Warcraft: Unity: Stormcaller - 8/8+Epilogue
It's almost done! Just the epilogue on Thursday!
Title: Unity: Stormcaller
Part: 8/8+Epilogue
Word Count: 4181
Includes: Spoilers for the Bonus Orc Campaign, character death, violence, strong language.
Pairings: Implied Thrall/Jaina, Jaina/OMC.
Summary: During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.
Previous: Unity Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Stormcaller Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
It had taken a day and a half to finish writing up the new laws regarding treason. There had been additions, modifications, and adjustments made until they said what Jaina wished them to say:
The orcs are here to stay and we are to cooperate with them and their allies. We do not steal from them, we do not kill them, we do not provoke them. We defend ourselves if we must, and we must justify this to rigorous examination afterwards. We are not traitors and not cowards. The only ones who are are those who flaunt our laws and attack those commanded to respond. Theramore is not at war with the Horde, and will not consider itself to be so unless war is formally declared as a result of irreconcilable hostilities.
Jonathan hadn’t come back to her overnight, though he was in Theramore, in his quarters and then going out to the Keep for his duties in the morning. The mark that tracked him still burned brightly on the map, and he’d neither noticed it nor removed it.
Now that the ink is dry, it’s time to deal with him, Jaina thought grimly as she made her way to where he was, through her own tower and out into the streets of Theramore. Perversely, on a day that should have been grim and grey, it was fine. The sun shone brightly, and the gulls cried out on the docks. The city was busy as the Therans poured out of their homes to spend time in the sun, soaking it in like garden flowers. This is who I do this for. Not for myself, not for pride, but for the people who will die if we go to war… because war is never as neat as two armies politely taking turns bashing at each other. It’s messy, cruel, and terrible. It’s terrifying. It spares no one out of thoughtfulness, only out of inability to get to them before it’s over. I do this for my people.
Doubt had whispered to her all night long: memories of Arthas, doing everything he could for his people, including murdering them. Kael, falling into the company of demon-worshippers and traitors to prevent his people from starving. Grom, drinking demon’s blood to kill Cenarius, to save the Warsong, to avoid losing. Illidan, accepting demonic magic, twisting his form from night elf to half-demon, to defeat a full demon and protect the Kaldorei.
I am not like them, Jaina thought, her mind fixed on her intent. I’m doing what’s right. I’m doing what needs to be done to preserve peace. The price of peace is constant vigilance. She’d almost activated her rune last night to talk to Thrall. His voice was deep and gentle, his manner kind and sympathetic. He knew, exactly as she did, at what price this peace came. He had agents watching troublemakers, dispatching them if necessary. He didn’t speak of it openly, and it clearly worried him to do so, but sometimes the only way to save a village was to plant a dagger in one person’s back in the dark.
I have my friends, my advisors, and my allies, Jaina thought as she walked through the training yard and into the Keep itself. Vimes knew of her intent, which is why Jonathan was working indoors today, despite the good weather. He suspected, she hoped, nothing. I can do this. I must do this.
Jaina found Jonathan working in one of the side offices."side offices, which was a bit cluttered with paperwork, mostly performance evaluations to see who needed more training and discipline, and who might be overdue for a pay raise. It was something she’d never truly worried about when she had only been a mage, only a student, and now she passed that work onto others who knew what to do about it better than she did.
“Jonathan,” she said, keeping her voice tightly controlled. “I need a word with you.”
“A word?” he replied, and grinned up at her, though she did not smile in return. “Couldn’t wait for me to leave the office?”
“No,” Jaina replied simply. “I know you’ve been lying to me. You aren’t trying to diffuse the situation with the Tiran survivors, you’re trying to accelerate it. You’re rabble rousing, encouraging people towards treason, and I won’t have any of it.”
"I'm not sure who spoke to you," Jonathan began. "But you've got it all wrong. I have to get them to trust me, to listen to the things I have to say. I only want what's best for Theramore, just as you--"
Jaina watched him coldly, noticing the way his gaze darted over her face, looking for... For what? To see if I've been so blinded by lust and naivety that he can talk me into damning my allies and repudiating my morals. I don't think so. Not for Arthas, not for my father, and certainly not for you. "Liar. Traitor. You think I'm stupid but I'm not. You think I sat in my tower, ignorant of all that you did, relying on other people to tell me what was going on?" Jaina retrieved a crystal from her sleeve, and turned it on.
Jonathan's expression, as he heard his own voice and listened to his own words betray him, changed, his supercilious smile melting into a snarling grimace. "You were naive enough to take me in. Do you think I ever cared for you?"
"No," Jaina replied shortly. "I wanted to believe it for a time, that you were capable of caring about the same things that I cared about. Now I can see that you didn't. Now I can see you're no different from any other coward."
"Better a coward that a traitor!" Jonathan cried, standing hurriedly. The desk rocked and Jaina retrieved the crystal, cutting off the recorded words. "Do you have any idea how many died when you sold Tiragarde out to the orcs during the Razor Hill assault? Do you?!"
"Fifty one," Jaina replied softly. "Twenty five marines, sixteen assorted orcs, including farmers, an innkeeper, and two children, and ten Kor'kron. It was bloody, thankless, and terrible. It should not have happened, not on Winter Veil. I swore to Thrall I knew nothing of it, as you tried to tell me they couldn’t be blamed for it."
