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Sylvanas looked over the coffin before her, eyes impassive as behind it, a group of deathstalkers stood nervously at attention. It had not been easy for them to recover their target from its resting place, and no one could say they’d even remotely failed in their mission - a feat that considering the nature of said mission, would surely earn them each a medal - but all the same, Sylvanas’ cold yet burning gaze made them want to instinctively find a bed and hide under it.
“I trust there were no problems recovering her?” She finally spoke, her tone neutral. The underlying question was clear - were they found out?
“No, my queen.” The leader of the trio, a girl by the name of Felicity Artois, replied with what remained of what was once surely an Alterac accent.
Sylvanas didn’t reply immediately, instead continuing to passively scrutinize the corpse in front of her, the way a lounging cat might. Finally, after what felt like an eternity for the poor rogues at attention, she opened her mouth again.
“Very well. You are dismissed.”
Were it not for their innate paucity of breathing, they would not have been able to keep themselves from visibly sighing in relief at the command.
“Thank you, ma’am.” Felicity spoke quickly, before the three of them cleared the room as fast they possibly could without breaking into a run. The moment the door closed, Sylvanas smiled. Lain before her was the weapon that would end the war and secure a favorable and lasting outcome for the Horde.
Derek Proudmoore would have been a devastating tool, but the political backlash from the means she had used to make him had almost lost her the Horde entirely. The job that lay before her now would have no such flaws, for it depended on a skill that came as naturally to her as archery; one which she had wielded time and time again against friend and foe alike, one that could only gain her support both amongst the Horde and the Alliance.
It depended on the ancient art of seduction.
Despite the number of SI:7 eyes on Orgrimmar, none of them had been able to even begin to divine information as to the warchief’s latest advisor. There was no idea as to where she came from, what role she served, what skills she possessed, or even who she was. All they knew was that the hooded forsaken was female, and that she and the warchief were nearly inseparable.
It quickly grew to the point where she actually became a rather significant person of interest for SI:7, putting her on the same level as the likes of Nathanos Blightcaller and Varok Saurfang before his betrayal.
That was the working theory at the moment, that she was a recently killed Alliance officer brought on to replace Saurfang. It would make sense. Who better to help counter the Alliance’s tactics and forces than someone who knew them intimately and extensively?
Even so, eyes were one thing, assassination was another. Being that they were at war, anything more than surveillance in Orgrimmar required extensive preparation, planning, and skill; enough to where SI:7 had to be sure of the target before executing any direct action. At least, those were the rules for a normal target. For one who never left the dark lady’s side, they weren’t even going to try.
As such, they simply kept eyes on her, taking home with them little to no information other than that Nathanos did not seem to care for her in the absolute slightest.
Only a few months later, Genn Greymane stood in the throne room of Stormwind Keep, standing closest among a number of leaders and advisors to a sitting Anduin. He’d worked hard to place himself in a position close to Varian, and while that relationship had come to an end before he could use it to direct him against her , Varian’s death at the Broken Shore had proven to be only a minor setback, one which had quickly given way to a far more valuable relationship with his son.
Anyone who paid even the slightest attention to Alliance politics, let alone Stormwind’s, knew who the real King of Stormwind, and of the Alliance, was. From the moment he’d returned from Stormheim without punishment, it’d been decided. For all Anduin’s wisdom, for all his command over the light, for all the power he held sitting on that throne, he was still ultimately a puppet, one whom it had not been difficult to push to act against the banshee queen, even before war broke out.
The quiet clopping of hooves next to him distracted him from his thoughts as he turned to see an azure draenei was a scoped rifle on her back standing next to him. He recognized her as one of the Alliance’s champions and a veteran of both Stormheim and Gilneas - someone he’d worked with several times before, and who had, among other things, extensive experience dealing with the undead.
“Tsalindra.” He addressed her quietly while Anduin gave some rousing, inspiring, absolutely heart-moving speech about unions or something to a member of Stormwind’s working class.
“Message for you.” She spoke casually with only a hint of a Draenei accent. When last he’d seen her, it’d been much stronger, and her syntax had been much more formal. Someone had clearly been working on her common.
“From?”
She shrugged, something that knowing her meant she’d rather not say as opposed to genuinely not knowing. He sighed.
“Fine, give it here.”
Reaching into a small pack at her side, she withdrew between two fingers a very formal looking off-black envelope, the kind one might use to invite people to a funeral.
