And so, as the siege of Orgrimmar was about to truly begin, the Banshee Queen was cracking a joke at the Lord Regent of Silvermoon. As if no time had passed. As if they were rangers together again. As if her heart still beat beneath her breast. She remembered her fellow Horde leaders making small speeches to encourage the heroes around them, but only one voice stood out from all of them. Sylvanas had already readied her bow, an arrow from her quiver poised and ready to be raised and fired. She had always loved the rush of battle, and the waiting game before each one was always horrendous. She was itchy with anticipation, her anger and frustration peeking through in her tight muscles and narrowed gaze. But then she heard Lor’Themar’s voice, and she was back in Silvermoon, training and laughing together. Her ears all but twitched in his direction as she zeroed in on his words of encouragement to those around them. And with that, her stance relaxed. She turned her head to his direction, her mouth quirked up in a smile.
“If you were to fall in battle,” she called to him, “- I could bring you back. You would make an attractive corpse.” The Banshee Queen could feel herself smiling lightly at her old friend and previous second-in-command. Lor’Themar was gazing at her with his one eye alight with humor -she knew if they had been standing closer together, he’d lean in to whisper ‘dont make me laugh on a battlefield, this is serious’ in her ear as he would attempt to contain his laughter (badly)- and his lips twitched the slightest bit to keep from smiling. She could almost see a light blush of embarrassment on his neck.
Overall Rating: +++
Read it here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1834351