She could taste her food.
It was so comical that she wanted to strangle someone. She planned the kiss as an expression of dominance to show her new husband - and their vast audience - where his place was in this strange new relationship.
Instead, her tongue wrestling with the King of the Alliance made it possible for her to taste her venison kebabs.
She cursed Lor'themar for insisting on the binding to last throughout the feast, as was common in elven culture. The strange effect from touching Anduin wore off quickly the previous few times, but the continued contact of their arms seemed to prevent that from happening. And since the little lion's right hand was essentially immobilized, it also forced her to have to hand feed him. Who came up with the idea to have their wedding feast consist almost entirely of finger foods? She pondered the ways she could make them suffer. Of course, Sylvanas made a show of feeding Anduin by hand to unsettle him further, but it unsettled her just as much. She had to see Kaelystia, and soon.
They were seated at the largest table at the back of the pavilion, overlooking their entire audience. Anduin had invited Lor'themar to sit on his left as the senior-most Horde leader besides herself, so political etiquette (unfortunately necessary for the time being) forced her to invite Tyrande to sit on her right. Thankfully, the kaldorei woman had as little interest in spending an evening with her as Sylvanas did, and came up with a polite excuse. Instead, Sylvanas invited the Black Iron dwarf Moira Thaurissan, who proved to be a far better companion than the night elf could ever hope to be. The so-called Queen Regent seemed entirely unfazed by the presence of the undead around her and quickly joined Sylvanas in making scathing observations about other attendees in language not exactly fit for the royal table. She had a wicked sense of humor, especially with a pint of ale in her, and her delightful dwarven accent made the entire conversation riotous. Sylvanas made a mental note to learn about the history of the Dark Iron dwarves. They were perhaps one of the few Alliance races that were not entirely predisposed against herself and her people and that had to be worth exploring.
She threw another cube of meat into her mouth and chewed, channeling a small burst of shadow magic to drain it of energy. Raw flesh was, of course, preferable, but the cooked meat still contained some magical raw material that she could use to repair her body. It tasted pleasant enough too, though she suspected that it was less the food and more the fact that she had spent a decade without tasting anything.
"Try these, young King," she overheard Lor'themar say to Anduin next to her, "The orcs may not be well known for their cuisine, but they do know their meat!"
The two seemed to be engaged in a conversation as lively as hers with Moira, but as much as she tried, she could not make much out amidst the din of the crowd that was quickly becoming drunk.
The growing drunkenness was Lor'themar's contribution too. How he managed to get such a massive shipment of Suramarian wine with just a few hours' notice was a mystery to her, but it went down well with the crowd, who clearly enjoyed the drink.
She sipped the wine from her elaborate rose-tinted crystal goblet. It had a pleasant tanginess to it, she had to admit, coupled with notes of other flavors she had long forgotten. It seemed to go particularly well with the roast leg of venison that was eventually served. She generally thought of venison to be a lean meat, but the Ashenvale stags were nearly as plump as the lamb the elves sometimes bought from Stormwind. The roast leg dripped with fat and was coated with a wonderful crust of meat charred in its own juice.
Servants brought dishes to Anduin and herself first, then to the rest of the guests in the pavilion. The Horde masses beyond had their own meals provided, the smell of charred meat filling the air.
Her husband's arm was still bound to hers, spreading unfamiliar - and unwanted - warmth through her. She could feel the heat of his palm under hers and the pulse in his wrist throbbed against her skin, creating an illusion that the heartbeat was hers. Memories triggered by flavors, scents, and touch were flooding in and she could restrain them for only so long. Idiot. You brought this on yourself. Would she last until the feast was over? She would have to see.
But first, let's get some formalities out of the way. She rose abruptly, hauling Anduin up as he chewed a large mouthful of venison she'd just fed him. He scrambled to look dignified. Lor'themar turned to the commotion and, realizing what she was doing, summoned a mage, who hastily cast a voice amplification spell.
