Chapter Text
I wet my lips, quill struggling to keep up with my mind. I glance at the book passage while my hand keeps writing. Finishing the sentence in my notebook, I scribble a note in the margin as well. Then I scrutinize my hasty scribbles. It's almost there. If I can just put together all these little puzzle pieces, I'll have a complete image—an image with a far greater depth of field, one that'll tell a more complex story. She reaches over and puts the quill I abandoned back in its holder.
My gaze shifts back and forth between my notes and my book. My head feels leaden, my mind hazy. I take a sip of my still lukewarm cup of tea. If I were to turn in now, one of two things would happen; either I'd wake with a fresh set of eyes and the energy to complete the puzzle, or I'd wake with no idea what any of my messy notes are even talking about. I can't risk the latter. No way. As I sift through my writing, it occurs to me; perhaps I already have all the pieces. Perhaps it's not a brand-new puzzle, but instead its pieces fit into images that I've already studied. They would plug into my incantations like powerful glyphs, augmenting them. Perhaps this is enough?
"Wait, wait, hold on," she says. My gaze snaps up. Holding up her index finger, she grabs her quill with a wrinkle between her brows.
"I think I've got something, here." My curiosity pierces the mind-fog. She scribbles a new note alongside the hundreds of others in the margins, next to a section of text that I'd merely glossed over. I can't rule out that I might have dismissed it all too quickly. She finishes writing, stuffs the quill back in its holder, and leans back in her seat with her arms crossed.
I lean over to read her note. 'My name is Jaina Proudmoore and I study too much' it says, a little smiling face with its tongue out drawn below it. I scoff and glare at her, a smile pulling at the corners of my mouth. Her own grin is stuck somewhere between smug and sheepish. I put my hand on her shoulder and place a kiss on her marked jawline. Her smile grows more genuine, and she turns to face me. Our lips meet and butterflies flutter through my stomach. I close my eyes. She puts her calloused palm on my waist, and the butterflies do little somersaults. Pulling back with a deep sigh, I poke her nose with my finger.
"You're right, Arthas. Come on, I think I'm ready to give it another shot," I say. I take her hand in mine and we rise together. We stride out the door, skip down the stairs already illuminated by orange candlelight, and step outside on the damp, fragrant lawn. The sky above has turned shades of pink and purple while we were gone. I let go of her and shake my hands in an attempt to limber up. She yawns and stretches her arms above her head, eventually letting her hands settle behind her head. Her linen shirt rides up in the process, blessing me with a glimpse of her abs. While my insides turn warm and fuzzy, I try to concentrate.
I plant my feet on the grass, close my eyes, and breathe deeply. The breeze rustles the crown of the oak trees by our side. Birds chirp on the roof behind us. I furrow my brows and hold my hands out in front of me. Shivers run down my spine and electricity tingles through my fingers. I channel the elements. The dew clinging to the grass quivers and pulls towards me. My mana evaporates with my breath. This time, I utter a different incantation. I channel the energy into a different shape. I construct the beast from the bottom up instead of visualizing the whole thing from the get-go.
A sharp exhalation rocks through my body, and I open my eyes. The creature takes shape right in front of us. My eyes widen—the water elemental is so much bigger than it was this afternoon. Breath stalled, I creep towards it, hand reaching out in front of me. It doesn't mind when I touch it; it merely glances at me with its eyeless face. Its watery body no longer unravels wherever I touch it. Instead, it moulds and changes its form around it, reforming it when I withdraw my hand. It's incredibly stable—especially in comparison.
"It's huge," Arthas says, gawking at it. I turn back towards her, smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
"It worked!" I exclaim with a little hop. Her face lights up right alongside mine. "I was right! The typical incantations and channeling methods just aren't effective enough, this is so much more stable," I gush. I skip towards her and throw myself into her arms. She squeezes me tight, lifts me up, and spins me around, leaving me giggling in her arms.
"I told you, didn't I? I told you, you could do it! Who needs those stuffy, old wizards when we've got you?" she says. I gaze into her eyes—she's lifted me more than high enough to do so. I press my lips against hers, close my eyes, and wrap my legs around her broad waist. I can still taste that fragrant black tea on her lips and on her tongue. My stomach tingles and I smile through our kiss. I could stay here, in her arms, wrapped around her forever. It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
*
The large tome rests on lap, squishing my thighs into the grass. My quill hovers over a fresh patch of parchment, words dancing on the tip of my tongue. I swallow them and continue gaping instead. Shielded from the sun by the leaves above me, my eyes are glued to her back. Watching her muscles work is like studying a feat of natural engineering. Uther taps her shoulder and she wipes the sweat off her brow. I can't hear what he's saying from here, but I know that expression. 'That was good, but I know you can do better, princess. Keep your head in the game,' I imagine him saying. Arthas rubs the nape of her neck and stares at the ground—I probably wasn’t that far off.
My breath stalls when she grabs hold of her long, blonde hair and lifts it off of her back. She ties it into a messy bun with the leather strip that was wrapped around her wrist. Her shoulder and upper back muscles are now in full view. My stomach tingles and I have to remind myself to breathe. Uther motions for her to watch him. He demonstrates a rather flashy move, and they slowly go over each step with their mauls. He corrects her stance a little bit, and I can almost see her pout from here. Finally, she tries it herself on the dummy, holding nothing back. I curl my toes when the solid dummy all but crumbles underneath her pummeling.
