Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Drustvar was unexpectedly nice. At least as nice as anything could be on this thrice damned island.

The streets of Boralus had been far too crowded for Sylvanas’ liking, not to mention the scene it caused every time someone noticed her and her rangers slinking through the city. Even the rest of Tiragarde had been dotted with people that seemed hell bent on getting in her way.

Stormsong was somewhat better. There were wide open spaces and room to roam, but it was so… idyllic. The picturesque quality made her skin crawl, and the constant beat of the sun irritated her already frayed nerves.

They hadn’t bothered to spend long in either.

In Drustvar, however, Sylvanas took her time.

It was quiet here. Not the fearful sort of quiet that hinted at predators nearby, but something softer. Restful, almost. Everything was muffled through the deathly, unnatural fog that saturated the air with the smell of damp leaves and freshly turned soil. Much like Lordaeron, it was dim - dimmer than the rest of the perpetually overcast island. The presence of the dead, the cursed, and the magic that fuelled them had a way of repelling sunlight. It was easy on the sensitive eyes of her and her rangers.

They rode behind her in no particular order as their horses' hooves clattered up the path to Corlain, weaving back and forth to talk to each other or play whatever game they’d come up with this time. A few miles back, Kalira had even jumped off her horse and onto Clea’s to murmur furtively into her ear. It left her skeletal mount to be the only one still in formation.

Sylvanas didn’t bother stopping them. 

They’d had a run in with a particularly nasty herd of strange deer on the border of Drustvar, but nothing of note had happened since. She was glad not to have to write another incident report, but she knew her rangers suffered for the lack of excitement. Sylvanas had thought that having her rangers with her would ease some of the anxiety of being stranded in a foreign nation with nothing to do. Unfortunately, all it did was curse them to be just as bored as her.

So she pretended not to notice as they made their own fun - difficult, seeing as they weren’t even trying to hide it - and silently cursed the pact for what must have been the thousandth time since her wedding.

She would have been just fine to have been left in Lordaeron, but there was a specific clause that required them to at least be in the same nation. Sure, there were exceptions (and about twenty subclauses that gave her a damn headache to think about), but this was not one of them.

And gods forbid Jaina let her do anything useful while she was here. Sylvanas was apparently expected to sit quietly in a corner and stay out of the way for the entire month. It took nearly a day of pulling her hair out before she realized that, as long as she stayed in Kul Tiras, she could just leave Proudmoore Keep.

If Jaina was angry about it, Sylvanas didn’t know. She’d had the message delivered as she was riding out of the gates. She liked to think that Jaina was livid . The thought made her ears perk up and a satisfied smile curl across her lips.

“We’re approaching Corlain.” Anya called. She’d had to wrestle the maps they’d bought in Boralus away from Vorel - who had been giving them mile by mile updates - a few hours into their trip.

Sure enough, the path split a little ways past an old watchtower and led down into the town. The houses and businesses along the main road were nearly crumbling with age, though they’d been repaired and cared for. The rest, however, looked as though they’d just been built.

Sylvanas didn’t have to say anything as they grew near; the rangers pulled themselves together, guiding their steeds into formation behind her. As much as they loved their games, they loved what an ominous scene six banshees riding in sync on skeletal horses presented even more.

The citizens of Corlain weren’t anywhere near as jumpy as the rest of Boralus - the rest of Drustvar, even. They eyed the six riders with open suspicion, but didn’t flee to their homes to bolt the doors. And, after they sized them up, they immediately turned their backs and ignored them as if that would make the entire situation disappear. It was curious, but interesting.

Soon enough, they’d cleared the small town and it’s strange inhabitants.

“What’s next?” She asked, squinting at the next town. It was so close to Corlain that they’d arrive in less than ten minutes, but she couldn’t see any activity whatsoever. It’s gates were wide open, nearly falling off their hinges with disuse.

“Upper Corlain.” Anya said, “Then Waycrest Manor just after it.”

Upper Corlain was… charming. The gallows were the first sight to greet them, right in the middle of the town square. The very empty town square. Unlike the rest of Drustvar, this quiet was eerie. No nature had moved to consume the abandoned town, leaving it with nothing but the silence and the scent of rust and wood rot.

It seemed that the brave souls that repopulated Corlain weren’t quite brave enough to retake the rest of their town. Sylvanas couldn’t blame them. Even from here, she could see the manor looming at the top of the hill. Unnatural mist lingered around it’s edges, softening its silhouette enough that it looked just out of focus.

“This is home to the Lady of Drustvar?” She asked as they approached the gates. These ones were not falling apart, but it was a close thing. The entire manor looked like it was sagging in on itself, slumped and weary. It would have been impressive if not for the dead and rotting feel of it.

“Yeah.” Clea said, standing up in her stirrups to look through the iron bars. “She took the mantle shortly before Lady Proudmoore was appointed Lord Admiral, I believe.”

Sylvanas scanned the area for guards, keepers, or even just lookouts. There were none. Not even a sign that any had been there and simply hid at the sight of them. It made even her hackles rise.

“Vorel.” She said, eyes narrowed.

Vorel jumped off her horse and walked up to the gates. Her sharp eyes peered at their surroundings, the ground inside the gate, then down the path to Corlain. When she came back to Sylvanas, her eyebrows were knit together.

“The only tracks since the last rain are a human, a horse, and a cart.”

“Only one human?”

Vorel nodded. “And it looks like they left a few hours ago.”

Sylvanas’ nose wrinkled. Manors like this usually had a lot more traffic, a lot more staff, than just one person.

Her ears twitched at a distant, echoing noise. A few more moments revealed it to be the tramp of hooves and the creaking wheels of a cart. Six pairs of red eyes focused on Upper Corlain until a human, a horse, and an unsprung cart slowly came into view on the path.

The human stopped briefly at the sight of them, taking a few hesitant steps closer as if it would help size them up. Then, she broke into a light jog.

The sound of creaking leather and the ominous scraping of armor reached her ears as her rangers tensed at the possible threat. Sylvanas did too, but maybe for different reasons. She could already see the human’s face. It was weary and just shy of gaunt, but her eyes were wide and her mouth was quirked into something that wasn’t quite a smile - poised on the edge of one, as if just waiting for something to grin at. It was… unsettling to be looked at like that. Sylvanas would have thought the woman had mistaken them for someone else if they weren’t so… unique.

She slowed to a stop a couple yards from them, huffing to catch her breath as she peered up at Sylvanas. “Well met! I haven’t seen any of you around here before. I’m Lucille Waycrest, what can I do for you?”

The rangers leaned away from her slightly, as if pushed back by the force of her sunny introduction. Sylvanas nearly reeled back as well. Of all the questions - commands, accusations - she had expected, ‘what can I do for you?’ was not one she’d been prepared to deal with.

Sylvanas scrambled to remember what she was supposed to do in this situation, now that the hostility she expected was suspiciously absent. Once she remembered that it was polite, Sylvanas hopped down from her horse and approached the girl. Her hand nearly extended on reflex, like she was greeting yet another human from Lordaeron, but she caught herself in time to simply tuck them behind her back. 

It was fortunate that she could no longer blush. It had been the bane of her existence when she still lived. The blood had rushed so easily to her face, her ears, that anyone could tell when she misspoke or fumbled.

“I am Sylvanas Windrunner.” She paused to consider Lucille’s question, but the girl didn’t seem to need much in the way of encouragement. 

“Oh! You’re the Lord Admiral’s wife, right?”

The title made her stomach turn and temper rise in equal measure. She caught Vorel grimacing out of the corner of her eye - as if she were already trying to calculate how to hide the body of someone so important, establishing alibis, contemplating the power vacuum. She was always thorough like that.

Lucille continued, looking her up and down. “Jaina never told me you were so tall.” She looked at the other rangers, head cocking slightly as she compared their relatively small statures to her lanky frame. “I thought the horde elves were always on the small side.”

“I am tall for an elf. It runs in my family.” She wanted to wince as soon as the words left her mouth. Why was she volunteering information to a stranger? If she were any more off balance, she’d be on the ground.

Lucille’s mouth finally decided to reveal its sunny smile. “I get it. I’m rather small for being drust. Joan always says it just makes me harder to shoot, so I suppose that’s nice. I can’t say I like getting shot - where are my manners? Esteemed guests shouldn’t be left out here. Come inside for some refreshments.”

Sylvanas had half a mind to refuse and be on her way. But, as she glanced back at her bowstring tense rangers, she could nearly taste the excitement rolling off of them. And, maybe she was a little curious as well. After all, what else did they have to do? They still had two weeks left in Kul Tiras, and Sylvanas wasn’t inclined to spend more of that time in Proudmoore Keep than she had to.

Lucille’s horse, a splotchy white and auburn draft horse, had finally managed to catch up with Lucille - only for her to dart away again. She leaned her shoulder into the gate as the rest of the rangers began to dismount, letting out a grunt as it began to slowly creak open. Clea, always the helpful sort, ambled over to give the gate a push. The hinges shrieked as it flew open, clanging against the fence hard enough to feel the vibrations in the soles of their boots. Lucille stumbled slightly, but gave Clea a grateful smile as she led them through the gates. 

The yard was rolling and uneven, with several gashes in the land that had the barest hint of regrowing vegetation. The path to the front door was newly washed, but there were runes carved into the stone - scuffed and scratched as though someone had scrubbed impotently at them. Sylvanas couldn’t feel any lingering magic in them. The house, on the other hand…

It positively reeked of death. Not in the aggressive, volatile way of spells. It pressed down on her as they drew near, a heavy blanket of energy that settled around her shoulders. It was familiar in the way that most death magic was to her, but unfamiliar in the listless, passive nature of it.

Before they reached the entrance, Lucille unhitched her mare with a pat and a few words of praise. It dutifully walked towards the stable - immaculate, compared to the sorry state of the house - leaning down to tear up a few tufts of grass to chew on as it went.

The door didn’t creak as Lucille pushed it open, despite how old it looked. As they crossed the threshold, a chill sank into Sylvanas’ skin, into her bones. She was surprised that Lucille’s words didn’t come out in clouds when she said, “Welcome to Waycrest Manor! You’ll have to forgive the state of the place, I’m still in the middle of renovations. They’re rather slow going, but the sitting room is finished.”

Sylvanas glanced at the peeling wallpaper and moth bitten rugs in the dull light of the foyer as Lucille herded them through as quickly as possible. Slow going indeed. Lordaeron Keep hadn’t looked this bad when they began rebuilding, and it had been mostly ruin.

Lucille was right about the sitting room, however. The furniture didn’t smell of mildew, nor the walls and floorboards of rot. The soft blue paint on the walls was a recent addition, if the lingering scent was anything to go by. The entire room had been refurbished. By an amerateur, no doubt, but thoroughly. It was warmer than what they’d walked through. Not only in the heat itself, but in the way the light of the setting sun didn’t tint blue through the clean windows.

The only thing that drove chill into Sylvanas’ veins were the walkways on the second story. It was the perfect vantage point to look down on the room - and though no one was up there, the feeling of eyes on her made the hair raise on the back of her neck.

Lucille rummaged through a cabinet until she came back to them with crackers and pieces of jerky on newly polished plates, serving one to each of them. “I know it’s not much, but I haven’t got to the kitchen quite yet. I only have things that keep well without an ice box.”

Sylvanas blinked down at the plate and promptly passed it to Anya, who passed hers down the line and so on - until Kalira had six plates and looked positively giddy about it. “That’s quite alright. It’s more hospitality than we’ve seen so far, and we don’t exactly need to eat.”

