#north fork trooping

[drbrownscelray]

#north fork trooping

[le-trash-prince]

so I have been Thinking a lot about food as love and our thought about Kenta getting really into baking and then I was like. there should be a story where Kenta learns love through food. a series of meals with different people.

it starts with Pete. (everything started with Pete, for Kenta) Kenta's still like, half-here half-not after killing his father, and Pete's a walking open wound with the loss of Way (the loss of what could have been) and they sit mostly in silence in Pete's open plan kitchen while Pete puts together the ingredients that were left already prepped for him. a simple stir fry, a little soup to start. it's warm and filling; it fills in a little bit of what Kenta didn't realise was hunger. it's easy to be with Pete in quiet.

then it's Alan's place, a family dinner where the empty seats are conspicuous and everyone talks a little too loud and vibrant to cover it up. it's a lot to deal with. Kenta hasn't had anything like this and it's just, it's a /lot/ of noise and people brushing against him as they serve each other. he's seated next to Jeff, who keeps his body to himself, and North, who doesn't think to do that at all. half the table carries the whole conversation but nobody seems to mind that Kenta can't contribute. he escapes to the back verandah while the main course is cleared and Sonic and Alan good-naturedly bicker over who might want which dessert. he lights a cigarette and smoke it but mostly just holds it, letting the smell of the smoke settle over him, far more familiar than the mess of scents of everyone inside.

"smoking kills, you know." Kim comes out so quiet he's right next to Kenta before he realises. Kenta stays still (prey animal in front of a predator) while Kim's neat hand reaches up and plucks the cigarette from his mouth. he stubs it out in the ashtray that's clearly well-used.

"I think that will take longer than I have," Kenta answers honestly.

[SKIPPING THE SAD PART FOR NOW]

Kenta genuinely does not remember agreeing to the weekly lunches with Babe (and Charlie when he's not working) yet he turns up for them dutifully regardless. Babe's not much of a cook, and Kenta can't bring himself to learn in such a strange (a stranger's) kitchen, so they mostly order in. they started out eating in front of the tv, using it as a conversation piece, but gradually they stop taking their plates from the bench to the couch, and instead they sit and. actually talk.

for a while they skirt around the topic of Tony, and Way, and Kenta's guilt over not getting out sooner, and Babe's guilt over letting him stay. they talk about the garage and racing (Kenta can drive but he's never going to understand cars the way Babe does) and the miraculous return of Babe's actual father, and the options their lives now hold. it takes quite a few shared lunches before Kenta feels bold enough to lightly tease Babe about Charlie, and Babe blushes a little but mostly he glows. then he fires back, "and what about Kim, huh?"

Kenta chokes on his spoonful of rice. "I don't---what do you mean? What about...him."

Babe waves his fork like he's commanding troops. "I can see you two at the garage! I'm not blind, you know. And Sonic told me about your /dinner dates/."

Kenat stuffs some more food into his mouth in the fruitless hope Babe will get distracted before he has to answer. No such luck. "They're not...dates. He's just, um. Showing me good places to eat."

"Right," Babe drawls, looking far too smug. "Because you need a foreign guy to show you around the city you've always lived in."

Are they dates? Kenta thinks surely Kim would have said something, if they were. Like yes Kenta makes sure he's dressed nicely (his best black pants and shirt, his shows polished) and Kim always generously offers to drive them there ("no sense in both of us trying to find parking)", and Kim always pays ("well, I'm the only one here with an actual job. it's fine! I didn't mean---you don't need to do anything you're not ready for.") and sometimes they sit opposite each other at a small table and their knees brush under it and Kim looks very very pretty in the soft lighting even if Kenta's not brave enough to tell him that. yet.

(okay I hope that helps as a distraction I have to disappear to the grocery store lol)

INCOHERENT NOISES i'm cuddling this ask

yes???? this is beautiful

EVERYTHING STARTED WITH PETE, FOR KENTA!!! I'M CRYING

prey animal in front of a predator fdgkdfg i LOVE. also yes i see you fulfilling the need you (and i) have had for months for kim to put out kenta's cigarrette.

THE SAD PART… GOD….. MY HEART. hits close to home in a personal way

"kenta genuinely does not remember agreeing to the weekly lunches" my mom does this jedi mind trick shit all the time "don't you remember you said you'd do xyz?" LMFAO.

kenta viewing babe as a stranger ouch oh my god………. it's true but it hurts

kenta teasing babe about his boyfriend 😭 slowly learning healthy sibling behavior 🥺

KENTAKIM DINNER DATES!!!!! KENTA GETTING FLUSTERED WHEN BABE MENTIONS KIM!!!! KIM TELLING SONIC ABOUT HIS DINNER DATES WITH KENTA!!!!!!!!!!!! I'M GUSHING gosh they're so smitten with each other… Kim taking things slow because he doesn't want to push Kenta, so he just…. doesn't refer to them as dates AND THEN KENTA DOESN'T KNOW IF THEY'RE DATES OR NOT. just gals being pals, what's better than this

god I love food as an expression of love so much….. Kenta being fed by people, included in meals, even if it's nothing grand, it's more than he's ever had.

North puts food on Kenta's plate without even thinking about it, and Kenta just stares at it at first, wondering if it was an accident and North had meant to give it to someone else, but Sonic just fusses at his to eat already.

When Kim puts food on Kenta's plate, he's definitely thinking about it, and Kenta can tell he's thinking about it, and it's loaded and intimate in a way that Kenta didn't realize food could be, there's a weight to it when he puts the tender morsel in his mouth, deeply conscious of Kim's eyes on him.

Kenta didn't grow up with the luxury of having a favorite food. Under threat of punishment, he learned to eat whatever he was given. As he got older and earned more freedom, he was able to eat out on his own, and he found dishes that he gravitated towards, but it just never occurred to him that he could ask a restaurant to make something a particular way. That he could ask for extra garlic, or fewer chilies, or to sub the chicken for pork. If there's something he doesn't like about the way a dish is made, he just orders a different thing the next time. He does in fact have a lot of preferences and has had very little joy when it comes to food. It's utilitarian to him, and as long as he doesn't have to put much thought into it, that's all that matters.

Kim tries to ask Kenta what he likes and doesn't like, and it's always like pulling teeth because Kenta doesn't think it's important, he can eat whatever Kim wants to make.

But I think Jeff would get it, that Kenta doesn't actually know much about what his own preferences are because he wasn't allowed to have them. He sees Kenta slowly picking at his food sometimes but still forcing himself to eat everything. So he just quietly and regularly reinforces that Kenta is allowed to ask for things to be made a particular way. That it's not a trap when someone asks him what he likes. That he can try things different ways until he figures out the nuances of what he really enjoys.

I hope this makes sense dfgdfgdgf anyways THANK YOU SO MUCH this was indeed a big help, you know dissecting Kenta is my favorite pasttime. I hope you defeated the grocery store!!!

#asks #pit babe #pit babe the series #pit babe HCs #kimkenta #kenta pit babe

[makerkenzie]

In your opinion, what immediate changes would there be if Robett Glover was given command of the forces at the battle of the Greenfork, and Roose Bolton was subsequently killed while fighting in the vanguard? Obviously, this means no Red Wedding down the line, but how do you think this would affect the rest of the Stark/Tully war effort, in the months following?

I am hardly an expert on the Glovers.

But if Roose Bolton is killed early on? Then, yeah, a lot of stuff happens differently. Doesn't necessarily mean the Red Wedding (or something equally heinous) doesn't happen.

If Roose is killed at the Green Fork, then first of all, there's no more House Bolton. The Dreadfort castle and lands are up for grabs. So, that's a reward Robb can dangle in front of his loyal bannermen. And that...can go a lot of ways.

It also means the Bolton troops may or may not keep fighting for Robb. That depends a lot on how he works with them. If they decide to pack it in, then, that already takes a chunk out of the Starks' forces.

Even so: without Roose Bolton involving himself in Robb's strategy, there are no pointless sieges of Darry and Duskendale, so Robb doesn't lose a third of his troops on castles that nobody cares about. All other factors being equal, that means Robb isn't nearly so desperate to get the Freys back on his side. He still needs them, though. He just doesn't need to march straight to the Twins to do the Apology Dance for Walder Frey, which means he doesn't need to pressure Uncle Edmure to marry a Frey girl.

But speaking of getting the Freys back on his side, the bigger questions for the war going differently are: 1. Do the Lannister-Tyrells still win at the Blackwater? 2+: Does Robb still renege on his marriage pact with the Freys?

With or without Roose Bolton, we've still got the Greyjoys taking over the North, and the littlest Stark boys missing and presumed dead. We've still got Rickard Karstark throwing tantrums. We've still got the North/Riverlands alliance assuming they can negotiate independence with Stannis Baratheon, and their being completely mistaken about that. We've still got the Riverlands being surrounded on all sides by the remaining kingdoms. We've still got Robb and Cat butting heads over what to do with Jaime. We've still got Robb and Uncle Brynden failing to communicate with Uncle Edmure.

Regardless of who's in charge at the Green Fork, presumably Tywin still gets his ass handed to him at Whispering Wood, which means he needs to rethink his strategy. Without Roose Bolton, however, Tywin needs to seek out other weak links in the alliance. But here's the thing: there are plenty of weak links, especially the Freys.

If Tywin still wins at the Blackwater, then the Freys still abandon the Starks, and that's a problem for the Starks even if there's no Red Wedding. If Stannis wins at the Blackwater, meanwhile, then the Stark-Tully alliance is still in for a rude awakening when the new Baratheon regime refuses to discuss independence. The primary difference is in how much longer the war drags on.

If Robb doesn't end up married to the wrong lord's daughter, then the Freys abandon him without murdering him. It's still a problem when they abandon him following the Lannister victory at the Blackwater.

What leads up to Robb getting married to Jeyne Westerling, though? That's part of Tywin's strategy of peeling away the Starks' allies, and I doubt Roose Bolton was necessary for Sybell Spicer and Uncle Rolph to get in touch with Tywin. If Robb still marries Jeyne, then Walder Frey is still determined to host Murderous Spite Theater, and the Freys still butcher the Starks & Co. by violating guest right.

Without Roose Bolton to help plan the massacre, Murderous Spite Theater is...probably less elegant. I feel like it was Roose's idea to have the musicians play the Rains of Castamere right before the murders began. If there's no one playing the Rains of Castamere at the event of murdering the Starks, then it's easier for the Lannister regime to distance themselves from the murders, which is better for them in the long term.

With or without Roose Bolton, the North can't win the war.

#red wedding countdown #asoiaf what if #roose bolton #robb stark #walder frey #war of five kings #tywin lannister #battle of blackwater #stannis baratheon

[lightdancer1]

The Petersburg Campaign is the most modern and innovative of the War of the Rebellion, and naturally military historians have studied it least:

The fly in the ointment of the US view that the War of the Rebellion predicted the course of military history is that neither US nor foreign military historians have done much with the war's longest, and most modern campaign. From June 1864 to April 1865 the Army of the Potomac, Army of the James, and Army of the Shenandoah were united against the Army of Northern Virginia. The battles, from the Crater, to the multiple clashes around Deep Bottom (*resists temptation*), ultimately were static trench battles of the kind that would begin more famously in 1914 and are a factor in both the Iran-Iraq Wars and today's Ukraine War.

Where they did not anticipate the WWI clash was that the flanks of Lee's army did not extend all the way to the ocean, Grant was ultimately able to turn them, and to amass a power such that the Army of Northern Virginia could no longer hold against it. It took most of a year of continuous shelling and sniping of the kind that the WWI armies would have recognized, punctuated by continuous smaller scale offensives that slowly but grimly nibbled the Army of Northern Virginia to a point of being too overstretched to hold.

And then at the Battle of Five Forks when General Pickett of Petersburg fame decided to go have a fish fry rather than watch the front Lee's army was staved in by Sheridan's Army of the Shenandoah and the campaign that would end the Virginia war entirely was on. Black soldiers were an entire half of the Army of the James, the division of which would be the one to occupy Richmond in the lead-in to the Appomattox campaign, and as such spent time fighting in the battles of Deep Bottom south of the James where their experience had all the unlovely WWI experiences also shared by the troops north of it.

#lightdancer comments on history #black history month #military history #war of the rebellion #petersburg campaign #it's one of my favorite campaigns to study precisely for the reasons most historiography rejected it #there is also some degree of historiographical racism in omitting the most of a year where multiple Black divisions fought multiple battles

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 5.19

639 – Ashina Jiesheshuai and his tribesmen assaulted Emperor Taizong at Jiucheng Palace. 715 – Pope Gregory II is elected. 1051 – Henry I of France marries the Rus' princess, Anne of Kiev. 1445 – John II of Castile defeats the Infantes of Aragon at the First Battle of Olmedo. 1499 – Catherine of Aragon is married by proxy to Arthur, Prince of Wales. Catherine is 13 and Arthur is 12. 1535 – French explorer Jacques Cartier sets sail on his second voyage to North America with three ships, 110 men, and Chief Donnacona's two sons (whom Cartier had kidnapped during his first voyage). 1536 – Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII of England, is beheaded for adultery, treason, and incest. 1542 – The Prome Kingdom falls to the Taungoo Dynasty in present-day Myanmar. 1643 – Thirty Years' War: French forces under the duc d'Enghien decisively defeat Spanish forces at the Battle of Rocroi, marking the symbolic end of Spain as a dominant land power. 1649 – An Act of Parliament declaring England a Commonwealth is passed by the Long Parliament. England would be a republic for the next eleven years. 1655 – The Invasion of Jamaica begins during the Anglo-Spanish War. 1743 – Jean-Pierre Christin developed the centigrade temperature scale. 1749 – King George II of Great Britain grants the Ohio Company a charter of land around the forks of the Ohio River. 1776 – American Revolutionary War: A Continental Army garrison surrenders in the Battle of The Cedars. 1780 – New England's Dark Day, an unusual darkening of the day sky, was observed over the New England states and parts of Canada. 1802 – Napoleon Bonaparte founds the Legion of Honour. 1828 – U.S. President John Quincy Adams signs the Tariff of 1828 into law, protecting wool manufacturers in the United States. 1845 – Captain Sir John Franklin and his ill-fated Arctic expedition depart from Greenhithe, England. 1848 – Mexican–American War: Mexico ratifies the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo thus ending the war and ceding California, Nevada, Utah and parts of four other modern-day U.S. states to the United States for US$15 million. 1883 – Buffalo Bill's first Buffalo Bill's Wild West opens in Omaha, Nebraska. 1900 – Great Britain annexes Tonga Island. 1900 – Second Boer War: British troops relieve Mafeking. 1911 – Parks Canada, the world's first national park service, is established as the Dominion Parks Branch under the Department of the Interior. 1917 – The Norwegian football club Rosenborg BK is founded. 1919 – Mustafa Kemal Atatürk lands at Samsun on the Anatolian Black Sea coast, initiating what is later termed the Turkish War of Independence. 1921 – The United States Congress passes the Emergency Quota Act establishing national quotas on immigration. 1922 – The Young Pioneer Organization of the Soviet Union is established. 1933 – Finnish cavalry general C. G. E. Mannerheim is appointed the field marshal. 1934 – Zveno and the Bulgarian Army engineer a coup d'état and install Kimon Georgiev as the new Prime Minister of Bulgaria. 1942 – World War II: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Coral Sea, Task Force 16 heads to Pearl Harbor. 1943 – Winston Churchill's second wartime address to the U.S. Congress 1945 – Syrian demonstrators in Damascus are fired upon by French troops injuring twelve, leading to the Levant Crisis. 1950 – A barge containing munitions destined for Pakistan explodes in the harbor at South Amboy, New Jersey, devastating the city. 1950 – Egypt announces that the Suez Canal is closed to Israeli ships and commerce. 1959 – The North Vietnamese Army establishes Group 559, whose responsibility is to determine how to maintain supply lines to South Vietnam; the resulting route is the Ho Chi Minh trail. 1961 – Venera program: Venera 1 becomes the first man-made object to fly by another planet by passing Venus (the probe had lost contact with Earth a month earlier and did not send back any data). 1961 – At Silchar Railway Station, Assam, 11 Bengalis die when police open fire on protesters demanding state recognition of Bengali language in the Bengali Language Movement. 1962 – A birthday salute to U.S. President John F. Kennedy takes place at Madison Square Garden, New York City. The highlight is Marilyn Monroe's rendition of "Happy Birthday". 1963 – The New York Post Sunday Magazine publishes Martin Luther King Jr.'s Letter from Birmingham Jail. 1971 – Mars probe program: Mars 2 is launched by the Soviet Union. 1986 – The Firearm Owners Protection Act is signed into law by U.S. President Ronald Reagan. 1991 – Croatians vote for independence in a referendum. 1993 – SAM Colombia Flight 501 crashes on approach to José María Córdova International Airport in Medellín, Colombia, killing 132. 1996 – Space Shuttle program: Space Shuttle Endeavour is launched on mission STS-77. 1997 – The Sierra Gorda biosphere, the most ecologically diverse region in Mexico, is established as a result of grassroots efforts. 2000 – Space Shuttle program: Space Shuttle Atlantis is launched on mission STS-101 to resupply the International Space Station. 2007 – President of Romania Traian Băsescu survives an impeachment referendum and returns to office from suspension. 2010 – The Royal Thai Armed Forces concludes its crackdown on protests by forcing the surrender of United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship leaders. 2012 – Three gas cylinder bombs explode in front of a vocational school in the Italian city of Brindisi, killing one person and injuring five others. 2012 – A car bomb explodes near a military complex in the Syrian city of Deir ez-Zor, killing nine people. 2015 – The Refugio oil spill deposited 142,800 U.S. gallons (3,400 barrels) of crude oil onto an area in California considered one of the most biologically diverse coastlines of the west coast. 2016 – EgyptAir Flight 804 crashes into the Mediterranean Sea while traveling from Paris to Cairo, killing all on board. 2018 – The wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle is held at St George's Chapel, Windsor, with an estimated global audience of 1.9 billion.

#Events

[pinersafari]

Boondocking in arizona

Boondocking in arizona for free#

BLM’s Kingman Field Office administers this area. There are also several good pull-out areas off old Route 66 heading north towards Oatman. North of town on old Route 66, about 3 miles, is an extensive BLM (Bureau of Land Management) ATV and off-road vehicle area. Patton’s troops of WWII trained in this area. The town has RV camping facilities, including an RV dump, fuel, groceries, water, trash restaurants, museum, and post office. The BLM (Bureau of Land Management) Lake Havasu Field Office manages RV camping in this area.