There's no big whoop between them. They merely nod at one another, and Uther gives her a fatherly slap on the shoulder. They part and Arthas finally turns in my direction. Our eyes meet and electricity shoots through my body—from my throat and all the way into my toes. She smiles. Not the slightly smug, crooked one she usually wears, but a sugary sweet one that hatches new butterflies in my stomach. I can't help but return it, albeit sheepishly. She rests her maul on her shoulder and swaggers towards me. Even before she arrives by my feet, she towers over me.
"Working hard?" she asks with a twinkle in her eye and sets down her maul on the grass beside me.
"I could ask you the same thing," I say, gazing down at my abandoned notes and reading material. The ink on the tip of my quill has long since dried out by now.
"Do you want to go do something more fun?" she asks and scratches her jaw. "Are you hungry?" I tilt my head at her.
"I thought you were busy training," I say. She shrugs.
"We’re taking a little break. You know how it is. Uther’s an old man, he gets so tired," she says. And there it is. That crooked smirk.
"Definitely not a mutual agreement," I say, eyeing the sweat still glistening on her skin.
"Definitely not," she says with exaggerated eye-roll. With a little sigh, I close the book, using my stack of notes as a bookmark, and put it down beside her maul. She immediately extends her hand to help me up, and I grab it in what becomes an effortless rise. When I get up, I don't let go of her warm hand. Instead, I start walking and simply pull her along.
"Okay then, I can show you my favourite place to read," I purr.
"You don't want lunch?" she asks. Now it's my turn to flash a crooked grin.
"I already ate," I say.
"Oh," she sighs. I drag her through the training grounds and gardens, never once letting go of her. Every step of the way, our mere presence attracts stares and concealed whispers. Royalty always seems to be a sight for sore eyes. I shrink, bow my head, and hurry myself under their gazes. She soaks it up. I finally straighten my back again when we reach my little hideout; a stone bench that sits underneath a huge oak tree, flanked by well-tended bushes. From here, we have a perfect view of the lake's cerulean waters, and we're completely sheltered and alone—besides the lakeshore opposite us.
"Oh, so this is where you disappear off to," she muses. Her gaze scans our surroundings, taking in the scenery I've come to be so familiar with.
"It's perfect for studying by all myself. It's always a bit more quiet here than anywhere else and—well, I'm sure you can already tell. And the tree shelters me from the rain," I explain. I sit down on the bench and she follows me, movements perfectly in sync with mine. With a deep sigh, I lean into her, resting my head on her shoulder. She wraps her arm around me, gives me a kiss on my hair, and strokes my arm with her fingers. My heartbeat evens out and I close my eyes. Somewhere nearby, a bird sings a little melody. A few trees down, another responds. Waves gently lick the shore, one by one. The scent of humid grass hangs thick in the air. But I can still smell the salty sweat on her, alongside the hint of lavender in her hair and her natural scent underneath. I'm willing to bet that I'll never forget that smell as long as I live.
A sting in my gut punctures this paradise. Pressing my lips together, I nuzzle my head into her collar bone, and she squeezes me tighter. I look up at her while a little sigh creeps out of my throat. Her smile is gone. Our gazes are comparably somber.
"I don't want to leave," I whisper. She rests her cheek on my head.
"I know," she says. We stay like this for a dozen long seconds, breathing in unison. What I need and what I seek is in Dalaran, not here. But my body aches from the mere thought of being without this. Without her. For who knows how long. I swallow hard and clench my jaw to keep the prickling sensation in my tear ducts at bay.
"It's for the best, I think," she says, tone lighter. "Then you can become an even more powerful mage. The very best in Azeroth." At that, a smile tugs at the corners of my mouth.
"I know," I say.
"The strongest, the smartest, and the cutest," she muses. I can’t help but giggle. "I'll make sure to come visit, of course," she says.
"Do! Otherwise I'll be surrounded by nothing but boring old men. And a lot of them," I say with a grimace. She mirrors my expression with an exaggerated scoff.
"We can't have that," she says and shudders.
"I'd die from boredom," I mutter, and now it's her turn to giggle. She closes her eyes laughing and covers her mouth with her fingers. My stomach turns fuzzy at the sight. I could listen to her forever.
"You know, we should do something special before I leave," I say, twisting the hem of her shirt between my fingers. She tilts her head to the side.
"Like what?"
"I don't know. Like... maybe go somewhere nice and spending some time together, just the two of us," I say. There's that crooked smile again, and the fuzziness grows all-consuming.
"You mean, like what we're doing right now?" she asks, raising her brows. I roll my eyes and attempt to pout.
"Maybe you should just throw yourself in the lake or something. There’s a send-off," I say, crossing my arms and my legs. She snorts and jabs a finger at me.
"Don't tempt me, I'll do it," she says. I click my tongue.
"I was joking, show-off." She stands up with a loud sigh and tightens the leather band keeping her hair up.
"I can't believe you're daring me to do this," she says. I drag my palms down my face, but it doesn't stop the laughter building in my chest.
"I'm not daring you," I say, voice bouncing with giggles. She saunters towards the lake, gesturing wildly as she speaks.
"Unbelievable! You’re supposed to be such a nice, sweet girl, Jaina, and yet here you are, almost pushing the poor princess into the lake. For shame!" she narrates. I stand up to follow her, keeping the items in my pockets in place with my hands. I’m trying to keep my smile under control as well, but it's not quite working.
