A/N: Early chapters are a bit short, will start growing in length over time

The forest was deafeningly silent, all the animals having fled from her Horde's advance. The sounds of war barely reached her here, only the rumble of an odd arcane explosion still finding its way to this quiet place.

She enjoyed the loud crunch of the dead leaves and branches under her feet, pleasantly similar to the crunch of bones.

Damn you, Vol'jin.

Being Warchief was proving to be an annoyance Sylvanas Windrunner had little patience for. The old troll in his final moments may have trusted her enough to lead the whole Horde - but plenty of traitors among the Horde didn't. And like traitors were wont to do, they surfaced in wartime. They would claim moral qualms, criticize her strategies, some would even go so far as to condemn her for the choices she made - even as the Horde advanced swiftly through Ashenvale thanks to those very choices.

Hate me all you want, fools. You and your children will live safe, cozy lives thanks to me. And you can blame all the nasty things we had to do to get there on the Banshee. Wouldn't be the first time.

Her Forsaken knew. Knew what it meant to sacrifice and to live as outcasts, even among their own allies, but to work toward a shared future anyway. That is why they followed her orders without a second thought.

Life is wasted on the living.

Why was she out here alone? She wasn't sure herself. She was only sure that if she stayed in that viper nest any second longer, she might murder one of her own subordinates. Killing your own wasn't exactly an act of fine leadership - especially not in war. So she stormed out of the command tent and walked, walked, and then walked some more, her anger subsiding as she stomped on the musty ground with every step. Anger was a useful emotion (and she had plenty of it), but too much of it could cloud her judgment and lead to costly mistakes. She had to be calm when she returned.

And where is Varok? That blasted orc should have reached Darkshore by now. If the Stormwind navy arrives before we can take Teldrassil, this war will…

The sound of a twig snapping under a foot that was not her own interrupted her thoughts.

She spun around, unslinging her bow and nocking an arrow with the speed and deftness of a few millennia of practice…

And stopped dead in her tracks.

"Little Lord Sun?" her whisper was barely audible.

Some 40 paces away stood a figure… The familiar blonde hair, the kind eyes, the simple worn leathers, the boots muddied by climbing over every nook and cranny of the Eversong Forest…

She blinked at the apparition, remembering. Oh, but did Lirath love to climb and explore, to find that bubbling brook or that echoing cavern to inspire a new song of his. And the joy in his eyes when he'd bring her to a newfound spot… Look, Lady Moon! So many years have passed, but the pain was as fresh as the day she lost him to Arthas's onslaught.

It took her just a moment more to realize that this person in front of her did not have elven ears. He was a human and, as the memories he triggered receded, she realized exactly who it was.

"You?" she snarled, the pain of Lirath's death adding to the fury in her voice. "What are you doing here?"

Anduin Wrynn had grown some since she last saw him. He had a warrior's set of shoulders now - not as wide as his father's, of course - but far manlier than she remembered him to be. The bulk of his arms showed through even through his loose sleeves. His similarity to Lirath was now quite uncanny, at least from a distance. He stood there unarmed, wearing simple travel leathers over a plain-cloth tunic. His forehead was damp with sweat and the calf-height leather boots he wore were muddy. He carried no weapon.

Her mind spun at the sight. How was he here, in the rear of her army's encampment? How many men did we have with him and, more importantly, where were they?

Her sharp eyes darted across the area and her ears twitched as they strained to catch any sounds that may indicate others in the vicinity, but sensed nothing. She subtly reached out and felt for any foreign magic, but the only other presence she could detect was that of the boy in front of her, stinking of the Light.

The boy raised his hands in the air in surrender.

"I am alone, Lady Windrunner," he called out. "I swear it." His voice was a surprisingly pleasing baritone, much lower than she remembered it at their last encounter. "I carry no weapon and mean no harm."

"How did you get here?"

Violent intent or not, Sylvanas didn't particularly enjoy being surprised in this way - let alone by a boy less than a hundredth of her age.

Anduin gave a nonchalant shrug and a grin, his hands still raised. "Our Night Elf allies still know these woods better than the Horde, I think. Enough to monitor your movements at any rate. And your mages guarding the rear do get careless sometimes. A small hole in their defenses was enough for a portal. It was a long walk to meet you here, though."

That sounded truthful enough, going by his disheveled state, but she couldn't be quite sure.

A thought came to her. Surely if he wasn't alone, whoever was nearby wouldn't sit still if I attacked him.

Or she could just kill him and be done with it. Her arrow was aimed at the side of his neck, exposed and accessible. If shot, it'd slice his carotid artery, emptying his brain of the blood flow that his living body required in mere moments. Unlikely that he'd be able to heal himself in time and at this distance, he might be too late with a magic shield to deflect the arrow.

It was tempting. Just relax her fingers and see the head of the Alliance gasping his last breath at her feet.

That would be anticlimactic. And boring. Years of war and struggle, just to end it all with a single arrow?

Curiosity may have killed the lynx, but she needed to find out what this was about.

So she did the next obvious thing: she gave the boy a smile and shot the arrow.