All of Our Sins

A/N: Sorry this is a little late- it's still the 15th in my time zone! Enjoy :3

Content notes: mentions of torture and vivisection; the grim parts of medical history

Jaina's first impression of Darrowmere Island was damp. A fine mist hung over everything, made the silhouettes of hills and distant trees blurry, and clung to her exposed skin. The air wasn't particularly cold but the fog sank an insistent and abiding chill into her.

Neither of her companions took any notice. The humidity glossed Soffriel's white hair with a soft radiance and highlighted the sharp planes of Kel'Thuzad's features. Jaina pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders.

High on the hill, up a muddy road, sat Caer Darrow. Hidden somewhere within was the entrance to the Scholomance.

Jaina balked at the climb.

"My apologies," said Kel'Thuzad. "I haven't visited in some years."

He opened another portal, and they exited before a set of iron gates. Kel'Thuzad produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the gate, and ushered them into a small, forlorn courtyard.

Beyond was another door that led into a twisting corridor. It was cool and quiet, set with black sconces without torches, and strewn with the detritus of abandonment.

"Well," said Kel'Thuzad. He popped a little magelight into the palm of his hand for a better look. "This is depressing."

"What is this place?" Soffriel whispered.

"It was a place of learning and innovation," said Kel'Thuzad. "A singular school of forbidden knowledge."

"A school of darkest magic and darker ambitions," Jaina countered. "A training ground for the Cult of the Damned."

Soffriel glanced back and forth between them. "Ah," he said.

"'Darkest magic and darker ambitions'," Kel'Thuzad repeated. "I like that. Should've printed that on the pamphlets… Oh, just look at this. What a tragedy."

He stood in the doorway of a huge dark room and tossed the magelight into the centre.

Jaina stopped short. "This used to be a library."

Even though she knew what sort of information had probably been stored on these shelves, the sight of the ruined library pained her. Kel'Thuzad looked down at a collapsed bookcase, the shelves charred and contents reduced to brittle dust. He crouched and sifted through the scraps that had escaped complete combustion.

"What a waste."

Soffriel stared around the room, then took a few steps away from them, knelt, and brushed ash off an intact volume.

Jaina joined him. "What have you found?"

"I'm not sure."

He handed the book to Jaina. It was bound in red leather and locked. She turned it over in her hands, studying the spine and covers.

"What is this?"

"It isn't dangerous," said Kel'Thuzad. He held out his hand. "It's the lending register."

"Bespelled against fire?"

"Our librarian dealt steep fines on overdue materials. More than one student tried to burn the evidence of their late return." Kel'Thuzad unlocked the book and returned it to Jaina.

She grimaced. "I'm assuming the fines were not monetary."

"The first tier was monetary. The second affected their grades. The third tier affected their… quality of life."

They continued to explore the room. Kel'Thuzad moped over dust and ash. Jaina collected scraps of handwritten notes and sketches. She tucked them between the pages of the register. Soffriel never strayed more than a few metres from them.

He brought Jaina another intact book that turned out to be a full catalogue of works. Jaina skimmed the titles and authors.

She showed it to Kel'Thuzad. "I assume what we're looking for was never in this library."

"It wasn't. This way."

Soffriel walked at Jaina's shoulder as Kel'Thuzad led them deeper into the labyrinth.

"What are we looking for, Lady Proudmoore?" Soffriel asked quietly.

"The fewer people who know, the safer. I'm not keeping this information from you to be obtuse, Soffriel."

He nodded once.

The corridor opened into a wide room with doorways on each of the walls. Two were caved in. Kel'Thuzad headed for the intact door.

Whereas the library had been burned, the room Kel'Thuzad opened had been hit by a hurricane of violence. There were greasy shadows of ash on the walls and floor, the remains of people hit by lethal magic; shredded canvas in hacked wooden frames; smashed bone splinters; an axe stuck in the ceiling; and a tiny, broken pendant tacked to the wall surrounded by unreadable words painted in flaking blood.

"This is…" Jaina stood in the centre of the room and took in the last stand of the Scholomance.

Soffriel pulled a dagger from a frame with seven or eight various weapons stabbed through the canvas, weighed it on his fingers, and tucked it into his belt.

Kel'Thuzad said nothing and leveled a spell at the back wall. It shimmered, vanished, and revealed a small room. Jaina followed him inside. On the left wall was a single shelf that bore a neat line of books. On the facing wall hung a short sword between two banners. One she recognized as the heraldry of the Cult of the Damned; the other, she guessed, stood for the Scholomance. The sword was a mystery.

Jaina turned to the bookshelf and selected a volume at random. She flipped it open about halfway through and found a detailed drawing of a human forearm, dissected from elbow to palm. The skin had been pulled aside and pinned, then blood vessels, muscle, and tendons carefully separated out and labelled in a series of smaller illustrations on the facing page. She had watched Kel'Thuzad dissect a variety of animals during her necromantic studies. One needs to be familiar with the body and its mechanics in order to perform a successful reanimation.

She turned pages, impressed with both the expert dissection and the work of the artist.

Then she began to read the text.

