Unity: Defiance - Chapter 1
Here it is, in all its too-long glory! Many thanks for your patience, to sodzilla for her help, encouragement, and snuggles, and to Chris Metzen for being so infuriating that I just had to fix his damned universe. Cheers!
Title: Unity: Defiance
Part: 1 of 5 + Epilogue
Word Count: 4480 (of this part)
Includes: Violence, friendship speeches, drama, polymorphing, plot mangling, crouching mage; hidden dragon, plot mangling..
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina.
Summary: While Thrall remains in Kalimdor, Jaina goes to Stormwind at the behest of an old friend to deal with a problem that is spiralling rapidly out of control.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Stormwind was not Theramore. It was an inane observation but a true one nonetheless: both overlooked the ocean, though from two different angles. Theramore, while protected, still felt open to the sea. It embraced the water, the sandy shoals, and its neighbouring marsh. It welcomed travellers, and the commerce they brought with them. Stormwind felt more like a fortress. The whole of the city was walled, seeming to forbid significant expansion, and each section of the city was separated by a canal system. Jaina’s nose wrinkled as the smell of it overwhelmed the faint, salt-smell of the sea.
One could forget the ocean is at your back here... awful. She sighed lightly. That was unfair. Stormwind had been rebuilt twice, and its martial bearing kept that in mind. She had designed Theramore herself, based on a very old personal project she’d worked on while she’d still been studying in Dalaran.
Theramore was my thought experiment, my theory about how one could build a mage-city from the very ground up. I’d like to meet the man whose mind conceived this.
“Is something wrong, Lady Proudmoore?” The voice was that of Archmage Malin, his tone tinged with worry. Jaina turned and smiled warmly.
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” she assured him. “I was just admiring the city. How do you manage the canals?”
“Spells,” Malin replied tiredly. “I have a whole host of mages whose sole job is to renew the filtration enchantments so our wells remain uncontaminated, and we dump little into the sea. I still wouldn’t swim in it, though.”
“No, of course not,” Jaina agreed. “Thank you for allowing me to use the Academy as a teleportation point.”
“No trouble at all, Lady Proudmoore,” Malin replied, smiling. “It must have been quite the journey, we can provide facilities for recovery before you move on to the Keep if you like.”
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Jaina said. “But your concern is appreciated.”
Jaina let arcane magic hover around her briefly, illuminating the surprised expression on the Archmage’s face as she teleported across the city to Stormwind’s Keep.
The Keep, seat of the Wrynn dynasty’s power, was the most fortress-like part of Stormwind’s martial style, and Jaina wrinkled her nose again. Her own tower had been designed to be conducive to magical studies, and while the coastline was reinforced against naval strikes, Jaina has strived to keep the city’s defenses subtle. Here, it was a threat and a promise: Stormwind’s armies would protect it. It would never fall again.
Those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them, Jaina thought, and wondered if the lesson here had been learned or not, and if it would come to pass that such would be tested. Certainly, it took only an eyeblink for the guards in front of whom she’d teleported to draw weapons and step forward.
“State your business, mage,” growled one of the guards. Jaina smiled at him. His grip tightened on his weapon.
Smile, it throws people off. “My name is Lady Jaina Proudmoore, ruler of Theramore and Archmage of the Kirin Tor. I am here by invitation of Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, equerry to King Varian Adamant Wrynn. I would very much like to pass.”
“You can’t just--”
“I’m afraid she can, because she’s Jaina Proudmoore,” pointed out a voice from behind the guards, and they both turned. A man in a white silk shirt and blue cotton trousers stood behind them, a sword belted around his waist. His hair was light brown and chin length, framing an open, friendly face and warm green eyes. “You came swiftly, Jaina, thank you.”
“I am happy to be called on by my friends,” Jaina replied, and walked past the guards to take the arm he offered her. She offered the guards a wave before walking with him inside.
“Thank you for not turning them into sheep,” Bolvar murmured. “The mages just about had fits when I had them disable the anti-teleportation spells.”
“They’re just doing their job,” Jaina replied, and squeezed his arm. “How have you been?”
“Busy,” Bolvar said, as though it covered all of it. “Every day, reports of a new problem come in from one of our provinces, especially Westfall.”
“Rulership is like that,” Jaina pointed out. “It’s not as though my office isn’t bombarded by requests. My staff filters out everything that they can take care of, we delegate. It’s not just about keeping my schedule clear for harder projects, it also provides employment opportunities for the people in Theramore.”
“You certainly took to this quickly,” Bolvar said with a smile, nodding. “Our bureaucratic structure is still something of a mess, but we’re certainly trying. We’re forced to deal with problems as they pass from ‘awful’ to ‘unfathomably critical’, which makes our methods somewhat... haphazard.”
“You were always so organized during your time in Dalaran, I can’t imagine you doing anything haphazardly,” Jaina said as Bolvar led her to his quarters. Sure enough, everything within it was organized to a fault, with nothing out of place. Jaina’s mind returned to the stack of books that was being held up by two more stacks of books in her room and sighed with envy.
“Sadly, being good at housecleaning doesn’t necessarily translate well into politics,” Bolvar said, gesturing for her to sit, which Jaina did. “In fact, this ties in nicely to what I hope to ask of you.”
Jaina nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
“We’ve discussed the Defias problem at length... it seems to be coming to a new head.” He spread his hands helplessly. “So many have been arrested that there’s been a riot in the Stockade. Our Wardens are only barely containing the problem.”
“I’ve already told you what I think of the fact that there is a Defias problem,” Jaina said. “What about your mages? I saw Archmage Malin at Golden Spire.”
“Malin is exhausted, we’ve needed to reinforce the Vault, just in case,” Bolvar replied, naming the magical equivalent of the Stockade. “Whatever the Defias were, I know what they are now... a clear and present danger to the people of Stormwind and anyone else who gets in their way. All we need to do is contain the situation, get the Wardens one clear advantage.”
Jaina sat silently, her emotions roiling. She flicked a snowflake away in annoyance, and tried to calm down. Bolvar reached out, taking her hands.
“Please, Jaina, I know that you’re powerful, and I know we share a sense of justice. Help us, we need you.”