Boondocking in arizona for free#

Surrounded by BLM administered lands, Bouse has virtually unlimited places for free RV camping. The Prescott National Forest manages public lands in this area. There are many lovely free RV boondocking sites in this area. South of Ash Fork along highway 89 is numerous USFS (US Forest Service) access roads. The Yuma BLM Field Office administers this area. Very isolated! There is also BLM public land surrounding AJO available for free RV camping. Free RV camping locations are primitive, which means there are no RV hookups.Ĭlick On The Town Name For Free Arizona RV Camping LocationsĬabeza Prieta National Wildlife Refuge – Free RV camping information about the Refuge, remote access, and necessary permits. The following list is just a sample of free RV camping possibilities. State parks, US Army Corps of Engineers, Fish and Wildlife Service, and more allow free RV camping. If we had had warmer weather we definitely would’ve launched the kayak and SUP.Free Arizona RV camping is available on public lands administered by the BLM (Bureau of Land Management) and the USFS (US Forest Service). I’m guessing it got out and couldn’t find a way back in? Regardless, we’re glad to seemingly be rid of it!Īs mentioned, we had water access right from our site and the river looked pretty dang inviting. We got a lot of great suggestions for catching mice in the comments section of our YouTube channel so if you’re looking for ideas, go check it out! Oddly enough, we stopped hearing or seeing signs of the second mouse and now, many weeks later, there’s still no further sign of it. The other bit of excitement was that we caught a mouse in the RV (we use a humane trap baited with peanut butter) and heard another one but it wouldn’t go into the trap. For some scale, look for me in my turquoise shirt Geoglyphs are difficult to date but these are estimated to be between 450-2,000 years old. On the ground you don’t necessarily get a good sense of it but there are placards with images on site letting you know what you’re looking at…and of course we had to put up the drone to really get the bird’s eye view. Other noteworthy items from this visit were that on our way to this boondocking site we visited the Blythe Intaglios, which are geoglyphs! They’re artworks created in the ground to be visible from the sky. There were a wide variety of birds to be seen and it was highly enjoyable to see the massive groups in flight I’m guessing we saw SO many birds because we were here during the winter, so keep that in mind during your visit. There is a short walking trail within the auto loop that takes you to a blind, where you can get a closer view. There’s a 3-mile auto tour in the refuge that allows you to see some really fantastic wildlife – mostly birds but we also saw deer and a coyote. If you can break away from the peaceful sights and sounds of the river, you should be sure to stop at nearby Cibola National Wildlife Refuge. There are thick bushes lining the river so not all sites have a river view We saw a nice big fire ring at another spot right on the water, and the very southern end of the lot, so we thought why not! This gave us a lot of privacy, with thick bushes on either side of us, and there was water access right from the site – although the climb down to it was quite steep. When we arrived there was only one other camper and instead of the pull through spaces, they had actually chosen a spot right next to the water. There’s a vault toilet at the north end of the gravel lot and the public beach is at that end as well. This definitely makes the list of one of our favorite campsitesĪs you pull into this camping area, you’ll see 6 pull through spaces, each with a covered picnic table, fire ring, and trash can. We paid $10 to fill our water at nearby Karl’z Country Store.23-29, 2018 and had mild weather with some windy days This is free camping on Fish & Wildlife Service land with trash cans, a vault toilet, fire pits and picnic tables.This spot is just a few miles from the Cibola National Wildlife Refuge, on the California/Arizona border. We hadn’t quite figured out where we were going to be for Christmas this year but when Brad mentioned a free boondocking spot on the Colorado River I was quick to sign on.

#Boondocking in arizona

[writing-for-marvel]

Rescue You

Bucky Barnes x GN!Avenger!Reader

Summary: After a mission is compromised, you risk it all to save the one you can’t live without.

Warnings: angst, swearing, violence, guns, gunshot wounds, knives, knife wounds, blood, mentions of death, happy ending, mentions of sex at the end, but nothing explicit.

Word count: 3.3k

A/N: banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @firefly-graphics

Masterlist | Submit an ask | Library

Your mind was focussed on one thing and one thing only: finding Bucky Barnes. Your latest mission turned out to be a trap - the Avengers had located a Hydra base in Russia which you had set out to destroy, but your intel had been compromised and you faced double the number of enemies you had been expecting. Most of your team managed to escape unscathed, but Bucky had been taken hostage.

Your stomach dropped when Steve speculated that this was most likely Hydra’s plan all along. You had led Bucky into the base yourself, essentially handing him over on a silver platter.

Leave no man behind, Steve had instructed as you devised a rescue mission. Many, including Tony, thought it was too risky, but Steve and yourself were determined to bring him back alive. You both loved Bucky in your own ways, and leaving him in the hands of Hydra was not an option.

The plan was simple - the other Avengers would draw out the Hydra forces to the north side of the base, while you and Nat entered via the south east to locate and extract Bucky. He would most likely be kept hostage in the centre of the facility, possibly even underground, one of the hardest places to infiltrate - but with the majority of their troops focused on the attack from outside the base, it left Bucky with little to no guard inside.

Camouflaging yourselves in the tree line of the forest the base looked out over, Nat and yourself shivered waiting for the signal as the rest of the Avengers set the plan in motion. In reality it was probably only a good half an hour you were standing out in the cold, but the wait was excruciating. Bucky could be being tortured this very moment - you were desperate to get him out of harm's way and back to the compound where you knew he would be safe.

“We’ve got them distracted out here. Nat and Y/N, your time to shine.” You heard Tony’s voice through your ear piece. Taking one final look at Nat, you readied your weapons and snuck inside.

You made your way through a maze of dimly lit hallways, checking any room for signs of life. The base was essentially deserted - what if they had already moved Bucky? Coming to a fork in the hallway, Nat took the left corridor, you took the right. You reached what seemed to be the centre of the base when you detected movement in your peripheral vision.

With the stealth of a cat, a muscular man jumped out of the shadows, kicking you in the ribs. Groaning you fell forward, you had no time to turn and aim your daggers at him before he pinned you face first against a wall. Swinging as hard as you could, your elbow made contact with his cheekbone, making him stumble backwards.

“Bitch!” He spat as you continued with your attack, thrusting your daggers towards his neck, expertly knowing exactly where to cut to inflict the most damage. Leaving the man slumped unconscious against a wall, you continued on your search.

It felt as though you had checked every corner of the base before you finally saw your target in an empty room without windows; standing tall, broad shouldered in the centre of the room, facing away from the door.

“Bucky!” Sighing with relief, you entered the room, which was unlocked, and let down your guard. As the man turned to face you, all you could register were his blue eyes, emotionless, and with no hint of recognition as he studied your face. This was not Bucky Barnes, not the Bucky you loved - The Winter Soldier was a completely different person who just happened to inhabit his body. What hell must he have endured over the past two days to end up as the Soldier again?

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Pulling out a hand gun you did not realise, but should have assumed, he was concealing and without hesitation, he aimed straight between your eyes. Your reflexes were quick enough to duck away from the shot, but with just you and the soldier in the room, and your daggers no match for his pistol, you knew you were out matched.

You needed to get the gun - it was the only way you were going to walk out of this room alive. Dodging another bullet, you jumped towards him. Grabbing the gun barrel, you directed it upwards as he fired another shot. You felt the reverberations through your entire body.

“Bucky, look at me, it’s Y/N, c’mon, snap out of it!” You yelled, fighting him over control of the weapon. His super soldier reflexes were quicker than yours, your muscles no match for the strength of his metal arm. Bucky grunted as he wrestled back dominance and within a split second a loud bang was emitted from the gun once again.

Stumbling backwards you hit a solid wall. An excruciating pain erupted in your chest - looking down, blood was staining your suit, spreading by the second. Sliding down the concrete, your shaking hands flew to your chest, pressing down as hard as your tired muscles would allow. Your lungs were heavy, and it stung to take a deep breath. Smirking, the soldier took a couple of steps towards your seated form.

“Bucky please, you know me. It's Y/N.” You implored him to remember. You weren’t sure why you were resorting to pleading, it was helpless, as The Winter Soldier he could not remember who you were, but as you clutched at the searing bullet wound ripped in your chest, you knew you didn’t have any other options.

”We’re friends Buck, I’m not going to hurt you.” You said, tossing your daggers out of arm's reach with one hand as the other kept pressure on your bleeding wound. “You remember me, don’t you? Y/N? It's always me who soothes you back to sleep every time you wake up distraught in the middle of the night from one of your godawful nightmares. I’m the one who strokes your hair and relaxes your breathing whenever you have a panic attack after a flashback to one of your Soldier memories.” With a loud chink, he cocked the pistol.

“And I know you’d do the same for me, you have done the same for me! We’ve known each other for a long time now, you are one of my best friends Bucky, and if it were up to me, even more than that...'' Lowering his hand, he pointed the gun straight at your forehead, finger hovering over the trigger.

“Please...” You choked out, “Bucky, please - I love you... I love you more than anything in this entire universe, please, I can’t die not having told you, Bucky you, that I love him, please…” Warm blood was soaking your hands and hot tears were streaming down your face, but even through the tears, you could see him hesitating.

“I love you Bucky, more than life itself, and I know this isn't you. You are the kindest, the most gentle and considerate person I have the privilege of knowing. You aren’t in control right now, I know that, okay, and I forgive you Buck. When I’m gone, and the team manages to snap you out of this trance, just know that I forgive you.” Feeling weak and dizzy you knew this was the moment where it all came to an end, even if Bucky didn’t fire the gun again, you were losing too much blood to walk out of here alive.

Blinking away tears, you could feel yourself slipping away. You wanted to see Bucky properly one last time, even if he wasn’t really him inside his own mind right now. You loved him, he was the one person who you could show every vulnerability to, confess every insecurity and not feel judged. He was the one person you would sacrifice everything for, the one you wanted to spend your last moments with. You met his steely blue eyes with your own - he still did not recognise you, but there was some intangible quality to them in which you knew he would not, could not, pull the trigger. And with that comfort you were content to allow yourself to slip away.

“Bucky, don’t!” You heard what sounded like Steve’s voice yelling from the other side of the room, but the stiffness settling in your neck prevented you from turning to it. Bucky closed his eyes tight, shaking his head for a second, before staring in the direction of the voice, his handgun still mere centimeters away from your forehead.

You could hear guns being fired left and right, no idea who else was in the room. Your eyes couldn’t focus, everything was a blur of shapes and colours. What you did know, however, was that Bucky was now too occupied with the less incapacitated people in the room to shoot at you.

“Y/N, stay with me,  okay? We’re going to get you out of here!” The voice belonged to Nat, her hands finding your wound and firmly applying pressure. Nat always had such cold hands, something you had mentioned to her on more than the odd occasion, but you couldn’t sense the cold now, all you could feel was the pressure of her touch as she leaned into you.

“Hey, don’t close your eyes, you’re not allowed to close your eyes on me.” She insisted. You tried your best to follow her demands but the weight of your eyelids was becoming too much.

“Tony, some help here! We need to get Y/N back to the Quinjet, now!” Your body felt like it was floating, you couldn’t tell the difference between the solid structure you had been leaning against and when Tony picked you up and flew you out of the base.

Your mind was with Bucky as you closed your eyes for the last time. A vivid scene flashed on the inside of your eyelids of yourself and Bucky sitting on the plush couch in the compound, facing each other having a thumb war. His metal arm hidden behind his back, his rough right hand jostling with yours as you both laughed at something he had said. You remembered that was the day when you realised you loved Bucky and wanted nothing more than to make him laugh for the rest of his life. It was a nice thought to end on, the only hope you had now was that Bucky would be able to forgive himself when he learned what The Winter Soldier had done to you.

A hot sensation filled your chest, as you blinked your eyes open white consumed your vision, and you could feel the sensation of warm sunshine on your face. Was this Heaven? What were you kidding, with everything you had done during your time alive, there was no way you’d ascend to Heaven. But surely Hell wouldn’t feel so... peaceful. Spending all your effort focussing your eyes, you made out what seemed to be a hospital room.

“Ah, you’re finally awake.” A woman in a lab coat said to your left, starling you. “It’s okay dear, I’m here to help.” she added, clearly sensing your surprise.

“Where am I?” Was the first thought that popped into your head.

“You are in the medical wing of the Avengers Facility.” She said, sitting down at a laptop on the desk to your right, starting to type furiously. “You were shot during a mission about 24 hours ago. It was touch-and-go for a few hours there, but we managed to stabilise you. You should make a full recovery in time.” It was all coming back to you now, the Hydra base, Bucky being taken captive, the look in his eyes as he held a gun to your head.

“Bucky - James Barnes, is he alive?” You asked impatiently, struggling to sit upright in your bed. The doctor looked over at you with concern and a deep numbing pain spread through your chest and stomach. He’s dead, you thought.

“Please try not to move - your stitches are still healing, any movement could tear them. Your friend, he’s alive and finally himself, in a room just down the hall.” Relief poured over you like a bucket of water. He was alive. Just at that moment, Steve poked his head through the door, knocking lightly.

“You’re awake!” He chirped, walking over and positioning himself next to your bed, revealing a smile wider than you had seen from him in a long time. “You had us all worried there, but I told them you were strong enough to pull through.”

“Steve, help me out of here, I need to talk to him.” You ordered, pulling off the blood pressure cuff which was strapped to your arm. You didn’t need to specify which ‘him’ you were referring to - Steve knew all too well who you meant.

“No, you have to stay here - bed rest - your stitches!” The doctor stuttered as she tried her best to keep you in bed and prevent you from pulling the IV out of your arm.

“Steve, please...” You begged. Puppy dog eyes had always been his weakness, and you were pulling out all the stops today.

“Y/N, I don’t think he’s quite up to talking at the moment… He’s absolutely destroyed at the thought that he hurt you in any way, that he could have been the one to end your life. I think seeing you hooked up to these machines, in so much pain, would just remind him that he was the one who put you here.” He said, stroking your shoulder affectionately. You turned away from him, dismissing his words.

“I’m trying to do what’s best for both of you, Y/N. You know I’d do anything to protect either of you. Get some rest, I’ll go tell Buck you’ve woken up.” He smiled before heading out the door. The doctor finished running tests on you and allowed you to rest. Sleep came easily, your whole body exhausted from the ordeal, it needed time to heal itself.

That night the pain in your chest woke you up. You were about to call the nurse for some pain relief when you noticed someone sleeping in the visitors chair beside you - his large form filling out the chair completely.

“Bucky?” There was enough light coming from the corridor that you could see the outline of his face. His features looked peaceful until he stirred awake from your voice.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded. When Steve said you were awake I just needed to see you, see you breathing, see you alive. I couldn’t sleep, and you always know how to comfort me - I just needed to see you.” He said standing up, stepping towards the railing of the bed. Strands of hair fell over his anxious features, but his blue eyes roamed your exposed skin, taking in any scratch, bruise, wound he had inflicted upon you himself.

“Buck…” You reached out to him, wanting nothing more than to feel the comfort of physical contact. He took your hand in his flesh one. His skin felt calloused against yours, yet at the same time his palm was sweaty. His eyes met yours, even in the dim light you could see the vulnerability in them.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. Seeing you injured, knowing it was me that did this to you, it’s killing me.” Seeing him wrecked shattered your heart. Bucky had already been through enough, he didn’t need more grief.

“Buck, it wasn’t you - he is not you. I know you would never hurt me knowingly. I’m sorry I let them take you - let them torture you in whatever evil ways I know they’re capable of.” You felt the need to pull his body into yours and hold him for as long as he would allow. You paused as a silence hung in the air between the two of you leaving you to stare into each other’s eyes. Taking a moment to summon the courage you needed to get these words off your chest, you said “Bucky, there’s something I need to tell you…”

“Y/N, please, I need to say something first. I remember what happened at the base - it feels like a dream, an out of body experience where I could see what I was doing, see that it was me doing it, but I couldn’t control my actions. Someone else was behind the wheel. Some things are fuzzy, but I remember every word of what you said. I don’t know if you were just saying those wonderful things to get the Soldier to spare your life, but my lord I hope you were speaking from your heart. You need to know that I feel the same, I have always felt the same. I’m not so good with words, but I do know that no matter how shit I’m feeling, whenever I see your beautiful face it brings a smile to mine. I tell you the cheesiest and stupidest jokes I can think of  just so I can hear you laugh. I want to make you feel protected, as safe as you have always made me feel in my most vulnerable moments. Life has generally not been very kind to me, but it gave me the greatest gift when it allowed me to get to know you. I love you, Y/N, with my whole existence, and it’s beyond time that I finally told you.”

Your entire body flooded with warmth and butterflies sprung to life in your stomach. You had hoped for a long time now that the love you felt for Bucky wasn’t unrequited, but never in your wildest dreams did you let yourself imagine a moment where you would be staring into his eyes as he said he loved you too.

“If it wasn’t already obvious, I love you too Buck.” You felt the heat in your face intensify when he gently caressed your cheek. Leaning down, his thumb ran slowly over your lower lip before his lips connected with yours; the kiss was slow and passionate. You wanted more, your bodies pressed into one another, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands found their way underneath your shirt - everything this kiss couldn’t be.

“God, I really wish you weren’t confined to a hospital bed right now… The things I would do to you.” He chuckled as he pulled away. You smiled knowing you just had the same thought. But there would be time for other things, you have the rest of your life for sleepless nights of toe curling bliss.

“Could you settle for a cuddle instead?” You asked, not wanting to disappoint him with the limitations of your predicament.

“With you, always.” He smiled, helping you gently scoot over to one side of the bed so he could fit beside you. That night you fell into the most soothing sleep of your life. Bucky’s hand placed carefully on your waist as to avoid the wires connecting you to the heart monitor, your back resting gently against his chest so you were able to sense him move with every steady breath he took.

You cursed yourself for not having confessed your feelings sooner - instead of being kept awake by anxious thoughts of if he reciprocated your feelings, you could have been sleeping peacefully with Bucky’s protective arms around you. But you couldn’t live in the past, what mattered now was that you were going to spend the rest of your life showing Bucky just how much he meant to you.

#em writes #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky #bucky x you #bucky barns x you #bucky barns x reader #bucky barns fanfiction #marvel #the winter soldier #writing-for-marvel

[quicksiluers]

The Third Battle of Petersburg: April 2, 1865 (The Breakthrough, Final Ninth Corps Assaults, Fort Gregg, Fort Whitworth) (x)

With the Confederate defeat at Five Forks on April 1st, Lieut. Gen. Ulysses S. Grant and Maj. Gen. George Meade ordered a general assault against the Petersburg lines by the Second, Ninth, Sixth and Twenty-Fourth Corps to take place April 2nd. In the pre-dawn darkness, the Union infantry gained achieved a breakthrough when Maj. Gen. Horatio G. Wright's advancing Sixth Corps breached Confederate lines held by Lt. Gen. A. P. Hill. Attempting to reach his men, Hill was killed in the ensuing. Confederate infantry (led by Nathaniel Harris’ Mississippi Brigade of Mahone’s Division) pulled back to Forts Gregg and Whitworth as Maj. Gen. John Gibbon's Twenty Fourth Corps entered the fight, with Brig. Gen. William Birney's United States Colored Troops (USCT) division in reserve. The Confederates managed to delay Gibbon's advance at Fort Gregg and prevent the Federals from entering the Petersburg that evening. Wright's breakthrough and the subsequent follow-up troops surged north and severed the South Side Railroad near Petersburg. The Union Army now had access to the Appomattox River and were free to cross the next day to threaten Lee’s communications on the north side of the river. After dark, Lee informed President Jefferson Davis that he could "hold his position no longer," and that Petersburg and Richmond must be evacuated. Grant had finally achieved one of the major military objectives of the war: the capture of Petersburg, which led directly to the loss of the Confederate capital at Richmond, which finally fell on April 3rd.

#american civil war #ulysses s grant #horatio wright #john gibbon #us civil war #civil war #acw #history #when i saw there is a LOT happening on april 2nd #there is a lot and this post doesn't even cover all of it #so check out the link if you want more info! #for me this day is the most important #everyone talks about five forks but THIS is the thing that finally gets them into petersburg #and the VI corps!! by dudes who i love

[drbrownscelray]

#north fork trooping

[warsofasoiaf]

Say Bronze Yohn Royce manages to pressure Lysa Arryn into joining the war in support of the Starks and Tullys, with Cat learning of it when her group arrives in White Harbor; would the Knights of the Vale make it in time to participate in the Whispering Wood/Green Fork, or at least the Battle of the Camps? Also, does the Vale lords presence during (or after it’s done, if they’re late) Catelyn IX, AGOT, change the result of the council, in your opinion?

