Disclaimer: Warcraft is not mine. If it were, it would be much more villain-friendly.

AN: This is a lore-free zone.

Sylvanas, Unbound

I am so bored…the Banshee Queen thought. Time to stab somebody in the back…

Sylvanas smiled and asked herself the burning question:Whose life—or un-life—can I totally fuck with...?

She considered her options. Tirion? She sighed, doubtful. To be so imbued with the Light, Highlord Fordring was, in many ways, quite the dimly-burning brazier. While his perplexity over her guile continued to be reliably entertaining, his unrelenting forgiveness of any transgression was becoming somewhat tiresome.

The silly human seemed incapable of understanding that Evil was its own reward.

She debated for a moment. Varian? Well, no, how could anyone be expected to take a man seriously when he looked like an irate, muscle-bound toddler? Had his widdle diaper been confiscated and fully loaded by the big bad Horde? One certainly got the impression he was being forced to wear someone else's shit.

Sylvanas grunted meditatively, pondering more possibilities. She could go down to the plague-riddled, undead-rat-infested sewers in the bottom of the dungeon and torture hostage Scarlet Crusade slime for a few hours…

With a bit of thought, she rejected that idea as well. No, those fanatical maggots were about hot-pokered out.

The Dark Lady chuckled wickedly. Perhaps she could interrupt yet another tryst between Thassarian and Koltira... Ah, the looks on their faces, at the bursting of their bubble of intimacy...Koltira, unabashed, but squirming with frustration, and Thassarian proving conclusively that, yes, the undead can blush...

I need a challenge...she decided.

Thrall? Again, no, everything was so grindingly life or death with him. When, in fact, there was the enormous middle ground of undeath, just waited to be exploited. Garrosh...yes, now he was a likely doable. It was so much fun watching his tiny brain slowly implode with rage. If nothing else, Sylvanas supposed, she could always go beleaguer Jaina...very little surprised her anymore.

'If you'd only had the presence of mind to bash that ass in the head at Stratholme, I'd still be a blonde bombshell, instead of just a shell...' was her favorite, most effective accusation; and poor Jaina was so cooperative. It was a low blow, to be sure, but a thrilling one, nonetheless...repeatedly fueling the forlorn mage's guilty despair over the malevolent antics of her now-icy and soulless ex-squeeze…

Sylvanas tilted her head. And speaking of whom...she brightened suddenly, gesturing to an attendant, undead mage. "Open a portal to Northrend…" she cried.

Northrend: Icecrown Citadel

"Oh, gods…" the Lich King groaned; he was lounging regally upon the Frozen Throne, "What do you want, Sylvanas?"

"Just the company of someone devoid of common decency or any shred of morality...naturally, I thought of you..."

Arthas mused, "Well, all right, but considering that I'm far from the only damned soul on Azeroth…may I ask what the hell I did to merit this fine distinction?"

"What? Who better to torment? You made me this way!" Sylvanas shrilled, "I'm entirely your fault...!" He looked a bit unconvinced, she saw. "Oh, just deal with it. Somebody has to take responsibility for my actions."

Arthas leaned his chin on his fist, "You, perhaps...?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Now, let's go stir shit up! Let's do something monstrous and fun…!"

"Sorry, but no…it's far too stressful having to watch my back every fucking second…" was his reply.

"See? You never underestimate me…" she lauded. "It takes a genuinely diabolical scumbag to see past my deflections…"

"How very flattering…" Arthas remarked. "As you can see, I'm all aflutter from your praise." He frowned forbiddingly.

"Oh, come now," Sylvanas gestured eagerly, "I know you can do rage better than that..."

The Lich King sighed wearily, making no such effort, "Please leave now," he said, "You are a walking, talking migraine, Sylvanas, ever waiting in ambush for an unsuspecting brain to pounce and lay eggs in…why do you think I let you go in the first place? You gave me hives..."

Well, that could possibly explain his rather deflating lack of response to the Forsaken exodus...

Sylvanas had been so certain he would rise to the occasion with his usual 'I'm so fucking furious I'm pissing icicles' vehemence. In fact, she had orchestrated a number of elaborate wild-goose-chases in anticipation of the vengeful return of the Dark Lord of the Scourge. Well, as it turned out, Himself was not as predictable as she had hoped; and his apparent indifference to her illustrious coup had been more than a little disappointing. But now, to find that she had managed to make him perfectly miserable, after all, without even trying...this was very satisfying news, indeed. Sylvanas twittered happily.