She smiled at her troops - those she could see and the many more she could not. "Well," she said and the din of the crowd immediately fell silent, "how does victory taste?" She popped a small piece of venison in her mouth, disintegrating it almost instantly with a burst of magic and allowing the roar of approval to pass. "The full terms of this agreement will be read out to you on the morrow, but for now it is enough to know that the land you stand on today now belongs to the Horde." Cheers rose, the orcs particularly loud in their approval of taking another chunk of Ashenvale. "Our claim to Lordaeron has been recognized and Gilneas is now ours as well … for perpetuity." She paused to allow for another roar, this time much raspier and menacing than the previous. She caught some Alliance members glancing at each other. "We are now safe from our enemies using azerite to strike us. From the beginning of this war, these are the goals I had for the Horde and we achieved them all today. It was your blood and it was your sacrifice that made it possible. And…" she paused dramatically before running a finger down Anduin's chest and grinning, "perhaps the allurements of a certain Warchief were of some help." She was pleased with the laughter that erupted, along with Anduin's quickly reddening cheeks and a distinctly dwarven chortle to her right.
She waited for the noise to quiet down before continuing. "You earned this victory. For that, I thank you. The Horde thanks you. Revel in it and enjoy this feast - you deserve it." She paused. "Perhaps some of you did not yet have enough of the glory of battle. I know better than most the sweetness overcoming a foe brings. Worry not. There are foes yet out there, waiting in the shadows to strike. Do not let yourselves become slack. Keep your swords sharp. The Horde will surely need its warriors again soon.
"But in the meantime, you will uphold the terms of the treaty. For as long as it stands, I will punish crimes against members of the Alliance with the same severity as I punish crimes against the Horde. You know me well enough to not test my word on this.
"As for those of you from the Alliance, what you need to know is simple: I reward the loyal and I crush the traitors. And if you are thinking of being the latter, I invite you to ponder on the list of those great heroes who are no longer here while I am still standing. The choice is yours."
She looked over the audience dramatically before moving to sit, only to be kept in place by the magical bind as her husband continued standing.
"If I may," Anduin said and cleared his throat. The crowd once again hushed down. "My charming wife has claimed victory today and I would be a poor husband to gainsay her this early on in our marriage." Some chuckles followed, but what Sylvanas felt was the quickened pulse in his wrist that told her his compliment was not only for show. "So I will not claim a victory for myself or for the Alliance. Rather, I will claim a victory for Azeroth itself. Alliance and Horde have fought for so long that it may seem to be the natural order of things. I hope that this marriage proves otherwise and I hope that YOU - all of you, whether Alliance or Horde, prove it with us. Whatever race and whatever faction, you are now welcome in our lands. I'd only like to remind those whose allegiance to me is older than a day that all of these people gathered here are now your allies. And that the beautiful woman standing next to me," he gave her a charming smile, "is now your Queen. Let's open a new chapter of history today." He lifted his goblet with his left hand. "To Azeroth!"
The cheer that followed was not as enthusiastic as the one that followed her speech, but enough were happy enough to shout "Azeroth" back that made her concerned. That there were people among her subjects that would welcome friendlier relations with the Alliance was beyond doubt. Could her fool of a husband be clever enough to woo some more to his side? She had to make sure that he didn't.
They sat down together this time.
"A fine speech, husband."
The young man smiled, bringing her bound hand to his lips. "And sincere in every word."
Belore, but did that remind her of someone…
His eyes were a brilliant sapphire blue, his elven features so handsome they seemed to demand a stone carver to preserve his likeness for the centuries. Gestures that seemed pompous in others he made seem natural and elegant. He danced magnificently and only with her the entire festival. Approving looks followed them everywhere, as did whispers that perhaps the Ranger General had finally found a suitable match.
He was just another one of the "lovesick puppies" - the band of admirers that followed her everywhere and hoped for her favor simply because she was the most beautiful woman there. He was empty inside. Lovely and charming, able to carry a conversation on any topic, make a tasteful joke where most needed, but empty inside.
Still, when he tried to kiss her, she didn't push him away like she did others. He was proficient in that department too, and her heart quickened - not out of true affection, but out of a base desire he was able to elicit in her. Only when he tried to go further did she finally shove him away.
Her eyes refocused on the sapphire blue gaze in front of her. Her heart was thumping… no, wait. Hers was still - it was Anduin's she felt through the wrist bound to hers with the magic bind.
Why was this ridiculous human suddenly reminding her of a life gone and taken away long ago?
This damned magical bind and the priest's touch were making her mind spin. She grabbed for her goblet, downed the fine Suramarian in one gulp, and made some caustic comment to wipe the stupid smile off of Anduin's face - but what exactly, she couldn't remember a minute later.
Thankfully, the wine did take the edge off and helped her refocus on the feast at hand. But each dish, each scent, each word seemed to trigger a memory, so Sylvanas spent much of the time drinking. Moira picked up on it quite quickly.
