Darnassian:

Min'da: Mother.

Quel'dorei: Children of noble birth (Slang for "Highborne")

Arane: A curse or expletive. Figurative translation for "Nightmare/s".

Stormrage

Despite every insult he may or may not have received over the centuries—lowborn, insolent, petty aspirant, beguiler, unworthy—the fact of being insulted simply for being a sorcerer is something that doesn't disturb Illidan at all.

He's aware of the rumors regarding his natural abilities. Actually, he had heard all of them: From the opinion about only nobles and aristocrats being worthy of such gifts, to the assumption of magic being only a tool to corrupt and taint people's minds.

Yet, there he stands. A—certainly—untainted kaldorei from a low caste; gifted by the Goddess and probably one of the best sorcerers of their era.

Born on sundown, out of his Min'da's womb mere minutes before his brother and blessed with golden eyes; the clear mark of the Mother Moon upon him, the only sign that even before drawing his first breath, he had been destined for greatness.

It had been more than twelve thousand years when the next generation of the joined families of Stormhaze and Moonrage inherited another golden-eyed member; only Lord Moonrage, his Min'da's grandfather, had been blessed before him.

Elune and all the Gods above could be damned if he were to feel insulted only for being a talented sorcerer—only for being better than them.

So, it's only a dismissive snort what the silver-haired woman gets as an answer, Illidan's back and shoulders straightening, showing his complete lack of interest in maintaining that line of conversation.

However, one of his cobalt eyebrows rises in curiosity when Mylenne comes out from behind him, sending a growing annoying glare to the relatives. "Maiev…" Mylenne whispers, trying to capture her attention.

The other male, instead, doesn't seem to acknowledge his friend. "You know this man, sister?" Jarod asks the female next to him, looking rather surprised.

"Bah, I can recognize the likes of him from miles away." The female—Maiev, if he heard Mylenne correctly—snarls, rolling her silver eyes as if the answer seems obvious. "So, what do you want? If you are looking for Mylenne then get on the line, for you are not the only one."

Illidan doesn't have the chance to speak, for then her brother takes a step forward, raising a hand to point at Mylenne, still partially hiding behind Illidan. "Well, about that—"

Yet she doesn't listen, her voice rising in volume, irritation and exasperation showing on the sharp angles of her face. "Or better yet, drop off your search, she must have probably—"

"Maiev, would you shut up for one second? I am here!" Mylenne comes out from behind him in the form of Lily, her tones certainly showing how she had reached the end of her patience.

The woman with silver hair gets stunned, mouth gaping and speechless, silver eyes wide open as if she had just been slapped. Her long ears twitch in recognition and her brother rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers, an apparent intent to ease the tension and anticipation growing around the four of them.

Long, uncomfortable seconds go through in complete silence, only the sounds of laughing couples and exultant merchants selling their wares filling the air. "Huh? Myl? What are you doing here?" The annoying woman finally murmurs, her throat bobbing as she slowly recovers her composure, "Why are you… uhm, dressed—what is this sorcery?"

Illidan can't help the rolling of his eyes, idly wondering for how long does he need to endure the siblings' evident despise for magic. "It is called a spell," He informs the female, rapidly growing tired of her insolence. "And it is only temporary."

"Nobody forced me to do this, Maiev," Mylenne adds, seemingly taken aback with her friend's shock—almost as if she couldn't believe the words coming from her mouth. "Illidan had only been helping me tonight, and he certainly did so without any awful questioning!"

That only earned a petty snort from Maiev. "Of course he did," She says in a mocking tone, quickly recovering, "Going to help the poor damsel in distress like any good quel'dorei aspirant will do."

She spits the words as if being poison—mocking and disgusted at the same time—and Illidan's blood boils up with anger, now really feeling insulted. How dared she call him like that? His arms uncross by themselves, hands curled into fists and glowing with the intensity of his growing irritation.