Material presented minimal blood loss post amputation. Anecdotal evidence from battlefield observations proposes the removal of a limb using one swift cut with a sharp blade results in arterial constriction in the residual limb, preventing further bleeding. Preceded with testing. Applied repeated blunt force to remaining limb until separation occurred. Material presented heavy blood loss and expired three minutes post amputation.

Jaina re-read the description. Material referred to a living person, a person tortured to death by a dispassionate observer. She knew what the Cult of the Damned was, had prepared herself for what they would find in the Scholomance, but the plain, brutish cruelty on the page struck her.

Of course she was horrified. But Jaina felt guilt alongside; she had met some of the Cultists, compromised with them, imprisoned most, and harboured Kel'Thuzad.

She turned the page. The texture was... off. She sniffed the paper and found it musty and organic. The illustrations, though detailed, were fading and the ink applied unevenly. Jaina wasn't an expert in printing and binding, but she did read a lot and she grew accustomed to the smell and feel of books. This book was old.

She flipped to the title page. There was a stamp on the inside of the cover, in blue ink.

Dalaran Library Special Collection.

The book was published some fifty years before Jaina was born and donated twenty years before she arrived in Dalaran as a novice. Long before Kel'Thuzad started the Cult of the Damned.

"This is monstrous," she murmured.

She could feel Kel'Thuzad and Soffriel watching her. Jaina tucked the book into the crook of her arm and took down another. The pages of this volume were stuffed with colourful paper flags.

Poisons. How they affected the human body, but also orcs, trolls, and tauren; all of the species that humans considered a threat, including their own kind. The human test subjects were prisoners, soldiers, the desperate, and the poor; those who could be commanded, compelled, bribed, or simply taken without notice. The others were prisoners of war and victims of the internment camps.

Dalaran Library Special Collection.

Kel'Thuzad held out another book and Jaina shelved the two, taking the offered tome with reluctance.

It was heavy, well-bound, the title lettered in gold against high quality leather. Jaina steeled herself and opened it. There was the stamp: Dalaran Library Special Collection.

Silently, she flipped through chapter after chapter describing every way arcane magic could kill a person, or many people. She kept flipping until she came to what she knew must be in these pages.

How to construct and employ a Mana Bomb.

She read the history, the tests, and the effects.

"This is how you did your research." Jaina turned to Kel'Thuzad. "Biology and medicine are far older fields of study than necromancy. You used this information-" she pointed to the book of poisons, "-to engineer the plague on Lordaeron."

"It was of vital importance to our work, yes."

She stared down at the instructions and diagrams for the Mana Bomb.

"The work of others gave us the basis for reanimation and reconstruction of a body after destruction and dismemberment. Of course we did some of our own research, but without the Special Collection, we would never have achieved so much in so little time."

"You and your cult used evil to do further evil."

"I wouldn't put it that way."

"I know. You are who you are." She shelved the book, overcome with fatigue. "If not you, then someone else would've answered the call of the Lich King. You're hardly an aberration in human kind."

"No light without darkness, etc, etc."

Soffriel shifted, boots scuffling on the dirty floor. Jaina almost forgot he was there.

"Dark magic and darker intentions," she said.

Jaina watched the lich pull down another book. He held it out and Jaina almost didn't take it. Resigned to further horror and burdened with a feeling of duty to bear witness, she took it and immediately felt the lightning crackle of intense magic.

"This is the descent of a great man into madness and disgrace, written in his own hand."

She held the Book of Medivh and felt the familiar tremor of tight-woven spells, immense power held in physical form. It didn't resonate with her as the Helm did. There was no sense of familiarity, no call to shape its promise with her own hand.

She tucked it in the crook of her elbow.

"How many more of these books are from the Special Collection? I want to return them."

"Oh dear. I can't imagine the overdue fines."

"I doubt they charge fines on books that no one is supposed to know about. 'Special Collection'." Jaina hissed. "How long were you digging through Dalaran's secrets before they caught you?"

"Years before I was on the Council."

Jaina wondered if her beloved teacher, Antonidas, read these books. Surely, he would be as horrified as she. "Not all of these are from Dalaran, are they?"

"Not all. Some are mine; what I managed to smuggle out of Dalaran before Antonidas relieved me of my title, my holdings, and my dignity."

"How many of them contain awful things?"

"Another two. Well, three. It depends on your perspective."

"Let's say three."

"Three, then. The rest are fiction."

"Fiction?"

"I do read for pleasure, not just evil."

Jaina studied his features. It took him some time before he learned to school his expressions after so long in a form incapable of expression but she couldn't read him at present.

"You know, you could have been a great doctor."

He raised his eyebrows.

"Look at all you know. You built yourself a convincing human body."

"Through a familiarity with the human body built on hundreds of years of other people's knowledge, and years of my own study."

"As I said," Jaina repeated. She glanced over her shoulder at Soffriel standing in the doorway. He straightened his posture. "Come and help me. You can carry the fiction."

Jaina's nightmares took a night off and the next morning she felt stronger than she had in months. She carried her cane just in case, but had no trouble descending the stairs.

