Chapter Text
I'm not too sure what I'm supposed to do with this;
These hands, this mind, this instability.
From the cage I created to a Hell that Heaven made,
Can't let go of the hatred, 'cause I love the way it tastes!
This was the second time Proudmoore had entered the bathing quarters without permission.
“I thought I told you to wait outside,” I growled. I did not turn to face her or even move from my posture — forehead pressed to the cool slate tile as the hot water fell onto my back from the shower I wasn’t fully under, palms braced against the stone in front of each shoulder. She muttered something about just needing a thing or two before she retired for the evening and that she’d be out quickly. I closed my eyes and took a slow breath to cool my rising temper. The bitterness I’d been ruminating on churned in my chest and rolled into a dull ache in my skull.
As I heard her gather her things, I rotated my head slightly to watch the Lord Admiral out of the corner of my eye. She hesitated when she reached the door to leave, looking at me with concern. I narrowed my eyes at her, though I knew the glare held little effect with how dimly my eyes burned.
“...Sylvanas?”
“Get out.”
“Are you oka—”
“ GET OUT! ”
With my eyes clenched shut, the rattling of the door as it slammed into its frame made me flinch. Damn Proudmoore and her fucking audacity. Damn her for seeing me in this state. I’d come to take a shower and brood, not have my emotions scrutinized by my fucking consort.
A heavy sigh passed my lips. This arrangement was trying my patience already. It was the only way they’d let me live and remain Warchief after all that occurred between my own actions and the war against the Old Gods. Those of us who were wise knew it wasn’t over with the defeat of N’zoth. Who knows if it ever will be. But to prevent a total overhaul of the factions, which we’d seemed to be heading straight towards, the leaders of the Alliance and Horde devised a plan. A plan to “keep me in check” so they could maintain the status quo as we all licked our wounds. I knew what that really meant. It was so they could deal with me later, when it was less inconvenient for their sociopolitical agendas.
Proudmoore was a bit too eager to volunteer for the position. Though she was to be my consort, there were no illusions about her purpose — she wanted to be in a position where she could report my every move to the Alliance, and to end me if I made a single misstep. I had lost almost all privacy as a result and could no longer take to the wilderness to lash out when a sour mood struck. So, I took what solace I could in showers. Long, hot showers that would have scalded my flesh were I still alive. The heat and dull pain grounded me while I tried to escape the thoughts that threatened to consume me.
I found it impossible to avoid thoughts about my time as Warchief. I didn’t quite regret anything I’d done — regret is not a word in my vocabulary. But public opinion still stung. I heard and saw what the majority of both the Alliance and the Horde thought of me. My name was tossed around like a rag doll amidst language like “evil” and “beyond redemption” for years. There were people who thought I was becoming like Arthas. People who thought I was another Garrosh. People who thought I was working for or even mind controlled by N’zoth. Even those who thought I was an agent of the Burning Legion. I’d heard it all. Seen the editorials, read the conspiracy theories.
It seemed no one wanted to believe I was still of sound mind. They wanted to believe my actions were out of character and the power I showed in the Mak’gora with Saurfang was not my own — though, admittedly, my power had grown. They thought, somehow, that I had intrinsically changed. Those who remain loyal to me know I haven’t. Those who remain loyal to me know I have always had a plan and have known me to be just as cunning and caustic as always. These were not new developments. They simply hadn’t been under such public scrutiny before.
Were my actions in this supposed “Fourth War” cruel? At times, yes. Were they all necessary? Absolutely. The masses could bicker over the necessity of Teldrassil all they wanted. There were few still relevant who were as old as I, and none who knew death and the loss of hope as well as I. It was not my first plan, or my second, but the manpower was there for a reason. The High Overlord would act surprised and offended but that was hypocrisy. He had all but organized the attack on Darnassus himself. He would have seen the numbers and equipment and known it was a possibility all along. He could have prevented it, too, had he just killed that simpering Druid.