Yet, Mylenne keeps talking, "I can't believe this. Why are you two being so rude?" Her voice quavers and he shoots a glance at her, noticing how her silver eyes get glossy, tears threatening to come out and soak her face, taut with dismay. "I asked him to do this for me! You're just…"

His fists uncurl and his face softens at the upsetting sight of her. "It is alright, Myl—Lily," He corrects himself at the last moment, a dark hand traveling to place over her bare shoulder. "I am used to this," Illidan adds softly as a tingle runs through his fingers—the usual reaction he gets when he touches her—trying to soothe her with a thumb tracing small circles close to her collarbone.

However, she gently brushes his hand away and shakes her head in denial, "No, it is not," She insists, eyes shuttering and a disappointed sigh leaving her lips. "I just wanted to enjoy the festivities without father or his guards lurking on my back."

"Which we were just taking care of it for you without any need of foul magic in between!" Maiev claims with a hand pointing at herself and her brother, which has gone silent after apparently noticing Mylenne's upsetting state, his silver eyes looking at nowhere in particular and lips pressed into a thin line.

"Then I apologize for being such a burden to you," Mylenne's words come out in a rush—as if she's not thinking what she's saying. However, Illidan recognizes the pained look in her eyes when she flutters them open.

Only the Goddess knows how often he had to deal with rejection, how he had to make his way in Suramar without the support of anyone—sometimes, not even with the support of Malfurion. That is why his fingers travel to lace with hers, golden eyes gleaming with understanding and empathy when she returns his stare.

Deep down he wishes to not really know how she must be feeling, yet his heart clenches inside his chest because he's still terribly aware of it.

Relief washes over him when she closes her fingers on his hand, her aura going still with resolution and her face softening in the next blink, showing her appreciation when their eyes lock on each other—only for a second.

He can't read Mylenne's mind but something in her gaze tells him that—probably after their last conversation—she'd been planning to leave him, most likely preferring to return to the comfortable company of her friends. Illidan can't help with sending her a very small smile, feeling terribly glad that she had seemingly changed her mind.

When she returns her eyes to the siblings, she seems steadier. "Thank you for your help, then. I'll not bother you further," The silver-haired female opens her mouth to protest but Mylenne cuts her off with a wave of her free hand. "No, I will not be a nuisance to you two. Enjoy the festivities."

Her blue skirt waves as she turns around, pulling his hand in her way and mumbling something to herself as she walks away. Illidan only has a second to let go of her hand and, instead, protectively encircle her shoulders—always careful of not messing with her hair in the process.

After taking a couple of steps forward—and with Mylenne beside him seemingly distracted—he takes advantage of the moment, sending a triumphant smile to the Shadowsong siblings from over his shoulder, savoring the angry look on their faces before disappearing around the corner of the street, on their way to the Evermoon Commons.

The next hour goes by with Mylenne apparently having a newfound purpose: Spend the rest of the night only enjoying one another's company, leaving all the previous tense moments behind—right where they belong.

So they walk around the Commons, always with their hands or arms linked, and browse all the stalls and kiosks they happened to come across. He successfully grabs two glasses of Moonberry wine from a waitress—who idly walks around the crowd—and Mylenne sends him a look of approval with the way he managed to get them some drinks while not letting go of her arm all along.

"I am amazed at the fact that you remembered I like Moonberry wine," She admits while trying to avoid a couple of banners hanging from the trees and roofs—which Illidan takes as a good opportunity to impress her further, easily brushing them aside with his free hand.

"It was easy to remember when my officer had been complaining about it for a whole week!" He says in a bantering tone, sending her a knowing look which only succeeds in making her burst into laughter.

And something flutters inside his chest with the melody of her voice—blossoming like delicate petals of the warmest flower—but he brushes the feeling aside, filing and saving it for later to wonder about. On that moment he prefers to share her laughter, doing a victory toast before finishing their drinks.

After taking the corner, they find a jewelry booth and spend some time with Mylenne trying lots of pendants and earrings with different sizes and colors. He insists on buying her a pair of silver earrings with crescent moons—which match her stunning eyes—but she refuses his offer with the same insistence, alleging that she's not used to wearing earrings.

"Then what are we doing here?" Illidan wonders when she takes a ninth pair to try—two azure gems cut in the form of delicate tears—while he helps her to put away the ones she still has on her long ears.