“And what does Varian think of all this?” Jaina demanded, a shiver of anger going down her spine, even as Bolvar’s words tugged at her heartstrings. That’s damned manipulative of you, Bolvar, and you know it.
“He’s presently in conference with Lady Prestor and the other nobles.” Bolvar met Jaina’s gaze, and she immediately regretted her anger. The Highlord of Stormwind looked tired. “So he thinks very little of it. I’m trying to keep this away from him, considering his past history with the Defias.”
“And Anduin?”
“With his tutors.” Bolvar’s weariness was banished with his smile. “He’s such a bright child. He’ll be nine soon, I can’t believe it.”
“I’d like to meet him someday,” Jaina said lightly. “Very well, I’ll help you.”
“Thank you Jaina, I very much appreciate it, and I hope that I’ll be able to arrange a meeting between the two of you. I think you’ll get along quite well.”
“I hope that we would.” Jaina sighed, and leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “You owe me for this.”
“Of course,” Bolvar replied, kissing hers in return before she stood. “I don’t suppose you need me to show you the way?”
“No, I think I can figure it out. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you again,” Bolvar said, and again, Jaina could see his weariness, the way it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “This means a great deal to me.”
He’s not even forty yet, Jaina thought with a pang of guilt. “It’s not really any trouble at all,” she promised. With a thought, arcane magic surrounded her in a swirl, carrying her across Stormwind once again.
~ * ~
The Stockade was dark, as if actively fighting against the threat of illumination. Its corners gathered shadows to them jealously, and despite the wall sconces, their light seemed reluctant to penetrate the darkness. The shadows tasted of something as well... despair. Jaina’s eyes scanned left and right. There was a small camp of Wardens and nurses, the former being treated by the latter. The chief Warden, Thelwater, was sitting on a crate, being treated by a blonde healer who murmured to him softly.
“Warden Thelwater,” Jaina called out, approaching the Azerothian. “My name is Jaina Proudmoore, and I have come to offer my assistance in this matter.”
“Proudmoore..?” Thelwater blinked at her in the gloom. “You’re a long way from home for random philanthropy.”
“A friend asked for my help,” Jaina said. “And so I’m here. What happened?”
“Prison riot.” Thelwater looked weary, reached up to run a hand through his hair, and winced as the motion pulled at the bandages across his bare chest. “We’d been capturing more and more of those Defias, and locked them away to prevent them from victimizing more farmers and townsfolk... and it just hit some kind of critical point. They started a riot and somehow some of them had weapons. We search those men and strip them down, I swear to you. We’re not incompetent. They must have had some kind of inside help, and we just don’t have the resources to deal with this and protect the Vault. Just like the old days...”
“There are no Death Knights to break into this city, not of that kind, and not right now,” Jaina reassured him. “I can, and will, help. I’m going to head down into the Stockade now. This should be over very quickly.”
“I don’t have many men to go with you, there were quite a few injuries--”
“I don’t need them to go with me, but thank you for your offer.” Jaina smiled at Thelwater’s disbelieving look.
“By yourself, ma’am?”
“They’re only men, Chief Warden.” Jaina flicked her wrist, and held her gun up. Thelwater’s eyes widened. “I’ve faced demons, the undead, naga, and elemental forces. I’m not concerned.” With purpose in her stride, she headed towards the entrance of the Stockade.
Stormwind’s primary jail was actually under ground. This, theoretically, meant the prisoners had fewer places to go, but in practice meant that the Wardens were bottlenecked at the entrance, hiding behind barriers as prisoners pelted them with debris. From behind the barriers, Jaina could see Thelwater had been truthful: the prisoners had been stripped of their possessions for security’s sake, even most of their clothing, leaving them in trousers and thin shirts.. Some of the prisoners had pieces of broken crockery and sharpened utensils, others had trash. Still others had pieces of wood and metal they could use as clubs.
A half-dozen exhausted-looking Wardens were crouched behind the barriers, wielding batons of their own, and two had long-barrelled rifles with which they menaced the crowd. Reading the faces of the prisoners, Jaina could all but hear the thoughts sprouting from beneath furrowed brows and hostile glares:
“Go ahead and shoot. You will get some of us but not all of us, and we will be on you in moments. Then who will stop us from killing your friends upstairs?”
I will, Jaina thought grimly, and strode forward. My teacher always taught me that making an entrance is crucial, so make one I shall. With a thought, she summoned a small, isolated snowstorm about her, whipping in a localized, arcane wind. It threw back her hair and adorned it with snowflakes. She kept her gun concealed in her right hand, and carried her staff in her left hand, the blue crystal that topped it glowing brightly.
The gasps of surprise and no little fear from the prisoners were gratifying. The fact that the Wardens had a similar reaction made Jaina’s heart clench painfully. “My name is Archmage Jaina Proudmoore of the nation of Theramore. You are presently in violation of your sentencing. You have one chance. Stand down, and your sentence will not be lengthened.”
Her words echoed through the hallway, and some of the prisoners began to whisper amongst themselves anxiously. One of them, a man with a grim scar across his cheek, sneered at her.
“Mage or not, you’re only one person. You and what army?”
“This army,” Jaina replied, and her eyes narrowed. The snowflakes, whipping more or less harmlessly past her, launched themselves at the closest prisoners, striking them in the chest and knocking them flat. As the first group toppled over, the scarred man let out a wordless yell, and a dozen prisoners charged over them.
“You can’t stop us all!”
“Can’t I?” Jaina asked, and raised her gun. She wove an enchantment around its bullets swiftly, and fired. The shot split into three, each a round that stunned its target. She swept across the prisoners, firing and stunning with grim efficiency. More fell, making it difficult for the other prisoners to get past her, but the scarred man did.
“You won’t kill helpless prisoners,” he said, advancing with a jagged piece of metal. “That’s why you’re weak. That’s why you-- baa!”
Jaina gave the man-sheep a reproving look. “Mercy does not make one weak. Bragging does.” She looked around at those still conscious. “Does anyone else want to try me?”
No gaze would meet hers, and the prisoners seemed to find the walls particularly fascinating.
“Wardens,” Jaina called out, and shook some snowflakes off of her sleeves. “I believe you know what to do. I’ll do a sweep to make sure there are no troublemakers in hiding.”
