Chapter Text
The night was at its darkest, just on the verge of breaking into dawn. The streets of Orgrimmar were silent. Unlucky grunts, tasked with guarding the city in this ancestors-forsaken hour, were yawning and waiting for their shifts to end, while being surreptitiously scowled at by dark rangers — the real guardians of the city, as some might say.
Unbeknownst to these vigilant defenders, an Alliance mage slept soundly on the highest floor of the most guarded building — the Grommash Hold. If any orcs or trolls in the city guard knew she was there, the night would definitely not be so peaceful. Instead it would be disturbed by the sound of alarm, battle cries and clanking of weapons. And if the sin’dorei mages, who placed the wards around the city and claimed they were impenetrable, knew the mage had bypassed them all with as little as a flick of her wrist, they would add their wailing and outraged howls to the mix. After all, what right does an Alliance mage have to teleport into the very heart of their Horde in the middle of the night? And who cares if their factions were at relative peace at the moment? She had absolutely no business to stay there!
As for the dark rangers… Well, they knew. But they kept their mouths shut. They knew that the mage had every right to be here, since she was desired here. They also knew how important her business was — to stay the night in the arms of their warchief. After all, rangers were pretty certain that these late-night rendezvous were all that kept the current peace.
So, they all stayed silent… Well, almost all. Nathanos was silent as well, but for a different reason — nobody had told him about the mage and her regular visits. If he learned of this… well, his wailing would definitely put any banshee to a shame.
As it was, Jaina Proudmoore — Lord Admiral of Kul-Tiras, archmage of Dalaran, Alliance darling and usually the last person to be welcome on the Horde territory — happily slept in warchief’s private quarters, snuggling close to a slightly cool body next to her. Said body belonged, unsurprisingly, to Sylvanas Windrunner — the warchief herself — who, unlike Jaina, had no need of sleep. Thus, she simply laid in her bed, soaking in her lover’s heat and stroking her arm. Her movements were careful, for she did not wish to rouse the mage yet. They still had time until the sun rose and their duties would once again force them to go their separate ways.
However, fates decided differently. Sylvanas scowled, when after a soft knock on the door she felt Jaina jolt awake and tense, ice magic already glowing on her fingertips.
“Hush,” the warchief spoke quietly, regretfully untangling herself from the warm body and walking toward the door. “It’s one of my rangers.”
Jaina relaxed slightly as the door opened, revealing Anya Eversong. However, the mage didn’t allow herself to let her guard down completely — Anya would never disturb them unless the matter was extremely important.
“Dark Lady. Lord Admiral.” Anya bowed, glancing at Jaina, who sat on the bed and draped her naked form in the blanket. Anya’s usually impassive undead countenance changed to decidedly amused at the sight.
Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, and the ranger wordlessly passed her two letters. Envelopes looked almost identical, but banshee didn’t look at them for longer than a second before fixing Anya with a glare.
“You decided to interrupt us in the middle of the night to deliver letters?” Sylvanas’ tone was icier than frozen wastes of Northrend, but Anya remained seemingly unaffected by it.
“They were delivered a few minutes ago to the gates of the city. By a bronze dragon.” When Sylvanas’ eyebrows rose to her hairline, the ranger continued. “I assumed it means they are urgent. One is addressed to you, Dark Lady.” Then she once again looked at Jaina. “And the other to Lord Admiral.”
Jaina and Sylvanas both froze upon hearing this. Their relationship was as secret as it could get — only Jaina, Sylvanas and her rangers were privy to the knowledge of their activities and whereabouts this night. And the Dark Lady could bet her last Val’kyr that her rangers would never betray her secrets to anyone. So, a courier — however unorthodox — bringing a letter to the Lord Admiral in the unlikeliest of places on Azeroth seemed at the very least like a veiled threat.
“Thank you, Anya.” After the ranger bowed again and left, Sylvanas closed the door, walked toward her desk, took a letter opener and then sat next to Jaina on the bed, passing her the second envelope. “Did you by any chance cross the bronze dragonflight somehow?”
Jaina, whose first reaction was to think along the same lines, slowly shook her head. After Sylvanas opened her own envelope, the mage took the letter opener from her and spoke:
“No, I didn’t. I can’t even imagine what this is.” She sighed and glanced at Sylvanas’ letter. “Yours is longer.”
“And your looks like a threat note,” noted Sylvanas, eyeing both letters suspiciously.
She was right, though. While banshee’s own letter looked like a carefully folded long parchment, filled from top to bottom with someone’s tiny writing, Jaina’s was more of a card the size of a palm. Indeed, perfect for delivering a short threat.
Or an invitation.
The latter was exactly what the card turned out to be. Jaina frowned. Apparently, former Aspect Nozdormu the Timeless One called a meeting with leaders of the Alliance and the Horde… regarding the Forsaken. And she was being summoned.
As the mage put her card down, she looked up at the banshee. Sylvanas read her letter, her eyes narrowing and her ears trembling slightly. Jaina knew her lover well enough by now to understand, that it meant extreme agitation.
Oh, and anger. But no surprise there — after all, being a banshee, Sylvanas was almost always angry.
“What is it?” anxiously asked Jaina, when banshee finished reading. Instead of answering, Sylvanas passed the parchment to her.
Jaina was surprised at the gesture. Them both being the leaders of their respective — and antagonistic — factions, Warchief and Lord Admiral usually tried to skirt around matters related to their duties when behind closed doors. That meant trusting each other to not go through one another’s correspondence. And the fact that Sylvanas had just freely given her seemingly important letter spoke of a completely new level of trust.
As Sylvanas paced the room, archmage read the lengthy message her lover received. And by the end of it her eyes were as wide as the Blue Child in its fullest phase.
Apparently, Nozdormu the Timeless One and his flight had found a way to make every Forsaken alive again.
And he was asking Sylvanas if she and her people would consider this option.
Jaina had to re-read the letter twice to make sure her eyes didn’t deceive her. Nozdormu didn’t reveal too many details, but the vague hints he dropped while mentioning the ritual and its procedure made Jaina’s inner researcher very curious.
At the end of the letter, the former Aspect was also proposing to host a gathering of Horde and Alliance leaders at Wyrmrest Temple… in case Sylvanas wanted to hear him out.
Jaina frowned and glanced at her own card suspiciously.