I balled my right fist and barely refrained from slamming it into the slate wall. There was no place for weakness in war. Mental weakness included. Though he served his unwitting purpose, at times I wished the Alliance would have killed the old Orc swiftly instead of nearly leading him in an insurrection.
Weakness. I thought about my own weakness. One that pervaded me, one that I kept wrapped tightly in my chest. One I could not afford anyone knowing — and now, with Proudmoore all but breathing down my neck at every turn, that was a very real possibility. I shuddered in disgust.
Emotion. That is my weakness. I am still capable of it — in alarming strength. I clenched my eyes shut tightly and grit my teeth against the swelling feeling in my chest. When I met with my sisters — a thought which caused that swelling in my chest to lurch and a pressure to build behind my eyes — we played a game. A game where we were to tell two truths and a lie. It had been a snarky idea of fun for me, as well as a little bit of information gathering. Both for personal and other uses. I did not tell them which of my three statements was a lie. I presume they think all three could have been either truths or lies, or any combination in between, but I played the game by the rules.
My three statements were “sometimes I wish I was still alive, I am proud to rule the Horde, and I would never betray my sisters.” But I had already betrayed them — at any moment, I could have made the signal and my Dark Rangers would have shot them down. But the other statements...those were both true.
I unclenched my fist and brought my hand to my chest, to the scar left by Frostmourne. I traced over it with my eyes shut and sighed. My breath wavered slightly when I did. So much was taken from me that day and I still, decades later, could not move past it. I had moved on with my…”life,” sure, but that pain was still something that plagued me day in and day out.
“Sylvanas?” Proudmoore’s voice called from behind the door. I said nothing, she knew I was in here. There was a slight pause. “Blightcaller is looking for you.”
I rolled my eyes, barely resisting the urge to groan. Of course he was looking for me at the least opportune time. I glared at the wall and shut off the water.
“Fine. Tell him I’ll meet him in the war room in ten minutes,” I replied, not a trace of emotion in my voice. Oh, I very nearly let my voice have the bite to it my thoughts held. But I opted for emptiness. Emptiness was safer. Expected. Less... threatening.
That was one of the larger issues, really. I had to be seen as unthreatening. Unimposing. But my very existence was threatening to most of the people who wanted me to be kept under such tight supervision. I highly doubted Proudmoore watched me as closely as she did because she wanted to. At least, not for anything other than relaying any and all information to the Alliance, even if she hovered nearly constantly.
As I tugged on my leathers and fussed with my armor slightly, I figured I owed Proudmoore the smallest fraction of gratitude for her newfound... position in my life. With my outburst and the death of Saurfang, I had very nearly lost my position as Warchief. But when I had finished sulking at Windrunner Spire and mulling over my options, I returned to Orgrimmar. I would not lose my grasp on the Horde as well.
The welcome I received when I’d materialized near where Bloodhoof and Thrall were conversing was...less than warm. Far less than warm, though I hadn’t expected otherwise. Practically every weapon in the vicinity was pointed at me, poised to strike. It was only the large, raised hand of Thrall and his booming voice that caused everyone — or almost everyone — to lower their weapons.
I shook the memory from my mind before I could ruminate further as I tightened the final strap on my pauldrons, pulled my hood over my head, and strode out from the bathing quarters with the sort of lazy arrogance I knew was expected of me. Just because Proudmoore had volunteered herself as my consort to “keep me in line” didn’t mean I was going to change. Far from it, really.
No. If they were going to retain me as Warchief, they would have me as I have always been. I would not become lesser just because I was supposed to avoid confrontation and agreed to be a little less threatening... whatever that meant. I’d play by their rules, but that didn’t mean I’d defer to anyone, bend the knee, or walk with anything less than the poise and power I’d always carried myself with.
Guards in the halls, if they were not Forsaken, still stiffened at my presence. They held their weapons just a little tighter. I could see as the muscles in their legs slowly coiled, attempting to subtly prepare themselves to attack. It made the smirk I always kept on my lips in public a bit more genuine.