"Fine, but I'm not helping you dry off afterwards," I state. She looks back at me with a gaze that makes my knees as weak as a gelatinous dessert.
"Are you sure about that?" she purrs. I kick the dirt under a tuft of grass and lower my chin with a pout.
"No," I mumble. Her smile widens, and she slowly pulls up her shirt as she strolls towards the shore. I almost have to sit back down as she reveals to me her voluminous back muscles. My breath has stalled completely.
"That wasn't five minutes, Arthas," says a gruff voice behind me. I jump with a small gasp, and Arthas nearly falls over, shirt halfway pulled over her head. I spin around to see Uther glare at his royal student with an eyebrow cocked and his arms crossed. My cheeks catch fire, and my gaze shifts back and forth between the two. Arthas is blushing as hard as I am when she finally twists her shirt back down.
"How did you—" she starts, but Uther interrupts her.
"I saw you from the other side of the lake," he states with a huff, pointing to the opposite shore. I stare at her with wide eyes and a tight-lipped smile.
"Imagine that!" I say.
"Let's get back to it, princess. It's not your job to sit around and canoodle," he says. Arthas lowers her head a little.
"Of course, Uther, my apologies. I'll be right with you," she says, amicable as ever. Uther eyes us both, turns on his heel, and strides away from our little oasis. Arthas rubs her nape with a deep sigh. My heart sinks with the thought of her following him already. I take a few steps towards her, and as soon as I’m in range, she places her hands firmly on my hips. I reach up and cup her cheeks. They shift with her smile. We kiss once more. Just a short one. I close my eyes. Her lips are soft and gentle against mine. My tongue peeks out to trace them and she lets me in. Our tongues caress and our breaths mingle. My heartbeat rushes through my ears, and my entire body feels light around my hammering heart. We part, and I rest my forehead against her chest.
"You taste like mint," she whispers.
"Oh? I did have a little bit of peppermint ice cream for dessert. I didn't think you could still taste that," I mutter. I suppose my breath is more minty fresh than I thought.
"I should..." she says, already trailing off. My eyes fly open. The contents of my pocket suddenly feel heavy and burning hot.
"Wait," I say. I shove my hand in said pocket and caress the smooth metal.
"I—I was waiting for the perfect moment to give you this, but, really, I suppose any moment is fine—any moment is just as perfect, really. I keep just—it keeps—you know. Anyway. Here," I ramble, pull out the gold locket, and hand it to her. Her eyes widen and she wiggles her fingers at it like a covetous child.
"Oh! How handsome," she says, plucking it from my grasp. She holds it up to the light, examining it in all its shimmering glory. My heart beats faster and the butterflies in my gut vibrate.
"Thank you," she says, smiling brightly at me. I point at it.
"Open it up," I say with a tiny voice. She furrows her brows and pinches it between her fingers.
"Oh, it's a locket!" she exclaims. She quickly presses her nails against its sides. It clicks open. As she gazes upon its contents, her smile widens and her chest bounces with laughter. The butterflies turn into prickly little needles.
"Hey, don't laugh!" I whine. She covers her mouth with her fingers.
"It's you," she giggles. I cross my arms with a huff.
"It was a lot of hard work getting such a tiny little painting," I say. She just keeps giggling. I press my lips together and cast my gaze to the grassy ground.
"Well, if you don't like it, I can just—"
"Are you kidding me? I love it," she interrupts. My gaze shoots back up and my cheeks catch fire. "It's adorable."
"I figured I'd give you a little something to remember me by," I say, rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet. She closes the locket and puts it on, carefully maneuvering the gold chain around her messy bun.
"That's perfect. Thank you," she says, pressing another kiss to my lips. We part and simply gaze into each other's eyes for a few long moments.
"Meet me at the library in a few hours? When you're done training?" I say with too much air. She blinks multitudinously, then nods.
"Of course."
"Then we can figure out what we should together before I leave."
"I thought I was throwing myself in the lake?" she says with a smirk, pointing at it with her thumb.
"Well, I’m sure you’ll still have plenty of time for that," I state. With a wink, she strides in Uther's footsteps. I'm left smiling from ear to ear, rocking back and forth. Then I realize I have to go the same way to pick up my book.
*
I brush the ice flakes off of my hands. The ogre runs back in the direction it came as fast as its massive legs can carry it. I don't even have to command my elemental to stay its hand. Our minds are as one, and it won't chase the brute down unless I demand it. With my hands swept clean, I reach into my cape and procure my pocket watch. I press my lips together—I'm later than I already was, thanks to those damned ogres. Trudging along the road once more, I try to calculate how late I'll end up being. It might be another five or even ten more minutes. I put the watch back in my cape pocket, look up, and stop dead in my tracks.
Her face lights up as soon as our eyes meet. My heart skips a beat and struggles to find its rhythm again. I wring my hands, fiddle with a button on my cape, and smile right back. Five seconds in and my professional facade has already been smashed to pieces. I stride towards her and I can only hope my heavy steps don't betray my jelly knees and my quivering stomach. She turns and says something to one of her solider; I could swear it looks like 'I told you so'.