“Well?” asked Sylvanas, noticing that Jaina finished reading.
The mage sighed, putting both letters on the bed, side by side.
“That’s… a lot to take in.” She paused, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. “You should probably know that Nozdormu already called this gathering. The message I received — it’s an invitation.”
Sylvanas’ face darkened. Walking toward the bed, she reached for Jaina’s card, but then hesitated.
“May I?”
Jaina smiled at the question and nodded. Trust was a two-way street after all.
As Sylvanas read the short summons, her glowing red eyes turned into angry slits.
“That serpent presumes to decide the fate of my people, then?” she hissed. “And he wishes to invite those Alliance vultures? I should have known the illusion of choice he left me in that letter was just that — an illusion.”
One of the most prominent Alliance vultures, who was sitting naked — save for Sylvanas’ token she always wore on her neck right next to her father’s pendant — on the warchief’s bed, sighed.
“He is a bronze dragon,” she offered carefully. “The invitation probably means that he knows you’re going to accept and come to the meeting.”
“Which only makes me want to refuse more.” Sylvanas shot back, sounding almost petulant.
Jaina smiled at that.
“Are there any serious reasons for you refusing and possibly breaking our timeway’s space and time in the process?” She asked softly.
“Of course.”
“Any reasons other than you acting like the biggest child on all of Azeroth?”
Sylvanas shot her a glare, but decided against answering that particular quip. Instead, she said. “I am unsure on the specifics of what he’s offering. What I am sure about, is that anything the bronze dragonflight came up with must involve messing with time. It’s simply dangerous.”
Jaina nodded at that, serious once again. The point was a valid one, but the mage still began, “I doubt bronzes will do anything to disrupt the timeways…”
Sylvanas scoffed, cutting her mid-sentence.
“Did you forget Garrosh and his trial already?”
Jaina’s face darkened. No, she did not forget Garrosh or anything involving that savage beast. And she definitely didn’t forget Kairoz’s betrayal, which subsequently resulted in Jaina’s own near-death and rise of the Iron Horde.
“Correction — I doubt Nozdormu will do anything to disrupt the timeways…”
At that Sylvanas simply laughed.
“Did you forget Murozond?”
Jaina sighed and lifted her eyes to the ceiling in silent prayer to the Tides, Light, and all gods that might be listening.
“At the very least, I think we should hear what he has to say,” she finally spoke, looking at Sylvanas. “That shouldn’t hurt anyone. Right?”
* * *
Northrend was its usual charming self — bleak, white, absolutely freezing. The majority of the Horde and the Alliance leaders, who gathered at the top platform of Wyrmrest Temple for Nozdormu’s meeting, shivered every time even the slightest breeze wafted through the temple. The only exceptions were mages, who were wrapped into their warming spells more than into their clothes, and the Forsaken — namely Sylvanas Windrunner and Nathanos Blightcaller, who accompanied his Dark Lady for almost every important faction meeting.
To be honest, Sylvanas saw little point in bringing him along. However, he did serve one important function — whenever he was standing or sitting next to Sylvanas during such meetings, Jaina would glare holes into him, not even trying to hide her disdain. Even now, while Lord Admiral was standing on the opposite side of the platform, surrounded by her friends and allies, she would occasionally give Nathanos a dirty look. That worked wonders for making others — especially narrowminded people like Genn Graymane — believe that Jaina Proudmoore felt this way about “the damnable banshee” as well.
Usually, Sylvanas could barely contain her smile at seeing this, but right now she had to withhold a scowl. Out of all the people Jaina could strike a conversation today, she picked the two whose very presence always set the Banshee Queen on edge.
Her sisters.
While Vereesa was deliberately ignoring Sylvanas, going as far as to turn away from her the moment they saw each other, Alleria was unabashedly staring, not looking away even for a second. From time to time she would add a few words to whatever discussion Jaina was having with Little Moon, but her gaze never wavered.
Deciding to do her best to ignore her beloved family and her actual beloved, Sylvanas allowed her own eyes to wander over the gathered crowd. Everyone but their actual host were accounted for. The best and brightest of the Alliance gathered on the far side of the platform. Anduin stood with Tyrande, Malfurion and Genn. The king of Gilneas was in his worgen form — Sylvanas assumed all the fur helped him withstand the cold better, but he was still pitifully shivering from time to time. His misery brought no small amount of joy to the banshee.
Next to the Alliance members stood representatives of Dalaran — archmage Khadgar, archmage Modera and blue dragon Kalec in his half-elven form. After a few minutes of waiting, the latter approached Jaina and her circle, almost making Sylvanas grind her teeth in jealousy. Suddenly realizing that her traitorous eyes once again fell upon Jaina, warchief shifted her gaze in the direction on her own envoy.
While she had no desire to bring any of the Horde leaders into what she considered a purely Forsaken matter, Nozdormu’s insistence to involve the Alliance forced her to gather her allies as well. All the battle-hardened veterans were there — Lor’themar, accompanied by Liadrin, quietly chatted with Thalyssra, while the oldest members of the Horde — Baine, Saurfang and Rokhan — quietly stood closer to the middle of the platform, creating a buffer between the Horde representatives and the Alliance. Sylvanas was secretly grateful for that — she didn’t really want bloodshed today, and she was counting on Baine’s calming influence on both sides.
The only people missing were Gazlowe, who recently racketed… errr… succeeded Gallywix as the goblin trade prince, and newly joined vulpera. Both were of the same mind as Sylvanas — they didn’t see a point in attending this gathering, and they didn’t want to travel to the edge of the world to freeze their ears off for nothing.
Finally, everyone turned their heads to look at the new arrivals — Alexstrasza the Life Binder and Nozdormu the Timeless One, both in their elven forms, walked through the perimeter of drakonids, who were watching from the sidelines in case the fighting broke out. Former Aspects stopped in the middle of the platform and looked at the mortals.
“Ah, everyone’s just on time. Excellent,” said Nozdormu, looking quite pleased. Sylvanas rolled her eyes. Leave it to the Keeper of Time to be concerned about someone’s punctuality.
Alexstrasza smiled at him indulgently and then turned her attention toward mortals.
“Children of Azeroth,” she began, “we welcome you in our temple and thank you for accepting our invitation.”
