Much to Eliana's dismay, Lord Ravencrest's horn had indeed borne ill news. The entirety of the Sisterhood of Elune was thrown into the throngs of a battle that lasted days, which was more than any of them could handle at this point in the war. More and more demons poured from the crevices of the mountainside, swarming across the plains until the once-verdant blades were crushed and dead. They spewed from the dark, shadowy corners of the forest, like the streams that sprouted from Mount Hyjal with no end in sight. Many priestesses perished, as did the soldiers, but they had no other choice than to fight on if they wished to survive.
On the first day, unexpected allies joined the battle. Lost in the motions of dealing death, slicing and dicing in a way that had become nearly second nature to her, Eliana didn't notice the new arrivals until multiple shadows had slithered across the battlefield. The rhythmic sound of giant, flapping wings eclipsed the sounds of battle, and when she looked up, she'd nearly fallen over in shock.
Dragons had stretched across the sky, blocking out the sun entirely. Red, green, blue, and black; creatures thought to be entirely mythical had come to their aid. The joy and relief was short-lived, however. Not long after their arrival, the largest of the black flight had unleashed a devastating attack upon the demons, and then been attacked by one of the red flight.
Infighting amongst the dragons ensued, and the black and red dragon, entangled in one another, crashed down onto the battlefield. Most of the Night Elves had tried to scramble out of the way, but there had been a few who could not make it in time. Shortly after, the ground had trembled, swayed, and molten lava had burst through the earth, raining down on them from above.
The lava pushed back their forces from the plains, even closer to Zin-Azshari than before. Eliana had long since lost track of her loved ones. Though she knew that Illidan, Cytheas, and Tyrande were out there in the battle somewhere, she had no idea whether they were alive or not. That is, until Tyrande rode out of the horde and beelined straight for her with a dazed, frantic look on her face.
While astride her saber, Tyrande swung down and took out the demon that Eliana had been warring with. "Eliana, I must ride out to the base of Mount Hyjal!"
"What? Why? What's going on?" Eliana sidled up to Tyrande's mount, laying a hand on the pommel of the saddle.
"It's—I'm not sure that I could explain it, even if I tried, but I've heard from Malfurion."
"Malfurion?" Eliana exclaimed. "Is he back?"
"Yes, he and Lord Krasus have returned to us. He implored that I ride to meet him as quickly as possible," Tyrande explained as her mount shifted its weight from paw to paw, restless to be moving again.
"Then that is what you must do." Eliana stepped back, nodding to give Tyrande the permission she'd come to seek. As Tyrande mounted up, Eliana added, "Take a few of our sisters with you for protection, and return to us as soon as you can."
"Thank you, Eli," Tyrande breathed, lifting her reins.
"Be safe, sister."
With a nod of her own, Tyrande flicked her reins and she and her saber were off.
Two days later
Eliana stared out at the ruined plains below the Night Elven encampment, hidden by a small copse of trees. Even sheltered as she was, rain still pelted her hair, melding it to her head like a second skin. Despite the fact that a few strands hung down in front of her face like wiry threads, she couldn't summon the energy to move them aside. It seemed like she had little energy for anything anymore.
The storm had appeared out of nowhere mere hours after Tyrande's departure. It battered their forces, giving them no choice but to continue moving back, away from the plains. The only small relief was that the demons, too, had no other choice but to retreat as well. They'd been granted a rare, though short, moment of peace. However, when Malfurion and Shandris had returned without Tyrande—and with a red dragon no less—all of Eliana's conviction had left her. If Elune would not protect one of her most faithful, then what hope did the rest of them have?
Malfurion insisted that she was not at fault, that she couldn't have known what would happen to Tyrande, but despite his reassurances, she could not help but blame herself. As High Priestess, she was responsible for the safety and well-being of her sisters. She should never have let Tyrande leave.
Those thoughts elicited another shaky breath from Eliana, and she looked up at the sky. Raindrops landed on her forehead, snaking their way down her cheeks until she couldn't tell the difference between her tears and those of nature.
