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Chapter Text

Jaina was becoming fairly convinced that Thrall was trying to punish her.

That would be a plausible explanation for why, out of all of the territories in the Horde, he had sent her to aid the Undercity. He could have sent her to the warm desert of Orgrimmar or the high cliffs of Thunder Bluff, either of which would have been preferable to this– the spindly, barren trees dotting Tirisfal Glades that damned her as soundly as the grey pockmarked stone that stood before her. Damaged masonry was all that was left to offer protection to the once grand capital of Lordaeron.

A frown tugged at the corners of Jaina’s mouth while her eyes scanned the entrance, and the expression pulled painfully close to a grimace. No one had bothered to change the tattered livery that lined the path into the capital, torn banners of blue and gold that had not flown proudly in what felt, to her, like a lifetime.

But it hadn’t been a lifetime. Jaina was reminded of that when she entered the courtyard, passing crawling ivy that hadn’t quite reclaimed stone statues missing heads and arms. No, certainly not a lifetime, as told by the cracked bronze of a bell half buried in the floor of the first hall. Aside from its structural damage the metal was flawless, yet to show a single spot of rust.

A lifetime would have been kinder to her. She decided that quite handedly when she stepped into the imperial chamber, spying the woman that lounged lazy on the throne. If a lifetime had passed since the scourging of Lordaeron then the Banshee Queen would be little more to her than just that– a mystery.

And still, for all intents and purposes, Sylvanas Windrunner remained very much a mystery. Jaina had never truly met her. Had at most interacted with her once in a dance that was both brief and rushed, offered only out of a sense of politeness at one of the many balls that Kael’thas had been known to throw. Such distance was enough to make them strangers, certainly enough to make them wary allies at best, but it was not enough to repel the guilt that draped with the familiarity of a lover across Jaina’s shoulders, unignorable the moment disinterested red met blue. Just the knowledge that that gaze used to be a lovely tinted grey was a touch too personal for Jaina’s tastes. Too intimate.

Whether she liked it or not she kept a mental account of all of the ways Arthas had ruined Azeroth, a private sort of penance carefully maintained. Grey eyes shouldn't be so high on that list of hers but at this moment, as far as she was concerned, they were.

“I see my honored guest has finally arrived,” Sylvanas drawled from her spot on the thin, clawed throne of Lordaeron, “I wasn’t sure that you would.”

Jaina blinked before she had the mind to incline her head in acknowledgement, still processing the surprising sound of Sylvanas’ voice. Slightly nasal, befitting an accent acquired from a life spent speaking the elven tongue, but ethereal– double layered in a way that was at once pleasant and unpleasant in its ghostly quality.

To put it simply, she sounded dead. Yet another mark to add to her ledger.

Jaina cleared her throat before she spoke in her own accent. Crisp. Clear. And continental. “My departure from Theramore took more time than expected, we are still adjusting to our recent addition to the Horde.”

That was perhaps a tad reductive but not something that she wished, or was obligated, to share.

Sylvanas raised a brow. Pale and dull, dead blonde just like her hair that spilled past her shoulders from the confines of her burgundy hood. “Growing pains?” she asked with a deliberate air of unaffected neutrality that was still somehow goading, still prodding with pinpoint accuracy at what little weakness Jaina had revealed.

“Of a sort,” Jaina answered, drawing herself tall to pace an unhurried circle around the imperial chamber. Her eyes swept over stone and shadow, lingering not on the old stain of blood that splashed across the cracks in Lordaeron’s crest but on the raised alcoves that the royal advisors spoke from when they advised the king. The torches beside each alcove were lit, perhaps for dramatic effect.

Jaina hoped that she would fare better than those advisors had. She had certainly already fared better than the king, at least.

There had been rumors that if one stood alone in this room for long enough, one could hear the final moments of Terenas II. How he’d greeted his son’s victorious return from the icy wasteland of Northrend and been so confused to find a cursed sword plunged through his chest in answer.

Jaina wasn’t alone now so she couldn’t speak to the validity of those rumors. She could only maintain her focus on Sylvanas who had undoubtedly picked this place to meet as a test. For better or for worse, Jaina was more than willing to rise to the occasion, proving that she would not be shaken as easily as those that had come before. “Thrall has informed me that you could use my assistance managing growing pains of your own.”

She could have sworn that she’d heard the small huff of a rueful laugh, but that couldn’t be right, not when she glanced up to find Sylvanas’ face placid. Utterly unmoved other than by the flick of one long ear. “Is that how our Warchief described the situation?”

“Not quite,” Jaina admitted, remembering how she’d traveled to Durotar quickly after she’d received the letter containing Thrall’s orders. She’d questioned his decision to send her for this task, and so soon after Theramore’s annexation into the Horde.

Thrall had looked at her seriously, tusks cast in a soft orange by the glow of warm firelight. They’d met in a private room in Grommash Hold as friends. He’d spoken to her then as Warchief, regardless of the empty bottle of Orgrimmar Rum sat between them.