"Gentlemen," she says and swings her maul over her shoulder. "Let me introduce you to Miss Jaina Proudmoore, special agent to the Kirin Tor, and one of the single most talented sorceresses in the land." She gestures towards me as if she was presenting a magnificent new statue in the town square. The soldiers all nod and mumble in acknowledgement. She eyes my elemental with a twinkle in her eye.
"And it looks like you certainly haven't lost your touch. It's good to see you again," she says. Her gentle tone is like music to my ears—an old, familiar tune that warms my heart. Standing in front of me now, it's as if she has an aura of innate greatness. I tilt my head at her, smiling and trying to stop fiddling with my cape. So far my attempts are unsuccessful.
"You too, Arthas. It's been a while since a princess escorted me anywhere," I say. Her smile nearly curls into a smirk. I can only imagine the memories going through her head. If they're anything like mine, she has every reason to be coy.
"Yes, it has," she mutters. Our gazes linger. I pull at my cape with the urge to step forward and leap into her arms. Her eyes examine my face with an intensity I can only assume means that the feeling is mutual. But her soldiers are shuffling their feet and staring at us both. She clears her throat and clicks her tongue.
"Well, I guess we should get moving," she says. I straighten my back and let go of my cape.
"Yes, indeed. Our sources say that this plague originated in the region north of here. So I reckon we should investigate the villages along the King's Road," I say. Arthas nods along with her warriors. With a snap of my fingers, my elemental implodes into a simple puddle of water. Some of her warriors jump in place, and I have to hide my snort and giggle behind my collar.
The soldiers form a loose formation in front of us in preparation for a long march. As soon as they turn their backs to us, Arthas and I gaze at each other once again. Fighting back all hesitation, I hop towards her and wrap my arms around her. She immediately returns the hug despite the ludicrous amount of plate mail between us. My fingers seek out the softer spots where plate doesn't cover her. Her breath and her warmth send shivers across my arms. She rests her head on my shoulder and I take in her scent. Her hair is even longer than I remember, but it still carries that whiff of lavender.
We part, clear our throats, and adjust our hair and clothes before marching alongside her troops. A few of them quickly divert their gazes and look ahead as if they'd never once peeked. The urge to fiddle with my cape is all but gone.
*
I run my fingers through my hair and massage my scalp. My head is as heavy as a full suit of armour. I can barely see straight or think straight. At this point, the map looks like one big blob of beige, ink, and muted hues. With a deep sigh, I tear my gaze away. The tent is nearly pitch black. The single candle by my side is nowhere near enough to illuminate this entire space. Leaning against the designated map table, the cold finally sinks in. It's crept into my toes and fingers and only now do I notice. Not that I mind much. It’s so paltry compared to the ice I command. It is, however, dead quiet outside.
I pick up my chamberstick and trudge out of the tent, carefully maneuvering the flame under the tent flap. My feet ache from being on them all day. Even now, maps and drawn lines and little troop figures are swimming past my mind's eye. I take a deep breath and let it out through rounded lips. I have to trust that the soldiers and strategists know what they're doing. I have to trust in Uther. I have to trust in Arthas most of all. If I don't, then who truly will? But the dark forest around us feels alive with the thoughts of scourge monsters and cultists. If the plague spreads further—if it reaches a place like Stratholme...
I blow out my candle and put it down next to the several-kings-sized tent. I don't want to trudge on any longer, towards my own temporary abode. The mere thought punches a heavy void through my gut. Instead, I sneak inside and kick off my boots. Even in the dark, I can see Arthas' outline. She's propped up on- and surrounded by mountains of pillows and blankets. A smile tugs at my lips. If the cold has gripped even my toes, hers must be freezing off by now. I’m fiddle with the clasp of my cape when she shoots up and stares at me. I gasp and nearly yank the clasp off. She exhales harshly and drags her palms down her face.
"You scared me," she mutters.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper with a grimace. "I thought you were asleep." She plops back down while I finally manage to take my cloak off.
"No such luck," she says. I twist off my shirt and my pants, leaving me in my undershirt, bodice, and cotton pantyhose. I climb into bed next to her and she tucks me into her blanket fort. It's very toasty down here. Arthas turns to face me.
"A lot on your mind?" I ask, my voice barely beyond a whisper. She nods. I'm beginning to be able to properly make out her face in the dark.
"And you?" she asks. I flash a weak smile.
"Too much." She puts her hand on the small of my back and I scoot closer, pulled towards her by way of pure instinct. Settling into her grasp, my body reaches perfect blissful comfort—but my mind is still full of maps. No matter how much I try to breathe slowly and deeply and take in her scent and her warmth, these thoughts keep finding backdoors to slither back into my mind.
"Do you have a good feeling about this at all, Arthas? Are you sure we're on the right track?" I mutter. She tenses against me. Silence reigns between us for a few moments before she answers.
"I have to be sure. I have to trust that this will work—that what we're doing isn't all for nothing," she says. I press my lips together.
"But do you believe in it? Really?" I ask. The silence between us is thick and sticky, causing my throat to feel like it's closing up.
"We're all the people can count on right now, Jaina. If we fail..." she says, trailing off. I squeeze her shoulder—the muscle is rock hard with tension.
"I know. It's okay," I whisper. She shakes her head and I brace myself—I know that expression very well by now.
"It's as if people don't think I realize just how bad this is, but I do. I do. But if I don't fight this, then who will? Who's actually going to protect these people? They'd just let them die, completely unceremonious, and leave their deaths unavenged. It's ridiculous, and yet they think I'm the unreasonable one. I—we can't just retreat and leave these people to that fate. We can't just—just—" she rambles.