"Elune, what have I done wrong?" she murmured as she let her eyes slide shut.
Her mind was quiet, and though she hadn't been expecting an answer, it still left her filled with disappointment. Perhaps if Tyrande had taken the mantle of High Priestess instead of her, Elune would have answered her with the guidance that their people sorely needed now. That, and Tyrande would still be here.
She was startled out of her morbid thoughts by the sound of rustling leaves behind her. Drawing her daggers as she pivoted on her heel into a crouch, she hid behind a cluster of fronds as she waited for the enemy to appear. When Illidan, of all people, stepped out of the trees, she straightened in surprise.
"Illidan? What are you doing out here?"
When she stepped out from behind her cover, his amber eyes immediately locked on to her. With a shrug, he said, "I could ask the same of you."
"I . . ." She trailed off, turning back around to stare at the plains off in the distance once more. "I simply needed some peace and quiet. I needed to be somewhere I could think."
Her gaze flitted across the battlefield, focusing on the massive craters that now dotted the once-smooth, green surface, before it settled on the many corpses littering the field. Without a word, Illidan sidled up to her, following her gaze with a grim expression of his own.
"Would you believe me if I said I was searching for much the same?" he murmured.
A smile teased at the corners of her lips, but before it had a chance to fully form, the waves of grief that had been assailing her returned in full force. "I would."
It was then that he faced her, his brows knitting in concern. "Eliana . . . What happened to Tyrande was—"
"My fault, I know."
To her surprise, it seemed as if Illidan had been able to pick up on her state of mind, something that only her father and Cytheas had seemed to be able to do before now. Still, it didn't mean that she wished to speak about her failures, and especially not with him.
"No, that isn't what I was going to say," he replied, sounding frustrated as he placed his hand on her shoulder. The weight of it only felt like it added to everything else she was juggling at the moment, and she stepped away from him. When his hand fell, he reached out again and turned her around to look into her eyes. "Listen to me, Eliana."
Though it was the last thing she wanted to do, she looked up at him and met his gaze. With an intensity in his eyes that she'd seen few times before this, he said, "It was not your fault. Tyrande chose to ride out there."
"But when she did, they were ambushed. We lost a few of our sisters, we lost her, and—"
"And that was her choice. My brother asked her to meet him. If at all, it's his fault. Not yours."
"Illidan," Eliana chastised, tilting her head to the side. "You can't possibly believe that."
"Why would I not? He needed aid, and she was the one he reached out to, not me. She chose to ride out there without telling anyone but you, and got taken in the process," he spat, turning away from her.
She watched him, shaking her head slightly at his tone. He was upset, that much she knew, but she couldn't tell whether it was about Tyrande's capture or about the fact that Malfurion and Tyrande were far more connected than any of them had expected.
He ran a hand down his face, letting out a deep sigh at the same time. As she watched him, he propped his hands up on his hips, staring out at the plains once more. Without looking at her, he said, "I have more bad news."
"Now what?" she asked under her breath, wishing for nothing more than for this war to be over. "What else could go wrong?"
A beat passed where Illidan remained silent, until he finally added, "Ravencrest is dead."
"What?"
"He perished late yesterday. An assassin—" He spoke the word like it was poison. "—appeared from the throng and managed to sneak up behind him. The beast, surprisingly, saw the entire encounter and was the one who felled the assassin."
"Broxigar did? That's—If the commander is dead . . ."
"Then what do we do now? A question we are all asking, trust me." He finally faced her again. "Something needs to be done if we're to win this war. If no one will step up and lead, we are left without a strategy, and we cannot wait for someone to decide who will be commander next. If we continue on as we have, our people will eventually perish. We cannot go without sleep or food like the demons can, and we have a large gathering of refugees that follow us around."
"They have nowhere else to go, Illidan—much like ourselves."
"It is not a negative thing, it is simply a fact. We have to worry about them in addition to ourselves."
Eliana clasped her hands in front of her. "I suppose that is true."
Another frustrated sigh left Illidan, and he stroked his chin, deep in thought. "Lord Krasus believes we need to reach out to the other races and ask for their aid."