“Thank you,” one of the Wardens whispered, looking rather shaky himself. “We’ll arrest these, ah, people.” He glanced at the sheeped man. “That’s Bazil Thredd... it took a dozen Wardens to bring him in. One of VanCleef’s worst lieutenants.”
“Well, his name is Mutton now,” Jaina said, trying to ease their fears. The Warden managed a weak smile, and then scurried off to collect up the still-conscious prisoners. Jaina sighed softly. I’ve forgotten what the rest of the world is like.
Jaina led with her gun, sweeping it across the first cell, then looking in. Her triumph felt hollow. In Dalaran, such shows of power would be evaluated and graded. In Theramore, while her enemies feared her, her people loved her. They had seen the extent of her powers, and had observed her very best, along with her very worst, the exhaustion and vulnerability that went along with the magic she wielded. In Durotar... The Horde doesn’t fear my power. They respect it and cheer me on. They know that where I am, Thrall cannot possibly be that far away. Briefly, she smiled, and let the image of Thrall’s warm expression and kind eyes fill her mind. You’d think that people would be used to the mages here... or perhaps they are, and it’s that I’m a stranger that troubles them. An outsider, like Medivh.
It was within recent history that the name Medivh, for the people of Azeroth as a whole, but Stormwind in particular, was synonymous with betrayal. As far as the people of Azeroth knew, Medivh had bargained with the orcs, perhaps for power, perhaps for some other purpose, but he had brought the invaders to Azeroth, and they had suffered. Medivh was dead and gone, the invasion initially successful but ultimately failing, and Stormwind was whole once again. Still, they feared and resented Medivh’s legacy.
They don’t know the truth, Jaina thought as she continued to sweep the cells. Most were empty, but a few had prisoners that had not dared move, either through self-interest or a genuine desire not to cause trouble. She nodded to them, indicating for them to stay put. Medivh wouldn’t have betrayed Llane by his own free will... because he didn’t. Sargeras did. Medivh was simply along for the ride. Jaina ducked her head into one of the cells, spotting someone who, at first, seemed like an ordinary man, though a remarkably well-dressed one for prison: he wore red and white robes, and a cowl that did not quite conceal sandy brown hair and a rather admirable mustache, if one liked such things.
The man looked up, and studied her, curious. “I expected to be found sooner, and by someone else.”
“And I did not expect to find such a prisoner in with the bandits and brigands,” Jaina replied, her fingers twitching slightly against her gun’s trigger. Magic. She had been surrounded by it for over half her life, and she could feel it here, where it didn’t rightly belong. “Though I hope you have a good explanation as to what what of your kind is doing here.”
“And what is it that you think my kind is?”
Jaina smiled. “Dragon.”
~ * ~
As she threaded her way through the crowd of Wardens and subdued prisoners, Jaina couldn’t help but smile. The atmosphere of despair had given way to one of hope. The Wardens, having been granted control of the situation once more, were interviewing prisoners. Jaina focused on one interview for a moment, noting the slightly exasperated Warden.
“What is your relationship to Bazil Thredd?” asked the Warden, naming the man that Jaina had polymorphed.
“The who now?” the young woman asked, her face twisted in an ugly scowl. The Warden frowned.
“You know, he’s the highest ranking prisoner we have!”
“I turned him into a sheep,” Jaina said helpfully, and both prisoner and Warden winced.
“Guess he’s my neighbour, from three cells down,” the woman said, uncomfortable. “Don’t know him otherwise.”
“Come, now, you have to know him,” the Warden chided. “A close-knit organization like the Defias...”
“Then it’s more like a great doily, because I don’t know what you mean,” the prisoner replied. Jaina frowned thoughtfully.
I suppose it’s possible, but... it’s still odd. Considering that the Defias were once the Stonemason’s guild, and it hasn’t been all that long since they were formed... Jaina shook her head, suddenly. I’ll have time to go off on a tangent later. She moved on from the interviews, and went to speak to Thelwater.
The Chief Warden was flushed with pleasure, and he offered his hand to Jaina immediately. He shook her hand heartily, wincing a bit as the motion pulled at his bandaged chest. “You’re a lifesaver, Ms. Proudmoore, you really are. Never seen the prisoners so docile before. Normally they’re the most Azerothian of Azerothians--” He blinked, and hastily added, “Azerothians are known for--”
“Their fierce independence and warrior spirit, I know.” Jaina smiled gently. “I’m familiar with the idea. I’m Tiran.”
“Right,” Thelwater said, and Jaina watched as he made the connection, his eyes widening. “Got that. Thank you.”
“In any case, I was happy to help,” Jaina said, hoping to spare him some amount of embarrassment. “Though there is one thing I require.”
“Anything, Ms. -- Lady -- Proudmoore.”
“I’d like to interview this prisoner personally.” Jaina gestured to the man just behind her, bound in arcane chains.
Thelwater blinked, and then nodded quickly. “Of course, whatever you need with him. Don’t entirely recall that one, but...”
“He’s... unusual, but I’ll handle it. Thank you, Chief Warden. Go well.”
“Light bless, Lady Proudmoore.”
Jaina nodded to him politely, and gestured for the chained man to follow, which he did, largely because the arcane chains demanded it. Glancing around, Jaina found a spare room -- which might have also been a broom closet -- to which she could bring her prisoner.
Another flick of her finger directed the cowled man to sit down, and the chains unraveled, then disappeared. The man -- dragon -- pulled his cowl down, and Jaina could see that his features were pleasant and open, his cheeks rounded, as if used to smiling. He wasn’t smiling now, though. He looked worried.
“So, I’m just going to get this out of the way now,” Jaina began, seating herself on a box of building supplies, so old that they were still stamped with the crest of the Stonemason’s Guild.
“Very well,” the dragon-man said, quiet but resigned.
“What’s a dragon like you doing in a prison like this?”
The man laughed, startled. “Not quite what I expected.”
“How often will I get to ask such a question?” Jaina returned, and contemplated him. “Do you know Archmage Krasus Goldenmist?”
He blinked. “I do know that name, why--”
“Which dragonflight was he from? Was it blue?”
“How did you..?”
“There was a running bet amongst Dalaran’s students, started by an old friend. I bet blue, Kael bet bronze.”