"Yer be drinkin' with the best of us, Yer Majesty," she stated. "I always did wonder how the undead were with alcohol. Can you get drunk? If you don't mind my asking."
Sylvanas shrugged. "It affects us the same way it affects you, but we recover faster."
"Fascinatin'. How come it does? You have no runnin' blood to carry the alcohol, or a liver to clear it all out."
"You are welcome to visit the Undercity - there are some of my Forsaken who have the same curiosity as you and have spent many years trying to find the answers. As for myself, I see no need in knowing why. The curse is what it is. How it works is irrelevant."
Moira grinned in response. "Beggin' yer pardon, Yer Majesty, but I disagree. This is no mere curiosity. Suppose trouble starts right about now and you've had yer pint or three. Can you transform into a banshee to gain a clear head? If the inebriation is biological, you can. If it is magical, it will not matter."
Sylvanas gave her an impressed look. "I had not considered it. Are you always looking for trouble?"
Moira cackled. "No, Yer Majesty, but somehow it never fails to find me."
Perhaps it was the alcohol, but Sylvanas allowed herself a brief laugh. "I insist that you visit the Undercity after all the ceremonies are over. You will be a welcome guest."
There was only a moment of hesitation from the dwarf. "Aye, that I will do with pleasure."
In the end, trouble came around soon enough. Of course, "trouble" was such a subjective word when it came to this situation. Sylvanas certainly wasn't one to complain about it.
Delaryn appeared in front of them with another pitcher of wine. It was not a ranger's job to serve drink, but the newest addition to her ranks seemed unfazed when Sylvanas commanded her to do so. Perhaps she knew why she was asked. Perhaps she truly did not care. Either way, Sylvanas accepted Delaryn's service, favoring inebriation to an all-out assault of the senses upon her mind.
Lor'themar, already visibly tipsy, was only too happy to consent to a refill as well. Anduin, on the other hand, seemed to have a different notion regarding the alcohol and politely placed his hand over his goblet to indicate that he was finished. Moira joined him, claiming she preferred the ale instead. The dwarf's tankard was empty more often than full and it was not the fault of the servants. The amount of alcohol the Queen Regent could consume without appearing intoxicated was bordering on the miraculous. Sylvanas was impressed.
Del proceeded to offer the wine at Tyrande's table and Sylvanas watched the interaction like a hawk. The dark ranger went about her task so calmly that, for a while, nobody at the table even noticed her.
Inevitably, however, a night elf looked up just as Delaryn lifted Tyrande's goblet for a refill. The sentinel's gasp alerted the High Priestess, who paused her conversation with Vereesa and looked up to meet the crimson gaze of the undead woman. The world seemed to hold its breath in that moment, Sylvanas realizing that she was far from the only one watching this interaction carefully.
In that moment, Tyrande's expression changed from idle humor to confusion to wide-eyed recognition, and then finally to anger. She launched to her feet, knocking the pitcher out of the undead elf's hands and sending it spilling along with her goblet to the patio floor.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" She turned her furious silvery glare at Sylvanas, who suppressed a desire to cackle in delight. Such easy prey. Conversations around them died instantly, the camp becoming hauntingly quiet. Delaryn stood to the side, still and expressionless.
Sylvanas made sure her voice retained her usual tone of bored nonchalance. "The meaning of what, exactly, are you so curious about, Priestess?"
"I tolerated your Forsaken," she spat the word like a curse, "until this moment. But you dare to raise one of my captains and then bring her corpse to me to show off your conquest?"
Sylvanas turned from one side to the other in a pantomime of confusion. "My dear High Priestess, I fail to see any ostentation on my part in this matter. My ranger simply intended to refill your cup. If you have no taste for wine, you could have simply said so."
Tyrande gritted her teeth, but turned to Anduin instead of replying. "Anduin, this cannot stand! She was once my most trusted captain. Am I to endure such a mockery over our fallen?"
Anduin frowned. "I – "
"This cannot stand?" Sylvanas cut him off. "Have you perhaps forgotten what we are celebrating, High Priestess? I requested my ranger's presence at the feast today, is it perhaps my decree that you object to?"
Tyrande sent another pleading look in Anduin's direction, but judging by her reaction, did not see what she was hoping for from him. The night elf sighed and inclined her head in a shallow bow.
"No, Your Majesty, I do not object to your command. Please forgive my giving you any idea to the contrary."