I brushed my cloak out of the way of the door with a flick of the wrist as I entered the war room, my eyes settling on Nathanos leaning slightly over the war table, his dull red eyes glaring slightly at something. My eyes met Anya’s for a moment where she was perched on the corner of the larger meeting table in the center of the room. She nimbly and silently hopped down from her spot.
“Blightcaller.”
Nathanos snapped to attention, one hand behind his back in formality as the other crossed his chest in a fist, representing half of the Forsaken salute. His duller human senses had only dulled further in his undeath, though I did what I could to restore much of it when I worked on his body.
“My Lady,” his gruff voice responded. He looked surprised by my entry, as though he had also expected himself to hear my approach. Anya looked smug beside him. “I bring reports of... conflict,” he continued, the bloodlust that colored his new life seeping into his words. His enthusiasm in and around battle had never been hidden, exactly.
“Conflict,” I repeated dryly, striding over to the war table. There were a few more blue pieces on the board than I’d seen in some time. I raised one eyebrow.
It was true that the Alliance and the Horde were supposed to, in theory, be entering a relative time of peace. Without me, the Horde would have reduced itself to a mere council. With me, they wed me to Jaina Proudmoore to ensure there was ample motivation on each side to cease any intentional fights between the factions. Of course, convincing every member of each faction all the way down to the lowest peasant was nigh impossible, but the message had, for some time, been respected. Particularly so by leaders, even if they were not the biggest fans of me.
So, what have those hypocrites done now?
“Gilneans,” Nathanos sneered as I narrowed my eyes. Gilneans, indeed, I noted, looking at the crest on the sails of the figurines off the coast of the Eastern Kingdoms. “They seem to think now would be a good time to try to clear out and reclaim Southshore.”
I scowled. For years, the Alliance — and even Gilneas itself — had seemed to accept the land lost due to the extensive damage the area had sustained after we unleashed the Blight there. Not all of the damage had been intended, the semi-sentient slimes that unexpectedly formed out of the Blight and their ability to spread it further than the intended radius playing a major role in that, but the destruction had served its intended purpose and I cared little for the rest. We did not need the port town. For years, the Alliance hadn’t seemed to, either. Then what has changed?
“From what intel we could gather, my Queen, they have a number of mages aboard their ships. We believe they are there to neutralize what remains of the Blight and use that region as a base in order to forge their way to Lordaeron.” The significantly smoother voice of Anya was a welcome change from Nathanos’s snide and grisly tone. I had not much enjoyed the way he spoke in life, tolerable though it had been, and I certainly did not relish it in death. I hummed noncommittally in response to the report.
“Do they not think it foolish to thus endanger the very life of the one their own people sent to spy on me?” I mused, a hint of mirth in my voice that appeared to confuse Nathanos and amuse Anya.
“I had thought you would be outraged, my Lady,” Nathanos chimed in. The slight smirk that had graced my features at the thought of Gilneas possibly damning their most valuable asset disappeared as I cut him with a glare.
“You speak out of turn, Champion,” I warned him lowly. He was my Champion, yes, but there were reasons I kept him active and in supervision of the Horde champions — the fact that I could barely tolerate him after his... transformation being chief among them. He lowered his eyes. In my periphery, I could see Anya’s smirk widen a touch. She always did delight at his suffering, even in life. I rolled my eyes. “Don’t you see? This could be a boon for us. I highly doubt the boy-king authorized this movement. He would never put his dear ‘Auntie’ at risk. Rather, this speaks of two things: that Worgen mutt continues to function under his own authority and there is enough splintering within the Alliance itself as a result of this Pact that they have the manpower to amass any force to make an unauthorized base in the first place.”