Leaning back, Arthas pondered her amusement with narrowed eyes. "I think you know how important it is to me that I convey a certain, dark and overwhelming aura of pure evil...yes? Well, I can assure you, it is no small feat to maintain the terrifying mystique of a death god...especially when dealing with a merciless itch that just happens to be completely inaccessible underneath plate and chain mail..." he paused reflectively, "Why, one with a less tyrannical resolve than mine might be compelled to abandon all propriety..."

Sylvanas sputtered gleefully over the mental spectacle conjured by his words...Arthas, stark naked...writhing in a wanton, scratching frenzy...armor, Frostmourne, his dignity, all cast aside...oh yes, that was a keeper. In fact, it was better than even her angriest fantasies—where she pranced him around in her imagination, sporting a hot-pink thong, and a wildly irrepressible boner...

Arthas, who was, of course, privy to her thoughts, frowned grimly over what he saw there; sometimes he absolutely loathed having telepathic powers. He sighed...and pink was definitely not his best color. "I, for one, have a reputation to preserve." he said irascibly, "You think excellence just falls out of my arse...? No...it takes work, Sylvanas. Work and dedication..." he tilted his head, "Frankly, I cannot imagine anything worse than even a momentary loss of control...except perhaps, the appalling notion of Blizzard nerfing me to the point to where I could actually be brought down by...say, a rabid pack of adventurers and that old fart, Tirion Fordring..."

"They wouldn't dare!" Sylvanas screeched, "Your ass is mine...!" she pointed emphatically,"Mine! I earned it...! Besides, Uther's ghost was blathering on about always needing a Lich King...and who the hell could replace you...?"

Arthas, of the same opinion, glanced around and then indicated a groaning, tortured Bolvar Fordragon, suspended by chains, high above them, "I suppose they could forgo the whole burdensome idea of having an actual plot and just go with this convenient piece of toast..."

Sylvanas studied the dragon-crisped, undead paladin with renewed interest. "His skin is burned off, and yet he still has his pants on..." she said, "How the hell did that happen...? You do know if he was a woman, his blistered bum would be hanging out for all of Azeroth to judge..."

The King closed his eyes, "Oh, shit..." he whispered, feeling the stirrings of an all-too-familiar, niggling tickle between his shoulder blades. "Go away, Sylvanas…" he said forcefully, "Nothing to see here, nothing at all for you to do."

The Banshee Queen smiled, unimpressed by his soul-withering glower as it settled upon her once again, "I know you're up to something…" she insisted, "You always are. Why not let me help…? You know how relentlessly devious I am…"

"Yes, I do recall that," Arthas said, "And, I admit, the utter shamelessness of your treachery is most alluring…still, I prefer to take full credit for my deviltry…" He paused, studying her with glowing, murderous eyes, "I am not exactly the sharing sort, if you will remember."

"That's fine by me," Sylvanas replied with an unconcerned shrug. "No one takes me seriously as an agent of true malice, anyway…at least not yet..." she eyed him craftily, "But, I'm always delighted to make you look as odious as possible…"

Arthas knew it all too well. "I really don't have much of an agenda for today…" he informed her, "Just a few villages to ransack...a hamlet or two to blight. I intend to let the frost wyrms wreak most of the necessary havoc, as Invincible needs a new saddle..." He stroked his chin with thumb and forefinger, his expression thoughtful, "You know, it never occurred to me that a skeletal horse would be so hard on tack..." he shook his head, "I am certainly not riding him bareback—such would be inappropriate and painful…"

"After all this time of sitting on the Frozen Throne…? I wouldn't think you…"

"Well, some things never change…" Arthas interrupted, not at all interested in her opinion on that subject; he grunted, "A pain so like you…in many ways…" he added irritably, making shooing gestures, "Now, run along…lest I wax wrathful…"

Sylvanas gave him a cunning smile, "You know, Jaina still talks about you all the time…" she said blithely, as if in afterthought.

Arthas looked interested, despite himself; and then he scowled. "I shudder to think…" he grumbled.