Her brows cinched, matching the frown that now graced her features. "Would they even agree to help us?"
"Does it really matter? We've never asked other races for help, and they've never come to our aid before. Why would it be any different now?"
"If we fall, Illidan, the rest of the world is next. Surely that would influence their decision."
He shrugged. "It doesn't matter if the people in charge don't bother to actually ask."
She dropped her gaze to the ground, filled with disappointment again. It was true that, overall, the Night Elves did not reach out to anyone. They had never formed alliances with the dwarves or tauren, but neither had they reached out to the Night Elves. While it seemed fruitless to try, what better reason to force an alliance than a war that threatened all of Azeroth?
Still, she was only one voice of power in a sea of many. Her opinion mattered little if the others in charge did not agree that it was a good plan, and by Illidan's account, that did not seem likely to occur.
Scrunching her nose in annoyance, she asked, "What does Malfurion think?"
A scoff left Illidan as he glared at her. In a voice filled with contempt, he asked, "Why does everyone want to know what my brother thinks?"
Surprised by his vehemence, Eliana leaned back. "I did not mean offense. I simply asked because you'd spoken of Lord Krasus. I knew they both had returned is all."
Illidan hummed as if he didn't believe her, before crossing his arms over his chest. "I did not ask what Malfurion thought. In fact, I haven't spoken to him since he returned."
Her eyes widened in surprise. "He's been missing for days, Illidan. Nearly a week, in fact. How could you not want to speak to him? If my father was found alive, I can't imagine wanting anything else."
Illidan's gaze remained focused on something off in the distance, and he didn't respond. It wasn't until she opened her mouth to speak again, that he interrupted her. "It's . . . a long story that I would rather not reiterate."
Again, Eliana frowned. "We've time. I do not think we'll be moving from here for quite awhile." As if to prove her point, she sank down onto a nearby boulder, crossing her legs at the knee before bracing herself on it.
Seemingly irritated, but acquiescing, Illidan followed her example. After reluctantly sitting down on the trunk of a fallen tree, he met her gaze. "I don't know how to explain it other than . . . my brother and I have some sort of mental connection through which we can communicate."
"You are twins. I suppose it would make sense."
"Yes, well, through this link, he tried to reach out to me for aid."
"And you turned him down?" Eliana exclaimed.
"Not exactly. I had been willing to help, until he all but shoved his and Tyrande's affection for one another in my face. As I'm sure you could understand, I didn't . . . handle that . . . very well, and I shut down the link before he could say anything else."
"What if he was asking for aid for Tyrande?" Eliana shot to her feet, holding out her hands. "We could have gotten to them in time! We could have—"
"Judging from what the soldiers have been saying, I doubt that. Malfurion told them that they were ambushed by Xavius."
"Who?"
"He was one of the queen's advisors, but apparently, he had become some sort of strange hybrid of demon and elf, fallen from favor. My brother managed to slay Xavius, but it was the others that took Tyrande."
A knot of dread formed in the pit of her stomach. If a being as terrible as this Xavius had lost his leader's favor, what would the demons do to Tyrande? Bile threatened to rise up her throat, and Eliana clasped a hand over her mouth as she started pacing.
Was Illidan right? Even if they'd known more, could they have even reached Tyrande and Malfurion in time? Why didn't he tell someone that Malfurion had tried to reach out to him?
As soon as that question formed in her mind, she looked over at Illidan. He was watching her pace with a blank expression, one hand curled around his knee, and the other propped up on his waist. They knew one another much better now than they had before the war, before events had forced them together. As such, she felt rather sure that . . . he didn't seem all that upset. For someone who had loved Tyrande for most of his life, it struck her as . . . odd.
"Illidan, are you—" Eliana broke off, hesitating to ask the question that was plaguing her. It was difficult to guess how he would react, but she had to know. After taking a deep breath, she started again. "Are you not upset at all that Tyrande has been taken? And by our enemies, no less?"
Slowly, Illidan leaned back, his back ramrod straight. "I never said that I wasn't upset."