The mess hall was joyful chaos. Roxie Rocketsocks stood on a bench, mailbag in hand, calling names and distributing correspondence. Beside her sat Ysadéan, and across from her sat Soffriel, sandwiched between the draenei Death Knight and her tauren friend (?). The paladin was eating a bowl of stew with a piece of bread as his only utensil while the draenei talked. Or, to judge by her gestures, bragged. Ysadéan responded with animation and cheer. Soffriel looked like he wasn't sure how he came to be there.

He noticed Jaina and his expression flip-flopped between eagerness and apprehension. He excused himself, receiving a cheerful back-slap from the other Death Knight.

"Good morning, Lady King."

"Good morning, Soffriel."

The tauren paladin reached across the table for a letter, tore it open, and scanned the lines.

He gave a whoop of excitement. "Hey! Everyone! I'm an uncle!"

Several other adventurers congratulated him, loudly.

Soffriel watched, ears pricked toward the commotion. "Where does the goblin keep it all? The mail?"

"In a special bag," said Jaina. "A postal workers' carry-all. I find them fascinating! Tailors need special materials and training to construct them. Then they give the bag to a mage who's studied the necessary spells and they work with a high-level enchanter to properly apply the spells."

On one occasion, Jaina watched in amazement as Roxie pulled out letter after letter, parcels and packages, clothes for every imaginable climate, skins of water, bags of cheese, meat, bread, and fruit, a pile of maps, several worn books listing every dangerous animal and monster, poisonous plant, malicious tribe, cult, and family on Azeroth and Outland, an organ donor card, and then the tiny envelope she had been searching for, which she gave to a crying woman.

"And no one tries to steal them? They sound valuable."

"They are. But most of them are bespelled to operate only on the carrier's command, or one the carrier allows."

"Most?"

Jaina nodded to Roxie. "Some of them are also enchanted with defensive or actively offensive wards as well."

Soffriel watched Roxie for a moment. "Ah. Meaning her carry-all is probably laden with explosive spells."

"Almost certainly."

Roxie hopped down from the table, zeroed in on Jaina, and gave a salute.

"For you, Lady King." She handed Jaina three envelopes.

"Thank you, Roxie." She examined the letters. "Stormwind... That must be my brother. Hmm… Ironforge. I don't know anyone in Ironforge. And Wayward Landing, Jade Forest? Oh, it's from Pandaria! Have you been there, Roxie?"

"Not if I can help it, Lady King. Contested territory means people are spending money on weapons and stuff, not tipping their mail carrier."

"...you're very subtle."

"I try."

Jaina tipped Roxie a handful of gold coins. "I have a favour to ask."

Benevolent mail carrier or not, Roxie was a goblin and favours owed were a currency as tempting as gold.

"Whattaya need?"

"May I borrow your mail bag for a few hours?"

"What do you want it for?"

"I need to take some books to Dalaran but they're more than I can carry by myself in a conventional way and I need them to be absolutely safe."

Roxie paused. "Are any of them magical books liable to explode, become animate, or in any way damage the bag?"

"No. They're all quite passive."

"All right. Two hours."

"Two hours."

"Then we got a deal." They shook hands. "I'm here for another week and a half. I'll make myself easy to find when you're ready to use it."

"Thank you, Roxie."

Jaina opened the letter from Tandred first. He was safe, though shaken. He said nothing about her absence at Theramore's defense.

Then she opened the letter from Pandaria. Inside the plain envelope was another envelope- blue paper, with a golden seal.

"Oh! It's from Anduin."

Dear Lady Jaina Proudmoore, Lich King of Icecrown, and Personal Friend to His Majesty, Anduin Wrynn, High King of the Alliance-

At my Lord's behest, I appeal to your benevolent nature in the spirit of cooperation. Our King is now occupied working to achieve an accord with communities amongst the Pandaren people. As he does so, naturally, his heart beats for the safety of all within the Alliance as the aggression of the Horde grows.

Troubling reports have reached him of Frostmane trolls assembling within striking distance of Ironforge. Our dwarven allies are embroiled in their own political struggles and a proportionate response from Ironforge may not be available. The Wildhammer and Bronzebeard clans fear that should they move their forces from Ironforge, the Dark Iron clan would usurp power in their absence. In a demonstration of good will, Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan of the Dark Iron Clan has pledged her personal Forgeguard to take arms against the encroaching trolls. Our King fears that this small patrol may not be enough to stymie their approach.

The High King asks you to consider sending aid to the Queen-Regent to ensure the safety of Ironforge, and of all Dun Morogh. He asks the Queen-Regent to consider your assistance and for each to communicate their reply with all haste to the other.

On behalf of High King Anduin Wrynn,

His servant,

Thassarian of Lordaeron

"My goodness, this man likes words." Jaina re-read the letter. "Thaurissan: dwarf. Thassarian: human." She tucked the letter back into its envelope and made a mental note to keep it for reference.

She opened the letter from Ironforge. It contained three lines.

Lady Jaina Proudmoore-

I would value your assistance.

-Queen-Regent Moira Thaurissan

Jaina held both letters. Both lending support to the Queen-Regent and withholding it are acts of partisanship. Kinndy's words returned to haunt her again: I knew you wouldn't knowingly abandon us! The Queen-Regent had reached out for aid and awaited a response.