“Krasus was Korialstrasz’s alias, and he, like myself, is a red dragon. My name is Vaelan, by the way. Or Vaelastrasz.”
“Unfortunate, I think that pot went to Noah, in that case.”
“I don’t know that you’re taking this seriously, Ms. Proudmoore,” Vaelan pointed out with a frown.
Jaina smiled, and Vaelan sat back, just a little. “Lady Proudmoore or Archmage Proudmoore, if you please. I am taking this incredibly seriously. I’ve studied the history of the dragonflights in relation to the Guardians of Tirisfal and I had... something of a run-in with a dragon trying to rally malcontents from my city. Now you’re here, surrounded by malcontents, and they’re stirring up trouble in this city that is matched only by the Stockade Riots. I am using levity briefly before I ask you what you’re doing here and why I shouldn’t report you to the Highlord of Stormwind, whose family earned the right to wear a dragon on their coat of arms in a very specific way.”
“Put that way, it does seem like a trend, but I assure you that none of this was my doing. You’re right though, there are dragons near Stormwind... Blackrock Spire, to be precise.”
“You’ll have a hard time monitoring the Spire from inside a jail cell.”
“I wasn’t trying to get arrested.” Vaelan sighed. “Someone turned me in, I believe. I didn’t want to cause trouble or reveal myself, so I allowed them to take me in.”
Jaina nodded thoughtfully. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing that you couldn’t have figured out on your own,” Vaelan replied. “Blackrock Mountain is a mess from top to bottom and back again.”
“Dark Iron Mountain has long been the refuge of the enemies of Ironforge,” Jaina began, thinking. “Thaurissan’s clan. That’s where Ragnaros is hiding.”
“He would call it amassing power and waiting for the right moment to strike, no doubt,” Vaelan said dryly. “There also remains portions of the Horde within the upper levels of the mountain.”
“No Horde of ours, I assure you,” Jaina said sharply. “The orcs that went to Kalimdor are the new Horde.”
“Then these are the orcs -- and trolls, and ogres -- of the Old Horde,” Vaelan replied. “Under the command of Rend Blackhand, son of Blackhand the Destroyer. We... keep tabs on the remaining orcs in the Eastern Kingdoms. For our own sake.”
Jaina closed her eyes briefly, imagining her father’s stricken face. “I can certainly understand why.”
“Many of my kind would see them destroyed for caution’s sake, but calmer heads have prevailed... but there is a greater threat within Blackrock Mountain. Rend does not act of his own initiative. He is being handled by Nefarian, one of the Black Dragonflight. I’m sure I don’t need to ask if you’ve heard of them.”
“Most only see their lesser spawn, but they know the secrets of the deep earth, and were corrupt even before Aegwynn called on the dragons to help protect Azeroth.”
“Indeed,” Vaelan agreed. “Nefarian is... dangerous, intelligent, and powerful, but there’s more to it than that. He is a scientist, of a kind. He experiments. All of the uncorrupted dragonflights have reported missing members, and my initial scouting indicated that those who disappeared were taken to Blackwing Lair, his domain. Obviously, we need more information to be sure.”
“Obviously,” Jaina murmured, her thoughts racing. “So what are your plans now?”
“I must return to Blackrock Spire and discover what Nefarian is planning,” Vaelan said, watching her expression. “Though there is a nearly unrelated matter that concerns me.”
“Your arrest, presumably,” Jaina said. “If you weren’t engaging in illegal activities, and you weren’t stirring up trouble here, then logically someone deliberately accused you falsely.”
“Exactly. I would like to know why this happened, and if they can endanger others of my kind that are deep in cover. If they have some kind of source, a method of detection for my kind...”
“I suppose pointing out that I spotted you immediately isn’t comforting, is it?” Jaina asked, and Vaelan actually smiled.
“It is a rare thing to find someone who could spot it, actually. While you and your friends had running bets regarding Krasus Goldenmist’s identity, he was able to pass for several hundred years without comment, even from the Archmages of the Kirin Tor, though he is more subtle than I. You’ve also been exposed to draconic magic before. I also don’t feel that I’m in any danger from you.”
Jaina raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
“Not to me. I believe you’re a very dangerous woman to your enemies, but I am not one of them.” Vaelan leaned forward a little, meeting Jaina’s gaze with his own, sincere one. “My flight only seeks to help the people of this world.”
Altruism, my only weakness... how did he know? Jaina sighed. “All I’m really obliged to do is let you go, and tell Highlord Fordragon that there was a mistaken arrest, but...”
“But that’s not what you want to do, is it?” Vaelan asked. “Your name is known, mentioned. You were Antonidas’ prized apprentice, his heir--”
“Not after my engagement,” Jaina said flatly. “And there’s nothing to inherit now.”
“Nonetheless, your curiosity was valued and prized, and it’s piqued now. You want to know how this could have happened, where the leak is. You want to know if that’s related to another incident with the Defias. You want to know. You remind me of the blues, always seeking knowledge. You want to be involved.”
Jaina looked him over, searching for any hint of mockery, then nodded. “I do. I sympathize with all the Stonemasons have been through, but I also have an interest to protect not the crown, but the people of Azeroth. Varian and I don’t get along particularly well, but that doesn’t mean I can let those who live here suffer in good conscience. What do you need me to do?”
“I need to return to Blackrock Spire, so if you could look into the Defias...”
“I can do that,” Jaina agreed. “I know they have goblin contacts, and I think I know who to ask about how to get in. It just might take a little convincing on my part.”
“Anything you can do, of course,” Vaelan agreed. “I must be going, if you’ll allow.”
“Of course... how shall I contact you?” Jaina asked as Vaelan stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his neck.
“I’ll find you, I promise.”
“Well, that’s always encouraging,” Jaina said, amused, but nodded to him. “Very well. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I promise, I can walk out of here on my own,” Vaelan assured her, and Jaina smiled.
“Oh, I’m sure you can, but wouldn’t it be better to inform the Wardens so they don’t try to arrest you again?”
“Fair point,” the dragon admitted, and bowed. “After you, my Lady.”