That would probably be very difficult, the road out of the Vale is difficult, and they probably have not been mustering their troops. At the same time though, the Vale and the North reached Stoney Sept roughly speaking at the same time (even if it was advance forces), which means some knights might make it while the rest make the slow march.

I don't think they could make the Whispering Wood or the Camps though, they have the Green Fork between them and there is no bridge save the Twins or the fords far to the south, meaning they would need to swing south then west or north then south to make it. They'd be on the east bank, which means they'd be at Tywin's side, not Jaime's.

If the Vale joins the North and the Riverlands, it changes the calculus significantly. Bronze Yohn, for example, might shout aye's for Stannis, and that might cause the North and Riverlanders to support him as a candidate. Robb's a smart enough politician to know that he would need to make sure his army was united in purpose. That calculus also changes the calculus of the Stormlands quite a bit. Given that we see many of them secretly take meetings with Stannis, Renly's hold over them is due more to the bandwagon effect that the Reach has to offer. With the Vale on Robb's side, that puts him in a dominant position over the Lannisters (especially if the Whispering Woods and the Camps resolve as OTL) and gives him a rough parity with the Reach's massive army. That might cause the Stormlands not to see Renly as the sure bet if they support Stannis. That's probably not enough to spook ambitious Mace Tyrell, but it might mean that the Stormlands don't support Renly, and in turn, means that Stannis lands at the Bay of Crabs with an army large enough to challenge the Lannisters.

The Vale has the potential to make Stannis have a far different arc, because what happens to the backwards, grudge-seeking Stannis when as it turns out, half the kingdom rises for him, not necessarily out of love for him, but out of duty and love for Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark, fellow veterans of Robert's Rebellion. The symbolism of the coalition of Robert rising behind Stannis wouldn't be lost on a lot of observers.

Thanks for the question, Anon.

SomethingLikeALawyer, Hand of the King

#what if

[aegor-bamfsteel]

What does “beneath the gold, the bitter steel” mean?

This is a great question because while other writers have analyzed the content of this phrase and its various symbolic interpretations, there isn’t enough analysis on how it is used: “Beneath the gold, the bitter steel” is the battle cry, and not the motto of the Golden Company (which, much less known, is “Our word is as good as gold”). It is absolutely necessary that we define a battle cry versus a motto/house words in the ASOIAF universe before we can interpret this phrase in its intended context.

Catelyn Stark defines what mottoes/house words mean in AGOT: “family words are mottoes, “touchstones, prayers of sorts, they boasted of honor and glory, promised loyalty and truth, swore faith and courage.” They are official words of the house (usually placed on the coat of arms with the sigil in real life, though that doesn’t seem to be the case in Westeros) that for the most part proudly boast of their honor, strength, or of their legendary traditions: the Tully words take this most literally (As “Family. Duty. Honor” is nothing but a simple statement of their good character), the Arryn words (”As high as honor”) are similar though only honor is emphasized, the Baratheon (”Ours is the Fury”) and Lannister (”Hear me Roar”) and Tyrell words (”Growing Strong”) boast of their strength, the Greyjoy (”we do not sow”) and Martell words (”Unbowed. Unbent. Unbroken.”) are reminders of the unique traditions both houses have held since before the Conquest: that of the Old Way of reaving and that of resistance to being ruled (this dates to before the Targaryen Conquest as Meria explains; and likely in reference to the constant fighting between the small Dornish kingdoms). 

The official words of the Golden Company bear the most similarity to those of the Tullys and Arryns, as it is a pledge of loyalty and honesty, but unlike theirs there is a condition: those who are not loyal in return (in other words, those cities that cannot pay the gold they promised) will not receive it. These words are perhaps more important to understanding the character of Aegor Rivers than the better known war cry, as a motto is more official and it’s more likely he chose it personally around 212, as opposed to the battle cry that probably developed among the troops he led; he believed keeping one’s oaths were of utmost importance, but that reciprocity was equally so. This is sensible characterization for someone who made a 40-year oath to place the Blackfyre family on the throne, and apparently swore a blood pact with Lord Torwyn Greyjoy, but also hints to his refusal to support those who would not support him in turn (consider that the Golden Company was founded very shortly after the disastrous Second Blackfyre Rebellion Aegor refused to play a part in). The fact they alone seem to have words at all whereas most of the other companies (Stormcrows, Windblown) just have banners speaks to their refusal to consider themselves Free Company sellswords and instead a free brotherhood with the trappings of a Westerosi noble house.

A war/battle cry is used very differently from a motto in the series. Here are some examples:

Rodrik Cassel shouts “Winterfell!” and Ser Willis Wode shouts “Harrenhal!” before fighting Tyrion’s men, the names of the castles of their liege-lords. (agot)

During the Battle of the Green Fork, the northern men shout “Lord Eddard!” and “Winterfell!” after their injured/imprisoned Lord’s name and castle. The mountain clans of the Vale in Turn shout “Halfman!” after their patron (agot)

Alyn Ambrose shouts his betrothed’s name “Elinor!” as a battle cry during the Battle of the Blackwater, which her cousins think is very romantic. (asos) Tyrion himself shouts “King’s Landing!” after the city; he notes to the clans it’s not Joffrey’s name (the king/lord of KL, who he hates) or Casterly Rock (his birthplace), because that’s the city Stannis is trying to sack (acok)

Asha Greyjoy calls the howling of the mountain clan attackers of Deepwood Motte “the war cry of the North,” referencing their overlord Stark’s sigil. (adwd)

The Golden Company shouts the ancient battle cry of House Connington “A griffin!” to confuse the defenders during the invasion of Griffin’s Roost; of course, the griffin is the sigil of House Connington and makes up part of the name of their castle. (adwd)

I think these instances are sufficient to define a war/battle cry as 1-2 word phrases meant to identify oneself on the battlefield and give oneself courage; they are reminders of what the shouter is fighting for: their liege lord, sometimes identified through his castle or sigil. The Golden Company’s war cry is far longer than these examples and is nearly as long as its official words. While it’s possible that some might shout the entire phrase as a sign of battle prowess (they’re able to keep talking long enough/with enough breath despite fighting), I believe in practice the true battle cry is “Bitter Steel!” (as battle/war cries are invariably unique nouns).

Notice that many battle cries are the name of a liege-lord’s castle. Despite being knights sworn to the Golden Company, the Company itself does not have a castle the way House Whent or House Connington or House Stark or House Lannister do, but is an assembly of skilled warriors constantly travelling in Essos, living in battlefield tents with no permanent home. The idea of the Golden Company being homeless is made clear in the nickname “Homeless Harry Strickland”, but extends to its other members such as Laswell Peake or Young John Mudd wanting to return to Westeros after 100 years or calling themselves Westerosi despite clearly being mostly Essosi in ethnicity. So until the Golden Company reaches Westeros and establishes a base there, it will not have a proper battle cry as those knights sworn to castles do.

The Golden Company has no castle, and it has no sigil device as a Westerosi house does (sigil device by which I mean objects like the Tyrell rose or the Stark wolf; the GC has banners of plain gold like the Night’s Watch has banners of plain black or the Kingsguard’s plain white; all three are non-hereditary military-like organizations that require oaths to join), but what it does have is a founder/liege-lord/(captain-general). As Half-man is the somewhat affectionate nickname the mountain clans use as a cry to show their allegiance to Tyrion, Bitter-steel is the Westerosi nickname of Aegor Rivers, the closest approximation to a house founder the Golden Company has that it can use as a war cry. The difference is that Tyrion is the clans’ current employer (as Lord Eddard was still the Northern Lord Paramount at the time of the Green Fork Battle), while Bittersteel has been dead since 241; calling out for him makes it seem as if he is still leading the Golden Company long after his death, symbolizing his/its immortal goal of returning triumphant to Westeros.

tl;dr “Beneath the gold, the bitter steel” is a full war cry that embodies the unusual position of the Golden Company: not just another Essosi sellsword company, but despite its banners and motto and knights certainly not a Westerosi noble house or oath-bound organization; they roam Essos with no permanent home until the time they can fulfill their old dream of going back to Westeros, a dream that keeps alive the memory of their unconquerable founder: Bittersteel.

#ask #asoiaf #asoiaf meta #aegor rivers #the golden company #golden company #bittersteel #valyrianscrolls #feudalism

[brookstonalmanac]

Events 5.19

639 – Ashina Jiesheshuai and his tribesmen assaulted Emperor Taizong at Jiucheng Palace. 715 – Pope Gregory II is elected. 1051 – Henry I of France marries the Rus' princess, Anne of Kiev. 1445 – John II of Castile defeats the Infantes of Aragon at the First Battle of Olmedo. 1499 – Catherine of Aragon is married by proxy to Arthur, Prince of Wales. Catherine is 13 and Arthur is 12. 1535 – French explorer Jacques Cartier sets sail on his second voyage to North America with three ships, 110 men, and Chief Donnacona's two sons (whom Cartier had kidnapped during his first voyage). 1536 – Anne Boleyn, the second wife of Henry VIII of England, is beheaded for adultery, treason, and incest. 1542 – The Prome Kingdom falls to the Taungoo Dynasty in present-day Myanmar. 1643 – Thirty Years' War: French forces under the duc d'Enghien decisively defeat Spanish forces at the Battle of Rocroi, marking the symbolic end of Spain as a dominant land power. 1649 – An Act of Parliament declaring England a Commonwealth is passed by the Long Parliament. England would be a republic for the next eleven years. 1655 – The Invasion of Jamaica begins during the Anglo-Spanish War. 1743 – Jean-Pierre Christin developed the centigrade temperature scale. 1749 – King George II of Great Britain grants the Ohio Company a charter of land around the forks of the Ohio River. 1776 – American Revolutionary War: A Continental Army garrison surrenders in the Battle of The Cedars. 1780 – New England's Dark Day, an unusual darkening of the day sky, was observed over the New England states and parts of Canada. 1802 – Napoleon Bonaparte founds the Legion of Honour. 1828 – U.S. President John Quincy Adams signs the Tariff of 1828 into law, protecting wool manufacturers in the United States. 1845 – Captain Sir John Franklin and his ill-fated Arctic expedition depart from Greenhithe, England. 1848 – Mexican–American War: Mexico ratifies the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo thus ending the war and ceding California, Nevada, Utah and parts of four other modern-day U.S. states to the United States for US$15 million. 1883 – Buffalo Bill's 1st Buffalo Bill's Wild West opens in Omaha, Nebraska. 1900 – Great Britain annexes Tonga Island. 1900 – Second Boer War: British troops relieve Mafeking. 1911 – Parks Canada, the world's first national park service, is established as the Dominion Parks Branch under the Department of the Interior. 1917 – The Norwegian football club Rosenborg BK is founded. 1919 – Mustafa Kemal Atatürk lands at Samsun on the Anatolian Black Sea coast, initiating what is later termed the Turkish War of Independence. 1921 – The United States Congress passes the Emergency Quota Act establishing national quotas on immigration. 1922 – The Young Pioneer Organization of the Soviet Union is established. 1933 – Finnish cavalry general C. G. E. Mannerheim was appointed the field marshal. 1934 – Zveno and the Bulgarian Army engineer a coup d'état and install Kimon Georgiev as the new Prime Minister of Bulgaria. 1942 – World War II: In the aftermath of the Battle of the Coral Sea, Task Force 16 heads to Pearl Harbor. 1945 – Syrian demonstrators in Damascus are fired upon by French troops injuring twelve, leading to the Levant Crisis. 1950 – A barge containing munitions destined for Pakistan explodes in the harbor at South Amboy, New Jersey, devastating the city. 1950 – Egypt announces that the Suez Canal is closed to Israeli ships and commerce. 1959 – The North Vietnamese Army establishes Group 559, whose responsibility is to determine how to maintain supply lines to South Vietnam; the resulting route is the Ho Chi Minh trail. 1961 – Venera program: Venera 1 becomes the first man-made object to fly by another planet by passing Venus (the probe had lost contact with Earth a month earlier and did not send back any data). 1961 – At Silchar Railway Station, Assam, 11 Bengalis die when police open fire on protesters demanding state recognition of Bengali language in the Bengali Language Movement. 1962 – A birthday salute to U.S. President John F. Kennedy takes place at Madison Square Garden, New York City. The highlight is Marilyn Monroe's rendition of "Happy Birthday". 1963 – The New York Post Sunday Magazine publishes Martin Luther King Jr.'s Letter from Birmingham Jail. 1971 – Mars probe program: Mars 2 is launched by the Soviet Union. 1986 – The Firearm Owners Protection Act is signed into law by U.S. President Ronald Reagan. 1991 – Croatians vote for independence in a referendum. 1993 – SAM Colombia Flight 501 crashes on approach to José María Córdova International Airport in Medellín, Colombia, killing 132. 1996 – Space Shuttle program: Space Shuttle Endeavour is launched on mission STS-77. 1997 – The Sierra Gorda biosphere, the most ecologically diverse region in Mexico, is established as a result of grassroots efforts 2000 – Space Shuttle program: Space Shuttle Atlantis is launched on mission STS-101 to resupply the International Space Station. 2007 – President of Romania Traian Băsescu survives an impeachment referendum and returns to office from suspension. 2010 – The Royal Thai Armed Forces concludes its crackdown on protests by forcing the surrender of United Front for Democracy Against Dictatorship leaders. 2012 – Three gas cylinder bombs explode in front of a vocational school in the Italian city of Brindisi, killing one person and injuring five others. 2012 – A car bomb explodes near a military complex in the Syrian city of Deir ez-Zor, killing nine people. 2015 – The Refugio oil spill deposited 142,800 U.S. gallons (3,400 barrels) of crude oil onto an area in California considered one of the most biologically diverse coastlines of the west coast. 2016 – EgyptAir Flight 804 crashes into the Mediterranean Sea while traveling from Paris to Cairo, killing all on board. 2018 – The wedding of Prince Harry and Meghan Markle is held at St George's Chapel, Windsor, with an estimated global audience of 1.9 billion.

#Events

[sadaxfsd]

We have to adapt at speed

We have to adapt at speed, sometimes while the plane is in flight. James G.. At the turn of the year, they were 16 points adrift of neighbours Liverpool but they go into the weekend with only five points separating them from their rivals. All the students in the school laughed at me and I ran into the corner and cried. “His blood is on my sister’s hands, and the hands of the brutes who killed him. Senate seat in 1952 and for the governorship in 1954. Are delighted to bring the Maple Leaf to Savannah next year, she said. She could feel its heat, and the scent that it gave off tickled her nose. Guay silver, Canada tied the record for the most world championship medals in a single year with three a feat also accomplished in 1958 (Lucille Wheeler, two golds and a silver) and a decade later in 1968 (Nancy Greene, two golds and a silver.). A not so funny thing happened on Monday with the aural amplifier from KABC. “As you prick, look for patches of dead grey skin, for nails beginning to turn black,” said Haldon. Rather than one solid frame that transfers every bounce and jostle directly to your taint, most mountain bikes sport front fork shocks and adidas mariposas a rear shock that allows the wheels to move up and down independently of the frame, letting the shocks absorb the bumps and jostles, instead of your vertebrae. Isabel was in a coma for weeks. The Catalyst 12.11 driver provided the fastest and smoothest performance on the Radeon HD 7970.. "I could quite happily sit in a departure lounge from now until the end of time," she tells me, "because people are so delightfully unguarded. Men who make the laws, and men who interpret them, may be fully sensible of their terrible severity and inhumanity; but, if they are going to preserve the THING, they have no resource but to make the laws, and to execute them faithfully after they are made. nike air max thea atomic pink When he in low visibility operations, instead of catalog cercei aur turcia looking out the window and looking down at his flight instruments, all the flight instruments are presented on the heads up display as he looks out the window, that probably the biggest safety enhancement. Take it from a veteran UW promoter, the nation is watching to see if this is a place where diversity is celebrated, or where racist acts are allowed without serious consequences. She hanorace panda barbati likes to draw and paint, family members said. We've explored a million possibilities and we're just loosely talking about it amongst ourselves, like, Oh, it could be this, it could be that, maybe duci alkalmi ruha they went to Mexico. The colored man said he was free, and told where he was born. She is such a noble-hearted girl. It will make the parting easier for him. That samovar, that chintz curtain — how homelike it all is. The processors actually went on sale at a couple of major on line retailers recently and benchmark numbers have been trickling out for weeks now. I immediately commenced copying them, and in a short time was able to make the four letters named. Went around the blind turn, and I just remember reading Brett name on the side of his car, said Carter. Now, of Natalya Nikolaevna . I foresaw much suffering for her in the future, and I cast about in perplexity for some way by which to avoid it, to soften these last moments for her, before the final catastrophe. The proprietors were formerly fewer and richer than at present. She was eight years old then, my little angel. "I expect us to compete kimono long femme grande taille every game."COACH: bokacsizma bakancs Brian Akashian (3rd season, 5 31 4)2015 16 RECORD: 3 14 3 overall (2 7 3, 6th in DCL/MVC)LAST POSTSEASON APPEARANCE: 2013ABOUT THE RED RAIDERS: Akashian is optimistic about things in his third season at his alma mater after graduating just one senior off last year's team. I don't have all my winter projects finished, although I have stayed busy with them while we were confined. The priest can control only by a blind spiritual authority, to which, very often, the reason demurs, while it yields an outward assent; but the successful free minister takes captive the affections of the heart by his affections, overrules the reasoning powers by superior strength of reason, and thus, availing himself of affection, reason, conscience, and the entire man, possesses a power, from the very freedom of the organization, greater than can ever result from blind spiritual despotism. George Shelby states that Eliza was eight or nine years old at the time his father purchased her in New Orleans. This issue is no longer merely about the comfort of students of color, it is now about the comfort of white families wanting their zimski delavski kombinezon students to attend college where diversity is breathed like fresh air and young minds are trained for world class leadership.. This sad affair needs no comment. He talks to me about you day and night, nothing but you. And unlike the city Police Department, the Sheriff's Office posts police reports online. Tim Thibodeau scored 24 points in the loss for Everest (9 9).Detroit Cody 65, Jalen Rose Academy 49:William Palmer led with 15 points for Cody (11 6) while Kyle Jones had 14. It's likely you can do the interior painting, install privacy blinds, and hook up appliances. Sign up for to get awesome tips and support on your way to your goal; you don have to go long or go far, but you do have to ride!. She told me almost her whole life, and listened eagerly to what I told her. Nowadays, Nike tends to become a pop culture icon.. Everybody must see that such an admission would strike at the foundations of the slave system. For how long, though? What will happen when they grow too large for the pit? Will they turn on one another with flame and claw? Will they grow wan and weak, with withered flanks and shrunken wings? Will their fires go out before the end?. They throw themselves down rock gardens, get sideways around steep corners, and get insanely airborne over huge jumps and oftentimes very rough boulders. Many of our spinners have been brought in the shorter version of the game. Everybody starts at the bottom of the mountain looking up. Beaulieu Marchand has had air jordan aj4 a rough time at the Aspen X Games event in recent years, breaking his left collarbone just before last year's salomon prezzi scarpe sportive competition and tearing his left ACL on the final jump of his second run in 2015. I WENT straight to Alyosha’s. Two of the new Boeings are scheduled to arrive in 2018, and the remainder the following year. The 7 1 Edwards has seen limited playing time in three seasons.. Within a month of his arrival, Ford was part of a counterattack against weakened German troops just north of Switzerland after the Battle of the Bulge had worn down both the Allied and German forces.. "It's cheaper for consumers, but can't be fixed. Sometimes the countess had headaches, and so she would have to wait until she had one. And next day she sent me out several times in the morning, though I told her that grandfather never went out except in the evening. This ordeal was hers and hers alone.. "I think we had some mixed messages out there that didn't help matters at all.