Nathanos hummed, a gravelly sound that spoke of far too much adoration for my taste. I barely bit back a grimace before he turned around from looking over the map once more. I looked at the small models of each nation’s crest that lined the top of the map, Horde on one side and Alliance on the other. I pinched side by side the purple crest of the Kaldorei and the blue and red crest of Gilneas, pulling them slightly away from the rest of the Alliance crests. I then turned around, pacing a wide circle around the room as I spoke.
“It is no secret that Whisperwind and Greymane publicly spoke against the Non-Aggression Pact, even when I was not initially in the picture. While we are privy to the exact words exchanged thanks to Ranger Anya here, we wouldn’t even need them to know this day would come eventually. What I see here is an opportunity to continue our fight against the Alliance in a more subtle, underhanded way, as I am sure you both will delight in hearing.” I nodded subtly at Anya in acknowledgement of her work; though I wouldn’t want her anywhere other than by my side as a Ranger, she truly should have considered the path of a rogue. I took a seat in my high-backed chair at the head of the table, propping my feet up on the corner with one leg crossed over the other. Anya remained quiet with a knowing smile on her face but Nathanos took a step towards me.
“What do you suggest, my Queen?” He asked.
“While the N.A.P. has prevented us from continuing traditional routes of war, the destruction of the Alliance does not need to be violent, or even instigated by the Horde. It would seem, rather, that the Alliance is doing a fine job of splintering itself even in times of... peace,” I drawled. “We need to find ways to exacerbate these fractures...to drive wedges deeper between the nations of the Alliance and pit them against one another without it being even remotely discernable as outside influence. While we cannot fully engage with the forces encroaching upon Southshore, we can certainly toy with them in terms of where we place our own forces. If we make them believe we are ramping up our presence in the area or poising to take the area for our own use, it should agitate Greymane. We can use that old wolf’s paranoia against them. Simultaneously, we can shift our attentions in other regions important to the Worgen and Kaldorei and play nice with the other nations of the Alliance. But it all must be with purpose. Things that we can justify as innocuous while we sow the seeds of unrest. Of course, if we are attacked outright, we retain the right to defend our land.”
It was the sound foundation of a plan. One I would have to enact in stages, in secrecy, without provoking Proudmoore into breathing more heavily down my neck. The first two parts of that were simple enough — after all, that was how most of my plans went. The final bit, though…
“Will that Alliance wench be a problem once things are significantly underway?” Nathanos asked, stepping closer as if to enhance the bitter hatred he managed to condense into the single insult. My ears pressed back slightly. While it was no secret that I was not a fan of the Lord Admiral or her presence in Horde territory, it also went against my few remaining morals to accept such blatant disrespect against my consort from an underling such as himself.
“Nathanos,” I growled in warning.
“Do you deny that she is meddlesome and of compromised moral structu—”
His voice cut off into a mild choking, his discomfort despite no need for air apparent as dark energy wrapped around his neck. I looked at him with a lazy sort of disdain, wisps of shadow trailing slowly from my fingertips.
“Despite her position as an enemy,” I drawled, “that is still my wife you insult.” There was no place for insubordination — no matter the yet-to-be-determined accuracy of the remarks — in my ranks. As much as I loathed the presence of Proudmoore ever so deep in my personal and professional life, I took vows akin to what I would have taken with someone I’d loved in life...someone I’d never had the chance to make a life with. My shadowy grip on Nathanos’s neck tightened at the thought.
Nathanos spluttered, his hands trying to grasp at but passing through the shadowy tendrils that still wrapped around his neck. With a harsh scoff, I let go, standing and looking down at him dispassionately as he dropped to his knees, massaging his flesh where it had cracked minutely. I could hear him attempting to get out a few hoarse apologies as I strode by him and towards the door without another glance.
“Tell the others that there will be new orders soon, Anya,” I instructed as I reached the door. I paused with my hand on the knob. “Tell no one of their content. I will handle this myself,” I continued with a sneer in Nathanos’s direction. He would not put his meddlesome hands into this work. I would think of something else for him to do, something far from any of the covert operations we were about to orchestrate.