Part 2
Title: Unity: Defiance
Part: 1 of 5 + Epilogue
Word Count: 4480 (of this part)
Includes: Violence, friendship speeches, drama, polymorphing, plot mangling, crouching mage; hidden dragon, plot mangling..
Pairings: Thrall/Jaina.
Summary: While Thrall remains in Kalimdor, Jaina goes to Stormwind at the behest of an old friend to deal with a problem that is spiralling rapidly out of control.
Previous Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 Sidestory: Linguistics
13 14 15 16 17 18
Stormwind was not Theramore. It was an inane observation but a true one nonetheless: both overlooked the ocean, though from two different angles. Theramore, while protected, still felt open to the sea. It embraced the water, the sandy shoals, and its neighbouring marsh. It welcomed travellers, and the commerce they brought with them. Stormwind felt more like a fortress. The whole of the city was walled, seeming to forbid significant expansion, and each section of the city was separated by a canal system. Jaina’s nose wrinkled as the smell of it overwhelmed the faint, salt-smell of the sea.
One could forget the ocean is at your back here... awful. She sighed lightly. That was unfair. Stormwind had been rebuilt twice, and its martial bearing kept that in mind. She had designed Theramore herself, based on a very old personal project she’d worked on while she’d still been studying in Dalaran.
Theramore was my thought experiment, my theory about how one could build a mage-city from the very ground up. I’d like to meet the man whose mind conceived this.
“Is something wrong, Lady Proudmoore?” The voice was that of Archmage Malin, his tone tinged with worry. Jaina turned and smiled warmly.
“No, there’s nothing wrong,” she assured him. “I was just admiring the city. How do you manage the canals?”
“Spells,” Malin replied tiredly. “I have a whole host of mages whose sole job is to renew the filtration enchantments so our wells remain uncontaminated, and we dump little into the sea. I still wouldn’t swim in it, though.”
“No, of course not,” Jaina agreed. “Thank you for allowing me to use the Academy as a teleportation point.”
“No trouble at all, Lady Proudmoore,” Malin replied, smiling. “It must have been quite the journey, we can provide facilities for recovery before you move on to the Keep if you like.”
“I’ll be fine, thank you,” Jaina said. “But your concern is appreciated.”
Jaina let arcane magic hover around her briefly, illuminating the surprised expression on the Archmage’s face as she teleported across the city to Stormwind’s Keep.
The Keep, seat of the Wrynn dynasty’s power, was the most fortress-like part of Stormwind’s martial style, and Jaina wrinkled her nose again. Her own tower had been designed to be conducive to magical studies, and while the coastline was reinforced against naval strikes, Jaina has strived to keep the city’s defenses subtle. Here, it was a threat and a promise: Stormwind’s armies would protect it. It would never fall again.
Those who do not learn from their mistakes are doomed to repeat them, Jaina thought, and wondered if the lesson here had been learned or not, and if it would come to pass that such would be tested. Certainly, it took only an eyeblink for the guards in front of whom she’d teleported to draw weapons and step forward.
“State your business, mage,” growled one of the guards. Jaina smiled at him. His grip tightened on his weapon.
Smile, it throws people off. “My name is Lady Jaina Proudmoore, ruler of Theramore and Archmage of the Kirin Tor. I am here by invitation of Highlord Bolvar Fordragon, equerry to King Varian Adamant Wrynn. I would very much like to pass.”
“You can’t just--”
“I’m afraid she can, because she’s Jaina Proudmoore,” pointed out a voice from behind the guards, and they both turned. A man in a white silk shirt and blue cotton trousers stood behind them, a sword belted around his waist. His hair was light brown and chin length, framing an open, friendly face and warm green eyes. “You came swiftly, Jaina, thank you.”
“I am happy to be called on by my friends,” Jaina replied, and walked past the guards to take the arm he offered her. She offered the guards a wave before walking with him inside.
“Thank you for not turning them into sheep,” Bolvar murmured. “The mages just about had fits when I had them disable the anti-teleportation spells.”
“They’re just doing their job,” Jaina replied, and squeezed his arm. “How have you been?”
“Busy,” Bolvar said, as though it covered all of it. “Every day, reports of a new problem come in from one of our provinces, especially Westfall.”
“Rulership is like that,” Jaina pointed out. “It’s not as though my office isn’t bombarded by requests. My staff filters out everything that they can take care of, we delegate. It’s not just about keeping my schedule clear for harder projects, it also provides employment opportunities for the people in Theramore.”
“You certainly took to this quickly,” Bolvar said with a smile, nodding. “Our bureaucratic structure is still something of a mess, but we’re certainly trying. We’re forced to deal with problems as they pass from ‘awful’ to ‘unfathomably critical’, which makes our methods somewhat... haphazard.”
“You were always so organized during your time in Dalaran, I can’t imagine you doing anything haphazardly,” Jaina said as Bolvar led her to his quarters. Sure enough, everything within it was organized to a fault, with nothing out of place. Jaina’s mind returned to the stack of books that was being held up by two more stacks of books in her room and sighed with envy.
“Sadly, being good at housecleaning doesn’t necessarily translate well into politics,” Bolvar said, gesturing for her to sit, which Jaina did. “In fact, this ties in nicely to what I hope to ask of you.”
Jaina nodded encouragingly. “Go on.”
“We’ve discussed the Defias problem at length... it seems to be coming to a new head.” He spread his hands helplessly. “So many have been arrested that there’s been a riot in the Stockade. Our Wardens are only barely containing the problem.”
“I’ve already told you what I think of the fact that there is a Defias problem,” Jaina said. “What about your mages? I saw Archmage Malin at Golden Spire.”
“Malin is exhausted, we’ve needed to reinforce the Vault, just in case,” Bolvar replied, naming the magical equivalent of the Stockade. “Whatever the Defias were, I know what they are now... a clear and present danger to the people of Stormwind and anyone else who gets in their way. All we need to do is contain the situation, get the Wardens one clear advantage.”
Jaina sat silently, her emotions roiling. She flicked a snowflake away in annoyance, and tried to calm down. Bolvar reached out, taking her hands.
“Please, Jaina, I know that you’re powerful, and I know we share a sense of justice. Help us, we need you.”
“And what does Varian think of all this?” Jaina demanded, a shiver of anger going down her spine, even as Bolvar’s words tugged at her heartstrings. That’s damned manipulative of you, Bolvar, and you know it.