[roman-writing]

you search the mountain (4/6)

Fandom: World of Warcraft

Pairing: Jaina Proudmore / Sylvanas Windrunner

Rating: M

Wordcount: 15,080

Summary: The borders of Kul Tiras are closed to all outsiders. Sylvanas, Banshee Queen, hopes to use the impending civil war in Boralus to her advantage, and thereby lure Kul Tiras to the side of the Horde. A Drust AU

Content Advisory: horror, blood, gore, typical Drustvar spooky deer shit

read it below the cut, or you can read it here on AO3

NOTES: 

I got about 10k words into this chapter before I realised I needed to split it up, otherwise it would be stupidly long. Plus I was going mad trying to scroll through my monstrously large gdoc last chapter and I didn't want to do that again. So, here you go. An early present.

Next chapter will be some big battles and then they finally smooch or something idk don't ask me 

--

This time, Sylvanas did not ask. 

“I am taking your cavalry,” she told Lucille.

For the last few days since the battle of Barrowknoll, Lucille had turned into Sylvanas’ primary point of contact among their new allies. She acted as an envoy between Sylvanas and Jaina, when the two of them would refuse to speak with one another. She had been puzzled by the abrupt change, but had not complained. 

Now, Lucille blinked at her, opened her mouth to dispute this, then thought better of it when she saw the look on Sylvanas’ face. Raising her hands as though in surrender, Lucille said, “They are yours.”

She found Hayles and the others enjoying a spot of Drustvar tea, which she had come to learn was normal tea with a healthy dose of whiskey tipped in for good measure. It was the third day since the battle of Barrowknoll, and their little army was still fortifying the town after wrenching it from the hands of the Ashvanes. Anya was there, playing dice with the cavalrymen, who had grown leery of her around cards and now insisted she use their dice. Somehow she still won nearly every round, and a few of them groaned about the luck of the dead as they handed over coins. 

When Sylvanas approached, Hayles glanced up from where he sat on a pile of bricks being used to repair the church. After their victory, he had warmed up somewhat to the Horde forces, but he was still wary of their leader. Still, he lifted his mug to her. “A good morrow, Warchief. Can I help you?”

“Gather up a scouting party, Captain. No more than thirty,” Sylvanas ordered coldly. “We are riding north.”

Hayles drained his mug then slammed it onto the ground. He wiped excess tea from his beard with the back of his hand as he stood. “Been waiting for clear orders from the Lady Waycrest. What’s the plan, then?”

“The plan is we are going scouting,” said Sylvanas.

“Aye, but we was hoping for a bigger picture. Are we wintering here?”

A number of his men were openly eavesdropping on the conversation now. Even Anya had stopped rattling around a set of dice in favour of listening. Sylvanas swept her gaze over them, then said brusquely, “Get on your horses.” 

With a shrug, Hayles pulled his gloves from where they were tucked into his belt and began tugging them over his hands. He looked over his shoulder at his men, who had not yet moved. “You heard the Lady!” he barked. “Get off your arses, you fussocks!”

Immediately, they began shuffling about, shrugging on their cuirasses over their buff coats, buckling their helms over their heads, and clasping their pistol belts around their shoulders. Hayles’ cuirass had a touch more tooling than the others and a broad white sash worn over it to denote his rank, but otherwise he appeared very plain. Anya herself had continued to favour the dark-washed cavalry buff coat she had won earlier that week, wearing it over her usual Ranger leathers, so she could still pull her hood up. Even from a short distance, she would have blended in with the rest of them without trouble. She rode at Sylvanas’ side, when the others preferred to stay a length or two behind the Queen of the Forsaken. 

“Are we looking for something in particular?” Anya asked. Somewhere along the way, she had acquired herself a living horse, one of the deep-chested smoky chargers bred in the area. 

“The enemy,” said Sylvanas, her tone curt. She did not offer any more explanation. 

Sylvanas' skeletal horse was out of place among the flesh and blood beasts of burden ridden by the cavalry. That and her armour meant she stuck out like a sore thumb, but she was long past caring. The Ashvanes by now knew who they were up against. Or if they didn't, they were fools. 

Scarcely an hour later, and they were riding north along the road to Fallhaven. They would not hope to reach it today -- not when it was another three days trek from Barrowknoll -- but there was plenty of evidence of the Ashvanes' retreat. Not even the downpour over the last few days could hide it. She would have joined the scouting expeditions sooner, if not for the rain. Until finally she could not stand staying still another second, and taken Lucille's cavalry for her own. 

They stopped every now and then to read the landscape. Hayles at one point disputed Sylvanas' tracking, claiming that the Ashvanes had clearly gone west. In response, Sylvanas had glowered at him until he sighed and fell back in line. She was not about to discount a few centuries of experience tracking game and leading armies in favour of a man who, in her culture, would barely be considered old enough to wipe his own backside. They headed east at a fork in the road towards Carver's Harbour, until midday when Sylvanas pulled back on her reins. 

She frowned down at the tracks in the ground. "They doubled back south," she murmured, pointing. 

Hayles grunted in agreement. "Not all of them, though. Just a lightly armoured company, if that." 

"On horseback, no less." Sylvanas tugged at the reins so that her skeletal horse veered off in that direction. 

Hayles followed, kicking his horse forward to trot after hers. "If we're unlucky, we'll get caught on both sides." 

Sylvanas ignored him. She urged her horse to a canter, loping ahead of the rest so that she reached the treeline first. Behind her, she could hear Hayles cursing and the sound of him drawing his weapon. The cock of a pistol clicked, echoed by dozens of others as his cavalrymen followed suit. She did not bother drawing her own bow slung at her saddle beside the matching quiver. 

Her eyes scanned the woods. They were a far cry from the dense and foggy Crimson Forest, though they were nothing at all like the woods of her homeland either. The trees here wended across the gentle slope, their trunks moss-covered and sporting growths of white fungi. She guided her horse briskly through the trees. Her ears twitched at the faintest sound -- the rustle of tack, the snort of horses behind her, the creak of branches in a stiff breeze, the chattering of birdsong, the purl of a stream narrow enough to step over. And finally the faint strains of human voices. 

Lifting her fist into the air, Sylvanas pulled back sharply on the reins. Without turning, she made a gesture and then dismounted. Anya was by her side in an instant, arrow already nocked in her bow, eyes bright and alert. 

“Four hundred paces dead south,” Anya whispered in Common for Hayles’ benefit, as he crept up beside them on foot. 

Sylvanas turned to Hayles, keeping her own voice low. “Do you know the area?”

He nodded. “Aye. There’s a small ridge by a stream just up ahead. Barely a feature, but it’s something.”

All it took was a meaningful glance from Sylvanas, and Anya vanished through the trees like a wisp of smoke. Hayles blinked at her sudden absence, trying to get a good look after where she had gone.

“Wait here,” Sylvanas told him. “Keep the horses quiet. When I give the signal, you will approach with me on foot.”

“Begging your pardon, Warchief, but that kind of defeats the purpose of bringing cavalry in the first place,” he said. “We’re not dragoons.” 

“Which is why they chose to hide in the woods rather than risk skirmishing out in the open. Now, hold your tongue.” 

He huffed, but said nothing further. His troops dismounted and tied up their horses. They drew their sabres and stuffed extra pistols into the broad sashes tied around their breastplates. Rain drizzled from the pointed brims of their lobster-tailed helmets. On horseback, they were confident and easy-going, but on foot they appeared uncertain and ungainly. They would occasionally exchange puzzled looks and shift their grips upon their swords while they waited. 

The smell of smoke drifted through the air, though Sylvanas could not make out a fire through the thicket. The Ashvane scouts had obviously set up a small temporary camp further from their main body to feed back information. The lack of movement on the part of the Waycrest and Drust forces over the last few days would have puzzled them. 

Anya returned on utterly silent feet. She ghosted through the underbrush like a shadow, stopping when she reached their position. Her hands started relaying the information she had gathered using Ranger signs, until she realised Hayles and the others wouldn’t understand anything. Picking up a stick, she drew formations on the ground and held up five fingers, then four and five more. 

Sylvanas nodded in understanding. She pointed at Anya then at a few of the cavalrymen behind them. Anya inclined her head, then motioned for a group of five cavalrymen to follow her. When one of them stepped on a fallen log, his foot snapped through the wet and rotten wood with a noise loud enough to make the birds go quiet. 

Sylvanas closed her eyes as though praying, and grit her teeth. When she opened her eyes again, the cavalryman in question was being glared at by everyone in the platoon. One of his squad mates smacked him upside the head, so that his helm tilted down over his eyes. 

“You fucking moron,” someone hissed. 

Hayles shushed them, and they fell quiet again. The man carefully pulled his foot from the log, and the little group went off, following after Anya. Sylvanas gave them a head start, counting in her head until she was satisfied. Then, she gestured to Hayles and without looking back, she crept forward on silent feet. 

Her trained ears could hear the rustle of their own approach. The cavalrymen creeping along in her wake were accustomed to scouting by roaming broad countryside and hills atop their horses in easy formations. They were not used to this. Just ahead of them, Sylvanas prowled forward until she could see the peaked rise of tents over the underbrush, until she could hear individual conversation, the crackle of campfires, and the stamp of horses’ hooves. The horses were tethered on one side of the camp, their noses stuck in their feed bags. A few of them merely flicked their fuzzy ears upon seeing the approach of the Waycrest cavalry, but raised no alarm. 

Sylvanas raised her hand in a fist again and stopped. The men behind her hid behind the trunks of trees and in the thick underbrush, lying low on their bellies and squinting beneath the rims of their helms at what awaited them ahead. Peering carefully around the trunk of a tree, Sylvanas quickly counted men. Forty-five in the camp, according to Anya, who had counted rightly. Five more on the ridge. That was nearly fifteen more than they had brought themselves. Another glance around the tree trunk, and she spied Anya and the small group of cavalrymen in position at the ridge, waiting. 

Sylvanas caught Anya’s eye. They exchanged a brief nod, and then Anya struck. Quick as a bolt, she had a knife pressed against the throat of one of the sentries. The group of men with Anya burst forward as well, pistols raised, sabres at the ready. 

Straightening, Sylvanas stepped out from her hiding spot. “Gentlemen,” she said, lifting her voice, “how good it is to see you again.” 

A cry of alarm went up, and the men in the camp leapt to their feet. They tugged their weapons free, but their helms and cuirasses were still packed away. Their Captain drew his pistol and sabre, levelling the gun at Sylvanas. It was the same young Captain Ashvane that she had seen during her reconnoitre before the battle of Barrowknoll. His eyes were dark and sombre as he took in the situation -- the men with Sylvanas, the soldiers on the ridge with his sentries at knifepoint. Anya tightened her grip in the hair of the man she held steady when he tried to struggle, drawing a line of red at his exposed throat. 

Sylvanas spread her hands open to show she held no weapon, though Hayles stepped up to stand beside her, his expression grim beneath his heavy beard. “There needn’t be violence,” she said. “Cry ‘quarter’, and I will ensure you are well looked after.” 

Captain Ashvane grinned at her over the top of his flintlock. “Shame,” he said, cocking the weapon with his thumb. “I rather like a bit of violence with my afternoon tea. And you’ve come just in time, too.” 

“We have you surrounded, boy,” said Hayles, aiming down the sights of his pistol. “Best give up and come quiet now, yeah?”

Captain Ashvane swung his arm around so that his own pistol was now pointing at Hayles. “Not a chance, old man.” 

Hayles opened his mouth to speak, but the blast of a pistol snapped through the air. Captain Ashvane’s arm recoiled, the tip of his gun emitting a gout of smoke, and Hayles staggered back, grasping his shoulder. 

All hell broke loose. The Waycrest troops opened fire, and the air was filled with the crack of gunshot and shouts. Red-coated Ashvane scouts returned volleys, only for the two sides to toss aside their one-shot pistols and fall upon one another in a clash of swords. Hayles swore and fired his pistol at Captain Ashvane, but missed. The shot went wide, hitting a tree and scattering bark on the ground. On the ridge above, Anya had drawn her blade across the throat of the soldier she had been holding at knife point. His body was slumping to the ground as he gurgled and grasped at the tide of red spurting from his neck. She was already pulling back the string of her bow and firing arrows down into the camp. 

Captain Ashvane shoved his first pistol into the wide sash at his belt, and pulled out another. He aimed it at Hayles, whose eyes went wide. Moving quickly, Sylvanas shoved Hayles to the ground, and the shot narrowly missed. The Captain drew his sword and advanced upon her, arm raised, slashing down. She danced easily out of reach, moving away from Hayles so that the Captain would follow her instead. Foolishly, he did. He swung his sword in broad strokes, and Sylvanas avoided every blow with a calm assurance that only seemed to anger him. His face grew red. He pulled his lips back from his teeth in a silent snarl. 

When one of the other Ashvane soldiers tried to attack her as well, an arrow sprouted from his back. Sylvanas did not need to even look to know that Anya had shot it. Hayles switched his sword to his good hand, and was fighting a group of Ashvanes with his own men, rallying them together for something more elevated than a mere brawl.  

The Captain did not do the same. He was content to let his superior numbers do the talking for him, leaving him free to pursue Sylvanas, who continued to elude his slashes. He was no slouch with the blade. She could tell by the familiarity with which he handled his sword. A young nobleman trained in gentlemanly pursuits used to getting his way. When he drew too close, she grabbed his wrist and tightened her grip until she could hear the crunch of bone and tendons beneath her hand. 

The Captain cried out. He tried to kick her away, but she stepped aside so that his foot hit nothing. She did not let him go. Instead she twisted his arm expertly so that he was forced to drop the weapon or risk breaking his arm as she jammed his hand into the small of his own back. He was a tall man, and strongly built. But standing behind him, she planted her foot behind his knees so that he was forced onto the ground. 

“Call them off,” Sylvanas murmured into his ear, while he jerked futilely in her grasp. “Or I will make sure you never swing a sword in your life again.” 

He continued to struggle, grunting in pain when she pushed his arm a little further up. He grappled for purchase at her leg, but could do nothing to dislodge her. She leaned in closer to speak again, when she saw a flash of silver. With his free hand, he had pulled the knife from her boot and struck blindly at her over his shoulder. 

Reeling back, Sylvanas clutched at her face. She hissed, feeling the cut at her cheek, which bled black and sluggish. Captain Ashvane was scrambling to his feet. He rounded upon her, brandishing the hunting knife given to her by her mother when she had come of age. The same knife that had been used in the ritual to summon undead ghouls from the sacred Ardfert bogs not four days past. She could feel the anger boil in her lungs, frothing white-hot and wild, welling up in her throat until she was nigh drowning in it.

Captain Ashvane’s expression changed as he watched her. Smug certainty gave way to confusion and then to fear. He took a step back, holding the knife before him like an animal backed into a corner. Some of his men did not notice. All they saw was their commander continuing to fight and break free of the enemy. Several of them moved into position around her, swords raised, while Anya continued to fire into the fray. 

Shadows coiled at Sylvanas' feet, slowly gathering around her. Rage was a living thing in the crucible of her lungs, burning like liquid fire, clawing at the backs of her teeth. With a wordless snarl, her form flickered. In a blaze of black necrotic smoke, Sylvanas swept over the Ashvane men advancing upon her, over half a dozen including the Captain. The coils of shadow billowed outward, curling around them and swallowing them whole, until the air was filled with the sound of a shriek that tore itself from her mouth, drowning out all else. The note shivered high over the treetops, sending a startled flock of birds to flight. Everyone in the camp -- friend and foe alike -- clutching at their ears. Some fell to their knees. Others cried out in agony, blood dribbling from their noses, dripping from their open mouths, choking them until they could not make a noise. 

When the boiling black fog faded, Sylvanas stood in the centre of a group of dead Ashvanes crumpled along the ground. Their bodies were contorted into foetal positions, their skin grey and clinging to their bones as though the very essence of life had been drained from them. Sylvanas' shoulders and the tips of her fingers twitched. Her face was an uncanny mask, her eyes burning like red coals through the gloom. 

Those left untouched staggered weakly to their feet. The camp had gone eerily quiet, the absence of noise in the wake of the banshee scream almost as loud as the wail itself. They were all staring. Hayles' eyes were wide and uncertain, taking in the scene before him. His beard was wet and dark with blood. Even Anya watched warily from the ridge, waiting to see what would happen. 

Breathing out a long ragged sigh, Sylvanas straightened. It took effort to animate herself again as she usually did, as though her body had forgotten what it was like to pantomime life. When she turned her gaze upon a few of the Ashvane soldiers further away from her, they took a step backwards, gripping their weapons tightly to their chests. 

"Put those down," she said, and though her voice was soft, it still echoed with the vestiges of dark power that lingered in her chest like an unspoken threat.

Immediately they threw their weapons to the ground and raised their shaking hands. She turned her attention away from them, looking instead down at the dead body of Captain Ashvane. His fingers were still curled tightly around the hilt of her hunting knife. Reaching down, Sylvanas tugged it free. She took a moment to inspect the blade and clean it on his sash, before slipping it back into its hilt nestled away in her knee high boots. 

Hayles approached her slowly, his steps tentative, as though he were approaching a wild animal that might snap his arm clean off with one bite. "Your orders, ma'am?"

"Take them prisoner, and we'll drag them back to Barrowknoll for questioning."

"Pity about the Captain," he said, glancing down at the man's corpse. "He would've had the most information." 

Something in her expression must have changed, for Hayles went very pale and said hurriedly, "Not that it's a problem, mind. I'm sure the others'll have plenty to talk about when we bring them back to camp, ma'am."

Sylvanas tried to school her features into something resembling calm, but it was difficult when her muscles did not want to react normally. Her soul twitched in her body like a man wearing an ill-fitting suit of clothes. It would take her a few hours to get used to having skin again. So, she merely nodded sharply at Hayles, then turned and began walking back in the direction of their horses. The Waycrest cavalrymen parted before her, staring as she passed. She lengthened her stride and paid them no heed.

Anya was at her side in a moment, trailing after her like a faithful shadow. She looked concerned, but said nothing. Not until they reached the horses, at least. While Sylvanas hauled herself into the saddle, Anya remained standing by the skeletal horse's side. She gazed up at her Queen, as if waiting to receive instruction.

"What is it?" Sylvanas asked. 

"Do you need me to fetch you an Apothecary, my Queen?" 

Sylvanas considered the offer for a moment before shaking her head curtly. "No."

Anya did not quibble. She just clasped her hand over her heart and bowed low. Then, she strode towards her own horse and climbed into the saddle. When she tried to urge the living horse towards Sylvanas however, it shied from the prospect, turning in a wide circle rather than get too close. Sylvanas pretended to not notice. 

By the time they returned to Barrowknoll, it was nearing the evening. On their ride back with prisoners in tow, it had begun to rain. Suddenly Anya’s fixation on an oiled buff coat did not seem so foolish. Sylvanas’ cloak was not nearly as effective as combating the elements in Kul Tiras. It was slower returning to camp than leaving it. The prisoners were not allowed to ride their horses. Rather, their hands were bound and they walked behind the Waycrest cavalry. Their horses were tethered individually to the Waycrest horses; it wouldn’t do to leave them behind. Horses were expensive. One could always find work for them in an army. 

Their return earned a few appreciative murmurs. Waycrest and Drust soldiers gathered round and asked questions of their friends in the cavalry as they rode into Barrowknoll. Jeers and hard looks were aimed at the Ashvane prisoners, but they were otherwise left alone before they were carted off for questioning. Hayles was approached by a Waycrest infantry Captain when he dismounted. Sylvanas eyed him sidelong as he clapped the man on the shoulder and began to speak with him boisterously. 

