CHAPTER 9

Kalec's portal had sent Illidan to a sumptuous office. Several large rocks tumbled through the opening after him. Illidan bolted to the opposite side of the room, wary, watching the portal. Something was wrong. Why weren't they coming? Another cascade of massive masonry came tumbling in, crashing into the room, slamming into the office's delicate pieces of furniture, demolishing them. The portal disappeared. Still holding Tyrande in his arms, Illidan turned full circle, blinking blood and dust from his eyes.

There, a door, he went to it and tried the handle. Locked. He looked for a keyhole, a key, anything. Nothing. He cursed. Mages and their wards. He was stuck in here until someone found him and let him out.

He looked down at Tyrande, and started, astonished. Her eyes were open, looking at him. He carried her to one of the sofas and lay her onto it, gentle. Hardl daring to breathe, he knelt beside her.

"Tyrande. You still live."

She didn't answer, she couldn't, when Sargeras had been ripped from her, her jaw had been broken, Illidan suspected the Titan's soul had been dragged out of her through her mouth. He shuddered. She blinked slow. He nodded, understanding. She would leave him soon.

He blinked back the tears burning in his eyes. He needed to find a healer. He looked around, he was in Dalaran of all places, where almost anything could be accomplished. He only needed a portal to Darnassus, the druids could save her. He went to the door and pounded on it, calling for help until his throat was raw. No one answered. He sagged against the door. Of course not. Everyone was at the Broken Shore, fighting the demons. They were alone.

He went back to Tyrande and knelt once more at her side. He took her hand in his as gently as he could, trying not to hurt her. His brother's voice, full and resonant, broke into Illidan's despairing thoughts.

It is not too late. She can still be saved, if we work together.

Illidan glanced behind him, somehow expecting to find his brother standing there, whole again. Malfurion?

Yes, I am still with you. Harness both my power and the Na'aru's light. Use it. Heal Tyrande.

Illidan let go of Tyrande and looked down at his hands, he had only ever used the power within them to destroy, never to heal. He clenched them into fists. Brother, I . . . don't know how.

Look at Tyrande. Imagine her whole again. Believe. Illidan, you can save her, it is not too late. I will help you. Just believe you can do it, and let our healing power pass through you.

Illidan shook his head. Believe? Was his brother mad? Magic was a skill learned and honed over years of practice, just believing wouldn't make anything happen. He looked at Tyrande, her eyes still open, watching him, how could she still live? It was impossible. A flicker of blue light passed through her eyes. He gasped. Elune's Light was sustaining Tyrande. He stood and took two steps back. He held out his hands toward her, uncertain. What if he accidentally cast his own magic? He would kill her. He looked into empty space, fear clawing at him.

Brother. Help me. Tell me what to do!

Think of nothing but Tyrande, whole and healthy again. Think of nothing else but that, and the rest will take care of itself. You must be passive through the whole process, do not try to stop it, or interfere. Can you do that?

If the situation had not been so grave, Illidan would have laughed. His brother was asking him to give up all his power, the only thing that he lived for, the only thing that mattered to him. His gaze moved back to Tyrande's. The light in her eyes had begun to dull, her eyelids drifted down, slow.

Illidan, we are running out of time! Elune's Light is fading.

"Use me. Heal her through me," Illidan cried out, fearing he was already too late. He would do this thing, no matter how much his nature fought against it. More than ten thousand years of fighting alone, and now he had to give up everything and stand passive, letting others use him to heal the only woman he had ever loved.

There was no warning, a rush of power surged up from his torso and down his arms. The Na'aru's holy light and Malfurion's wild druid magic glowed in his hands. His instincts bellowed at him to harness it. He clenched his jaw, and fought it. He stared at Tyrande, as their power poured out of him into her, forcing himself to see her as he remembered her the night he had taken her to the glade and made her his; how the light of Elune had bathed her healthy body, warm and soft in his arms. Light burned through him, more powerful than any arcane or demonic energy he had ever possessed. He longed to grab hold of it and take control. He cried out, frustrated, fighting his worst battle so far. He could not take control, if he did, Tyrande would die. He felt sweat breaking out on his torso, the muscles in his neck and jaw pulling taut. Sharp pain throbbed in his temples. Still he restrained himself, bellowing as he fought against his nature. The holy light left him, untouched. The light ended, and Malfurion's heals came next. New, raw, wild energy poured through Illidan, verdant with life. Again the desire to control, to hold his brother's power in his own hands overwhelmed him. Illidan screamed and fell to his knees, panting, fighting to hold on just a little longer. The last of his brother's power left him, abrupt. Illidan sagged, shuddering, gobbets of saliva hanging from his lips. He had done it. He wiped the back of his arm against his mouth, and rose up onto his knees. Tyrande.

She lay surrounded in a cocoon of white light, tendrils wove around her, piecing her back together. His brother's heals darted in and out, rejuvenating her, nourishing her. Still on his knees, Illidan shifted over to the sofa, moving as close as he dared without touching her.

Malfurion's voice came to him once more, fainter, weaker. Brother . . . thank you. Tyrande will live because of you. He continued, though each word grew fainter than the last. Forgive me for having failed you all your life. I could not see what you could, but I understand now, what you did and why. Please . . . take good care of my love.