"But you are far more calm than I expected you to be. In fact, I feel as if I am more upset at Tyrande's absence than you are."
He looked away, his intense gaze trained on the ground instead of her. Silence fell between them, and she almost thought he wouldn't respond at all, until he quietly said, "I have said my goodbyes to Tyrande."
"How can you say that? She could still be alive, Illidan! And we—"
She was interrupted by Illidan rising to his feet, his sudden movement catching her off-guard enough to halt her speech. At a pace that was alarmingly brisk, he crossed the clearing, clutching her upper arm in a tight grip.
"You misunderstand me, Eliana! I do not wish for her death, no, but you cannot expect me to be overcome with grief at her every action that puts me second, and my brother first. She chose Malfurion, and so she shall have him. If she, or you, expect me to sit here and pine away for a female who wants nothing to do with me, then you are both blind! If she wanted Malfurion, then he can grieve for her. I will not."
Shocked beyond words, Eliana stared up at him with wide eyes. A part of her was relieved that he had, seemingly, left his feelings for Tyrande behind. However, that part paled in comparison to the voice at the back of her mind that was appalled that Illidan could so readily forget about someone that he had loved for so long. If he could easily squash his emotions towards Tyrande, who was to say how long he would harbor whatever miniscule feelings he now held towards her?
As her mind raced, Illidan's fierce expression softened. The vice grip he'd had on her arm lessened, and he moved his hand to cradle her cheek. "I can practically see what you're thinking, Eliana. It's different. You are not Tyrande."
"No, I am not," Eliana whispered. "And that is what worries me."
"But that is precisely why you should not be worried."
Her responding denial was nearly imperceptible, but her cheek brushed against Illidan's palm as she shook her head. Illidan let out a sigh, and opened his mouth to explain when he was interrupted by the blaring of a horn behind him. Startled, she broke their eye contact and dropped her gaze to the creases in his onyx leather jerkin.
An irritated grunt left him, and he lowered his arm. "That must be the announcement for the funeral."
"Funeral?" Eliana echoed.
Illidan nodded, and said, "They've gathered what dead they could from the field. Many of our people wanted some sort of ceremony for them. I believe they . . . moved Lord Ravencrest's body away from the front lines when he perished. It's likely to honor him as well."
Eliana cringed at the mental image of Lord Ravencrest, devoid of life and immobile on the ground. It was so different than what he'd been like in life. Would the reminders of how much they had lost ever end?
He took a step back and offered his hand to her. "We'll continue this discussion after the funeral. Walk with me?"
They returned to the camp, arm in arm, and joined the gathered crowd towards the back. Eliana noted that the rain had lightened since she'd stepped into the forest; what had been a downpour before was now only a slight mist. It was as if nature realized that this was a moment of much-needed respite.
Illidan had been right when he'd spoken of the possibility of honoring Lord Ravencrest: soldiers, gathered beneath a stretched band of canvas that held the noble aloft, carried the commander's body down a winding path through the encampment. It was a sobering sight, and she could feel waves of grief and sorrow coming from those in the crowd. Like being in the midst of battle, the strength of the emotions was overwhelming, and she swayed on her feet ever-so-slightly. Illidan must have sensed her discomfort, because he slid his arm out from under hers and grasped her hand tightly in his own.
Grateful, she glanced up at him with a smile that was meant to be reassuring, but he must have seen right through her. His face fell, and he stared down into her eyes with a frown. This was neither the time nor place to explain what she was experiencing, so she shook her head and tried to break eye contact. He stopped her with a squeeze of his hand, and when she looked back up at him, there was an unspoken promise in his eyes that they would talk about this, as well as continuing their earlier discussion, later, away from prying eyes.
They were interrupted by the blowing of another horn, announcing the next segment of the procession. Before they could step away from the crowd, shouts came from behind Illidan, followed by the rapid thudding of paws against dirt.
In unison, they turned towards the sound. A slender figure atop a frostsaber was heading in their direction, and when they neared, Eliana realized that it was Shandris.