“That’s a shame. It takes so little effort to be polite.” Lucille watched their exchange with a curious smile. “Are these your… guards?”

They weren’t. Sylvanas didn’t have the words, or the want, to explain what her rangers were. Instead, she said, “Introduce yourselves.”

“Kalira.” Kalira said, mouth full.

“I’m Ranger Anya.”

“Clea.”

“Ranger Vorel.”

“I’m Alina.”

Lucille’s smile brightened even more, somehow. It was eerie. “It’s so nice to meet you all. What brings you to Drustvar?”

A campaign of spite against my wife.

“I’m simply touring my wife’s nation, becoming acquainted with the land and citizens.”

“How thoughtful.” She looked as though she had more to say, but the loud chime of a clock somewhere in the manor made her pallid face pale further. She whirled to stare at a small clock near the door. The pendulum was unmoving, the hands telling them it was at least two hours earlier. Lucille darted a look at the window, seeing that the last rays of the sun just barely curled their fingers over the horizon. Then, impressively, she paled even more.

“Is there a problem?” Sylvanas asked, brows raised.

“I-um. It’s not exactly wise to wander the halls when the sun goes down.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself. The smile she turned on them was much more forced than the previous ones. “It’s haunted. The manor. Which, I know is rather obvious - I mean, just look at the place - but they get rather… restless after sunset.”

She glanced between the six of them, her face too expressive for its own good. She had absolutely no idea what to do with them.

“Well, it’s much too late to be wandering around. I’ll show you to the guest rooms. I’m not sure if I have six of them ready - I don’t get much company, you see - but I’m sure we can figure something out.” She assured, ushering them to the other end of the room and down a long corridor.

Sylvanas carefully committed their route to memory. It would be far too easy to lose one’s way in these halls.

“Most would not invite more of the dead into a haunted manor.” Sylvanas drawled, watching Lucille’s increasingly frantic body language curiously. She’d never seen someone so dedicated to being a good host in the face of… something . She wasn’t sure what would happen when the sun disappeared over the horizon, but she doubted it was anything good. “We can be on our way.”

“Nonsense! It’s much too late to be wandering around.” She repeated, almost frantically, as she took them up a flight of stairs. “Dead or not, it would be remiss of me to not offer you a place to rest.”

Sylvanas’ curiosity only grew. “Then, one room will do.”

Lucille shot her a relieved look, stopping in front of one of the doors.

“Here we are. It’s not renovated yet, but it’s clean and cozy.” She opened the door to a large room painted in deep blues and bright golds. It looked almost like one of the dorms in Silvermoon, before the fall, if a lot less opulent. It came complete with a desk, a large bed, and a small sitting area in front of a hearth that looked like it hadn’t seen much use this century. Sylvanas found herself pleased, almost against her will.

“This will do.” At the words, her rangers flooded the room to look over everything. They checked corners and cushions, even under the bed, for traps or spells.

Lucille watched them for a moment, before her eyes flicked up to the massive window that framed the bed with palpable dread. “I’m sorry for being so brief, but I really must get to my room. I promise I’ll give the grand tour, come morning. Goodnight, Lady Windrunner.”

With that, she turned on her heel and fled down the hall, just slowly enough that it could be described as walking if one were being particularly lenient. Sylvanas watched her go until she turned the corner, wondering when whatever was going to happen was… going to happen. 

She didn’t have to wait very long.

 Lucille hadn’t been gone for a full minute before a loud yelp and a strange hiss echoed through the halls. Sylvanas had her bow drawn and aimed at the end of the hall in an instant, her rangers darting into the hall behind her. Her ears twitched at the sound of thumping footsteps frantically retracing Lucille’s path. Whatever was chasing her had no footsteps of its own.

The girl flew around the corner, stumbling and nearly slamming into the wall before she managed to get her feet under her and launch herself down the hall towards them. As her wide, panicked eyes found them, she tried to stop. Unfortunately, with how much momentum she had, the rug slipped and scrunched up beneath her feet and she landed on her back with a loud ‘oof’.

Sylvanas paid her no mind, waiting.

She could see it coming before it arrived. The flames from the lanterns dimmed and shrank, struggling to stay lit. The air grew even colder.

When it finally rounded the corner, it did so sharply enough that a ghostly shoulder phased through the wall. The sight of a woman in a tattered dress gave her pause but… no, it wasn’t a banshee. The bat-like quality of her face and the way she sighed rather than wailed assured her of that. She let the arrow soar and hit its mark in the side of her chest.

Hateful eyes caught Sylvanas for a moment before she let out a weak hiss and crumbled to a pile of ashes on the scuffed, wooden floor.

“Are you injured?” Sylvanas asked, lowering her bow and watching Lucille slowly sit up. She oozed the sharp scent of fear and blood.

“She clawed me up a little, but nothing too bad.” Lucille stared for a long moment at the remains of the ghost before turning her gaze on Sylvanas. This was her most forced smile yet. “Great aunt Martha was always a bit volatile.”

Sylvanas couldn’t hold back her grimace. She very suddenly had several questions, but doubted any of them were appropriate to ask now. Ghost or not, she doubted that killing Lucille’s great aunt would ingratiate them to her. But what was she supposed to do? Let her get mauled?

“I… regret having to kill her.”

Lucille blew a sharp huff of air out of her nose - half amusement, half stress. It was a surprise she was as calm as she was. It only made Sylvanas wonder how long things had been like this.

“It couldn’t be helped. I wouldn’t begrudge a guest for defending themself.” Even her fake smile fell as her eyes dropped. “Please don’t be afraid, though - I promise they’re only after me. They used to be a lot more peaceful before… Well, all of that mess with Gorak Tul and the Heartsbane.”

“I’m not afraid.” Sylvanas said simply. She made a subtle motion behind her back and Alina stepped around her to help Lucille to her feet and inspect the bloody gashes on her forearm. “They pose no threat to us.”

Lucille’s shoulders relaxed slightly, a bit of her usual pep coming back. Sylvanas wasn’t entirely sure that was a good thing.

“Thank the Tidemother.” She gave Sylvanas a tiny smile, “Rather, thank you . You lot are the first in a long time that have wanted to step foot in here. I couldn’t even get contractors to help me with the renovations, no matter how much money I offered.”

That certainly explained the lack of skill in them. Explained why she had to carry all her supplies in with her lone horse and small cart. Why she seemed to be so fond of a pack of banshees staying in her home.

“They’ll be okay if you keep them clean. But I would suggest you see a healer, just in case.” Alina’s voice was soft, almost coaxing. Sylvanas was suddenly glad she’d brought her rangers with her.

Lucille flashed her a smile, “Thank you, Alina.”

“I’ll escort you back to your room.” Sylvanas decided, “I would rather our host not perish at the hands of the undead. I’m sure you can understand how suspicious that would look with us around.”

“When you put it like that, it’s hard to decline.” She laughed softly.

“Good.” She started down the hall, not bothering to put her bow away.

They were silent for most of the walk, the only sound being the clomp of Lucille’s boots. She stepped rather heavily for someone living in a haunted house.

Sylvanas chewed on a thought, deciding whether or not she should voice it. In the end, she said, “There are a few Forsaken contractors in Lordaeron. Since you seem to have a tolerance for the undead, I can send them here when I return.” Even with the open borders, a lot of her civilians struggled to find work outside of Lordaeron and the Undercity. And ghosts certainly didn’t bother them.

Lucille seemed to startle out of her own thoughts, blinking up at Sylvanas. “You’d do that?”

“Yes.” She said, trying to force a few ounces of frost into her voice. The way she looked up at Sylvanas, like she was doing her some grand favor, was uncomfortable. “Assuming you can pay for it and assure their safety.”

“Money is no issue.” She assured quickly, “And I can promise no harm will come to them in this house.”

She knew which door was Lucille’s before they’d even stopped. There was a shaky looking rune written in blood on the ground before it and a line of salt making a small arch around the doorway.

“Thank you, Lady Windrunner.” Lucille said. It was strange, seeing as their trip was quiet enough that an escort wasn’t even necessary.

Still, Sylvanas tried to be polite. She was the only person in Kul Tiras that hadn’t eyed her with hatred or mistrust. She looked at her like any other visiting noble. As strange as she was - as strange as all of this was - that was refreshing.

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Lady Waycrest.”

“She’s crazy!” Sylvanas heard the moment she opened the door to the room they’d been given.

Anya was sitting on the floor, motioning emphatically to Alina. Clea had found her way to the windowsill, a pile of wood shavings at her feet as she carved her latest creation. Kalira was still nibbling on her pile of jerky as Vorel hastily scribbled something beside her in front of the newly lit hearth.

Alina glanced up at Sylvanas, but quickly turned back to her conversation. It made her shoulders relax a fraction. They knew she didn’t prefer the pomp and bowing in private, knew that it set her at ease to not be tiptoed around when it was just them. Sylvanas found her own spot on the bed, leaning back against the headboard to listen to whatever they were arguing about now.

“Well, you’ve got to be a little crazy when you live in a haunted house. Maybe more so when your minn’da starts a cult.” Alina reasoned.

“You have a point.” Anya allowed, “But you don’t see a pack of banshees haunting your front gates and just invite them in for tea.”

“It wasn’t tea.” Kalira chimed in.

Anya sighed, “You know what I mean.”

“She seems to be taking it well, though.” Clea murmured distractedly, squinting at the little block of wood in her hands.

“‘Well’ is relative. She looks like she hasn’t slept a day in her life.”

Vorel frowned down at her papers, “She’d probably be able to sleep if she actually had some staff in here. It’s impossible for a single person to manage the upkeep of an entire manor, not to mention the renovations . You saw that sitting room - I’m surprised I didn’t get a nail through my boot when we walked through. She’s doing all this without any help.”

Alina, bless her bleeding heart, quietly said, “ We could help.”

They all fell silent, eyes finding Sylvanas. She held back a sigh. 

It should have been obvious that this would happen. Rangers were trained from day one to always keep busy, to always have something to do. After two weeks of mind numbing boredom, trying to get an entire manor in working order must seem like the project of a lifetime. 

“Why would we do that?” She wanted to sneer it, be sarcastic and biting. The amount of genuine curiosity that came out of her own mouth took her off guard. As all five of them perked up, Sylvanas prepared herself for the gauntlet.

“She could be a valuable ally.” Alina shot out, words rushed. “To have an ally in Lady Proudmoore’s home, right under her nose, would be extremely beneficial.”

“It may also be useless. Expecting her to choose me over her Lord Admiral, should I call on her, would be precarious at best and fatal at worst.” She said, folding her arms over her chest.

“You’ve got to admit, it’d be a power move.” Clea drawled, trying to look disinterested. Failing, but trying nonetheless. “Putting in the work while those cowards hide in town. They’ll look like ungrateful louts while we help their dear Lady.”

“Spiteful.” Sylvanas purred approvingly. “But that could also backfire; Cause more hostility with the citizens. I’d rather not have any angry mobs in our future.”

Vorel turned her papers around, showing Sylvanas the rough set of maps she’d been working on since they’d set foot in Kul Tiras. She was never one to trust a set she didn’t make herself. “It will give us more time to survey the area without it seeming too suspicious.”

“Everything we do looks suspicious.” Sylvanas pointed out. “We could be playing with puppies and someone would accuse us of raising felhounds.”

“Yes, but it’s still a solid alibi with a witness.”

“A witness that can quickly be discredited as ‘corrupted’. Then we’ll have a whole other witch hunt on our hands.”