"The blood that was spilled was supposed to be a wake-up call!" Jonathan leaned over the desk, and Jaina stared him down. "For them, if not for you. They didn’t know you the way I did. Some of them actually thought you’d been brainwashed by the greenskins. That you could be talked out of your idiot promises. They had to see how they were wrong.”
“You provoked them when you could have promoted peace and understanding!” Jaina cried, understanding and anger hitting her with hammer blows. “While I was in Orgrimmar participating in a cultural exchange and--”
“Oh yes, that’s what you were exchanging,” Jonathan shot back, his expression thunderous. “You couldn’t be happy with me in your bed every night, you’re so insatiable that you needed orc cock too. Or were you happy with only one?”
Jaina lashed out, striking him across the face. His head turned with the blow, but there was a dark smile on his face. “Jonathan Taylor, you are under arrest for treason. May the Light have mercy on your soul, because I sure as hell won’t.”
Jonathan made to lunge over the desk, and she struck him with magic full force: purple runes sprang up around him, weaving themselves into a series of letters and patterns, half of them comprehensible, none of them recognizable save for those who had studied magic. The word-strings wrapped around him like snakes, lightning quick and infinitely stronger than any natural creature. Once they touched Jonathan’s skin, they sunk into him, digging in like fangs, hooking his skin and not letting go.
For one brief moment, he met her gaze, anger and violence shifting into confusion and fear, frozen in place though he was. I have nothing to say to you, she thought coldly, and snapped her fingers. He shrank abruptly into a small, furred form, landing on the desk. He gave one or two tentative hops before she reached down to grip him behind the neck. She heard rushing, booted feet and turned.
“Lady Proudmoore!” Vimes called, rushing in. “Are you-- yes, of course you are. Is that...?”
“He’ll revert back when he’s in a jail cell,” Jaina said calmly. “See to it.”
Vimes stepped up to take the rabbit from her hands. It kicked and squeaked, irate. “That’s enough of that, Taylor,” the Captain said gruffly. “Come along now.”
Jaina watched them go, and bit back a hysterical laugh. He won’t be able to rabbit out of this one. She looked back at his desk and felt her amusement die. The blood of fifty-one lives are on his hands. Now I just need to be sure to prove he intended to spill more.
Jaina took a deep breath, and traced out a rune. “Ariana? Get Tesoran. I want all of Jonathan’s things searched. Every paper, every hidden safe. I want to know the extent of this.”
After a moment, she heard affirmatives from both of them, and closed her eyes briefly.
It was all coming to an end.
~ * ~
Two days after his arrest, Jonathan Taylor was convicted of treason and sentenced to die. Two days of searching through private files and documents, through his barracks quarters, and a brief, but unrepentant confession had brought them to this.
Jaina did not believe in public executions. It’s spectacle, and I won’t stand for that. It’s neither a rallying point nor entertainment. It’s a necessity, nothing more, and nothing less.
The order for Jonathan’s execution had included all of his crimes. Treason. Murder. Incitement to rebellion. Incitement to commit theft. Conspiracy with an enemy force. Conspiracy to break treaties with the Horde. Tesoran had written the list, and Ariana had confirmed each charge.
She had signed it. She had signed it, knowing that there would be no turning back; that once she had done it, staying the executioner’s hand would be considered weakness. It’s not a matter of pride. It’s a matter of necessity.
The execution required a handful of witnesses. Tesoran and Vimes stood on either side: Tesoran, as Adjutant to the Lady of Theramore, and Vimes as Jonathan’s commanding officer, regardless of how little he’d been responsible for his actions. Both had urged her not to attend, and now that she was there, they would say nothing, voice no objections in public.
It was sunset, and the sky was red streaked with gold, stretching long fingers towards the velvety darkness of true night. Jaina wore a long, black cloak, unmagical in all ways, save for that which kept her sheltered from the wind that had picked up, tugging at the fabric like an impatient child.
This was not the first time the gallows had been used, but as always, Jaina hoped it would be the last. Jaina watched as the executioner, their identity concealed behind a black hood, led Jonathan up the ramp and onto the high, wooden platform. Jonathan’s head was covered by a rough sack, which was removed by the executioner.
Tesoran took a step forward, and Jaina put her hand on his arm, shaking her head once. “Jaina, don’t--”
“Lieutenant Jonathan Taylor,” Jaina said, letting magic trickle into her voice, aiming it squarely at her ex-lover. As she spoke, his eyes widened, blazing with hate. “You have been convicted of treason and sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have anything you wish to say?”
Jonathan laughed harshly, even as the noose was placed around his neck, the knot secured carefully behind his neck. “It’s incredible that you think you can keep this a secret, traitor.”
Jaina stared at him, unflinching. She’d heard his rant during the trial as well, insisting that he was one of the loyal few, and all of them traitors. It never ceases to amaze and disgust me that he calls the orcs monsters, when he barely seems human once you scrape off that thin veneer from his persona of loving partner.
“The world will know what you’ve done here, soon enough,” Jonathan continued, his teeth drawn back in a snarl, even as he was directed onto the trap door. “You and your band of conspirators. You’ll be sorry, you--”
“Enough,” Jaina said, anger threaded with weariness. This has gone on long enough. Far too long. “Let it be done.”
The executioner stepped back, and with one deft motion, pulled a lever. The trap door opened, and Jonathan fell. His weight had been carefully calculated, the rope boiled, oiled, and pre-stretched, the knot secure.