"She's always bragging about your prowess…in and out of bed…but mostly in…"

Arthas smiled, pleased. "Really? Well...it's so nice to be appreciated…" he said, musing nostalgically. Shortly, however, he snorted, suddenly aware of and annoyed by his lapse. "Why not visit Illidan?" he suggested then, managing to produce the sort of evil sneer that fulfilled Sylvanas' expectations of him, "I'm quite certain he would be just as overjoyed to see you as I am. Perhaps you could entice him into a game of hide-and-go-seek..." He growled a brief, chilling laugh, "That should keep you on your malicious little toes, as well as being amusing as hell. I would almost consider accompanying you…but for Kael'thas being there. Last time I saw him he screamed so long and so piercingly I had a nosebleed for two days…"

Sylvanas considered his proposal, "You never fail to have the best ideas…" she murmured, stepping closer, and reaching out to toy briefly with his long, snow-white hair, caressing his pauldron.

Arthas drew back, frowning warily, "Hey, hey, no touchy-feely shit...you know how I hate that…and hands off the skulls…" he warned, his fist tightening on Frostmourne's grip.

"I just want to stab you in the heart…" Sylvanas said, tapping her daggers.

"Don't have one anymore…"

"Well, then how can it possibly inconvenience you…?"

Northrend: Somewhere Outside Icecrown Citadel

The abomination escorted the Banshee Queen to the front gate.

"Your Dark Lord has completely lost what was, at one time, a fine sense of humor…" she accused. "And you may tell him I said so…"

The construct warbled nonsensically and turned away; it slouched back inside and slammed the gate. Sylvanas sighed, looking around. Snow. Stench. Ice. Large, frozen puddles of blood. More snow. Scattered body parts. More ice.

What a huge, dreary, hideous sink-hole of despair…she thought with an approving smile…and it hasn't lost one bit of its charm…

Sylvanas had great plans for the Undercity, but she knew it would never be as gloriously revolting as this hellish place. The gorge-raising ambiance, alone, was priceless.

Squinting up at the colossal, menacing black walls of the Citadel, Sylvanas debated upon climbing them and sneaking back into the throne room. Give His Majesty a little Dark Lady Specialty-Surprise…she snickered, fondling her quiver of poisoned arrows. Just like old times...

Don't even think about it…Arthas' voice muttered in her mind. Just move along. Outland is that way. 'That way' being any way away from here…

"I'm bored!" Sylvanas complained.

And in what way is that an issue for me…? the voice questioned.

"Heartless bastard…" she growled.

An already established fact…Arthas reminded her…I have great faith in your ability to be an unspeakable pain in the ass, Sylvanas. Now, go be creative elsewhere…

Outland: The Black Temple

"Kael!" Sylvanas cried, waving enthusiastically.

The elven archmage—deeply immersed in manipulating the fiery, esoteric forces of the universe—recoiled violently; with a strident scream, he whirled around, wide-eyed, to face her. There was a flash of collapsing, unraveled energy, an enraged groan from thwarted, malevolent powers, and a sizable chunk of Kael'thas Sunstrider's long, beautiful, golden hair went up in smoke, taking one wispy eyebrow with it.

"Ever considered a less harrowing pastime?" the Banshee Queen inquired.

"Sylvanas…" the archmage croaked. A tendril of glittery, purplish smoke wafted off his singed brow.

"Love the new 'do..." Sylvanas crowed. Kael'thas' delicate, trembling, fingers moved to palpate his scorched forehead, and then the singed void where his once-gorgeous, now-vaporized tresses had been. He began to weep silently.

"And the green thingy…" she leaned closer to scrutinize his horribly violated chest, where a pulsing, ferocious-looking crystal had been thrust deep into his obviously aching flesh, "I take it this is a new look for you…"

Kael'thas burst into tears. He tore frantically at his smoldering hair, "Oh, gods, what do you want? What?! Why are you here?"