She turned to Soffriel. "Have you ever been to Ironforge?"

He shook his head. "No, Lady King."

"Neither have I."

Jaina folded the letter and slipped it back into the envelope. If trolls attacked a human city, and that city asked my help, would I be willing to aid them? Of course. But if the opposite happened, would trolls even think to appeal to her for aid? Unlikely. I am, without trying, still seen as a part of the Alliance. Even if they will not have me.

Soffriel shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Lady King? May I have a moment?"

Jaina looked up from the letters.

"What is it, Soffriel?"

He reached down to a sheath inside his boot and pulled out a dagger. He handed it to her, hilt first.

"I took this from the Scholomance, only because it is fine and well-balanced. But it has some enchantment on it that I don't understand. I thought you might."

Jaina studied the dagger for a moment. There was some spellwork there, woven into the hilt, dormant.

"You're right." She turned it this way and that, measuring the sense of magic within the weapon. "I want to examine this in a more controlled environment. When I return from Ironforge, come to the lab in the basement and we can look at it together." She returned the dagger to him.

Soffriel gave a shallow bow.

"Thank you, Lady King."

Jaina cast the portal at a comfortable distance from the gates of Ironforge. Regardless, she found herself and her companions the subject of immediate, aggressive attention.

"State your business in Dun Morogh!"

A hundred arrows targeted Jaina from every direction. She raised her hands.

"I am here at the request of your Queen-Regent. Tell her Lady Proudmoore of Icecrown stands ready to aid Ironforge."

"Stay where you are! Drop your weapons!"

At her side, Kagra Strangleheart set her dangers down with loving care, and Martin Starkweather laid his sheathed runeblade before him. Anu'Shukhet dug the tips of her claws into the soil.

The dwarf in charge gestured to Jaina.

"And you! Drop your weapons!"

"I have nothing with me."

"I demand-"

An auburn-haired dwarven woman appeared beside the guard and forced her to lower her crossbow. "What do ye plan to do? The whole woman's a weapon."

Jaina saw a thick iron crown on the woman's brow and bowed. "Queen-Regent."

"Aye. Greetings, Lady Proudmoore. Welcome to Ironforge. I appreciate your punctuality." She cast her gaze on Jaina's companions. "Is this your army, then?"

"No, Queen-Regent. My army waits at Icecrown Citadel. I thought it best not to arrive with them."

The Queen-Regent raised an eyebrow and studied Jaina's companions. Each of them was a calculated choice: Kagra, an orc Death Knight, a representative of both the Horde and the undead; Starkweather, a human representative of the Alliance and the undead; and Anu'Shukhet, representative of her own kingdom, and Jaina's ally. The Nerubian was also just itching for a fight so Jaina obliged her.

"I'll grant your entourage my protection while we're in Ironforge but we best make this quick."

Jaina agreed. The Death Knights surrendered their weapons to wary guards.

"Perhaps that should be left outside the city." The Queen-Regent indicated Aun'Shukhet.

"I will do so," said Anu'Shukhet in perfect Common, "but it will not win you the favour of my kingdom."

The dwarf's eyes widened. "Apologies. I took ya for some kind of animate siege engine."

"I accept your apology and shall take that as a compliment, Queen-Regent."

It looked like every city guard in Ironforge suddenly had a shift near the great gates. Jaina and her attendants walked a gauntlet of dwarves with restless weapons.

At her side, Kagra Strangleheart looked uneasy for the first time since Jaina met her.

"If they take offense, I don't think there'd be enough of me left for Kel'Thuzad's dark mending to work with," the orc whispered out the side of her mouth to Jaina.

The Queen-Regent didn't take them far into the city.

"This is my Forgeguard."

The group of fifty or so dwarves all had grey skin and glowing orange eyes. The Dark Iron Clan. One woman stepped forward, helmet under her arm. She had flame red hair and her lower lip and chin were tattooed with black ink.

"Our scouts have returned from Shimmer Ridge. There is an unnatural storm shrouding the area around Frostmane Hold. It proved too powerful for the scouts to pass through, but some managed to circle round through the mountains. They counted almost one hundred tents to the east of the Hold. Who knows how many more there may be hidden by the storm."

The Queen-Regent clenched her fist. "How have the Frostmane amassed such an army right under our noses? We cannot make an approach with so little information. The trolls will surely ambush us."

"A storm?" said Jaina.

The Forgeguard woman gave a curt nod. "Yes, ma'am. A monstrous blizzard. Too bitter even for the best of our mountaineers."

"I will deal with the storm."

The woman hesitated for a split second. "Then our scouts will be ready."

The Queen-Regent gestured to her Forgeguard. "Prepare your blades. The trolls will be set to attack once their storm is sundered. We will have little time to scout and prepare a strategy once they have lost their protection." She turned. "Lady Proudmoore, what do you need?"

"A guide," she replied. "Show me the storm."

The Forgeguard commander with the bright red hair accompanied Jaina to Shimmer Ridge.

"You can take my hat and jacket if you need them, ma'am."

"I don't feel the cold. But thank you for the offer."

"Ah. Perks of being undead, I suppose."

Jaina looked down at her. "I'm very much alive, commander."

