"What I need to do is keep this heterogeneous nation of traumatized malcontents from fracturing and leaving an opening for any of the far too many hostile factions of Azeroth to walk in and butcher us all. What I need is a quick and simple solution to keep peace and order in my capital, enough to prevent open infighting at the very least." She help up a hand to stop Jaina's imminent retort. "You were not here to see it when the first envoys we sent out were confirmed dead and we learned that we were being rejected by each and everyone around us. Even Quel'Thalas. You do not know how close we came to fighting amongst ourselves in our anguish. Those who wanted to keep believing in the hope of friendship from the living were set upon by those who wanted us to turn our backs upon everything that breathed and never look back and then the other way around."
"Do you truly think killing these wretched ten will bring the rest of your people peace?"
"No, I think the best I can hope for is that it would remove a source of internal strife."
"And what if that backfires and they turn their bitterness on you, the tyrannical queen who killed the Forsaken who flocked to her hoping she would keep them safe?"
"That is not an impossibility and the idea is the least bad, no more than that. Although I suppose I could allow the relatives of the betrayed to take vengeance of their own if they wanted and let the resulting blame spread out. Since I, as has been established, do not claim to rule all undead and decide their own choices for them."
Jaina made a sound of disdain.
"That will still be under your watch and would only change who you choose as headsman!"
"Then offer an alternative!" Sylvanas bristled and had finally raised her voice for real. She apparently realised that and closed her eyes while drawing a deep breath, most likely out of habit or as a calming technique. "You do not need to convince me that what I contemplate is vile, Lady Proudmoore. You need to convince me that I can keep my city from rioting in my absence without resorting to vile acts."
Jaina felt ashamed. Her heart still hammered against her chest but she hadn't meant to start shouting like that at Sylvanas.
"I… I don't… I apologise, Dark Lady. I…we shouldn't be arguing."
"You really do not want me choosing this course of action." Sylvanas said, lower and softer now. "Why is that?"
Jaina had argued strongly and she knew that Sylvanas recognized the points she had made. But she also knew that was not what Sylvanas was really referring to.
"Because…because each of them matters to someone regardless of what they have done…"
"Your father." Sylvanas acknowledged quietly.
"I d-d-didn't want it! I didn't want it to end that way! It was pointless! We should have been able to do better!"
"Sometimes we only manage what we are able. Not what we should have been able…"
"Don't do it." Jaina whispered. Sylvanas did not answer.