Sylvanas smiled cruelly...oh, yes. "Well...Arthas sent me…"

Kael'thas stared at her, his fel-bright eyes bulging; he shrieked insanely, waving his clenched fists, "Of course he did! Of course!" He tossed his head wildly, "I can't escape that vicious, taunting shit, no matter where I go! One would think another fucking planet would be far enough…but noooo…! Oh, gods," he mumbled, suddenly exhausted. "I hate him so much…I wish he would freeze to that fucking glacier of his and just die…! When are those pompous Alliance buffoons and their highly-touted Light going to get off their collective asses and smite him?! Isn't anybody ever going to kill him?!" His remaining eyebrow furrowed and he stared at her distrustfully, "Why did he send you here…? What does he want?" he wailed, quivering, and for a moment, Sylvanas was quite certain the harried elf might crawl right out of his skin.

That would be interesting...she thought idly, but then decided, instead, to concede. "To be honest, he just wanted to get me out of his hair…"

Kael'thas flinched; his right eyelid began to twitch erratically. In a moment, the sense of desperation and its tension subsided. "Oh," he said, shivering slightly, "in that case…"

"So…" Sylvanas began again, "Illidan around?"

Kael'thas blinked at her for a moment, before glancing about the massive chamber, as if diligently combing shadows that weren't nearly deep enough to conceal the sizable and rather turbulent Lord of Outland. "I…well, you might check his Tyrande shrine…" he gestured towards a long, convoluted flight of black marble steps. "He spends a lot of time there…"

Sylvanas pursed her lips, "I'm sure…" she said with a very poor attempt at sensitivity.

Kael'thas shook his head mournfully, "Oh, gods…poor Illidan, I know just how he feels…" He covered his face with his hands, blubbering hysterically.

"Hey, look on the bright side," Sylvanas suggested, "Arthas didn't get her either…"

"Don't say his name…" Kael'thas hissed, his eyes gleaming maniacally.

"Well, even he came up second to Thrall…"

Kael'thas screamed, "Don't say his name, either!"

"What is going on down there?" Illidan's huge voice rumbled from above. "I'm trying to brood up here!"

"Illidan!" Sylvanas cried.

"Oh, gods…what the hell do you want, Sylvanas?" He spread his great, raggedy wings, leapt off the high balcony where he stood, and flew down to land with a mighty thump beside her. "Can't you see I'm busy?" he demanded. "Who sent you here? Maiev? That evil temptress! Do you know she used to flash her naughty butt cheeks at me…when I was indisposed..." he sighed. "Palest lavender, they were...ooh...mmm...so round and sweet and delectable…yes…."

"When she had you chained to the floor in the Barrow Deeps…"

"The view was very good from that angle…"

"Arthas sent her…" Kael'thas moaned.

Illidan scowled, "Oh shit, what does that frozen prick want? He has been spying on me again, hasn't he? Seeking to disrupt my important work! When even I do not yet know what it is! Or perhaps he expects me to thank him for not killing me at Icecrown...yes? Well, he may go fuck himself!" He paused, giving Sylvanas a shrewd look, "Ahh, I know...he thinks to bring his icky flock of stinky-poo Scourge here...into my realm! Ha! You are not prepared, Lich King! You will rue the day I hand you your own ass!" He tilted his head, musing, "What the fuck does that mean, hmm? To hand someone his own ass..." he reflected further, tapping the tip of his manly, blade-like nose with a taloned finger, "Well, no matter," he waved an uncaring hand, "I have found it is not necessary to understand anything...I will do it, yes, I will do it, anyway!" he frowned, "Unless, of course...it is something...sexual..."

Illidan was deep in anxious thought for a moment, but he moved on quickly, brandishing both fists, stalking about the vast enclosure, muttering to himself, energized by his own grand illusion. He strode back, leaning down to study Sylvanas intently, "You do know he cheated, in our epic battle, don't you? In fact, he has cheated every time we have ever crossed blades!" He howled insane laughter, "How else could he have overcome my vastly superior strength and intelligence?"

Sylvanas smiled to herself. Actually, all anyone really needed to do was just wait patiently and Illidan would soon mull and fret his way into a dither of self-doubt and inaction. He had always been his own worst enemy. Now, how best to fan this fire...? she was wondering. "I don't know, Illidan...after what I heard..."

