Disclaimer: ZOMG still don't own Blizzard *sobsob* But I know a guy whose dad knows the president of the company, if that means anything?

Also, this story was written as a continuous block, shifting perspectives a lot, yes, but without any real planned chapter breaks. And it's very, very much a 'what if' situation. Enjoy it all with a dash of salt.

Redemption: Chapter 2

*****

Illidan flew back to his home, fully sated as he hadn't been in so many months. And it was with the happy knowledge of his growing strength that he happened upon the still form of the elf on his floor, face down.

Oh, no. How long had he been gone? In his desperation to feed, he had completely forgotten about his ward.

He crouched by her side, listening to see if she still drew breath, feeling her throat for a pulse -- and she was alive, but only faintly. He lifted her to the bed, covering her with the cloak -- he really needed to find her some clothes -- before he left to fetch her something to drink.

*****

She woke to a gentle hand stroking her cheek. Was this some kind of afterlife? A strong arm lifted her to a sitting position, and her aches returned. She realized with dismay that she was still alive, and unless someone had managed to remove her from his prison, she was still under Illidan's thumb.

A soothing voice filtered through her ears as she opened her eyes. She couldn't focus. The hand on her cheek moved to her chin, tilting it upwards as a skin of water met her lips.

She drank. She would have taken the entire thing in one gulp, but clearly her caretaker intended her to drink slowly. She coughed as her hasty attempts to swallow water not yet in her mouth did not agree with her throat. The voice murmured calming, reassuring words as the man -- it had to be a man, no woman would ever have a voice that deep -- rubbed her back. And she knew she knew what he said, but for the life of her she simply couldn't understand.

And the world spun from her already hazy eyes.

Illidan felt a pang of guilt as the poor girl fell limp once more. This wasn't like taking care of an injured animal. She was a sentient being, consciously aware of his neglect, probably twisting her already wary attitude towards him into outright hate.

And he deserved it, didn't he?

Now that she was on her way back to being hydrated, he felt secure in leaving her, only briefly, to find clothes.

He stole them from a sleeping vendor. A silk robe, probably too big for her, some undergarments, and a pair of sandals. While she slept, he dressed her, and everything fit well enough.

She woke again, briefly, and he tucked the cloak around her, patting her cheek and shushing her back to sleep.

*****

The scent of something delicious tickled her nose. She stirred and realized she actually wore clothes -- whoever had her now respected her modesty enough to dress her. The soft voice cooed, and he lifted a spoon to her mouth. She smelled some kind of vegetable soup and opened her mouth. The taste was not quite as good as the smell, but it was food, precious food. She tried to lift her arms, but her muscles trembled, barely able to move.

And she cried.

Her soft sobs stabbed even more guilt into a conscience Illidan wasn't even aware he had. What could he do to calm her? He set the bowl on the floor, patting her shoulder, but she only cried harder. He pulled back, puzzled. For most of his life, he had been the last person anyone would turn to for comfort.

Well, Malfurion always hugged Tyrande.

Tentatively, he reached out to her once more, sighing in relief as she leaned into his embrace. She held her hands over her face, making it slightly uncomfortable for him, but after all he had done to her, he could allow that.

Once her tears ran dry -- it didn't take long, considering she was still fairly dehydrated -- she calmed, staring up at him, eyes unfocused, and he set her back on the straw, fetching the bowl of soup and feeding the rest of it to her.

The storm blew in as she slept, nearly tossing the house out of the trees -- and she shook, the cold drafts whipping away any warmth on her pale skin. Illidan mused that he should have stolen a blanket as well, but he'd rather sit shirtless than take his cloak from the young elf.

She shivered, though, so she obviously felt the cold as acutely as he did. And what could he do but crawl under the cloak with her? Surely his body would provide enough warmth to keep her from catching a cold. He wrapped a wing around her, guarding her from the cruel wind, and drifted off to sleep.

*****

She woke with a start to the warm body by her side and a smooth wing draped over her -- Illidan. Her heart panicked as she realized she had been with him all along, that she hadn't been rescued at all, oh no, far from it. And he stirred softly, his face a serene mask of contentment.

What should she possibly make of this? This was not the same Illidan she heard stories of. That Illidan had horns and hooves and looked rather like the eredar -- but this one seemed much too peaceful, much too tired. And he seemed to care for her when he was around. Even his face held none of the demonic malice for which he gained his infamous reputation. Instead he wore the lines of one who had seen too much and now wanted to rest.