When his neck snapped, Tesoran flinched, the muscle in Vimes’ jaw twitched violently, and Jaina opened her hand, a hand she hadn’t realized she’d closed, and let a ball of ice fall to the ground.
“Let him hang for one hour, then cremate him and put him in a brick grave,” Jaina ordered. “Put him in the war memorial.”
“The Theran one, Lady Proudmoore?” the executioner asked, his voice respectful, as though a man wasn’t dead, hanging weight nearby.
“No, the memorial for the invaders,” Jaina replied. “There’s no reason to put him in with the loyalists.”
“As you say, Lady Proudmoore,” the executioner said, and nodded to her. Jaina nodded back, and turned, walking away from the gallows.
Her journey back to her tower was rapid, as she ignored every sight that usually filled her with such joy: the people enjoying the unseasonably dry weather, the places they had built together, all of the things that made her proud.
She could still hear the crack his neck made when it broke.
The sound chased her inside her tower, and as she closed the door, hard, there was a second, echoing noise, and then the familiar sound of rainfall.
At least that won’t matter for the ash-water, Jaina thought, and lifted her hand to stifle the hysterical giggle that was on her lips. She bit into her finger, keeping it inside. It burns anything, no matter how wet.
The journey through her tower was slower as she touched things, familiar things, taking comfort in them. There were maps of Theramore, Durotar, and Ashenvale, each precious and special in their own ways. There were prototype models for devices that she had worked on, or had replaced with better models. There were pictures and paintings, there were books.
Her journey for comfort had taken her to her office. The world will know what you’ve done, echoed in her mind, and rather than bring about hysteria, she felt cold. I need to tell my family what’s happened. How many months has it been? They must be wondering…
Divesting herself of her cloak, Jaina sat at her desk, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.
~ * ~
“It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever written,” Jaina admitted softly, turning her now-empty mug in her hands. “I could justify my decision to Jonathan and to Thrall, but to Mother? Finnall? You? Finn loved Da, probably more than either of us, and we loved him with all our hearts. I could barely write anything. I remember thinking how stiff it was.”
“We did learn of Da’s death from another source before you,” Tandred said, the words coming slowly and carefully. Jaina kept her gaze on the dregs of tea leaves. “We were told that Da had been killed by orcs and that you’d betrayed him. We didn’t believe it, not at first. Then your message came, saying essentially the same thing… and so we filled in the gaps. We avoided contacting you because it wasn’t a thing to be done via messengers, and we couldn’t take the rest of the fleet. We’d be slitting our own throats. More than that, though, if we confronted you, we’d need to go to the rest of the Alliance for help prosecuting you. For treason.”
Jaina’s cheeks flushed with anger, even as cold rippled through her. “I did everything I could to stop the conflict from escalating, save for forcibly teleporting Da back to Boralus. I’ve felt so guilty about his death, turned it over and over in my mind… but it wasn’t wrong to stop him, Tandred. If I hadn’t, it would have been war.”
“I don’t necessarily disagree with you,” Tandred said, his careful words halting her own. “We’ve known for a long time that Da hated the orcs. He hated them so much he couldn’t think straight about them. I’ve felt that way too before, but if I learned anything from Mother, it’s that sometimes you need to be angry in a cold way, rather than a hot way, the way Da always was. Things change over time. I wouldn’t hesitate to attack orcs that were hostile, and I doubt I’d ask myself too many questions as to the why--”
Jaina opened her mouth to object, and he raised a hand, placating, and she waited for him to continue.
“But, if you’re certain that Thrall and this new Horde are different than the old one that killed Derek and so many others… I need to be different too. Not so angry, more willing to listen, watch… and trade.”
All at once, a great weight lifted from Jaina’s chest, and she took in a breath of pure relief. If I’m not careful, I’ll float away. “He is different, Tandred, I promise you. He’s seen the worst that humanity has to offer his people and also the best. He’s been through so much… he’s been a slave, a gladiator, a shaman, and a Warchief. He’s gentle and compassionate. He always seeks the path of least conflict, but once he’s there, he commits to it with a whole heart, and fairly. He personally liberated his people from the Internment Camps, including traveling all the way across Lordaeron to rescue an old friend of his father’s from execution. He was chosen by the same oracle I was to save Azeroth, and without his hard work, and that of the Horde, I don’t know what we would have done. With all of that he also pledges his aid to those in need, like the Darkspear and the tauren. There is a place in Orgrimmar, in Durotar, for everyone who wants to be there. He--”
“Ease up on the sail, little Sunfish,” Tandred said, and she scowled at him. He chuckled at her expression, and then, “you really do sound like you’re in love with him.”
And now we come to it, Jaina thought, and sighed. “I do love him, though it wasn’t my motivation then, as I’ve said. We don’t speak of love, our relationship is strictly casual. There is no question that political issues will arise from our relationship if it were to become public knowledge. At the moment it’s… nothing more than dirty, nasty gossip to be spoken of in back halls. It won’t ever be more.”
“Are you truly going to be happy with that forever?” Tandred asked, and Jaina swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.
“I have to be, because of what the future holds,” Jaina said, keeping her voice firm, though Tandred raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s looking for a mate -- a wife -- that will love him for his strengths and stay with him through his weakness. This is a… diversion.”
“If you insist,” Tandred murmured.
She ignored his doubt, and cast about for a better, safer subject. “How have things been here?”