He stared at it for a moment, before snatching it out of her hand in one fluid motion. A cold fury built inside of him as he recognized the wax seal of Lordaeron holding it shut, something that had clearly been carefully chosen for this message in particular.
A scowl adorning his feature now, he quietly unsealed the envelope so as not to disturb the court, to find a thick white card inside, while Tsalindra stepped past him to place a similar envelope on Anduin’s armrest.
You are cordially invited
To attend the wedding of
Warchief
Sylvanas Windrunner
of the Horde
And
Queen-Mother
Tiffin Ellerian Wrynn
of Stormwind
To be held
In the Stormwind Park
On the night of
June 14
He hadn’t realized he’d shifted until a canine snarl escaped his lips as he crushed the invitation in his hand. All eyes in the room turned on him. Tsalindra was already gone.
Anduin’s tone was one of calm and concern. “Does something trouble you, Genn?”
Greymane turned to look at the boy, the rage in his eyes almost feral in its intensity. The boy didn’t know, he realized as he saw the unopened black envelop sitting next to him.
“Read.” He growled, gesturing with a claw to the neatly presented missive, the one in his hand all but shredded at this point.
Anduin didn’t seem particularly fazed by the expression on Genn’s face, or his tone, instead calmly glancing down at the message before gently picking it up.
Genn watched as the boy’s eyes widened momentarily at the sight of the ornate “L” of Lordaeron.
After a second of pause, Anduin opened the envelope and withdrew the small white card. The effect was immediate, the king going as white as one of the banshee’s rangers, his mouth falling open in an expression of absolute horror as his hands began shaking uncontrollably.
Genn never thought he’d see such a response from Anduin to, well, anything. Even visiting the site of his father’s death hadn’t gotten such a strong reaction from him.
The card fell from his hand, drifting across the floor to rest in the center of the room.
A dark look came over Anduin’s face, a mix of rage and despair. It wasn’t just that she’d raised Tiffin, it wasn’t just that she was marrying what was left of the poor woman, it was the fact that she planned to march into Stormwind and marry her there, in front of the entire Alliance, on the anniversary of the woman’s funeral.
It was the worgen leader who ultimately broke the silence again.
“Well? Are we just going to let her get away with this?!” He shouted, his fist slamming into the stone next to him.
For the first time in living memory, King Anduin Wrynn was at a loss for words.
Lor’themar’s voice rang out calmly through the throne room of Grommash Hold.
“Lady Sylvanas, our history together is one without compare amongst the Horde. That it why it is with the absolute utmost respect that I must ask: are you completely insane?!”
Sylvanas, for her part, held an expression that was completely blameless, among other things. Next to her stood the well preserved form of Tiffin Wrynn, as full of poise and grace as she had been in life.
“I really do fail to see the issue, Lord Regent.” Sylvanas spoke, taking a relaxed if a bit bored position in her seat. “The Alliance’s dead belong to the Forsaken as they always did. Tiffin was no exception.”
The look on Lor’themar’s face was a one of sheer incredulity.
“Southshore was one thing, the world tree was one thing, but this !” He awkwardly gestured with both arms to Tiffin, who for her part wore a pleasant, kind smile.
“I assure you, she’s acting of her own free will.” Sylvanas replied.
“And what about this?!” He held up his own invitation, pointing to the text at the bottom. “You expect to hold the wedding in Stormwind?!”
“That was actually my idea, Lord-Regent.” Tiffin chimed in sheepishly, raising a gentle hand.
Lor’themar’s gaze turned to her as his mouth fell open in a look of shock and horror. “Tell me you’re not serious!”
She rubbed the back of her neck, clearly nervous now. “I just think it would be really nice if I could see Stormwind and my son again.”
His face fell as he felt defeat closing in on him. “What makes you two think he’ll even let you in?”
Sylvanas shrugged. “The boy-king misses his mother. I doubt he’d be able to deny the chance to see her again.”
“The chance to see her alive again.” He shot back as he began to calm down. “Let us not forget that your own sisters now lead factions of the Alliance against you.”
Sylvanas sat up as her hand curled into a fist, teeth bared, eyes blazing with an immediate fury.
Tiffin was quick to react, gracefully taking Sylvanas’ other hand and clasping it gently between her own hands.
A noticeable calm rolled over the banshee queen, her eyes still terrifying to behold but the rest of her clearly relaxing.