"It's okay," I repeat. She sighs harshly with her brows furrowed and her jaw set.
"We have to fight this. We have no other choice," she whispers. I stroke her collar bone gently and rhythmically.
"I guess I don't have to ask what's been keeping you up," I say. We stay silent in each other's grasps for a few moments. I soak up the warmth of her body and she plays with my hair, twirling it around her finger over and over. Were she anyone else, I'd tell her to stop. But I can feel her muscles ease up as she twirls.
"At least you're here with me," she says. A sheepish smile spreads across my face and I brush a few long strands of hair away from her face.
"You know, I was so, so thrilled to hear that you'd be the one accompanying me," I say, tone gentle and mushy. She cocks an eyebrow at me.
"Was?" I exhale harshly and my smile widens.
"Am. Am thrilled," I say.
"Well, alright, you never know. I could've made some kind of blunder and not even noticed," she says. I nod with my lower lip jutting out.
"That has been known to happen."
"It sure has." I can't help but giggle at her.
"I just wanted to throw myself at you and tell you about all the things I've learned since I last saw you," I muse, still picking at that collar bone. She examines my expression.
"I'd still love to hear," she says. I raise my brows.
"Really? Are you sure?" I ask. She nods with a big grin.
"Yeah. I can't promise I'll understand any of it, but I'll listen hard," she says. My smile turns sheepish once again and I finally pick at my own collar bone instead.
"Okay then, if you insist. Jeez, where should I even start..." I start by describing to her the most important parts of my discoveries about ice magic. Elemental magic is always such a joy to work with, but ice and water most of all. It molds itself to your will, your emotions, your expectations—an extension of your very being.
As I explain all this to her, in far more detail than anyone but my teachers and the nerdiest of my fellow students would tolerate, my hand slides down her arm and settles on her waist. She's bigger than I remember. Both stronger and softer, as if she's filled out since I last saw her a few years ago. I've had the peace to study intensely for all these years, certainly, but now the myriad of thoughts I’ve had about her every morning, every evening, every slightly dull moment come rushing back through my head. Thoughts and fantasies about her laugh, her lips, those arms. What she’d say when I told her about everything I’d learned—how she’d look at me. Seeing her on the road, surrounded by her soldiers, tall and regal and powerful, she truly looked the part of the warrior princess. But in the quiet safety of her tent, she's still as familiar to me as my favourite book. My fingers curl around the gold locket that hangs from her neck, nestled on her bosom. It's just as shiny as it was when I gave it to her—only the fine chain shows a little wear. Its warmth seeps from my hands and all the way into my heart.
Despite my chattering, tension still radiates off her. I slide my hand over her shoulder as I speak. Yep—the muscle is still hard as a golem's fist. My eyes settle on her face. Her green eyes only stray from mine to gaze upon my flapping lips. A warm, tingling sensation spreads from my torso and throughout my body until my cheeks heat up—and not because of the toasty temperatures of her blanket fort.
"And? What's that do?" she asks. I realize I've finally stopped talking. My body guides me, as if Arthas has her own gravitational pull—to soothe the old aching void in my chest. To fill it once again with something better.
I press my lips against hers, breathing already heavy. She takes a few seconds to catch on. Then she puts her hand on my hip and presses her body against mine. I almost gasp from the sensation. I trail my tongue over her lips and she lets me in. Our tongues caress—gently, but with a shared enthusiasm. My hand slides down to her ample ass to give it a tight squeeze. Arthas brushes her lips over my jawline. Then she peppers my neck with kisses. All the heat rushes through my body and pools in my crotch. My hands roam across her, eventually settling on her bare thighs.
She places her fingers on my crotch. I didn't think I'd been this desperate, but I'm responding like a wilting meadow to fresh rainfall. I tingle with electricity—far more so than my fingers do when I summon. This is much more powerful. Overwhelmingly so. She presses her fingers against me and starts gently rubbing through my tights and panties. My back arches by its own volition. I smack my lips against hers once more. Slowly, teasingly, she pulls her hand up and slides her fingers down my panties. Every inch is anguish. She touches me anew and I’m already pathetically wet.
She resumes rubbing me. I grab her nape, hard. I have to grab on somewhere. She smiles against my lips. I can’t help but pull back and hide my head in her shoulder. Every breath has become a struggle. The tingling sensation courses through my being. My hands and knees and feet quiver. I'm like a single rose shooting through the earth, blooming fragrantly, bringing life to everything around it.
I press my mouth against her shoulder. Anything to quiet myself. I can't control the squeals. Electricity surges. Heat peaks. The tension in my stomach vanishes with my breath. My chest feels impossibly light. I could just implode like a burst of magic. I go limp in her arms, breathing heavily against her. She pulls her hand back out and gives me a big kiss on the cheek. We lie entangled in one another for a few long moments while my limbs regain their strength and feel less like jelly. Suddenly I'm aware of just how hot and sweaty I am. My hair sticks to my forehead while the pyre in my crotch subsides.
I stare into her eyes, and she into mine. She regards me as if I was a precious, fragile gemstone. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth while tears itch in my tear ducts. It takes me a few moments to find the words, to put together a sentence, to decide if I want to tell her. The tension might be gone, but my hyperactive mind is a rigorous beast.