“As I mentioned before, we’ve fallen on hard times… but a new trading partner, or even two, will help us. People will return, and I can’t imagine your orcs are much good at fishing.” Jaina made a face at him, and he smiled. “There’s more I can trust you to hear now, too. Kelnar died in the attack on Dalaran, but Finn’s alive.”
Jaina’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry about Kelnar, she was always good to me, even if she wasn’t my mother. Where is Finn now, is she here?”
“No, she’s not. She’s working with the others who survived the attack, mostly non-mages on the fringes of the city, making sure they don’t become separated and keeping them fed and sheltered. She’s actually working with one of the mages who didn’t live in the city, and he has an elven wife.”
Jaina frowned slightly in recognition. “Would that mage be Rhonin?”
“Yes, that name sounds familiar.”
“I should have known he would be too grumpy and unpersonable to be killed by demons,” Jaina replied, and smiled warmly. “I wonder if this means Archmage Goldenmist survived too. He and Krasus were inseparable.”
“I don’t recognize that specific name, who is he?”
“A dragon, probably,” Jaina replied, and Tandred stared at her. “Tell me more about what happened here.”
“I’m sure you know the… basics of what happened in Lordaeron,” her brother said slowly. “Terenas was murdered, and Uther was killed while most of the paladins and trainees managed to escape. Calia was rescued and evacuated somewhere safe, where her brother couldn’t touch her and she couldn’t be infected by the Scourge plague.”
You don’t fool me, Jaina thought sourly. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
“She is, yes,” Tandred replied. “Jaina…”
“Is she angry with me?” she blurted out. “I was the last person with him, and I couldn’t stop him. No more than I could stop Da.”
“No, I don’t believe she is,” Tandred said, and she felt the rest of the weight of doubt and guilt lift. “She’d told me before that while she and Sir Uther hoped you’d be a stabilizing influence for Arthas, it wasn’t your responsibility to be his keeper. She’s been sad and frustrated and angry and guilty, but that’s only natural, considering what happened. She never blamed you.”
Jaina nodded. “She’d feel plenty responsible herself, considering she all but raised Arthas, since her mother was so ill.”
“She did raise him, but Queen Livia wasn’t simply sick. Calia’s said she was mad.” Jaina blinked, shocked, and listened as Tandred continued. “She was largely indifferent to Calia, but outright hostile to Arthas. The Queen even attacked Arthas when he was a very young child, and was locked away until she could be sent elsewhere, away from him to spare them the humiliation.”
“That’s… horrifying, though…” Jaina paused. “Arthas had a scar on his chest, and it was old by the time we were together. He never wanted to talk about it. Right above his heart. Do you know why she would have done such a thing, specifically? Mental illness doesn’t often correspond with such violence.”
“Calia said that her mother claimed Arthas was a monster.” Tandred examined his mug closely. “Sometimes, I lie abed and wonder if she might not have been mad, only clairvoyant. If somehow she knew this was coming.”
“As someone who was called quite a few names, including monster, in childhood, I’d say she was wrong. Unless she had some kind of precognitive power, you can’t simply go around killing children just because they might turn to bad.” Jaina touched the base of her throat. She no longer had the pendant Arthas had given her for their engagement, but sometimes she still felt it, a weight and a memory. “And who’s to say that event didn’t push Arthas towards his current path, that he didn’t resent those who had tried to kill him and failed? Evil isn’t biological or inherited, and it’s not even always obvious in childhood.”
Tandred was silent for a long moment, before finally offering, “That’s a good attitude to have.” Jaina raised an eyebrow at him, and after a moment he sighed. “Calia and I married in the Spring, after she came here. We’d wanted to before, until we’d broken things off because you were marrying the heir. We have a daughter.”
And that’s when Jonathan… no wonder he was all up in arms, Jaina thought. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.”
“Thank you,” Tandred said, and smiled back. “Calia was very worried that her mother’s madness would affect her ability to care for Rhi -- Rhiannon Jaina, after you -- and that she’d be indifferent or hostile… but she isn’t like that at all. They’re inseparable. Calia keeps her near whenever she’s working, usually in one of the offices. There’s plenty of room for a cradle, Mother knows. Rhi swims, too, like a fish. My little Starfish.”
Jaina smiled warmly. “I’d like very much to meet my niece before I leave, if that’s alright with both of you?”
“I’d like that too, she’s… well, she’s got none of the Menethil or Greymane blonde, and my eyes, but Calia’s little button nose, and I think Granddam’s chin -- speaking of which, she wants to see you.”
“She isn’t… furious with me, the way Mother was?” Jaina asked, blinking. Tandred chuckled.
“She was, certainly, but they’ve been listening in this whole time, and if they went to sleep during that long tale of yours, I’ll set them to rights.” Tandred squeezes her ankle lightly. “We can be a family again.”
Family, Jaina thought, and savoured it. “I’d be very, very happy to be a family again.”
“I love you, Sunfish, for all you’re a ridiculous little brat at times.”
“I love you too, you utterly maddening, amateur poet!” Jaina nudged at his leg with her foot, and laughed. After a moment, Tandred laughed too, and it was the most delightful sound Jaina had heard in what felt like years.
[ Epilogue]
Title: Unity: Stormcaller
Part: 8/8+Epilogue
Word Count: 4181
Includes: Spoilers for the Bonus Orc Campaign, character death, violence, strong language.