As if sensing her gaze upon him, Hayles turned. He caught her eye, and to his credit he did not look away. In fact, swept his helm over his heart and inclined his head towards her respectfully. Fearfully, even. 

Rather than reply, Sylvanas slid smoothly from her own saddle. She strode off, giving Anya a sharp gesture to imply that she wanted to be left alone. Anya did as commanded without question, returning, presumably, to the cavalry unit she preferred to haunt for company these days. 

Sylvanas headed towards her own quarters in Barrowknoll -- a repaired house near the Church, which itself was being used as the new headquarters. She quickened her step when she drew near the Church, knowing full well that certain unwanted parties often lingered within. Before she could make it past however, a voice called after her. 

“I see you’ve returned victorious from your little hunting expedition.” 

Going still, Sylvanas glanced over her shoulder. Katherine was walking towards her from the Church. Planks had been erected in a webwork of pathways across the muddy ground. The end of Katherine’s cane knocked against wood with every other step. 

With one last longing look towards her own private quarters only a few paces away, Sylvanas turned to face the Lord Admiral. She tucked her hands behind her back in an officious pose, trying to seem natural even when she knew she appeared stiff. “I did,” she said. 

Katherine stopped before her, and folded her hands over the top of her cane, leaning her weight upon it. She was undeterred by the rain. “Did we learn anything new?”

“Not yet.” 

Katherine cast a critical eye over her. “You look more dead than usual. Did something happen?”

“Your concern is touching,” Sylvanas drawled. “But unnecessary. I am fine”

“Hmm.” Katherine pursed her lips. 

“Unless there is something else you wished to discuss, I shall -” 

Before Sylvanas could finish speaking and try to slip away however, Katherine interrupted. “There was, actually. How good of you to ask. I was wondering when we might all have a strategy meeting. Since you and the High Thornspeaker seem to be conveniently busy whenever I try to get you both in the same room these days.” 

It was true. Any time Katherine or Lucille would try to convene a meeting to discuss their next steps, Sylvanas would find an excuse to be elsewhere. It was at least gratifying to know that Jaina was doing the same. Though she doubted it was to avoid her. Most likely it was to avoid her mother. 

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes. “These are busy times, Lord Admiral.” 

“Oh, spare me the bullshit, my dear. We all know what times these are.”

Sylvanas blinked. Not at the swearing -- Katherine was prone to cursing as fluently as any sailor worth their salt -- but at the endearment. Sylvanas had heard Katherine call people ‘my dear’ only when they crossed a certain unspoken threshold. For Tatanka it was with the first cup of tea. For Anya, after their first card game. For Arthur after exactly three seconds of conversation. For Sylvanas, apparently, it took nearly seven months and a victory on the battlefield. Some had more hoops to jump through than others, it seemed. 

"I want to know what the plan is," Katherine continued with a face like cold iron. 

"Since when was this my army?" Sylvanas sneered. "Last I looked, my people and I were just a resource for you to use."

Katherine scoffed. "Like you didn't want it that way. Still -" she shifted her weight so that she could tap her cane thoughtfully against the wooden planks beneath them. "I do wonder what the High Thornspeaker promised you to get you to deploy so many troops into Drustvar."

Sylvanas thought of the treaty in her personal quarters, stashed safely away, signed and sealed. Copies of it had been distributed to Jaina as well as to Durotar, so that no party could cry foul of the agreement. "That is between myself and the High Thornspeaker."

Katherine arched an eyebrow. "Not even a hint for an old woman?"

In reply, Sylvanas merely glowered. 

"You really think you can keep your arrangement a secret?" Katherine asked. "The truth will out eventually."

"Yes," Sylvanas said. "But not today." 

"I don't see why the secrecy in the first place."

It was so tempting. She could tell her so easily. Jaina's secret hung by a thread in Sylvanas' hands, ready to be severed with a single swipe of a sentence. There was little to gain by telling Katherine, but the pure spite of the deed was almost enough to sway her.

Almost. But not quite.

Finally, Sylvanas said, "I have died for secrets in the past, Lord Admiral. You’ll not suss them out of me with conversation alone.” 

There was a bullish squaring of Katherine’s jaw that followed. Sylvanas had seen it many times before on Jaina; the two shared more mannerisms than they likely knew. 

Sighing, Katherine said, “At least tell me what the plan is for the next week? What have you and the High Thornspeaker discussed?"

Sylvanas’ face darkened. In truth, she and Jaina had not exchanged a single word over the last few days. Every time Sylvanas so much as saw her, she began walking in the other direction. Thankfully Jaina never gave chase. "Ask her yourself,” Sylvanas said. 

"I tried. She refuses to talk to me.” This time when Katherine rapped her cane against the planks, it was annoyed. “I figured you would know, seeing as you're close allies, supposedly. Though I'm having second thoughts, now."

"Then ask Lady Waycrest," Sylvanas said. She turned away and continued striding towards her lodgings. 

"I wasn't aware I was marching alongside children,” Katherine called after her before she could take more than a few steps away. 

Stopping, Sylvanas glared over her shoulder. "I'm older than you."

"Physically, perhaps. But in other ways? Evidence suggests otherwise."

Taking a few steps after her, Katherine stopped and fixed Sylvanas in place with a look sharp enough to skin a hare. "If you ask me -"

"I'm not."

"If you ask me," Katherine repeated, undeterred. "This sounds like some petty row."

When Sylvanas did not answer, Katherine clucked her tongue in an admonishing sort of way and shook her head. "Dear me. Do I really need to encourage you and the High Thornspeaker to use your words? Sit down? Have an adult conversation?"

"The same way you used your words with your husband?" Sylvanas sneered. "Yes, I can see why you ended up widowed and childless."

Katherine went still. Her eyes were like chips of ice. "You mean to shock me, throw me off my tracks and derail the conversation. But I made my peace with myself years ago."

"Clearly."

"What's more interesting is that you would compare your relationship with the High Thornspeaker to mine with my late husband." Katherine sniffed delicately at the notion. "Well, if I'd known this was a lover's quarrel, then I wouldn't have intruded. What a messy business."

Sylvanas growled, "It's not. And we are not having this conversation."

"Might I suggest leaving what goes on in the bedroom out of our military affairs?"

Again, Sylvanas turned to leave. She had scarcely stomped a few steps away, when Katherine called after her, "Kindly pull your head out of your ass. Before we all die, preferably." 

When Sylvanas did not stop this time, Katherine raised her voice, "Do you really intend to let the Ashvanes take the initiative? For such a storied military leader, I honestly expected more from you."

Sylvanas froze with her hand gripping the handle of the front door. Her grasp tightened. She could feel the wrought iron handle crumple beneath her fingers like paper. Behind her, she could hear the intermittent thump of the cane against the sodden wood walkways until Katherine stopped just behind her.

"We cannot winter here," Katherine said firmly, yet softly enough that they would not be overheard. "You know it. I know it. Lucille knows it, but only because I told the poor girl. Does your High Thornspeaker know it?"

Without turning around, Sylvanas said, "She is not 'my' High Thornspeaker."

"I don't care what or who she is," said Katherine. "What I care about is winning. If I had to play go-between for the two of you, I would. But neither of you seem very inclined to speak with me, despite my best efforts. Now, if I can condescend to try and settle this debate or quarrel or what have you, then you can eat crow and talk to that Tides-forsaken druid for five minutes. I'll settle for three minutes, even. Enough for us to agree on a plan and execute it. Have I made myself clear?"

Unclenching her fingers made the iron door handle screech slightly. Pulling her hand away, Sylvanas straightened her shoulders. She rose to her full height and turned, her movements too smooth, too mechanical. Even with a slight stoop due to her leg, Katherine still stood a few fingers taller than her, but the implacable expression on Sylvanas' face made her brow furrow. Katherine leaned back slightly, her eyes suddenly wary. 

When Sylvanas spoke, her voice was quiet; it slithered like a dark echo. “I have no intention of losing. You will have your victory, Lord Admiral. Make no mistake. But do not presume to tell me how to handle my affairs, personal or otherwise.”

Katherine scowled, but this time she did not try to stop Sylvanas as she turned to tug the door open. Walking inside, Sylvanas shut the door behind her, hearing Katherine mutter to herself, "Damn high-handed elves."

Even in the cold damp reconstructed house, there was little peace and quiet. Nathanos was bowed over a table, arranging reports and maps and ledgers in preparation for her arrival. He straightened when she faced him. 

"Anya told me what happened," he said. "She also told me that you refused an Apothecary." 

"I don't need an Apothecary. Or a mother, for that matter. So, you can drop the act," she added snidely. Crossing the sparsely furnished room, Sylvanas rounded the table and sat behind it. "What I need is the latest news from the ships sailing to our position, and the movements of the Great Fleet. If the Zandalari ships don't manage to slip Lord Stormsong's noose, those reinforcements will never arrive, and we might as well abandon this for a lost cause."

"I wish you would," Nathanos replied. “I wish I could sway you to leave.” 

She had considered it. A few times over the course of the last few days, if she were being honest with herself. Leaving Kul Tiras would have been the more sensible approach. There was no use throwing good coin after bad, as her father had been so fond of saying. And knowing when to cut one's losses was a key trait in any military leader worth their salt. Still, the idea rankled.

It was about more than thwarting the Alliance, now. This was personal. And if there was one thing Sylvanas hated, it was losing. 

Sylvanas pulled the first report Nathanos had arranged for her on the desk. Her eyes skimmed over the lines, but every now and then she would glance at him over the top of the parchment. Despite her earlier rebuke, Nathanos hovered nearby. He seemed to have no intention of leaving her alone right now. Annoyance prickled at the back of her spine, but it was tempered by a grateful flicker of feeling as well. 

She did not often use her powers. It was never pleasant -- mostly for others, but for herself also. There were no days, no minutes where she could pretend she was anything than what she had become at the hands of the Lich King, but there were certainly times that were worse than others. An Apothecary could only do so much with their potions and poultices. Her body was a mere vessel for the spirit chained within. They could but settle her corpse, urge it to be soothed for a brief respite. She generally only submitted herself to their care for the sake of others rather than herself. The Forsaken -- her Rangers included -- felt better if they believed she was properly looked after. As though the thought of her distress or loss caused them pain of their own. 

It was the threat of her absence more than anything else. What it would do to them as a people and as a society were she to no longer be there to guide them at the helm. 

The thought rose unbidden in her mind, then. Jaina's offer. Being 'cured.' The possibility of it ached. How would they see her if she lived once more? What would they do? Would she abandon them? Would she stay? Would they even want her to? 

"Is there something wrong, my Queen?"

Sylvanas lowered the report back to the desk. Others found Nathanos difficult to read, but she had never found that to be the case. His careful veil of uncaring haughtiness was the most inhuman thing about him, but his actions were his ultimate tell. He would say one thing, and then do another. Spiteful words of ridicule in one hand, and selfless acts in the other. For the longest time, even back when they had been alive, he had thought she never noticed, but she was not one to reward skill alone. One had to have the proper disposition. 

Now, he hovered, and it was anxious despite his cool tone and his perpetual lofty sneer. 

Lifting her hand to her face, Sylvanas explored the cut on her cheek with her fingertips. She could withstand blows that would kill any living person, but her body did not heal normally, not like it once did. It would take time for the necromantic powers laden upon her spirit to knit this corporeal form back together. The process was slow. The flesh was weak, but the bond between body and spirit was weaker. She could get her Val’kyr to mend her, but she did not like wasting their powers for such trivial matters. 

Finally, she said, "Bring me an Apothecary, then. If it will soothe you, Nathanos."

"It is not I who needs treatment," he said, lying to himself. Sylvanas let him. He bowed and strode out of the house. 

With a sigh, Sylvanas leaned back in her seat and waited for him to return with an Apothecary in tow. Perhaps after letting herself be fussed over for an hour or two, she could get some actual work done. 

Nathanos returned not long later with an Apothecary at his heels and -- to her surprise -- a familiar raven on his shoulder. Now that Nathanos knew about Arthur, he was tolerated rather than actively despised. Arthur had taken to ruthlessly abusing this change in status, much to Nathanos' annoyance and Sylvanas' amusement. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"He saw me getting the Apothecary, and wanted to see how this worked," Nathanos explained, shutting the door behind them. "I told him that it was not my decision to make."

With a shrug, Sylvanas rose to her feet. "He can stay, if he wants." 

"Yes," Arthur whispered triumphantly under his breath.

Since discovering what he was, she had watched his interactions with the Forsaken in a new light. Suddenly his queries about their undeath made sense. She had initially thought them to be curiosity, or him digging up information for Jaina. And perhaps there was a bit of that, to be fair. But it certainly was not the whole picture. 

The Apothecary was a mass of heavy robes. Strapped to his chest and back were darkly lacquered boxes, filled with all manner of potions and reagents. His rotting face was hidden behind a deep cowl, but his eyes gleamed golden through the dim light like candles. He limped as he walked, and even with his hunched stature he was still taller than Nathanos. When Sylvanas turned her gaze upon him, he bowed low. 

"If it would please the Dark Lady," he said in a gravelly voice. 

"It would," she murmured. 

He shuffled closer and began to disassemble the boxes upon the desk. They folded out with clever hinges, revealing a labyrinth of compartments within. While he worked, Sylvanas walked around the desk to stand before him, waiting quietly with her hands clasped behind her back. 

Candles were lit as well as incense. Soon, the room was filled with the smell of chrism and rose oil. The Apothecary took his time. He swung a thurible by its chain, walking around her and murmuring in Gutterspeak. She stood still, allowing the ritual of the process with a bored kind of familiarity. The air grew thick with smoke. When various bowls and vials and candles had been arrayed just so, the Apothecary bowed before her once again. Without needing to be told what to do, Sylvanas lifted her arms somewhat to allow him to begin disrobing her. Every piece of armour and scrap of cloth above the waist was removed and placed aside, handled with care and reverence. He even waved the thurible over her pieces of armour, muttering more incantations. 

On the other side of the room, Nathanos had turned his back for this process. Arthur on the other hand, shuffled around on Nathanos' shoulder to keep watching. That was, until Nathanos plucked one his tail feathers in admonishment.

"Ow! Hey! What was that for?"

"Keep your eyes to yourself," Nathanos growled.

"You always were an awful prude, Nathanos," said Sylvanas, watching them with some amusement. "I do not care if he watches."

There was a bit of dark grumbling at that, but Nathanos said nothing more. He maintained his own discretion, keeping his back turned, while Arthur looked on curiously. 

When her torso was fully revealed, Arthur made a whistling noise. Nathanos appeared on the brink of strangling him, but Arthur only said, "Does that still hurt?"

Sylvanas did not need to look down; she knew what he was referring to. The Val'kyr could mend many things when they reconstructed her body, but the wound made by Frostmourne was not one of them. The gash slanted across her abdomen just beneath her ribs. Along her back, the exit wound was a mirror. It had been expertly sutured back together and packed with a variety of reagents that she did not care to know more about beyond the fact that they smelled of warm myrrh and smoky incense. 

Rather than answer, Sylvanas countered, "Do your old wounds still hurt?"

"No," Arthur said.

"Well, then. There you have it." 

It was not strictly true. Sometimes, she could still feel the cold presence of that cursed blade as though it were sliding between her organs anew, splitting against her lower ribs. Those times were mercifully rare, and usually only occured when she used too much of her powers or spent too much time out of her body in nothing but spirit form. As though returning to her body reminded it of the very concept of pain. Today was not such a day. 

She lowered her arms, and the Apothecary began to unstitch the wound. He went carefully yet expertly, snipping the sutures loose and tugging them free with a pair of pliers and scissors plated in silver. Arthur craned his feathery neck to watch, trying to gain a bit more height to peek over the Apothecary kneeling at Sylvanas' feet and treating her. 

"Are there more Undead among the Drust?" Sylvanas asked. 

"There are lots of them!" Arthur said. "But not like me, no. They're mostly ghouls or restless spirits. They don't remember who they are or anything." 

The Apothecary was repacking the old injury now. His hands pressed the cavernous wound full of reagents. She did not flinch or even glance down at what he was doing. Instead she continued speaking to Arthur, "Do you have a difficult time remembering things?"

Arthur shuffled his wings. "Sometimes, yeah."

Immediately Nathanos' head twitched. Though he did not look around or speak, Sylvanas could tell he was listening very intently to the conversation now. 

"Does Jaina tell you to do things, and you seem to wake up later, not able to remember the past few days?" Sylvanas asked.

Even the Apothecary paused in his ministrations. Sylvanas glanced down at him sharply, and he returned to his task, though he too was now eavesdropping. 

Meanwhile, Arthur cocked his head in bemusement. "No?" he said, sounding confused. "I've never had anything like that happen before. The first year or so after she raised me though, I struggled with basic things. Walking and talking and stuff. I got better at it. She was very helpful."

"How?" Sylvanas tried to keep her tone light, so that Arthur would not get suspicious of this line of questioning.

"You know. She would make potions for me, and braces for my legs, and stuff. But she never could help with the wounds or anything." Arthur blinked, his eyes pale blue and filmy. A corpse's eyes. "I don't think she's very good at necromancy, to be honest. I mean, she's good at a lot of magic, but every magic user prefers some things over others. Like, I can turn into animals all day, but I'm terrible at healing people." 

Sylvanas frowned. "But if she gives you a direct order, can you disobey her?"

An incredulous caw was Arthur's answer. It sounded like a laugh. "Oh, yeah! I disobey her all the time! Why?"

The tension drained from the room. Sylvanas, Nathanos, and the Apothecary all relaxed, as though a weight had been lifted from their shoulders. Sylvanas even let out a little sigh.

Bemused, Arthur looked between the three of them. "Is there something I'm missing here?"

But Sylvanas merely shook her head. "It's nothing. Nevermind." 

Arthur leaned down over Nathanos' shoulder, his tail feathers jutting up into the air for balance. "Have you ever raised anyone from the dead?" 

"I have," Sylvanas said truthfully. "Never without their permission. If you had been given the choice, would you have come back?"

For a long moment Arthur puzzled over that query. He shifted his weight back, and shuffled his tail. "I don't know," he finally said. "Maybe. It's not great, but I like it enough. And I didn't like dying. At all."

A surprised huff of laughter escaped Sylvanas then. Even Nathanos chuckled quietly. 

"No," Sylvanas mused with a faint smile, her killing blow on display. "No, I can’t say I did either." 

The rest of the procedure went forth without trouble. The Apothecary stitched her back up with a hooked needle and thread. He anointed her in oils like a god king, until she fairly gleamed. Death magic was woven heavy in the air, heavy on his fingers, as heavy as incense. By the time he worked his way to the more recent wound on her face, she already felt calmer, as though the Apothecary had sewn her soul more firmly into place. 

There was little more he could do about the cut on her cheek than stitch it together and seal it with fragrant chrism and a necrotic spell chanted from his lipless mouth, but it would help quicken the process along. 

The Apothecary helped her back into her clothes and armour, his bony fingers as deft with clasps and buttons as they were with a needle and thread. Soon she was shrugging her cloak around her shoulders, and allowing him to buckle her pauldrons into place as though he were dressing a high priest of the Light in sacred vestments of office. 

A knock came at the door. Sylvanas waved at Nathanos to answer it. When he did so, she could see a number of Forsaken soldiers clustered around outside. News of her minor scrape must have spread through the ranks like wildfire. She had to hold back a grimace. 

"Arthur," she called, gesturing for him to fly closer.

In an ungainly flap of wings, Arthur flew from Nathanos' shoulder and landed on the back of the chair behind the desk. "Yeah?"

