Jaina had not had time over to wonder overly much about what kind of crew the queen of Lordaeron commanded before one of them introduced herself by a brief knock on the door and entering upon Sylvanas’ order. She was evidently another Forsaken elf but her skin was light grey, almost white. Apart from that she had the same red eyes as Sylvanas but they were not the same flaring fires. They were glowing more akin to the eyes of a night elf, except for being red of course, and indeed there was something of Pained across the scarred features of her face. Jaina had never been good at guessing the age of elves, tending to find the lot of them unfairly elegant regardless and somewhat grudgingly leaving it at that, but she had the impression that this one was older than most and that there was very little on Azeroth that could unbalance her in life or in death.
The new elf saluted Sylvanas with her hand over her chest.
”Lady Proudmoore, may I introduce Areiel, captain of my Dark Rangers.” The way Sylvanas said Dark Rangers hinted at great significance and Jaina made a note to herself to ask her more about them later. Certainly Areiel appeared like a darker version of an elven ranger, with sparse armour very similar to Sylvanas but less elaborate and black rather than dark red.
Areiel bowed formally to Jaina, who hurriedly managed a ”Good morning, ranger captain Areiel.” in response.
The ranger captain, still silent and with an even expression that betrayed no emotion, held out a flask with the flourish of a waiter presenting a particularly exquisite and expensive wine. Jaina only hesitated for a second before she greedily snatched it up and downed the most delicious pint of rainwater she could imagine at the moment, eagerly enough to spill some over her nightgown.
”The crew is currently fishing for something to serve for breakfast.” Areiel stated.
Jaina was about to express her gratitude when her stomach rumbled again, quite loudly.
”I’ll tell them to hurry up.” Areiel said in the same even tone and made Jaina want to sink through every deck of the ship and to the seas bottom. Areiels voice was something like what one might guess from seeing her face, a little hoarse and rough from untold years of trials but still carrying.
”Dark Lady.” Areiel nodded to Sylvanas before leaving, bringing with her the bucket Jaina had borrowed. It did not make Jaina feel any more dignified.
Sylvanas had watched her without a word and her expression betrayed as little as Areiels. If Jaina wanted to appear as more than a bumbling girl she would evidently have some work cut out for her, she noted with an inwardly sigh.
Briefly clenching her eyes, Jaina put her mind to work instead by going over all se knew of Sylvanas, trying not to look too much at her as that was proving to be utterly distracting. Dark Lady, to start with. The Queen of Lordaeron Lady Windrunner was apparently a woman of many titles. This was certainly an intriguing one and Jaina was going to ask more about it later.
Speaking of names, though. Windrunner… Her friend Rhonins wife Vereesa was also named Windrunner. Was she and Sylvanas perhaps related? How common could the surname be? It was surely more elaborate than the ever-present human Lanes, Fords, Hills, Lakes and so on but weren’t all elven names that? Perhaps Windrunner was a commonly used name. Jaina thought of Vereesa and Sylvanas. Both were tall and fit, and actually rather similar apart from the hair colour with Vereesas being silvery and Sylvanas a faded blonde, which might have been less faded in life. Then again Jaina thought most elves were looking quite alike, each more handsome than her than the other with their elegant features, so maybe Jaina wasn’t a very good judge at that. But Vereesa was also an elven ranger, which was a noteworthy coincidence at the very least, so chances were she and Sylvanas would know about each other if nothing else.
She had met the adventurous Vereesa several times and she had been quite nice to Jaina, eagerly trading embarrassing stories about Rhonin and regaling Jaina with the unlikely tale of their grand first mission together and their heart-warming rescue of Alexstraza and the other red dragons. Jaina and Rhonin had managed to find time and opportunity to write to one another a few times since she had settled in Theramore and Jaina was immensely relieved to know that both he and Vereesa had survived the Scourge and the ensuing turmoil around Dalaran. Jaina promised herself she would write more often to both Rhonin and anyone else she could think of as soon as she got the opportunity. And she really had to ask about Sylvanas’ last name at some point.
Right now was not a good time, though. Jainas thoughts were turning increasingly towards all the fat and juicy fishes that she knew could be caught around Theramore – the primary source of food for her city – and didn’t want to be more distracted than necessary when conversing with her intimidating captor. Besides, Jaina was fairly comfortable now apart from her hunger. Having something to drink along with Sylvanas opening the small windows of the cabin to let in fresh air was starting to do wonders for Jainas headache, even though her limbs still felt like lead. True to her word, Sylvanas was sitting by her desk and writing, and the familiar sound of a quill against paper was as comforting for Jaina as that of a crackling fire was for the majority of Azeroths peoples.