Sylvanas had to hand it to her - Tyrande even managed to look repentant. "Very well then. I shall consider the matter of this little insurrection over." She heard Lor'themar's relieved sigh and grinned. "There's still the matter of an assault upon one of my trusted champions, however." She turned to Anduin abruptly. "What say you, husband? What is the punishment for one who strikes a free person without cause?"
The boy king went pale and glanced at her cautiously. "If the offended party feels particularly affronted, she could demand to strike the offender in return." He paused, likely hoping for Delaryn to reject the idea, but the ranger kept quiet. Anduin gulped. "Perhaps, given the sensitive political nature of today's events, you would consent to limit it to an apology?"
Sylvanas would have cherished seeing one of her rangers give Tyrande a good whooping, but it seemed unwise to press the point at the moment. She shrugged in response. "You are soft on your people, little lion. You better know that I will not be. Very well, I will accept an apology… this time. But you better keep your subjects in line, if you wish for this marriage to last."
Now it was Anduin's turn to glower at the offending night elf, who shot looks of surprise at the two of them. "You want me to apologize? To a corpse?"
The King's voice suddenly filled with more than a touch of steel. "She is my wife's subject. And yes, I do."
"I will not —," Tyrande's expression suddenly changed, and her eyes widened briefly. Suddenly resigned, she turned to Delaryn, who stood there silently, staring at the night elf woman. "I apologize. It was wrong of me to strike you. Please forgive me." Tyrande stepped away from her table and began to wipe at the spilled wine until servants rushed in to stop her.
Sylvanas laughed. "You Alliance fools. You put yourself on some mighty pedestal, looking down your nose at us from the heights of your imagined morality. But it is this so-called morality that is your undoing. Had Anduin's father not killed my messengers, I would have been your ally a decade ago instead of ravaging your lands as recently as yesterday. And now you strike the woman you once held dear, simply because blood stopped running in her veins? Your hate makes you stupid, Tyrande. I do not - and I never will - force the Forsaken to follow me. They have their own minds and make their own choices. It is you who turn them away and make the Horde the only possible place for them to go."
"I agree," she heard Anduin's voice to her left. "My wife speaks true. It is our own prejudices that force us into conflict with each other time and time again. I had hoped that my own choice of spouse would've made that clear. An attack on my wife's people is an attack on me. I hope that there will be no more incidents of this nature in Darnassus or elsewhere in your realm, Tyrande."
Perhaps his words had a stronger effect, since the Priestess looked up and apologized again to Delaryn and Anduin, and then fell silent.
Sylvanas had to wonder at her new husband. A shy boy one moment, he suddenly had enough courage to berate a woman nearly a thousand times older than himself the next. Who was the real Anduin Wrynn? She couldn't quite make it out.
Moira leaned over to her. "Was that really necessary?"
Sylvanas shrugged. "No, but I have a few scores to settle with the night elf. The opportunity presented itself and I had to take it."
The dwarf winced. "Remind me not to get on your bad side, Yer Majesty."
"I think you are smart enough to need no reminders on that account."
Moira raised her tankard, somehow filled amidst the commotion, gestured a toast at Sylvanas, and drank.
The feast resumed, albeit the gaiety was gone from the crowd, at least for the time being. She saw Anduin gesture for Del to approach and her ranger obeyed.
"I apologize again on behalf of my ally," he said to her, his face sincere. "What is your name?"
"Delaryn Summermoon, Your Majesty."
"You served with Tyrande once?"
"Yes. I was a captain of her sentinels."
"Then she really should've known better. I am sorry you were put in this situation. Is there anything I can do to restore your good spirits?"
Del's face remained impassive. "There is no need, Your Majesty. I am not perturbed."
Anduin sighed. "That's a relief. Once again, please forgive my ally. You may return to your duties."
"Perhaps," Sylvanas butted in, "it is best that you do not ruffle any more feathers today, ranger. Take the night off."
"No," Anduin cut her off.
"No?"
"What is the point of that? Tyrande should know better than this. And she shall. Please continue with your duties, Lady Summermoon. I'd like to see my allies behave more politely with you going forward. If you are OK with that, of course?"
Del glanced over at Sylvanas, who nodded reluctantly. "Yes, Your Majesty. Certainly."
She finally retreated, leaving Sylvanas puzzling over what had just occurred. She looked over at her husband. A man full of surprises.
There was another man in her life once who was full of surprises, the memory came unbidden.
"Ranger General, I beg of you, silence this insolent human!"
She shrugged in response. "I have heard no insolence from him, Lor'themar."