Quickly, Eliana dropped Illidan's hand and stepped up to meet Tyrande's former shadow. "Shandris, what is it?"
"High Priestess, your presence has been requested at the end of the funeral procession," Shandris explained as she dismounted. She offered a quick bow with her hand over her heart, before straightening once more. "I've been sent to bring you back with me."
Illidan joined Eliana at her side, his dark brows furrowed in confusion. "High Priestess?"
With a nod, Shandris gestured towards Eliana. "Mistress Eliana was named High Priestess upon Dejahna's death."
His eyes widened as he faced her head-on, a silent question hidden in their depths. Hesitant to speak of this now, Eliana shook her head slightly, hoping that he'd understand they'd speak about it in more detail later—another topic to add to their quickly growing list. An acquiescent nod was his response, and Eliana looked to Shandris.
"After you, Shandris."
"Mistress."
Once they were wedged in the wide saddle together, Eliana spared one last glance in Illidan's direction before they were racing off for the end of the procession. The crowd grew the farther back they rode, and when they reached a small clearing at the base of the mountain, their people had formed a circle around an empty funeral pyre. Beside the pyre laid rows and rows of bodies, neatly lined up with their hands folded over their chests.
On one side, the remainder of Lord Ravencrest's forces were standing at attention in even lines. On the opposite end of the clearing, the remainder of the Sisterhood of Elune were watching from the hill. Eliana's own chest tightened at the morbid sight of all their fallen kin.
So much life lost.
Without a word, she and Shandris dismounted and made their way towards their fellow priestesses. As they walked, members of the crowd quickly moved aside for Eliana, making the sign of the Mother Moon as she passed. The attention and reverence unnerved her, but there was little she could do to stop her people from paying their respects to her position. At a time like this, she knew that it would do more harm than good for her to protest. Finally, they reached the other priestesses who bowed in unison, making room for Eliana right in the front and center of their group.
She about-faced, and folded her hands in front of her as she looked in the direction the procession would approach from. Side-conversations filled the air behind her, but she didn't bother to quiet her sisters. At a rare moment of downtime in such a brutal war, it would be cruel to take the opportunity away from them. Many of them knew what it felt like to lose a sister by now, and if they wanted to talk amongst themselves for now, reassure themselves that their friends still lived, then why stop them?
Distracted nonetheless, Eliana glanced away from the crowd and across the way at the soldiers. To her surprise, Cytheas was standing in the first row, staring in her direction as well. Her mouth dropped open, and she closed it with a snap before raising her hand to wave. The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in amusement, and he raised an eyebrow as he gestured to her position in her own line.
Embarrassed, she placed two fingers at the side of her temples to signify a crown—the position of High Priestess was not royalty, but she knew he'd understand what she meant. His eyes widened, and he bowed with his hand over his heart. A frown marred her features, and when he straightened again, she glared at him in full-force. He must've chuckled, because the soldier beside him elbowed him in annoyance. Thoroughly put in his place, Cytheas held up a single finger to communicate that they'd talk later, and she nodded in agreement.
It had been impossible to see from their position before, but now that Eliana stood at the front, she could see that the Moon Guard had been positioned beside Lord Ravencrest's forces. As a horn sounded nearer to them than before, she saw Illidan elbow his way to the front of the sorcerers. Though many of them looked disgruntled at his appearance, they moved aside to make room for him.
Almost immediately, he looked over at the priestesses and caught Eliana's eye. Her cheeks darkened; she hadn't expected him to see her staring in his direction, but he didn't seem to mind. Instead, he stared intently at her, holding her gaze as he inclined his head ever-so-slightly in acknowledgment.
Much to her surprise, she didn't see Malfurion anywhere.
The horn sounded again, pulling her attention away from Illidan. Lord Ravencrest's pallbearers were making their way around the bend, and the entire crowd dropped to one knee in respect. There was collective silence as everyone mourned the fallen commander.
When the procession neared the pyre, the crowd rose to their feet and watched with somber expressions as the pallbearers carried Ravencrest's body up the steps to the actual platform. Though High Priestess Dejahna had fallen in battle some time before the commander, and her body could not be preserved until the funeral, a small shrine of remembrance had been erected atop the platform as well so that respects could still be paid to her memory.