"If I don't get the chance to say it again, I will now,” I whisper. “I love you.” Butterflies flutter in my gut as I speak, but the itch in my eyes only gets worse. Her smile fades and turns into a tiny wrinkle between her brows.
"Come on. Don't say that. Don't talk like that," she whispers and averts her gaze. My teeth sink into my lower lip.
"I'm sorry. I had to—I have to say it. I don't know why it had to be like that, but it did. I just—"
"An outburst of love, perhaps?" she quips.
"You're awful," I mutter, but her crooked grin is infectious. She strokes my cheek as I cup hers.
"I love you too, Jaina. And I'll get to say it again. We both will. Promise," she says. Before the tears spring forth on their own, she delivers them with another kiss—the softest one she's given me all night. She brushes them away with her thumb as they roll down my cheeks. We part, and I gently push her shoulder and waist. She lets me—otherwise I probably wouldn't have moved her an inch. Pushing her onto her back, I slide on top of her and straddle her waist. Her breathing shallows.
"Well, if it was an 'outburst of love', you earned one. Now, let me ease all that tension for you, too," I say, making an effort to mask my mushiness with a sultry croak. I place my hands on her shoulders and she firmly grips my thighs. Her cheeks go from a warm pink to absolutely tomato red.
*
I step closer like a cat on the prowl. Crouching down, I support myself with a transparent hand on the tree beside me. I'm finally within earshot of them. Angling my head slightly, I listen close and try to tune out the rustling grass and chirping birds that surround us.
"This land is lost. The shadow has fallen and nothing you do will deter it. If you truly wish to save your people, lead them across the sea, to the west," the old man says, gesturing as if he was in a dramatic play. It's almost as if his every word is imbued with intrinsic magic, spilling out into the atmosphere surrounding him. The sensation sends shivers down my spine. I swallow hard to keep the needles in my stomach at bay. Arthas narrows her eyes at him with a wrinkle on her aquiline nose.
"Flee?" she says, then raises her voice and jabs a finger at him. "My place is right here, and my only option is to defend my people!" He clenches his teeth and seems to slump ever so slightly.
"Then you've already made up your mind," he states, shaking his head. This tiny gesture is enough to make her press her lips together and raise her shoulders. The needles sting momentarily. My legs are ready to thrust me towards her and do something, should she choose to floor him. He holds a finger up in front of him.
"Just remember—the harder you strive to slay your enemies, the faster you'll deliver your people right into their hands," he warns. Her hands ball up into fists. I jump to my feet. She takes a step towards him, but he flourishes his brown cape. It billows behind him and with that motion, fabric turns into feathers. She pauses and steps right back again. He crouches down and within the blink of an eye, he's enveloped by feathers and his form is no longer human. His raven self takes off with a few flaps of its obsidian wings and floats away above her head. If looks could kill, the one she sends it would've stopped its heart on the spot. I step out of my hiding spot and trudge towards her. Breathing deeply, my invisibility fades like dew dripping off a cold glass of water. Arthas catches sight of me, sinks her teeth into her lower lip, and stares at the grassy mounds beneath her feet. I pick at my nails as I approach her.
"Sorry about concealing myself, Arthas," I mutter. "I just wanted to—" Now it's her who holds a finger up in front of me. Her gaze snaps back up to glare at me. It's a darker look than those she usually levels at me, but it's nothing like the one she shot that old raven.
"Don't say it," she growls. I breathe a shaky sigh, the sound of which makes her gaze just a tad gentler.
"I sensed tremendous power about him, Arthas. Maybe—maybe he's right? Maybe he does know what will happen," I say, speaking to myself just as much as to her. She shakes her head with a groan before she marches along the road anew, maul swung over her shoulder. I quickly trot along to keep up.
"Nothing he says will make me abandon my homeland, Jaina," she says. Her tone has the slightest hint of mushiness to it. "I don't care if he has seen the future." I press my lips together and stare at the road ahead without truly looking at any of the trees or the pale blue sky or the many crows hovering above us. His words repeat themselves in my head, again and again. The harder we fight them, the faster our people will suffer.
"Just... consider things for a moment, Arthas," I say. She exhales harshly and I can hear her adjust her grip on her maul. "This plague is turning our people into their troops. Maybe the best thing we can do is just evacuate, instead of throwing more people at them. If every loss turns into their gain, we might make things much worse if we try to strike at them," I muse, thinking aloud more than anything. Processing these thoughts chills me to my very core. She throws another glance in my direction.
"Of course we'll lose a few soldiers. It's inevitable, unfortunately. Completely inevitable. But if we mount a hard and precise strike, those sacrifices won't be in vain. If we can prevent them from turning our civilians and instead tear down the heart of their operations, they won't last long," she says. Usually her last sentence would be accompanied by a crooked, confident smile and a thumb hooked in her heavy belt. But no such thing today. Now she merely gazes ahead, expressionless. Even her tone sounds monotonous.
"I don't know if it'll be that simple. We've never faced anything like this before. Something that targets regular people like this, a force so overwhelming, so... insidious," I say. I deliberately pause, waiting for her response. It never comes. I glance at her—she's chewing on her lip and constantly readjusting her grip.
"I know you want to help, Arthas. I do too. But I just don't know if this is the best way to do that. Logical doesn't always equal glorious," I say, keeping my tone gentle and soft like a caress of her cheek. She scoffs through a smile, and I can't help but furrow my brows slightly.