Now that she had resolved to leave the talking for some time later, Jaina decided that it wouldn’t interrupt anything if she tried to steal a few glances of Sylvanas while waiting for her crew to get lucky with their fishing.
***
Anya had knocked on Sylvanas’ cabin door countless times by now. So she shouldn’t really hesitate to do that one more time. It should be just the same as reporting last morning.
Should be.
If Anya had a mirror she would have double-checked every little detail about her appearance. It wouldn’t do for them to appear like a band of scruffy-looking thugs when you were dealing with a foreign ruler, whether Sylvanas wanted to appear sympathetic or intimidating to her.
She knocked briskly and was immediately told to enter.
Lady Proudmoore was awake, and looked newly awake in a beautiful sort of way with tangled hair spilling across her pillow and clear, curious eyes that fixed on Anya. They were distractingly blue little oceans that Anya tried not to look too much at.
”Anya, good. I need to see to some things with Areiel, stand guard over Lady Proudmoore in the meantime.” Sylvanas said without further ado.
”Dark Lady.” Anya saluted and took up a position next to the door in full view of Lady Proudmoore. She’d caught the hint and wouldn’t act as if guarding archmages was anything but routine for the dark rangers.
”This is lieutenant Anya Eversong.” Sylvanas mentioned to Lady Proudmoore. ”I would avoid antagonizing her. Rangers do not command my personal guard for no reason.” she said curtly and walked out without another word or a second look, projecting the supreme confidence that only Sylvanas could. Anya had never quite figured out how she did it. It was as if the idea of everything not turning out like the Dark Lady had just ordered was completely alien, ridiculous even.
Anya could see that the posturing had made an impression on Lady Proudmoore, but the mage eyed her with interest none the less. She looked very tired, Anya thought and guessed that she should perhaps be pleased by it. Tired mages would be less prone to cause trouble and more easy to intimidate. But she didn’t feel pleased at all. There were dark spots under Lady Proudmoores eyes and her dishevelled nightrobe could not hide a certain sense of frailty about her, almost like malnourishment as if she hadn’t eaten enough for a long time. But how could that be, if she was the ruler of a city? Was Theramore running out of food?
Anya stood as still as she could, which was like a statue, with her hands clasped behind her back.
”Are you going to make some sort of threat too?” asked Lady Proudmoore. Not unkindly, more like a tone of wry amusement in her voice. Her eyes were still locked on Anya and taking in every detail about her.
Anya initially showed no sign of having heard the question. Then she walked over to the desk and picked up a paper she knew Sylvanas had long since read.
”Would you please throw this into the air, Lady Proudmoore?” Anya asked politely and put the paper in her left hand that was closest to the port side wall.
The mage frowned but did as Anya had asked, throwing the paper with a little spin.
In one rapid movement Anya drew one of her daggers and threw it, nailing Areiels summary of the Undercitys blacksmithing capacity to the wooden wall over the cabins fixed bed. It drew a satisfying startled gasp from Lady Proudmoore who looked between the impaled wall on her left and Anya standing nonchalantly on her right.
In that moment Sylvanas entered the room again. She took in the scene in a moment and quirked an eyebrow. She seemed decidedly amused.
”Have you been playing with your prey again, my dear lieutenant?” Sylvanas almost purred.
Anya could have sworn that those little round ears peaked up a little, and damn her if Lady Proudmoore wasn’t blushing a bit. It was rather sweet.
Sylvanas leaned over the hammock and its occupant and made a show of examining the dent in the wall.
”If you are going to ruin my cabin walls you might as well do it for real, Anya.” she scoffed, frowning and pretending to be displeased by the too shallow indenture. Anya could tell she was pretending but she wondered if Lady Proudmoore could. This was starting to get fun.
”One has to start slowly so the beginners have a chance to keep up, right?” Anya said as evenly as she could.
Sylvanas hummed affirmatively. Then, without any kind of warning, she grabbed two other pages from her desk and threw them randomly in the direction of the cupboards in the starboard side wall.
Anya drew the second dagger from her belt and was already kneeling as she let it fly, drawing the smaller knife hidden in her right boot and impaling the second sheet a tad lower than the first.
Lady Proudmoores eyes were big as teacups and her breath had hitched. Anya could see Sylvanas smirk and there was pride in that, she noticed and felt lighter than she had for days as she dodged under the hammock to retrieve her first dagger.
”Perhaps you should practice on a live target...” Sylvanas mused with a downright evil smile that showed just a little too much teeth, and glanced at Lady Proudmoore.
If Lady Proudmoores eyes had been large before they grew even larger now. Teapots instead of teacups, perhaps.