“I suggest” she spoke coldly “you not bring up my sisters in such a manner, Ranger-Captain Lor’themar.”
It was a cheap shot if ever there was one. Even so, the Lord-Regent had to concede that he’d incurred it.
He sighed. “Let’s end this before either of us say something we might regret. Assuming Anduin does allow the ceremony to go through, I will be in attendance.”
“Thank you for confirming your attendance.” Sylvanas replied with a cold venom.
Genn Greymane couldn’t believe this was actually happening. Neither could the other Alliance leaders, judging by their expressions. Tyrande’s in particular was one of unrestrained fury, while Alleria’s was one of disgust. The only person who really looked unsurprised was Vereesa.
He’d tried to talk Anduin out of allowing the ceremony to happen, something that had quickly found him being met with immediate resistance from the boy-king. If it was Varian who’d been brought back, Genn might have had a solid chance of convincing him, but Anduin had never had a mother, something that had weighed on him for as long as Genn had known him. Even if she was a monster now, the opportunity was impossible to refuse. Besides, he’d always been soft on the undead like that, something that despite his best efforts he been unable to stamp out in the boy.
That was how it had to come pass now that they now all exited the meeting room in Stormwind Keep, Anduin having just laid out the state of events and what was going to happen. They’d received several more messages from the Horde in recent days, including, among other things, correspondances from undead wedding planners.
Even worse, Anduin had actually signalled a willingness to work alongside them, and apparently the first arrivals from the Horde were due in a few days. They were mostly elves and undead, the former of which Greymane could at least live with. Even so, there were apparently going to be a few orc chefs as well as a number of Kor’kron showing up ahead of time, neither of which he liked any more than the undead.
As he stormed down the hallway and turned a corner, he felt a presence next to him.
“This doesn’t have to happen.”
He turned his head to see the delicate form of Vereesa Windrunner strolling alongside him, an unnaturally nonchalant expression about her beautiful features.
“And what do you suggest I do about it?” He growled, having been aiming for a quiet tone of skepticism only to have his anger overshadow it.
“Wouldn’t it be a shame if the bride happened to be killed before the night of her wedding?”
Genn stopped.
“You realize what you’re saying is high treason both against your king and against the Alliance.”
Vereesa turned her body towards him, now speaking far more quickly.
“And what happens if the wedding goes through? The war, over. Any chance at bringing Sylvanas or the Horde to justice, gone.”
Greymane knew she was right. The days leading up to this atrocity happening would be the last chance he would ever have of avenging Gilneas if he didn’t do something fast.
“Let’s say I went along with this,” he conceded, “what would you have in mind?”
It had been a long time since Tiffin Wrynn had seen her home, and while she was excited, a part of her was also scared, for a number of reasons. Coming back after missing so much, a part of her was terrified of feeling out of place. And then there were her people. Sylvanas had told her the living shunned the Forsaken, even between loved ones. How would her people treat her if they saw her again? What about her son? She didn’t think she could bare the thought of Anduin hating her after all this time.
“How are you feeling?” came the ethereal sound of Sylvanas’ voice from behind her. They were standing in their bedroom atop Grommash Hold, getting ready to take a portal to Stormwind.
Despite her best efforts to remain beautifully composed as always, getting dressed was probably the hardest part of her day now, which was why she now sat on her side of the bed, staring at the dress laid out in front of her.
“I’m okay…” She spoke softly. There were two things she hated about getting dressed - the first was having to look down at the cold, grey horror that was what was left of her body. She didn’t think she’d ever quite get over the horror of seeing that. The second thing was the dulled sense of touch as she put any sort of clothing on. Where once she loved the feeling of fabric on her skin, now it made her skin crawl.
She felt Sylvanas’ take her hand as she sat next to her.
“Things will be okay.” she spoke gently, tipping Tiffin’s chin up so as to make eye contact. “I know everything is still scary right now, but I promise you, if anyone in all of Azeroth will accept you for who you are, it’ll be the little lion.”
Tiffin paused for a moment, as if to take a breath she no longer could, before giving an anxious nod.
Sylvanas leaned in and pressed her lips to the woman’s for a few seconds, before pulling back out.
The former queen couldn’t help but smile. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now, would you like some help getting dressed?”
It wasn’t long before they could hear Horde leaders, champions, and other invited guests mingling downstairs in the throne room. They were planning to arrive a few days early, primarily so that Tiffin could take some time to see Stormwind again.