“He’s presently in conference with Lady Prestor and the other nobles.” Bolvar met Jaina’s gaze, and she immediately regretted her anger. The Highlord of Stormwind looked tired. “So he thinks very little of it. I’m trying to keep this away from him, considering his past history with the Defias.”
“And Anduin?”
“With his tutors.” Bolvar’s weariness was banished with his smile. “He’s such a bright child. He’ll be nine soon, I can’t believe it.”
“I’d like to meet him someday,” Jaina said lightly. “Very well, I’ll help you.”
“Thank you Jaina, I very much appreciate it, and I hope that I’ll be able to arrange a meeting between the two of you. I think you’ll get along quite well.”
“I hope that we would.” Jaina sighed, and leaned forward, kissing his cheek. “You owe me for this.”
“Of course,” Bolvar replied, kissing hers in return before she stood. “I don’t suppose you need me to show you the way?”
“No, I think I can figure it out. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can.”
“Thank you again,” Bolvar said, and again, Jaina could see his weariness, the way it crinkled the corners of his eyes. “This means a great deal to me.”
He’s not even forty yet, Jaina thought with a pang of guilt. “It’s not really any trouble at all,” she promised. With a thought, arcane magic surrounded her in a swirl, carrying her across Stormwind once again.
~ * ~
The Stockade was dark, as if actively fighting against the threat of illumination. Its corners gathered shadows to them jealously, and despite the wall sconces, their light seemed reluctant to penetrate the darkness. The shadows tasted of something as well... despair. Jaina’s eyes scanned left and right. There was a small camp of Wardens and nurses, the former being treated by the latter. The chief Warden, Thelwater, was sitting on a crate, being treated by a blonde healer who murmured to him softly.
“Warden Thelwater,” Jaina called out, approaching the Azerothian. “My name is Jaina Proudmoore, and I have come to offer my assistance in this matter.”
“Proudmoore..?” Thelwater blinked at her in the gloom. “You’re a long way from home for random philanthropy.”
“A friend asked for my help,” Jaina said. “And so I’m here. What happened?”
“Prison riot.” Thelwater looked weary, reached up to run a hand through his hair, and winced as the motion pulled at the bandages across his bare chest. “We’d been capturing more and more of those Defias, and locked them away to prevent them from victimizing more farmers and townsfolk... and it just hit some kind of critical point. They started a riot and somehow some of them had weapons. We search those men and strip them down, I swear to you. We’re not incompetent. They must have had some kind of inside help, and we just don’t have the resources to deal with this and protect the Vault. Just like the old days...”
“There are no Death Knights to break into this city, not of that kind, and not right now,” Jaina reassured him. “I can, and will, help. I’m going to head down into the Stockade now. This should be over very quickly.”
“I don’t have many men to go with you, there were quite a few injuries--”
“I don’t need them to go with me, but thank you for your offer.” Jaina smiled at Thelwater’s disbelieving look.
“By yourself, ma’am?”
“They’re only men, Chief Warden.” Jaina flicked her wrist, and held her gun up. Thelwater’s eyes widened. “I’ve faced demons, the undead, naga, and elemental forces. I’m not concerned.” With purpose in her stride, she headed towards the entrance of the Stockade.
Stormwind’s primary jail was actually under ground. This, theoretically, meant the prisoners had fewer places to go, but in practice meant that the Wardens were bottlenecked at the entrance, hiding behind barriers as prisoners pelted them with debris. From behind the barriers, Jaina could see Thelwater had been truthful: the prisoners had been stripped of their possessions for security’s sake, even most of their clothing, leaving them in trousers and thin shirts.. Some of the prisoners had pieces of broken crockery and sharpened utensils, others had trash. Still others had pieces of wood and metal they could use as clubs.
A half-dozen exhausted-looking Wardens were crouched behind the barriers, wielding batons of their own, and two had long-barrelled rifles with which they menaced the crowd. Reading the faces of the prisoners, Jaina could all but hear the thoughts sprouting from beneath furrowed brows and hostile glares:
“Go ahead and shoot. You will get some of us but not all of us, and we will be on you in moments. Then who will stop us from killing your friends upstairs?”
I will, Jaina thought grimly, and strode forward. My teacher always taught me that making an entrance is crucial, so make one I shall. With a thought, she summoned a small, isolated snowstorm about her, whipping in a localized, arcane wind. It threw back her hair and adorned it with snowflakes. She kept her gun concealed in her right hand, and carried her staff in her left hand, the blue crystal that topped it glowing brightly.
The gasps of surprise and no little fear from the prisoners were gratifying. The fact that the Wardens had a similar reaction made Jaina’s heart clench painfully. “My name is Archmage Jaina Proudmoore of the nation of Theramore. You are presently in violation of your sentencing. You have one chance. Stand down, and your sentence will not be lengthened.”
Her words echoed through the hallway, and some of the prisoners began to whisper amongst themselves anxiously. One of them, a man with a grim scar across his cheek, sneered at her.
“Mage or not, you’re only one person. You and what army?”
“This army,” Jaina replied, and her eyes narrowed. The snowflakes, whipping more or less harmlessly past her, launched themselves at the closest prisoners, striking them in the chest and knocking them flat. As the first group toppled over, the scarred man let out a wordless yell, and a dozen prisoners charged over them.
“You can’t stop us all!”
“Can’t I?” Jaina asked, and raised her gun. She wove an enchantment around its bullets swiftly, and fired. The shot split into three, each a round that stunned its target. She swept across the prisoners, firing and stunning with grim efficiency. More fell, making it difficult for the other prisoners to get past her, but the scarred man did.
“You won’t kill helpless prisoners,” he said, advancing with a jagged piece of metal. “That’s why you’re weak. That’s why you-- baa!”
Jaina gave the man-sheep a reproving look. “Mercy does not make one weak. Bragging does.” She looked around at those still conscious. “Does anyone else want to try me?”
No gaze would meet hers, and the prisoners seemed to find the walls particularly fascinating.
“Wardens,” Jaina called out, and shook some snowflakes off of her sleeves. “I believe you know what to do. I’ll do a sweep to make sure there are no troublemakers in hiding.”