A small blush creeps over her cheeks when he brushes away a lock of her hair, although he's too concentrated in his task that he only notices it a mere moment before it fades. "Because it is fun?" She answers with another question, a playful grin plastered on her face. "Here, you should try these ones,"

He tries to protest but his mind goes blank when the woman gets closer and gently bends his head with a nimble hand on the back of his neck. The hairs on his neck rise up with her slight touch, making him focus on keeping a small groan from escaping when two of her fingers brush over the sensitive tip of his ear, sending a pleasurable shiver down his spine.

Yet the small pinch never comes, for then she places a metallic cover on the tip—and his eyes flutter close in his best attempt to stay still when a second shiver threatens to break his composure. If Mylenne notices the way his shoulders tense for a small second, he couldn't possibly know. But he endures the delightful feeling of her fingers without a single protest.

When he opens her eyes, she's beaming at him; a lovely smile on her lips, silver eyes wide and taking him in—a gaze so clear in which he can see his own reflection. He tries to blink away the stunning sight, yet a big part of him resists doing so.

It gets to be a hard, so hard task; those beautiful, silver orbs delving into his soul and warming him from the inside out like beacons of the purest light—added with a bit of conscious narcissism from his part, for he feels like he could stare at his own reflection for the rest of his life.

Illidan knows it's a spell; it must be or, at the very least, he can't think of anything else that could have that effect on him. He had ever felt so compelled before, so close to dropping the remnants of his mastered self-control only for him to…

A flash of bright green clings to his periphery, abruptly—and thankfully—breaking the unknown and mysterious spell of her presence. This time his eyes blink twice to adjust his sights and delete all possible figments, but he knows who he's staring at, past Mylenne's shoulders.

"You do not like it?" She asks after breaking eye contact. With his vision still foggy, Mylenne hands him a small mirror to look at himself, "I think they look lovely, and they match your eyes…"

But—even with her praising—his gaze is locked on the familiar couple of kaldorei, walking hand by hand to another stall, browsing through a wide variety of flowers and herbs without any single care in the world. His brother, Malfurion, and Tyrande, too entrenched in each other to notice him.

He disposes of his earrings with a bit more force than necessary. "Yeah, I am sure..." He can't be sure if the sneer on his lips is for the slightly painful tug at his ear, or for the heartbreaking sight of the other couple.

For a moment, he allows his troubled mind to wonder about the irony of it all. When Malfurion and Tyrande's interest lay on worthless, silly and raw medicinal herbs, Illidan's own lay on opulence, luxury, on pure beauty; whether if it comes from a woman or from bright jewelry and adornments.

Are those the reasons—his vision of the world, his aspirations, his intended lifestyle—what drove him away from Tyrande, the female he had loved, in the first place? What drove him away from his own brother?

Yet, how could he possibly know that he had loved Tyrande, or that he still does? From what he's aware, such an intense feeling as love and caring could never come hand by hand with the tang of resentment and disappointment that now tugs at his chest. And if he had known that having Tyrande's heart could separate him from his sibling in some way…

Thousands of questions and wonderings invade Illidan's mind, the taste of bitterness heavy on his throat. Worst of all, he's in the worst place to be pondering about such things. The crowd is too loud, he didn't even have enough wine to loosen himself, and he can't find a good distraction that can keep his head from spinning and assault him with more questions.

But—surprisingly—when a delicate hand is placed over his cheek, gently turning his face down, Illidan finds a way to return to the present time when his gaze finds the ever so soothing eyes of his companion. For the look of her eyes, he notices that she's, somehow, aware of his disturbance.

"We made a vow, remember?" Mylenne's disguised lips show a small, comforting smile, making the deep creases of his forehead to relax and soften a little. "We promised that we would at least try to enjoy this festival." A tired sigh escapes Illidan's lips at the reminder, yet it's not enough to lift his spirits. "Come on, let us go somewhere else."

With a remarkable ease, she finds his hand and laces her fingers with his before pulling him along, apparently deciding to lead the way. The merchant yells something at them and Mylenne quickly throws a small pouch of gold coins at him from her hidden pocket before making their retreat. He remains silent and follows her around the corner, the fingers of his free hand still holding the pair of azure earrings. But instead of giving them to their owner, Illidan saves the jewels on one pocket of his loose jacket, preferably for another moment.