The woman stared and then gave Jaina a once over. "I… apologies, Lady Proudmoore. Should know better than listen to tavern rumours."

"We all fall prey to gossip sometimes."

She peered over the top of the ridge. There was a raging blizzard, just as the scouts reported, and nothing about it seemed natural.

The woman offered Jaina binoculars.

"I don't need those either. But thank you." She glanced down. "That's a mage thing, not a Lich King thing. Be ready to signal your scouts."

Though the storm itself was unnatural- air currents forced into patterns that chilled the atmosphere and whipped up howling gales- the magic behind it was rooted in nature. Jaina contemplated the wind and snow. The shape of the magic prickled on her bare skin as she raised her palms and concentrated.

The source was part of the natural world. A shaman? Or druid? No. This magic was bigger. This magic was old. It was deep and sure, part of the world since the world began. It was primordial, it was-

Elemental.

"There you are..."

A thing of wind and ice, it was bound by no oath or honour; it existed for itself.

But it could be bribed. It was old and it was vengeful. Jaina couldn't guess what wrong had been done to the elemental but it willingly stole from the mortal world, and right now it was stealing life. Jaina felt the fresh corpses near the elemental, felt their blood melting the snow. The elemental seized the red slush in its winds, vicious and devouring.

"It's an elemental. The trolls are feeding it blood sacrifices to control it."

"Well that's unpleasant."

Jaina contemplated the corpses. She was loathe to raise the dead but she could puppet any corpse without a will of its own and let it rest in peace once she withdrew her will.

She stood up on the ridge and handed her cane to the Forgeguard commander. She raised one hand and let the wind run through her fingers for several minutes.

Then she seized it. The elemental was instantly aware and her black cloak billowed behind her on the frigid wind as it set upon her with blood-fed hunger.

She let it howl for her, let it turn from the other offerings. She was warm, pulsing with life, and her blood resisted the cold. The elemental turned all its fury on her. The wind slashed and buffeted her, blew the pins from her hair, yanked at the edges of her clothes but Jaina was unmoved on the spine of the ridge. When the indirect attack didn't faze her, she saw the elemental itself burst through the storm of its making and bear down on her.

"You might want to hold onto something," she shouted.

Jaina let the thing come within metres of her before she opened her fist and reached out. Light sprung from her fingertips, sparked and connected, spun in arcs of flaming blue, and opened a ravenous, hollow void that grasped the deepest magic of the elemental with irresistible greed. For a breathless moment it defied her; then, with a jerk of her hand, Jaina ripped out the heart of the wind.

The storm collapsed with a thunderclap.

Jaina rubbed her palms together.

"Ooh, that tingles."

The commander stared at her with something between terror and infatuation. "I'll notify the scouts."

"No need," said Jaina. "The trolls have left me many scouts, right in the middle of their forces."

"How…"

"The corpses of those they sacrificed to the elemental so that it would do their bidding. The trolls have no storm to shield them, and now they have nowhere to hide from my sight. Notify the Forgeguard and the Queen-Regent."

The commander scrambled down the ridge and Jaina turned back toward the village. She slipped her sight into one of the hapless corpses. Frostmane Hold was in disarray. Elders argued; warriors formed up, weapons ready.

Jaina poured a bit more of her will into her chosen corpse. It sat up. It climbed to its feet. The elders turned as the corpse straightened up and turned in a slow circle, then returned to face them.

Its eyes lit with chilly blue.

"Cease your aggression." Her voice rasped over a leaden tongue. "You will gain nothing but suffering if you continue."

Someone lopped off the head of the corpse. Jaina chose a new vessel.

"I see you," she said.

The Queen-Regent settled a hand on Jaina's shoulder. "What do you see?"

"There seem to be two groups of trolls- perhaps different clans. One blue-skinned, blue-haired-"

"That'd be the Frostmane. We've dealt with them since dwarves and gnomes settled Dun Morogh."

"-the others are taller. Furred, I think, with patches of scales on them. I've never seen trolls like these. Their army has split into three: one part moves south, one north, and one straight toward us."

"They're going to flank our forces and push for Ironforge," said the Forgeguard commander.

One of the Frostmane shamans warily approached the corpse Jaina possessed.

"Who speaks through the dead?"

"The Lich King of Icecrown."

Another shaman joined the first and they whispered together.

One of the unknown trolls stepped forward- tall, richly dyed leather clothing and gold bangles on his wrists and ankles. He made a mocking bow. "You are far from home, Your Majesty. What do you care for miserable dwarves?"

"I do not recognize your people. Who are you? And what do you care for the Frostmane?"

The troll chuckled softly. "We care for all trolls, all clans. All the homes lost, all the lands taken! This place you call Dun Morogh once belonged to the Frostmane, and with our help, it will again."

Jaina contemplated the troll's words. "I see your armies, stranger. I see the many with you. Where did so many come from? Where is your home?"

The troll made a slashing motion with his hand. "Broken! Dying! As too many of our homes are!"

She saw the shamans behind him nod to each other.

"When Deathwing broke free, the island began to sink."

The tall troll glared at the shamans. A childhood memory popped into her head; her father, growling about ships lost near an island to the south of Kul Tiras.

