A/N: I'll be totally up front with you, I am almost astounded at how happy I ended up with this chapter, considering I wrote over half of it in a note on my phone while sitting on the floor of an empty apartment. I think it's kind of vain and pathetic, but sometimes I make myself fangirl, and I can only hope that my readers are half as excited about things as I am myself.

Have a happy Thanksgiving- or whatever holiday you might be celebrating? Mwah xx -Skye

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three

Tyrande Whisperwind had never been particularly a quiet or reserved sort of girl, never one to hide her feelings or bite back her remarks, but she was strangely silent as she walked alongside her husband in the shadow of the former magnificence of the World Tree.

In time, they had said, the tree would heal, along with the forest that surrounded it. The assault of the Legion had left its mark upon their homelands, one that lingered even still, one that had driven them to find a new home in spite of centuries spent defending and rebuilding the one they had previously claimed. In the weeks that had followed the defeat of Archimonde, Nordrassil seemed to have done little healing, however, and the High Priestess feared that the same could be said of the Kaldorei themselves. They were once again left struggling to piece together the remains of a life nearly stolen. They had lost their very homes, and nearly all had lost someone close to them.

The thought made her heart skip a beat as a familiar face filled her mind, but she was quick to blink the thoughts away. It would not do to dwell, she told herself firmly. She had seen Illidan with her own eyes, in the end, or rather the demon creature that dared to impersonate the elf that she had once held so closely to her heart. The winged monster that had stood before her was incomparable to the man that had laid her down in the dewy grass of dawn and claimed a piece of her heart she had not even realized existed. The only thing left to do now was to let him go. She was the High Priestess; it was her duty to light the way, not to chase after shadows.

It was the soft and steady voice of Malfurion that drew her from the confines of her own tormenting thoughts, laced with concern as his fingers reached out to find her own. "What troubles you, my love?" He asked quietly, sparing a quick glance in her direction. Things had been strained between them, to say the least, since the true extent of her betrayal had come to light. He was no fool, and in spite of the time he had spent away from her when the Emerald Dream had called to him, he still knew her better than anyone else could even claim to. He dared not allow himself to think whatever business she had with his brother had been resolved. But he took comfort in knowing that she was her with him now, that in the end she had not left his side.

Tyrande was quick to clear her throat, using her free hand to smooth out the folds of her nearly transparent white gown, draping over her lavender skin and clinging to each curve. "I'm fine," she replied sharply, but the way her voice leapt a few octaves assured him that she was anything but. She must have noticed this as well, because she was quick to turn her head away, allowing her dark hair to fall over her face like a curtain. "I am just burdened by all of this needless destruction. This place resonates with pain and...loss."

"Yet there is hope," he retaliated with ease, never shaking that even tone of voice that resonated with wisdom and power. "From pain and loss comes the opportunity to start anew. Our people will persevere, as they have always done-"

"Shan'do Stormrage, High Priestess." A soft and familiar voice interrupted Malfurion's words as a dark haired elf approached them, bowing her head in a silent apology for her intrusion.

In spite of her usual composure, Tyrande allowed a small smile to tug at her lips at the sight of the woman before them. "Shandris," she greeted, her tone lifting a little. Ever since she had found the young girl, alone and scared in the wake of destruction that had been the ancient war with the Legion, she had felt this great responsibility towards her. Like maybe if she could just keep one person safe, then it would do something, anything at all, to negate the suffering they had all been forced to endure.

Now, Shandris Feathermoon had made quite a name for herself, proving her skills and ability time and time again, and through the years had found herself at the head of the order of the Sentinels. Her pride showed in the way that she held her chin high, even as she stood before the very leaders of her kind. "Elune Adore," she replied, bowing her head at each of them. "Your pardon, Shan'do, High Priestess. But there is someone here insisting they speak to you at once."

Malfurion and Tyrande exchanged a quick glance, both of their expressions etched with curiosity. Ultimately, it was Malfurion that looked back to the younger woman, giving a short nod. "Of course," he replied. "Take us to them, then. Let us see what this visitor wants."

Shandris turned sharply on her heel, her long dark hair bouncing over her shoulder, leaving the others to trail off after her. She led them a short distance away, silent and hurried, until at last they stood before a lone elf, dressed in the armor of a Watcher and bouncing anxiously in place. Malfurion's brows furrowed in a deep frown as he eyed the girl carefully; at his side, Tyrande was none too secretive with the sneer that overcame her face.

"State your business, Watcher," She asked, her voice slipping back into its icy tone, enough that Shandris almost visibly flinched at the sound. Malfurion let out a soft sigh, reaching out to catch her fingers in his own, tightening his hold when she tried to retract. It was hardly a secret, the feud that existed between the Watchers and the High Priestess, and try as he may to remain neutral and dismiss the issue, there was a part of him that had always struggled to ignore the role that Tyrande had played in that, and he had wondered from time to time what the outcome may have been if there had not been far more pressing matters at hand. He was obligated to defend his wife, yes, but did that obligation surpass the one that bound him to all the rest of the Kaldorei? Whatever the correct answer, it was a decision he simply wasn't ready to have to make.

The Watcher girl swallowed hard, her widened eyes flickering between the pair. "I have been sent by my mistress, Warden Maiev Shadowsong," she blurted out, so quickly that the words all ran into one another.