"If we can't beat them back, who else can? If we're able, don't we have a duty to put our lives on the line for our people? Driving them from their homes and their lives isn't how we do that. Trust me, we can do this. We only need to be fast and strategic in our approach. We'll do fine. We'll do just fine," she says, nearly whispering the last sentence. She looks at me, maintaining a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. For once, I just don't have the heart to smile back.
"Oh, I hope you're right," I say. She blinks, smile faltering slightly, and looks ahead.
"I know I am."
*
The stench is overwhelming. Covering my mouth and nose with my hand does nothing to put a damper on the thick and heavy air. A wave of that rotten smell billowed out of the crates when the soldiers opened them, but it was bad even before that. So bad, it should've been obvious. It was to us—Arthas’ jaw tensed the second the stench hit us. It's yet to come unclenched and probably won't for a good while yet. The flies are everywhere. They're circling the grain silos obsessively and are now migrating towards the exposed grain in the crates. How in the world did the townspeople not notice? Or have they been starving so badly that they had no choice but to eat something so rancid?
My stomach feels as though it's trying to digest itself—and not just because of the building nausea. I glance at Arthas again. Her hands are balled into fists, her stance is completely rigid, and her gaze is as icy as a glacier. Any minute now she's going to either explode or shut down.
I motion to grab her hand, almost instinctively. A loving touch could help ward off any huge outburst. But she jerks away from me, as if she saw me coming, and starts pacing back and forth without rhythm or pattern. She only stops dead in her tracks when Uther finally approaches down the road. The dozen seconds it takes him and his knights to reach us are pure agony. She's clenching her hand so hard, her nails must be digging into her leather glove. No matter how much I want to, I can't stop fiddling with the button on my cape.
"Glad you could make it, Uther," she says, tone dripping with such venom, I can't help but grimace. Uther presses his lips together. The dark circles under his eyes age him far more than his grey hairs and wrinkles.
"Watch your tone. You may be a princess, but I'm still your superior as a paladin," he says, pointing a finger at her. But there's little spite in his voice. It's as if he's saying it out of obligation more than anything. On the contrary, Arthas holds nothing back.
"As if I could forget," she snarls and rubs her temples. "Listen, Uther, there's something you should know—" She trails off with wide eyes, leaving Uther to furrow his brows. He opens his mouth to speak when we all follow her gaze to the city. My heart skips a beat and I clench my fingers around the clasp. Even from this distance, we can tell. The Stratholme citizens have a green hue to their undertone. They move sluggishly, as if they're lost on the streets they grew up on, aimlessly roaming their own backyards.
"It's already begun," she whispers. Uther shakes his head, blinking wildly.
"Arthas, what're you—" I take a step towards him.
"It's the plague, these people are infected," I explain, tongue almost stumbling over its own words. "We saw the same thing happen in Hearthglen. They eat this infected produce and—and the disease doesn't kill them. It turns them undead, it transforms them into what we've been fighting." Uther pales, eyes widening. I sink my teeth into my lower lip—I've never seen him make an expression like that before.
"What?" he exclaims with too much air. Arthas turns back towards us. Her movements are stiff and mechanical.
"This entire city must be purged," she states. My jaw drops.
"What?!" Uther repeats. "Arthas, you can't be serious!" She shakes her head.
"We can't risk this spreading. We can't risk it getting any further. This is where it ends," she says. Shivers slither down my spine. My stomach is ice cold. Uther raises his voice, finally shaken from his disbelief.
"Arthas, be reasonable! How can you even consider this? There has to be some other way. Perhaps a quarantine—" Arthas bares her teeth slightly. Her gaze has hardened further, and there's an intensity to it that makes me bite down on my lip so hard, it hurts.
"That's not enough, Uther! If stopping the plague means killing every single person in this city, then so be it!" she interrupts. Soldiers and knights alike shuffle their feet and glace at one another. Nausea writhes in my throat.
"Whatever happened to protecting the people, Arthas? Have you abandoned that principle in favour of butchering them?"
"This is how we protect them! This is how we protect everyone else in the kingdom!" she shouts.
"There has to be another way!" Uther insists, nearly shouting as well. I can feel my knees shaking. Arthas lets out an irritated groan. Her hand grasps at nothing, as if she's itching to crush someone's windpipe.
"Dammit, Uther!" she growls. She takes a deep breath and regards him with an icy glare.
"As your future Queen, I order you to purge this city," she commands. Uther scoffs.
"You are not my Queen yet, girl. Nor would I obey that command if you were," he says, just as calm and collected. Her nostrils flare and she lowers her chin. If we weren't surrounded by troops, she'd probably lunge for his throat right about now.
"Then I'm afraid I must consider this an act of treason," she says, donning her formal, regal tone. My breath stalls. Uther and I are both left gawping at her. I clutch at my cape so hard, I might tear off a button.
"Treason?! What’s gotten into you?!" Uther sputters, before she continues.
"Lord Uther, by my right of succession and the sovereignty of my crown, I hereby relieve you of your command and suspend your paladins from service," she states, cold as a glacier. Something between a gasp and a sob shoots up my throat.
"Arthas, please! You can't just—" I say, but she swiftly cuts me off.
