With tears streaming down his face and Maiev's hand clenched in his own, Jarod Shadowsong found himself staring at every detail on his sister's face that he'd never found reason to investigate before. The fine, kinked strands of snowy hair, hair that used to be a rich ebony colour, the slight, sweating cupid's bow of her ashen purple lips, the long, deep scars running down her left cheek, the eyes, flickering between their original star-coloured hue and Illidan's merciless fel green, the few strands of black in her prominent eyebrows, the glow of the setting moon thrown against her long, white eyelashes, the rise and fall of her weak, sore chest, the beat of a heart that that had been broken so long ago…so long he'd known his sister. For over 10,000 years, he had abandoned her, expecting to return to the same determined, star-eyed, honourable but content older sister. Instead, he returned to a stranger, a woman who'd tasted the true brand of Illidan's fury, an afraid, unknowing little child who found no peace in sleep and even less in waking, and most hauntingly so, a deadly assassin who felt she could exact vengeance on those she thought deserved it…a stranger he was forced to kill…
Maiev had surrendered meekly. She'd laid down her weapons at her feet and knelt before her younger brother, seeing almost reasonably that her ploy to kill Malfurion Stormrage, her lifelong rival's brother, had failed. Jarod tried to muster up as much hatred for the tormented elf as he could. She was murdering the Highborne in the shadows. She was killing Malfurion. She would've succeeded if not for him. Who would have been next? Tyrande? Shandris? Maybe even himself? And yet…he wasn't the one who'd wittingly watched over a cell for 10,000 years, even though it was he Illidan almost killed. He wasn't the one who had to watch his closest friends die before his very eyes. He wasn't imprisoned on Draenor and tortured endlessly for Elune knows how long. His whole world didn't shatter when his wife died. He found new reasons to life. Maiev was suffering so much at this stage, Jarod knew that death would've been the best he could've done for her. He knew that whatever tortures Illidan's servants had inflicted upon her, be they the breath of a Felsteed or the sharp, hot wings of merciless arcane blasts, combined with all the other agonies his poor sister was forced to endure, had been enough to drive her insane. Because this wasn't the sister he left behind. This wasn't the sister who loved him, not the girl who, with a voice filled with a mixture of hatred, sadness and love, tried to kill Illidan simply for injuring him…death would grant her the peace she needed. She could be reunited with Naisha and watch, unclouded and in unity, from the stars.
But he couldn't do it. He couldn't kill her. She was his sister, and he loved her too much. Her death couldn't come by his hands. So he banished her, and she ran, and Darnassus never saw her face again. He hoped it never would…but he never hoped to destroy her. He hoped to meet her again, to somehow try and find a way to break through that fog that clouded her mind. He doubted it would ever happen, though.
He was wrong.
Patrolling the now peaceful Mount Hyjal, free of Illidan's taint and of Fandral's corruption, he pressed his blade into his thinning mail and thought of all that had happened, his wife's death, his sudden love for Shandris, the ever-growing numbers of the Burning Legion…and all that time, where was Maiev? What were Illidan and his servants doing to her? Suddenly entranced with the idea of her chained away, blinking the foul demonic fel from her eyes as tears, wave upon wave of her most-hated use of magic falling onto her frail, failing body, screaming to Elune for mercy, he was caught for breath and had to stop to take a drink of cold, mint tea.
He had reached the Ashen Lake, weary and honourless, as the moon was beginning to rise. He never expected to see anybody there, so seeing the stirring form by the lily-pad patterned lake surprised him enough. She wore old, worn-down leather armour stained black with time and dirt, and torn boots full of holes. Her skin was ash-grey, her eyes a soft, pastel mix of white and green, like stars seen under a marshy lake and her hair, which was longer than her waist at this stage, was snow white, streaked occasionally with silver and ebony. Her long ears were scratched, and pierced into one was a purple stud with a green feather hanging off. One arm was gripped into a fist around her blinding hair whilst the other arm was gripping a tear in her armour which was spouting blood. Inches away from this Night Elf was a stained, golden sword.
It took mere moments for Jarod to identify the elf as Maiev Shadowsong. His sister, the one he was forced to banish from home forever, was here, in Mount Hyjal, where she'd been for 10,000 years, standing over a cell, every much a prisoner as her captive. In a sightless panic, he sprinted up to her and put his hand on her shoulders. He was unprepared for her reaction; the tormented elf shrieked and grabbed his arms, holding on as tightly as a baby would her mother's finger, screaming unintelligibly, digging her long, caked nails into his wearing mail. Her pastel eyes were bright with fear as she attempted to throw her brother from her sight. It was then she realized who it was, and in doing, she released her hands and lay back, laying her hand back on what could now be identified as a sword wound. Jarod could see, just be looking at it, that without a healer there was nothing he could do but hope that she hadn't lost enough blood.