”Hey, hold up now! This is a joke, right?! I know this is a joke! You’re not seriously going to…” she rambled in a terrified voice.
Anya fingered her daggers edge thoughtfully, looking between Sylvanas by the desk and Lady Proudmoore in the hammock from her spot next to the door.
Fixing Lady Proudmoore with her glare, Anya threw her dagger at Sylvanas as fast as she could, who snatched it out of the air just as rapidly.
Lady Proudmoore let out a loud gasp, or choked scream.
Sylvanas picked up the other two daggers form the cupboard wall, and then threw all three at Anya in rapid succession.
”Stop it! Stop! Please stop it, have you lost your minds?!” Lady Proudmoore shouted frantically as Anya caught them just as rapidly.
”Hm, you don’t think I should be playing with the knives, Lady Proudmoore? Do you want me to return them?” Anya inquired threw all three back at Sylvanas as fast as she possibly could without waiting for an answer.
Lady Proudmoore screamed.
”NOW you have to make up your mind, Lady Proudmoore!” Sylvanas demanded, raising her voice to carry over Lady Proudmoores fading scream. Then, taking one in each hand, she threw both of Anyas daggers at her at once. Anya barely managed to catch one in each hand, staggering a little but still slashing the following boot knife aside to send it clattering against the cupboard wall. And Sylvanas was all but beaming at her, looking proudly from behind the view of Lady Proudmoore who panted heavily. And for just one wonderful moment Anya was a ranger recruit again who had just scored her first good hit at the archery range and was looking up at Sylvanas’ bright and sunny smile over her shoulder.
”Lay off this at once, you knaves! Bloody crazy pirates!”
Sylvanas flashed a predatory grin at Lady Proudmoore, looking genuinely amused.
”Pirates, Lady Proudmoore?” she asked so smoothly that even Anya shivered. ”And I think it was knives involved rather than knaves. Anyway, I came to tell you that my crew has caught some fish which should be properly grilled by now. Do you think you are rested enough to come out and eat?”
”Sadly not. And this was not exactly a peaceful display, Lady Windrunner.” Lady Prudmoore huffed and managed an impressive tinge of indignation under the circumstances. ”You sure know how to make a girl relax…”
Sylvanas flinched at the last ironic statement and looked at Anya with an apologetic look she struggled to conceal. Anya knew exactly why.
She raged inwardly at Lady Proudmoore for bringing up that miserable earlier episode and ruining this precious rare moment. Then she calmed herself. Lady Proudmoore had no way of knowing about that and it was unfair to blame her. Anya still would have wanted to kick Lady Proudmoores shin if she had been standing. But only a little.
The mage had spotted their exchanged glances, Anya noticed, and made a mental note that they would have to watch themselves in her presence. Not much escaped those attentive eyes. They were not unfriendly though, on the contrary.
”I trust I can get your fish without you giving Anya any trouble now?” Sylvanas asked wryly.
Lady Proudmoore rolled her eyes and then rolled over into her blanket as Sylvanas went to fetch her breakfast. Anya could see Sylvanas’ eyes sparkle, like if the red fires deep inside danced merrily for just once. It hadn’t been a completely ruined moment, then.
”I believe I still owe you a death threat, Lady Proudmoore…” Anya said, still feeling mischievous.
”Don’t you think you’ve made you point already?” Lady Proudmoore asked dryly, gesturing from her hammock at the dent in the wall to Anyas amusement.
Anya looked down on her resting form. Right now Lady Proudmoore appeared like the last thing in the world that needed guarding against. But Anya had still seen her block a point blank Wail from the most powerful banshee on Azeroth. The archmage had not been fighting back that time, perhaps unwilling to believe that mortal enemies could have appeared in the middle of her city, or perhaps that if they were enemies they would already have attacked her soldiers.
Next time, they would not be so fortunate.
Next time ice and fire would rain on them. Forsaken would die and Sylvanas would grieve.
”I will do it if I have to, Lady Proudmoore.” Anya whispered. ”But I think that I will not enjoy it.”
”All too kind.” the mage mumbled dryly. ”I hope you’ll make it quick at least.”
”I promise.” Anya said solemnly and sadly.
A black tear ran down her cheek and dropped on Lady Proudmoore. She didn’t appear to notice.
If Sylvanas ever ordered Lady Proudmoores death it should be Anya, because doing so would be wrong, and Anya would rather have it be herself doing something so wrong than Sylvanas. It would be very, very wrong to harm Lady Proudmoores slender neck. Anya would much rather fight to keep it whole, she decided. In fact Anya would fucking kill to keep it whole, because the beautiful Lady Proudmoore had made Sylvanas smile.