She still could hardly focus, barely noticing his eyes open and stare into her frightened face.

"You're awake?"

She stiffened, hardly relaxing even as he left the bed to do -- something. Preparing food, probably. That was all he ever seemed to do while she was awake. He handed her a skin of water, watching with concern and vague amusement as she sniffed it, tasted it warily, then decided that it was safe enough to drink, finishing it off nearly instantly.

The odd change in her behavior baffled him. Was it because he shared the bed with her? But that would be no reason for her to check the water for poison. Did she only just realize who he was?

Her hazy eyes followed him about the room, then out the door as he flew around, looking for something to hunt.

He dove after the talbuk -- had he really flown all the way to Nagrand? -- and snapped the creature's neck, carrying it back to his home, preparing it before the flesh even had a chance to cool.

The young elf's ears perked up as she heard his soft footfalls. He had returned with some kind of meat stew, similar to what he had made for her when she first found herself in this creaky little house. He chewed a piece of meat from it as if to prove her that it was safe, and her cheeks flamed, embarrassed that he had seen her study the water. She ate the stew.

And as she felt her eyes droop once more -- why did she sleep so much? -- Illidan reached out to pat her cheek and tuck the cloak around her.

Illidan gathered the bowl and spoon and washed them in the river, taking the opportunity to fill the water skins. He relieved himself behind a bush, then wondered if the elf girl needed to do so as well.

And it wouldn't hurt to clean her shoulder again.

She he returned to his home with a warm, damp cloth, pulling her robe down and softly patting her skin. She whimpered in her sleep, prompting him to try healing her wound, frowning at such weak progress, but still somewhat pleased that his spell could cause any kind of progress at all.

He pulled her robe back up over her shoulder, then woke her, scooping her into his arms and flying her to the ground. He explained that he was allowing her privacy to take care of personal needs as he set her behind a bush and walked far enough away that he could still hear her but afford her a sense of seclusion. When she finished, he took her back to the run-down home, laying her on the straw, wishing he had his own bed again. The stormy night he spent by her side proved to him that a bare wood floor was a vastly inferior sleeping space.

But her reaction had hardly been encouraging. She instantly lost a good deal of trust in him, examining everything he gave her, expecting it to contain something harmful.

Maybe one of these other abandoned houses would have enough straw in them for a bed. He never really gave it any thought until now.

He managed to gather a small pile, not as big and comfortable as his former bed, but adequate.

*****

His sleep was broken by tiny hands clawing at his arms. The elf girl shook as tears ran down her face. Some kind of nightmare? He propped himself up on his elbows. She made no sound other than soft whimpers, how could he know how to help her?

At any rate, all this crying would leave her rather dehydrated, so he handed her a skin of water. It didn't seem to soothe her very much. He sighed. The hug worked last time...

She cried into his chest, her tears leaving sticky trails down his skin as he gently held her. All this comforting business wore him out. How could people do this and still have the energy to move?

Her face felt even stickier than his chest and her entire body was coated in sweat. Once she calmed, he flew to the small storage space he had created in the tree, grabbing a bowl and a cloth, and set it in front of her, pouring some warm water into the bowl and leaving her to her privacy.

Besides, he enjoyed sitting in the trees.

She scrubbed and scrubbed her skin but she still felt dirty, a crawling, festering sensation in her flesh, but maybe if she scrubbed hard enough, it would go away.

And she shuddered at her dream, the vivid vision of the blood elves, taking her two at a time and sometimes more, as she lay motionless in the sand. But it wasn't her fault, wasn't her fault, even though she couldn't help thinking that if only her hair wasn't so bright, if only she had an effective shadowmeld, if only, maybe she could have escaped.

Her arms began to bleed and she moved to a new patch of skin, frustrated at her inability to become clean. The water swirled, discolored with sweat and blood. Still, she scrubbed, punishing her body for allowing itself to be used like that, and then daring to remind her of it.

Illidan knocked on the door frame, intending to alert her to his presence and allow her time to dress, but the sound fell on oblivious ears. He peeked in and his eyes widened at the distraught elf. Rushing to her side, he tore the cloth from her grasp, wrapped the cloak around her naked form, and held her tightly, restraining her as she thrashed about, biting and scratching until she gave up, sagging in his arms and bursting once more into heavy sobs.

She cried herself out, then curled up, falling asleep in his arms. He moved her to the bed, healing her skin and stroking her hair as he drifted off to claim the rest of his interrupted sleep.