Pairings: Implied Thrall/Jaina, Jaina/OMC.
Summary: During the Late Winter of the 27th year after the opening of the Dark Portal, something dark and sinister calls terrible storms to lash the coast of Kalimdor, its source seemingly Jaina's old home: Kul Tiras. Vowing to do what is right, rather than take an easier path, Jaina returns home to speak to her estranged family and protect her family, her allies, and her own people from the Stormcaller.
Previous: Unity Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11
Stormcaller Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7
It had taken a day and a half to finish writing up the new laws regarding treason. There had been additions, modifications, and adjustments made until they said what Jaina wished them to say:
The orcs are here to stay and we are to cooperate with them and their allies. We do not steal from them, we do not kill them, we do not provoke them. We defend ourselves if we must, and we must justify this to rigorous examination afterwards. We are not traitors and not cowards. The only ones who are are those who flaunt our laws and attack those commanded to respond. Theramore is not at war with the Horde, and will not consider itself to be so unless war is formally declared as a result of irreconcilable hostilities.
Jonathan hadn’t come back to her overnight, though he was in Theramore, in his quarters and then going out to the Keep for his duties in the morning. The mark that tracked him still burned brightly on the map, and he’d neither noticed it nor removed it.
Now that the ink is dry, it’s time to deal with him, Jaina thought grimly as she made her way to where he was, through her own tower and out into the streets of Theramore. Perversely, on a day that should have been grim and grey, it was fine. The sun shone brightly, and the gulls cried out on the docks. The city was busy as the Therans poured out of their homes to spend time in the sun, soaking it in like garden flowers. This is who I do this for. Not for myself, not for pride, but for the people who will die if we go to war… because war is never as neat as two armies politely taking turns bashing at each other. It’s messy, cruel, and terrible. It’s terrifying. It spares no one out of thoughtfulness, only out of inability to get to them before it’s over. I do this for my people.
Doubt had whispered to her all night long: memories of Arthas, doing everything he could for his people, including murdering them. Kael, falling into the company of demon-worshippers and traitors to prevent his people from starving. Grom, drinking demon’s blood to kill Cenarius, to save the Warsong, to avoid losing. Illidan, accepting demonic magic, twisting his form from night elf to half-demon, to defeat a full demon and protect the Kaldorei.
I am not like them, Jaina thought, her mind fixed on her intent. I’m doing what’s right. I’m doing what needs to be done to preserve peace. The price of peace is constant vigilance. She’d almost activated her rune last night to talk to Thrall. His voice was deep and gentle, his manner kind and sympathetic. He knew, exactly as she did, at what price this peace came. He had agents watching troublemakers, dispatching them if necessary. He didn’t speak of it openly, and it clearly worried him to do so, but sometimes the only way to save a village was to plant a dagger in one person’s back in the dark.
I have my friends, my advisors, and my allies, Jaina thought as she walked through the training yard and into the Keep itself. Vimes knew of her intent, which is why Jonathan was working indoors today, despite the good weather. He suspected, she hoped, nothing. I can do this. I must do this.
Jaina found Jonathan working in one of the side offices."side offices, which was a bit cluttered with paperwork, mostly performance evaluations to see who needed more training and discipline, and who might be overdue for a pay raise. It was something she’d never truly worried about when she had only been a mage, only a student, and now she passed that work onto others who knew what to do about it better than she did.
“Jonathan,” she said, keeping her voice tightly controlled. “I need a word with you.”
“A word?” he replied, and grinned up at her, though she did not smile in return. “Couldn’t wait for me to leave the office?”
“No,” Jaina replied simply. “I know you’ve been lying to me. You aren’t trying to diffuse the situation with the Tiran survivors, you’re trying to accelerate it. You’re rabble rousing, encouraging people towards treason, and I won’t have any of it.”
"I'm not sure who spoke to you," Jonathan began. "But you've got it all wrong. I have to get them to trust me, to listen to the things I have to say. I only want what's best for Theramore, just as you--"
Jaina watched him coldly, noticing the way his gaze darted over her face, looking for... For what? To see if I've been so blinded by lust and naivety that he can talk me into damning my allies and repudiating my morals. I don't think so. Not for Arthas, not for my father, and certainly not for you. "Liar. Traitor. You think I'm stupid but I'm not. You think I sat in my tower, ignorant of all that you did, relying on other people to tell me what was going on?" Jaina retrieved a crystal from her sleeve, and turned it on.
Jonathan's expression, as he heard his own voice and listened to his own words betray him, changed, his supercilious smile melting into a snarling grimace. "You were naive enough to take me in. Do you think I ever cared for you?"
"No," Jaina replied shortly. "I wanted to believe it for a time, that you were capable of caring about the same things that I cared about. Now I can see that you didn't. Now I can see you're no different from any other coward."
"Better a coward that a traitor!" Jonathan cried, standing hurriedly. The desk rocked and Jaina retrieved the crystal, cutting off the recorded words. "Do you have any idea how many died when you sold Tiragarde out to the orcs during the Razor Hill assault? Do you?!"
"Fifty one," Jaina replied softly. "Twenty five marines, sixteen assorted orcs, including farmers, an innkeeper, and two children, and ten Kor'kron. It was bloody, thankless, and terrible. It should not have happened, not on Winter Veil. I swore to Thrall I knew nothing of it, as you tried to tell me they couldn’t be blamed for it."