“You’re the only leader other than myself with working knowledge of the Eastern Kingdoms and that will be invaluable when assisting the Undercity.” Something like amusement had crinkled the green skin beside his eyes. “And besides, what better way for me to decide how much I can trust the newest nations of the Horde than to observe how they learn to trust each other?”

Jaina hadn’t liked that look.

And she didn’t particularly care for the look that Sylvanas was regarding her with now. Almost bored and devoid of expectation.

“He told me you could use the aid of someone with experience in the region,” Jaina explained, wondering what it was that troubled Sylvanas most. She’d read the reports of Scarlet Crusade activity and of the lingering presence of the Scourge, but nothing had surprised her in the many meticulously detailed pages she'd perused.

“Perhaps I do,” Sylvanas replied, eyes fixed on Jaina giving her the distinct feeling that she was being assessed, every detail examined and carefully cataloged to guide the shape of an opinion. “It depends on the competency of said aid.”

Jaina huffed an exhale that could have been amused. Would have, if the words had been delivered by anyone anywhere else and yet she still responded with an air of open cockiness. “You’ll find me very competent,” she assured her, “it took a great deal of competency for me to lead my city for so long without allegiance to either of Azeroth’s major factions. I wouldn’t even be here willing to offer my aid were it not for the Alliance’s start of this new war.”

The raise of that same brow made Jaina briefly wonder if the only expressive movement Sylvanas was capable of were that of her brows and ears. “So it’s true that this war is to blame for Theramore’s lack of independence?”

And there it was. The button that Jaina could never have pushed. One of the many wounds that would never heal, and the most recent.

Fist clenching, Jaina worked to keep her jaw from visibly tensing when she spoke. “It’s true that this war was the deciding factor in me siding with the Horde after my father died for peace with Orgrimmar. I’m not one to let sacrifices be made in vain.”

Red eyes didn’t miss the form of her fist and Jaina forced her fingers to relax. She’d at least managed to keep her magic from sparking freely across her knuckles like a fresh-faced novice and she silently congratulated herself for that fact with the same thought that she berated herself with. She’d known to expect this. Traded barbs were just another form of diplomacy, though not the flavor that she preferred. Sylvanas was sizing her up and she could only hope that she had not already failed with such an easy outburst.

Head tilting to the side, an expression of approval fixed itself upon Sylvanas’ face. Carefully choreographed, as if practiced to perfection. A blade that had been polished until it shined. “Then let us see that this rare offer of aid isn’t squandered,” she said, standing up in one impossibly graceful motion.

Faltering, Jaina knew that she should offer something in response that was just as practiced. Just as smooth. But all she could think of when Sylvanas stood was the last thing she’d asked Pained just before she’d left her tower.

“Can you tell me anything about her? From before?” Jaina had asked, entertaining the possibility that Pained may have crossed paths with the Ranger General at some point during her long and storied life.

“From personal experience?” Pained had asked back, “Nothing. But I can tell you what I know of her people from the few interactions I have had the displeasure to have. They’re arrogant. And short.”

Looking further down than she had expected to meet Sylvanas’ eyes, Jaina couldn’t help but agree that Sylvanas was short. Somehow, after that brief conversation, she’d expected to have to look up to hold the gaze of the Banshee Queen. But she wasn’t tall. At all.

Jaina could have sworn that she’d remembered her tall. Hadn’t she had to look up at her, that one night they’d danced? Apparently not, the error owed to some flaw formed by time in her memory. She wondered if the Ranger General’s dress uniform had simply had particularly high heels. And if Sylvanas even shared that memory, anymore.

Fortunately, it appeared that Sylvanas had not expected her to reply and fortunately, it appeared that she had taken no notice of the gears turning in Jaina’s head.

Or perhaps she just didn’t care.

“Would you like the tour?” Sylvanas asked. “If you’re to provide your assistance I can only assume that you’d like to know who, and what, you are assisting.”

“A tour would be appreciated,” Jaina replied, falling into easy step beside her when Sylvanas clasped long-fingered hands behind her back and turned to take the lead.

The elevator ride was unpleasant.

The abominations that guarded the entrance to the Undercity had been unexpected, so much so that it had taken all of Jaina’s self control not to release a reflexive spell at the sight of them and the smell– the smell had only gotten worse the further down they descended.

Governed by their own free will or not, all of the Forsaken were very much dead. The aromatic byproduct of their re-animated state was something that Jaina had seemed to have forgotten about, or at the very least been ill prepared for. Sylvanas hadn’t smelled like anything in the imperial chamber. She still didn’t smell like anything in the elevator beside Jaina as they descended, but the rest of the Forsaken certainly smelled, and the stench choked the air of the Undercity when she stepped out into the main chamber of the Forsaken capital.

Sylvanas of course noticed her discomfort, but she was merciful enough to let it go by unsaid. “Perhaps just a tour of the main quarters will suffice? It would be a shame to tire you after traveling so far.”