Seeing the offering somehow made all of this feel more real. Eliana knew, of course, that Dejahna's death had happened—after all, she'd been named High Priestess. But she hadn't been there, hadn't seen it happen for herself. Somehow, that had made it seem as if the whole occurrence was a dream, a reality that she'd somehow not quite come to terms with yet.
The pallbearers set down Lord Ravencrest's body and descended the ladder, lining up along both sides of the path at attention. A male with hair as white as her own stepped forth from the soldiers, and kneeled in front of the pyre. Once he rose, he faced the crowd and, in a sonorous voice, began.
"Today, we honor the memory of all that we have lost. The Burning Legion has taken much from our people, but most of all, they have taken the ones we loved—" Eliana dropped her gaze to the ground, her eyes filling with tears as she thought of her father. Now, the Sisterhood's beloved mentor had perished, and Tyrande was missing as well. "—and they have taken our home. We are locked in a constant fight for our survival, and if I have anything to say about it, the demons will take no more from us."
He paused, facing the pyre once again before looking in Eliana's direction. "If the Sisterhood of Elune would be so kind as to give their blessing while we proceed with the funeral, I believe it would mean a great deal to many among us."
This was her first true moment as High Priestess, and Eliana immediately felt the weight of her actions bearing down on her. She, of course, could not refuse, but she'd never before led a prayer by herself. Tentatively, she reached out and offered her hands to the sisters beside her. They, in turn, did the same to their neighbors, until the entire Sisterhood of Elune was linked.
As High Priestess, she was also given the responsibility of singing the first note. This, at least, she could do. It left her, clear and resonant, filtering through the trees around them and permeating the dirt beneath their feet with pure energy. Her fellow priestesses joined in, and the Song of Elune surrounded them all. As a diffused glow enveloped the priestesses, the slow, steady flap of massive wings came from above them. Eliana's singing stuttered when she glanced up and saw the same red dragon from before, the one that had fought against the lone member of the black dragonflight.
It touched down on the edge of the clearing in the empty space directly across from the pyre, sending a gust of brisk air sweeping across the crowd. The ends of her hair fluttered behind her as she turned away from the wind, fighting to keep her voice even. After the brief interruption, the sisters continued their prayer, and much to her surprise, the dragon inched closer to the pyre. Without warning, his jaw widened, ripples of heat leaving his maw as his throat glowed amber.
Is he truly going to do what I think he's going to do?
Flames spewed forth from the depths of the dragon's throat, engulfing the pyre in its entirety. Once the pyre was aflame, the dragon moved its head from side to side, ensuring that all of the bodies were also affected. Now that its job was finished, it stepped back, lowering its head in respect as the crowd watched their dead burn.
As the priestesses sang the final notes of the Song of Elune, the white-haired soldier stepped forward from their ranks once more. "We say goodbye to our loved ones, our leaders, but we know that they are never truly lost to us. They live on in our memories, as they guide our actions, and know that our revered Lord Ravencrest will receive his justice in the form of the end of the Burning Legion.
"Rest, my brethren. Hold your remaining loved ones close for we return to battle sooner than we all wish."
With a swish of his cloak, he signaled to the soldiers to return to the front of the encampment. Most of the crowd dispersed as well, weaving their way between the soldiers to their own tents towards the back. Though she wanted nothing more than to return to her own tent, she knew that, in times like these, their people often needed reassurance, a testament to their faith. As she'd suspected, before the Sisterhood could scatter, many of the refugees approached them, begging for blessings from the Mother Moon.
Beside her, Shandris said, "What a beautiful tribute to our fallen. If only—" She broke off with a frown, before letting out a shaky breath and finishing, "If only Mistress Tyrande could have seen it, too."
"Don't speak like that, Shandris. We don't know that Tyrande has left this world. For all we know, she's fighting the demons in her own way, even though she is held captive," Eliana replied. "I would like to believe that is the case. I have to."