And there it goes, another one for the pile of savings of the 'for later' ponderings.

A pleasant intake of breath coming from his partner takes Illidan out of his reverie once they enter the plaza, Mylenne stopping short and almost making him bump her. The crowd is a little thicker than on the Commons, but thanks to his stature he can clearly admire the scene displayed before them.

Paper lanterns shaped like moons and stars glitter over the plaza, floating above them with the soft purplish-blue mist of magic, circling around a wide marbled space that the locals have apparently decided to place as a dance floor. Females and children living in the surrounding houses lean out of their windows to toss multicolored ribbons to the kaldorei below, lutes and drums pounding around the happy and relaxed chattering from the dancers.

After her stupor, Mylenne heads to her right, a hand still gripping his and attempting to guide him near some feasting and drinking tables. Close to the corner, a couple of Moon Guard members have already taken a table for themselves—the ever intolerable Officer Latosius, doing what Illidan believes to be the most pitiful attempt for a courtship on a noble Lady, conjuring small arcane orbs to twirl around the female.

For a moment, he glances at Latosius' companion, Officer Hargo'then, which appears to make his best to maintain a stoic face after such display. But then, Illidan doesn't feel up to mingle with them—and that feels to be the inevitable thing to do if Mylenne insists with her apparent idea of getting more wine to drink.

And definitely seems to be the worst idea when he notices Hargo'then and his pale golden eyes subtly roaming over Mylenne's swaying hips.

So it is then when he stops in his tracks, an annoying grunt escaping his lips as he gently pulls at Mylenne's arm, making her face him. "What? You grew tired of wine already?" She wonders, looking innocent, almost as if she's unaware of the attention she's getting.

Just like the paper lanterns floating around them, a better idea hovers on Illidan's mind. Coincidentally, it gets to be the exact moment when the musicians switch into a new melody. "Come on," He nods to the dance floor, a dashing smile crossing his lips as he takes her other hand in his.

Her silver eyes widen with his suggestion, a small blush creeping up her neck. "Oh, err, Illidan…" Mylenne tries to resist at first, embarrassment narrowing her flustered cheeks. "I do not believe it is a good—"

But he keeps dragging her with him. "I believe you said we should 'try to enjoy the festival'," Illidan insists, his amused grin widening when she doesn't offer much resistance to his invitation. Walking backward, he opts for a small teasing. "Or are you that shy? Do not worry then, you just happen to have a good partner for this,"

One of her eyebrows lifts suggestively, her attitude more relaxed and playful as they keep slowly approaching to the dance floor. "Oh, is that it?" Her mouth curls into a half smirk, eyes gleaming in amusement. "I should warn you of my… particular skills at dancing."

The barely challenging look she directs at him does a funny thing with his insides, almost making him stumble on his way. "So, you think you can keep up with me?" He quickly recovers, noticing he just had triggered something pretty much interesting. "Allow me to have my doubts; I just have not found anybody certainly able to…"

When the woman imitates his sly smirk, he knows he can't be any more delighted. "I rather think you will have trouble keeping up with me," Mylenne's voice shifts into a sultry tone, a teasing long finger climbing up his chest, making his muscles clench in its way.

It gets better when he directs a barely burning stare at her, ready to devour her with only his eyes… and her smirk grows wider. Her finger stops right on the crook between his collarbones before abandoning its touch, teasingly brushing his arm as she walks past him.

Is she aware that it can be almost dangerous to challenge him like that?

A dark-skinned hand instantly snatches her wrist, his chest pressing onto her back and pulling her close before she walks away. "Oh, that is bold of you," He whispers in her ear, using that seductive low voice he's aware of having its pleasant effects on females.

On its way to find her hip with his free hand, she suddenly turns around, a wild gleaming on her bright silver eyes. "Mmh, is it?" She chuckles low, easily freeing from his grip. She must probably know how tantalizing she may be for the swaying of her hips, yet she never stops doing so, taunting him with her gaze as she slowly steps away from his grasp.