Upon returning to my quarters, Proudmoore was, of course, perched on a chair in the living space, as though awaiting my return. Almost definitely awaiting my return, if the raised brow and inquisitive look she gave me were of any indication. I paid her as little mind as I could manage to as I unfastened the clasp of my cloak and removed it with a small flourish. She rose from her seat as I hung my cloak beside the two others I kept.
“Sylv—“
I cut her off with a slight growl, my ears pinning back as I rounded on her. She had dared to step closer to me, so I mirrored the action, bringing us but a foot apart.
“Refer to me appropriately, consort,” I spat.
“You are my wife, are you not?” She replied, her voice low and frustratingly smooth. “I believe that puts us on a first-name basis.”
“This is a political marriage, Jaina.” I had never spoken her first name alone before. I wasn’t sure I liked how it felt in my mouth. “Let there be no illusions about what that entitles you to.”
For a moment, she said nothing. The air was thick with the energies that all but bled from our skin, and it almost seemed that we would come to blows. How we hadn’t already in our yet-few weeks of marriage was a mystery and Nathanos’s pompous behavior had set me particularly on edge.
“Fine. Warchief,” she eventually spoke, quieter but with no less malice. “What business did Nathanos bring to you?”
I very much desired to tell her to shove it, that it was none of her business, and that she should know better than to pry. But that was not the deal that had been made. Truly, a spy of the Alliance in my own quarters, in plain daylight and not even pretending to mask her intent.
“Just a routine report of his field work,” I said, instead. I allowed my posture to relax slightly to back up the false mundaneness of my response. We had not stepped back from one another, and I watched as her eyes roamed over my face. It was as though she were taking in details, studying my appearance without the hood of my cloak for the first time due to our proximity. I raised one eyebrow at her. “Is that a problem?”
“No,” she replied swiftly, taking a half step back. “It simply seemed urgent. More urgent than a routine report.” The suspicion was ripe in her voice even as a touch of red dusted her cheeks. I rolled my eyes.
“Nathanos has...a flair for the dramatic,” I responded dryly, the very genuine annoyance he often stirred in me bleeding into the sentence. “If it is of even marginal importance, he seeks to inform me post-haste. It can be useful, if tiresome.”
All of which were true statements, of course, which aided my bluff. Jaina scrutinized my eyes, which I narrowed at her. The constant interrogation it seemed I’d be under in this marriage would surely grate on me sooner rather than later. I straightened my posture further than normal, using my slight height advantage in my favor to loom over Proudmoore.
“If you are unable to display even one iota of trust in me, this venture is already doomed. The people will not unite or cease their spats if we cannot even function in proximity,” I said coolly. I doubted the people of the Horde and the Alliance would stop fighting entirely even with the Lord Admiral as my consort, an assumption already proven correct by the movements of Gilneas, but the fools of the Alliance and the weaker-hearted members of the Horde seemed convinced this measure would ensure a lasting ceasefire. I realized I could change my tune and use that to my advantage if it meant curtailing Proudmoore’s inquiries into my actions and motivations. After all — when it comes to playing the long con, I have more time than most.
Not to mention patience. Humans are a hot-headed, brash bunch, hell-bent on creating a culture of instant gratification, and yet they still so often fail to accomplish their goals in their brief lifespans. I, on the other hand, already had thousands of years under my belt. Any goal I imagined, I could work towards with ample time to do so, which remained true in undeath. In fact, it was perhaps easier to imagine such a thing as undead, considering I knew there were ways to return should I be killed again.
“The image we portray to the public need not be brought into our private quarters,” Proudmoore replied indignantly. She looked over my features once more, doing a respectable job of schooling the blush out of her cheeks. “In fact, I would much rather it not be anywhere near here.”