“Your letter said this… meeting… had something to do with these wretches,” growled Genn, impolitely cutting Alexstrasza off and angrily pointing his forepaw at Sylvanas. The banshee impassively stared him down. “What did they do this time?”
“Nothing,” Alexstrasza smiled. “This meeting is about what we — the dragons — can do for them.” The gathered crowd — all except Sylvanas and Jaina — seemed confused; and when no more interruptions followed, the Dragonqueen continued. “Some time ago the bronze dragonflight had stumbled upon notes of an ancient magic. After thoroughly studying it, they discovered that it could be used to… revert the condition of the Forsaken, making them alive again.”
Sylvanas mentally scoffed at the phrasing. “Condition”. Of course, the Life Binder would see their undeath as something to cure, to fix. “Revert” was just another word for it. Although, if Sylvanas was being honest with herself, she couldn’t deny a twinge of hope she felt at the thought of having her life restored. And, apparently, her sisters had some feelings on that as well — out of the corner of her eye banshee noticed how they perked up, their gazes boring into her. Even Vereesa dropped her act for a few seconds, before catching herself. Yet, as much as Sylvanas wanted to see the expression on their faces, she didn’t allow herself to look in their direction.
“Your letter to me said as much,” she finally spoke, addressing Nozdormu. “However, I wonder why you needed to summon such an engaging crowd here, when you could have discussed my people’s fate with me first.” Her tone was syrupy, but her nostrils flared and she glowered at the former Aspect with unhidden fury.
Nozdormu smiled, however. In fact, Sylvanas noticed that the bronze, usually calm and broody, now radiated something akin to excitement.
“I wished to explain the details of what we would do and what would happen to your people after the ritual, warchief,” he said, “and I believed it counterproductive to repeat myself twice. Thus, we decided to call the gathering… to conserve time, so to speak.”
Sylvanas bristled at the implication. Jaina’s words from a few days before rang in her mind. It probably means that he knows you’re going to accept.
That would not do. She would not let anyone toy with her fate and the fate of her people.
“I haven’t said yes yet,” she spoke, and it seemed that the temperature around the temple dropped even lower.
“But don’t you wish to know what awaits you and your people if you do?” countered Nozdormu. “There are several… complications that are going to arise, should you agree, and, unfortunately, they concern not only Forsaken, but also both of your mortal factions. They need to be addressed.”
Sylvanas gritted her teeth, but before she could give the insolent former Aspect a tongue lashing, Jaina spoke up. “Nozdormu, Lady Alexstrasza mentioned that this ritual you speak of is tied to the magic your flight has discovered. Am I correct in assuming that it’s time magic we are discussing?”
“Yes,” Khadgar piped in. “I don’t suppose I should remind you of all… uh… dragons, that messing with time is extremely dangerous. The potential for time loops, paradoxes, or the unraveling of the timeways is…” he trailed off, noticing the bronze dragon nodding along and smiling at him rather patronizingly.
“I understand your concerns, archmage, and yes, Lady Jaina, you are correct — the magic we propose to implement is indeed a variation of time magic that my flight uses. However, there’s no need to fear for our timeway, since the ritual, or, rather, a sequence of spells we propose won’t change the time itself. Only the effect it had on people.”
While the mages contemplated what the former Aspect said, Sylvanas still considered the explanation he’d given to be too vague.
“What exactly are you proposing?” she demanded, getting his attention once again.
“There is a spell that is capable of reversing the flesh — living or dead — in time. We would use it on any willing Forsaken and bring their bodies to the point they were right prior to their deaths. Thus, they would be alive again.”
An impressed murmur rose from the gathered leaders.
“Magic like that sounds quite useful,” loudly said Modera, clearly thoughtful. “Can it be used for other means?”
“To heal grave wounds, for example?” suddenly suggested Anduin.
“Or as an anti-aging spell, perhaps?” Modera glanced at the king, clearly displeased at being interrupted.
Nozdormu sighed, for the first time looking rather upset.
“Unfortunately, there are side effects to such a reversal. And they are the main reason I wanted to gather all of you here.” He nodded to Sylvanas, finally acknowledging the displeasure she had expressed earlier. “The reversal also affects memories. They are written in our minds, and our minds are tied to our bodies. Once the body is altered to its past state, the same will happen to its memories. In other words, the Forsaken who decide to undergo the ritual would become their exact selves at the moment of their demise. They won’t remember their undeath. For them it would be as if they never died and simply skipped a few years… or a dozen.” At that the former Aspect turned back to Modera. “So no, archmage, I’m afraid you cannot use this magic for an eternal youth spell.” Then he glanced at Anduin. “Although young king’s idea has merit. Granted the wounded won’t remember anything past the moment they were about to be injured, but I suppose it’s a small price to pay for their lives and health.”
Silence filled the air as Nozdormu allowed everyone to mull over what he said. Surprisingly, the first to speak up was Alleria.
“These people… Since they won’t remember what they were…” she hesitated, as if trying to find words. “They won’t again become…”
“Evil, sister?” Sylvanas’ grin was full of smugness she didn’t really feel. In fact, she almost felt guilty at the pained look that ghosted over Alleria’s features. But the banshee steeled herself against it. As much as she secretly wanted this, it was near impossible to mend the rift between her and her sisters…
Except now it isn’t, she briefly thought, before squashing this hope as well.
Nozdormu ignored Sylvanas’ quip and answered Alleria. “Each person is different, so it’s impossible to say what path they will take once restored to their former selves. However, I think it’s safe to say they won’t become the exact same people they became in undeath. After all, our lives largely determine our characters.” Then he addressed other leaders, including Sylvanas. “But you must understand — these people will not think themselves Forsaken. If we decide to go through with this, you will have no small amount of Lordaeron humans and Quel’Thalas high elves on your hands. And I don’t need to remind you that their kingdoms no longer exist. They will be lost, in a world so alike and yet so different from the one they remember...”
Lor’themar, who until then was silently glancing at Sylvanas from time to time, straightened.
“That is not true. Sin’dorei will be happy to accept every high elf back in Silvermoon,” he proudly spoke.
“As will the Silver Covenant,” quickly snapped Vereesa, boring her angry gaze into Lord Theron.
Lor’themar scowled. “Did you not hear what the Timeless One said, Ranger General? These elves will be from the time before the Sunwell was corrupted. They will need its magic to sustain them. Or did you forget the torment we all had to go through?”