She’d been briefed on the plan as it stood. The first group, made up of the guests, champions, etc downstairs would take a portal to arrive at the gates of Stormwind where they’d be escorted by a mix of Alliance and Horde personnel to their lodgings during their time there, wherever those might be.
The second group, made up of just the two of them along with a few guards, would take a portal directly to Stormwind Keep, which would be kept under heavy security on both sides. A bit much, perhaps, but it wasn’t hard to imagine more than a few overzealous humans or other Alliance members wanting to kill Tiffin Wrynn again for one reason or another. From there, they‘d stay in separate rooms until the wedding proper.
It only took a few minutes for the throne room to clear out as people streamed through the portal below into Elwynn Forest. A knock on the door signalled the arrival of the mage, supposedly one of the few Horde champions who’d been to Stormwind and made it back in one piece.
“Enter!” Sylvanas called out, causing the door to timidly creak open as a red haired elf girl stepped through.
“Ah, Kyala.” The banshee spoke as she took Tiffin’s hand. “We’re ready whenever you are.”
Tiffin had never taken a portal before. Even just seeing one for the first time had been exhilarating and unnerving at the same time. When she was alive, the only mages one ever saw were in Dalaran or Quel’thalas.
As the rift in spacetime snapped into being, it felt almost surreal to her, looking through and seeing Stormwind on the other side.
“Just hold onto my hand and relax.” Sylvanas spoke gently, tightening her grip. “I promise it’ll be fine.”
She nodded quickly, biting her lip.
“Ready?”
She nodded again. Sylvanas immediately stepped through the portal, before yanking Tiffin through by surprise, causing her to let out a surprised yelp as she fell forward, landing on Sylvanas on the other side.
“Not funny.” She quipped. Judging by the soft grin on Sylvanas’ face, she hadn’t been very convincing.
“M… Mother?” Came a voice from above them. The woman looked up to see a tall blonde boy clearly no older than 20 staring at her with a conflicted but nonetheless very emotional expression.
“Anduin…” Her own voice was no more than a whisper now as she took in her son. He looked so handsome and perfect. She couldn’t help but smile.
“Little lion.” Came Sylvanas’ voice from under her, reminding her that the banshee was very much still pinned by her body and causing the expression on Anduin’s face to turn into a firm scowl in response to Sylvanas’ own smirk.
Tiffin quickly got off her fiance, standing up to face her son with a look of pure joy.
“Anduin, I’ve waited so long to see you again. I’m so proud of who you’ve grown into.”
Anduin nodded slowly, his face now settling on quiet shock. “You’ve… had a long journey, mother. Why don’t you let one of these fine gentlemen show you to your room?” He gestured to one of his guards, each of whom she could see had a look of either terror or disdain in their eyes as they stared at her.
It wasn’t lost on her that their journey had consisted of an entire three steps through a portal.
“O… okay.” She spoke as one of the guards stepped forward.
“We’ll speak later. Of that I give my word.”
The second she was gone, Anduin’s rounded on a now standing Sylvanas, eyes burning with a rage to match the warchief’s own on the worst of days.
“I’ll see you burn for your crimes someday.” His voice was low but certain.
Sylvanas’ smirk only grew wider. “Is that any way to speak to your mother, little lion? I could send you to your room if I wanted.”
That only made the rage upon his features intensify. “Go.”
Another guard stepped forward, causing Sylvanas to spread her arms in a gesture of smug compliance, before following without issue.
A number of Horde soldiers quickly came through following their warchief, exchanging tense stares with the Alliance forces as they went to help secure the pair’s rooms.
The moment the portal closed, Anduin turned and strode off to his room without another word to anyone.
The sound of the door clicking shut once he got there told him he was alone. He fell to his hands and knees, swiftly emptying his stomach onto the floor below him. It was her. It was really her, and she was an undead. For 20 years he’d gone to sleep every night thinking about his mother, imagining this warm, radiant woman; and instead all he’d gotten was a dessicated corpse.
It wasn’t just an insult, or a taunt by Sylvanas, it was a strike at the very core of his being, one of the most personal and sacred things he held onto, now ripped away from him forever. He looked down at his hands to realize they were shaking again, before rolling over onto his back. Of all the horrors she could ever conjure, this was one he had feared only in his darkest nightmares - and she had made it a reality.
He stared up at the ceiling. How many times had he lain here, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what she would say if she could see him, and what he would say back? So many times he’d imagined, had hoped, she’d be proud of him.