“Thank you,” one of the Wardens whispered, looking rather shaky himself. “We’ll arrest these, ah, people.” He glanced at the sheeped man. “That’s Bazil Thredd... it took a dozen Wardens to bring him in. One of VanCleef’s worst lieutenants.”
“Well, his name is Mutton now,” Jaina said, trying to ease their fears. The Warden managed a weak smile, and then scurried off to collect up the still-conscious prisoners. Jaina sighed softly. I’ve forgotten what the rest of the world is like.
Jaina led with her gun, sweeping it across the first cell, then looking in. Her triumph felt hollow. In Dalaran, such shows of power would be evaluated and graded. In Theramore, while her enemies feared her, her people loved her. They had seen the extent of her powers, and had observed her very best, along with her very worst, the exhaustion and vulnerability that went along with the magic she wielded. In Durotar... The Horde doesn’t fear my power. They respect it and cheer me on. They know that where I am, Thrall cannot possibly be that far away. Briefly, she smiled, and let the image of Thrall’s warm expression and kind eyes fill her mind. You’d think that people would be used to the mages here... or perhaps they are, and it’s that I’m a stranger that troubles them. An outsider, like Medivh.
It was within recent history that the name Medivh, for the people of Azeroth as a whole, but Stormwind in particular, was synonymous with betrayal. As far as the people of Azeroth knew, Medivh had bargained with the orcs, perhaps for power, perhaps for some other purpose, but he had brought the invaders to Azeroth, and they had suffered. Medivh was dead and gone, the invasion initially successful but ultimately failing, and Stormwind was whole once again. Still, they feared and resented Medivh’s legacy.
They don’t know the truth, Jaina thought as she continued to sweep the cells. Most were empty, but a few had prisoners that had not dared move, either through self-interest or a genuine desire not to cause trouble. She nodded to them, indicating for them to stay put. Medivh wouldn’t have betrayed Llane by his own free will... because he didn’t. Sargeras did. Medivh was simply along for the ride. Jaina ducked her head into one of the cells, spotting someone who, at first, seemed like an ordinary man, though a remarkably well-dressed one for prison: he wore red and white robes, and a cowl that did not quite conceal sandy brown hair and a rather admirable mustache, if one liked such things.
The man looked up, and studied her, curious. “I expected to be found sooner, and by someone else.”
“And I did not expect to find such a prisoner in with the bandits and brigands,” Jaina replied, her fingers twitching slightly against her gun’s trigger. Magic. She had been surrounded by it for over half her life, and she could feel it here, where it didn’t rightly belong. “Though I hope you have a good explanation as to what what of your kind is doing here.”
“And what is it that you think my kind is?”
Jaina smiled. “Dragon.”
~ * ~
As she threaded her way through the crowd of Wardens and subdued prisoners, Jaina couldn’t help but smile. The atmosphere of despair had given way to one of hope. The Wardens, having been granted control of the situation once more, were interviewing prisoners. Jaina focused on one interview for a moment, noting the slightly exasperated Warden.
“What is your relationship to Bazil Thredd?” asked the Warden, naming the man that Jaina had polymorphed.
“The who now?” the young woman asked, her face twisted in an ugly scowl. The Warden frowned.
“You know, he’s the highest ranking prisoner we have!”
“I turned him into a sheep,” Jaina said helpfully, and both prisoner and Warden winced.
“Guess he’s my neighbour, from three cells down,” the woman said, uncomfortable. “Don’t know him otherwise.”
“Come, now, you have to know him,” the Warden chided. “A close-knit organization like the Defias...”
“Then it’s more like a great doily, because I don’t know what you mean,” the prisoner replied. Jaina frowned thoughtfully.
I suppose it’s possible, but... it’s still odd. Considering that the Defias were once the Stonemason’s guild, and it hasn’t been all that long since they were formed... Jaina shook her head, suddenly. I’ll have time to go off on a tangent later. She moved on from the interviews, and went to speak to Thelwater.
The Chief Warden was flushed with pleasure, and he offered his hand to Jaina immediately. He shook her hand heartily, wincing a bit as the motion pulled at his bandaged chest. “You’re a lifesaver, Ms. Proudmoore, you really are. Never seen the prisoners so docile before. Normally they’re the most Azerothian of Azerothians--” He blinked, and hastily added, “Azerothians are known for--”
“Their fierce independence and warrior spirit, I know.” Jaina smiled gently. “I’m familiar with the idea. I’m Tiran.”
“Right,” Thelwater said, and Jaina watched as he made the connection, his eyes widening. “Got that. Thank you.”
“In any case, I was happy to help,” Jaina said, hoping to spare him some amount of embarrassment. “Though there is one thing I require.”
“Anything, Ms. -- Lady -- Proudmoore.”
“I’d like to interview this prisoner personally.” Jaina gestured to the man just behind her, bound in arcane chains.
Thelwater blinked, and then nodded quickly. “Of course, whatever you need with him. Don’t entirely recall that one, but...”
“He’s... unusual, but I’ll handle it. Thank you, Chief Warden. Go well.”
“Light bless, Lady Proudmoore.”
Jaina nodded to him politely, and gestured for the chained man to follow, which he did, largely because the arcane chains demanded it. Glancing around, Jaina found a spare room -- which might have also been a broom closet -- to which she could bring her prisoner.
Another flick of her finger directed the cowled man to sit down, and the chains unraveled, then disappeared. The man -- dragon -- pulled his cowl down, and Jaina could see that his features were pleasant and open, his cheeks rounded, as if used to smiling. He wasn’t smiling now, though. He looked worried.
“So, I’m just going to get this out of the way now,” Jaina began, seating herself on a box of building supplies, so old that they were still stamped with the crest of the Stonemason’s Guild.
“Very well,” the dragon-man said, quiet but resigned.
“What’s a dragon like you doing in a prison like this?”
The man laughed, startled. “Not quite what I expected.”
“How often will I get to ask such a question?” Jaina returned, and contemplated him. “Do you know Archmage Krasus Goldenmist?”
He blinked. “I do know that name, why--”
“Which dragonflight was he from? Was it blue?”
“How did you..?”
“There was a running bet amongst Dalaran’s students, started by an old friend. I bet blue, Kael bet bronze.”