It takes a mere instant for Illidan to reach her, sending her spinning and taking the center of the dance floor. It gets to be a very easy task to claim a large spot for themselves as he makes her spin once more, her long skirt waving and one of her arms arched elegantly.

As they step into the rhythm, Illidan slowly comes to the realization that he's falling into a trap. Both of them move gracefully, their steps always matching the other, but every time he attempts to hold her waist or one of her arms, she easily breaks free of his grasp, swaying and circling him.

She certainly is a very skilled dancer, but he'll be damned before falling behind. He has a reputation to maintain, after all.

For the rest of the song he pretends to not look for her, allowing her to take the lead and fall into the comfort of only their closeness; only their magical aura brushing and mingling with the other as they twirl and circle each other.

Barely joined with the ghost touch of their raised palms, Illidan's fingers twitch and ache to enclose on her hand, but he'll not risk ruining the game—not even when Mylenne incites him with a mischievous gaze to exactly do so—instead curling his other hand into a fist, placed on the small of his back.

She is slippery, moving with the grace of a saber, and behind that alluring cascade of cerulean hair and sky-blue skirt he can't really take his gaze away from, he's too much aware that all eyes are on her. The rest of the dance floor is a heavy blur of several faces, yet he can recognize the flash of bright green from Malfurion, walking around the entrance of the plaza, or the cobalt mane—pretty similar to his own, but way shorter—from Hargo'then. Even Officer Latosius had apparently found another way to entertain himself, not even bothering to hide his eyes following Mylenne's hips or her arms when they arch above her head.

Just a few minutes before the song coming to an end, Mylenne's gaze lingers on some point behind his shoulder, and Illidan also notices that all eyes are on him as well—mostly females. For a mere moment she slightly falters on her steps, suddenly too distracted to maintain her perfect elegance and sending a death glare to a couple of young maidens close to his position, sharp teeth bare and fire on her eyes.

Illidan's smile can't get any wider, the amount of events displayed before his eyes too pleasurable that it literally gets into his skin—his aura, flaring with delight in soft purplish-blue waves.

So, he finds the gap in her planned machinations, taking the advantage of her distraction and grasping her wrist before sending her spinning one, two, three times. The newfound touch sends a small shockwave through his fingers—beginning on his palm, traveling to his arm and spreading on his chest—and judging by the small intake of breath, Mylenne appears to be having the same sensation running through her.

Still, she beams at him, her face brightening when he pulls her against his chest, bringing them inches apart from each other. And right when the last note of the flutes are played, he bends her back to rest on his flexed knee, holding her body with a palm on her upper back and their joined hands close to the back of his head.

The silence grows thick at their closeness, the pounding from the drums replaced with the wild hammering of his heart, filling his ears and covering the noisy chattering from the crowd around them. But despite the previous events, he can't seem to find a more delighting scene as her; chest heaving, cheeks flustered, bright silver eyes in which he can see his own reflection.

Yet the pleased smile he directs at her is for entirely different reasons; because, after this game of taunts, sways, and provocations, he finally has her in his arms. And that's the only thing that could satisfy him more than the sight of her stunning beauty.

Illidan can't entirely believe that they only needed a dance for her shyness to slip away, but then, he just voices his thoughts before the music starts once more. "You are a box full of surprises, do you know that?"

The soothing melody of a harp reaches his ears as he straightens her back, yet reluctant to let her go, a hand slipping around her waist. "You think? Even when all I do is get you into trouble?" Mylenne wonders with a light tone, her fingers reaching the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

"If you keep amazing me like you just did, then I do not mind getting some more," He confesses, golden eyes gleaming with many promises behind his piercing gaze. "You really are a good dancer, I am genuinely surprised…"

Mylenne laughs at that, wholeheartedly, the music of her voice going straight to his very core. "And you thought you were the master of everything, Illidan?" Her laughter turns into a low, teasing chuckle, but he allows that as she leans her body against his chest. "Remind me then on insisting you further the next time."

Her last words echo in his brain. The next time, the next time...