She was here now, he realized, and she had said herself that she was proud of him.
He sat up, having reached a decision.
She at least deserved the benefit of the doubt.
Tiffin Wrynn sat on the bed in her room, contemplating her situation. The last time she’d sat on this bed, in this room, was when her family had brought her here as a girl to be wed off to Varian. She’d despised them at the time. She’d despised him especially. How things had changed.
This time around, at least, it was with someone she genuine wanted to marry. That alone, she would’ve once given anything for.
He thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a gentle knocking on her door.
She nervously called out “Come in.”
Anduin entered the room quietly, closing the door behind him.
She stood up, a mix of joy and terror now battling each other within her.
“Mother,” he began, “I’d… like to apologize for how I acted earlier.”
She paused. That was a good sign, at least. She gave a nod. “Apology accepted.”
The room went silent again, Tiffin looking hopefully at Anduin, and Anduin looking awkwardly at Tiffin.
“... so you’re really going to marry her, then.”
Ah, right. There was that issue, wasn’t there? She’d been so excited at the idea of seeing her son and Stormwind again that she’d forgotten that her fiancé was the leader of the Alliance’s greatest enemy.
“...Yes.” Her voice was gentle as ever.
This time it was Anduin’s turn to nod, his expression polite but otherwise unreadable. “I see.”
Her heart sank.
“Does she make you happy?”
Her lips broke into a bright smile. Even in undeath she could still light up the room with a single smile. “Very much so.”
Anduin sighed. “Then I suppose that’s all that matters right now.” It was only for a second, but Tiffin could’ve sworn she saw the faintest flicker of a smile on his lips.
He stepped forward, taking her hand gently. His skin felt so hot, did he have a fever? No, she realized. She was just so cold.
“Mother, I…” he started, before seeming to take a moment to choose his words. “Would it be alright if I showed you around Stormwind myself?”
She nodded. “I would like that very much.”
Stormwind turned out to be far larger and grander than she ever remembered it being. While the original quarters built after the Second War were about as she remembered them, there was so much else new to explore!
As they passed by people from all walks of life, Tiffin noticed a certain level of reverence being extended to their king. More importantly, though, the once-beloved queen now noticed the looks of absolutely hatred and disgust she received in contrast. It wasn’t that they didn’t know who she was; with the scale of the wedding plans of the past few days and the Horde personnel marching openly through the streets, everyone in Stormwind knew exactly who she was. It was just that they didn’t care. To them, she was just another rotter now.
She’d worried that this might happen when they first planned to go out. Part of her had wanted to go out at night, if for no other reason than it was more comfortable for her than being in the sun. At the same time though, a city’s people were as much a part of it as its infrastructure, and so she’d ultimately asked that they go out during the day.
If Anduin noticed his people’s reactions at all, he paid them no mind, continuing to narrate the tour inside.
“The harbor is just around the corner. I actually was the one to order it built when I had to take over for… uh.” He trailed off as they strolled along the city canals.
“Even when you were a baby, he knew you’d do great things one day.” She replied. Even despite the hatred from the city’s people, she couldn’t help but feel ecstatic. “I just don’t think he planned on such a young age.”
As they rounded the corner, Tiffin looked out over the large monument in the distance, standing out over the ocean.
“Who’s that dedicated to?” She asked.
“That’s actually, uh, father’s. Well, his and everyone else who fell against the Legion. I was planning on having us visit it later, after seeing all the other sights.”
She stared out at it. “Could we visit it now?” Her voice was soft, but in a different way than it normally was. It sounded almost entranced now.
“By all means.” He replied as the pair turned and strode around the edge of the canal toward Lion’s Rest.
It was a magnificent piece of art, she thought as she got close. Certainly the kind of thing someone like Varian deserved.
“I never got the chance to tell you about him, did I?” She spoke as she looked up at the inscribed wall standing over the ocean.
“He used to tell me a lot about you. He said you were kind, and beautiful, and that you always knew how to calm and comfort him even in the worst of situations.”
She couldn’t help but smile sadly. Coming back after so much had changed was so surreal to her, even now. At the time of her death, Arthas had been heir to Lordaeron and best friends with her husband, Sylvanas had just been the famed Alleria Windrunner’s younger sister, Anduin had been just a baby in her and Varian’s arms, and the orcs had been their enemies. She supposed the orcs still were their enemies; it was she who had switched sides. That was all to say nothing of the fact that the Stormwind Park used to be where she was now standing.