Shandris looked up at Eliana, newfound determination in her eyes. "You are right, High Priestess. I wish to believe that as well."
Even though she felt hypocritical for saying it aloud, Eliana murmured, "Then let your faith guide you."
A refugee approached Shandris, then, holding out their trembling hands to the young orphan. Shandris' cheeks darkened, before she tentatively bowed. "I'm sorry, I'm . . . I'm afraid I am not a Priestess of Elune. But—" She gestured to Eliana. "I am sure the High Priestess would be more than happy to bestow a blessing upon you."
Eliana started, though she tried to cover her surprise with a slight bow of her own. "Of course" she said, grasping the refugees hands in her own. The female's eyes widened, likely surprised that the High Priestess would take it upon herself to bestow blessings, rather than delegate to her sisters. "May the Mother Moon watch over you, protect you, and guide you as your faith remains unerringly true."
They were encased in the same soft light that had appeared during the Song of Elune, and once the light faded, the female bowed deeply at the waist. "Thank you, High Priestess! Thank you!"
With a smile, Eliana sent the refugee off, feeling a sense of calm spread over her. She hadn't asked to become High Priestess, and despite the heavy burden of responsibility, this was a much-needed reminder that they were doing all they could to help their people. Not only did the Sisterhood fight to ensure the survival of the Night Elves, but their calling involved offering blessings and healing the wounded, as well. They would do everything they could, whatever their people needed from them, for as long as possible. Even as their numbers dwindled, even as their loved ones disappeared, one by one. They would endure, because they had to.
Shandris made a sound of wonder that pulled Eliana from her thoughts. "That was incredible, mistress."
At the young orphan's words, Eliana's cheeks darkened. "I . . . Thank you, Shandris."
The sound of approaching footsteps interrupted their conversation, and when Eliana glanced up, she was pleased to see Cytheas heading in their direction with a small band of his soldiers. A quick flick of his wrist dismissed them, and he stepped up to her alone with a small smile on his face.
"That was impressive, Eli. Look at how far you've come." His voice was soft, proud, and she offered a quivering smile as tears pooled in her eyes again.
"Cytheas . . . I'm so happy that you're still alive," Eliana murmured, winding her arms around her friend's waist.
"Oh, come now. Did you ever think I wouldn't make it?" he teased, resting his chin atop her head.
"No, but . . . we've lost so many of our loved ones, that . . . I will always be concerned for you."
"Well, the feeling is mutual." He stepped back, bracing his hands on her shoulders as he peered down at her face. "You look exhausted."
"I am exhausted. Ever since High Priestess Dejahna perished and I was named her successor, it's been . . . hectic. I've had little chance to rest, but then, haven't we all?"
With a slight shake of his head, Cytheas replied, "You are far too kind-hearted and selfless, Eliana. Yes, we've all been fighting hard, but you still need to rest. If you don't, and you go back out there at what isn't your best, you could risk everything. It isn't simply about just you now. As High Priestess, you have to think about the entire Sisterhood of Elune."
At first, anger welled up in her, threatening to spill over as she opened her mouth to retort. Just as quickly as her anger had appeared, it faded away as she realized that Cytheas was right. With a conceding sigh, she muttered, "I know. You are right."
His eyes widened and he let his arms drop to his sides. "What is this? No sharp quip in response? Who are you, and what have you done with Eliana?"
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him, settling for shaking her head instead. "Very amusing, Cyth."
A chuckle escaped him, and he wrapped his arm around her shoulders, turning her towards the other end of the encampment. "Come. I'll walk you to your tent."
A smile teased at the corners of her lips, and she ducked her head in acquiescence. They'd barely taken a few steps when they were stopped by someone clearing their throat behind them.
"I can take her from here, Cytheas."
Eliana would recognize that baritone anywhere, but apparently, so did Cytheas. He tensed, his arm hardening around her shoulders as he flexed his arm. Without a word, he pivoted on his heel, his expression blank as he turned them to face Illidan. It was a stark contrast to his body language, and she almost edged out from under him, his posture was so rigid.