"Change into your usual form."

After a moment's hesitation, he did so. There was a whirl of druidic magic, and he stood behind her chair looking curious but faintly uneasy by the way Sylvanas and the Apothecary were eyeing him up. When Sylvanas waved for him to approach her, Arthur rounded the table to stand before them, his pale gaze flicking between the two of them.

Tilting her head to one side, Sylvanas reached out and touched the rent flesh of his wrist. His clothes were scuffed and worn, but not in rags. They were a mark of a man who did not care for clothes, rather than a mark of neglect. His shirtsleeves had been rolled back above his elbow, revealing his hands and forearms, large portions of which had been peeled of flesh and muscle. 

"See what you can do for him," Sylvanas told the Apothecary. 

Without question, the Apothecary bowed to her, then gestured for Arthur to stand where Sylvanas had stood not moments ago. 

Arthur balked. “Oh - I don’t - I don’t know if -”

“Jaina’s speciality is not death magic. It is this man’s, however,” said Sylvanas firmly, indicating the Apothecary. “You will feel better after. I promise you.” 

Sheepish, Arthur allowed himself to be herded where the Apothecary wanted him to stand. He awkwardly held his arms out to the side, all while shooting Sylvanas a look that she could only describe as abashed.

Rolling her eyes, she turned away from him and walked towards the door. He was not so bold when it was himself being undressed in front of others. 

Humans, she thought to herself with a wry shake of her head. 

Nathanos was shutting the door once more when she reached him. “Did you tell them they could stop their worrying?” she asked.

“I did, though doubtlessly they will remain outside until they see you.”

She made a disgruntled noise.

“I also received word from Captain Hayles,” Nathanos continued. Lowering his voice, he said, “Apparently, one of the prisoners you brought back from your little scouting expedition has decided to talk.” 

Sylvanas’ ears canted up in surprise. “That was fast,” she murmured. Casting a quick glance over her shoulder back towards Arthur and the Apothecary, she said, “Do we know the High Thornspeaker’s current whereabouts?”

Arthur was not paying any attention to them. He was too busy pestering the Apothecary with rapid fire questions, which the Apothecary answered in a dusty wheezing voice. 

“The people I have assigned to watch her informed me that she vanished from camp sometime this morning,” said Nathanos. “Nobody has been able to ascertain her position since then. She has a habit of disappearing without a trace and reappearing again. I suspect portals and other translocation magics are at work, but none of the Forsaken mages I’ve designated can crack where she goes to so often.” 

Sylvanas hummed a contemplative note under her breath. “I have an inkling.” Tugging the hood of her cloak over her head, she said, “Stay here. Keep an eye on the camp while I’m away.”

Nathanos’ brows furrowed. “And where are you going?”

“Belore. You’re as bad as the others.”

“Incorrect,” he said with an affronted sniff. “I’m worse.” 

With a snort, Sylvanas reached past him to open the door. “I am going to speak with Hayles and the prisoner. And then I’m going to do something I will probably regret.”

He stepped aside to let her pass. “Which is?”

“I’m going to find the High Thornspeaker, and have a conversation.” 

  The fang was heavy in Sylvanas' hand. She weighed it in her palm, considering her next actions very carefully. Then she lifted the token by its string and said, "Take me to Jaina, please." She growled out the last word like it was a penance. 

That feeling hooked behind her gut as though latching onto her spine and pulled. In an instant blur of colour and darkness, she appeared at the entrance to Jaina's cabin. The fog had returned. A chill nipped the air. A shallow shower of snow dusted the grounds. On one side the cliffs were shrouded in white, and on the other the dark vastness of the trees seemed to vanish into the mist like the long march of time itself. As though this place were caught in a stasis, torn between the woods and the sea. 

Sylvanas tucked the fang back into her belt pouch. She stood before the front door, which had been hung with a wreath woven from blackthorn branches. The berries were dark and clustered along the wreath. Whether it was purely decorative or served some greater magical purpose, she did not know. She used studying it as an excuse to not knock on the door. Eventually, steeling herself, Sylvanas reached out a hand and rapped her knuckles against the door. 

There was no sound from within. Brows knitting together, Sylvanas leaned to one side in order to peer through one of the windows, but the glass was misted from the chill outside. It was impossible to see anything but the indistinct shape of furniture within. 

She knocked again, harder this time.

Still nothing.

Rocking back on her heels, Sylvanas tongued at the back of her teeth contemplatively. She had been so sure that Jaina would be here. Or perhaps she was, and she knew it was Sylvanas outside. Perhaps they were both avoiding each other. 

She was reaching for the door handle, when she heard a voice behind her.

"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," Jaina said. 

Sylvanas whirled around. It wasn't everyday someone could sneak up on her. The only people who could consistently pull it off were her Rangers. And, apparently, Jaina. It was so reminiscent of their first meeting, that Sylvanas narrowed her eyes warily. 

Jaina stood behind her, wrapped in a robe. A towel was slung over her shoulder. Her feet were bare. Her hair had been undone from its usual braid so that it hung, wet, over her shoulders. It was a rare occasion to see Jaina with her scars on full display, the neckline of her robes a low-draped décolletage revealing the rope burns at her neck and the hint of a sword wound over her heart. She faintly steamed in the cool air, as though she had just stepped from a pool of hot water.

Which was, Sylvanas realised, exactly what she had done.

"I have the house warded," Jaina explained. "If you try to force your way inside...well, it's not very nice. Let's just leave it at that."

Sylvanas raised her eyebrows. "Noted." 

They looked at one another for a long moment, until Jaina cleared her throat and stepped past her. "I suppose you'll want to come inside. Unless you really were hoping to rifle through my things without my being here."

"I wanted to talk," Sylvanas said. 

"Now, I'm really worried," said Jaina dryly. 

There was a rusted old lock on the door, but Jaina used no key. She did not need to unlock the door. It opened at her touch without any trouble. Sylvanas wondered if she even locked it conventionally at all.

Jaina did not wait for her guest to follow after her; she simply stepped inside and left the door open behind her. Sylvanas removed her shoes, but hesitated to leave her weapons behind. Eventually however, she balanced the bow and quiver and knife against the outer wall of the cabin, and walked inside. 

The door shut itself softly behind her as though a draught had caught the edge. Jaina was standing before the fireplace. When Sylvanas had peered inside, there had been no light emanating from within. Now, a fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Jaina stood with her back to the flames and toweled her hair dry. 

The skull mask glowered at Sylvanas from its customary spot hanging on the wall. This time, the scythe-like staff was leaning against it. The runes carved into them glowed stronger when she drew near. Sylvanas moved past them both, entering further into the cabin. She made no motion to make herself comfortable. Instead, she clasped her hands behind her back as though awaiting an infantry inspection on parade. 

Jaina pulled the towel down, her hair a mess until she began raking her fingers through it. "You're very quiet for someone who came all this way to talk to me," she said. 

From this angle, the fire lit Jaina from behind so that she seemed gilded. The soft fabric of her robe was brighter at the edges, more saturated, so that her body beneath was but a silhouette. 

Tearing her gaze away, Sylvanas wandered over to the table strewn with books and scrolls and various maps. She dragged her fingertips along the ragged edge of a vellum map. “I’m sure you will have already heard that I took Captain Hayles and a few of his men for a reconnoitre this morning.”

“I did,” said Jaina. Her footsteps were soft as she crossed the room and joined Sylvanas, careful to keep the table between them.

“We caught a few prisoners. Fortunately for us, one of them decided to cooperate.”

That got Jaina’s attention. She draped the towel back over her shoulder, and asked, “And what did they say?”

“There is a feature just to the northeast of Fallhaven,” Sylvanas said. “They call it Watermill Hill.”

“I am familiar with it, yes.”

“The Ashvanes have orders to take it from the defenders, and use it as a fort to bombard the city.”  

Jaina fell silent. Her eyes dropped to the table, and she began digging up a more detailed map of Fallhaven and its surrounding countryside. She pulled out her ledgers, placing them atop the map and scowling down at the both of them. 

Finally she said softly yet vehemently, “Shit.” 

Sylvanas hummed in agreement. 

Sighing, Jaina sank down into a chair. She rubbed at her eyes, scratching at the scar on one side of her face. “I had hoped to gain control over the peninsula by taking Carver’s Harbour from the Ashvanes.” 

“It is far too late for that, now.” Reaching over, Sylvanas tapped at a section of the map between Fallhaven and Carver’s Harbour. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t make life difficult for them in the meantime. We just need to take the initiative.” 

Jaina nodded. She lowered her hands and opened her eyes. “So, we march for Fallhaven, and hope we can arrive in time to reinforce Watermill Hill. Otherwise we’ll have to take it back before they can blast through the eastern walls with artillery and create a practicable breach.” 

“And then we winter at Watermill, and harass their position at Carver’s Harbour until they wished they had never set foot in Drustvar.” 

“It’s a good plan,” Jaina admitted. “Though somewhat predictable, given the present company. I understand guerilla tactics are a favourite of yours.” 

Sylvanas gave a dismissive little wave of her hand. “We all cling to our little foibles. Mine happen to involve a penchant for shock and hit-and-run doctrine.” 

Jaina smiled, but it was a fleeting thing. Her face looked raw and recently scrubbed. She held Sylvanas’ gaze and said, “You smell like death.”

“Don’t I always?” Sylvanas drawled.

“No,” said Jaina. “Not like this. What happened?” 

Sylvanas tried to make her shrug nonchalant. “I got a little carried away during the scouting expedition.” 

Jaina looked at the cut on Sylvanas’ cheek and murmured, “I see.”

"To add insult to injury, your mother cornered me upon my return."

"Oh?" Jaina's tone was light, but she would suddenly not meet Sylvanas' eye. She fiddled with the ends of the towel slung over her shoulder, picking at stray threads, her actions uneasy, faintly apprehensive.

"She wants to call a meeting to discuss our strategy moving forward."

"Good thing we have one now, then," Jaina said, gesturing to the map of Fallhaven. 

Sylvanas caught Jaina's eye and said, "I don't think that was all she meant."

In reply, Jaina swallowed thickly. The apprehension was more than faint now. She gripped the end of the towel tightly in one fist until her knuckles were white. A flicker of fear and uncertainty flashed across her features. She did not say anything.

"The truth will out," Sylvanas said. "That was what she told me. And she's right. This war will end, and our agreement will come to light. You cannot hide forever."

Inhaling deeply, Jaina lowered her hands to her sides and said, "I know." She chewed at her lower lip for a moment before asking, "What happened with you?" 

Sylvanas frowned in quiet puzzlement.

"When you -- you know -" Jaina made a strange motion with one hand. "When you saw your family again after you had died? How did they react when they saw you like this?"

The map was suddenly incredibly interesting. Sylvanas traced circles around Watermill Hill and its surroundings, wishing beyond all else that they could return to topics of war and strategy and killing, things she was infinitely more comfortable discussing. Not this. 

"My younger sister, Vereesa, was the first to see me,” she finally said, her tone blank and matter-of-fact. “It was awful."

"What happened?"

"She hugged me," said Sylvanas.

Jaina laughed, until she realised very quickly that Sylvanas was not laughing at all.

If she thought too long and too hard, she could still feel Vereesa’s arms around her, crushing her with a warmth that scorched. It hurt to touch her. To be reminded of the heat of life she could never again share. To want to be the person her little sister remembered and idolised -- a yearning so strong it tore her up inside until she thought she could feel a blade piercing her ribs.

“Might I make a suggestion?” Sylvanas said before she could sink too deeply into that melancholic memory.

“Please,” Jaina said, sounding relieved, almost eager for any scrap of advice in this surreal situation.

Sylvanas glanced up at her sharply, and her eyes burned crimson. “Don’t wait too long. The longer you wait, the worse it will be.”

A little huff escaped Jaina at that. “I think we’re well beyond that, now. She’s thought I’ve been dead for years. Since before she even became Lord Admiral. I’m sure she’s made her peace by now.”

“She hasn’t. She told me she had, but she is lying.” Sylvanas ran her hands along the back of a chair tucked beneath the desk, her thumbs counting the rings of polished wood grain. “Grief is reaching out in love and finding nothing, and then filling it with something, anything to make that void a little less yawning, a little more manageable. The longer you wait, the more disruptive your return will be.”

Firelight played faintly about the strands of Jaina’s hair. She engoldened in the dim glow. “I’m sorry,” she said after a moment of silence. “For assuming what you wanted. It's just that back in Ardfert bog, I thought -”

Sylvanas shook her head curtly. “No. Stop.” 

“Sylvanas -” 

When Jaina tried to round the table, to draw closer, Sylvanas slipped further away. She used the table as an obstacle to keep them apart. “I am not here to accept your offer. And I never will.”

Jaina did not try to pursue her further. She stopped, her hands coming to rest on the desk between them, just lightly touching a space between a stack of worn, well-read books. “I still don’t understand,” Jaina said slowly. “But only because given the choice, I would leap at the chance.”

The cabin was warming up, the fire lapping at the hearth and filling the space with a pervasive roiling heat. Sylvanas wished nothing of warmth. Not now. It was too close to body temperature, and she could feel her own skin begin to react to the heat, to drink it in and hold it fast as though hungry for it. “It is not just about what I want. I have an obligation,” she said, and the words felt as though they were being scraped from her throat. “To more than just myself. I cannot be selfish. I will not be.” 

That was how it always had been. Self-sacrifice above all else. Living for others and not herself. Wishing she could be selfish, but knowing she could never do so; she would hate herself if she did. And she did not need any more reason to hate herself. Especially now.

“If there is one thing you are allowed to be selfish about, it is your own life,” Jaina said, her words chosen with care and precision.

But Sylvanas was already shaking her head, even as Jaina was speaking. “Not mine. And not yours. Not anymore. We are more than people. We are symbols and titles.”

A scowl crossed Jaina’s face, though not one of anger. “Do you allow yourself nothing?”

“You are new to your position. Relatively speaking,” Sylvanas added when Jaina opened her mouth to protest. “There is a balance you must find between personal wants and public needs. I found it long ago when Quel’Thalas demanded a military leader of my family. It is easy for you now. You want to save Drustvar. You want what is best for you people. But there will come a time, when you will do things that go against your better conscience not because you want to, but because you must.” 

“And you believe you must remain dead?” Jaina asked incredulously.

Sylvanas’ answer came without err or hesitation. “Yes.” 

With a sigh, Jaina shook her head. Again, she raked a hand through her hair, which by now had begun to dry somewhat. 

“Your relationship with your mother is a prime example,” Sylvanas began, watching her reaction. “You don’t want to reveal yourself to her, but you know you have to eventually.” 

Jaina chewed at her lower lip again. Her brows knit. Finally she relented with a nod. “Yes. I know.” 

“It is easier if you think of yourself as two different people.” Sylvanas lifted her hands, palms facing up as though weighing objects between them. “The future Lord Admiral, and Jaina Proudmoore.”

A bitter smile twisted Jaina’s lips. “It seems you need more hands, if we’re going to talk about your personae,” she said with a nod towards her. 

Sylvanas lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “When you live as long as elves do, you might need more than two, as well.”

“I will.”

At that, Sylvanas blinked. She looked at Jaina for clarification. 

“Druids live as long as elves do. Even human ones,” Jaina said. Then she grinned, amused by Sylvanas’ confusion. “It’s a perk.” 

“And here I thought the Kul Tiran nobility would be clamouring for you to conceive an Heir the moment you became Lord Admiral,” Sylvanas drawled. 

“Oh, they probably will anyway. But they’re going to be very annoyed when they find out that I’ll outlive them by a good few centuries at least.” 

“I can hear the cries of outrage from Boralus already.” 

Jaina’s grin widened, then softened. Her fingers played with the cloth belt holding her bathrobe together. “I have to say, this certainly has been a surprise.”

Sylvanas cocked her head to one side.

In answer, Jaina gestured between the two of them. “I thought this conversation was going to be far more unpleasant.”

"I can make it unpleasant, if you would prefer."

Jaina made a face. "Please, no. I thought we were doing so well."

When Sylvanas smiled, it did not reach her eyes. Her fangs glinted in the firelight. "Make no mistake. I am still very angry." Her gaze seared crimson.

Jaina made a noise at the back of her throat, something between a hum and a grunt. "I can see that. I don't suppose there's anything I can do?"

"More concessions when you become Lord Admiral wouldn't go unappreciated."

Rolling her eyes, Jaina said, "Anything that doesn't involve me whoring out my nation?"

Sylvanas tapped at her chin, pretending to think deeply on the subject. Finally she said, "No. Nothing."

With a snort of wry amusement, Jaina said, "Well, do let me know if that changes." 

"I will keep it in mind." A keen expression crossed Sylvanas' face. "I never forget when I am owed a favour." 

"Now, that is just ominous." 

"Good. It was supposed to be." 

The fire crackled in the hearth. Outside, the sky had fallen dark as night swept across the land. Glancing through a window, Jaina sighed. "I suppose I ought to make myself presentable and face the firing squad."

"I very much doubt your mother will draw a pistol on you, though I will admit that she is a difficult woman to read." 

"That's an understatement," Jaina muttered under her breath. She had begun to pick her way up the stairs, manoeuvring through the stacks of books haphazardly arranged along the steps. 

When she reached the mezzanine, she dropped the towel onto the bed and untied the belt of her robe. Sylvanas pulled the maps closer to herself to study them while she waited, but her eyes would stray up to where Jaina was getting dressed. There wasn't much to see through the pillars of the balustrade and the piles of books. Glimpses of skin and cloth here and there as Jaina pulled on a fresh set of formal robes. There was an exit scar on her back, where Gorak Tul had struck her through with a sword, right between her shoulder blade and her spine. 

A few minutes later, Jaina descended the steps, still tying the laces of fabric at her throat to hide the scars of her neck. Her cloak was draped across the back of the couch, and she shrugged it over her shoulders. The fabric rustled like the wind through dense branches. Sylvanas had long since given up the pretense of pouring over the maps, and stood waiting at the bottom of the stairs. 

"Are you ready?" 

Jaina fiddled with her loose hair for a moment, as though contemplating taking the time to braid it. Eventually though she nodded. "Yes. Let's go." 

When they reached the door however, Jaina stopped. Her hand had immediately grabbed up the sickle staff, but she hesitated at the mask. Sylvanas waited patiently a step behind for Jaina to make up her mind. 

"No," Jaina said softly to herself, turning away from the mask. Before she could take another step towards the door though, she turned back to the mask. "Or...? Well...? Hmm." She grabbed the mask. "Yes." Then almost immediately she put the mask back on its hook. "What am I thinking? No."

Sylvanas sighed. "You are worse than a cat at the door."

"All right, yes." Jaina snatched up the mask, spurred into action, and pulled the door open. Once outside she placed the antlered skull over her head, and her shoulders relaxed somewhat, as though the idea of extra layer of protection was soothing. 

Sylvanas followed, closing the door behind them. She took a moment to pull on her boots and greaves. Once she had slung her bow over her shoulders, she pulled the fang from her belt pouch, but Jaina just held out her hand instead. 

"I'll take us back," she said, hand outstretched, waiting. 

Slowly, Sylvanas tucked the token away, and reached out for Jaina's hand. Jaina clasped their fingers together. Her skin was warm and calloused. Sylvanas could feel it even through the supple leather of her gloves. 

The dark sockets of the skull's eyes glowed with pinpricks of light, and Sylvanas tensed. Jaina tightened her hold, as if she were afraid Sylvanas would wrench her hand away while the spell was still taking form. And then that familiar hook-like sensation gripped at Sylvanas' stomach and gave a mighty tug. When the world righted itself again, they were standing on the second floor rafters of the church at Barrowknoll. 