The first time Sylvanas had told her how Varian had died, she’d been so angry at everything and everyone around her. It wasn’t until she’d seen the rest of the Horde that she’d really come to realize that the world she’d been in only a few moments ago was gone entirely. Varian had just been one of the last parts of it to disappear.
She felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her, and turned to find her son’s head on her shoulder.
“I love you, mother.”
Tiffin found herself in a state of surprise for a few seconds before her smile resumed and she returned the embrace.
“I love you too, Anduin.”
It was the night before the day of the wedding as Dark Ranger Vorel patrolled the courtyard. She’d never gotten a chance to see Stormwind when she was alive. She’d always heard that, as far as human cities go, it was something to behold; but the tense political situation coupled with her duties as a farstrider had prevented her from ever even thinking about visiting.
All in all, she found it nice. While it didn’t hold the tall spires or magical aura of Silvermoon, her time in Lordaeron had given her a soft spot for human architecture, which in turn had been the reason she’d been chosen to deploy to Dalaran during the Northrend campaign. The result was that she now found the Stormwind to be positively cozy.
Of course, that was without the looks of disgust and loathing from the local populace to think about. She wished she’d thought about visiting when she was alive, to see what it was like without being forsaken.
“Excuse me!” Came the sudden chirp of a young looking kaldorei girl as she came jogging towards her. The girl’s presence there was suspicious at best, but part of the agreement for having Horde security in place had been for their weapons to remain stowed unless a clear and immediate threat presented itself.
“What are you doing here this time of night?” The dark ranger quickly demanded. While it wasn’t unusual for their druidic cousins to have certain nocturnal tendencies, it was when they were living in human territory.
“Oh! I just got lost and I was hoping you could direct me to the exit!” The kaldorei said.
Vorel didn’t even notice the sound of the arrow flying until it was too late.
Before the dark ranger could even hit the ground, Selissa Moonsparrow had caught it and was already dragging it into the shadows. The plan was simple. She and her sisters would purge the deader and hide it from view, where Vereesa Windrunner would be waiting, made to look like a dark ranger. From there the quel’dorei would steal its weapons and uniform while the worgen disposed of the body, before heading directly for the former queen’s quarters.
“You got her?” The silver haired elf whispered as she dragged the body around the corner.
“All yours.”
Once she had quietly set the body down, she immediately melted away into the darkness. Her job was done, and it was better not to linger.
Vereesa pulled back the hood of the corpse in front of her.
‘Vorel.’ she smirked ‘Long time no see.’
It only took her a few admittedly unpleasant minutes to fully disguise herself as the dark ranger. The act unsettled her, not because she was stripping a corpse, but because the very last thing she ever wanted to think about was herself as one of her sister’s dark rangers.
The moment she let go of the body, a clawed hand reached out from the darkness and snatched it away. She preferred not to consider exactly how they were going to dispose of it.
She stepped back out into the light. While she spoke Common and Thalassian flawlessly, the garbled pidgin that the undead had come to speak was something that she was not able to pass as a native speaker of. Coupling that with the fact that unlike a dark ranger’s voice, her own did not have that same ethereal echo, and the only way she’d be able to make it to the queen-mother’s room was by not speaking at all.
One thing she found particularly lucky however was that unlike most of the forsaken, the elf ones didn’t have the same jerky, awkward sense of movement. They at least seemed to move around like they were still alive, sans breathing.
Resuming the general direction of Vorel’s patrol, it wasn’t long before she rounded the corner to see two figures standing outside the queen-mother’s quarters, one human and one orc.
She stopped herself from giving a sigh of relief. She wasn’t supposed to breathe, after all. Still, it was good news. If it’d been an undead standing guard, she would’ve had trouble convincing them, but not even an orc would be stupid enough to interfere with one of her sister’s elite.
As she neared the door, she saw the human’s eyes dart to her, before widening slightly and returning to attention. He recognized her, she realized. No matter, he clearly wasn’t willing to stop what was going to happen. The orc meanwhile outright averted his eyes from her. Good. Had she been a real dark ranger, he’d have every reason to be terrified.
As she stepped into the room, she saw the queen-mother sitting on her bed, reading a book, before looking up from her text as the sound of the door closing alerted her to Vereesa’s presence.