Another tear dropped, and this time the mage noticed it.
”Anya” she said in a kind but saddened voice ”do you think we are bound to end up fighting each other?”
”I don’t think you are our enemy, but I believe we may end up on opposite sides of a battlefield one day.” Anya almost sighed. ”And I don’t think I would like that.”
”I don’t think I would like that either. I think I would rather have you as a friend.”
Anya thought that she would like that very much.
She reached down to tentatively stroke Lady Proudmoores hair. It was soft and welcoming between her fingers, and didn’t feel like the hair of an enemy.
***
Sylvanas had never considered humans to be particularly complex creatures, but she was finding her mage more and more difficult to place, for lack of a better word. On the one hand Proudmoore had demonstrated magical prowess that doubtlessly would have rivalled the most senior magisters of Quel’Thalas, and despite being captured by an undead queen in the middle of the night the mage appeared to be in inexplicably good spirits, even after Anyas outrageous antics. On the other hand the woman was blushing, awkward and in many ways the perfect picture of shyness and naivety. Perhaps it played a part that she was technically in bed dressed in only her nightrobe with complete strangers going about in the same room. Most people tended to be more squeamish than the rangers about those kinds of things. Sleeping on bare ground with tents being a luxury and your comrades as the most reliable source of warmth tended to do away with overbearing feelings of propriety after a while.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
The way Proudmoores eyes lit up at the sight of a slightly burnt mackerel was nothing short of endearing. Nobody had schooled her in the art of masking her emotions it would seem, but all the better if it made her easier to read and to manipulate.
The mage had swung her legs over the side of the hammock and was eating her fish eagerly bent over a tin plate, her modesty yielding before her distaste of getting pieces of fish amongst her bedclothes. Sylvanas frowned at the worn appearance of her mage. She was way too thin, and modest or not no woman should shrink away from another's gaze like that, even if Sylvanas’ in all honesty was something out of the ordinary.
She shouldn’t care. But then, a hostage needed to be kept alive in order to be useful after all.
”Are you not getting enough food in Theramore, Lady Proudmoore?” Sylvanas asked with a raised eyebrow.
The question caught her mage in the middle of a particularly large bite. She struggled visibly to chew and swallow quickly to be able to answer.
”Mno, nosching like at.” Proudmoore denied and looked rather self-conscious. ”It’s just me I’m afraid, I tend to overwork and, hm, not always eat so much.”
Sylvanas could relate to that. When she had stepped up as Ranger-General and tried to fill the all too big boots left by her mother she had mistreated herself for years with too late nights and too little nourishment. It was not a pleasant position to be in. Sylvanas forced down a wave of sympathy. At least she had had a long time to get used to the thought of eventually succeeding Lireesa Windrunner. Theramore had not even existed two years ago.
Then again, perhaps she was reading too much into Proudmoores demeanour and seeing herself where she had no reason to. And damn all such thoughts. The Ranger-General of Silvermoon was a figure of the past and she would never be that woman again, or anything close by.
”That never works in the long run.” Sylvanas said firmly.
”You’re sounding like Pained.”
”Who is?”
”My bodyguard. She likes to point out when I’m not eating or resting as much as she would like.”
”I can understand how she came by her name then.” Sylvanas smirked, and noted that Pained and a certain ranger captain would probably be able to find common ground.
Her mage looked down and cleared her throat slightly before she continued to assault her fish. She had quite adorable eyelashes, Sylvanas noted.
After finishing her meal, Proudmoore leaned back into her hammock and turned her gaze on Sylvanas again.
”You know, speaking of names, may I ask if Windrunner is a common name among elves?” she suddenly asked.
”Not anymore.”. Sylvanas’ tone was curt.
”Oh. I’m really sorry.” Proudmoore apologised as the grim implications dawned on her. Of course it was no longer a common name, just as no other elf name was common anymore after the fall of Quel’Thalas. ”The thing is, I have a friend whose wife – well, she is quite nice so I hope I can count her as my friend too – is named Vereesa Windrunner. Is she a relative of yours? She is quite tall, with light blue eyes and silvery hair.”
Sylvanas froze.
Little Moon.
Little Moon.
Little Moon.
She lived.
Sylvanas did not want that thought in her head. She wanted to tear out everything that tied her to the world of the living that she was forever shut out from. And deep down she wanted to keep Vereesa from ever having to find out what became of her. She would be far better off without that ugly knowledge to mar whatever brighter memories she had of Sylvanas. Forcing her voice to remain steady, Sylvanas answered her mages question, after a far too long time.
”Vereesa Windrunner was my sister.”