"Malfurion!" Illidan pulled himself to his feet, tears blurring his eyes. No, it couldn't be. His brother couldn't be gone. He called again, frantic, turning, searching for his brother's voice. Silence. He felt a lightness sweeping upwards within him, as Malfurion's spirit gathered, and fled. A brief sensation of emptiness filled him, ending quickly. Malfurion was gone. Forever. Illidan stared at nothing, grief circling him. Malfurion understood. He had finally understood. Illidan fell to his knees, and wept.

Tyrande woke to shadows. Was she dead? She moved her hand, and felt the softness of a cushion underneath her fingertips. Her eyes adjusted, slowly, working out the features of her surroundings. She couldn't turn her head, but the decor and arches of the ceiling told her she was in Dalaran. She lifted her brow, astonished. How could she be here, and living?

No. She wasn't alive, at least not as she used to be. All of this was an illusion, a trick of Sargeras. He would come to her soon, and reality would return, bitter and painful. She was a demon now, the consort of a titan. Soon all of Azeroth would burn. Tears gathered in her eyes as her last memory replayed, watching Illidan transform into Sargeras's avatar. Illidan was dead, as presumably all the rest were now, too. They had failed. She had failed.

She tried to lift her hand to brush away her tears. She couldn't. Her hand was so heavy, she didn't have the strength. She let it fall back onto the cushion.

Movement beside her made her freeze. Sargeras. He was right there. Her heart clenched, terrified. He would take her, and make her his, just like he almost did when he held her in his tendrils. He had done this to her, made her powerless, so she would not be able to fight him.

"Tyrande?"

Illidan's face leant over hers, naked with hope. A deep gash lay across his temple, crusted over with dried blood. Smuts of dirt and blood stained his face. Why would Sargeras come to her like this? Tyrande closed her eyes. It was another one of his games, he was trying to manipulate her. It wasn't real. He would change at any moment, and show his true self. This time she would not fall prey to his seduction, she would resist to the bitter end.

His hand touched her face, tender. "You live. I have waited for hours, I didn't think you would come back—" he shuddered. A tear splashed onto her cheek. Tyrande started. Sargeras would never cry. She opened her eyes. Illidan gazed at her, filled with joy. What was happening? She chanced the question, a wild tendril of hope taking root in her breast.

"Illidan is it you, or . . . are you Sargeras?"

He choked, and shook his head. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her fingertips.

"I was never Sargeras, my will was too strong. It was you he took."

"No. I saw you become him."

Illidan stroked her hair from her brow, his tenderness almost undoing her. "Gul'dan made you see a lie, to break your will. It worked, you almost killed us all."

She swallowed, frightened. "Then if I am his avatar, how can I be here? Am I dead? I don't know what is real anymore, I don't—"

Illidan's mouth covered hers, silencing her. He kissed her, passionate, possessive, his arms sliding underneath her. He pulled her off the sofa and into his lap, cradling her against him. Though Tyrande could do nothing to stop him, she realised she didn't want him to stop, after all they had suffered together, it felt right somehow. Real. He broke the kiss, soft. Remorse shadowed his features.

"Tyrande, forgive me. I shouldn't have. There is much to tell you, you will need time to recover. Sargeras is gone, banished from Azeroth by a being I cannot even begin to comprehend. You live, and are whole again. That is all that matters."

"It is over? We won?" Tyrande asked, incredulous.

Illidan nodded, tightening his hold on her. "Not all of us."

And then, his voice cracking with grief, he told her of Malfurion. Her heart shattered. How could he be gone? Strong, brave, stubborn Malfurion. She wept, far into the night.

When the light of a new dawn trickled in from the open doors of the balcony, Tyrande was still awake. From far below, she could hear the sounds of celebration in the streets of Dalaran. The door to the office opened and Kalec entered, exhausted, his tunic filthy with blood and ash. He stared, astonished, at Tyrande, whole again. Without saying anything to either of them, he cast a portal to Darnassus and walked away.

Illidan lifted Tyrande into his arms and carried her into the portal. On the other side, he walked through the Temple of the Moon, staring straight ahead, ignoring the astonished looks from the priestesses. He carried her to her house, and lay her on her bed, gentle. Catching the leg of a stool with his foot, he dragged it over and settled himself onto it, still bloody and filthy. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers folded together. His intention clear. He was going nowhere.

Footsteps pattered up the stairs, and the room filled with concerned faces. One woman pushed forward and took over, ordering healers to be found, and food and drink to be brought.

Tyrande let them fuss over her. A little chirp rose up from the floor, and Iasar jumped up onto the bed, uncertain. She approached her mistress and rubbed her head against Tyrande's inert hand, seeking attention. Illidan leaned forward and lifted Tyrande's hand, helping her to stroke the kitten. Tyrande smiled, quiet. She had forgotten how soft her little companion was. Iasar purred, and snuggled into the crook of Tyrande's arm, content.

A breeze drifted through the window, and Tyrande caught a whisper of her husband's scent on the cushion. The last time she had been in this bed she had been with Malfurion, and now he was gone, leaving her nothing but her memories. Her heart clenched, aching and raw. She had had no idea how much he had truly meant to her. But she knew now. She glanced at Illidan, watching her, his eyes veiled, hiding his feelings from her, respecting her need for time.

She closed her eyes, and let sleep call to her, knowing when she woke, he would still be there, watching over her, waiting.

One day he would have her. One day. But not today.