"Maiev…" Jarod whispered.
Her mental state had deteriorated. Maiev refused to meet Jarod's eye and instead tapped her fingers on the tainted soil, muttering unintelligible words under her breath. Her voice, which he always knew as pure steel, was still rough and metallic…but damaged. A piece of armour that had taken one blow too many, too weak to carry on hoping for a mercy that would never be granted. Literally like the leather she was wearing, for how else could a blade so easily penetrate the ward? He wondered, for a moment, if she'd inflicted the wound herself. It wouldn't surprise him in the least. Why was she avoiding his gaze? Because he'd been a terrible brother to her? Because, while she spent 10,000 years guarding a cell and in the many years that followed, chained up and tortured on her own? Because she was simply so mad she didn't know what to say or how to react? Or because, while he could've killed her and ended the misery that she had perhaps been forced to end herself, he simply banished her from her own home, without any intent of whispering memories like daggers through the protective, maddening mist around her mind?
It was at this point he picked up her hand and, surprised as he was, she gripped it back tightly, still staring at the stars with glowing, wet eyes. His own eyes filled with tears and they began streaming down his face as he looked at her defeated features, from the scars he never knew existed to the eyes that screamed for mercy to the shadows that had fallen so deep under her eyes, Jarod wondered when the last time she slept was. He also wondered how she had come all this way and why she had any intent of confining herself to a duty that she, herself, had defeated. Did she truly feel lost without Illidan? Was her time as his jailer truly the only thing she lived for? He knew of Naisha. Tyrande had mentioned the name a few times. If Naisha was still alive, would Maiev's heart be too? So many questions that would undoubtedly remain unanswered. He was no fool.
He knew that she was dying.
"Talk to me, sister…" he whispered softly.
She shakily raised a hand to his face. Her skin felt rough and papery, but warm too. Her voice jumped over rocks as it spoke. "Tall girl…black hair…purple cape…"
"What do you mean?" Jarod asked hopelessly.
Maiev's head turned towards the bloodied sword. "She stabbed me. Took the glaive…my glaive…I-I didn't do it, brother, I swear!"
Tears began to roll sideways down her filth-stained face. She'd been stabbed. By a bandit, or perhaps by one of the remaining members of the Twilight's Hammer cult? Some of them had survived the great Cataclysm, as not all were driven from Hyjal. It seemed most likely. Then again, what would a Twilight's Hammer member want with Maiev's glaive? It was a strong thing, spiked and deadly, but surely of no use to a dark god. Perhaps it was just a bandit, a passing cutthroat ready to strip an innocent of any gold she may hold…but with only a sword as evidence, it was unlikely he had the power to found out the truth.
She sobbed quietly for a moment. "I could've returned, you know…no, of course not. Too dark. Too cold. No place for the Light, no place for the voice…the voice is broken again…all gone…"
She was doing it again. Saying things that meant nothing to anybody but herself. For a while, before she gained her deadly reputation as the murderer of the Highborne, she did this back home. Sometimes, he'd watch her as she slept. He felt he had to, because when she awoke screaming, fighting, struggling against bonds that didn't even exist, there would be nobody else there to comfort her, to assure her that her time as Illidan's prisoner was over. She said so many things. The name Naisha came up often. He'd never met the Watcher, and had only learned of her through listening to her speak during nightmares. But the words were so strangely put together, and so oddly changed, it was very difficult to keep track of what she meant. Maiev had never had any affinity with the Light, and this "voice" made no sense.
He gently slid his hand under her shoulders and gently lifted her off the ground. Her eyes never left the sky, but her hand moved from his face to his arm, as though catching her balance.
"You cannot let them take me again, brother. The pain…I could not bear it! Not a second time!" she gasped.
He didn't know what to say. "Maiev, nobody's going to hurt you. Not while I'm here, not again. I promise,"
"That sky…it's watching me! How do I escape!? How will we be free? Iron chains pressed against open wounds, steel gates like shackles against her return…she died because of me. I killed her! I begged them for mercy, brother! I begged them and they denied me! What else can they take!? They took Naisha…my dear Naisha…gentle as a butterfly on a breeze in the night, pretty as a flower, all I ever had in the years…why the shadows, brother!? Why!?"
He felt hopeless. This was his sister. Much further back, she was the one having to hold his hand and stroke his hair after he'd had nightmares, to soothe him out of a hell that wasn't real with a voice as smooth as the sea in summer. Now all he heard was a winter's storm and all she felt was agony, and there was nothing he could do. She was trapped in the surrealism of the present and the horrors of her past, somehow sure that Illidan was still alive and Naisha's death hadn't yet been avenged.