Sylvanas could not tell if she had answered in an even tone or outright barked at Proudmoore. Speaking the words felt like a curse, a judgement where Sylvanas relinquished every remaining right to call a living soul family again. Her words rang inside her head, inside her soul, or whatever was left of it.
Sylvanas did not look up but she could just feel Proudmoores eyes on her, staring and piercing. She wanted to shrink and hide before them. She did absolutely not wish to share what they might see inside of her, and it surely felt like Proudmoore could see right into Sylvanas’ torn soul, through the evidently too fresh wound that was Vereesa.
Or, wait. Was she looking at her scar? Of course she was, what else would it be? Sylvanas really ought to have some less revealing set of armour fashioned, but she also enjoyed the familiar and comforting mobility of a rangers outfit and there were so many things of endlessly higher priority to be ordered from their armouries.
Perhaps she had made a tactical error in letting Proudmoore remain close to her for extended periods of time. She could practically see the mages mind working its way through everything Sylvanas had told her since she woke up.
No. This was just a temporary setback, caused by her surprise of the mages mention of her sister, nothing more. She would order her rangers to observe strict discretion in their interactions with the Lady Proudmoore and lead by example in that regard from now on. And it was high time that she started to study her dossier in earnest to form a strategy. She would wait for the right moment to truly break that irritating mage. The journey was still long and there would be many opportunities left for that.
Sylvanas browsed through her stacked reports to find the folder of information about the rooms other occupant that Areiel had prepared. Then she leaned back slightly in the uncomfortable seat and begun to read it again while trying to block out every annoying hunch that her mage knew exactly what it was she was reading.
***
Later in the afternoon Jaina finally felt rested enough to get up. Truth be told she also wanted to get out of the cabin that had started to feel very cramped after her blunt inquiry about Vereesa and Sylvanas’ grim manner of answering. Jaina needed space to process that before she committed any more hurtful blunders, no matter how tempting it was to keep asking questions just to get to hear Sylvanas’ voice.
Vereesas sister!
What would Vereesa say, if Jaina could get a chance to talk to her about all this? And what if she could bring Sylvanas with her to meet Rhonin and Vereesa?
That would have to be a thought for another time. Jaina needed to focus on the present and first and foremost get her bearings, in more than one way actually.
Jaina cleared her throat.
”Lady Windrunner?”
Sylvanas looked up.
”With your permission I would very much like to catch some fresh air on the deck.”
”Very well. You should certainly enjoy that luxury a much as you can for as long as it lasts, Lady Proudmoore.”
Morbid woman, Jaina thought.
”The deck is straight ahead and up the stairs. I will be right behind you.” Sylvanas’ tone was neutral but Jaina did of course catch the underlying meaning of Sylvanas watching her every move.
The cabin door led to a small corridor with the stairs up straight ahead. Jaina did not see anyone else but she half expected the darker corners left and right to be filled with dark-clad pale elves itching to unburden themselves of various sharp and pointy objects.
It was more than Jaina managed not to shiver at the thought of Sylvanas’ presence right behind her neck. She did as instructed however and stepped out into a bleak and gloomy grey afternoon. The wind was still strong and large frothing waves crashed into the bow while a heavy rain kept blowing into her face. Jaina pulled her ludicrously flimsy robe even tighter around her and thought longingly of every kind of greatcoat and cloak she had ever worn. The wind and rain made her squint and lower her head but she could spot someone approaching them.
”Lady Proudmoore, meet captain Davey Bonecarver!” Sylvanas called out over the howling wind.
Jaina looked up into a dead mans face.
Skin stretched over the upper half of a face with gleaming yellow eyes, leaving the jaws bare and perpetually grinning like a skull. Skin of a sickly grey colour that Jaina had seen far too close far too many times on the wretched victims of the plague of undeath that had ravaged Lordaeron.
Jaina recoiled. Her legs moved on their own accord and her mind unconsciously reached for the mana that coursed through her body. Sylvanas hand clamped down with an angry hiss from her and held Jainas arm in an iron grip, and Jaina dimly realised she had been about to raise it to cast…what she didn’t know, but nothing pleasant. Panic and the overwhelming need to get away overtook her and she stumbled backwards, somehow avoiding falling headfirst back down the stairs.
Jaina collapsed in a pile at the foot of the stair and wrapped her arms around her knees while trying to get her breathing to slow down and think of something, anything, that wasn’t this cursed ship and its cursed crew.