"The blood that was spilled was supposed to be a wake-up call!" Jonathan leaned over the desk, and Jaina stared him down. "For them, if not for you. They didn’t know you the way I did. Some of them actually thought you’d been brainwashed by the greenskins. That you could be talked out of your idiot promises. They had to see how they were wrong.”
“You provoked them when you could have promoted peace and understanding!” Jaina cried, understanding and anger hitting her with hammer blows. “While I was in Orgrimmar participating in a cultural exchange and--”
“Oh yes, that’s what you were exchanging,” Jonathan shot back, his expression thunderous. “You couldn’t be happy with me in your bed every night, you’re so insatiable that you needed orc cock too. Or were you happy with only one?”
Jaina lashed out, striking him across the face. His head turned with the blow, but there was a dark smile on his face. “Jonathan Taylor, you are under arrest for treason. May the Light have mercy on your soul, because I sure as hell won’t.”
Jonathan made to lunge over the desk, and she struck him with magic full force: purple runes sprang up around him, weaving themselves into a series of letters and patterns, half of them comprehensible, none of them recognizable save for those who had studied magic. The word-strings wrapped around him like snakes, lightning quick and infinitely stronger than any natural creature. Once they touched Jonathan’s skin, they sunk into him, digging in like fangs, hooking his skin and not letting go.
For one brief moment, he met her gaze, anger and violence shifting into confusion and fear, frozen in place though he was. I have nothing to say to you, she thought coldly, and snapped her fingers. He shrank abruptly into a small, furred form, landing on the desk. He gave one or two tentative hops before she reached down to grip him behind the neck. She heard rushing, booted feet and turned.
“Lady Proudmoore!” Vimes called, rushing in. “Are you-- yes, of course you are. Is that...?”
“He’ll revert back when he’s in a jail cell,” Jaina said calmly. “See to it.”
Vimes stepped up to take the rabbit from her hands. It kicked and squeaked, irate. “That’s enough of that, Taylor,” the Captain said gruffly. “Come along now.”
Jaina watched them go, and bit back a hysterical laugh. He won’t be able to rabbit out of this one. She looked back at his desk and felt her amusement die. The blood of fifty-one lives are on his hands. Now I just need to be sure to prove he intended to spill more.
Jaina took a deep breath, and traced out a rune. “Ariana? Get Tesoran. I want all of Jonathan’s things searched. Every paper, every hidden safe. I want to know the extent of this.”
After a moment, she heard affirmatives from both of them, and closed her eyes briefly.
It was all coming to an end.
~ * ~
Two days after his arrest, Jonathan Taylor was convicted of treason and sentenced to die. Two days of searching through private files and documents, through his barracks quarters, and a brief, but unrepentant confession had brought them to this.
Jaina did not believe in public executions. It’s spectacle, and I won’t stand for that. It’s neither a rallying point nor entertainment. It’s a necessity, nothing more, and nothing less.
The order for Jonathan’s execution had included all of his crimes. Treason. Murder. Incitement to rebellion. Incitement to commit theft. Conspiracy with an enemy force. Conspiracy to break treaties with the Horde. Tesoran had written the list, and Ariana had confirmed each charge.
She had signed it. She had signed it, knowing that there would be no turning back; that once she had done it, staying the executioner’s hand would be considered weakness. It’s not a matter of pride. It’s a matter of necessity.
The execution required a handful of witnesses. Tesoran and Vimes stood on either side: Tesoran, as Adjutant to the Lady of Theramore, and Vimes as Jonathan’s commanding officer, regardless of how little he’d been responsible for his actions. Both had urged her not to attend, and now that she was there, they would say nothing, voice no objections in public.
It was sunset, and the sky was red streaked with gold, stretching long fingers towards the velvety darkness of true night. Jaina wore a long, black cloak, unmagical in all ways, save for that which kept her sheltered from the wind that had picked up, tugging at the fabric like an impatient child.
This was not the first time the gallows had been used, but as always, Jaina hoped it would be the last. Jaina watched as the executioner, their identity concealed behind a black hood, led Jonathan up the ramp and onto the high, wooden platform. Jonathan’s head was covered by a rough sack, which was removed by the executioner.
Tesoran took a step forward, and Jaina put her hand on his arm, shaking her head once. “Jaina, don’t--”
“Lieutenant Jonathan Taylor,” Jaina said, letting magic trickle into her voice, aiming it squarely at her ex-lover. As she spoke, his eyes widened, blazing with hate. “You have been convicted of treason and sentenced to death by hanging. Do you have anything you wish to say?”
Jonathan laughed harshly, even as the noose was placed around his neck, the knot secured carefully behind his neck. “It’s incredible that you think you can keep this a secret, traitor.”
Jaina stared at him, unflinching. She’d heard his rant during the trial as well, insisting that he was one of the loyal few, and all of them traitors. It never ceases to amaze and disgust me that he calls the orcs monsters, when he barely seems human once you scrape off that thin veneer from his persona of loving partner.
“The world will know what you’ve done here, soon enough,” Jonathan continued, his teeth drawn back in a snarl, even as he was directed onto the trap door. “You and your band of conspirators. You’ll be sorry, you--”
“Enough,” Jaina said, anger threaded with weariness. This has gone on long enough. Far too long. “Let it be done.”
The executioner stepped back, and with one deft motion, pulled a lever. The trap door opened, and Jonathan fell. His weight had been carefully calculated, the rope boiled, oiled, and pre-stretched, the knot secure.