“The Jerky is good.” Kalira offered, ignoring the exasperated looks she got from the others.

“I would assume it’s better in Proudmoore Keep.” Sylvanas said, a smile twitching at the corner of her lips.

“Belore take you, Sylvanas! We’re bored!” Anya whined, glaring up at her. “You know damn well that we’re going crazy, and we know you are too! Stop yanking us around!”

“ Fine.” She finally laughed, “But you’re not to meddle with the renovations. I already have a mind to send some Forsaken contractors when we’re back in Lordaeron. And be nice, I don’t want Jaina to come after me about complaints from her nobles.”

That wasn’t entirely true, but she doubted it was wise to enjoy fighting with her wife.

“She lives in a house with ghosts that are actively trying to kill her, without complaint.” Anya groaned, levering herself off the ground and brushing some of the dust off her pants. “She’ll probably send you a gift basket for murdering her aunt’s ghost.”

“It wasn’t murder. It was self defense.” She huffed, “Just don’t cause too much trouble.”

The grins they gave her were not soothing in the slightest.

The night was productive. Well, as productive as a spur of the moment diversion could be.

While her rangers had set upon the house with the sort of ferocity that only a bunch of fatally bored workaholics could manage, she’d gone out to hunt something a little more substantial than jerky. She’d only remembered after she’d hunted down one of those awful cursed deer, that humans weren’t the type to live off of nothing but venison and had made a few stops by the local farms. She doubted that they’d sell her anything, let alone open their doors if she knocked, so she left a few gold on their doorsteps for the supplies. Better to ask forgiveness, and all that.

Hopefully, a good meal would help soothe any feathers ruffled by the hostile takeover enough that she wouldn’t have to deal with Jaina cursing at her when she got back. She bore it up to Lucille’s room on a newly washed platter, stopping just outside the line of salt.

Before she could knock on the door, a sharp chill ran down her back. Something was watching her.

The spirit wasn’t being particularly stealthy. It stood at the end of the hall, simply staring.

Sylvanas stared back. 

Her form was too translucent to determine the color of her hair, only that it fell over her shoulders in a limp, tangled heap. The nightgown she wore was plain and her feet were bare. She looked to be about as old as Lucille when she died, cheeks still round with youth. Though the blank expression and solemn eyes let on that she’d been dead for a very long time.

“Hello.” Sylvanas said softly. No matter how violent they were at night, she could not bring herself to speak harshly to a spirit trapped here.

The ghost only blinked at her slowly, then turned and walked through the wall.

Sylvanas stared after her for a moment, curious and unsettled. Spirits didn’t usually show themselves unless they were motivated by something. She didn’t know what this one had hoped to accomplish by showing herself to Sylvanas.

She shook it off and rapped briskly on the door. There would be time to wonder later.

When the door swung open, Lucille gazed up at her with bleary eyes, somehow looking even worse than she had the day before. She was still in the same clothes, like she’d just fallen into bed the moment she’d reached her room, and her hair hung in tangled locks around her shoulders.

“Good morning, Lady Windrunner.” She croaked. How she managed to be polite in this state, Sylvanas had no idea. “What can I do for you?”

Sylvanas held the platter out to her, waiting for her to hesitantly take it before she spoke. “Eat that. When you’re presentable, we need to talk.”

“Nothing good ever comes from that phrase.” She muttered, cringing.

Sylvanas paused. Lucille was right - she needed to change her approach from demanding to something a little more diplomatic. “I don’t think it’s necessarily bad. Perhaps just… strange, all things considered.”

Lucille searched her face for a moment before giving her a tired smile. “Well, as long as no one has died, I suppose it can’t be that bad.”

“A bit too late for that, don’t you think?” She wanted to grimace at the way the joke jumped out, but kept her face stony.

Lucille snorted, “Well, died again.”

“We’re all still undead.” She assured.

“Alright.” Lucille already seemed to be regaining her infallible cheer. “I’ll be down quickly.”

This time, she couldn’t contain the slight smirk at the corner of her mouth. “I’d prefer it if you took your time. You choking on your food would ruin the effort of keeping everyone from dying.”

“Then, I’ll be down in a reasonable amount of time.”

“Better.”

Sylvanas waited on the steps of the foyer. Banshee Queen or not, she knew better than to walk all over freshly mopped floors. 

The room already seemed… lighter. The thick dust coating every surface had been banished and the blue spell residue had been scrubbed from the windows, allowing the sun to shine unfettered throughout the room. While the smell of cleaning fluids still hung in the air thickly enough for her to wrinkle her nose, it was better than the smell of dust and stale air.

Footsteps thudded down the hall, stopping abruptly at the top of the stairs. She waited for the girl to say something, but Lucille stayed silent. Maybe she’d get that complaint after all.

Lucille stepped down the stairs, passing Sylvanas to stand on the bottom step. She looked a bit more put together, changed and washed, but she still wore her exhaustion in the set of her shoulders.

Finally, she looked back at Sylvanas, eyes wide. “What… what is this?”

“It’s a foyer.” Sylvanas drawled.

Lucille tried to scowl. The expression was anything but natural on her face, ruined entirely by the tiny smile at the corner of her mouth. “I know that, Lady Windrunner. I’m wondering why it actually looks like one, instead of a dusty tomb.”

Sylvanas had thought of how to word it - agonized over it, really. She didn’t want complaints about her new project, but she didn’t want the girl to think she’d done her some great service. Both would get back to Jaina, and she would rather her darling wife stay out of her damn business.

Oddly enough, the truth seemed to be the best answer. Or, part of it.

“We were bored.” She shrugged, “We don’t sleep and we had no desire to further explore your… charming country.”

“So you… cleaned my entire foyer overnight?”

“Yes.”

Lucille blinked slowly. Her mouth opened, but closed without uttering a single sound.

“There is bad news.” Sylvanas assured, “You’ll need to go back to town for more supplies. We used most of what you had in here, and the rest on the kitchen. We couldn’t prepare food in that mess.”

Lucille perked up, finally finding something to bite on, “Where did you get all that food for breakfast? I haven’t eaten like that in-”

“I have my ways.” Sylvanas swiftly rose to her feet, not eager to explain her methods. “I would suggest you go quickly - the list is lengthy. The floor should be dry by now.”

But Lucille didn’t move. She gave Sylvanas a soft, sincere smile that made her cold flesh crawl. “Thank you for all this. Really. Bored or not, it… it means a lot to me.”

Sylvanas clenched her teeth, trying not to scowl. “You won’t be so thankful when you see the list. You’ll most likely be making several trips. Alone, of course. The locals aren’t fond of us.

“Now be on your way. We have work to do.”

Chapter Text

Lucille was fast. It only took an hour for her to lead her horse back through the gates with a fresh haul of supplies. 

The rangers swarmed the cart like overzealous ants, picking through everything and carrying it into the house as if that one hour had taken years. Sylvanas would have rolled her eyes if the relief of finally having something to do didn't make her fingers twitch with the urge to help them.

Soon, all that was left was a vaguely harried Lucille and her sleepy eyed horse. At least, until Clea came back to unhitch the horse and guide it to the stable.

Sylvanas restrained the smirk that wanted to show itself. “Rangers are efficient, Lady Waycrest. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to move that fast.” She murmured, still dazedly staring at the door the rangers had disappeared through.

“Of course not.” She scoffed. She wasn’t about to hold Lucille up to trained rangers with centuries of experience. “Come. We’d better go supervise before they paint your manor purple.”

The smirk finally appeared when Lucille’s panicked gaze snapped to her. Still, it wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. They quickly started for the manor.

Sylvanas and the rangers had spent the hour doing nothing but wandering around the manor, taking note of which areas to focus on and familiarizing themselves with the layout enough to not get lost. They’d all agreed that the dining room was their first task.

It was utterly filthy. Whatever food had been there had already rotted away to leave greasy stains. The floor was lined with dishes, half of them broken and trampled, the other half stacked in precarious towers all over the room.

The reports about the battle that happened here had been vague and technical - most of her spies had been much too busy in her own cities and the difficulties in Zandalar. She knew there’d been a fight here, but she wasn’t sure why it had left the room… like this .

The rangers were already opening windows and loading dishes into crates when they stepped inside. Lucille looked around the room, an embarrassed flush starting high in her cheeks. “ Sorry about the -”

Sylvanas waved her hand. There were things to do now and no time for overly polite platitudes. “Don’t be sorry about the state of your house. I’m aware that leading Drustvar did not give you a wealth of free time.”

Lucille’s shoulders relaxed at that, face going slack with relief before turning to a sunny smile. She quickly trotted over to grab a broom, already chattering at Anya before the bristles even met the ground. Sylvanas huffed a quiet laugh and picked up a crate of dishes.

By noon, they’d managed to get most of the debris cleared. Lucille did her best to help, but it was becoming more and more obvious to Sylvanas that she was flagging fast. She’d set her broom aside in favor of scrubbing at the stains in the floor, but the motions were lethargic and growing more and more sloppy.

She cursed herself for not remembering the state of their host when they arrived. It was always an adjustment to be close to the living again. It had initially surprised her when she realized that her wife slept more than once a week - then, when she remembered that the living were supposed to sleep every night , she was horrified that Jaina seemed to take that as a light suggestion.

Lucille was exhausted, bedraggled, and looked like she was on the verge of coming down with some kind of illness. A night of fitful sleep and one good meal wouldn’t be enough to remedy that. 

As Alina walked past her to take out another load of broken glass, Slyvanas motioned for her to come closer. “I need you to find a healing potion.”

“Are you injured?” Alina asked, wide eyes darting all over Sylvanas.

Sylvanas shook her head, trying not to chuckle at her concern. “Not for me. For her.” She motioned to Lucille. “And tell Kalira to start lunch.”

Alina’s ears cocked curiously, but she simply gave Sylvanas a nod and left.

Sylvanas squared her shoulders and marched over to Lucille, refusing to react to the smile the girl gave her at her approach. She tucked her hands behind her back, tilting her chin up. “You’re exhausted.”

Lucille blinked up at her. Whether she stayed silent because Sylvanas was stating the obvious, or because she hadn’t expected her to, she didn’t know. Sylvanas continued anyways.

“Continuing to work like this is only going to present a danger to yourself and others. You’re on mandatory leave for the rest of the day, if not longer.” She didn’t quite have the authority to be making demands, but it had never stopped her in the past.

Lucille’s eyebrows pulled together and she glanced down at the little stain on her patch of floor. “But-”

“You already have one foot in the grave. Imagine what people will say if I leave with the head of House Waycrest dead.” She raised her eyebrows, “Or worse, Forsaken.”

Lucille frowned up at her, but heaved a sigh and pushed herself to her feet. As if to prove her point, she wobbled a bit where she stood and Sylvanas had to shove down the urge to reach out and steady her.

“Anya-” She was there before Sylvanas had even finished speaking her name, holding an arm out for Lucille to reluctantly take. “Escort Lady Waycrest to her chambers.”

She waited until they were out of sight before turning back to her remaining rangers. Though they stayed busy, they couldn’t hide the way their ears perked with interest. Instead of indulging their nosiness, she picked up the abandoned scrub brush. The manor was not going to clean itself.

They had just filled the mop buckets when Alina sauntered in to present her with a healing potion. “The alchemist here is rather nice if you have enough coin. She said to come back if we need another.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, though I’m hoping this will do the trick.” Sylvanas nodded her thanks and exchanged the scrub brush for the potion.