Tyrande did nothing to try and contain the scoff that passed through her lips. "We have heard nothing from the Warden, nor from any of the Watchers," she retorted quickly. With her searing gaze fixated on the girl, she was unable to notice the way Malfurion's own eyes lowered to the scorched earth for a moment, his thoughts flashing back to the audience he had granted her. Maiev had come to him not long before the great battle with Archimonde, and had requested aid in hunting down his brother. But with the threat of the Legion so imminent, there had simply been no aid to offer, and he had been left with no choice but to send her off on her way.

"Illidan," Malfurion muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes slightly. At his side, Tyrande bit down on the insides of her cheeks, enough that she swore she could taste blood rolling over her tongue, blinking for a moment longer than necessary. Malfurion was no fool, and he was hardly blind, but he chose to ignore the way she tensed at the mere mention of the name, refused to acknowledge whatsoever any shred of a hold his hopeless cause of a brother may have still held over the woman that he loved. "What has he done this time?"

"Your pardon, Shan'do Stormrage," the Watcher murmured, shifting her weight a little from one foot to the other, glancing back at Tyrande every few seconds and shrinking under her stare all over again. "Warden Shadowsong wishes for me to tell you that, ah, it would appear that the Betrayer has summoned a dark army of creatures, calling themselves naga, and they seem to have caused a great deal of havoc along the coast-"

"The point, if you would," Tyrande snapped, earning a quick look of warning from Malfurion.

"My mistress is requesting immediate backup," she replied instantly. "She believes that the Betrayer has taken to the sea, and that it is of the utmost importance that he is recaptured. There is no telling what unstoppable horrors he may try to unleash if he is not caught in time."

Malfurion let out a slow hiss of a breath. "I had hoped to be finished with this business when I banished him from our lands," he muttered.

From the corner of her eye, Tyrande shot him a glare. "Banished him for doing only what I had commanded," she pointed out. She would have been lying to say she did not feel some guilt over it all- not for what Illidan had done, exactly, but for what he had allowed to be done to himself. She had liberated him from the Barrows, and she had sent him to fight the demons, and so in some way, his corruption fell on her shoulders. For years, they had been inseparable, looking after each other as they grew up. But somewhere along the way, she had been forced to choose between them. And for a long time, she had been so sure that she had made the right decision. But now, her skin seared with the memory of Illidan's touch, her lips trembled with the memory of his kiss, and she could not quite seem to forget how in a single night he had made thousands of years of loneliness disappear. Now, she was not sure that there had ever been a right choice.

Malfurion chose to ignore her biting words, pushing a hand through his emerald hair, careful to avoid the great horns that arose from his scalp. "Gather the Sentinels," he said at last, looking towards Shandris. "I will assemble some of the Druids." After a moment of pause, his gaze fell on Tyrande, heavy as it tore into her, and all she could do was look up at him through her lashes, barely managing to resist the urge to flinch at his harsh tone. "We will end this once and for all."

As she had predicted, Maiev and the others were able to find another dock not too far off down the coast, one that had not been left utterly decimated. It seemed they had arrived just in time, for within minutes the naga were rising up from the tossing waves of the ocean and setting off to destroy their means of escape. The Watchers descended upon them in perfect unison, tearing through them and leaving them for dead, and when only one remained, Maiev was able to force from her the answers she so desperately needed.

It was this information that guided them to the edges of the Broken Isles. As soon as they crashed into the coastline, they descended onto the beach, and Maiev began scanning the immediate area for any sign of Illidan or his companions. Naisha trailed behind her, keeping her own guard up, for there was no telling what new and untold dangers this strange land might hold.

"Even if we do find Illidan," the lieutenant spoke up, "do you really believe that we can defeat him?"

Maiev knelt down, peering at the grounds, then promptly straightened back up and continued on, further from the ship. "Illidan has grown powerful; of that, there is no doubt," she responded. "Whatever foul magic has corrupted him, he is no longer a night elf. But…" Pausing, she drew her brows together into a slight frown, and she closed her eyes, and she thought of their last encounter in the clearing. Snapping her eyes open before the pain could fully take hold of her heart, she shook away the poisoned memories. "But he is not entirely demon, either."

Naisha opted not to point out that Maiev had in no way answered her question. Instead, she figured she would leave the Warden to her scouting, knowing she would be happier on her own anyway, and returned back to their makeshift camp on the beach. She found her way to Cordana, who was sitting off by herself, staring out absently at the seemingly endless stretch of ocean before her.

"Felsong," she greeted, dropping down onto the dusty ground at her side. "How is your ankle holding up?"

Cordana tilted her head to the side, giving a slight nod to her commanding officer. "Hello, Lieutenant. It seems to have recovered now." She fell back into silence, but only a few short moments passed before she let out a sigh. "I don't like it here," she confessed, shifting her position so that she was leaning back onto her hands, her heavy armor clashing against itself with her movements. "Something about this place...I don't know, it just feels off. Haunted, almost-"

"Lieutenant." A sharp voice interrupted her; when they scrambled to their feet and spun around, it was to see Maiev standing a few paces away, her eyes narrowed and her breaths frantic. "This place- these islands- I believe this is the ruins of Suramar."

Naisha's brows shot up at that. Whatever she had been expecting, this was certainly not it. "Suramar?" She repeated. "As in, the ancient city? What could Illidan possibly want from this place?"

Maiev shook her head. "I don't know," she admitted. "But whatever it is, I intend to stop him. I will not lose him again."