Heavy steps, meant to be heard, brought her attention back and Jaina looked up to see Sylvanas’ burning glare. She couldn’t look away from those eyes. Jaina could practically feel the disapproval radiating off the elf. Disapproval and disappointment. Some part of her wanted to turn her eyes away but another, the greater part, wanted to keep looking at Sylvanas because even though it did not exactly bring Jaina comfort in the normal meaning of the word she was coming back to her senses. Her fears of other things melted away until there was only Sylvanas before her.
”Do you find us repulsive, Lady Proudmoore?”
Jaina cringed at the acid bitterness in her voice. She opened her mouth to deny it, to assure that she didn’t find Sylvanas repulsive, or her dark rangers. And that was all true for Jaina found them unsettling of course, at times downright frightening, but not repulsive. But then she thought better of it. That wasn’t the issue here.
”I just… I…” Jaina tried and sighed in defeat. ”Yes.”
She cringed inwardly at hearing herself, and braced for a tongue-lashing without peer – perhaps even rivalling Katherine Proudmoores, for who knew what a banshee was capable of – or worse. She was well aware that she was in no shape of fighting the banshee queen. But Sylvanas stood still with her arms crossed, as if waiting for something more from Jaina. Or demanding it, more like, because she was the banshee queen after all.
Jaina inhaled a ragged breath.
”It is so terrible, the state they are in. So wounded, so…decrepit. Is everyone else like the captain?” she asked with a trembling voice.
”More or less. Everyone but my rangers.”
”It…It was like I could see all the deaths of all those poor people by the plague in front of me. Andorhal. Stratholme. I can almost hear Arthas in my head again, ordering them to be…culled.”
A flash of terrible rage passed over Sylvanas at the mention of Arthas, so quickly that Jaina nearly wondered if she had not imagined it. A colossal wave of shame was beginning to well up inside her when she considered her own words. How selfish she sounded. Tides! She had founded Theramore instead of returning home because she wanted it to be a safe haven open to everyone. She had turned on her own father in order to protect the orcs who wanted to get away from decades of cyclic bloodshed, orcs that Daelin Proudmoore would slay just for being orcs. How was Jaina any better if she turned away the undead, the Forsaken, merely for being undead? Some ruler of Theramore she was.
The Forsaken was a frighteningly fitting name. They were truly forsaken by each and everyone in the world. And not even for their personal deeds committed under the Lich Kings control either, but simply for the way they now were. It was like turning your back on a revoltingly ill or old person just for the way they looked. Sure, there were sicknesses where you had to keep your distance but that did not mean you still couldn’t offer help. And undeath as such was not contagious, not in itself.
”Lady Windrunner, I am sorry for the way I acted. With your permission I will go and apologize to your captain.”
”Do not make promises you can not keep, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas sneered.
Sylvanas’ tone was hard as stone but she did not stop Jaina from rising and taking a step towards the stair.
”Dark Lady. Lady Proudmoore. If you have a moment?”
Areiel was standing behind Jaina with a pile of clothes in one hand and a pair of sailors boots in the other. Jaina gratefully accepted them and after a confirming nod from Sylvanas began to put them on with her back turned to the two elves and hung her night clothes on the hammock to dry. It felt woefully indiscreet to do so right in front of the two all too perfect elves, and Jaina couldn’t shake off the feeling of a thrown dagger making its way towards somewhere between her shoulder blades, but right now she felt the discomfort only served her right.
The boots were too large by far and the trousers and shirt were almost in tatters, complete with a tar-stained sailors jacket with the most frayed cuffs imaginable. It must all have been leftovers or spares dug up from some obscure shelf or sea chest but at the moment Jaina couldn’t be more thankful to the ranger captain. She tied the piece of old rope that served as belt and tried not to stomp too much in her unwieldy boots when she ascended the stairs.
The rain was dying down when Jaina came back on deck and the ships captain was standing where she had left him. He turned around and Jaina swallowed and fought down her rising fear. She was better than this. She had to be.
”New garb, eh? Wouldn’ wan’t to brave this sorry weather in yer night shift, aye.” he begun in a raspy voice before Jaina had managed a single word. It grated like, well, bones upon bones Jaina reckoned.
Wait. Tides, he was offering her a way out of having to apologise? If Jainas conscience had been bad before it now plummeted. She felt beyond criminal for the way she had conducted herself. But she would own up to it at the very least.
”I apologize for the way I acted previously, captain. It was unfair and unbecoming of me and I can only say that I’m sorry for it.” she forced out and tried to only look at his eyes that shone a dim yellow just like the elves’ red. ”Captain Bonecarver, was it? I am Jaina Proudmoore of Theramore. It’s…it’s an honour to meet you.”
She held out her hand. For a brief, awkward moment the undead captain just stood still but then he grasped it and Jaina failed to suppress a shudder. His hand wasn’t all bone but it was cold as ice and clammy. But she steeled herself and shook it all the firmer.