Kalira had just poured the tea when she stepped into the kitchen. The room was more wrecked than most battlefields, dishes piled high on almost every surface. Kalira had volunteered to wash all of the dishes they brought in from the dining room. She was doing an admirable job, but Sylvanas doubted that she’d be done before midnight.

The spread of food lining Lucille’s platter was impressive. Thin cuts of venison coated with a creamy sauce, half a loaf of fresh bread, and generous helping of the vegetables Sylvanas had brought back. It was enough to make even her salivate.

She forced herself to look away from it. Instead, she uncorked the potion and unceremoniously dumped it into the teapot.

At Kalira’s wide eyed look, she snorted. “It’s not poison.”

"It's not my place to question it." Kalira said, acting valiantly like she hadn’t been tempted, "but… that's going to taste awful."

“That won’t be a problem.”

She lifted the platter, eyeing it for a moment. While an elf may be able to put it away with no problem, it was a bit much for a human to eat. Sylvanas put a bit of everything on a separate plate and pushed it towards Kalira.

“Be quick. There will be even more dishes soon.”

Kalira didn’t need the encouragement - she fell on the offering like a starving bear.

Sylvanas made her way up to Lucille’s room, pausing for a moment at the door as she heard voices filtering through. Nothing consequential, Just gossip. Which farm had the best crops that year, which family was fighting with which, which family was fighting with witches - and were consequently cursed to say inappropriate things at town meetings. It was certainly an interesting hex…

Finally, she rapped on the door. The voices fell silent for a moment before Lucille called, “Come in!”

Sylvanas stepped carefully over the line of salt, feeling an uncomfortable tug on her spine as she did, and opened the door.

Lucille’s room was sparse. The walls were left plain and the furniture sparse. Though it was cleaner than the rest of the house, the wooden floor polished to a shine and not a speck of dust in sight. Lucille was parked in a chair before her vanity, Anya looming over her wielding a comb and a pair of scissors.

Sylvanas didn’t know whether to sigh or growl. She ended up with a mixture of both, “Ranger Anya, I believe I asked you to escort Lady Waycrest to her room, not give her a makeover.”

Anya’s lips pressed together to fend off a smirk, only making Sylvanas narrow her eyes. “I understand, Dark Lady. But I believe it was imperative to Lady Waycrest’s wellbeing to correct the… situation with her hair.”

Only Anya would think a haircut was imperative to anyone’s well being. She sighed, but had to admit - if only to herself - that Lucille did look a lot less bedraggled with her hair combed and trimmed.

“Your opinion, though unasked for, has been noted.” She grumbled.

The smirk finally revealed itself, just as smug and self satisfied as Sylvanas had suspected it’d be. “Thank you, My Queen.”

Sylvanas nodded towards the door, unwilling to say anything else that would give her any more satisfaction. She slipped the comb and scissors into her hip pouch (Belore only knew why she thought that qualified as vital equipment) and, with one final grin, finally fucked off.

“I didn’t know that mandatory leave included room service.” Lucille chuckled, eyeing the platter with poorly concealed hunger.

Sylvanas set the platter and cup down on the table. “Consider this an exception, not a rule.”

The speed with which Lucille came over was only vaguely in the realm of politeness, but an effort was made. She had wolfed half of it down before Sylvanas even decided to take a seat. If she left now, she was sure that tea would end up watering some fortunate houseplant - and as much as she wished she could escape without having to engage in conversation, she doubted that would ever come to pass in Lucille’s presence.

As if sensing her aversion, Lucille remembered that she had a guest and stopped shoveling food into her mouth with reckless abandon. Her face flushed as she chewed, but - to her credit - she swallowed before speaking.

“My apologies, Lady Windrunner. It’s just - I’m not all that skilled in cooking. We usually had staff for that.”

Sylvanas nodded. Lucille was a noble. A peculiar one, but a noble nonetheless. She almost felt lucky that she’d had to fend for herself growing up in the spire. Almost.

“There’s an inn in Corlain, no?”

Lucille grimaced for a moment before attempting to smooth her features into indifference. "I try not to bother them too much. They’re wary of - well, everything that’s happened here. I don’t enjoy making them fearful by going into town more than necessary. They… stare.”

“I know the feeling.” Sylvanas muttered.

Lucille looked at her with wide eyes. “I’m sure. You’re certainly a lot more popular than I am, what with the whole world saving marriage and all.”

Sylvanas frowned. She’d almost forgotten about it. She had felt so light, commanding nothing but her small group of rangers in nothing but matters of house cleaning. She had almost forgotten about the crushing weight pressing down on her shoulders.

“What’s it like?” Lucille asked quietly. 

Sylvanas blinked, tried to refocus. “What?”

“Being married.”

She thought for a long moment. Nobody had really asked her that. Certainly not a near stranger. It wasn’t like she could tell Lucille that she constantly feared putting one foot out of place and ruining everything. She couldn’t tell her about the looks she got, about how everyone seemed to forget elven hearing when they wanted to gossip. She couldn’t tell her that it felt like there was something around her neck and that she couldn’t tell if it was a leash or a noose - and that she didn’t know which would be worse.

But she could tell her something, couldn’t she?

“It’s… awful.” She admitted. The truth of it made her stomach turn.

Lucille's hand crossed the table, tried to settle on hers, but Sylvanas pulled it away to fold her arms.

"I know that it's necessary, mind you." She said quickly, trying not to wince at how defensive she sounded, "We're trying to save Azeroth, not be friends."

“That doesn’t mean it can’t be awful. Doing what’s necessary often is.” Lucille said, an uncharacteristic firmness in her voice. She withdrew her hand, seemingly unphased by the blatant rejection, and her voice softened once more. “I wish it didn’t have to be.”

“That’s the way of things.” Sylvanas shrugged, relaxing slightly. It was strange that somebody so different could put to words something she felt so sharply. It would be a relief if it wasn’t so unsettling.

“I was nearly married, you know.” The brief smile that lit her face took Sylvanas off guard. She’d forgotten that marriage could be a good thing. A thing of love and devotion, rather than duty. She’d given that dream up when she was still young - when her mother began to prepare her for the mantle of ranger general. As much as she’d idolized Lireesa back then, she had never wanted to be like her mother in that regard. She never wanted to make a family, only for them to suffer her absence.

“His name was Alexander.” She murmured. The way she caressed the ring on her finger was far different than the way Sylvanas clutched at hers. “I don’t think the marriage would have been the awful sort. He was a good man.”

Sylvanas did not miss the past tense. She did not comment.

Lucille was silent for a long moment. It wasn’t the uncomfortable silence that usually followed an admission like that. It simply gave the words time to breathe and settle. A relief, rather than a tension.

Finally, Lucille breathed a sigh and took a sip of her tea. Her face screwed up in poorly concealed disgust and she peered into the cup. “What, uh… what is this?”

“I made it myself.” Sylvanas lied, smirking. She’d bet anything that Lucille’s urge to be polite would win out over an awful cup of tea. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve made tea. I’m trying to relearn. How is it?”

She took another sip and gave Sylvanas the fakest smile she’d ever seen. Then, as predicted, said, “It’s great!”

She looked better already.

The next day, she was looking even better. Lucille had a bit more color in her face and her steps were steadier. 

Sylvanas watched from across the room as Clea instructed her how to clean the windows - maybe a bit more tactile than necessary. With how she held Lucille’s hands in hers and the amount of prolonged eye contact they made, it looked like a scene from one of the cheesy romance novels she’d caught Jaina reading once.

She’d been worried, at first, that it would be too much for the sheltered noble. But she seemed far from uncomfortable. A little flustered, sure, but mostly flattered.

Of course, that had kicked off a chain reaction that saw all of her rangers flitting about and flirting like green recruits. It was almost funny, though, how a simple batting of the eyelashes from one of the rangers could make a vivid flush crawl its way up her neck to the tip of her short, round ears.

Sylvanas didn’t comment on it.

As Clea wandered off to find some more clean rags, Sylvanas took up her abandoned spot - half to help, and half to make sure Lucille didn’t hurt herself somehow. The rubber gloves were a size too big for Lucille’s dainty hands, but it didn’t seem to bother her much. Her face was pinched in concentration, despite the mundanity of the task.

Begrudgingly, Sylvanas had to admit to a growing respect for her.

“Most nobles are far too stubborn to learn new things. Especially things that most would find… below them.” Sylvanas drawled, scrubbing the vinegar solution that Marrah had made for them into the glass. The thick magic residue made her hands tingle, but even excess mana came off easily enough with vinegar and elbow grease. “It took me a couple hundred years to understand the benefits of versatility.”

Lucille smiled briefly, “Aye. Most just expect to have everything handed to them. Even us sturdy Kul Tirans-” It came out half laugh, “Get their pants in a bunch when their tea’s not on time.”

“Yet, you seem to be just as eager to get your hands dirty as my rangers.” Sylvanas prodded, watching her out of the corner of her eye. She’d dedicated most of her life to being the best shot, the quickest blade, the head of the pack - but the other half had been devoted to conversations like this. Digging through petty small talk for small scraps of information. She’d spent so much time fighting that it was almost a relief to use her more tame skills. Even if it was just to learn more about their host.

Lucille shrugged, “It surprises most people.”

“It does?”

Her eyes flickered to Sylvanas for a split second before refocusing on her work, eyebrows rising. “I know you’re not daft, Lady Windrunner. I look hardly more than a girl. A small, sniveling noble that faints at the mere suggestion of hard work.” She snorted, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’ve been buying planks and nails and all manner of tools in town, and they still think I’m some soft lady. It’s hard for most people to move past appearances.”

Sylvanas chewed on that for a moment. Lucille was right, of course. Sylvanas had constantly been at the mercy of her appearance - living and dead.

“It bothers you.” She summarized.

“Of course it does! There’s no use proving yourself when folks have already made up their mind about you. When they’ve already decided you’re nothing more than a whiny child.” She let her hand fall away from the window, aiming wide eyes at Sylvanas. “You know that too, don’t you?”

Sylvanas’ ear flicked at the hint of desperation in her tone. “I do.”

Lucille deflated slightly, relief making her smaller. “I thought so. That’s why I invited you lot in. You looked so…”

“Frightening?” Sylvanas suggested, “Grotesque? Dead? ”

“Sad.”

The window let out a shrill squeal at the pressure Sylvanas was using to wipe it and she pulled her rag away, trying not to glare at her reflection. “...Sad.”

“Don’t get me wrong, you’re certainly terrifying! It stopped me dead in my tracks when I caught sight of you!” She quickly reassured, “It was only when I took a moment to really look that I saw you were all clustered around my gates like it was the most exciting thing you’d seen all week. Like no one had bothered to show you anything of worth in Kul Tiras. It was just so…” She shook her head.

Sylvanas dunked her rag in the bucket and wrung it out, refusing to let on how deftly Lucille had struck the nail on the head. Instead, she pivoted the topic, just a little. “Most of the forsaken are seen as monsters. But, there is as much power in a reputation as there is weakness.”

Lucille squinted, “What are you talking about?”

She didn’t know why she was giving advice to this girl - Woman , she reminded herself. It seemed that even she was not immune to judgment - but she couldn’t stop. There was something about her eyes, the way she moved, everything that screamed that she was lost. Floundering.

“They see you as young, inexperienced. Vulnerable. ” Sylvanas pointed out, “That’s just as useful as being frightening.”

“Won’t that cause problems for Drustvar? Being seen as a weak ruler?” She asked.

“It can. But it’s easy to go from seeming naive, to seeming hopeful. Especially with all this.” Sylvanas waved to the half cleaned room, already looking leagues better than it had that morning. “Next time you go into town, don’t just buy supplies. Talk to them - let slip little details of what you’re working on, of the renovations you’ve already done.