The roof had been reconstructed with rough-hewn lumber. Stacks of bricks and munitions were piled up all around. The space was dimly lit from candles scattered around the main floor below them, and the sound of voices floated up the nearby set of stairs. 

"Tides help me, if you don't tell me this instant, Lucille Waycrest -!"

"I don't know anything! You must believe me, Katherine. If the Warchief or the High Thornspeaker had said something to me, they would have said it to you as well. I swear it."

"You’re hiding something. You all are. Oh, don't give me that doe-eyed look! You always were a terrible liar."

"I told you, I don’t know anything!" 

"You know I was there at your birth? Your mother held my hand. Nearly squeezed it right off, if you ask me. That woman had a death grip like no other."

"Yes," Lucille sighed wearily. "I know." 

"And when Meredith fell to the Coven? Who was the first to offer you aid?"

Lucille mumbled something under her breath.

"Speak up, my dear." 

"I said: You were."

"That's right. I was. And when those fools at Corlain attempted to burn you at the stake for some far-fetched witchcraft conspiracy, who got wind of it and rallied the Marshal for a rescue attempt?" 

"You did."

"And yet you have the nerve -- the absolute gall -- to look me in the face right now, and lie to me." There was the sound of boot steps, and the faint clack of a cane against wooden floorboards. When Katherine spoke again, her voice was low but not at all soft. "I had thought I could rely upon you, the last of my family, distant though you are. But I see I am cursed to live a life of disappointment, through and through." 

“That’s not fair,” Lucille sounded like she was choking on the words, or trying to hold back a wave of tears. “You know I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me. 

"You have a very poor way of showing it." 

"What am I supposed to do? Perform every action of my life as though I'm grovelling at your feet just to show how thankful I am?"

"Of course, not. You're being ridiculous."

"Don't say that! Don't you say that to me! You know I can't stand that, Kath!"

"Don't you 'Kath' me, young lady!"

As they eavesdropped, Jaina was gripping Sylvanas' hand hard enough that her fingers trembled. Sylvanas stole a quick glance at her. It was impossible to see what her expression was beneath the mask, but her back was too straight, her shoulders too rigid. 

Sylvanas squeezed her hand back, and Jaina's head jerked towards her in surprise, as though she had only just remembered that Sylvanas was present at all. But it was only to get her attention, for Sylvanas jerked her head meaningfully at the stairs, and gave Jaina a pointed look. She could hear a faint indrawn breath beneath that mask, and then Jaina let go of her hand. 

At the first creak of the floorboards beneath Jaina's feet, the two voices went silent downstairs. Sylvanas followed as Jaina descended the stairs, her own footsteps silent as a whisper. 

Lucille and Katherine were standing very close together before the large rectangular altar that had been converted into a planning table. Scrolls and scraps of notes, missives and ledgers and stacks of maps were strewn across the altar. The papers were weighed down with bits of brick and bronze lamps. Both of them appeared startled at the interruption and the idea that their conversation was being listened to. Katherine recovered more quickly, grasping the falcon head of her cane in both hands and schooling her features to their usual hard neutrality. On the other hand, Lucille’s lower lip trembled. Despite that, her gaze was sloe-eyed and unyielding. 

"Forgive the interruption," Jaina said, her voice cold beneath the horned skull. "But I thought I should step in." 

Lucille jerked her chin up and said steadily. "It's fine. We just got a bit sidetracked from a strategy discussion." 

Jaina hummed. She approached the altar, her hand reaching out to rest upon the stone surface. "Sylvanas has informed me of new developments that we all need to discuss." 

Hearing this, Katherine shot Sylvanas a look that could only be described as startled, though she tried to hide it. In return Sylvanas gave away nothing. She did not draw nearer the altar, keeping her distance, watching Jaina, waiting for what she would do. 

"I'm glad to hear you two are talking again," Katherine said carefully. Then she turned her attention upon the altar, waving Lucille and Sylvanas over to join them. "Shall we -?"

"No, not yet," Jaina said, cutting her off. Her voice was determined, but there was the barest hint of shakiness lingering beneath the surface. "You were right. There was something Lucille was keeping from you. And I think -- for all our sakes -- we ought to clear the air."

Lucille's eyes widened. She gave Jaina a panicked look. 

Jaina gave no indication that she noticed. Slowly, her hands reached up and clasped the base of the skull mask, lifting it away to reveal her face. Katherine was watching her with a bemused frown, which only deepened when Jaina set the mask atop the altar. Opening her mouth to speak, Katherine paused. She blinked. Then she went white a sheet, and her jaw slackened as the realisation visibly dawned on her. 

Katherine shook her head. “No, that’s - that’s not possible,” she breathed. “You died. They’d told me you died.”

“Yes,” Jaina said. Her hands were gripped into tight fists at her side. She held herself as though expecting to be struck.

From this angle Sylvanas could not see Jaina’s expression, but she could see Katherine's with all too much clarity. Something raw and painful shifted across Katherine’s pale face. Anger and anguish, disbelief and dread. Her hand tightened around the cane. She rapped the end of it against the ground, her jaw tight but her eyes welling up with unshed tears. “I planted a sword in the grave for you,” she rasped. “And yet here you are.” 

“Here I am,” Jaina echoed.

“If this is some trick, I swear to all that’s good, I’ll -” Katherine cut herself off with a rough swallow, breathing in heavily through her nose. 

“I’m real.” 

Katherine opened her mouth to say something, but words seemed to escape her. Hesitant, she reached out with one hand, but Jaina’s shoulders stiffened, and Katherine lowered her arm before she could touch her daughter. She had to muster up the ability to speak again. “You’ve grown very tall,” she said, a weak smile trying but failing to take shape. Her eyes flicked to Lucille and Sylvanas, and then her face hardened, her voice gaining strength. “How long have they known?”

Lucille looked like she would rather die on the spot than answer that question. Sylvanas herself kept her mouth firmly shut, letting Jaina answer. “Long enough.” 

Pain twisted Katherine’s features. “And you didn’t tell me? Why?” 

“Are you really asking me that? After what you did?” 

Katherine drew herself up to her full height, but the top of her head barely passed Jaina’s chin. “I did not want to, but I had to,” she said. “Everything I did, I did to safeguard Kul Tiras. I will not apologise for that.”

“Letting Tandred hang was all part of your plan to ‘safeguard Kul Tiras’?” Jaina asked incredulously.

“You were too young to understand,” Katherine snapped. “The political situation at the time was volatile. I did everything I could to change Daelin’s mind, to find some work around, to exile Tandred instead, but he would have none of it. And the gentry were baying for blood after the orcs had killed so many during the First and Second Wars.” 

Jaina scoffed. “Oh, great. So, dad wasn’t just a power-mad bastard. It was all because of politics. I see now why I should have come back to Boralus the moment he died. How foolish of me!”

Katherine’s face was quickly regaining its colour again. The two of them were locked in a glaring contest, tempers rising, mingling with grief and years of bitterness. They continued speaking as though they had completely forgotten anyone else was in the room. 

“That’s not what I meant!” Katherine said hotly.

“Then what did you mean? Enlighten me.”

“You should have told me! Have you never heard of a letter? ‘Dearest mum, I am alive. Love - Your daughter, Jaina.’”

“You’re unbelievable! You -!” 

As silently as she could, Sylvanas crossed the room and murmured to Lucille, “Come. Let us leave them be.”

Lucille nodded without hesitation, and the two of them slipped away. Neither Jaina nor Katherine seemed to notice. 

“I could have protected you!’

“Oh, yes, because you’ve done such a good job of that in the past!” 

“How dare you! I am the reason why you survived at all!”

“You don’t know anything about what’s happened for me to survive! Or have you already forgotten? You threw me away!”

“I did no such thing!”

Sylvanas shut the side door to the church behind her, so that the sounds of their voices were muted. Outside, the night was dark and drizzly. Most of the soldiers were camped in the fields just to the north, but some still wandered the town performing their duties. Sylvanas kept her hand firmly on the latch of the door as though afraid it might burst open at any second, while Lucille leaned against the outer wall with a ragged exhalation, staying beneath the shelter of the eaves. 

Sylvanas studied her profile, then said, “You did well. I thought you would crack immediately under questioning.” 

A soft shaky laugh escaped Lucille at that. “Thanks,” she said with a self-deprecating smile. She glanced towards the door. “Should we wait here? How long do you think they’ll be?”

Sylvanas’ only answer was a shrug. “They will take as long as they take.” 

“Then they’ll be a while. ‘Stubborn as a Proudmoore’ they say in Tiragarde Sound.” Lucille ran a hand across her brow. She pushed herself away from the wall and said, “Would you like to join me for a drink? I desperately need one.”

“I don’t drink. And alcohol is wasted on me. It does nothing.” 

“Right. Of course. My apologies.”

One of Sylvanas’ ears tilted towards the door, hearing the rising volume of the voices within. She grimaced. “On second thought, I will join you.”  

“Thank the Tides,” Lucille sighed, already gathering up her long hems so that they would not trail in the mud. 

Sylvanas followed Lucille out into the rain, the two of them making a dash towards a nearby reconstructed house. She may not be able to enjoy a drink, but it was a better proposition than staying put; she had had enough eavesdropping for one night.

  Lucille had nearly finished what remained of the flask of whiskey she kept hidden in the drawer of her work desk, and Jaina and Katherine still had not emerged from the church to the Tides. Sylvanas sat in a chair beside the fire, while Lucille nursed a glass. Conversation was halting at first, but eventually Lucille's tongue was loosened by drink. Sylvanas took the opportunity to suss out any additional helpful information about Jaina and Katherine. Most of it she already knew. Some of it however, she did not.

"I wanted to go to Jaina's burial in Boralus, but my mother forbade it," Lucille said. She had draped a blanket over her legs to ward off the cold, and her chair had been pushed nearer the fire. 

"Why would she do that?" Sylvanas asked.

Lucille sipped at the amber spirits in her glass. "In hindsight, I think it was because she had already well fallen under the influence of Gorak Tul. But it wasn't just that. There really was bad blood between the Houses back then."

"Unlike now, where you all get along swimmingly," Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille snorted a laugh into her cup. "I didn't think you would actually have a sense of humour, you know. It's kind of nice."

"I'm a woman of hidden depths." Sylvanas waved for Lucille to continue. "Now, you were saying about the Houses?"

"Yes. Well. Katherine was right back in the church, really. Terrible business, the First and Second Wars. There aren't many people in Kul Tiras to begin with. Then nearly a quarter of the entire population died fighting the orcs. We are still recovering as a society. I don't know if we ever will. Not really." Lucille cradled the glass of whiskey between her hands as though praying that it would warm her. "Derek Proudmoore, Jaina's eldest brother, was one of the people to fall. Daelin and Katherine were crushed. But he wasn't the only one. Lady Ashvane's Heir died. Her husband, too. And some of Lord Stormsong's family. Everyone was affected. Then Tandred goes off and helps those shipwrecked orcs? I know he was being kind -- he was a kind soul, if a bit of an ass at times -- but it was a scandal. Everyone wanted him to hang. My mother included. The Proudmoores nearly lost the Admiralty over it. There was talk of overthrowing them back then. My mother said theirs was a whole line of traitors. That they weren't to be trusted. And there were plenty of people who shared that sentiment. An example needed to be made."

Sylvanas hummed. "A sacrificial lamb led to the altar to appease the masses."

Tipping her glass towards Sylvanas as though in a toast, Lucille said, "Exactly that."

"Which doesn't exactly bode well for me."

"Oh, definitely not," Lucille said. Alcohol made her earnest and far too honest. "I think it would be a disaster, personally."

Sylvanas gave her a dangerous look. "How reassuring," she said in a silky warning tone.

Usually Lucille got the hint, but not when she was four glasses deep and reaching for the flask to pour herself a fifth. "The only thing that might salvage the relationship is the fact that you're not an orc. Kul Tirans tend to be a bit -- uhm -- how do I put it nicely -?"

"’Negatively predisposed towards those of orcish descent?’" Sylvanas supplied dryly.

“That works, yes.” 

“And what does this have to do with Jaina’s burial, exactly?”

“Well -” Lucille expertly balanced the glass on her knee while she screwed the top back onto the flask. For a moment Sylvanas thought the glass was going to crash to the floor, but Lucille was apparently as Kul Tiran as any, for she snatched up the glass without fail or fumble. “There wasn’t a body, obviously, but Katherine wanted a funeral anyway.”

“People often do.”

“Anyway, it was a big public event. The Lord Admiral couldn’t keep it secret that she no longer had an Heir. Before that, she’d told everyone that Jaina was living with us in seclusion at Waycrest Manor.”

“Ah,” said Sylvanas. She leaned back in her seat and crossed an ankle over her opposite knee. “Yes. I see where this is going.” 

Making an affirmative noise into her glass, Lucille finished her sip of whiskey and continued. “When my mother refused to let any member of House Waycrest attend, it was a public indictment in all but name. A show that the Lord Admiral’s power was slipping in Drustvar. And to top it all off, my dear mother was already neck-deep in her dabblings with Gorak Tul and the Coven, so of course she wanted the Lord Admiral out of her business, so she could take over Drustvar without any hassle. It was a damn mess.”

Sylvanas tilted her head to one side. “And what do you want for Drustvar?”

“Me?” Lucille blinked, as though surprised at being asked that question at all. 

“Yes, you. You are Lady Waycrest, are you not?” 

Turning her gaze to the fireplace, Lucille stared into the flickering hearth. “I want a Drustvar free from corruption and at peace with itself. I want to clear the smirch on my family’s name. And I want to follow a Lord Admiral who has a clear vision for Kul Tiras.”

“And you think Jaina will give you those things?”

“I do,” Lucille said with real conviction. 

“Even if it means aligning yourself with people like me?” Sylvanas gestured to herself. 

Lucille’s mouth opened, but before she could answer the front door swung open hard enough that it hit the wall and bounced back. Jaina stormed into the house, skull mask beneath one arm. Rain was caught in her cloak and her loose hair, droplets gleaming like stars. Her eyes were red-rimmed as though she had scrubbed recent tears from her cheeks. 

Katherine was conspicuously absent. 

“Right,” Jaina said, slamming the door shut behind her and stomping towards the fireplace to stand between their two chairs. “Well, that was awful.” 

Wordlessly, Lucille held out the glass of whiskey. To Sylvanas’ surprise, Jaina took it and slugged back its contents as easily as though it were water. 

“Welcome back,” Sylvanas said.

“Why did I listen to you?” Jaina asked, handing the glass back over to Lucille for refilling. 

“Think of it this way: you only have one surviving family member, so you’ll never have to do it again,” Sylvanas pointed out. 

“Thank the Tides,” Jaina grumbled.

Lucille handed the glass over to Jaina, filled with a good three fingers of whiskey. “Do we have a plan?”

“We have a plan.” Jaina took the glass. This time she did not immediately drain it in one gulp. Rather, she tipped it back and forth as though admiring the way the liquid slid against the interior of the glass. Then, she took a sip and said, “We march to Windmill Hill tomorrow morning to chase off the Ashvanes and wait out the winter. Or -” She craned her neck to peer out the nearest window, where the faintest sliver of dawn was creeping over the horizon. “Later today, actually. Ugh, but I need some sleep.”  

“And the Admiralty?” Sylvanas asked.

“You’re looking at the official Heir to the Admiralty and Scion of the Great Fleet. Cheers.” Jaina lifted the glass in the air, and tipped it back. What few drops remain, she cast into the fire, which spit and hissed furiously. 

Lucille and Sylvanas exchanged silent glances. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Sylvanas said. 

“Yes,” Lucille agreed, though she sounded far less certain. “Congratulations, I suppose?”

In response, Jaina heaved a weary sigh. “Fuck me.”

#you search the mountain #drust au #sylvaina #sylvanas windrunner #jaina proudmoore #roman writes

[witharsenicsauce]

Chosen Stories From the War #32: Forgetting Old Weapons

The wind whipped around the dirt road, stirring up sand and dust as the wheels of the dirtbike cut across the trails. Kon-Mai held up her hands to cover her face as her brother passed by them once again. Her white hair whipped around her in the violent wind: she had released it from it’s braids and it was hanging in ringlets today.

Dhar-Mon growled as he picked the sand grains off his tongue. “I do not understand the appeal of this.”

“I assume he likes the thrill.” Verge said, from his position on Kon-Mai’s left hand side. He was standing there with his hands clasped behind his back, at attention like always, but he seemed to be staring longingly at Gur-Rai as he made another lap on the road that ran around the oasis. “The sound of the tires on the road, the wind in his hair-”

“He is bald.” Kon-Mai chuckled. “Nazira is not though, and she evidently enjoys that sentiment.”

As Gur-Rai’s bike came to a slow stop in front of them, the tall woman stepped off and shook out her black hair, giggling the entire time. “That was lovely! I haven’t had this much fun in years!”

“I can always be counted on for a good time~” Gur-Rai said with a smirk, a bit of a purr in his voice. “Well? Anyone else up next? Molly, how about you?”

“I’ll ride with you when you wear your helmet.” She sighed, her arms crossed. “You know if you take a spill and smash your skull open, I don’t want to be the one scooping your brains back into your blue head.”

“That’s what the hood is for.” He chuckled, tapping the barely armored cloth. “But fair enough. Verge, how about you?”

Verge blinked. “What about…?”

“Why don’t you hop on.” Gur-Rai patted the seat behind him, winking as he did. “I would dare to say you’ve never been on a bike like this.”

“That is not true…” Verge straightened up and cleared his throat. “I have been on bikes.”

“Oh?” Gur-Rai leaned forward on the handlebars. “Then hop on. I mean. If you want~”

“Do I have a choice?” Verge raised a brow.

“If you prefer, I can lift you up on my back and carry you around the track~”

“I doubt you could lift me, but I like the idea.” Verge smirked.

“You wound me. I can lift my sister and she’s heavy as a truck!”

Kon-Mai hissed.

“Well then, let’s see.” Verge smirked, certain Gur-Rai would not go through with this threat. That smile disappeared as Gur-Rai jumped off the bike and scooped him up bridal style. Verge let out a yelp, and Nazira cackled.

“Oh come on now, you liked it when Zafar did it~” She winked, and Verge’s cheeks seemed to almost glow purple.

“Do not tease him.” Kon-Mai said with a barely visible smirk. “The poor thing has only just discovered what emotions are.”

“Now now, I think we’re all in a similar boat.” Nazira reached up to lean on Kon-Mai’s shoulder.  Even with her own great height, she only came up to just about the Chosen woman’s neck.

Malinalli looked up at Dhar-Mon, who was staring after Gur-Rai as he ran off with Verge in his arms, and smiled. “You could probably carry me if you wanted.”

Dhar-Mon blushed bright purple. “...I suppose.”

“Mm.” She clasped her hands in front of her, turning around as footsteps approached them. “Oh, hello Sir.”

“There is no need for that.” Zafar insisted, his wide mouth growing into a sharp grin. His black hair was pulled back into a ponytail that sat tall at the crown of his head, and his red robes fluttered in the light desert breeze. “Nazira, the Commander wishes to speak to us again.”

“Is she finally ready to fork over some soldiers?” Nazira sighed. “I hope she lets you all stay, I’ve been having so much fun with all my Chosen~”

Kon-Mai sighed. “We are needed for the greater war effort.”

“Oh fine, I understand, forget all about little old me.” Nazira said it jovially, but there was an edge to her voice.

“I don’t know what she’s decided.” Zafar admitted. “And ultimately we are at her mercy.”