She was, of course, referring to the occasional times we were required to be in physical contact. Though I held no more desire to be in contact with her than she did with me, there was, of course, opportunity there to create further discomfort for her. An idea occurred to me, then. It was cruel, perhaps, but any leverage I held over her was power I took back for myself — something I had to slowly regain along with my pride after being so clearly handed a personal spy by the enemy faction in the form of a loveless wife. I took the half step towards her that she had attempted to put between us, placing my hand on her cheek with a slow grin. To Proudmoore’s credit, she did not flinch as she had when my fingers touched hers during the exchanging of the rings at our wedding.
“We will have to act as though things are developing between us, my dear,” I drawled. My touch on Proudmoore’s face and our proximity was meant to be intimidating or at least unsettling, placing the living mage in close proximity to the energies of undeath. At the growing look of irritation on Jaina’s face, I assumed my play paid off.
"And develop, they most certainly will not," Jaina replied with a scoff as she wrenched her face free of my hold, finally putting distance between us. "Forced proximity or not, there will never be anything more between us, Windrunner, than spilt blood and the ashes of war."
There was the spitfire I had come to expect of Proudmoore. The scheming, underhanded ways the Alliance wanted her to gather information didn't suit her. If she wanted something, or felt strongly about something, she’d make it clear. It fit her namesake.
"You know as well as I do that we are going to have to uphold certain images," I drawled, returning to the process of removing the cumbersome parts of my armor. As I unclipped my pauldrons and brought them over to the rack, I looked over my shoulder at her. "There will never be peace between our factions if you and I, the face of this little union, cannot move past our own grievances...at least on the surface.”
Jaina averted her gaze as I continued to doff my armor, stripping down to my leather legguards and chest wrappings. She was doing a fine job of making it look as though she was very much trying not to look. I was, of course, aware that part of the scar I bore from that accursed blade was visible with my breastplate removed.
“Go ahead, look all you want,” I drawled, unable to keep all traces of self-deprecation from my voice to my immense displeasure. “You will surely see it sooner or later, so go ahead. Gawk at the scar. I know that’s what everyone wants to see now when they look at me.”
No longer was I a figure of vanity and great beauty. No, that had been taken from me, too. Perhaps it was for the best. In this new life, with the responsibilities I held, there was no room for dalliances or even true romance. The unwavering loyalty and understanding my Rangers held for me was as close as I would get, barring the farce of my union to Jaina Proudmoore. But that hardly compared, given its artificial nature.
Jaina glanced at me, clearly meaning to barely take a look, but her eyes lingered on the rough tissue I knew and could always feel marring my skin. There were parts of it that would never truly heal, always burning an icy chill that my dulled sense of pain would always pick up traces of. The edges were raised but the blade ran so deep and with such unholy power that the center of it never fully scarred over. Instead, it was rough, and dented, tender to the touch. A weakness I had to cover continually. Just another weakness.
She continued to look at me until I shifted my weight, the motion snapping her out of her apparent trance. Glancing up at me, I could see a myriad of emotions and thoughts in her eyes before she masked them with a faux impassive visage.
“Satisfied?” I asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Plenty. I had no need to look further,” she replied in clipped tones. It was, of course, a lie, but not one I was inclined to call her out on. It would have only led to the discussion of topics I had thought far too much on that day already.
“Good. Get used to it. I have no inclination to change my lifestyle simply because you brought it upon yourself to be my watcher and wife,” I responded plainly. She was simply going to have to get used to being around me. It was her responsibility, which she chose, and whatever that meant she’d have to deal with was what she’d have to deal with. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have paperwork to attend to in correspondence with Nathanos’s report.”
It was true, and I made my way to my desk in the next room in order to begin work on them. Some of the more detailed reports as well as numbers and requisition forms had been delivered while I received the debriefing from Nathanos and I would need to deal with them swiftly if things were to proceed discreetly.
Proudmoore made no move to follow me, returning to her perch in the living space, thankfully. The further she stayed from our plans to dismantle her little Alliance from the inside out, the better. Her presence was intrusive and smothering enough already without her breathing down my neck about our more covert, subversive operations.