"It is preposterous! What could this man possibly know of the Key of the Three Moons and its inner workings?"
Nathanos bristled. "It doesn't matter how much I know! What I'm saying is that you must have conventional defenses in place as well. You cannot rely on a single line of defense, no matter how impressive."
Lor'themar scoffed. "Silvermoon has stood for thousands of years. I daresay it will be fine."
"All things come to an end, even those that last thousands of years."
"Words only a traitor would speak!"
"ENOUGH!" Sylvanas stepped between the two men. "You do not have to take his advice if you find it so unpleasant. Although I would highly recommend that you do. Alas, this particular issue is not within my sphere of control, otherwise I would've brought it to the Council myself."
"I do not take lessons from humans, Sylvanas."
"Pity. You should."
She chugged another goblet-full of wine and the memory faded away, but it left her disturbed for much longer. Belore, I'll need a lot more wine to get through this feast.
However her undead biology worked, it was not keeping up with her drinking. That or Moira was growing more hilarious with every second. But considering "hilarious" was not generally a part of the Banshee Queen's vocabulary, she felt safe to assume that it was the alcohol talking.
The feast was drawing to an end, the moon high in the Ashenvale sky and the stars a bright shiny tapestry above them. Some of her Horde soldiers had already retired to bed, the benches outside the pavilion having thinned slightly. Many were now drunk, the shouts and conversations carrying across the square taking on the familiar tones of inebriation.
Alleria was laughing hysterically. "He looks like a toad!"
Vereesa's laughter was turning into snorts interspersed with attempts to breathe. "Please stop! I can't laugh this hard!"
"All hail Prince Toad!" Alleria announced and made a loud ribbit sound. Vereesa collapsed, shaking silently.
The wine bottles were strewn all across the room, making Sylvanas's bedroom unusually messy.
"You're a mean drunk, Lady Sun," she observed.
Alleria gaped at her. "Don't tell me… you actually find him attractive?"
Sylvanas frowned at her. "I wouldn't go that far."
"Little Moon!" The eldest sister poked Vereesa, who was starting to doze off with her head on the table. "I think," she whispered conspiratorially, "your sister likes Prince Toad!"
This produced another episode of giggles as Sylvanas glared at them. "I don't like him, Alleria."
"I may be a mean drunk, but you're a boring one, Lady Moon."
"Wait!" Vereesa exclaimed, raising an unstable index finger in the air before lifting her head to look at Sylvanas. "If someone kisses Prince Toad, will he turn handsome?"
Alleria tilted her head. "Are you volunteering?"
"No, but Lady Moon is!" Vereesa burst into another fit of giggles, Alleria following suit.
Belore, but that was so long ago. She did kiss the boy in the end. Despite his looks, "Prince Toad" turned out to be a pleasant youth, a longtime friend, and a proof against all the lovesick puppies that followed her around as she grew older. She lost him - as she did everything else - in Athas's destruction of Silvermoon. Sylvanas drowned this memory like she did all others: in a goblet of the fine Suramarian red.
They had just finished the last of the desserts - honeyed fried dough balls in a cinnamon-spiced glaze - when a rather inebriated Lor'themar rose to his feet. "My lords and ladies!" he announced, "Please, continue to enjoy the festivities for as long as you have stomachs to eat and drink! But as for our bride and groom, I believe it is time to retire! Those who wish to see them off to their place of repose, you may do so now."
A cheer rose up along the crowd, as many left their tables to form a procession. Del appeared by her side immediately. Her ranger did continue serving at Tyrande's table throughout the night without incident, although the looks she received from some of the sentinels could curdle milk.
They rose to their feet together, still bound together at the arm. As they walked out of the pavilion and began walking in the direction of her tent, the crowd formed an excited circle around them, Del and a few other guards keeping the most eager followers at a reasonable distance. Away from the bonfires, the Ashenvale air was cold - she could feel it now, even if it did not affect her in any way. Against it, the warmth from Anduin's arm now felt strangely pleasant. She felt herself lean into him, seeking more of his body heat.
They walked slowly, Lor'themar's mages illuminating the way ahead for them. Nevertheless, she nearly stumbled several times, her elven grace and undead resistance to alcohol the only reasons she didn't. She could see some of her soldiers were already in their own tents, preparing for sleep or continuing the feast among a group of friends. Some saluted her as she passed, others cheered, but all she could do was to focus on her steps, one after the other.