The elf no time, drawing her bow and knocking an arrow in maybe a second, before drawing it back in even less time. She saw the undead’s face freeze in an expression of fear as she stared at her, hands clutching her book tightly now.
Before Vereesa could loose the shot, however, she felt a blade being pressed to her throat, followed by the sound of someone turning visible behind her.
“Ah ah ah,” Came a sing song voice she recognized as none other than that of Valeera Sanguinar, “Naughty.”
‘No…’
Vereesa slowly undrew the bow, before dropping it entirely as she felt her entire world crashing down around her.
The sound of the sin’dorei kicking the door open behind her confirmed that it was all over as she heard the rogue call out.
“Lads! I could use some help in here!”
Followed by the sound of the guards rushing in and the feeling of Valeera’s blade disappearing from her throat as she was grabbed by the orc and forced to the ground while the human tied her wrists.
The last thing she saw as she was dragged out of the room was the queen-mother staring at her in confusion.
A cell in the Stormwind Stockades was not the place she’d imagined herself spending a Friday night. Being caught conspiring would have been one thing, being caught trying to kill a dark ranger would have been one thing, but being caught alone with an arrow aimed point blank at the target? It was by far the worst possible outcome.
The sound of a heavy door opening told her her night was about to get far worse. As Anduin came into view flanked by a pair of guards, Vereesa immediately kneeled.
“My king.”
Anduin’s face was cold, while his eyes shone with a mix of anger and disappointment.
“Vereesa.”
The sound of another set of boots caused Vereesa to look up as Sylvanas came into view, flanked by a pair of orcs. Whereas Anduin’s expression was firm and diplomatic, Sylvanas’ was far less restrained.
“Dear sister.” The banshee sneered as she took in the sight “Were you really so jealous that I was paying attention to someone else?”
Anduin held up a hand. “Would you like to explain your actions, Vereesa?”
She looked between him and her sister, laying out her words carefully in her head before sweeping them aside altogether in favor of what she really wanted to say.
“For the Alliance.”
Anduin sighed. “And would you like to tell me who else might have been involved in this attempt?”
Vereesa shook her head. She was many things, but she was not someone who ratted out her co-conspirators, as her dear sister knew so well.
Anduin stared at her. “Very well, then it seems you leave me no other option. Vereesa Windrunner, for high treason and for making an attempt on the life of a member of the Horde, I see no other way to handle this than to hand you over to them for sentencing.”
Vereesa’s face, before having been cold and impassive, now dropped into a look of outright horror.
“No…” she looked at Sylvanas, who wore a cruel grin as she stared at the silver haired elf. “No!”
She heard a portal opening behind her.
She cried out “Please I’ll do anything!” But Anduin had already begun to leave. She ran up to the cell door and gripped the bars as tightly as possible, just in time to feel a pair of magical chains wrapping themselves around her, dragging her backwards toward the portal as she held on for both life and death.
Sylvanas placed a cold hand underneath her chin, before tipping it up so that Vereesa could look into her cold, raging eyes.
“Do not fear, sister. You wanted so badly to be a dark ranger; consider your wish granted.”
Tears now flowed freely from Vereesa’s eyes as Sylvanas said something to her guards in Orcish, causing them to begin to pry her fingers off the bars by force. She knew though that no matter how hard she sobbed, it would be nothing compared to the ethereal wails she’d soon be forced to give.
“Have a nice trip.” Sylvanas cooed as the last of her fingers was ripped from the cell door, before she was dragged out of the cell and through the portal to meet her eternal reward.
The next night’s ceremony went off without a hitch. The moment Sylvanas saw Tiffin stepping down the aisle looking beautiful enough to make an elf jealous, the moment she said “I do”, and the moment she pressed her lips to hers, she knew it had been one of the greatest plans she’d ever devised.
The ceremony itself had been all to Tiffin’s design. The entire wedding was. The woman had told her how she’d never had a say in her wedding to Varian. As such, it was the least Sylvanas could do to give her love the wedding she’d always dreamed of. Even the food was to her selection, made up entirely of what had been her favorites in life. Though she couldn’t taste any of it now, she’d said she wanted others to be able to.
At the end of the night, as the pair prepared to step through the portal to their new life, or lack thereof, together, Sylvanas looked back at the scowling face of Genn Greymane just long enough to mouth a single sentence at him, a sentence so often spoken by her people as a way of saying goodbye:
Victory for Sylvanas.