When his neck snapped, Tesoran flinched, the muscle in Vimes’ jaw twitched violently, and Jaina opened her hand, a hand she hadn’t realized she’d closed, and let a ball of ice fall to the ground.
“Let him hang for one hour, then cremate him and put him in a brick grave,” Jaina ordered. “Put him in the war memorial.”
“The Theran one, Lady Proudmoore?” the executioner asked, his voice respectful, as though a man wasn’t dead, hanging weight nearby.
“No, the memorial for the invaders,” Jaina replied. “There’s no reason to put him in with the loyalists.”
“As you say, Lady Proudmoore,” the executioner said, and nodded to her. Jaina nodded back, and turned, walking away from the gallows.
Her journey back to her tower was rapid, as she ignored every sight that usually filled her with such joy: the people enjoying the unseasonably dry weather, the places they had built together, all of the things that made her proud.
She could still hear the crack his neck made when it broke.
The sound chased her inside her tower, and as she closed the door, hard, there was a second, echoing noise, and then the familiar sound of rainfall.
At least that won’t matter for the ash-water, Jaina thought, and lifted her hand to stifle the hysterical giggle that was on her lips. She bit into her finger, keeping it inside. It burns anything, no matter how wet.
The journey through her tower was slower as she touched things, familiar things, taking comfort in them. There were maps of Theramore, Durotar, and Ashenvale, each precious and special in their own ways. There were prototype models for devices that she had worked on, or had replaced with better models. There were pictures and paintings, there were books.
Her journey for comfort had taken her to her office. The world will know what you’ve done, echoed in her mind, and rather than bring about hysteria, she felt cold. I need to tell my family what’s happened. How many months has it been? They must be wondering…
Divesting herself of her cloak, Jaina sat at her desk, pulled out a piece of paper and began to write.
~ * ~
“It was one of the hardest things I’ve ever written,” Jaina admitted softly, turning her now-empty mug in her hands. “I could justify my decision to Jonathan and to Thrall, but to Mother? Finnall? You? Finn loved Da, probably more than either of us, and we loved him with all our hearts. I could barely write anything. I remember thinking how stiff it was.”
“We did learn of Da’s death from another source before you,” Tandred said, the words coming slowly and carefully. Jaina kept her gaze on the dregs of tea leaves. “We were told that Da had been killed by orcs and that you’d betrayed him. We didn’t believe it, not at first. Then your message came, saying essentially the same thing… and so we filled in the gaps. We avoided contacting you because it wasn’t a thing to be done via messengers, and we couldn’t take the rest of the fleet. We’d be slitting our own throats. More than that, though, if we confronted you, we’d need to go to the rest of the Alliance for help prosecuting you. For treason.”
Jaina’s cheeks flushed with anger, even as cold rippled through her. “I did everything I could to stop the conflict from escalating, save for forcibly teleporting Da back to Boralus. I’ve felt so guilty about his death, turned it over and over in my mind… but it wasn’t wrong to stop him, Tandred. If I hadn’t, it would have been war.”
“I don’t necessarily disagree with you,” Tandred said, his careful words halting her own. “We’ve known for a long time that Da hated the orcs. He hated them so much he couldn’t think straight about them. I’ve felt that way too before, but if I learned anything from Mother, it’s that sometimes you need to be angry in a cold way, rather than a hot way, the way Da always was. Things change over time. I wouldn’t hesitate to attack orcs that were hostile, and I doubt I’d ask myself too many questions as to the why--”
Jaina opened her mouth to object, and he raised a hand, placating, and she waited for him to continue.
“But, if you’re certain that Thrall and this new Horde are different than the old one that killed Derek and so many others… I need to be different too. Not so angry, more willing to listen, watch… and trade.”
All at once, a great weight lifted from Jaina’s chest, and she took in a breath of pure relief. If I’m not careful, I’ll float away. “He is different, Tandred, I promise you. He’s seen the worst that humanity has to offer his people and also the best. He’s been through so much… he’s been a slave, a gladiator, a shaman, and a Warchief. He’s gentle and compassionate. He always seeks the path of least conflict, but once he’s there, he commits to it with a whole heart, and fairly. He personally liberated his people from the Internment Camps, including traveling all the way across Lordaeron to rescue an old friend of his father’s from execution. He was chosen by the same oracle I was to save Azeroth, and without his hard work, and that of the Horde, I don’t know what we would have done. With all of that he also pledges his aid to those in need, like the Darkspear and the tauren. There is a place in Orgrimmar, in Durotar, for everyone who wants to be there. He--”
“Ease up on the sail, little Sunfish,” Tandred said, and she scowled at him. He chuckled at her expression, and then, “you really do sound like you’re in love with him.”
And now we come to it, Jaina thought, and sighed. “I do love him, though it wasn’t my motivation then, as I’ve said. We don’t speak of love, our relationship is strictly casual. There is no question that political issues will arise from our relationship if it were to become public knowledge. At the moment it’s… nothing more than dirty, nasty gossip to be spoken of in back halls. It won’t ever be more.”
“Are you truly going to be happy with that forever?” Tandred asked, and Jaina swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat.
“I have to be, because of what the future holds,” Jaina said, keeping her voice firm, though Tandred raised an eyebrow at her. “He’s looking for a mate -- a wife -- that will love him for his strengths and stay with him through his weakness. This is a… diversion.”