"It's done!" she snaps, then regards the soldiers surrounding us. "Those of you who actually want to save this land will follow me. The rest of you? Get out of my sight." For a few seconds, nobody moves a muscle. Uther's knights are the first to retreat. One by one, they return down the road they came from, murmuring amongst themselves. Uther glares at her. His gaze is fiery, but there's a solemnity to his wizened features. He jabs a finger at her.
"You've just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas." She barely acknowledges his words, deigning only to scowl back at him. He turns to leave with his knights and trudges down the gravel road with a heavy sigh. I take a wobbly step backwards. Then another. I look down at the withering grass. My teeth are stuck in my aching lip and my hands are clenched around my staff and my cape. I've made no conscious decision to follow him. Instinct makes it for me.
"Jaina?" My gaze snaps back up. All the icy spite has left her tone. It's now as soft as velvet, as gentle as her caress. Her features have softened and she's regarding me with the big, wet eyes of a sad puppy. Her hand is reached out towards me ever so slightly. I shake my head at her, tears blurring my vision. For a few seconds that’s all I can do.
"I'm sorry, Arthas... I can't stand by and watch you do this," I whisper. Her breath stalls, expression turning ghostly. Her hand drops to her side. I blink harshly and force myself to turn around, away from her. Then I jog after Uther, breathing ragged and unstable. It takes me a dozen seconds to catch up to him. Despite my better judgment, I look back. She stares at the ground, side to me, jaw set. She finally adjusts her grip on her maul, turns towards her soldiers, and barks orders at them. I tear my gaze away from her.
*
I throw open the tent flap and stride inside to peruse my heaps of books, notebooks, and assorted notes. My stomach is tying itself into one big knot while I search for the single book I need—one out of 87 exactly. Scrutinizing book titles and old notes is already nursing a tiny headache. But I know I brought that ancient book with me. And if I use the alternative channeling methods, I can no doubt help the Orc's friend. Of course, I already could, but vaporizing fel energies is no simple task. The smoother, cleaner, and safer the process, the better. If I can find these notes, I can very likely bring him back as good as new.
With a tiny gasp, I spot the book I need. I pull it out from the middle of a massive stack, nearly toppling them all over. My chest immediately feels a touch lighter, and my breathing is less constrained. The headache, however, has already sunk its icy cold claws into my mind. If I’m very lucky, I'll have time to soothe it before we have to perform the rites.
I allow myself a tiny smile at the sight of my old bookmarks between the pages. One of the numerous advantages of being a diligent student. I flip through the pages, bookmark to bookmark, scouring the main text and my notes in the margins. Finally, I land on the right page, its margins filled to the brim with notes. Breathing a sigh of relief, I pore over my old scribbles.
Then I freeze. My body goes numb. My breath catches in my throat and that throat feels like it's closing up. 'My name is Jaina Proudmoore and I study too much'. Followed by a drawing of a goofy, smiling face. For a few long seconds I stare at it, the ice in my stomach immobilizing me. Then I brush my thumb over the letters. To feel their indentations in the paper—as if they might jump to life. As if they'd summon her. The old her. It feels like it's been centuries since I last saw that handwriting. I can still visualize how it used to look, back when neither of us were ace spellers. Back when every letter she wrote was capitalized.
I swallow hard. Fire stirs in my gut. I pinch the page between my fingers. It would take so little effort to tear the note out. To crumble it up and throw it away, never to be seen again. I press my fingers together so hard, it hurts a little. But the tearing motion never begins. My hands won't obey. They're left trembling with unused force. My arms tremble with them. Then my lower lip.
I slam a hand onto my desk for support. Sob after sob tears through my chest until I can no longer suppress them. My vision blurs. I can't see the letters of the book that lies abandoned in front of me anymore. My other hand flies up to cover my mouth. My sobs will stay here between me and the old words. Tears roll down my cheeks, not unlike a burst dam, and my heartbeat rushes through my ears.
My chest is empty. There's no tension, no fire, nothing. Just a big, gaping void. A prickling numbness that starts from a big pool in my gut and spreads through my entire body, making nausea slither up my throat, making my knees feel like they're about to give out. I close my eyes. Tears spatter onto the desk below.
The tent flap is pulled aside.
"Miss Proudmoore—" I whip my head up. Through the tears I can see Thrall stare at me, wide-eyed. He slowly lets the tent opening slide shut behind him. Wiping my tears on my sleeve, I clear my throat and take a deep, shaky breath.
"What is it?" I ask. He hesitates and audibly swallows.
"Uh, I—the, uh—excuse me," he stammers. I tuck a stray tuft of hair behind my ear and try to lean casually against the tear-stained desk.
"It's fine, Thrall. I'm fine. What is it?" He flashes a tiny smile and shuffles his feet.
"Your sorcerers have called for you at the ritual circle. They said they needed your advice on something," he says. I roll my eyes with a groan.
"Of course they do," I mutter. He holds his palm up towards me.
"But... take your time. I didn't get the feeling that it was 'life or death' urgent," he says, his tone and voice remarkably gentle. I nod at him, pulling the corners of my mouth up into a weak smile.
"Alright," I say. He nods back at me and ducks out of the tent. My smile fades immediately. I sigh, breath still quivering, and glance down at the book. I grab a piece of paper, dip my quill, and furiously copy the notes I need, keeping my eyes well away from hers. Then I slam the book shut, lean against the desk, and cover my face with my hands.