“When they finally start paying attention, they’ll see that you’re hard working.”

“You can be hard working and still naive.” Lucille sighed.

Sylvanas gave Lucille a sharp toothed smile. “All the better. When the other houses try to take advantage of that you can show them just how wrong that assumption is.”

“It… can’t be that easy.”

“It’s not. But you get used to it.” Her own reputation had been both a blessing and a curse. Mostly a curse. “You’re still new to the world’s stage. If you know what kind of ruler you want to be, start acting like it now. Once they have their opinions solidified, it will take an act of the gods to sway them.”

Lucille’s eyebrows knit together. “How am I meant to know what kind of ruler I should be?”

Sylvanas hummed for a moment. “It’s better to be clever, rather than strong. But it’s better to look strong, rather than clever. You’ll have to find your own balance - find what will benefit your people.”

“I’m not quite sure how to be either.” She murmured, eyes falling to the rag clutched tightly in her hand.

Sylvanas hadn’t known either, not at first. She doubted that leading a cult had left Lucille’s mother much time to teach her much of anything about leading. Sylvanas thought for a moment that she could teach her but… she couldn’t. And even if she could, she shouldn’t .

That didn’t matter, though. She had the feeling that Lucille didn’t need it. Not as much as Sylvanas had when she first started, certainly. She was resilient. Stalwart. She knew her people and cared deeply for them.

No, she didn’t need Sylvanas to teach her much of anything. Except, maybe, how to stop leaving streaks on the window.

No good deed was to ever go unpunished. Her meager scrap of advice was enough to give her trouble the very next day.

The Rangers did well enough at not drawing much attention as they took mops to the hallways. But their efforts were thwarted by Lucille - who still needed to work on subtlety, it seemed - flitting about to whisper in their ears. Sylvanas did her best to ignore it. She was no stranger to the little games rangers played while her back was turned, and if they wanted to include Lucille, it had nothing to do with her.

It was only when the noon bells tolled that she realized it did have something to do with her. Like it was choreographed, they all moved in sync to form a half circle in front of her. It would have been impressive if not for the hot bolt of anxiety that lanced up her back and stiffened her shoulders. Her gaze darted to each of them, uneasy at the nervous shuffling of their feet.

They only began to speak when she raised an imperious eyebrow. Though, it was all at once.

“We were wondering-”

“-Lucille thought maybe -”

“- It really is a good idea -”

She raised a hand and they all fell silent. It was an instant balm on her nerves. They still heeded her command, still stopped when told. This was no coup or betrayal. She nearly shook with the relief of it.

“Lucille, I’m guessing this is your plot?”

Lucille stepped out from behind one of her rangers, giving Sylvanas a startlingly warm - if a little nervous - smile. “Guilty. I just thought, well, you’ve all worked so hard. It would be nice to take a break, wouldn’t it?”

Sylvanas blinked slowly, fighting the urge to reel back. “We’ve only been here for a few days.”

“I know you lot don’t sleep.” She pointed out, “And I’m pretty sure you get twice the work done at night than you do during the day.”

She… wasn’t wrong. It was much easier for rangers to talk amongst each other. What they could tell eachother with a look or the flick of an ear, they needed to approach and speak to Lucille about. She couldn’t fault them for it - rangers were social, the need to include drilled into them from years and years of team exercises.

Not to mention that the dark of night was much easier on sensitive eyes, the cooler temperatures much better to work in.

“I see.” She said, voice neutral. It was hard to ignore the hopeful looks growing on their faces. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not. It wouldn’t matter either way.

“I was thinking that we could have a picnic.” Lucille said, “The days a seldomly this sunny.”

In the end, it was the five sets of pleading eyes. It was the nervous shuffling - like she might actually say no, like she’d ever said no to those small things that made her ranger’s painful existence just a little more tolerable.

Sylvanas sighed.

“The front yard, or the back?”

Lucille looked tempted to let out a cheer until Vorel clamped a hand around her arm and practically dragged her outside. Sylvanas could at least appreciate the effort the rangers put into avoiding rubbing salt into her wounds; the banshee didn't like to admit she had a soft spot for them.

Lucille was right. It was miraculously sunny on the soggy little island of Kul Tiras for once. So much so that she had to fight the urge to squint in the light. The air was absolutely dripping with the scent of damp grass and dirt.

It hadn’t taken them long to arrange a picnic. They’d found a clean blanket to lay on the grass and Kalira had apparently prepared a basket filled to the brim with snacks far in advance. 

As they all found spots to lounge, Sylvanas looked out over the gouged and pitted yard, the dead town just outside the gate, and the still living one bustling silently in the distance. With how accustomed they were to the drust, with how death permeated every part of their culture, she couldn’t understand how this place was so much more frightening to them. With how death permeated every part of her, she wasn’t sure she ever would.

“I saved you a spot.”

Sylvanas blinked and looked down at Lucille’s place at the edge of the blanket, rangers scattered around, half laying on each other. They probably should have found a bigger blanket. With a sigh, she took the empty place next to her.

Lucille rummaged around in the basket until she withdrew a glass and a bottle to hand over. It was red wine, not too old but obviously well made. Great care had been put into bottling it, and the label looked hand painted.

“Kalira told me you might like that.” Lucille explained.

Kalira merely flicked an ear at the mention of her name, most of her attention held by the thick sandwich she was making short work of.

Despite the wine, the sun, and the quiet purring of her rangers, she couldn’t calm the stone-still tension in her muscles. They only had so much time, after all. Soon, they would be gone and Waycrest would be left in her skeleton house. It would take a while for the Forsaken contractors to sail here, and even longer to hire them in the first place. She doubted her dear wife would make a portal for them, regardless of what they were on their way to do.

“You’re… really bad at relaxing, aren’t you?” Lucille asked after a few moments.

Sylvanas narrowed her eyes, ready to spit something scathing about how Lucille seemed to be bad at most things - but brought herself up short. Instead, she breathed out hard through her nose.

Lucille was right, she realized. Not only had she been ready to snap at the slightest provocation, she’d been fidgeting with her wine glass, shifting her weight, glaring into the distance. Basically, being a nuisance. Her ears pressed back at the embarrassment. She hadn’t done that since she was a child, her Minn’da scolding her for not staying still.

“No.” She lied, “I’m simply bad at idling when there are tasks to be done.”

“I suppose I can understand that. Though I can’t say that I’m the same way.”

Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, “You were very industrious before we got here.”

“Sure, but I need to take breaks too. I need to do things I like every now and then, or it gets harder and harder to see why I’m doing anything in the first place.” Lucille smiled at her, “I like sitting out here. I like the sun on my face. Sure, I have a lot of important things to do, but when I can sit in good company and smell the sea on the breeze, I remember why I’m doing it.”

Sylvanas thought about it for a moment, found that she didn’t know if she wanted to think about it. There were small things to enjoy, but the responsibility always weighed so much heavier. She wasn’t sure how Lucille could bring herself to just… sit.

She looked to her rangers as they lounged. Out of all of them, Anya was the only one that was truly idle - laying against Vorel’s side, limp and hoodless. Vorel was doodling something on the stack of papers she always kept with her. Clea whittled while Kalira and Alina murmured to each other with their heads bent close together.

Sylvanas would kill to go hunting, to do some target practice. Something that would run the restless energy that built in her limbs like static. Instead, she followed their example.

Lucille watched curiously as she pulled a stone and strop from her hip pouch. Then, with alarm as she yanked her boot knife out of its sheath. It was small, and usually just a tedious little task that she had to scrape together the time for. But she realized - as she began to sharpen the edge of her blade, the smooth rasp of it making her ears twitch - that it was oddly soothing.

She’d sharpened blades thousands of times in her long life. But that was out of necessity, not… whatever this was. It settled her nerves. It was nice.  

“That’s… fitting.” Lucille murmured.

Sylvanas huffed a small laugh.

As the sun began to fall, the remains of their picnic were collected and hauled back inside. It was back to business as usually, though that strange settled feeling clung to Sylvanas like smoke. Even after Lucille bid them goodnight and the moon rose high in the sky.

It was only when Sylvanas found her way to the kitchen to replace a bucket of dirty water did it disperse.

The spirit was back. She stood near the stairs that led down to the cellar, staring at Sylvanas as she entered. She seemed more solid this time. If it weren’t for the blue tint to the air around her, she’d appear to be a living human loitering in the kitchen for a midnight snack.

Sylvanas stared back, but the spirit didn’t fade out this time. She simply stood with her hands at her sides.

“What is it that you need from me?” She asked quietly, setting her bucket on the ground. Even now, she was unable to take a harsh tone with one of the lingering dead.

The spirit didn’t speak. They rarely did. Instead, she turned and descended the stairs.

Sylvanas followed.

It was dark in the cellar. With no one having reason to go down there in years, no candles or magelights persisted. Even Sylvanas and her rangers hadn’t ventured down there due to its proximity to the family’s crypt, half out of respect and half out of paranoia that they’d be blamed for any unnatural incidents.

Things were smashed and hacked to pieces, scattered wood and debris she had to pick her way through. Smudges from where food had rotted and decomposed, as well as the rusty stains from the blood that had dried, spotted the floor. Even the walls hadn’t escaped unscathed. Cracks, chips, and burn marks decorated the stone.

Her knowledge of the battle that happened under the manor wasn’t exact - she only had the accounts of champions. She knew they’d come down here, fighting their way down the close confines of the stairway. Knew there were many casualties once they got to the crypt.

That was where the spirit stopped, the large stone doorway that led into the crypt. It was much like the rest of the cellar. The door lay a few feet inside, battered and cracked from whatever had knocked it off its hinges. 

“You want me to go down there.” It wasn’t a question, but the spirit nodded anyway.

Sylvanas found that she didn’t want to. That her feet didn’t want to take another step forward. There was nothing that should have triggered the hair on the back of her neck standing on end, nor the prickling smoke that began to trail from her skin - primed to become incorporeal at the slightest threat.

At least, that’s what she thought before she finally forced herself to move, to descend. Then a lot of things became very clear.

Chapter Text

They were nearly done cleaning the first floor, all they had left was the ballroom. Almost every surface of it had hexes scribbled onto them in long dried blood. It left grisly stains and the renovators were going to have to repaint anyways, but they could still wash away most of the gore and make sure there were no nasty traps left behind.

It was hard to concentrate on that, though. The hot flash of rage and sharp thorn of betrayal she’d felt in the catacombs had faded throughout the night, though the dregs of it clung to her. The rangers had given her a wide berth when she’d come upstairs. She didn’t tell them what happened - she’d much rather get to the bottom of this before they meddled in it - but they seemed to intuit that she needed space. 

Unfortunately, calming down had only let her mind fill with questions, and even more anxiety at what answers she may get.

There was no way Lucille didn’t know. She’d been in that desperate charge into the catacomb. So she… ignored it? Lucille didn’t seem that careless, but Sylvanas had been wrong about people before.

As Lucille left to take a basket of dirty rags back to the laundry room, Sylvanas followed.

Lucille hummed to herself as she set the basket down, only flinching a little when she turned to find Sylvanas looming in the doorway. 

She recovered quickly, smiling at Sylvanas, “Lady Windrunner, what do you need?”

“We need to talk.”

A hint of anxiety fractured her smile, “If this is about the picnic-”

“It’s not.” She said flatly, “Come with me.”