“Dalaran has plenty of magic sources,” Jaina spoke coldly, almost indifferently, but there was no hiding fire in her eyes. While she and Theron managed to work well together in recent times, especially during the campaign against Azshara, they were still very far from forgiving each other. “And I’m sure Kirin-Tor will find a way to help these quel’dorei to get rid of their addiction forever.” After that Jaina once again looked at Nozdormu. “However, I must ask you something, Nozdormu. You said you will revert their flesh, but what about their souls? After all, they carry our memories as well.”
Sylvanas nodded at that. A long time ago, when the Alliance and the Horde fought against the Lich King here in Northrend, they saw ghosts in Icecrown. Ghosts, like the one of Uther Lightbringer, who remembered their lives quite well.
Besides, there was something else about Forsaken souls that bothered Sylvanas…
And it seemed that Nozdormu knew exactly what it was, because he then said, “You are, of course, correct, Lady Proudmoore. If the spell only affected their bodies, over time they might have restored some of their memories thanks to the imprint that remains on the soul.” He sighed. “Alas, we will have to mend their souls as well. When these people were raised, their souls were torn from the Shadowlands — a realm where dead go to either rest or receive penance. To escape Shadowlands is considered an unforgivable crime, so now if these people were to die again, they will not be allowed their rest. Instead, they will be sent to the horrific Maw, and it won’t matter whether they’ve led a virtuous life or not.” Then the Timeless One looked directly into Sylvanas’ eyes. “We will restore the soul of every Forsaken, undo all the torment they came through and remove the mark Shadowlands left on them. Thus, they will be spared the eternity in the Maw.”
The world faded around Sylvanas. This. This was all she dreamed about, her ultimate goal since the day she threw herself from the top of the Icecrown Citadel. This was the reason she accepted the bargain with Val’kyr — to delay the inevitable, to postpone the infinite agony she and all her people were doomed to suffer.
As the banshee looked in the eyes of the former bronze Aspect, she saw that he knew. From the very beginning he knew what her answer would be. And now he knew that this was why.
* * *
Jaina looked on as Sylvanas and her envoy disappeared through the portal conjured by Thalyssra. After Nozdormu revealed the details of his proposition, the warchief declared that she needed to think it over. The rest of the leaders also agreed that it was too much to take in on the spot, so everyone decided to reconvene in two weeks.
Alleria was also looking at the retreating Horde leaders, while Vereesa stared at the horizon, her face pale and lips pursed. As soon as Thalyssra herself stepped through the portal and it winked out of existence, the eldest sister turned to Jaina.
“Lord Admiral… Jaina. Do you think what dragons say is possible? Can they really…” she took he deep breath. “Can they really bring her back?”
Jaina didn’t even have enough energy to be surprised at the sudden show of vulnerability from Alleria. Right now, she was desperately trying to cope with what this turn of events meant for Sylvanas… and for herself.
“I am… uncertain,” she spoke wearily. “Time magic is an incredibly complicated field. However, from what Nozdormu said, I don’t see why it could not be done.”
Alleria nodded and looked at Vereesa, touching her arm. Vereesa flinched, as if jolted awake, and looked back at her sister.
“When we met at the Spire,” slowly began the eldest sister, “Sylvanas told us she sometimes wishes she was alive. We never learned if it was the truth or a lie, but… You know her better than I do now, Vereesa. Do you think she will agree to it?”
Jaina’s heart clenched. Oh, she knew that it was true. Sylvanas herself once told the mage how much she hated her undeath. But Jaina couldn’t tell that to the sisters — after all, they had no idea Lord Admiral of Kul-Tiras was having an affair with the warchief of the Horde. Jaina’s friends knew she had someone — there was no hiding the braided platinum chain that marked an elven token of promise hanging on her neck. However, the token itself was always hidden under the neck of her blouse — she had to adjust her clothing to a more conservative one after receiving it. If Windrunner sisters saw the flat arrowhead that currently rested between her breasts, they would definitely recognize intricate patterns engraved on it, and all hell would break loose.
While Jaina was lost in thought, Vereesa lowered her eyes and began shaking her head. Her lips trembled.
Alleria frowned. “You think she’ll refuse?”
“No. No… I… I don’t know.” Vereesa took a deep breath. “And I don’t want to know.”
“Vereesa…”
“No, Alleria.” Vereesa looked at her sister almost pleadingly. “I mourned for her once. Then I heard she was alive and I hoped… only to learn that she was still dead. Dead and working for the enemy. I can’t do this again. Please, don’t make me hope again.”
It seemed like Alleria was going to say something, but then changed her mind. Instead, she looked at Jaina.
“We’ll be returning to Stormwind now. Jaina, I know you don’t need it, but… do you want a portal to Boralus? You look… tired.”
Jaina supposed her emotional turmoil was showing despite her efforts to hide it. Still, she shook her head.
“Thank you, Alleria, but I must decline. I’m not going to Boralus right now.” She ignored the knowing look Vereesa sent her token — or, rather, its chain that was visible — and the way her friend smiled slightly.
Well, at least she’s smiling now, Jaina thought. If she knew where I was going, she’d bring me to Boralus by force and lock me in the Keep.
Thinking of Orgrimmar — her next destination — Jaina suddenly remembered the bronze courier and her invitation. Still wondering if it was a veiled threat or a warning, Jaina hastily said her goodbyes to the Windrunner sisters and walked toward Nozdormu.
“Timeless One, may I have a moment of your time?”
Nozdormu excused himself from conversation with Alexstrasza and Kalec. The latter looked rather upset at that, since he was hoping Jaina approached to speak with him, but he didn’t say anything.
“Of course, Lady Proudmoore.” The bronze waved his hand, inviting her to follow him, and together they strode across the platform, putting some distance between them and the rest of the group. “Did you wish to discuss the workings of the ritual and spells we talked about?”
“Yes… But that’s not the only reason I wished to speak with you.” Jaina stopped, straightened her shoulders and looked squarely at Nozdormu. “Forgive me if I’m being blunt, but… How did your courier know where to find me to pass the invitation for this meeting?”
The bronze dragon paused, as if not knowing how to react to this question.
“I assume you asking me this means I won’t be sending it to the Proudmoore Keep?” he carefully asked.