“If you insist,” Tandred murmured.
She ignored his doubt, and cast about for a better, safer subject. “How have things been here?”
“As I mentioned before, we’ve fallen on hard times… but a new trading partner, or even two, will help us. People will return, and I can’t imagine your orcs are much good at fishing.” Jaina made a face at him, and he smiled. “There’s more I can trust you to hear now, too. Kelnar died in the attack on Dalaran, but Finn’s alive.”
Jaina’s eyes lit up. “I’m sorry about Kelnar, she was always good to me, even if she wasn’t my mother. Where is Finn now, is she here?”
“No, she’s not. She’s working with the others who survived the attack, mostly non-mages on the fringes of the city, making sure they don’t become separated and keeping them fed and sheltered. She’s actually working with one of the mages who didn’t live in the city, and he has an elven wife.”
Jaina frowned slightly in recognition. “Would that mage be Rhonin?”
“Yes, that name sounds familiar.”
“I should have known he would be too grumpy and unpersonable to be killed by demons,” Jaina replied, and smiled warmly. “I wonder if this means Archmage Goldenmist survived too. He and Krasus were inseparable.”
“I don’t recognize that specific name, who is he?”
“A dragon, probably,” Jaina replied, and Tandred stared at her. “Tell me more about what happened here.”
“I’m sure you know the… basics of what happened in Lordaeron,” her brother said slowly. “Terenas was murdered, and Uther was killed while most of the paladins and trainees managed to escape. Calia was rescued and evacuated somewhere safe, where her brother couldn’t touch her and she couldn’t be infected by the Scourge plague.”
You don’t fool me, Jaina thought sourly. “She’s here, isn’t she?”
“She is, yes,” Tandred replied. “Jaina…”
“Is she angry with me?” she blurted out. “I was the last person with him, and I couldn’t stop him. No more than I could stop Da.”
“No, I don’t believe she is,” Tandred said, and she felt the rest of the weight of doubt and guilt lift. “She’d told me before that while she and Sir Uther hoped you’d be a stabilizing influence for Arthas, it wasn’t your responsibility to be his keeper. She’s been sad and frustrated and angry and guilty, but that’s only natural, considering what happened. She never blamed you.”
Jaina nodded. “She’d feel plenty responsible herself, considering she all but raised Arthas, since her mother was so ill.”
“She did raise him, but Queen Livia wasn’t simply sick. Calia’s said she was mad.” Jaina blinked, shocked, and listened as Tandred continued. “She was largely indifferent to Calia, but outright hostile to Arthas. The Queen even attacked Arthas when he was a very young child, and was locked away until she could be sent elsewhere, away from him to spare them the humiliation.”
“That’s… horrifying, though…” Jaina paused. “Arthas had a scar on his chest, and it was old by the time we were together. He never wanted to talk about it. Right above his heart. Do you know why she would have done such a thing, specifically? Mental illness doesn’t often correspond with such violence.”
“Calia said that her mother claimed Arthas was a monster.” Tandred examined his mug closely. “Sometimes, I lie abed and wonder if she might not have been mad, only clairvoyant. If somehow she knew this was coming.”
“As someone who was called quite a few names, including monster, in childhood, I’d say she was wrong. Unless she had some kind of precognitive power, you can’t simply go around killing children just because they might turn to bad.” Jaina touched the base of her throat. She no longer had the pendant Arthas had given her for their engagement, but sometimes she still felt it, a weight and a memory. “And who’s to say that event didn’t push Arthas towards his current path, that he didn’t resent those who had tried to kill him and failed? Evil isn’t biological or inherited, and it’s not even always obvious in childhood.”
Tandred was silent for a long moment, before finally offering, “That’s a good attitude to have.” Jaina raised an eyebrow at him, and after a moment he sighed. “Calia and I married in the Spring, after she came here. We’d wanted to before, until we’d broken things off because you were marrying the heir. We have a daughter.”
And that’s when Jonathan… no wonder he was all up in arms, Jaina thought. “Congratulations, that’s wonderful.”
“Thank you,” Tandred said, and smiled back. “Calia was very worried that her mother’s madness would affect her ability to care for Rhi -- Rhiannon Jaina, after you -- and that she’d be indifferent or hostile… but she isn’t like that at all. They’re inseparable. Calia keeps her near whenever she’s working, usually in one of the offices. There’s plenty of room for a cradle, Mother knows. Rhi swims, too, like a fish. My little Starfish.”
Jaina smiled warmly. “I’d like very much to meet my niece before I leave, if that’s alright with both of you?”
“I’d like that too, she’s… well, she’s got none of the Menethil or Greymane blonde, and my eyes, but Calia’s little button nose, and I think Granddam’s chin -- speaking of which, she wants to see you.”
“She isn’t… furious with me, the way Mother was?” Jaina asked, blinking. Tandred chuckled.
“She was, certainly, but they’ve been listening in this whole time, and if they went to sleep during that long tale of yours, I’ll set them to rights.” Tandred squeezes her ankle lightly. “We can be a family again.”
Family, Jaina thought, and savoured it. “I’d be very, very happy to be a family again.”
“I love you, Sunfish, for all you’re a ridiculous little brat at times.”
“I love you too, you utterly maddening, amateur poet!” Jaina nudged at his leg with her foot, and laughed. After a moment, Tandred laughed too, and it was the most delightful sound Jaina had heard in what felt like years.
[ Epilogue]