"Zandalar Isle."

The troll raised his chin, eyes narrowed at Jaina's thrall. "You know of us, northern king?"

"I know your homeland."

He stalked in a circle. "The dragon's rebirth made us see beyond our land, to the suffering of all trolls. Now, we will face their enemies as our enemies. We are many, and we are strong."

Jaina split her attention to the Forgeguard as they crested the ridge in a line of dark metal. From the Hold below they made a formidable wall. Unfortunately, it was a wall only one dwarf deep, though the trolls couldn't yet see that.

The Queen-Regent turned to her commander and they consulted together for a moment.

"Lady Proudmoore, split your army to the north and south. Stall their flanking."

"Give me a moment to summon them."

Jaina withdrew her gaze from the troll corpse and closed her eyes. She cast a pair of portals and commanded a flood of Scourge through, into the snows of Dun Morogh. Amongst their ranks were undoubtedly the animate corpses of Drakkari trolls from Zul'Drak, and hapless others from Kalimdor.

"My Forgeguard will hold the middle."

"Kagra, Martin."

"Yes, Lady King?"

"Please support the Forgeguard."

Anu'Shukhet shook herself, wings rustling. "I will take the middle as well. Your forces could use a siege engine."

The dwarves dug in and prepared their weapons as the trolls galloped to meet them.

Jaina and the Queen-Regent were left alone on the crest of the ridge.

"Lady Proudmoore?"

"Yes?"

"Your nose is bleeding."

"Ah." Jaina pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped her upper lip.

"Are you all right there, lass?"

Jaina held the cloth under her nose. "For the time being."

The energy Jaina had at the beginning of the day was entirely drained. She leaned heavily on her cane and paused at the top of the stairs to the basement. I need to have someone install a handrail here. Instead, she kept one hand on the wall to steady herself as she slowly took each step.

By the time she reached the bottom- it was thirteen stairs, only thirteen!- she was shaking and she halted to compose herself.

The door to the laboratory was closed. Jaina weighed the physical cost of pushing it with her shoulder against the magical cost of pushing it with summoned force. She chose to shoulder it open.

The lanterns were out but the fire in her bespelled stove burned low.

She ignored both and settled into a chair. It was Kel'Thuzad's favourite, so it was liberally sprinkled with cat hair and he had pulled a twenty gallon glass jar filled with preserved rats into position as a footstool.

For a moment, she folded both hands on the head of her cane, leaned her forehead on them, and took stock of her physical state. She ached in every bone, from the hinge of her jaw to the balls of her feet. Her throat was sore.

Sitting in the near dark was refreshing. By the time Soffriel arrived she was well enough to rise.

"Let's see what you've found."

He gave her the dagger. She held it on the palm of her open hand. Soffriel was right- it was very well-balanced.

"It's a defensive ward, meant to protect the user." She cocked her head. "Not an arcane enchantment- it feels like a paladin's work, or a holy priest." She closed her fingers around the hilt and turned the dagger this way and that.

"Perhaps it will only work for one such as they," Soffriel suggested.

"You might be right."

"Oh- look here, Lady Proudmoore. There's a mark on the pommel."

It was a smear of dirt or blood, firmly ingrained in what looked like a decorative whorl. When Jaina moved her thumb back and forth over it, she felt the tingle of dormant magic.

"You have a good eye for magic! Let's clean it up."

Jaina took the dagger to a work bench, found a dissecting probe, and worked the grime out of the design. Once she had rinsed it, the prickle of magic became a low hum against her hand.

"An arrow." Jaina rubbed her thumb over the design, following the direction of the arrow. The magic responded with a slight crackle.

"Maybe- like this-" Soffriel drew a circle mid air.

Jaina described a quick circle with the tip of the dagger and suddenly her hand and forearm were armoured in a gauntlet of golden platemail.

"Fascinating!" She flexed her fingers and the gauntlet clinked like metal. She tapped it with her other hand. "It's solid. Not real but a solid illusion. Strong enough to survive a physical blow or two. Hmm. Magic will shatter it but still, that's quite a useful tool."

Then she gave the armour a closer inspection.

"This is… I commissioned a piece like this before I came to Northrend. The armour crafter was killed before she could finish it. But this looks just like what I ordered."

"How can that be?"

Jaina took the dagger with her other hand and the illusion vanished. She made the circle again and instead of the gauntlet, a plain purple cloth wrap appeared on her forearm, of a design as the ones she wore when she arrived in Northrend.

"I only commissioned the one." She raised her eyebrows at Soffriel. "It was for an aesthetic I never achieved. A battle mage with accents of golden armour."

"How would an enchantment know that?"

Jaina drew a circle in the opposite direction and the ilusion vanished.

"I don't know. Here. See what it does for you."

Soffriel twirled the dagger and a vambrace of brilliant green leather appeared from palm to elbow. It had golden piping at the cuff, leaves embroidered with golden thread, and a white crescent moon inscribed on the forearm. Soffriel dropped the dagger as though it had bitten him and took a hasty step backwards.

"That's- that's-"

"That's not a Death Knight's armour," said Jaina softly. She crouched to pick up the dagger. Pain flooded up her spine. Her muscles cramped. She gasped and fell to hands and knees.