She led Lucille upstairs, to an empty study. Not one that had been used this decade, judging by the thick coat of dust that topped the sturdy oak desk and plush leather chair that had been pushed into the corner.

Lucille looked around the room, a slight frown on her face. “I can’t wait to start working on the upstairs. These rooms used to be so cozy.”

Sylvanas’ lips pursed. The fact that Lucille could only think about cleaning the manor when there were much more pressing issues at hand made her want to grab the woman and shake her. Instead, she took a deep breath, held it, and let it hiss out through her teeth.

“Lucille.”

Lucille blinked at the use of her given name, turning to Sylvanas.

“I need you to tell me why there are corpses under your house.”

Lucille blinked again, slower this time. “The… The corpses…” Her eyes were growing wider by the second, unfocused and hazy.

“Yes. The corpses.” Sylvanas hissed out between her teeth. She could still see them, burned into her mind like the aftermath of every battle. The corpses of guards, of champions, of townspeople that had helped them, of Lucille’s own parents. All scattered across the flagstones of the crypt and left for so long that there was little left of them but armor, bones, and leathery, desiccated skin - untouched by all but the insects. 

It was little wonder that every ghost in this house wanted Lucille to join them. How had nobody asked after them when the fighting was over? Did anyone even know they were down there?

Lucille’s chest rose and fell rapidly, throat bobbing. Her mouth opened and closed a few times until she finally repeated, “The… corpses…”

Sylvanas’ jaw clenched on a furious wail. The rage sparked and caught somewhere in her chest, clawing its way up her throat and scratching at the backs of her teeth in an effort to escape. She choked it down - that was starting to become second nature, at this point - and let out a deep, growling breath.

Lucille didn’t retreat when she stepped forward, just stared up at her with those wide eyes. Sylvanas’ hands wanted to clench into tight fists, but she forced them to be gentle as they grasped Lucille’s shoulders.

“I need to know why they’re still there.” She growled, “I need to know why they haven’t been laid to rest.”

To linger after your body had died was awful. She could only imagine the torture of watching it wither and rot before you.

The sob came before the tears even had the time to overflow.

It rattled Sylvanas sharply, unexpectedly. She fought to not reel back at the sight, to not snatch her hands away like she’d been burned, to not flee the room. It was a wonder she hadn’t fled before now. It had been her first instinct - to gather her rangers and leave the manor the moment she found them down there so she wouldn’t scream the entire manor to rubble.

But she didn’t think Lucille was bad. She had been wrong before, fatally wrong. But she didn’t want to be wrong about Lucille. She didn’t want to believe that the woman she’d come to know - that she’d come to respect - had done this on purpose.

Sylvanas searched her face for any sign, any trace of it. Even as Lucille’s hand came up to cover her mouth, rigid fingers digging into soft cheeks like they couldn’t quite uncurl enough to be useful.

“I-I couldn’t- I can’t -” She took in a few gulping breaths when she ran out of air too quickly, “ I can’t look at them!”

She found shame in her contorted features. Fear in the painfully wide eyes and uncomfortable grimace her lips pulled into. A deep, bone tearing anxiety in her clawed hand.

“I’m sorry- I’m so, so sorry. I just- every time I look at them, every time I think about them, all I hear is the clashing of their swords and the crackle of magic and those fucking screams.” Her hands clapped over her ears, no less stiff. Sylvanas firmly gripped her wrists, pulling them away before she could hurt herself. “I just can’t do it! I thought that if I got everything else in order, everything else done, I would be ready. But it just keeps getting worse and worse and I don’t know how to make it better!”

Despite the discomfort that looking at the miserable visage brought, Sylvanas couldn’t help but feel relieved. It wasn’t that Lucille didn’t care about them, now that they were dead. She just didn’t know how to handle it.

Belore, nobody had told her, nobody had helped her. She’d been ripped from her life, thrown into a war, then left alone in a manor full of ghosts with… nothing. At least, nothing but the responsibility of Drustvar on her shoulders.

“The longer you leave it, the worse it will get.” She pulled Lucille’s hands hands in front of her. She didn’t try to pull away, despite the lock limbed tremors that ran through her thin wrists. “We’re going to take care of this. I’ll show you how.”

This time, Lucille did yank her hands back. Sylvanas let her.

“I can’t! I just told you- I’m not ready!”

Sylvanas felt cold. A dull pain throbbed in her chest. Lucille was no longer a girl, that much was true. But she wasn’t yet a leader. As painful as it would be, she needed to learn how to be one. Sylvanas would help her.

“Do you want to keep running House Waycrest?”

Lucille opened her mouth - a flash of frantic desperation in her eyes - but snapped it closed. After a few moments, she swallowed hard and set her jaw. “Yes.”

“Then we’re going to do it anyway.”

The crypt was cold and damp and dim. The torches she had her rangers bring down to light the way sputtered on the wall - the flames struggling to stay lit in the oppressive blanket of dark energy that permeated every crack and corner.

Lucille shook like a leaf beside her, but hadn’t made a run for it. Despite her insistence that she couldn’t do it, that she wasn’t ready, she continued to put one foot in front of the other. The rangers followed behind them, silent despite the cumbersome, hastily-constructed, pine coffins they hauled.

When they finally reached the bottom, finally surveyed the scene in the crypt, Lucille flinched as if she’d been struck.

The skeletal remains littered the floor. At least… what was left of the floor. A deep chasm split the crypt, cutting the coffin lined walls off from a massive organ on the far side of the room. Sylvanas had already been in the chasm, already knew that it led to another room and another batch of corpses.

Her rangers - Belore bless them - wasted no time gently lifting remains into coffins. She watched for a time, until she realized that Lucille hadn’t moved. She seemed… frozen, her eyes darting over the bodies until Sylvanas stepped in front of her.

“Breathe.” Sylvanas commanded.

Lucille sucked in a shaky breath, but her eyes strayed over Sylvanas shoulder and it came out as a shrill yell. “ Don’t touch them! ”

It echoed through the chamber, making every set of ears press back at the pitch. Sylvanas glanced back at the rangers, wincing as she saw the problem. She quickly motioned to them, and they stepped away from Lucille’s parents.

As she turned back to Lucille, she stepped closer - taking up the bulk of her vision. “Look at me.”

When Lucille finally did, she repeated, “Breathe.”

She took in a deep breath and held it for a moment, letting it out with a soft whine.

“Again.”

Lucille did it again.

“You cannot let your emotions overwhelm you.” Sylvanas murmured, voice low and even. “There will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, you need to think. Do you understand?”

“Y-Yes.” Her voice cracked, but she squared her jaw.

“Good. Do you know what needs to be done?”

Lucille shook her head jerkily, her shoulders hunching.

“First, we collect the remains. We identify them. We write letters to whomever will take possession of them. We deliver them.” She said, then repeated, “Do you understand?”

She blew out another breath, steadier this time. “Yes.”

It was a grim thing, teaching Lucille how to keep bodies this old intact while moving them into coffins. Emotion still swam in her eyes, but her hands were steady as she guided them along to their resting places. It was not quick work, nor was it easy. But Sylvanas could feel the syrupy tension pervading the manor loosen its grip. Now that they were picking up the bones it had been choking on, the house was sighing in relief.

In the end, there were twenty three bodies. Lucille identified all but two, and those two had faded tabards to distinguish which order they belonged to.

“I would suggest you make a template for your letters.” It felt wrong to disturb the silence that had fallen over the room, but it needed to be said. “We’ll be sending them with the bodies.”

“A template?” Lucille frowned. Well, she’d been frowning all day - but her frown grew deeper. “Isn’t that… impersonal?”

Sylvanas sighed. “Yes. But it can’t always be helped. Speed is important when it comes to dealing with remains.”

She didn’t mention that it was even more important now that they’d been disturbed after being left for so long. The spirits were likely to grow even more restless now that peace was in sight.

“It just… doesn’t feel right to give all their families and friends such a standard explanation when they gave their lives here.” She murmured, gaze flicking over the coffins.

“Nothing you say will make it any easier for them.” She said. Then, against her better judgment, “Write what you want, just be quick about it.”

Lucille fled the basement as if she had felhounds snapping at her heels.

As asked, Lucille worked quickly on the letters - starting with those in Drustvar.

The wheels of the large carriage they’d… borrowed was not made for the weight of the coffins. The wheels squeaked and shrieked as they rode down the path, forcing Sylvanas’ ears to press back against her head. It was fitting that such dour work would be painful as well.

She’d volunteered to take the bodies into town and took her rangers with her. It let her escape that thrice cursed house for a while, and gave Lucille time to compose the rest of the letters without a banshee breathing down her neck. Jaina had been adamant that ‘looming’ wasn’t good for productivity.

The people of Corlain had largely ignored their existence the last time they’d ridden through, but it seemed that leading a carriage full of coffins into their town was too much even for them. They began to scatter as Sylvanas and her squad grew near - scurrying off to their homes and watching them pass through cracks in their curtains.

Unfortunately for them, Sylvanas would not just be passing through this time.

They finally came to a screeching halt in the center of town. By now, it was nearly deserted. The only ones left were the people still trotting away to hide, and a lone hunter with a stand erected to sell fresh game.

Though he watched them warily, he stood fast with arms folded over his chest - unwilling to abandon his stand. As her rangers began to unhitch the carriage, she dismounted her horse and approached him. He leaned away from her, glancing at the carriage with knit brows.

“What do you want?” His voice was tight, just on the edge of abrasive.

“Is that how you treat all your customers?”

He blinked, then squinted, as if unsure if it were a joke or a scolding. “You lot don’t look like the type to eat.” He eyed the bow on her back, “Or the type to need someone else to hunt your game.”

“You’re not wrong.” She gave him a sharp smile, reaching into her satchel for a few gold to lay on the counter, “But not quite right, either. Give me the pheasants.”

She was sure that Lucille (and Kalira) were sick of venison, and her rangers were in too low a mood to hunt.

His posture loosened slightly. Though he looked hesitant, he obviously wasn’t in the position to refuse a well paying customer.

“What are they doing?” He finally asked, unwilling or unable to keep ignoring what was happening behind her.

“We’ve been staying with Lady Waycrest for the past few days.” Her eyes caught the slight pause in hands as he unhooked the birds and placed them in a sack. She drummed her fingertips on the counter, the claws of her gauntlet clicking, as she tried to work out how to word it. “While we’ve been assisting her in restoring order to her house, we found a group of previously undiscovered bodies.”

He flinched, stopping completely this time. “What do you mean ‘bodies’?”

“There were several people that perished in the battle against Gorak Tul.” He flinched again at the mention, his throat bobbing nervously. “We are returning the remains to their families.”

“Nobody found them until now?” He asked incredulously.

“Yes.” She lied.

“How do you miss that? The battle was so long ago…”

Her eyes narrowed, and it took effort to keep from baring her teeth. “Because she has been alone this entire time. Do you really think it’s easy to run Drustvar and manage an estate, without any staff or advisors? I’ve heard what kind of money she offered. Why did no one help her?”

“I…” He looked away. Slowly, he finished wrapping the birds. “That house is… unwell. It’s always been cursed - anyone that’s ever been there has seen a Waycrest that wasn’t exactly solid. But it got worse. Ever since Lady Meredith started that thrice damned cult, working in that manor was a sure bet on going missing.”

He sighed and pushed the game across the counter towards her. “I don’t envy Lady Waycrest, but we’ve got families depending on us to come home with supper every night. We can’t risk not being there for them, just to help some noble keep her house clean.”