As they dance and sway to the slow music, his brain easily starts to ponder about their next possible encounters, for he's definitely looking forward to seeing her again. Should he take her hunting? Make their way into some not-so-crowded taverns seems to be a nice idea as well, given her liking to Moonberry wine. Does she prefer the opulence, the bright marble and never-ending activity of Suramar's streets or does she feel more at ease on the outskirts, basking in the moonlight kissing her skin and the stillness of the forest?

He certainly can't be more pleased when she leans further in his arms, her temple resting on his shoulder, sighing deeply and apparently uncaring of the crowd who might be watching them. For such a peculiar female as Mylenne, she just seemed to have fallen for his charms just as quick as the rest—a feat Illidan finds both remarkable and odd, as he had surely expected for her to be more… challenging.

"Psst, Lid…" A voice that doesn't belong to the woman in his arms takes him by surprise. "Lid… Stormrage!" They hiss at him, making him flinch for a bare moment.

An annoyed growl escapes his lips as he looks behind his shoulder. Who dares to disturb them in that precious moment? Can't he and his partner have a single minute in peace, for once? He certainly never had such a complicated courtship in ages, why—

Did you just say courtship, Stormrage?

But he can't find a moment to ponder about it as Mylenne raises her head and follows his gaze. It gets to be more difficult when the speaker enters his line of sight, revealing a familiar kaldorei dressed in Moon Guard robes. "Lothrius? I thought you were at the Stronghold…" Illidan says, blinking in surprise.

Lothrius Mooncaller comes closer to them, still dancing and swaying with his partner—a female from the Sisterhood, if her robes are of any indication—with a subtle nonchalance. "I just escaped," He shrugs Illidan's comment away, but then he nods past him and Mylenne, brows rising in warning, "Doesn't matter now, what matters is that the hurricane is coming. To your right,"

He can only tilt his head for a moment and blink twice, confused, before following Lothrius' advice. The sight displayed before him leaves him stunned, his steps faltering. Syrana—his friend and the woman that Illidan had completely forgotten about after finding Mylenne a couple of hours ago—is storming in their direction, her face constricted in sheer rage, fists slightly glowing at her sides.

It takes a humming noise coming from Mylenne for him to snap out of his sudden stupor. "Oh, arane…" Illidan mutters, realization dawning on him, making him want to smack himself for his stupidity.

Of course, it could be… troublesome—for the lack of a better word—for Syrana to see the disguise he applied to Mylenne; but then, Illidan had totally forgotten about her. And judging by the way his friend is now rushing to him, her golden eyes glowing with anger, he seems to be a moment away from dealing with the consequences.

Fortunately, Lothrius is there to save him—and apparently willing to do so, as he places a heavy hand on Illidan's shoulder, pushing him away and stepping between him and the enraged navy-haired woman closing in. "You have it bad, my friend," He says, remarking the obvious, "But don't worry, I'll cover you."

He accepts Lothrius' offer without hesitation, grabbing a very confused Mylenne by the hand and pulling her away with him. "How much?" He just says behind his shoulder while he locks eyes with the female beside him, sending her a silent plea with his gaze only.

"Next week's shift is on you," That gets an annoyed groan from Illidan—the price of his escaping doesn't seem to be cheap at all. But then, he really wants to avoid another unpleasant situation; he had already reached the end of his tolerance after seeing his brother.

"Deal," Illidan snarls back, not really having another choice, and tugs at Mylenne's hand, attempting to blend in with the crowd as he hunches down his head to keep his cobalt mane from being spotted. As he gets on eye level with his partner—her silver eyes half amused, half surprised—he then says, "How about us getting out of here?"

"It was not enough with our last sprint, was it?" Mylenne replies in a mocking tone, yet she doesn't seem to complain about it, lacing her fingers with his and barely holding a cackle from escaping her lips.

So, once more, they are on the run, this time with their roles reversed as she follows his lead—and this time without her beautiful face soaked in sad tears. Instead, they laugh it off as they go, fleeing like two younglings who had just escaped from school, looking for some fun—and some trouble—elsewhere.

"I'll feed you to the hippogryphs, Stormrage!" It's the last he hears from Syrana as they turn around the corner, returning to the Harbor and to when he and Mylenne had their first encounter in that crazy, utterly crazy night.