"Lady Proudmoore! What happened?"

She took several deep breaths, then picked up the dagger. "Please, help me stand."

Soffriel took her free hand and pulled her to her feet.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine." She held out the dagger. "Do it again."

He did and the leather vambrace appeared. "It… this was mine. When I was only a novice. Even before I chose the path of the Grove." He ran his other hand over the leather. "I was just child. I haven't worn anything like this in years."

They stared at each other.

"How does it know?" Soffriel whispered. "It knows what I wore- what I was."

"I as well. I hadn't yet left Theramore when I designed that armour. I was a mage and nothing more." Then she snapped her fingers. "I have an idea."

Kel'Thuzad? Come see this unusual magic dagger Soffriel found.

The lich didn't even reply; the words 'unusual magic' brought him to the lab in a teleport.

"Here." Jaina showed him how the use the dagger.

Kel'Thuzad cocked his head at the result. He wore a blue and gold bracer wrapped in chains. Jaina rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Now that is interesting…"

"What am I looking at, exactly?"

"Watch." Jaina demonstrated, then passed the dagger to Soffriel. "The armour I'm wearing is something I designed as a mage but never wore. Soffriel's is druid gear he owned as a child. And yours is part of the costume you wore in your original lich form."

Soffriel ran his fingers lightly over the crescent moon symbol. "I don't understand."

"At risk of sounding overly sentimental, it seems to project a preferred version of ourselves. Or a version we're most comfortable with." Kel'Thuzad narrowed his eyes at Soffriel. "You still think of yourself as a druid." He held out his hand and Soffriel reluctantly passed the dagger to him.

"That does make sense. It doesn't explain how the magic knows or why but…"

"What use is this?" asked Soffriel.

Kel'Thuzad twirled the dagger between his fingers. "None that I can see."

Jaina chewed her lip in thought. "While that's an interesting question, I think I would like to learn more about the solid light illusion itself."

"Oh?"

"Weightless armour, capable of withstanding physical attack?" Jaina's back twinged. "Come on. That's the stuff of dreams for every mage and priest."

Kel'Thuzad looked down at his robes. "I did forget how troublesome it is to wear actual clothes. Armour is out of the question." Then he smirked at Jaina. "Did you really design such a flashy piece of kit for yourself?"

"Says the man who wears rubies the size of my fist in his preferred form." She shook her fist at him. "Soffriel, may I borrow the dagger for study now and then?"

"Please, keep it. I would rather not see what it shows me."

"Very well. If you change your mind, it will be here, in the lab."

"Thank you, Lady Proudmoore."

Khadgar met Jaina at Krasus' Landing. She hadn't sent advance notice but the Archmage was probably aware of her approach and seemed pleased to see her.

"Lady Jaina! Be welcome here."

"Thank you for your hospitality," she returned.

"I heard you had an adventure in the mountains of Dun Morogh last week."

"News travels fast."

"Help me sort through the gossip."

Jaina ticked things off on her fingers. "No, I did not summon a thousand undead from the depths of the earth. I brought them through a portal. Yes, the Queen-Regent and her Forgeguard successfully quelled the attack. No, she did not ride into battle on a winged black ram."

"Awww, I liked that part."

"Me too."

He noticed the bag over her shoulder.

"Is that a postal carry-all?! How on Azeroth did you get one?"

"I owe a goblin a favour."

Khadgar grimaced. "You live dangerously."

"It can't be helped."

"It begs the question: what are you carrying in it?"

"Donations for the Dalaran Library's Special Collection. Or should I say, long overdue returns."

Khadgar's face turned serious. "Let me escort you then."

They walked together. Summer in Dalaran was full of colour and motion. Everywhere she looked there were bobbing lamps, groups of friends, adventurers toasting each other, flowerboxes, and music. The city was awhirl with festivity and life.

Jaina felt out of place wearing clothes in charcoal grey and desaturated lilac, trimmed with black fur instead of charming embroidery. The atmosphere was infectious though and she relaxed despite being self-conscious.

Khadgar bought two sticks of something deep-fried and rolled in a generous amount of sugar. He gave one to Jaina.

"Why don't they call it New Dalaran?" Jaina wondered.

Old Dalaran, established in the Alterac Mountains, had grown up like any city. The point of initial settlement became the core, then broadened by necessity of population, commerce, and defense. Adjustments happened through fire, or changes of ownership, or the whims of politicians, compounding eccentricities until it became a unique organism.

After Arthas led his army to Dalaran and left only ruins, the Council of Six lifted the city from its ashes and the land where it grew up. The new, perpetually levitating Dalaran was planned and calculated. All of the buildings were the same age and style, all colours and materials matching.

As a student in the old Dalaran, Jaina had thought it perfect and beautiful. Now, with the slight weight of Roxie's carry-all on her shoulder and the much greater weight of what it held, new Dalaran looked as artificial and soulless as Icecrown Citadel.

"You know, I never thought of that." Khadgar glanced up at the elegant towers. "Though the city will always be Dalaran, no matter where it is, this is different from the Dalaran I knew."