Anger simmered in her stomach at the fact that she couldn’t quite disagree. So she took the parcel and dropped a few more coins on the counter. “Then you’ll be relieved to know that we took care of that problem.”

She wondered briefly if she should summon the Valkyr, if she should ask the corpses if they would rather rise again to be with their families, but dashed the idea immediately. She doubted their families would accept them. In the end, it would just bring distress to everyone.

Not to mention that she would be splattered all over the walls of Proudmoore Keep the second she showed her face, if Jaina caught wind of it.

The ride back was slow.

Her rangers had taken the news… as well as they could, she supposed. They rode in silent formation behind her, not bothering with their usual games and jokes. They had a lot to say, she could tell by the long glances and low ears. She also knew they’d keep it to themselves and do what she ordered. But, she didn’t want that, not right now.

She glanced back at them, at their ramrod straight posture and carefully indifferent looks. “Well?”

“We should leave.” Vorel blurted out immediately, urging her horse to pull up beside her.

Alina gasped, nearly toppling off her horse as she sped up to join them, “We can’t just abandon her!”

“What could we do to help?” Vorel shot back, “She is obviously suffering. The last thing she needs is a bunch of banshees haunting her manor.”

“These banshees seem to be the only ones willing to help!”

“That may be true.” Anya hummed on her other side, “But, now that we’ve found the reason for the spirits hostility - now that we’ve solved the problem - wouldn’t we just keep people away?”

Clea scoffed, “Solved or not, I doubt they’ll be lining up outside of the gate, begging for a chance to be let in. It’ll take them a while before they muster up enough spine to get within a half mile of that manor.”

“It’ll take longer with us around.” Kalira murmur, ears drooping low.

“Maybe we should send more Forsaken along with the contractors. Give her some staff that won’t think twice about a few ghosts.” Sylvanas drawled, “And seeing as she doesn’t seem to care about the living dead in her house, she may appreciate the company.”

In the sudden silence the words cause, she found herself thinking more seriously about the idea. For a long moment, they all thought it over.

“Wouldn’t it be dangerous for them?” Alina finally asked. “I’m not worried about Lady Waycrest, but the living only tentatively tolerate us - even with the pact.”

Clea hummed her agreement, “If we send a whole group of Forsaken, we run the risk of fire and pitchforks.”

“Not to mention that I doubt your wife will appreciate you infiltrating her territory.” Anya added.

“Kul Tiran borders are just as open as every other country, so we don’t need her permission. In fact, she doesn’t even need to know.” Sylvanas huffed. “As for their safety… We can issue a hearthstone to every Forsaken that takes a job at the manor.”

“That’s going to be expensive.” Kalira pointed out, eyes wide. “I’m sure you’ll at least have to explain where the money went. She won’t be happy.”

Sylvanas shrugged, already feeling a spark of excitement at the inevitable argument. “I’ll fight that battle when it comes.”

Clea looked at her sidelong, hiding a smirk. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re looking forward to it?”

“You know better than to question what a woman and her wife do behind closed doors!” Anya gasped, clutching her chest in faux scandal.

Sylvanas snorted. The only thing that would happen behind closed doors was yet another screaming match. Luckily, banshees were well equipped for screaming.

“We’ll remain here until it’s time to return to Lordaeron. We still have much to do, after all.”

A Tidepriest came later that day, fidgeting and twitching at the lingering dark magic that filled the air, but otherwise willing to take the rest of the coffins back to Boralus. From there, they would be guided to their various homes and finally put to rest. 

The only ghosts left would be the Waycrests, and even they had settled - seemingly at peace. She did not know why the magic binding them here was different, but it seemed to be more of a tether than a shackle to them, so she left it alone.

It was after night had fallen and the rangers had hesitantly gone back to their tasks, that she found Lucille back in the crypt.

She was doing just as Sylvanas had shown her, gingerly placing the last remains into two stone coffins set into the wall. Sylvanas knew better than to help, instead standing silent vigil. 

She wasn’t alone. Along the walls of the crypt, several other Waycrests slowly blurred into sight. Some were nearly solid, but others could only be seen by the slight blue tinge of the air where they stood.

Lucille groaned with the effort of sliding the stone lids back into place. Once the last one - her father’s - clicked shut, she stood back to look at them. None of the spirits moved, so Sylvanas did. She stepped forward, standing beside her.

Lucille glanced up at her, then pointed to  the third one in the row, the last to be built. “That one is going to be mine, someday.”

Sylvanas’ own memorial had been built next to her mother’s. There had been no body to burn for her own pyre - the butcher had seen to that. And now there was no memorial - Sylvanas had seen to that.

“Not all of us stick around after we die.” She motioned to the spirits. “I don’t really know what the criteria is for it, it just happens sometimes. An old curse from way back that nobody bothered to write down, I guess. Mother and Father aren’t here, though. So maybe it’s a blessing.”

Lucille sighed and turned away, slowly crossing the room to the chasm in the stone floor.

“What are you doing?” Sylvanas asked. Her voice sounded thick to her own ears.

“I need to finish.” She said simply, almost monotonously, nodding towards the organ on the other side of the pit.

Before she could climb down into the pit, Sylvanas grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt. She tried not to jostle her too much - she didn’t need a crypt full of spirits vexed with her for manhandling their scion - but Lucille still let out a quiet grunt when they landed and murmured her thanks as Sylvanas set her on her feet.

As she approached the organ, the spirits faded out behind them. They reappeared clustered around the organ, glowing eyes on Lucille and faces blank and impassive.

“It may be a little rusty.” Lucille said. She wasn’t talking to Sylvanas, but looking around to the silent Waycrests that surrounded her as she sat on the bench. “It was always mother that played it. I didn’t get much practice.”

She was right. The dirge was stilted and choppy, pausing and flowing at random intervals. But it was warm. Almost welcoming. The spirits bowed their heads and listened, unphased by the lack of skill. And, when it was done, they quietly faded away.

Lucille stayed, silently looking down at the keys for a long, long while.

Sylvanas knew she was supposed to give comfort, supposed to say something encouraging or gentle, but the words wouldn’t come. She’d always been at a loss with these things, poorly equipped to comfort anyone.

She sat down on the bench beside her, facing away from the organ, desperately grasping for something to say that wouldn’t make everything worse.

“I hate her.” Lucille said suddenly. Then, her voice choked with uncharacteristic rage, “I fucking hate her!”

Sylvanas looked at her, but the words still did not come.

“She was the one that had him killed, you know. My fiancé . All because he was a merchant. Because his blood wasn’t blue enough to marry her little girl . I didn’t even know until a champion told me right before I had to kill her ! She killed him, then went and made a pact with Gorak Tul to keep Father with her. Started a whole fucking cult so she wouldn’t have to give up the one she loved.

“I knew that she was mean, that she was selfish, but I hadn’t known that she was a hypocrite as well.

“And yet…” She clutched her arms to her chest, her shoulders curling forward like she wanted to fold in on herself and disappear. “When I’m lying in bed at night, thinking about all that I still have to do to keep Drustvar afloat, thinking about every disaster that I have to steer away from, I wish she were still here. She was selfish and cruel and awful, but at least she was strong. Before Father died, before the Heartsbane, Drustvar was thriving .

“I don’t know if I have the strength to do any of this. I mean, look at how much I’ve already fucked up.”

“I was the same way.” Sylvanas found herself saying before she could think better of it. But Lucille was looking at her with curiosity, so she continued. “My mother was…”

Harsh? Unyielding? Adamant on driving her children on and on until they had nothing left to give? Her mother was many things, and it was sometimes hard to remember that not all of them were bad.

“...Not like yours. When she was gone, I was left to take the role of Ranger General in her place.” Sylvanas couldn’t help but wince at the memory of the ceremony. It had felt like her mother’s body had barely gone cold before she was in front of Silvermoon, swearing an oath to protect them all when she could barely don the armor without wanting to flinch away from every reflective surface she came across. “I was… not good at it. Not at first.”

“Then you managed to make a thriving military.” Lucille pointed out. 

“I was not alone. I had people to rely on and tell me how to do better.”

Sylvanas glanced at her. She was still sullen and sunken in on herself, but didn’t seem at risk of taking her rage out on the organ again. That was progress, right? 

“They left you here and expected you to do this all yourself. To know how to do this all yourself. It will take time, but you’ll become more comfortable. More sure. No one is born a good leader. You need practice.

“You’re not without fault, mind you. What happened here was… bad, but not the only thing that matters. Drustvar isn’t on fire. Your people are rebuilding, starting to thrive. You are not weak.”

Lucille finally looked at her, face tight with the effort of holding back emotion. A flash of panic flared in Sylvanas’ stomach at the thought that she might cry again, but she stuffed it down as hard as she could. She’d just finished burying her parents, it was a wonder she wasn’t sobbing and howling already.

It was uncomfortable - beyond uncomfortable - but Sylvanas placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. Comforting someone was unfamiliar, she wasn’t built for it - not now - but she had to try, didn’t she?

Lucille didn’t cry. She only closed her eyes tightly, hand coming up to settle gently over Sylvanas’ with an unsettling warmth that made her skin crawl, and breathed deeply and slowly - her shivering shoulders heaving with each inhale.

Even after the shaking stopped, they didn’t emerge from the crypt until the sun had risen high in the sky.

When the day came for them to leave, it was unexpectedly solemn. She’d been waiting all month to go back to Lordaeron, to go home , but each step that led her to the door of the manor was heavy and slow.

She wanted to be back, of course. She wanted to go back to her work, to her people - however hesitant some of them were to be so. But there had been something so simple about being here. To be the captain of her squad rather than the ruler of a nation. To be in a place where someone actually wanted their company.

There was nothing to pack. All they had brought were their hip pouches and their weapons. It made the transition from being guests to being gone unsettlingly quick. They simply walked down the stairs and out the door. It only took the barest hint of will for their steeds to rise, and then it was done. All they had to do was ride to Boralus.

Sylvanas couldn’t help but hesitate on the front porch, looking out over the gloomy little yard and the scrub-scratched runes on the path.

“Do you think you’ll visit?”

Sylvanas’ ears lowered as she turned to see Lucille in the doorway. Her face was open and hopeful, wide eyes staring up at her. It was strange to feel a pit in her stomach at the thought of disappointing someone, after all this time. But it wouldn’t do either of them any good to lie.

“I don’t know. I’ll be in Kul Tiras again next year, but I don’t know whether my dear wife will do something to keep me in Boralus.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to go to Boralus.” Lucille said, matter of fact.

Something twisted sharply in Sylvanas’ chest and her nose wrinkled at the feeling.

“If you wish.”

She felt she owed Lucille more. Something more meaningful. Something that expressed what being here had meant to her.

She shook the feeling off.

“I do.” Lucille’s hand reached up as if to touch her arm, but fell before it made contact. “May the wind be at your back, Lady Windrunner.”

Sylvanas smiled slightly and gave Lucille’s shoulder a brief squeeze, ignoring the brilliant smile it evoked. “And yours’, Lady Waycrest.”

With that, she turned sharply and strode towards her horse. She only spared the manor - and Lucille, she supposed - one more glance before wheeling her horse around and starting for Boralus at a gallop.

Chapter Text

Waycrest Manor was nowhere near as faded and gloomy as she’d left it a year ago. It was still a tired and slumping thing – but the yard was well tended, the windows clean, and it even looked as though it had been repainted. As Sylvanas rode up the hill it sat on, she didn’t feel the viscous, heavy energy that had hung in the air on her last visit. The chill of death was still here, but it was placid. Content.

She trotted up to the gate and levered herself off her horse, letting its bones sink back into the dirt to rest. 