”Welcome aboard, Lady Proudmoore.” he said hoarsely, loud enough to carry to the closest undead sailors.
”Thank you, captain.” Jaina managed a small smile. ”Would it be alright for me to introduce myself to the rest of your crew?”
Captain Bonecarver regarded her for a moment, and appeared reluctant even if it was hard to guess with the state he was in.
”Better lay low on that fer a while. Some of the lads’re none too used to meetin’ with the living either. Might wanna give it some time ’ let ’em come forth who so wishes it.”
”I understand.” Jaina said. Tides, she could hardly blame anyone after the first impression she had made.
”Although, there may be one o’ ’em ye’ll wanna meet.” the captain chuckled dryly.
He led Jaina to the main mast and whistled, which Jaina found surprising that he was able to but also comfortingly human.
”Hey! Haley! Get your bony hide down ’ere!”
”Why should I?” a lighter voice answered impishly from somewhere above.
”Because I’m yer captain an’ I’m gonna keel-haul you before I use you as shark-bait otherwise, that's why!”
”You’ll have to catch me first!”
”I’ll tell the dark lasses they can use you as target practice! Free drinks for the winner!”
”Vel’ won’t let them. And none of them drink.”
The source of the snarky comments form above was now made apparent as what must be a young Forsaken, a girl of perhaps thirteen if Jaina had to guess, swung down onto the deck from a rope. She was slightly more intact than Captain Bonecarver but also had a kind of perpetual grin. Her cheerful mood, and perhaps her size and flamboyant dress, managed to somehow take the edge off it though. She was dressed fairly similarly to Jaina with boots, pants and a shirt, but all in proper size and good fit, and a much better cut and sleeker jacket. Her hair was tied back with a broad red ribbon that together with a few earrings made for a very roguish appearance.
”Lady Proudmoore, meet Haley Quinnivere Bonecarver.” the captain said with irritation but also an unmistakeable fondness in his voice.
”Huh, so you’re the living one.” she greeted Jaina, with a most refreshing lack of excitement.
”A notorious delinquent, I understand.” Jaina said and smiled without having to force herself.
”Delinquent? Worse. Daughter. And I’m never getting rid of her now.”
The comment was cheerful but of course there was a monstrous truth to it. She would never grow up and he would never age. Jaina tried not to think of that right now.
”You could always give her a ship to captain. Then you would be Commodore Bonecarver, right?” Jaina suggested.
”That’s what I’m talking about!” the younger Bonecarver cheered. ”Velonara will be my first mate. But you’ve gotta drop this ’Bonecarver’ crap, lady. It’s Davey and Haley Bones to those who know us, and you better get on knowing us ’cause I’m not gonna put up with anything else.”
”Watch yer tongue.” her father muttered. Jaina almost wanted to laugh. At least some behaviours were apparently so human that not even death could erase them.
”Have you given her a tour ’round the ship yet?”
***
”Aye, she’s a fine vessel indeed.” Captain Bonecarver, or Bones as Jaina dutifully corrected herself, concluded proudly. ”Old King Terenas ’ad the right idea but lacked the coin to see it through. He combed his shores for an’one with a bit of sailing experience an’ commissioned her from Boralus itself. But then ’is coffers dried up an’ the year after we all ate that grain from Andorhal an’, well… So she was just a hulk laying there waitin’ for ’er masts ’til the Dark Lady came an’ wanted to set sail. Bloody marvellous sight, her an’ those rangers of hers raisin’ the masts by themselves. No cranes or anything.”
”What’s she called?” Jaina asked.
”Well, with all the dark ’n secret stuffs ’n all, we never got around…”
Jaina considered herself a fairly rational person but sometimes sense of tradition and superstitions could overtake even her.
”You didn’t name your ship?!”
The captain shrugged and looked almost ashamed before Jainas indignation. Granted, it wasn’t her ship but still. This was a matter of principle, for Tides’ sake!
”And another thing, captain Bones, what in all sandwich-thieving seagulls is that supposed to be?”
”What, the forecastle?”
”It’s a travesty. Here you have a perfectly good frigate – lovely lines, truly – and who in their right mind will put an imbalancing, wind-catching lump like that on the fore deck?! What was Terenas thinking?”
”Well, those things tend to come on handy when the boarding actions get going.”
”But she’s a frigate, she’s not supposed to ever get close enough to a larger vessel for that. That’s what the c…”
Jaina looked around in slight disbelief.
”Where are the main deck cannons, captain?”
”What cannons?”
”Don’t tell me… Don’t tell me there is a whole gun deck below us without any guns.”