Jaina frowned.
“No, it… Wait, what do you mean by ‘won’t be sending’?”
Nozdormu smiled, his uncertainty gone, and put on a slight air of superiority.
“It means that I haven’t even sent them yet.” His smile widened when he saw her baffled expression. “There was simply too much to do. I was planning to do so this evening, but I suppose now I will have to wait until your location in the recent past will become known to me.” When Jaina opened her mouth to speak, he raised his hand. “But, please, Lady Proudmoore, do not tell it to me now, or we might create one of those paradoxes archmage Khadgar is so afraid of. I’ll just wait and find out by other means. After all, it doesn’t really matter if I send invitations today or the next century.” He chuckled. “Perks of being a bronze dragon — it’s never late to do anything.”
* * *
Jaina teleported to Sylvanas’ bedroom shortly after talking to Nozdormu. The sun has already set in Orgrimmar, but the room was empty. Just as Jaina prepared to wait for the warchief, she heard two loud voices behind the door, and one of them made the archmage flare her magic and prepare to cast an invisibility spell.
Nathanos Blightcaller.
However, after a few tense seconds Jaina noticed that the voices didn’t seem to get closer. She relaxed even further when she realized the second voice belonged to Sylvanas. Apparently, warchief and her pet Ranger Lord were in Sylvanas’ study, discussing today’s revelations.
“… can’t possibly believe they have good intentions!” Nathanos, usually the epitome of gallantry when it came to Sylvanas, was being surprisingly vocal. He didn’t cross the line where his loud complaints would become an offence to his monarch, but he certainly wasn’t about to lower his voice.
“You’re forgetting that craftiness and subterfuge are usually our go-to methods and not dragons’.” Sylvanas slightly amused drawl only barely hid her annoyance. While Nathanos usually had the liberty to speak his mind around the warchief, it seemed that today he managed to irritate her.
“Which is exactly why their plot is so transparent!” Nathanos went on a rant. “Even if their so-called ritual is not some nonsense made up to deceive us, their goals are still clear! They want to destroy us, my Queen, to remove our memories, to remove you! To cripple the Horde and annihilate everything we — you! — have achieved!”
Jaina felt her chest tighten. While she didn’t believe Nozdormu and his flight were doing this for some strategic gain, Nathanos was right in one thing — the ritual would destroy Sylvanas as she was now. All of her memories past the point of her first death would be wiped.
Including memories of Jaina.
“Tell me, Nathanos…” Sylvanas’ almost wistful tone made Jaina push the thought away for now and listen carefully. “Don’t you ever wish you were still alive?”
The long pause followed. Jaina held her breath, straining her hearing and wishing she could see both Sylvanas’ and — surprisingly — Nathanos’ faces.
“No,” he finally answered, his voice firm. “The living had time and time again shown us and other Forsaken how much we meant to them in life. Our undeath was a gift for them, a chance to see and to be with those of their loved ones they thought long lost. But they have cursed us, belittled us, killed us. So no, I would never wish to become one of them again. We — the Forsaken — know the true meaning of loyalty. We knew it in life, and in undeath. We can only trust each other. And we only have each other… my lady.”
Silence stretched once again. At last, Jaina heard the scraping of a chair — apparently, Sylvanas stood up from behind her desk.
“Then that is where you and I differ, my champion.” As always, Jaina didn’t hear undead elf’s footsteps, but next time Sylvanas’ voice sounded closer — as if she moved toward the hall. “You are dismissed for now.”
“My lady, please, tell me you are not seriously considering…”
“Remember your place, Nathanos.” Her tone became icy. “You are dismissed.”
After a short pause — Jaina could easily imagine how Blightcaller bowed to Sylvanas — he answered, “Or course, my queen.” Then the archmage heard his footsteps that soon faded in the distance.
Jaina turned around and came closer to the window, crossing her arms. As soon as she did that, the door creaked slightly, and a few seconds later she was wrapped in a pair of strong slender arms, cool soft lips pressing into her neck.
It used to put Jaina at ease, even though she stood in the middle of once enemy city. However, today the mage felt her stomach churn. After all, it seemed that this bliss, her happiness — the one she managed to find in an unlikeliest of places with the unlikeliest of people — was rapidly coming to an end.
Sylvanas, however, didn’t yet know what thoughts plagued her beloved.
“Ah, there’s my favorite little mage,” she drawled in between planting kisses on Jaina’s neck and the nook of her shoulder. “Heard much of our conversation?”
“Only the end of it,” answered the mage, turning around in Sylvanas’ arms and wrapping her own around warchief’s neck. “Tides, I never thought I would agree with Nathanos on anything.”
Sylvanas’ eyebrows shot up nearly to her hairline.
“Oh? Do you also think dragons plan some sort treachery?” she asked incredulously.
Jaina huffed. Now that thought was definitely preposterous. While intelligent and cunning, reds, bronzes and greens were usually as noble as they get. The archmage had no doubt that their goal was exactly as stated — to help the Forsaken. And while blues and black dragons were on occasion known for their convoluted and wily plans, they had nothing to do with this project. Besides, she doubted Kalec would allow his flight to do any harm, and Wrathion — well, he disappeared after helping nations of Azeroth defeat N’Zoth. Nobody had seen him ever since.
“Not the part I was agreeing with,” said Jaina, looking at Sylvanas meaningfully and cupping her face. Banshee’s piercing gaze softened.
“Odd,” she murmured. “One would think you’d be among those who would be happy to see the horrible banshee returned to her less terrifying self.” When Jaina lowered her gaze sadly, Sylvanas touched her chin slightly, raising her face up again. “Do you not want me alive, Jaina?”
Jaina swallowed thickly, taking a step back. Her heart was heavy and her mind a mess. She knew what she wanted, but couldn’t help feeling guilty for wanting it. Taking a few seconds to collects herself, the mage turned to the window and crossed her arms again.
“It doesn’t matter what I want. I can’t be selfish. Not in this.”
Sylvanas didn’t move, standing right behind Jaina, close enough to touch, but not touching.
“You don’t want me alive?” she quietly asked.
The mage closed her eyes. Why was it so difficult for her to speak? “I… I don’t…”
“Jaina?”
“I don’t want to lose you,” she finally blurted out. “And I can’t be sure that you’ll feel the same way about me when you’re alive again.” She sighed. “In fact, I know you won’t. You’ll forget everything. You’ll forget me.”
