BLOOD LEPRECHAUN by J Cae
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ILLIDAN'S INTERLUDE
Illidan's hands felt their way across the soft mattress to where Sylvanas was lying. Only an hour ago had he 'escaped' from the dreadlord, bloodied and exhausted, and stumbled back to Orgrimmar in time to catch the Forsaken driving the last batch of the black army away. The air was choked with much grief--there were so many deaths, and they had all been pointless.
The Black Warden was gone--not defeated nor killed, but gone. But she would return to wreck more havoc.
When would she stop?
The orcs proceeded to clear the battleground of the dead, carrying off their own and setting fire to the broken bodies of demons and undead.
Sylvanas was trusted once again under the care of the midwives who fumed at Illidan for his irresponsibility as a lover--he did not deserve her, they said, and he probably did not. But she and her unborn child would be fine. Her battle wounds should not take too long to heal.
How was he to describe the complex feelings in his heart? The torturous anxiety he felt for the woman who was lying unconscious before him?
He reached to touch Sylvanas's face.
He still remembered the way she looked that morning when she roused from her deathlike slumber and marched into his base to confront him--and she had been senselessly enraged because he saved her life! Or her undeath, for that matter.But that image of her face seared forever into his mind, haunting him, amusing him, and he felt compelled to touch her, to 'see' more of her with his hands...
No! He shook his head and withdrew his hand. What was happening to him? She chose to fight alongside him merely because he was of use to her, nothing more. It would be too vain of him to expect anything else from her. Perhaps Sylvanas Windrunner would risk death for love, but he was certain it would not be for him. What was happening to him? Had he plunged too deep into this pretence to snap out of it? Had he finally convinced himself that he was her lover? Well, wake up, Stormrage! She was carrying the child of another man.
Heartless, heartless...Tyrande...how you have destroyed me...
Illidan dragged himself to the basin across the room and shoved his head into the water. He felt better. At least he felt his mind become clearer.
No way. Sylvanas would never be anywhere near the priestess. In his heart, there would always be a place for Tyrande. If ever her proud and perfect highness should change her mind and return to him...
He let the water drown his hurting and wash away his frustration.
He was desperate.
He knew he would never have Tyrande--it was only a fool's hope. Sylvanas needed Kael whom she had chosen to leave for a time. So, why should he not allow it to happen?
The feel of the ranger's bandaged hand still lingered, because it reminded him of the last time he and Tyrande touched--a heartbreak and heavenly blessing, when they laid side by side on the soft grass after an emotionally exhausting night. Tyrande had been with him, and he was touching her hand, also bandaged in soft linen.
He remembered why it was injured. It tried to stop him from hurting himself.
Long had his brother objected to him becoming a demon hunter. According to Malfurion Stormrage, demon hunters were profane sons-of-darkness with their sacrilegious ways. Nine out of ten demon hunters ended up becoming demons of some sort themselves. He refused to let his brother join the order no matter how Illidan tried to prove him wrong.
Illidan did try his very best to comply and sought Cenarius's tutorial in the arts of druidism.
But when he returned home from his druid's training one fateful night and saw Furion kissing Tyrande, he picked up his dagger and left without saying a word. Tyrande went after him--she should have left him alone to cool off, but she did not.
He stabbed himself in the eyes.
Two...
...firm...
...strokes.
In absolute horror, she gripped the bloodied weapon with her bare hand...
But he was stronger than her. He hurt himself, and he hurt her.
An alarmed Furion hit his brother with his stave. Unable to see the blow coming, Illidan caught it in his temple and lost consciousness.
Perhaps that was how jealousy became hate.
Perhaps that was how guilt took shape.
Perhaps that was how injuries were aggravated to leave permanent scars.
Illidan could no longer fight, or even take care of himself properly without his sight. Tyrande took it upon herself to help him, but she was caught between the brother's feud. Malfurion avoided Illidan for as long as he could, yet he realized that Illidan's cripple was his responsibility. What was he to do? How could he help Illidan live by himself again? He knew of his brother's love for Tyrande, and yet he could not relinquish her--it would be worse than giving his own life.
The solution came when Firebrand, the Head of the Demon Hunter's Code, paid the Stormrage brothers an unexpected visit. The Code had been observing Illidan for a while and found him to have the talent. With the proper training of a demon hunter, Firebrand told them, he could become independent again. He could become a great warrior. He could make himself useful. Left with no choice, Furion had to let Illidan go. It was a decision he knew he would always regret.
And the night before Illidan had to follow Firebrand west to the sanctum of the demon hunters, Tyrande took him to her favourite refuge in a remote corner Elune's Shrine--a small open courtyard she named K'litah-Eluna--Little Moonglade. The two of them laid there and stared at the stars until they fade to morning.
Illidan could only stare, but he saw nothing.
"I just want to say that I care for you, but I..." she whispered and paused, as though she was uncertain what to say. But he heard her heart. And he did not want to hear it.
"What does the stars look like, Tyrande?" he interrupted, reaching towards the infinite darkness he had known to be the sky. "I have forgotten how they are."
"Illidan," her voice was tortured, she might have been crying. But he just could not care right then, not when she was about to tell him she chose his brother.
He urged softly, "Tell me."
"They are small but a plenty, high, and bright..."
"How bright?"
"Illidan, please," sobs escaped her throat. "Please...I'm sorry." She had been so young then, so confused just like himself. He held her hand gently in his own, her injured hand, and pressed it against his lips. She replaced her hand with her soft supple lips. He did not kiss her back--if he had, they would have embarked on an entirely different fortune. But he just pulled away and wished her well before stumbling on his way in the dark.
Oh, Tyrande...
A soft moan pulled him back to Sylvanas's beside. She was waking, and he also needed to come round. Tyrande would not need him now, but Sylvanas would. He soothed her feverish forehead.
How he wished he could have taken that path and be on a wild ride with fortune. He could have been with the love of his life now, could have been safe in her arms.
He snorted. It was but a fool's fantasy.
He clasped Sylvanas's injured hand gently in his own and thought about stars as he waited for her to rouse.
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A/N:
Just a short interlude at 3 am.
Tyrande OOC? I'll admit it, but considering that little romantic scene took place more than ten thousand years ago, she probably wasn't that tough then. I mean, you've gotta give the Stormrage brothers some reason to be crazy about her.
Damn I still have a class to go to at 8 in the morning...(yawn).
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Crimson Paladin: Thanks. I actually prefer writing endings that are generally happy with a little bit of regret. A few years back, I used to love character-atrocities (meaning: kill everyone at the end), but not so much anymore (because you can't write sequels if everybody's dead). The fact that Sylvanas was changed again into an undead isn't the end of her--it's the middle of things (ahh...). And certainly the orcs would have some way of hearing about Illidan, especially after their alliance to the Night Elves. He's the infamous evil twin of Malfurion, right? But Syl and Illidan were just being cautious anyway. Thrall wouldn't find out anything about Illidan until it is...too...late...(shuts up before giving out the whole plot). You're going on vacation? Do I envy you!! Have tons of fun!
Queen of the Harpies: Thank you. You're definitely right, there's nothing wrong with all fics being Syl-centred. Almost all my fics are elf-centred already, except Listen. I certainly think Varimathras is another one of Blizzard's great inventions. He has a pretty convincing character and isn't quite the stereotypical superhero. It seems that my muse, too, has been giving me lots of weird tinkling romantic visions lately...I'm just having strange ideas again.
DemonGod86: (rolls eyes curiously) What is 'gee eff gee'? If Illidan was all powerful, it wouldn't be very nice, don't you think? Patience is one thing he kind of lacks, so that's what he'd be learning in this fic.