Then she spoke again, and the words, while gasped in a metallic, pained tone, made sense. "Jarod…my…my brother…there are no words…no words to describe…the pride I feel…when I look upon you…" she gasped, sweat growing on her forehead. "No words…I love you, Jarod…never more…"
Taken by surprise, he didn't try to stop the tears that were dripping onto her face. She seemed oblivious to them. "Listen to me, brother. You're going to be okay. You…may not have…shown it, but I know you'll do even…greater things one day. You'll…make it all…worthwhile. I believe in you, dear brother. There are opportunities waiting for you. You just need to be brave enough to take them…but…"
She stopped, and her hand fell back onto the wound that was slowly draining her mortality. Jarod lifted her a little higher and pressed his lips to her forehead. Releasing her hand, he wrapped his other arm around her and let her cry into his stained mail. Her arms ensnared him and he knew that, whatever had been the cause for her injury, she didn't have much time left.
"Jarod, listen to me!" her voice became rough, and her words were spat out quicker. "Whatever happens, vengeance…it's a cruel thing. Don't let it rule you. Don't let it take over your life, as it did mine. Look at me, brother! I'm dying a recreant's death, here! The pain, the endless agony…Naisha, Grace, the Watchers. All dead, because of me. I am vengeance, Jarod. It was my undoing. Don't do the same, Jarod. Don't,"
He drew back his lips and, for the first time, Maiev's eyes met his. Like tainted stars, they glowed with both demonic fel and tears. Her lips contorted as though she was in pain and her hand returned to his face. 10,000 years, he had failed to be there. She saved his life, and he banished her in return. He didn't want to think of what Illidan did to her while she was his prisoner…but those scars said it all and more. The thought of his sister, bound in blood in pain, shamed him so much he pressed her hand to his chest and whispered "I'm sorry…"
Her sharp nails ran even deeper than his mail as she gripped him and her cracked, pink lips managed a tiny smile. It was the first he'd seen in millennia. "I forgive you, brother. I love you. Never more…never more than any of the others…but I do love you. Always, forever, until time…time is no more…."
She was silent for so long, after, Jarod was sure she'd never speak again. He brought her closer to him, one hand around her shoulder, the other supporting hers, which had moved back to his face. Her dented thumb deftly wiped away a tear, and she occupied her free arm by letting it fall back onto the grass, tapping the blades mournfully. Her eyes fell back to the stars, and more tears fell. She was so kind once, so free and gentle. The very imagine of what was expected of an older sister. Painful as it was to see her slowly slip in his arms, he felt nothing but love for her. As Jarod pressed his lips to her sweating forehead one last time, she hoarsely whispered her last words; "You know…Naisha really loved this place,"
Then she was gone. With her final breath into the winds of Hyjal went her now free spirit, and finally resting, on soil she knew, in the arms of one she loved, with the blood of who she was, lay her weakened, frail body. Jarod thought sadly of his wife, how he carried her into Darnassus as she died. He knew, now, with his dear sister, he would have to do the same. The only difference was, she had one final chance to see her beloved city. Maiev would never see it again.
Overcome with grief, he wrapped both his arms around her and cried. For a brief few minutes, he expected her arms, strong as they were in her youth, to grip him back. Eventually, though, and soon enough, he forced himself to come to terms with the fact that she was gone, and that she was never coming back. That her hand would not brush off his cheek, that her voice would not scare away the ghosts tormenting his dreams, that her soft, unscarred fingers would never be wrapped around his again. He looked into his sister's eyes one last time and, with two fingers, gently closed them.
"All over…all done…" he wept, laying her peacefully back onto Hyjal's grass.
He thought of alerting Nordrassil immediately, but decided against it. There was nobody left who cared about Maiev but him. Tyrande would have regrets, he knew that. Shandris would mourn merely for Jarod's sake. Maybe Malfurion would pay his respects as they laid her to rest in Darnassus. And whoever remained of the Watchers would bid their mistress farewell. But Jarod was her brother. The only family she had left. This pain belonged only to him. Nobody else deserved to suffer. So, for a while, he gathered up roots and flowers, picked berries and dug up blue-petal tubers from the lake. Occasionally popping a dark red berry into his mouth, he busied himself with making a flower wreath, hoping to fit it around her hair. Colours like red, blue and white soon moulded into a spiral-like pattern. It took him at least two hours to finish, but with the taste of sweet, fresh juice running across his tongue and down his throat and with the dying embers of Maiev's eternal determination driving him on, he finished the wreath with a flawless touch and carefully placed it around her head.
Jarod gave himself another few hours to cry himself out, and then console himself for facing his friends. He decided to leave the sword behind and instead lifted up his sister, who was surprisingly light, and carried her from the Ashen Lake to Nordrassil. All the while, the stars shone ever bright, and he wondered if Maiev had found Naisha already, and if they were both watching as he journeyed to take his sister home.