“Krasus was Korialstrasz’s alias, and he, like myself, is a red dragon. My name is Vaelan, by the way. Or Vaelastrasz.”
“Unfortunate, I think that pot went to Noah, in that case.”
“I don’t know that you’re taking this seriously, Ms. Proudmoore,” Vaelan pointed out with a frown.
Jaina smiled, and Vaelan sat back, just a little. “Lady Proudmoore or Archmage Proudmoore, if you please. I am taking this incredibly seriously. I’ve studied the history of the dragonflights in relation to the Guardians of Tirisfal and I had... something of a run-in with a dragon trying to rally malcontents from my city. Now you’re here, surrounded by malcontents, and they’re stirring up trouble in this city that is matched only by the Stockade Riots. I am using levity briefly before I ask you what you’re doing here and why I shouldn’t report you to the Highlord of Stormwind, whose family earned the right to wear a dragon on their coat of arms in a very specific way.”
“Put that way, it does seem like a trend, but I assure you that none of this was my doing. You’re right though, there are dragons near Stormwind... Blackrock Spire, to be precise.”
“You’ll have a hard time monitoring the Spire from inside a jail cell.”
“I wasn’t trying to get arrested.” Vaelan sighed. “Someone turned me in, I believe. I didn’t want to cause trouble or reveal myself, so I allowed them to take me in.”
Jaina nodded thoughtfully. “Did you find anything?”
“Nothing that you couldn’t have figured out on your own,” Vaelan replied. “Blackrock Mountain is a mess from top to bottom and back again.”
“Dark Iron Mountain has long been the refuge of the enemies of Ironforge,” Jaina began, thinking. “Thaurissan’s clan. That’s where Ragnaros is hiding.”
“He would call it amassing power and waiting for the right moment to strike, no doubt,” Vaelan said dryly. “There also remains portions of the Horde within the upper levels of the mountain.”
“No Horde of ours, I assure you,” Jaina said sharply. “The orcs that went to Kalimdor are the new Horde.”
“Then these are the orcs -- and trolls, and ogres -- of the Old Horde,” Vaelan replied. “Under the command of Rend Blackhand, son of Blackhand the Destroyer. We... keep tabs on the remaining orcs in the Eastern Kingdoms. For our own sake.”
Jaina closed her eyes briefly, imagining her father’s stricken face. “I can certainly understand why.”
“Many of my kind would see them destroyed for caution’s sake, but calmer heads have prevailed... but there is a greater threat within Blackrock Mountain. Rend does not act of his own initiative. He is being handled by Nefarian, one of the Black Dragonflight. I’m sure I don’t need to ask if you’ve heard of them.”
“Most only see their lesser spawn, but they know the secrets of the deep earth, and were corrupt even before Aegwynn called on the dragons to help protect Azeroth.”
“Indeed,” Vaelan agreed. “Nefarian is... dangerous, intelligent, and powerful, but there’s more to it than that. He is a scientist, of a kind. He experiments. All of the uncorrupted dragonflights have reported missing members, and my initial scouting indicated that those who disappeared were taken to Blackwing Lair, his domain. Obviously, we need more information to be sure.”
“Obviously,” Jaina murmured, her thoughts racing. “So what are your plans now?”
“I must return to Blackrock Spire and discover what Nefarian is planning,” Vaelan said, watching her expression. “Though there is a nearly unrelated matter that concerns me.”
“Your arrest, presumably,” Jaina said. “If you weren’t engaging in illegal activities, and you weren’t stirring up trouble here, then logically someone deliberately accused you falsely.”
“Exactly. I would like to know why this happened, and if they can endanger others of my kind that are deep in cover. If they have some kind of source, a method of detection for my kind...”
“I suppose pointing out that I spotted you immediately isn’t comforting, is it?” Jaina asked, and Vaelan actually smiled.
“It is a rare thing to find someone who could spot it, actually. While you and your friends had running bets regarding Krasus Goldenmist’s identity, he was able to pass for several hundred years without comment, even from the Archmages of the Kirin Tor, though he is more subtle than I. You’ve also been exposed to draconic magic before. I also don’t feel that I’m in any danger from you.”
Jaina raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I’m dangerous?”
“Not to me. I believe you’re a very dangerous woman to your enemies, but I am not one of them.” Vaelan leaned forward a little, meeting Jaina’s gaze with his own, sincere one. “My flight only seeks to help the people of this world.”
Altruism, my only weakness... how did he know? Jaina sighed. “All I’m really obliged to do is let you go, and tell Highlord Fordragon that there was a mistaken arrest, but...”
“But that’s not what you want to do, is it?” Vaelan asked. “Your name is known, mentioned. You were Antonidas’ prized apprentice, his heir--”
“Not after my engagement,” Jaina said flatly. “And there’s nothing to inherit now.”
“Nonetheless, your curiosity was valued and prized, and it’s piqued now. You want to know how this could have happened, where the leak is. You want to know if that’s related to another incident with the Defias. You want to know. You remind me of the blues, always seeking knowledge. You want to be involved.”
Jaina looked him over, searching for any hint of mockery, then nodded. “I do. I sympathize with all the Stonemasons have been through, but I also have an interest to protect not the crown, but the people of Azeroth. Varian and I don’t get along particularly well, but that doesn’t mean I can let those who live here suffer in good conscience. What do you need me to do?”
“I need to return to Blackrock Spire, so if you could look into the Defias...”
“I can do that,” Jaina agreed. “I know they have goblin contacts, and I think I know who to ask about how to get in. It just might take a little convincing on my part.”
“Anything you can do, of course,” Vaelan agreed. “I must be going, if you’ll allow.”
“Of course... how shall I contact you?” Jaina asked as Vaelan stood and stretched, working the kinks out of his neck.
“I’ll find you, I promise.”
“Well, that’s always encouraging,” Jaina said, amused, but nodded to him. “Very well. Let’s get you out of here.”
“I promise, I can walk out of here on my own,” Vaelan assured her, and Jaina smiled.
“Oh, I’m sure you can, but wouldn’t it be better to inform the Wardens so they don’t try to arrest you again?”
“Fair point,” the dragon admitted, and bowed. “After you, my Lady.”
Part 2