"Illidan. So glad to see that you're safe," Cytheas said in greeting.
Illidan quirked his head to the side, his expression devoid of amusement. "Are you now?" he deadpanned.
Eliana cinched her brows in confusion. Since Illidan and Cytheas had first met, they'd been at odds at nearly every turn. For a brief period of time, it seemed like they were capable of at least being civil towards one another. Clearly, something had happened during the war that had set them on opposing sides once again.
Briefly, she wondered if it had anything to do with her before dismissing the idea. That had been a long time ago. Though Cytheas had admitted that his feelings for her would never fully dissipate, it seemed odd that his jealousy would suddenly reappear out of nowhere, for seemingly no reason. It had to be something else.
"Is there something wrong?" she questioned, stepping between them and placing a hand on each of their chests.
Neither one of them answered, choosing instead to stare intensely at one another over her head. Eventually, Cytheas eventually looked at her. "No. Everything is fine. If Illidan wishes to walk you back to your tent, who am I to stop him?"
"Indeed," Illidan murmured, so quietly that Eliana doubted Cytheas heard him.
She frowned, and started to say, "Cytheas, if—"
"It's fine, Eliana. I'll come find you before tomorrow. Just . . . please make sure you get some rest?"
"I will, I promise," she replied softly, lowering her hand to her side.
He nodded, throwing one last heated glare in Illidan's direction before brushing past the sorcerer and heading to where the rest of the soldiers stood. Illidan side-stepped with a slight scoff, watching Cytheas' receding figure over his shoulder. When he faced Eliana again, he opened his mouth to speak. A heavy drop of rain splattered the top of her head, and she reached up in surprise.
"I thought the storm had finally passed," she murmured, mostly to herself.
Despite her absentminded speech, Illidan followed her cue and glanced up, frowning when he, too, was pelted by drops of rain. "As did I."
Only a few seconds later, it seemed as if the world decided it was time for the storm to return in full force. Eliana gasped as she was doused by the sudden deluge of rain, and Illidan exclaimed, rather forcefully, in surprise. He shielded his face with his hand, reaching out to plant his other hand on her back, steering her towards the treeline. Even under their newfound shelter, the torrential storm still managed to assault them.
In the clearing, the few lingering soldiers and refugees were scurrying to get out of the sudden storm. The majority of the crowd ran for their tents, but since Illidan and Eliana had been farther away from the clearing, they were left alone in their small copse of trees off to the side. Of course, that also meant they were stranded. It was too far of a distance to their tents, and they were, respectively, on opposite ends of the camp.
Until the storm let up a bit, they were stuck where they were.
A/N:
So, here's a bit of housekeeping (after like two months away, I know, I know). This chapter is the first of a two-part section that brings to a close the end of this arc in the story. After the end of the next chapter, we'll be right at the start of The Sundering—most exciting news! That means we're 2/3 of the way through this story! And since I write at the world's most glacial pace, and have the world's most patient readers, I promise the next chapter will be worth the wait, and will please all Illiana shippers :P
Now, with that being said, I've decided to up the rating to a hard M as of the next chapter. When I started this story, I had no intention of writing it like I do my other stories, and planned to keep things toned down in terms of lemons and whatnot. Apparently, I am incapable of doing that. I know that a lot of you came into this story likely because of the T rating (while others will perhaps be elated at the rating change), and I apologize in advance for the "mislead". If you choose to stop reading this story, I would understand. However, I plan on marking which chapters have such content, and will aim to make it so that, if you decide to skip the smut and move on to the next chapter, you wouldn't be missing anything vital. Such is the case with the second half of this chapter, which will hopefully be up by the end of this next coming week (I'm about a third of the way through it).
Thank you so so much to everyone who has stuck around to this point in time, and I am so sorry that the story is still not complete. Working full-time, going to school part-to-basically-full time, and having two ongoing stories in additional to, well, life, is pretty hectic, and I am so lucky to have readers who understand.
Last but not least, thanks to Arenoptara as always for beta-reading :) See you guys in a week or less!