“The main quarters would be lovely,” Jaina agreed just a touch too quickly and this time, she was sure that the huff of sound that she heard from Sylvanas was the ghost of an amused laugh, even if the other woman’s face refused to show as much.

Taking Sylvanas’ offered arm, Jaina decided that she could not, would not, allow herself to sway. No matter what she saw or how bad the stench got she was completely resolved to maintain her calm countenance.

Thankfully, their tour of three of the four main quarters passed without event. Jaina had watched curiously as the glowing green river in the canals bubbled at random, nodding politely at vendors and passersby. All in all she’d been rather surprised at how organized the Forsaken seemed to be, never imagining that a full fledged city could truly operate under Lordaeron’s ruins. To be truly honest, it rivaled what she had accomplished in Theramore.

Yet the biggest surprise had come in the Apothecarium. In the form of fresh cut flowers and herbs. Jaina never would have expected to smell something so fresh in this dead, dank place or see colors so vivid, competing with the green of the canals.

“One would think you’d never seen a herbalist before,” Sylvanas observed, though not unkindly.

“I have,” Jaina told her, offering the vendor a polite smile when the Forsaken woman flashed her a proud grin with missing lips that exposed too many teeth. “I am simply impressed at the selection. I don’t imagine that much grows in the surrounding area.”

“We travel far and wide, my lady,” the vendor offered, gesturing at the barrels behind her. “Anything catch your eye?”

Jaina’s expression faltered when she spied a barrel of blue flowers. Local and familiar to her. She managed to pass the change off as a thoughtful decline in offer, waving the idea off with a polite, “I’m afraid I’m not in need of supplies at the moment, but you have my thanks.”

She turned to face Sylvanas to show that she was ready to move on, determined not to think of those blue flowers in the fields just outside the city and how in his youth Arthas would return to the capital with fistfuls of them, proclaiming they were the same shade as her eyes.

Whether or not Sylvanas knew how much it was appreciated, she inclined her head to finish off the tour.

“I thought it best we kept our activity to the inner ring,” Sylvanas told her, guiding them back into the main chamber so that they could, thank the Light, ascend back to the surface in an elevator. “The outer ring across the canals tends to have more… bustling activity.”

Yes, that was certainly one word for it. Jaina had spied said activity when they’d passed through each quarter and some of the things she’d seen had piqued her curiosity and her concern. There was something in that Apothecarium, something other than fresh cut flowers that held too much meaning to her that could benefit, perhaps, from her attention.

“I thank you for the consideration,” Jaina acknowledged, relieved once they stepped back onto the surface breathing in dusty, but comparatively fresh air. “I’d like to see the rest of your city, after a night’s respite. And then perhaps a meeting in the Royal Quarter I saw a sign for to discuss what Theramore can offer the Undercity?”

Sylvanas released Jaina’s arm. No longer offering guidance now that she didn’t need it and no longer regarding her with whatever measure of friendliness she’d had during their journey. She wasn’t hostile but she was cold, calculating just as she’d been on the throne earlier, as if she was waiting for Jaina to unwittingly reveal something that she shouldn’t.

“I have affairs to attend to tomorrow, but I can assign you to continue your tour with one of my royal guard. Or a dark ranger, if an elven face is what you’d prefer. As for what aid you can offer, we shall see after you’ve settled in.” She cleared her throat, clearly unused to playing host here. “My people have prepared a barracks for you and your men in the surface ruins, though I don’t seem to recall hearing that there was any measurable force waiting on the city’s outskirts. Are you so confident that you think you can accomplish all of your goals here alone?”

There was that brow again, quirked with a new kind of flick of an ear. Jaina vowed to figure out what these micro-expressions meant, since it seemed the only way to gain any insight into Sylvanas’ mind and mood. “I arrived by portal but my men will be arriving by ship,” Jaina informed her. “After I’ve finished my assessment of the Forsaken’s needs I will update my people to supply said ships as appropriate and they should arrive here in a week’s time. Will that suffice?”

Sylvanas’ nostrils flared slightly. Maybe, just maybe, that movement had been accompanied by the twitch of her mouth. Jaina almost leaned in closer out of curiosity just to better observe. “That should be adequate,” Sylvanas acknowledged before she seemed to draw herself up even straighter, as if she could add to herself more height. “But you must be tired now, I’ll guide you to the barracks.”

Maybe she meant to test her limits. Maybe it was what she really preferred. But before Jaina could accept the offer she found herself saying. “There’s no need. I’ll select one of the towers to stay in.”

“The towers are unprepared,” Sylvanas said drily.

“I’m a mage, I’ll make do,” Jaina told her. “Besides, a tower will provide a better view.”

Not that she particularly wanted a view of a ruined kingdom. But Jaina decided that if she was meant to stay here, she would do so on her own terms.

That approving look almost returned, the one that Jaina had decided was easiest to read. But it was merely a flicker this time, gone just as quickly as it came.

“Suit yourself then,” Sylvanas said.