That's why she only saw the archery target and the excited crowd lining the path to it on both sides when they reached her tent. Sylvanas groaned audibly. Damn you, Lor'themar.
The blood elf produced an elegant elven recurve bow and handed it to Anduin, who took it with his left hand and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"The time of true union is at hand," the Regent Lord announced and the crowd cheered. "But there yet remains one final… hurdle. Marriage is fraught with challenges. As a sign of how you will overcome them together, we the sin'dorei have a long-lasting tradition: the heleathal. The groom shall hold the bow while the bride shall place the arrow. Together, they shall shoot. Only when they pierce the bull's eye shall their bind be dissolved."
Her husband frowned. "I don't recall you mentioning anything about this, Regent Lord," he whispered to the blood elf.
"Didn't I?" Lor'themar feigned confusion. "Well, perhaps it's for the best. Some things are more exciting when left as a surprise." He clapped his hands and raised his voice. "Bring out the target!"
They were in a military camp, after all. A practice archery target was swiftly brought out and placed some thirty paces away. On her own, Sylvanas could've made that shot blindfolded, even in her inebriated state. But she wasn't the only one involved.
The crowd parted excitedly, allowing them the shot. Anduin looked back at her, shrugged, and moved closer. It seemed that he knew well enough the best shooting position for the heleathal, because his right arm reached around her back, twisting her bound left arm behind her. His hand landed on uncovered skin just above her right hip and pulled her in close
So here she was, her arm twisted behind her like a prisoner, the warmth of his hand pulsating as it rested on her side, and her face shoved into his shoulder, assaulting her nostrils with his scent. It made her head spin, and not just because she was drunk.
Delaryn approached her with a quiver of arrows and the ranger must've noticed something in Sylvanas's eyes, because she blinked and stared at her briefly, before lowering her gaze.
Cursing under her breath, Sylvanas picked up an arrow and awkwardly tried to knock it into the bow Anduin was holding. It shook in her hands and bounced around on the bow.
She tried to shove Anduin in frustration, but only ended up snuggled closer into him, her head on his shoulder. "Dammit, priest, hold it steady!" Some in the audience hooted.
Even more frustratingly, leaning her head on him proved helpful to stabilizing her hold on the arrow and she was finally able to place it correctly, Anduin holding it down with his index finger.
She had to tilt her neck at a strange angle to sight down the shaft and then shove her husband several times more to get it aimed at the target. His warmth assaulted from where her body was pressed into him and on her right side where he held her firmly with his hand. The unpleasantness of it was fading and that worried her more than anything else.
She drew the bowstring back, Anduin visibly straining to hold the bow in place and pulling on her side instinctively. With a final sigh, she let the arrow loose and saw it sail over the target and bury itself into a tent wall a few dozen paces away. The crowd exploded in laughter.
Continuing to curse, she drew another arrow. Her husband had the intelligence to tilt the bow sideways to make the nocking easier, but the shot ended up another miss as the arrow buried itself under the target and the audience celebrated.
Gritting her teeth, she tried again. Anduin proved a quick study: he shifted his body subtly to allow her a better sight down the arrow and gave her the necessary feedback with his right hand to let her know how hard she was pulling. Their third shot struck the edge of the target with a pleasant thump. By their sixth shot, they struck the center.
Their bind dissolved as the audience erupted in cheers and Lor'themar smiled drunkenly at them. Anduin continued to hold her firmly.
"Only six shots!" The blood elf exclaimed. "A wonderful omen for the marriage! Perhaps Your Majesty is thinking of becoming a hunter?"
The young king laughed. "I'll take every good omen I can get." He glanced at Sylvanas briefly. "And speaking of omens, us humans of Stormwind have a few of our own."
Were she not inebriated, she would've seen it coming. Instead, Anduin dipped down with surprising speed. She felt herself pulled off the ground as he gathered her easily into his arms. She instinctually threw herself around his neck and leaned into him to make it easier for him to hold her. The crowd went wild and he grinned at her apologetically. "This is not quite the threshold of my residence, but it's the closest thing and tradition is tradition."
And just like that, with a final smile to the crowd, Anduin stepped through the tent flaps and brought her inside.
The tent cloth was heavy and as it fell shut, it muffled the shouts from the outside. They were alone, the braziers spread around the tent illuminating it with a warm shimmering light.