She probably should have announced herself, but she hadn’t even been sure she’d be able to come. Between training General Halman and digging the Kul Tiran army out of its grave, her plate had been rather full. Even now, the anxiety of taking this much time away from her work was nipping lightly at the pit of her stomach. Not overwhelming – yet there all the same.

But she’d already made the trip - this time, without her rangers at her back nor the leash around her neck.

"Dark Lady?" A high voice chirped.

 It seemed that Lucille was finally having someone man the gate.. Sylvanas watched as a small forsaken woman stumbled out of a newly built shack on the other side.

She had interviewed every Forsaken sent to Drustvar personally, but it took her a moment to remember this one. It was only when her back straightened and she snapped a form-perfect salute, did Sylvanas remember.

“I’m here to see Lady Waycrest, Williams.”

“Of course!” She scrambled to open the gate and motioned Sylvanas inside, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to her and announce your arrival.”

Sylvanas nodded, falling in step with her easily. While Williams kept her eyes forward, Sylvanas took the time to size her up. “The Waycrest uniform suits you.”

“Thank you, Dark Lady. She, um, has them tailored for us.” 

She was obviously nervous, but Sylvanas couldn’t quite pin down why. It didn’t seem like the sort of nerves a soldier would have at seeing their general. Even then, Sylvanas was no longer her general. Corporal Karina Williams had retired from the military before the ink on The Pact had even dried.

“That’s not the only benefit, I’m sure.” She pressed.

Williams finally glanced at Sylvanas, unsure. “No, Lady Waycrest treats us rather well. The pay is good and we’re guaranteed room and board, as well as any medical care we might need.” She smiled briefly, “She actually brought a shadow priest on full time a few months ago. I suppose she got sick of having to send for one every time the Tidesages couldn’t figure out how to put us back together.”

“Smart.” 

She wasn’t sure how to phrase her next question in a way that held the aloofness she preferred, but it was a question that needed to be asked. Sylvanas was just glad it was a Forsaken she was talking to - she didn’t need to hold onto that image quite so tightly with them. “But is she treating you all well personally? How does she act towards you?”

Her shoulders relaxed a fraction at the question. The path leading up to the door was cleaner now, though those scrubbed out runes still littered the cobbles. Williams opened the front door for Sylvanas and led her inside. For all the dead and dead-come-back, the manor felt strangely alive. The chill in the air no longer had teeth. Sunshine gleamed through the windows and the dark tones of the house seemed more inviting than ominous.

“She’s kind to us, Dark Lady.” She said quietly. “A bit more energetic and curious than most of us are used to, but it’s hard to fault her for it when it comes from a good place.”

Sylvanas remained silent while they walked the halls, keen ears catching the idle chatter and shuffling of working hands in the various rooms they passed. They came to a stop at a door she recognized. It had been a year, but she still recognized the entryway  to that desiccated office.

As she raised a hand to knock, Sylvanas motioned for her to wait.

“I know you’re probably tired of the interrogation by now, but I have one more question.”

Her head tilted, hand slowly falling back to her side. “Yes?”

“Are you happy here? All of you?”

She expected some pros and cons, benefits and drawbacks. Maybe some members of the staff feeling unsatisfied or upset about something. But Williams simply shrugged and gave her a smile. “Yes.”

The last of her nerves soothed, she nodded for her to go on.

Williams knocked on the door, slipping quickly inside when she was met with a muffled invitation. 

A squeal loud enough to make Sylvanas’ ears lie flat came through the door shortly before Lucille was throwing it open.

She rushed a little too close, as if to hug Sylvanas, before rocking back on her heels and clasping her hands behind her back. “I didn’t think you’d get to visit. This is wonderful!”

The thought of someone enjoying her presence was still unwieldy and awkward to handle, still made her want to squirm. Instead of addressing it, she looked anywhere but at Lucille. Namely, into the office behind her.

A broadly built woman, even taller than Sylvanas, loomed in the doorway.

Lucille glanced between them, smiling. “Lady Windrunner, this is Joan Cleardawn - Marshall of the guard.” Then, after a few moments, she murmured, “I told her everything.”

Sylvanas couldn’t help but raise her brows. She’d thought that - after every awful thing that happened - it would all be swept under the rug and ignored. But then again, when had Lucille not surprised her?

She sized up Marshall Cleardawn more carefully this time. She didn’t see any judgment on her face or in her pale eyes, and her spies hadn’t brought her any word of anyone baying for Lucille’s blood. Lucille thought she was trustworthy and… as loath as she was to trust anyone else’s judgment, Lucille wasn’t stupid.

She extended her hand and Joan didn’t even hesitate to shake it. Firm, but not hard. It seemed Lucille wasn’t the only one tolerant of the dead.

“We can continue our chat later, I won’t keep you from catching up with your friend.” Joan said, a hint of a smirk tugging at her stony face. She nodded to Sylvanas. “It was nice to meet you, Lady Windrunner.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and strode away, hands clasped officiously behind her back.

As Joan left their line of sight, Sylvanas thawed a bit - almost against her own will. She reached out to give Lucille’s arm a light squeeze of greeting. “New Friend?”

“Well, sort of an old friend.” She led Sylvanas into the office. It was a lot cozier without the inch of dust covering every surface. It had been scrubbed to sparkling, and another set of chairs had been brought in and set up next to the window. 

“She was there when we fought my parents, as part of the Order of Embers. Since the war ended and she was promoted to Marshall, she’s been traveling all over Drustvar - getting the guard in check and recruiting. The guard… it was in shambles after what Mother did. I’m quite sure that Joan is the only reason it’s picking itself back up.”

Sylvanas sat in one of the plush chairs with a hum, leaning on one arm and crossing one leg over the other. “Waycrest Guard wasn’t the only one in shambles.”

Lucille gave Sylvanas a sad smile, taking the other chair.

“She came to check in a few weeks after you left and I, well, I told her everything. From having the contractors sent over to work on the manor to… to the basement.” The thought still made Lucille pale, made her wring her hands in her lap. Sylvanas suspected that it would for a long, long while.

“What did she say?” She asked, voice carefully neutral. Sylvanas hadn’t seen any judgment on her face, but that told her nothing about Cleardawn’s initial reaction. Lucille had been through enough, if that woman had-

“She didn’t say much. She’s not really the type. But she moved her headquarters to Corlain and confers with me personally, rather than in letters. Sometimes she comes around even when there’s no business to take care of - just to chat. Or, well, sit and drink tea while I ramble to her. You’ve seen for yourself how chatty I can be.” She laughed. “I think that she’s checking in on me.”

Speaking of checking on her; she looked Lucille up and down. She’d thought she had looked a lot healthier at the party in Boralus. In the hazy light filtering in through the window, she could see that she was right. Her cheeks were fuller and her skin a much healthier hue. Her uniform was neat and her hair was glossy.

“How have you been doing?”

Lucille briefly looked down at her hands, but a small smile pulled at her lips. “It’s getting easier, bit by bit. Sleeping and eating are still a bit touch and go some days, but I don’t feel like I’m being crushed anymore. I don’t feel like I’m suffocating.” Her eyes lit, smile growing, “I’ve even been building a rapport with my people. And with yours!”

“Oh?” Sylvanas raised an eyebrow.

“The Forsaken you sent are an absolute joy to have around! They help more than I can ever thank them for, it’s so much easier to take care of what I need to with them around - I may even get to start going to more events, maybe travel a bit more.”

Sylvanas tried not to preen, immensely proud of the work her people had done here. The Forsaken were adept at surviving any situation and adapting to any circumstances, but it made her chest constrict all the same to see them thrive.

As if summoned, a knock sounded at the door. When Lucille called for them to come in, a Forsaken man - Claude, if Sylvanas remembered correctly - peaked through the door briefly before hefting a tray inside. “Karina said you might need refreshments.”

“I completely forgot my manners! Thank you.” Lucille quickly made room for the tray on their little table, shuffling a few papers into a messy stack.

Claude set the tray down hastily, only pausing to give Lucille a nod and a quick salute to Sylvanas before bustling out.

“Do all Forsaken salute to you like that?” Lucille asked, head tilted curiously.

Sylvanas hummed, picking up one of the teacups. “Everyone I sent is ex-military.” She admitted, though she felt no anxiety doing so. There was something about Lucille that made her guard falter. “With the lingering tension between the Horde and Alliance, I wanted to be sure that whoever I sent could take care of themselves. And they wanted a life away from fighting. Two birds and all that.”

Lucille’s face softened and she looked down into her tea. “I’m glad they can find peace here. Hopefully, Drustvar won’t see anything bigger than a tavern brawl for a very long time.”

“Are there many of those?” It was hard to imagine, with the sedate and solemn nature she’d seen in the Drust.

“Not as many as there are in Boralus.” She chuckled. “Enough about me though. What about you? How are you doing?”

Sylvanas felt her nose wrinkle for a moment before she forced her face to smooth out. She was getting better (in microscopic increments) at dealing with questions like this, but it took a long moment for her to find the words. Lucille waited with more patience than she deserved.

“It’s getting easier.” She echoed Lucille’s words with a faint smile. The warm ceramic teacup in her palms was incredibly grounding, keeping the burning nerves in her chest at bay. “Things have been a lot more peaceful in Lordaeron. The keep is nearly restored and my people are adjusting well to peacetime. And things are a lot more… amicable between Jaina and I.”

“Amicable?” Lucille was not a master of deception. The blatant interest on her face was barely hidden. “I’d say. I vaguely remember you leaving the party with lipstick on your face.”

“Maybe a bit more than amicable.” Sylvanas relented, huffing a quiet laugh. The place on her cheekbone where Jaina’s lips had branded her still tingled at the memory. It took real effort to push down the purr that wanted to rise in her chest.

Lucille was a… a friend. She wanted to spout all the fizzy sweet emotion that bubbled in her chest whenever she thought about how far she and Jaina had come - but the embarrassment that accompanied it made it all lodge in her throat and seize her tongue.

“I… She…”

“It’s alright.” Lucille murmured, her expression gentle enough to make Sylvanas want to grimace. “I’m happy for you, Lady Windrunner.”

The mounting pressure of having to respond eased slightly, and Sylvanas found herself incredibly grateful. That, in itself, was a pressure of its own.

She didn’t know how to express that. How to thank her without wanting to turn to smoke and skulk back to Proudmoore Keep, prickling with embarrassment. 

The silence drew out, but Lucille seemed comfortable in it. She looked out at the ocean and sipped her tea, as Sylvanas let the warmth of hers snake its way up her arms. It made her miss her wife. Miss the warmth that spread through her at every touch. Miss looping her arms around Jaina’s waist and pressing her face into the soft skin of her neck. Miss sitting on the edge of her desk while she chewed through her paperwork.

But it was nice here, too. It was nice to sit with Lucille, despite that mortifying mess of longing in her stomach. Despite everything, really. She wouldn’t have guessed that the excitable woman would do anything but get on her nerves, but lingering over tea was a comfort on its own.

She even hazarded a few sips of the tea, closing her eyes at the strong, earthy taste and the heat working its way down her throat and spreading through her chest.

When Lucille’s tea was gone and hers gone cold, she finally spoke. “You can call me Sylvanas.”

It wasn’t much, but it was what she could muster.

Lucille didn’t seem to mind. A nearly blinding smile lit her face for a moment, before suddenly slanting mischievous. “How about Sylvie?”

“It’s not too late for assassination.”

“Sylvanas it is.” She laughed.

Sylvanas laughed, too.