Captain Bones chuckled heartily, or a heartily as an undead man could.
”Dear lady, why would the king waste good iron on cannons for a ship he couldn’t afford to finish?”
”Common decency.” Jaina muttered. ”A frigate without cannons, that’s… ’Nothing like a stiff broadside to get your point across.’” she quoted both her parents.
”Well, we’ll have to take that up with the Dark Lady. Who knows, if the armourers can spare enough iron, one day maybe.”
”Bronze, captain Bones. Iron cannons are for amateurs, they never hold up.” Jaina said dismissively.
Captain Davey Bones regarded her with such amusement that it finally gave Jaina pause.
”I got a little carried away, didn’t I?” she mumbled.
”You’ve got spirit, my lady, an’ that’s a precious gift.” he grinned. ”An’ you’re not wrong, I reckon.”
”You…really think I should talk to the Dark Lady, I mean to Lady Windrunner?”
”Talk to me about what, Lady Proudmoore?”
Jaina let out a startled gasp and literally jumped on the spot and spun around. How could someone so imposing and dressed in full battle gear – light or not – move without a sound?
”I hear my paltry navy is due for considerable reforms in the near future, Lady Admiral Proudmoore?” Sylvanas drawled.
”I just think the ship would benefit from some adjustments. And perhaps a few cannons…” Jaina managed weakly. Tides, it was hard to even think when Sylvanas was standing so very close to her.
”Well, you shall have to take it up with my blacksmiths once we are home then.”
”How long will that take, if I may ask?”
”That you may, Lady Proudmoore.” Sylvanas husked and a shiver coursed through Jaina. ”Captain?”
”About two weeks. I think it’ll be a good time to set course east in a couple o’ days or so.”
Sylvanas nodded but Jaina frowned. A couple of days or so?
”Not that I want to sound alarming now, but we are sure about our current position, right?” Jaina asked and tried to keep her voice as level as possible.
”The east coast of Kalimdor.” Sylvanas answered while keeping her expression completely even.
Jaina rolled her eyes.
”I hope you are aware of the existence of this rather unpleasant maelstrom in the middle of the ocean. Whatever differences we have, or imagine having, I am sure none of us wish to end up close to that. So in the mutual interest of continued survival, are we quite sure about when and where to set course east?”
Captain Bones grimaced and actually looked quite troubled.
”Tell the truth, we never ’ad a lot to go by from the start. Lordaeron’s never been much interested in seafarin’ ’n exploring, that’s something we’re happy to leave to Kul Tirans, an’ I reckon the same goes for me. I plied me trade ’tween Lordaeron ’n Kul Tiras, ’n I know the reefs ’n banks back home like the back of my hand – though I suppose both’re a bit worse for wear now – but I wasn’ intendin’ to cross oceans anytime soon.”
”Neither was I, actually. All I ever wanted was to study.” Jaina said and swallowed the melancholy that admission had conjured. ”But Theramore can not survive without its trade and fishing so we mapped the coast closest to us and I have it in pretty good memory. May I have a look at your sea charts, captain?”
With three people later bent over it the desk in the captains cabin seemed even smaller than before. Jaina was soon biting her lip and furrowing her brow worse than ever this day. As experienced as the captain was on deck, the navigational logs left a lot to be desired. Did they really intend to chance it on basically following previous course changes backwards to Lordaeron? What about currents and drift and… Jaina bit back any exasperated sighs that threatened to come out. This wasn’t their fault. Captain Bones did what he could with the knowledge he had, but he hadn’t grown up being the Lord Admirals daughter. And he was quite right in that only Kul Tirans had the yearning for maritime exploration to invest vast resources in the kind of oceanic navigation that remained a quite abstract concept for most traders and fleets focused on traversing the coasts of the eastern kingdoms. If you saw no land you simply turned east again until you had the shoreline back in view and that was that.
It was in a way very telling. This had to be the normal state of things for the Forsaken. They had to make do with what they had and what they had was almost certainly never enough.
”With all respect, captain, I am not quite sure following the opposite course back to Lordaeron will be enough to ensure we don’t end up wrong.” Jaina begun hesitantly when they were back on the quarterdeck. Was she really going to do this? ”Even though I will not deny that the most becoming method of navigation for the Forsaken fleet is without a doubt ’dead reckoning’, so to say...” Jaina couldn’t help herself.
Captain Bones guffawed while Sylvanas made a sound that sounded very much like a suppressed groan and ”Not another one...”.
Jaina straightened her back and stepped forward. She raised her hand in an impeccable Alliance sailors salute.
”Navigator Jaina Proudmoore reporting for duty, captain!”