Anduin didn't seem to be in a hurry to let her go. She should have demanded that he set her down, but instead took a deep breath in. He smelled of woodsmoke and sweat. She hadn't smelled anything in over a decade, but the smell stirred memories in her that she had long suppressed: memories of bonfires, a Silvermoon starry sky, and the joy that filled their life before the death knight tore it all apart, corpses shuffling in his wake.
She pressed her eyes shut. This would not do. Anduin's touch wasn't just doing a number on her body, it was doing a number on her mind as well. Cold logic and heartless calculation - this is how Sylvanas Windrunner went from a despised corpse to a slightly less despised Warchief of the Horde - and now, Queen of Stormwind as well. There was no room in her for memories or laughter or touches of affection. Those were the afflictions of the living, not of monsters whose blood ran cold and whose souls barely hung on to their decaying bodies.
She swung her legs down, only to find that her new husband had already carried her halfway across the tent. She felt her back touch the hard wood of one of the tent poles and a moment later his mouth was on hers. His kiss was warm and his tongue tasted of honey from the desserts they had earlier. The smell of him, the pressing of his body against hers, the heat… her newly-found senses overwhelmed her, mixing with the alcohol in her brain, and sending her mind into a spin. She could no longer think, only feel.
So when his hands slid down and touched her bare sides, she moaned, causing his lips to curl into a smile even as they kissed. She hadn't been touched - by anyone - in so long, and this was —
Anduin broke away, panting, his expression suddenly full of concern. "I'm… I'm sorry, my lady," he stammered, "You've had so much to drink… perhaps you do not — "
She slapped him hard across the face, her emotions boiling over. Her palm stung where she struck him. "I did not tell you to stop," she hissed and forcefully yanked the front of his tunic, returning his mouth to hers.
Somewhere deep down another Sylvanas screamed at her to stop. She didn't listen.
The dead didn't sleep, so she didn't quite wake up. Rather, her spinning head came to an eventual halt as the alcohol - and whatever Anduin's proximity did to her - wore off.
The young king was sprawled by her side, snoring lightly, his nakedness covered by a thin white sheet.
She couldn't in all fairness hold his sleep against him. She had put him through the wringer, pushing even his youthful body to the limits. Bruises and scratches decorated much of him. Marks of ownership, she thought.
She had made a mistake. It was obvious in retrospect. In fact, it was obvious even while she did it, but she found herself unable to stop.
Perhaps it was for the best. A consummated marriage would be more difficult to annul, although just by virtue of staying alone with him tonight, their marriage would have been considered valid. Still, she supposed their "dalliance", as Vereesa would call it, carried some political benefit.
Anduin had proven to be easy to instruct, and perhaps she could use their bed as a means of exercising control over the youth. That carried a certain political benefit as well.
But she had lost her mind - that much was certain - and it frightened her more than any mortal danger could. Many thought that her weapon was the bow - but it was her mind that was the real weapon. It was what had landed her in this marriage and crowned her a ruler of all of Azeroth. But in the last few hours, she had been anything but clearheaded.
No. Until she could travel back to the Undercity and uncover what exactly he was doing to her and find a way to counter it, she had to decrease the amount of physical contact with the king. Brief interactions only unsettled her - but lengthy ones had an effect that she only enjoyed in the moment and regretted soon after.
She sat up, wondering briefly whose bed this was. Made of white Silvermoon oak and decorated with silver inlays, it wasn't your standard camp fare in quality or size. They had even put up curtains around it to make it more private.
Stepping out and closing them now, she mentally summoned Delaryn, who stepped through into the tent within seconds. If she found it strange to see the Warchief nude, she did not say anything and her eyes did not move to explore.
"My armor," she commanded quietly. "The usual one."
Del nodded and began moving about quietly, locating the necessary items of clothing and armor in her trunk.
"Have Nathanos and Varok returned?" she asked as the ranger was finishing buckling the last vambrace.
Del nodded in affirmative.
"Bring Nathanos to me. I'll see him outside the tent."
The constellation of the Raven was on the horizon, signaling the end of the night when her champion arrived.
"Dark Lady," Nathanos greeted reverently and bowed.
"I suppose you have heard much since you were summoned back from Darkshore." He nodded. "Here," she produced a copy of their marriage and peace agreement. "This should explain things."
He took the scroll and rolled it open slowly. The braziers outside her tent gave enough light for him to read. He took his time, humming as he read, then finally turned back to her. "Incredible."
"What is?"
"The boy king gives us all we wanted from this war - and more."
"It was an offer I could not refuse."
"And it will be the end of him."