Illidan doesn't know where Mylenne got that amount of money from, but as they climb into a boat and take their way through the Suramar Bay, he certainly isn't up to complain about the whole luxury of it. A wooden cask is placed on the far end of the boat, a pleased hum giving way through his lips as he finds a bottle of Nightpear cider, bread and Moonberry jam inside the cask.

The Mother Moon is soon coming to rest, the last of her silver-white rays reflecting on the calm waters as they go by, with Mylenne resting her back in one corner of the boat, basking in the landscape displayed before them.

"It seems that… this has turned out to be a total inconvenience," She says softly, her adrenaline from their previous sprint already washed off. Illidan remains silent, pouring two glasses of cider for them, just as calm and quiet as the sea. "Well, then? Are you going to tell me who… uhm, who I am?"

He sits beside her, taking precious care in not brushing her shoulder with his own, giving her some personal space. "My friend's sister, Shalasyr Starweave. Of course, Syrana probably thought I was dancing with her," He explains after sighing tiredly, "I apologize for not telling you sooner; in my defense, she was the most logical female to hold on to when I was channeling my spell."

Her elegant eyebrows narrow into a frown, taking a moment of silence while sipping her cider, apparently pondering over what he says. "Logical? I don't understand. You just were thinking about her?" Her question gives way with a hint of disbelief—almost a hint of jealousy if Illidan didn't know better.

Yet it's not a really good moment to ponder about Mylenne's thoughts on the subject, although he does notice her slipping into a more informal speech, "Not exactly. Actually, I was thinking about her hair." He adds with a tilt of his head and then takes a moment by only tasting the cider on his tongue, unconsciously looking for some liquid courage. "Well, she's one of the few women I know with long hair just as you, so…"

His throat bobs as he avoids her soft gaze, staring at the floor of the boat almost in astonishment. He hardly can't believe himself—he just had let it slip his liking for long hair, it's not that he'd confessed a terrible crime. But then, why is he feeling so… worried? So nervous about what she may think of him?

Mylenne's voice is measured and careful when she breaks the silence. "That would be Shalasyr, me… and Priestess Tyrande." She easily assumes, daring a glance at him through the corner of her silver eyes.

Illidan can't keep a long, tiresome groan from escaping his throat, head lolling and falling to rest not-so-gently on the wooden corner of the boat, eyes shutting close. Does it all have to lead to Tyrande, eventually? He doesn't even want to bring her to the conversation, irritation coursing right through him and tensing his muscles, just like every time he evokes the memory of the navy-haired woman.

But then, a deep wave of respite washes over him as a small, delicate hand brushes over his knee, "Alright, alright, I take that back," Mylenne concedes with a kindhearted tone, her voice so tender that his golden eyes flutter open instantly, looking at her out of sheer curiosity. She hesitates for a moment, but her gaze gleams playfully as she next adds, "… Lid."

His eyes blow wide, gasping exaggeratedly and in half mocking as he holds a hand to his chest, pretending to be hurt—yet taking her comment as it is: A way out. "Oh, you didn't just call me—"

The woman chuckles at his reaction, leaning to the side and facing him properly. "Lid? But I like it," A dashing smile follows her words, her face softening as he relaxes beside her once more, "Sounds cute,"

"No, you are," Illidan says, showing her how he really means it as he imitates her pose, his golden gaze open and honest.

Past the horizon, the first rays of sunlight are showing, peaking above the sea and caressing her skin in its way to the surface. His fingertips, as if having a life of its own, dare to travel to her bare shoulder, tracing the route that the warm rays leave behind—from the crook of her neck to her curved jawline, moving in a straight line to her temple.

She shivers with his gentle touch, eyes fluttering close and cheeks blushing, yet she doesn't move nor flinches away. As if involuntarily, she leans her cheek into his palm when he cups her face, a longing sigh escaping her lips when his hand starts to glow with magic. Her long mane waves like a flag, shades of violet slowly washing away the cerulean as her disguise starts to fade. The lavender tint of her skin spreads like spider webs, revealing the violet markings on her face and unveiling the real woman underneath his spell.