“Jaina…” Sylvanas finally moved, stepping closer to the mage and touching her hand. Jaina turned around and looked at her, tears glistening in her eyes.
“But it doesn’t matter,” she soldiered on, her voice seemingly firm even if she herself was on the verge of breaking down. “I remember what you told me. How much you hate this existence. How much you wish Arthas gave you a clean death you craved. How you are afraid of the darkness that awaits you and your people in the end, all because of what he did to you.” Jaina shook her head. “Don’t think of me when you make this decision, Sylvanas. There’s far more at stake than one little mage’s heart.”
“It’s hard to do so when you are the little mage,” whispered Sylvanas, leaning forward until their foreheads touched. “I don’t wish to leave you behind, Dalah’surfal. You are next to the only thing that makes this curse bearable.”
Jaina sighed, closing her eyes and reveling in their closeness.
“Oh, how I wish we could do what we wished, and have what we wanted,” she whispered. “But it isn’t just about us, what we want. It’s also about your people and what is best for them.”
Sylvanas had no answer to that. She knew Jaina was right. And, despite not being Aspects of Time, they both clearly knew what future held, and what Sylvanas was going to tell Nozdormu.
Without a word, the banshee queen kissed Jaina, and the mage melted into the kiss without hesitation. Their time together was running out, but for now they had it… and each other.
* * *
Three days later Sylvanas informed Nozdormu that she and her people will be accepting his offer.
Immediately arguments broke out among faction leaders regarding the future fate of the reformed Forsaken. Two hottest (and not in the fun way) topics were which faction these people will belong to, and where they will live. The question of humans was settled almost immediately — Anduin pronounced that they will be happy to accept these Lordaeron ‘survivors’ into his kingdom, just as they have once accepted refugees from Stormwind after the First War. Nobody tried to object to that. However, when it came to the elves, fights nearly broke out at least twice. Lor’themar claimed that they all were rightful citizens of Silvermoon and as such belonged to the Horde. Genn laughed in his face, saying, that these elves will revert to become quel’dorei, and would likely die rather than join the Horde.
That nearly started a third fight.
It didn’t help that Sylvanas wasn’t providing any input on the matter. Being the warchief of the Horde she couldn’t undermine her faction’s efforts to retain her rangers and elven death knights, especially since they were losing humans to the Alliance. However, as much as she loathed to admit it, old wolf was right. Sylvanas remembered her past self well enough to know that she would rather impale herself on the Frostmourne again than join ranks of trolls and orcs.
The reasonable solution came, unsurprisingly, from Jaina. She suggested to settle the Forsaken elves in a neutral zone between two factions, and then letting them decide their fate for themselves.
Although, the question of where they would find such neutral ground was tricky as well. At first it was suggested that newly reformed Forsaken settle in Lordaeron — a thought that outraged Genn to no end and amused Sylvanas. However, this discussion was quickly put to bed by Dalaran wizards — they had to remind both delegations that quite recently Lordaeron was filled with Blight by a certain banshee and had its walls ruined by a certain mage. And both tasks — restoring the city and removing the Blight to make it habitable again — were quite difficult to accomplish, not to mention time-consuming.
The solution to this problem suddenly came from Vereesa. The youngest Windrunner sister never took part in the discussions until then, yet she quietly said that elves could settle in the Windrunner village. The village and the Spire became border region right after Alliance took most of Eastern Plaguelands during first phase of the Fourth War, and they were currently uninhabited. However, they could be restored. As a bonus, the village was not very distant from the Sunwell, so the reformed elves wouldn’t need to suffer from magic withdrawal. Delegation from Dalaran readily agreed that this was an excellent solution, and immediately offered their help in cleansing the land from remnants of the Scourge and lingering necrotic energies. The Alliance was happy with the offer as well.
Lor’themar tried to object, and after some grumbling from him, Sylvanas had to intervene. She harshly reminded him that Windrunner village was not only his domain, but also her ancestral home. Finally, Regent Lord reluctantly ceded this land to the reformed Forsaken.
The last question to be discussed did not involve most of the leaders, but even that didn’t save Sylvanas from arguments. When Nozdormu asked the banshee queen to determine the succession in which Forsaken will be reverted, Sylvanas demanded she go first. Her reasoning was that her being the banshee put her case among the most difficult ones, and if the ritual failed, she wanted her people safe. That, however, riled Nathanos up. Undead Ranger Lord vehemently objected, claiming that the Forsaken couldn’t afford losing her. Sylvanas tried to placate him by saying that she was going to leave him in charge and that she trusted him to lead the Forsaken through the weeks of the ritual. When even that didn’t shut Nathanos up, she had to force him into silence. He sulked at first, but then became even more obsessed with her protection, following her almost everywhere.
In the whirlwind of discussions and preparation, and with Nathanos constantly hovering at her side, Sylvanas didn’t have time to meet with Jaina. They only saw each other in public during negotiations, and the rest of the time it seemed as if the mage was actively avoiding her. Or, rather, giving her space to think things over. However, it was the last thing Sylvanas wanted. If these were her last days as herself, she wanted to spend them with the woman she loved. Alas, their precious time was consumed by talks and preparations. Finally, Sylvanas lost all her patience, and during one of the meetings she sent Velonara to pass Lord Admiral a message — to meet her in her rooms on the eve of the ritual.
Jaina appeared in the middle of the bedroom as soon as the sun set. Sylvanas was seated at a small table and writing something on a parchment.
“Finishing your orders?” the mage came closer and leaned her hip onto the edge of the table, facing Sylvanas.
Banshee shook her head. “Not really. I already made all the arrangements. Effective tomorrow Baine will take up the mantle of warchief, and Nathanos will become Regent Lord of the remaining Forsaken.”
Jaina hummed. “Baine is an inspired choice. He’s loved in the Horde and respected in the Alliance. He’s going to make a fine warchief.” Then the mage frowned. “But… what do you mean about Nathanos? I thought all of the Forsaken decided to undergo the ritual?”
Sadness flashed on Sylvanas’ face.