“If she wants me to pick up a gun again…” Nazira grumbled as she let go of Kon-Mai. “Well, give Gur-Rai a kiss from me!”

“I will meet you there shortly.” Zafar called after her. Turning back to the Chosen, he raised a brow. “I wanted to make a request of all of you…” He said. “It is about my own...abilities.”

“Why do you sound hesitant?” Dhar-Mon asked.

“Because those memories are never pleasant to revisit. That time of my life feels completely detached from who I am now.” Zafar admitted. “I don’t know if I’d even be able to hold a pistol right anymore, and that leaves me at the mercy of XCOM, whatever their whims may be.”

“Just use your psionics.” Malinalli said.

Zafar chuckled. “I wish I could. But the gift does not embrace me like it does you...humans.”

“What of a sword?” Kon-Mai asked. “Have you ever utilized a sword or close range weapon?”

Zafar raised a brow. “I will admit we haven’t.”

Kon-Mai’s face seemed to light up. “Maybe I could teach you. The sword is quite different from the gun.”

“I have long wanted to explore more traditional means of human warfare.” He chuckled. “And who better than the mistress of blades to teach us?”

Kon-Mai grinned, bearing sharp teeth. “With me you will not just learn to kill. You will learn to dance.”

“I shall look forward to our battle, Shrinemaiden.” He waved as he disappeared into the sand.

.

.

Senuna plopped down on the pillow, her white cape fluttering behind her as she did. Jane adjusted her rifle in her arms, leaning it against her hip. She didn’t intend to use it today, and Bradford didn’t even have his drawn, but he did look at Zafar with the slightest bit of distrust. Just like him to assume everything would go wrong.

“I have good news.” Senuna said. “The Reapers have graciously stepped up.”

Zafar blinked in confusion. “Stepped up to what?”

“They’ll be donating their own forces to cover Dakhla.” She said. “Their home has been under siege by ADVENT and they need-”

“They hate us!” Nazira stood up from her position at her brother’s side, her face pale. “They eat alien meat, don’t they?!”

“Yes, but.” Senuna held up her hand. “Since allying with the Skirmishers, there has been a considerable drop in that. They mostly eat Chryssalids and Vip-oh.” Senuna stopped herself too late.

Nazira looked at her with a mix of horror and fury. “Brother. We can’t.” She hissed. “They will kill us in our sleep.”

Zafar sighed. “I did not expect you to involve the other factions.” He said. “We have already had problems with the Templars to the north. If it was the Skirmishers, maybe. But the Reapers are known to harbor ill feelings towards us.” He shrugged. “Not that I blame them, per se. But we want safety here, and I think this will provide more unrest.”

Bradford stepped forward. “Look, you need soldiers. The Reapers need a new home. Avoiding each other isn’t going to make this sentiment go away so you might as well face this head on.”

“I would agree.” Zafar nodded. “But I also don’t want riots breaking out in my village.”

“It won’t just be Reapers.” Jane spoke finally. “About two dozen XCOM recruits will be staying behind, as well as a few Skirmishers. The exact number I don’t know.”

“I don’t want to be stabbed in the back and skinned as a delicacy.” Nazira hissed. “And who’s to say they won’t?!”

“You are allies.” Senuna assured her. “Volk is stubborn, but not stupid. He won’t attack you on purpose.”

“Maybe he won’t. But what of his soldiers?” Nazira crossed her arms.

“His soldiers are all quite obedient.” Jane said. “Except Elena, but she almost holds a command position herself. And she’s married to a Skirmisher. She’d be a good fit here.”

That, Zafar seemed to ponder. Nazira still grimaced at the idea, but she held silent.

“What else?” He asked. “There’s something more you’re thinking of, Commander. I know it.”

“We would like to train some of the citizens.” She said. “As helpful as our own troops will be, it will be much easier to defend Dakhla if the people here can use a gun.”

Nazira turned on her heel and stormed out, and Zafar sighed. “I was afraid you would ask this.”

“Why?” Senuna crossed her arms. “Most of the people here are former ADVENT.”

“Most of the people here are traumatized by their service.” Zafar objected. “My own hands struggle to hold weaponry. Getting them to hold a weapon would be nigh impossible.”

“That can’t be true for all of them.” Jane said. “We’re in the middle of a war. They have to fight.”

“Do they?” He asked, glaring at her. “Or do you simply expect them to?”

Jane fell silent, where Senuna piped up. “Yes. We do.”

.

.

Imdugud was tired of not receiving the recognition he deserved for such a taxing job.

It was his job to wrangle in the Sectoids, who had grown unruly with the implementation of human DNA. It was his job to oversee the cloning facilities and to do annual checks on the gene therapy clinics. It was his job to make lists on lists and then make lists of those lists and of course he did it all. Why wouldn’t he? He loved his job.

But oh did he wish it had more reward. As it was this was no different from his life on Thaumas. 

“That’s not true.” Reue said behind him. She could hear his thoughts and she had no problem snooping. “People do appreciate you here. People actually answer to you. Remember on Thaumas? You took all the blame, it’s how you fell in with us to begin with.”

He hated it when she was right. But she was. “Whatever you need, Reue, it’ll have to wait...” He said, not looking up from the desk he levitated in front of. Before him were spread several thin sheets of paper, and he ran his hand over one of the crisp corners. Stars above, he loved this planet, it’s trees and it’s paper. “Do you remember when Bhandasura took us out to the wastes of Korallion? Where the crystal trees grew so high they punctured the atmosphere?”

“Yes.” Reue said as she came closer.

“I hated those trees.” He growled. “Unmoving, unending, barely alive.” He picked up a sheet of paper: it was another list of all the designation numbers of the Sectoids he was reviewing for his mission. Half of them were crossed out. “Can you feel this? It’s soft and real.”

“It’s dead.” Reue deadpanned. “That’s just a flap of dead flesh from a tree.”

“Yes. But it was once alive.” He chuckled and laid it back on the table. “Now, the names written on it, you could make the argument that they’re already dead too.”

“But they come from us.” She protested. “I wish you would take care of them-”

“So did the Chosen. And look at them.” He scoffed. “That went so well. I swear upon a black hole, if our doctors have to keep diverting resources to Abyzou and her abhorrent obsessions, we’ll lose all we’ve gained over the millennia.”

“Don’t talk about lau Mordenna like that.” Reue hissed.

“Well, for a moment I forgot how pathetic you were.” Imdugud gathered up the papers in his hands. “This little crush was cute at first, but it’s gotten old, Reue.”

“So have you.” Reue spat. “When will your force be assembled? Lau Madron wants to know where his daughter is.”

“I’m still waiting on Xezbeth and Tiyanak, they said they’ll have something ready for me tonight.” He brushed past her. “...Do you miss home, Reue?”

Reue didn’t answer at first.

“I hope not. I sure don't.” Imdugud chuckled. “The universe would be better off without the whole lot, anyway.”

.

.

While the soldiers had, at first, found Dakhla to be new and exciting and exotic, they had quickly grown bored when they discovered that there were less “Viper Hostess Bars” and more “small desert taverns.” They had found one that was, quite literally, a hole in the wall, it’s sandstone walls keeping the cool air inside to shield them from the unrelenting sun. The ground was covered in sand, and everything had a strange, thin layer of dust coating it like a second skin.

Mithridates didn’t look up from his laptop until Tiwaz poked his ribcage, and then he jumped, looking wide-eyed at the older man. “Y-Yeah?”

“Want anything to drink?” Tiwaz asked with a smile. He had discarded his armor in favor of a tank top and shorts that came up far above his thighs. His blonde hair was getting long, now falling in a dirty mop around his eyes and down his neck.

“...No.” Mithridates shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

“Come on, Maruf.” Tisiphone practically barked at him, her voice echoing through the cave-like room. “Loosen up a bit.”

“It’s against my religion.” He muttered.

“I didn’t know you were religious.” Princess chimed in, a smile on her face. “I’m a Presbyterian! What do you practice?”

“The belief that everyone can mind their own fucking business.” Mithridates glared at her. “I don’t drink, that’s that.”

“Okay, fine, don’t get so anal about it.” Tisiphone stood. “I’ll come with you. I’m gonna grab a rum and coke.”

Tiwaz nodded. “Maruf, you sure you don’t want anything? Maybe a soda?”

Mithridates pondered that for just a moment. “...Coke.” He finally choked out.

“Can do!” Tiwaz sauntered his way over to the bar, Tisiphone following behind him to the bar. The stone was inscribed with ancient hieroglyphs written all the way back in the days of Egypt, and at first the soldiers had all been enamored with them, until the barkeep told them it was just a recipe for beer.

The woman there was...not what they were used to calling a woman, and Tisiphone paused for a moment, watching the Viper wiping down a glass with a rag and putting it under the sandstone counter. Despite the scales, she seemed to have wrinkles around her red eyes. It sent a shiver up Tisiphone’s spine: this alien looked almost human.

“You ok?” Tiwaz took her hand.

“Yeah.” She sighed. “...It’s just hard sometimes.”

“I get you. I think this one is cool though.” He smiled.

“How do you know?” Tisiphone raised a brow.

“I like to assume the best in people.”

“That’s a good way to get killed.”

“It worked when I met you.”

“Yeah, and I tried to kill you.” Tisiphone chuckled, relaxing enough to lean on the bar as the Viper turned towards them. “Rum and coke?”

“Is Pepsi okay?” The Viper hissed.

Tisiphone sighed. “Good to see some things never change.”

.

.

Kon-Mai ran her hand along the outside of the temple, barely grazing the centuries old graffiti. Sarapammon, an old god (or perhaps king?) stared down at her, flanked by a baboon and a ram. His full locks of hair, strong back and piercing gaze reminded her of Dhar-Mon. Once, she had seen him make an address to the people of Earth, in the middle of the city center in Ehime. He had announced her presence like he was proclaiming the second coming. In that moment, she had felt special. That moment ended far too soon.

She looked into the darkness of the tiny temple, it’s cool air blowing over her slightly sunburnt face, and she took a single step inside before the sound of movement caught her off guard.

“Who’s there?” She heard Nazira call from the darkness.

“Only me.” It was hard to sound calming with her scraggly voice, but she tried anyway. “I thought you were meeting the Commander.”

“I was.” Nazira sounded like she wanted to say more, but nothing else followed.

“...May I step inside?” Kon-Mai asked. “The sun is-”

“Yes, sure.” More rustling, like the woman was making room for her, and Kon-Mai stepped into the shadows. Like always, they swallowed her, surrounding her like old friends.

Nazira sat cross legged before the tiny alter, which bore the visage of three gods, two men and one woman. Kon-Mai felt her heart drop for a moment before she shook off that fearful feeling. There was no way.

She knelt beside her, sitting back on her heels and closing her eyes for a moment, letting the cool air not just overtake her, but flow through her. For a moment she could see Dakhla as it once was, bustling with ancient humans who spoke a language so like her own and yet not at all. Some of them saw her. Some of them looked like her.

She opened her eyes and looked at Nazira, who was staring up at the wall, inscribed with ancient hieroglyphs. “Did something happen?”

“The Commander doesn’t listen.” Nazira spat. “I don’t want to fight her wars. I just want to live.” She reached up and pressed her long fingers into her brow ridge. “I never want to pick up another gun.”

Kon-Mai raised a brow. “Never?”

“I am done with that life.” She added. “I am no longer that person, quite literally.” She gestured to herself. “But she can’t see that, can she? It’s just like with the Elders. I’m just a tool for them to use.”

Kon-Mai didn’t know quite what to say. “...I’m sorry.” She finally said. “I did not realize this war had such a lasting impact on you.”

“It affects all of us differently.” Nazira mumbled. “Most people here avoid guns because they feel as though they can’t trust themselves with them. I know I can’t trust myself not to break and forget all I am now.” She shifted, sitting on her hip. “If I pick up another pistol, I worry I’ll be no different from before.”

“That is a silly fear.” Kon-Mai said. “You are you. That should never change.”

“Don’t.” Nazira glared at her, green eyes glowing in the dark. “Do not patronize me.”

Kon-Mai shrunk back a hair.

“I suffered endless torment at the hands of the Elders.” She held out her palms. “I was never meant to be like this. I was stolen from a home I will never know, mutated to serve their purpose, given a gun and told to kill like a mindless slave. You of all people should understand-”

“I’m sorry.” Kon-Mai interjected quickly. “I was not thinking of what I said. It’s not a silly fear.” She took a slow breath. “I only meant, the Elders do not decide who you are. You have already made that decision. I believe you are strong enough to uphold it.”

“I hope so.” Nazira stood. “But I’m not willing to take that risk.”

Suddenly, Kon-Mai’s eyes lit up. “Is it only guns?”

Nazira looked confused. “Only guns?”

“Your brother asked earlier if I could train him in swordsmanship.” Kon-Mai smiled excitedly. “Perhaps I could do the same for you.”

.

.

“Then it is settled.” Zafar finally relented, but there was a smile on his face to indicate that this interaction wasn't entirely disturbing to him. “Those who wish to train with XCOM will be given the opportunity I doubt you’ll have many takers, but what can I say?” He chuckled.

“And the Reapers will be given a temporary outpost here.” Senuna added. “Until they can find a better place to set up shop.”

“I think that will be fair enough.” Zafar nodded and stood, reaching out to shake Senuna’s hand. “What will happen now?”

“Now I must escort our troops to you.” She giggled. “It shouldn’t take all that long, but we will be gone for a few days. The Templars are making their way over here and will likely arrive before us, so try to be on alert.”

“For someone with such power yourself, you seem to be very wary of the Templars.”

“That’s exactly why I am wary.” She winked. “I know what I can do, and I don’t trust myself one bit~”

Zafar blinked, looking at Bradford worriedly.

“Don’t worry about it.” He chuckled. “She’s bad at jokes.”

“Oh that’s wise, Dadford~” Senuna glared back at him.

“That’s a vintage meme.” Jane chuckled. “If we’re all done here, I’m going to check in with the other soldiers.”

“I heard some of them were checking out that little tavern by the entrance.” Bradford tapped his chin. “Was it um…”

“Althae’s Ban.” Zafar snickered. “Yes, it’s a...very interesting place.”

Bradford blinked slowly, and Jane looked away to hide her smile as she rushed out. “Um, so yeah, see ya on the ship Bradford.”

“Jane-” Bradford reached to stop her, but Senuna waved her hand.

“Let her have fun. She’s young.” She giggled. “And I trust her to be safe.”

“She’s an intriguing young lady.” Zafar raised a brow as he watched her speed walk down the road. “...Hm.”

“Hm?” Senuna chuckled. “I’m afraid you’re not her type, Zafar.”

“And she’s not mine, so don’t worry.” He crossed his arms. “She’s simply familiar, that is all.”

“Familiar?” Bradford looked interested. “How so?”

“Her face.” Zafar seemed to brush him off. “I’m sure I am imagining it, but she resembles someone my sister and I met long ago.”

.

.

Jane pushed aside the colorful curtain, and the smell of brandy hit her in the face. She took a strong whiff, almost expecting to see Bryni somewhere nearby, but alas the red haired pilot was nowhere to be found. Damn.

She did see a few familiar faces though. Princess and Mithridates were in a booth by themselves, and made sure there was no way they’d be mistaken for a couple by throwing pebbles at each other. Tisiphone and Tiwaz were by the stone bar, beside an older looking snake woman. Her scales were a pale sea foam green, and her eyes were crimson. At Jane’s entrance, she looked up briefly and scanned the human with a flick of her eyes, then her tongue.

Jane straightened her back and marched over to the bar. “Hello.”

“Hi Quiet.” Tisiphone grumbled. “Don’t mind my attitude, I’m just trying to get drunk.”

“What if you need to be alert?” Jane asked. “If there’s an ambush?”

“I can shoot while I’m drunk.” She snapped. “Better than the boomer here.”

“Hey.” Tiwaz chuckled, unfazed by her comment. “You always seem grateful for my grenades in the field.”

“In the field, yeah. Everywhere else, your explosive personality is annoying.”

“Oh fuck you!” Said someone who was not Tiwaz. Princess came stomping over. “He won’t let me play solitaire on his computer!”

“You’ll ruin my high score, you fucking bitch!” Mithridates snapped, holding his computer against his chest.

“Children.” Tisiphone rested her head in her hand. “Please shut the fuck up.”

Jane looked up at the barkeep, who was obviously watching but trying not to make it look like she was. She gave her a nervous smile, and the Viper flicked her tongue at her.

“What’s your name?” Jane asked.

“You cannot pronounce what my sisters call me.” The Viper said in a voice that was scratched and worn. “But the humans here call me Althaea.”

“The Healer.” Jane nodded. “Fitting.”

“I heal minds with my brew.” She said, putting a glass in front of Jane. “And bodies in...other ways.”

“What kind of bodies?”

“Any that catch my interest.” Althaea looked her up and down. “And you certainly do. You’ve walked along the edge of a blade.”

Jane pondered this a moment. “...I suppose I have.” She took the glass. It smelled of Absinthe. “So what made you leave ADVENT?”

“Same as all the rest. My chip fell out one day.” Althaea grabbed a rag from under the bar, although it was covered in sand already so it did little to clean the stone bar. “I managed to fake it for a while. It wasn’t like I was an officer so I could just listen to the vocal commands. But it just ain’t right. We vipers aren’t meant to be caged.” She leaned forward. “I know the names of every planet the Elders conquered.”

“Really?” Jane raised a brow. “And you want to tell me yours?”

“It was called Vyraj.” She said sadly. “I don’t even know if it’s still inhabited. Not like it matters. I will never see it again.”

“Never say never.” Jane reached forward. “When we win, I might take you there.”

“When we win.” Althaea looked up at her, red eyes meeting hazel. “You are an interesting human.”

“I get that a lot.” Jane took a long drink of Absinthe. It burned going down her throat. “When do you close?”

“Right now if your friends can behave themselves for an hour.” She chuckled, already putting up the “OUT TO LUNCH” sign.

.

.

Imdugud tried to be as quiet as possible as he approached the two, but they seemed to hear him anyway and whirled around, their almost black eyes meeting his pale purple ones.

He let out the breath he was holding. “I need your reports.” He said. “I have been waiting days and you haven’t responded to me. Have you put more resources into creating the priests like I asked?”

“At first we did.” Tiyanak clasped their hands in front of them. “But then-”

“We had an idea.” Xezbeth interrupted their partner. “A wonderful idea.”

“I do not pay you to have ideas.” Imdugud snarled.

“You do not pay us at all, Imdugud. We are equals in rank.”

“Perhaps here. But on Thaumas-”

If Tiyanak had a mouth, they would have been smiling. “But we are not on Thaumas.” They said. “And I believe that’s quite lucky for you.”

“I can have you executed for this.” Imdugud sighed, knowing he was defeated. “Xezbeth, for the stars sake, you look like you are about to supernova.”

“I know you will like what we have made.” They insisted. “Follow us, Imdugud, and see.”

“Will it help in capturing the Assassin?”

“Yes.” Xezbeth insisted. “That is why we did this. This will give us the edge against her.”

Imdugud pondered this for a moment, and the two stared at him, Xezbeth twitching excitedly, Tiyanak’s eyes burrowing into his soul.

“Fine then.” Imdugud relented. “Show me this great project of yours.”

.

.

.

.

.

(Technically it’s still Monday! If I don’t sleep!

Like I said in my announcement, future chapters may be getting delayed as my county is currently burning to the ground. I hope to have the next chapter out by Sunday, but thank you all so, so much for being patient with me!)

Archive: https://chosenstories.tumblr.com/

#xcom #xcom 2 #xcom 2 war of the chosen #xcom au #xcom vipers

[drbrownscelray]

#north fork trooping