"Indeed. I will be naming you my Vice-Regent during the time that I am away from Orgrimmar. There is much that I will need you to do."
Nathanos bowed again. "I am at your service, Dark Lady. Always."
"First order of business is to move our azerite labs to more secret locations. The more remote the better. I want no public accidents."
"Aye."
"We are not supposed to be growing our army or arming troops. Task Varok with the maintenance of the Horde army, but prepare troops in secret that we could move covertly when the time comes. Forsaken mostly. Otherwise only very loyal soldiers." He nodded. "There will be embassies built in Orgrimmar. Keep an eye on them. Our ambassadors will go as spies - it is likely theirs will as well." She waited for his confirmation before continuing. "I want no outward disrespect for this union. Publicly, you are to adhere to every rule and give every respect to our new 'allies.' Swallow your pride when you have to - I am sure the kal'dorei will be insufferable."
"Of course."
"You will receive further instructions as they arise."
"I live to obey."
"Good." She paused, hesitant. "Were you surprised when you heard?"
His eyebrows rose slightly. "I was," he admitted. "But I had always trusted you to do what is best for the Forsaken. I imagined something like this was the motivation."
"So you agree then, with my choice?"
"It is not my place to approve of your choices, Dark Lady."
"Humor me."
He cleared his throat unnecessarily. "Then yes. It is the best choice for our people under the circumstances."
"For all of our people?"
Nathanos stayed quiet. Did I push it too far?
"Kings die," he finally replied. "The Forsaken live on. And I am yours to command."
"I had no doubts in you, Champion." She paused, considering him. "Go now. Send for Varok. Wake him if you have to."
"As you wish, Dark Lady."
Varok arrived at the break of dawn, yawning. But the old soldier had not risen through the ranks for nothing: he could gather his wits even under a severe lack of sleep.
"Warchief," he greeted, thumping his big green hand on his metal-plated chest. "I suppose congratulations are in order."
"To you as well, High Overlord. This is your victory as much as mine."
"I was referring to your marriage."
"Ah, that. Well. It came with the deal, so to speak." The orc inclined his head respectfully. "The King and I will ride out to hunt today. Part of your wedding traditions, I hear. Pick 30 loyal orcs, riders all, to accompany us. Make sure they don't try to kill my husband. Not yet at least."
Varok chuckled. "Aye, Warchief, I can do that."
"The rest of the army is to stand down. The lands we hold are ours - keep some men to build fortifications where necessary, but don't go overboard. Our new allies would not take it well if we armed ourselves like quilboars. We may be at peace, but I want no slackening of our troops. The last dozen or so times we made peace, it didn't take long to return to war. Plan for the same outcome. You are not to exceed our regular army numbers, as per the agreement, but replace the fallen, return reservists to active duty regularly for drilling. Train good officers. I expect regular reports on your progress."
The orc saluted again. "As you command, Warchief."
"Good." She looked him over. "How was Felwood?"
Varok shrugged his massive shoulders. "Unpleasant. We were almost at Darkshore when you recalled us. I believe it would've been a complete surprise."
"Then Anduin picked a good time to make peace. I wonder. We could have been at Darnassus within a few days."
He nodded. "We could have been. But it would've cost us a lot of men. The kal'dorei know how to fight, I give them that."
She grinned. "That's why they make the best dark rangers."
The orc didn't seem to find the notion as amusing as she did, so she dismissed him. Another thumping salute, and the orc was off to issue commands.
She breathed in. The air rushed into her lungs, but she felt and smelled nothing. Anduin's influence seemed to wear off rather quickly. Only the tingling of her ring finger, now on her right hand, reminded her of it. Good.
She turned to Delaryn, who stood motionless at the entrance to her tent.
"Find the troll Jimu and bring him to me," she commanded. The undead night elf departed to obey without a response.
The horizon was starting to turn pink when the troll arrived. Sylvanas smiled, pleased. Politics, intrigue, cold calculations - she was back to her regular self. Being undead carried certain benefits with it: she could plan and plot all through the night while Anduin slept. And when he'd finally wake up, he would've fallen far behind.
"Warchief," Jimu greeted.
"I am glad you are here. I have an assignment for you."
A/N:Thanks for reading. Family and work life have been extremely busy for me. In a good way - I'm not complaining, but it means I have little time to write. The next chapter is about 10% done, so it'll likely be several months before the next is published.
I'd greatly appreciate your comments - they help keep me motivated to keep writing :)