“No. Not all. Nozdormu warned me that he cannot guarantee Nathanos will survive if they try to revert him. His case is… a complicated one.” When Jaina lifted an eyebrow, Sylvanas averted her gaze and said, “Let’s just say that I employed some… unconventional means to give him his flesh, and leave it at that.” She sighed heavily. “Besides, he was very much against the ritual in the first place. As were some other Forsaken.”
“They do not wish for their lives back?” Jaina whispered quietly, worriedly. Despite hearing Nathanos’ objections several weeks earlier, she didn’t even entertain a thought that someone in their right mind could honestly want to remain undead.
Sylvanas chuckled ruefully. “They don’t have much of an old life to speak of. When Arthas was filling ranks of the Scourge, he didn’t only raise soldiers and citizens. He raised every body he came across — including bandits, and beggars, and every other person who didn’t have a place in this world and was unlucky enough to get in Arthas’ way. For them becoming part of the Forsaken was a second chance at life. They were my most loyal subjects. After my rangers, of course.”
Jaina nodded in understanding. Then her gaze fell upon the parchment again.
“Then what’s this?”
Sylvanas placed the quill aside and leaned back in the chair.
“My rangers came up with these… letters to our past selves. There are things some of us don’t wish to forget,” she looked at Jaina meaningfully, “and this way we can remember them. In a fashion.”
Jaina hummed, looking at the letter but not quite reading it.
“It’s a lot of text though,” she noted.
“Well, I did have a very eventful undeath,” Sylvanas drawled with a hint of sarcasm in her voice. “My past self might want to know what really happened and whom she can and cannot trust.”
Jaina snorted in disbelief. “You know, most would see this as an opportunity for a fresh start. Do you really wish to drag all your petty grievances over with you?”
Sylvanas looked at her with mock indignation.
“Petty grievances? Being stabbed in the back by those I trusted is petty?”
Jaina’s face grew serious at that. “Sylvanas, please tell me you didn’t write anything bad about Vereesa.”
Sylvanas arched her eyebrow. “Anything bad? Like what? Like reuniting with me, giving me hope, and then leaving me behind without a second glance? Like betraying me?” By the end of the last sentence her voice split into several banshee undertones, but she didn’t raise it. However, Jaina kept glaring at her, and Sylvanas relented. “No, no matter the temptation, I didn’t write anything like that,” she grumbled. “Despite what Little Moon and I had done and tried to do to each other… I don’t want to ruin this opportunity to mend things. Both with her and Alleria.”
Jaina stood up, circled the chair and wrapped her arms around Sylvanas, nuzzling into her neck and soothing her beloved. “What did you write about them then?”
“That things were difficult between us. That I almost lost them…” Then Sylvanas tensed and added quietly, “And that it was almost entirely my fault.” Then she moved her head, as if shaking the melancholy off, and looked at Jaina with a crooked smile. “I’m almost finished with that letter. In fact, I left the best for last. What do you think I should write about a certain mage who captured my undead heart and made it beat again?”
A shadow of a smile crossed Jaina’s face at the joke, but she squashed the warm feeling Sylvanas’ words stirred in her chest. With a dread, she realized what she had to say.
“I don’t think you should write about her at all.”
Sylvanas’ gaze snapped to Jaina’s, her trademark grin gone along with all traces of mirth.
“What?” she demanded, searching the mage’s face. When Jaina didn’t answer, she took her hand, gripping it tightly. “Jaina, I don’t want to forget you!”
“I know. I know…” Jaina squeezed her hand back. “I don’t want it either. But think about it — once the ritual is complete, you won’t remember anything we shared and you won’t have any feelings for me. This letter won’t magically create them anew, it will only make things awkward between us, placing such an obligation on you. Maybe it will even push you away from me.” With her free hand she cupped Sylvanas’ face and smiled. “I’ll just have to win you over again the usual way.”
“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Sylvanas drawled, smirking. Then suddenly her face darkened. “Actually, now that I think about it…”
Jaina raised an eyebrow, smiling sadly.
“What? Are you saying your past self could never fall for me?” she teased half-heartedly, trying to hide her fear behind a joke. She was truly terrified of the possibility that Sylvanas’ past self would see her differently.
Sylvanas sighed — something that usually amused Jaina to no end, since the Forsaken didn’t need to breathe at all, much less sigh. However, now it worried the archmage.
“I remember myself back then. I was… different. After the Second War, I started to despise humans. Even more so after Alleria followed one to Draenor. And I always hated mages.” She frowned. “I was a fool.”
Jaina chuckled. “You hated humans, yet you’ve made one a Ranger Lord.” She shook her head. “Don’t worry about us. I’m certain you will come back to me, eventually.” She managed to say it with more conviction than she actually felt, which earned her a small smile from Sylvanas. “Though, I suppose, now I have to take this off.” The mage reached for her token chain, when a gauntleted hand suddenly encircled her wrist.
“Don’t,” the warchief was frowning now. She reached with her other hand, gently freeing the token from under Jaina’s blouse, so that now it was visible. “Keep it.” Then her expression became lighter and slyer. “I’ll need something to ward off your suitors until I know better to do so myself again.”
“Let’s hope it doesn’t ward you off,” Jaina teased, but let her hand fall.
Sylvanas, still holding her wrist, tugged Jaina closer, until she was sitting in her lap. “As if anything could keep me from my little mage,” she murmured, before claiming her lips in a searing kiss.
* * *
They said their goodbyes in the morning and teleported to Wyrmrest separately. Sylvanas was being accompanied by her rangers — all, except Nathanos, — who were supposed to make up the first wave of the “restored” Forsaken. As soon as they came through the portal, they were greeted by a cohort of bronze dragons led by Nozdormu. The dragons whisked her rangers away to wait for their turn, while former Aspect invited Sylvanas to follow him.
Together they went down to the lowest levels of the temple.
“The ritual will take place in the Chamber of Aspects,” explained the Timeless One. “It is a place where many powerful forces converge, and we will need their energy for such a potent ritual to work properly.”
Sylvanas only nodded. She didn’t tell him that it was a great honor for her to be allowed into dragons’ holiest of places — which it was, truly. But these were the very last moments of her unlife, and she didn’t want to waste them on meaningless talk. She also didn’t ask the bronze what would happen if the ritual didn’t work properly — her decision was already made, and there was no point in reconsidering it now.
