How cruel fate was.
To think that he, Illidan Stormrage, would die alone atop this desolate temple. Never did he think that Akama would have betrayed him so. Of course he'd seen the growing contempt in the broken's eyes...but to think it would have come to this.
Always the betrayed, never the betrayer.
Blood gushed out from the deep gash on his chest, and even his massive clawed hand pushed against it could not stop the bleeding. Red. His eyes swept over the group before him, mouths agape in shock that even a monster such as himself could bleed. Fools. Had they truely forgotten that he had once been like them? Just a man trying to find his place in these worlds...
The fatal blow had been struck by Maeiv Shadowsong, his warden, his tormenter, and now his end. Those cruel silver eyes locked with his fel green. The taunts and jeers she had thrown at him during the fight were replaced with a somber silence. At least he could take solace in the fact that though he would die, he would take what little purpose the warden had in this world with him. She would become like him, living a meaningless existence, turning into an empty shell of her former self.
"You have won... Maiev... But the huntress... is nothing... without the hunt... You... are nothing... without... me..."
For an instant her face twisted into a potrait of agony, his words creeping under her skin. Blood seeped out of the corners of his mouth as they turned up in a smug smile. The warden said nothing to him, departing with a light swish of her cloak.
His vision began to blur, and he collapsed to the ground, no longer having the strength to support himself. He could feel the adventurer's standing by, waiting for death to embrace him that they may take all that he held dear, all that he had left in this life. His hand halted it's futile attempt to stop the crimson liquid flowing from his chest, and slunk into one of his pockets to pull out his only comfort in the many years he had been banished from his homeland.
A small dried flower. A perfectly peserved array of oranges and yellows, given to him at the midsummer festival by Tyrande so long ago. He clutched it tight in his fist. This would be the one thing they would not have of him. Accepting his fate, he laid his horned head down on the cold stones of the temple beneath him.
He faintly realized someone kneeling down beside him and taking his head in their hands. Why? A shiver ran through his body as he felt himself grow terribly cold, his chest, burning with an unknown fire.
Warm lips planted themselves briefly and softly on his forehead, foreign hands brushing away the long stands of hair that had fallen onto his face.
"Ande'thoras-ethil, Illidan Stormrage. I hope you find the peace you could not find in this world."
These words should have meant nothing to him, especially coming from someone who had helped bring about his demise, and from the language of the people that had betrayed him no less. But instead, he was torn between tears he didn't have to cry, and a smile he could no longer give. Here, at the brink of oblivion, he was being given the kindness that the world had deprived him of. The tender touch he had never known, the soft words he had never heard spoken, and the caring he'd longed for.
Darkness enveloped him completely, once again taking him from the only thing he'd ever wanted.
Love.
Oh, how cruel fate was.