Jaina watched a Worgen kid on all fours chase two friends around and around a fountain.

"There are certainly more people." She pointed vaguely with her stick of unidentifiable but delicious food. "I'm glad Dalaran is neutral."

"Mmm," said Khadgar.

"I suppose you won't discuss the Council's ruling on that subject?"

"It's ongoing," he said. "What about Icecrown?"

Jaina was quiet for several steps, absorbing the life and colour.

"The people who come to Icecrown are different than the ones who come to Dalaran. It's not for anything, you know? Dalaran is for mages, Orgrimmar is the Horde capital, Stormwind is the Alliance capital, all of the cities have a purpose. Darnassus, Ironforge, Thunder Bluff… they're someone's home."

"Is Icecrown not your home?"

Jaina thought of her bedchamber, the laboratory, the mess hall, her plans for a library, the glacier that spread out from her doorstep, and the mountains that embraced the Citadel. She thought of the cold and the darkness.

"It is," she said. "But it's not home to many. Those who visit have so many reasons I've stopped counting. Very few people stay."

"Most of Dalaran's permanent population have something to do with magic. Their parents or children are here, or they teach and research. But I think some people who visit do so because it is neutral."

Jaina thought that over. "I suppose there's little reason to visit Icecrown except to escape the chaos of the world. Not a home but a place to rest." She wondered if that was why the tauren paladin and the draenei Death Knight lingered.

Khadgar and Jaina reached the doors of Dalaran's great library, and put the empty food sticks in a bin beside the desk of a watchful librarian.

Khadgar flicked his fingers and the grease and sugar on them disappeared. "My favourite kind of magic is the simple, everyday things," he said with satisfaction.

"That's a neat trick."

He led her upstairs, and then up again, through a door with a stern warning to unauthorized persons, and finally into a stuffy room wrapped in protection spells. At the back of that room, a door shimmered into existence at a gesture from Khadgar.

"That's the same spell Kel'Thuzad used in the Scholomance for his special collection."

"He stole a lot from the Kirin Tor."

"That he did."

The door shimmered again and sealed them in. The space was larger than that of the Scholomance and lacked the ominous heraldry, but it felt the same.

Jaina settled the mail bag on the table in the centre of the room. Khadgar stood across from her and visibly braced himself.

She didn't speak as she pulled out each volume, flipping open their covers to show Khadgar the blue stamp, then closing it with care.

"These are, I assume, not well-known to Dalaran's scholars."

Khadgar nodded slowly. "They are not." He ran a finger down the proliferation of paper flags tucked into the books. "Though they are clearly well-known to others."

Jaina hesitated. "There's one more."

She set the Book of Medivh in front of Khadgar.

He stared at it, expressionless for half a minute. A muscle in his jaw twitched. He placed his hand on it, thumbed the lower edge of the cover as though he would open it, but didn't. The silence became awkward.

Khadgar looked up and met her gaze. "I loved him. To the very end."

The end, when Khadgar was forced to kill his demon-possessed mentor for the sake of the world.

Jaina gave a tiny nod. "I understand."

He tried to smile and failed. "I thought it was lost. Or destroyed."

"I doubt it can be destroyed."

He took a deep breath and withdrew his hand. "I suppose Kel'Thuzad tried to copy it."

"Of course he did. He says it can't be copied, not in its entirety."

Khadgar nodded. "You can copy print, but not power."

Jaina shelved the rest of the stack while Khadgar contemplated the Book of Medivh.

They walked in silence back toward Krasus' Landing, though they took a long, winding route. Jaina enjoyed the vibrance of the city. Perhaps Icecrown could do with some kind of colourful celebration. Perhaps at the deepest dark of winter, when the moon, stars, and bending aurora were the only natural light.

The thought cheered her.

Two streets away from their destination, Jaina caught sight of Kinndy's bright pink hair. She was on the sidewalk ahead of them, in animated conversation with a dwarven woman in Kirin Tor novice robes, and a green-haired gnome in civilian garb. Jaina had a childish urge to duck behind Khadgar.

Too late. The green-haired gnome spotted them. Her attempt to subtly convey her observation to her friends was anything but, and three pairs of eyes fixed on Jaina and Khadgar.

For a brief moment, Jaina saw Kinndy hesitate. Then the other gnome squeezed her hand and Kinndy smiled brightly.

"Hi Lady Jaina and Archmage Khadgar! I didn't know you were friends!"

"Hello again, Miss Sparkshine," said Khadgar. "And Eilidh Blackforge, is it?"

The dwarf blushed and reached out to shake his hand. The other gnome gently shouldered Kinndy toward Jaina.

"Um, Lady Jaina? Can I… can I talk to you for a second?"

"Of course."

They stepped away from Khadgar and the two others.

"I wrote this this morning," said Kinndy. She showed Jaina a small pink envelope with a gold wax heart sealing the flap. "But you're here so I guess it's fate."

Jaina internally scowled at the thought of fate fixing its eye on Kinndy.

Kinndy straightened her posture and put one hand over her heart. "Lady Jaina Proudmoore, I, Kinndy Violet Sparkshine, wish to take you up on your offer of apprenticeship, if that offer is still… offered." She swallowed. "Please."