As they walked through a tunnel that led to the Chamber, they were stopped by a whirlwind of sand that appeared out of thin air right in front of them. Alarmed, Sylvanas gripped the hilt of her dagger, but Nozdormu raised his hand, stopping her. As he looked at the whirlwind, a tall figure stepped out of it.
A figure that looked exactly like Nozdormu.
Well… Not exactly. Usually, when in his elven form, Nozdormu walked around bare-chested, donning only a shoulder piece, a heavy necklace and armored skirt. And that’s how Nozdormu standing next to Sylvanas looked like. But second Nozdormu, who just appeared before them, wore scarlet sin’dorei robes instead.
The newcomer raised his hand, pointing something at Sylvanas. She noticed that the object in his hand was octagonal and seemingly metallic, but as she tried to find any other distinctive feature, it began to glow white.
The next second similar radiance surrounded Sylvanas as well.
Warchief bared her teeth, gripping her dagger tighter. However, it didn’t feel like the object and its radiance did anything to her. Before she managed to ask, what the hell is going on, the glow faded and second Nozdormu turned to the one standing next to her.
“Wait until she asks you to do that,” he urged his other self. When first Nozdormu nodded, sand once again began spinning around the second one.
Only when the second Timeless One disappeared, Sylvanas had finally released her dagger and, still frowning, asked, “What did he do?”
“Something I wish I had sense to do at this point in time,” Nozdormu answered ruefully. He was looking at the place his future self disappeared with a curious expression on his elven face.
Sylvanas glanced at the former Aspect.
“Since you know you can do it now, can’t you just do it?”
The Timeless One smiled sadly and shook his head, waving for her to continue walking.
“And to disrupt the true timeway? I think not, warchief. You’ve heard my future self — I’ll have to wait until you ask me to do this.”
Sylvanas felt her patience wearing thin. She didn’t like these riddles. She especially didn’t like them now — a few minutes before she was about to lose her memories.
“To do what? That thing — what was it?”
“You will know. In due time.”
That didn’t quell Sylvanas’ worries in the slightest, but the second they walked into the Chamber of Aspects her eyes landed on the people who waited there, and she forgot all about it.
There were a handful of bronze dragons — Chronormu and Anachronos among them. Alexstrazsa and several of her flight were here as well — they were supposed to tend to Sylvanas and the rest immediately after the ritual. Jaina was also present… as were Alleria and Vereesa.
“What in the Void are you two doing here?” demanded Sylvanas, striding toward them, her ears angrily pinned to her hood, eyes blazing. Her sisters looked at her with guarded expressions, but it was Jaina who answered first.
“Alleria and Vereesa are here for your sake, warchief,” she began, taking a small step forward and subtly positioning herself almost between the sisters.
Sylvanas stopped and raised an eyebrow. Sparing one more glare at her sisters, she crossed her arms and turned her attention to Jaina. “Explain,” she curtly spoke.
“Since the ritual will erase your memories, you will be confused and disoriented once it’s complete,” began Jaina. “You will need someone to help you make sense of what’s happened during the last decade.”
Sylvanas frowned. “I thought our arrangement was supposed to see to that, Lady Proudmoore.” Her sisters exchanged wary glances. They didn’t know about the letter, and if they did, they might have refused to let her old self know anything from and about the Banshee Queen. Besides her rangers, who were all in a similar predicament, the only person Sylvanas trusted to pass her letter on was Jaina, so the two agreed she would do it shortly after the ritual.
“And I will honor it,” Jaina nodded, ignoring worried looks of the eldest and youngest Windrunner sisters. “But think about it, in a few minutes you will find yourself in an unknown place, surrounded by complete strangers. It would help to have some trustworthy faces nearby.”
Sylvanas scoffed. “Trustworthy?”
Jaina raised an eyebrow. “Did your old self trust anyone more than Alleria and Vereesa?”
Sylvanas didn’t answer immediately. Instead, her eyes flickered in the direction of her sisters. Both looked uncertain. While Vereesa’s gaze wandered about the room nervously, Alleria stared at Sylvanas, her eyes searching. It seemed as if she wanted to say something but was stopping herself.
“Very well,” the banshee finally relented. “I suppose it makes sense.” She turned in the direction of the altar and moved toward it. She was about to ascend the stairs, when Alleria finally spoke up.
“Perhaps it is best if Vereesa is the only one present for the ritual,” she said hastily, addressing Sylvanas. Undead elf stopped at the bottom of the stairs but didn’t turn, slight movement of her ears the only indication that she was listening. “I’d rather spare you any additional shock, and my presence will certainly be quite a surprise.”
Silence hang between them. After a few seconds, banshee turned her head slightly to the side and quietly said, “A happy surprise.”
Not saying another word, she walked up to the altar. A few seconds later she heard that Jaina and her sisters followed.
Dragons in their humanoid forms already waited for her.
“Please, lie down and try to relax,” chirped a fair-haired gnome — Chronormu, Sylvanas remembered — who wasn’t even tall enough for her head to reach the top of the altar.
As Sylvanas complied, she saw Vereesa out of the corner of her eye. Her sister tugged on Jaina’s sleeve and whispered something to her. Sylvanas strained to hear what was said.
“What was it about an arrangement? Jaina, what did she ask of you?” Vereesa sounded confused and worried. Sylvanas had to force herself not to smile — truly, what sort of secret dealings could Lord Admiral of the Alliance have with the Warchief of the Horde?
“Don’t worry about it,” Jaina whispered back.
Vereesa’s expression turned incredulous. “You realize that saying ‘don’t worry about it’ makes me worry even more?!”
Her whisper became too loud, and the dragons shushed her.
“We are ready,” announced Nozdormu, when everyone settled. “Is there anything you wish to say before we begin, warchief?”
She shook her head, staring at the ceiling that seemed too far, far away. “Just get on with it.”
The dragons took positions around the altar and spread their hands. As Sylvanas sensed them calling to the powers rested below the temple, she suddenly felt agitation rising within her chest. She shifted her head slightly and looked at Jaina. The mage held her gaze, her eyes full of love and caring, and Sylvanas’ fears abated.
Nozdormu spoke three words — powerful, ancient words, that echoed through the chamber, stirring the currents of time and bending them to the will of the Timeless One. Yet, as Sylvanas felt herself being caught in that current and swept away, she kept looking at Jaina, into her warm, loving blue eyes, their color reminding her of the ocean and clear sky...