His throat goes dry with the stunning sight of her transformation—and right when the sun starts to show, Lily fades away with the remnants of the night, Mylenne taking her rightful place.

"Did I just say cute?" Illidan breathes, not really finding his voice. "I must take that back, for I think you're beautiful."

Her lips curve into a dear smile, silver eyes fluttering open, instantly finding his, "Flattery seems to get you anywhere," She keeps the same low voice as him, the words barely slurring—if in reaction to his magic or for the cider finally having its effects on her, Illidan may never know.

"I only tell what my eyes can see… Mylie," The banter comes in its own accord, not really meaning it at first. But then, she suddenly bursts into laughter and a grin takes place over his mouth, unable to hide it even as he briefly bites his lower lip.

They spend another hour on the boat, both of them a little tipsy from the Nightpear cider, shoving some mouthfuls of bread while they talk about everything and nothing at all. Mylenne tells him that it's been only a year since she started her initiation at the Temple of Elune—barely a blink for such a long-lived race as theirs—and he remarks that it's been twenty years since he first placed a foot on the Moon Guard Stronghold. She comments about her uncle's adventures around the continent, yet never brings the rest of her family to the conversation, just as he neither brings Malfurion.

It's almost morning when the boat reaches its final parade, back on the Harbor once more. He has to half-carry her to the ground, a long arm encircling her waist as they drop off, laughing wholeheartedly at their slight dizziness. Fortunately, not many people are left at that time of the day, allowing Mylenne to be more relaxed as she rests her cheek on the head of his shoulder.

As much as he doesn't want the night to end, they inevitably reach the bridge that leads him to Silgryn's temporary place—the very same spot from when they first found each other, too many hours ago. "I can walk you to your home, if you—uhm, if you wish, of course…" Illidan fumbles with his words, wincing when noticing the lame excuse in his voice.

"There is no need," She only smiles, shaking her head as if attempting to hide her evident blush, hesitate to look at his face when they stop walking.

An awkward moment of silence goes by and Illidan swallows hard, his mind desperately trying to come up with another idea that could make her stay with him a little longer. It is right when his lips part once more that he's suddenly pulled down, not so gently, her long and nimble arms wrapping him into a tight hug.

Careful, the small voice of his conscience keeps him on his toes, right on that moment when both her hands travel to rest on the back of his neck. It only needs a wrong move from you to destroy centuries of hard training, Stormrage. Only a false step and you will ruin everything…

"Thank you for everything, Illidan." She whispers to the crook of his neck. The ever so tempting smell of lilies mixed with the acrid scent of her magic fills his nose as he buries it in her hair, the tip brushing the flower still adorning her ear. But, despite the warnings, he feels content with only holding her in his embrace, his hands coming to rest on her small waist.

No matter how hard it may be, how loud that beast within him might growl, ever threatening him to crawl its way out and break loose—because, for all uncertainties, Illidan is absolutely sure about one: He will not harm Mylenne in any way.

He pulls back only to look at her beautiful face, whispering back, "It's my very pleasure, Myl—"

Both of their pointed ears twitch when they hear some movement at their left, her dazzling smile disappearing just as fast as it came, her neck craning almost violently to catch a glance of the newcomers. Illidan almost startles when he follows her eyes.

On the other side of the bridge, two Black Rook guards are staring at Mylenne, slightly panting as if they have been sprinting only to reach her. "Thank the Goddess you are still around!" One of them says, his dark helmet that obscures the details of his face not really hiding his relief.

Illidan feels how she freezes in his arms, eyes wide and completely still. Yet the second guard is already walking through the bridge to where they stand, making his arm encircle her waist by sheer instinct. Somehow none of them are able to move, Illidan's jaw tightening when the guards reach the end of the bridge, his magical aura flaring out in its best menacing attempt.

But then, a mere moment later, the Black Rook soldiers just incline their heads to Mylenne. "Your father had been looking for you all night, Lady Stareye. We are assigned to escort you back to him."

Illidan's aura fades away like a candle blown out by the wind, jaw falling in sheer astonishment.

Had that man just called her… Lady Stareye?

A-N: Dreams of Azure is already here! Go check it out (in my profile) if you're interested in some more background from Illidan :D