The demon hunter grimaced, "I knew it!" he snarled. "I knew it! Why did I believe him! Why am I sooo trusting? And he said he would never mention it, if I would only go away...liar!" He paced agitatedly, cursing in rather heated Darnassian, and threatening to apply grievous adjustments to Arthas' masculinity; he pointed a long, dangerous finger. "There is not one tiny tidbit of proof...truth, I mean, truth...ah, shit...it is an ugly lie that I tripped over my own warglaives...and...and...hurt myself...oh, that was so embarrassing..." he whispered distractedly, before bellowing, "Fibber! Perfidious and dastardly bastard...! He no doubt spread the lie, himself," he mumbled, "just to make me look...unprepared..."

Sylvanas nodded encouragement, her glowing, red eyes dancing with elation. The only comment Arthas had ever made on the contest at Icecrown was a cackling, breathless refusal to discuss it...so she had no idea what the crazed elf was ranting about, but that did not mean his agitation could not serve her. Had not the Lich King sent her away with the suggestion that she be creative...?

"He did call you a psychotic windbag, once..." she confided, struggling to suppress her dark joy as Illidan's lips formed into a perfect O of stunned indignation.

With a pinched expression, he sighed morosely, gazing up into the shadowy, vaulted ceiling, stroking his horns contemplatively, "It is jealousy, I tell you...everyone hates me because they are jealous...of my vast and magnificent powers, my incredible good looks, my big pee pee..." He paused, peering closely at Sylvanas again, noticing she was a bit bluer in the face than usual.

No doubt the effects of her sympathy for my plight...he decided, touched by her obvious concern.

"As if he can talk about my brain..." Illidan murmured grumpily, "I am not the one obsessing over a soul-sucking sword...ha!" He scowled bitterly, "And now...yes, now he expects me to thank him for laughing so hysterically that he was too winded to stop me from crawling...I mean flying...flying boldly away...I think not! He may hold his fucking, goddamned breath! That is what he can do! As if that would trouble the dead asshole..." He clenched an angry fist, "I did not falter at Icecrown! I will not waver now! I will outlive his fucking glacier! I have done it before, I will do it again! It will have melted down to a teensy little ice cube, too small to even chill my fucking margarita before he hears those poopy words from Illidan Stormrage…night elf, demon hunter!"

Massive, echoing silence descended. It was as if the very air itself had to catch its breath.

Sylvanas had to admit she was impressed, albeit slightly deafened, by the intricate lunacy and magnitude of Illidan's stunningly brilliant delusions. Not to mention his lung capacity. She recalled Malfurion's past comments on the awful repercussions of dredging up the bottom mud in the deep well of his brother's persecution complex.

But it was such irresistible fun...

The demon hunter had relaxed now—mollified and vindicated, he nodded grimly, satisfied with his judgments.

Clueless as always...Sylvanas thought."So then…" she said conversationally, "How have you been?"

Illidan shrugged, "Oh, well…Shit! What the fuck happened to your pretty hair, Kael?"

There was a roaring sound, a crackle of arcane power, a burst of shimmering light, and an enormous portal yawned open in the center of the temple. Moments later, looking a bit more provoked than usual, Kil'jaeden stepped through and rose menacingly to his full height.

"Kael'thas…" he trumpeted, glancing around for the archmage, "I have told you time and again…"

Sylvanas assumed a very believable look of shocked concern; she pointed, "Damn...what went with your tail, big guy...?"

Kil'jaeden blanched, glancing quickly behind him...Had he pinched it off again? In that frigging, interdimensional flux...

Sylvanas beamed up at him.

"Oh, Elder Gods…now I see the problem…" he accused huffily, his fiery skin deepening into an even richer, crimson hue. "What in the Nether do you want?"

Blushing was always a bit risky for a demon lord; with a whoosh, his face ignited.

"Whoa...I'm now getting why you're called The Lord of Flames..." the Banshee Queen said, snickering softly.

Then—as this unforeseen complication caused him to briefly lose control over its energies—his magical vehicle wavered dangerously, and The Deceiver had but a moment to squawk, "Troublemaker...!" before he was sucked violently back into his own portal; it closed with a pop.

Sylvanas pondered this phenomenon, with an evil grin. "You got that right..." she crooned.

Illidan and Kael'thas exchanged a long, silent look, before shrieking with riotous laughter.

"Oh, well done!" they cried simultaneously.

The Dark Lady chortled.

It seemed Arthas was right, after all, she decided.

It was nice to be appreciated…

End

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