Kul Tirans were born with the sea in their veins and rum in their guts. Jaina was born a Kul Tiran and incredibly naive. Those were her ever growing thoughts as she dwelled on the ground that had once been an escape, a refuge.
Jaina was a fool for coming back here with invisible and non-invisible wounds from that tragedy. She'd originally come to get away from the incessant barking of both Horde and Alliance leaders during what felt like their hundredth treaty revising. No one had broken the ceasefire yet, so she had a sliver of positive news to cradle close.
She'd watched the sun slowly move down from its optimal peak towards the late noon positions, evening drawing near. It was awfully dark to think about, standing on Theramore's grounds, a place that promised peace and had ended up a grave for both people and morals alike.
Her thoughts grew dark and grim after that, she trained her eyes on the horizon and fought back unbearable heat in her eyes. She took a deep breath then finally acknowledged the elephant in the room or ruins as it were.
"How long have you been watching me?" Jaina asked aloud, not turning from her place watching the celestial body in the sky.
"Long enough to be concerned about your blatant brooding." Was her answer.
"I do not brood." Jaina scoffed, though it was tired and subdued.
Her company seemed to disagree, if that echoing mockery of a laugh was anything to go by. "Proudmoore, you are many things but don't be so quick to add lying to your repertoire."
"You never answered my question." Jaina answered back almost automatically, like they'd danced this dance before which they had-back then when the world seemed much brighter.
"I wasn't aware I had to answer."
Jaina finally turned her head back, locking her vibrant blue eyes with eerie blood-red ones. "Out with it, Windrunner."
The woman's eyes narrowed at the clipped response but nonetheless she spoke. "I thought I would find you here."
Jaina blinked, taken aback for a few moments before she composed herself. "So you are watching me now?" She asked slowly, her voice measured and somewhat confused.
Sylvanas betrayed no other evidence of said claim, though her left ear gave a gentle, barely noticeable flick. She spoke once more but Jaina was watching that ear now. There was a time when those blasted things made her smile, made her tease, it made her young. Foolish. Naive.
She snapped out of her trance when said ears pinned themselves back. Elf ears moved a lot, she'd learned from back then .
"Forgive me… what were you saying?" Jaina finally spoke up, forcibly moving her gaze from the elf's ears to her eyes.
"Nothing," Sylvanas replied, her own gaze having been fixed on Jaina's hair. Back then when it hadn't been snow-white, she would've combed her fingers through it or brushed gold strands from the mage's face and placed a chaste kiss on her forehe-- "Should you not be with the boy king, going over that treaty he's had us all cease fire to?"
"You know as well as I do that he's not a boy. He hasn't been for a long time." Jaina spoke after a few moments of silence between them. "He's been trying to find a way to beat this pointless war."
"War does not determine who is right--" Sylvanas began, irritation plainly disguised as disinterest.
"--only who is left." Jaina spoke up, looking up at the woman. "Right?" She asked no one in particular, body suddenly drawn stiff and jaw clenched. "It's only ever war that we seem to talk about, hm?"
The banshee watched her with unreadable eyes for what felt like an eternity, the sounds around them seeming to dull as their impromptu staring contest continued.
"This place seems to have given way to life once more." Sylvanas finally broke their locked eyes and gestured around them lamely. "The flowers are certainly vibrant."
Jaina looked around and there were indeed beautiful flowers and dandelions littered where crumbling ruins had been. She took a breath, "I suppose they are." She murmured. "... periwinkles are your favorite."
"Were." The Warchief stiffened considerably. "Many things have changed, withered, died."
"Like us?" Jaina laughed a dry and humorless laugh. "Or did you want to keep talking about war?"
The undead elf seemed to be prepared for whatever impulsive rebuttals Jaina would throw from her comment. "That woman is dead, Lord Admiral , so I suggest you bury that sentimental heart of yours deeper inside you still." She sneered.
Jaina gave the Warchief a withering smile. "No. No, I don't think I will, Sylvanas." She chuckled almost wetly, shaking her head when the other woman's gaze became guarded. "...more so, I don't think I can."
"Then you are a doomed woman." Sylvanas replied, body drawn taut and features presented in her usual icy display.
"Maybe I am," Jaina spoke as the undead elf turned away slowly. "But everyone nowadays has something mad about them."
Sylvanas gave a soft huff of laughter at that, it was almost pained. She eyed the Lord Admiral with veiled emotion, though Jaina couldn't tell what at this point. "On that we agree." She drawled.
They lapsed into quiet after that, it was a long and strangely comfortable thing. Everything was fragile, the space between them, the words left unsaid, the guarded stares, but it was no less comfortable. Sylvanas took a step forward, away from the Lord Admiral and towards the shadows, corporeal form smoking lightly.
"And you, Warchief?" Jaina rasped quietly, turning her back to the banshee and facing the setting sun.
"... my heart has always belonged to you." Sylvanas whispered after another fragile eternity before vanishing in black and purple wisps of necromantic energy.
Jaina didn't have to turn to know the Banshee Queen was gone. She didn't even have to hear her to know that she had disappeared shortly after her confession. She just gave a wry upward tirk of her lips, silent.
The sun set almost forgivingly over her once-Theramore that day.