Chapter 34 – All Is Not Lost
She stared for the longest time at the figure on the floor. A million questions flooded her mind. Who was this...interloper? Where had he come from? Why did he look like Khadgar? What foul trick was Illidan playing? Had she grieved for naught? Had the nation grieved needlessly? Was it at all possible that in front of her, lay Khadgar? The list went on and on. Inside she felt utter confusion - elation, torment, sadness, joy. Anger.
Her breathing started to quicken, her voice was screaming up from the pit of her stomach, but it came out as a pathetic gasp. "What sorcery is this Illidan?" Her eyes never moved from the unconscious form on the floor.
"Ancient," the night elf replied simply, as if that was all the answer she needed.
"Do not patronize me!" She hissed, finally locking eyes with him. "Khadgar is gone. You told me that on the mound when I tried to dig him out."
Illidan, still exhausted from the magic he had induced, shifted on his feet. He swallowed before answering. "I was wrong," he said.
"Wrong?" she growled. Slowly, Sarah struggled to her feet. Illidan reached down to help her but she shrugged away from his hand. Once she was standing, she stared up at the amber orbs. "You were wrong?" Fury was building in her. "I have grieved for days and cried oceans of tears. Now you do this? If this is some strange elven form of comfort you are sadly mistaken! Who is this man?" she pointed to the figure on the floor.
"It is Khadgar," Illidan replied, his voice, the typical soft lullaby of the elven race. He watched as Sarah shook her head in denial. "I swear it, Sarah. It is him. This is no trickery." He watched as yet more tears fell from her eyes. He reached out again. This time she did not shirk from his touch. "Let me take him through to your room. He must sleep. He is injured. You should heal him enough for him to be comfortable, then you can do more tomorrow."
Her eyes lifted from the man on the floor to Illidan and back again. "Is it really him?" Her voice had taken on the nervous tremor of hope.
"Yes. I will explain once we take him through to your room and you heal him."
She looked back at the trembling figure. Certainly, it looked like him. It had sounded like him when he said her name, for all he was drained, exhausted. Could she dare hope that this was indeed the man she loved? She sighed. There was no way she would dismiss even the most remote of chances. Had she not prayed that he would return to her somehow, that first day she stepped inside their house again? "If your spirit can hear me, please come back to me. I don't care how. Just, please, come home!" She turned to Illidan. Inhaling deeply, with an apologetic twitch of her mouth, she asked him to carry the man through to her bedchamber. The seven and a half foot night elf lifted him with ease and carried him through.
He moaned as they manoeuvred him to remove his clothing. He had mainly numerous bruises, one or two grazes. Sarah flinched as she saw a deep wound in his shoulder. A serrated gash, the blood was congealed, and a glistening pus seeped from the centre of the wound. Illidan inspected it. "Looks like he took an arrow. Either he managed to pull it out himself or someone else did it for him. It needs cleaned though. I will leave you for a while so you can tend to him." He left the room, respectfully, quietly.
For a few moments, Sarah just stared at the man in her bed. The man who looked so like Khadgar. Who was Khadgar! she told herself, desperate to believe it. She reached towards him, her fingertips almost touching his face, but drew back at the last minute. Somehow, she thought if she touched him, he would evaporate, vanish; renewing her pain of losing him all over again. She had been diligent in not touching his skin when she and Illidan undressed him. Locked in her mind was the fear that if she connected directly with his flesh, he would be no more. She would open her eyes and find herself alone. Again. Shaking her head at her irrational thinking, she steadied her breathing and her eyes carefully scanned his injuries. How long has he suffered like this, she wondered. Who hurt him? She decided not to fill her mind with such questions but instead utilise her time on healing him. With her magic, she would not need to touch him, she could heal him simply by thinking it and moving her hands above him.
Her tattoos pulsed, the soft soothing glow growing slowly brighter. Carbonated waves of white-gold ethereal matter seeped from her hands and was absorbed into his skin. Her eyes watched as the soft rivulets of the gift of the naaru worked their way into the deep gash on his shoulder. Their colour darkened slightly as the infection was extracted from the damaged tissue. She witnessed it travelling up through the effervescent streams, being broken down, sifted, purified then simply floating away on near invisible wisps. He groaned and grimaced in his sleep. She drew back slightly, easing the intensity of the healing process until he seemed settled again. Moving her hands as if in some exotic dance, her magic continued to infiltrate and cleanse the wound. With one hand she manipulated an invisible needle and thread that stitched the inner wound while her other kept the tissue clean, unsullied and sanitized. She managed a tiny smile as she saw the improvement. The outer wound was then closed and over it she conjured a gauze-like covering, infused with the white-gold of the naaru.
She swept her hands over his entire body, careful not to actually touch him, and removed any dirt, dust and dried blood. He omitted a small moan or two, but nothing that sounded like he felt discomfort. The magic washed over him like an extraordinarily fine gossamer, glistening, rippling, addressing all the dips and rises of his body; muscles, sinew, tendons, his entire skeletal frame. Closing her eyes she traveled an most unusual journey beneath his epidermis, her inner vision probing, sensing if any internal injuries or fractured bones lurked. Thankfully, there was nothing, mainly mild surface cosmetics, that was all. No doubt his joints and muscles would ache when he woke, whenever that might be, but that was to be expected. She would work on him more tomorrow, too much now could disturb him from his sleep; the greatest medicine of all. Gradually, her empyrean magic dimmed, and with it the infection from his wound was eliminated. Gently, she draped the sheet and soft blanket over his torso.
She gazed at his face. A few days stubble had taken over his jawline, throat and cheeks. She was trying to decide whether she liked it or not when he turned his head. A contented sigh left his lips and his eyes fluttered open for a split second before they closed fully again. Her eyes settled on his mouth. She so desperately wanted to kiss those lips. She would know then if it was truly Khadgar who lay in her bed; there was no mistaking how he felt when she kissed him. That underlying fear of him disappearing washed over her again. She moved back, resisting the temptation to press her mouth against his. She would wait. Until she was sure. As she gazed on his face, she smiled. How this mirrored when he had found her at Stone Cairn Lake and then watched over her while she slept. Her heart swelled. This was meant to be. Was it not?
A soft knock on the door and she glanced up to see Illidan looking in. She turned her eyes back to Khadgar. She was loathe to leave his side. The night elf sensed her trepidation. "He is not going anywhere. He will probably sleep for hours, if not days," he said softly. Her eyes flitted over to the night elf and back again. "Sarah! Come. Let him sleep. " Illidan persisted. He held out his hand. Reluctantly, she accepted and they left the sleeping man.
Illidan did not let her hand go until she settled on the sofa in the living room. He crossed to the sideboard where he had taken the liberty of pouring two glasses of wine. Accepting a glass, she noted he had placed the journal on the small table between the seats. He took the chair opposite her and she looked across at him. Although it was extremely inappropriate timing, she could not help but smile as the huge seven and a half foot night elf tried to wedge himself into an ordinary armchair. He caught her smirk and his soft rolling laughter sounded in his chest. "Yes," he agreed to her unspoken observation. "Not exactly designed for the likes of me."
"You would be more comfortable over here," she said laughing lightly, patting the cushion next to her.
He shook his head. "I will be fine," he smiled. He took a drink of his wine, then looked at her for a few moments until their mirth subsided. "You must have many questions," he said.
She sipped. "Yes," she replied, the corner of her mouth twitching with an aporetic smile. "Too many though to even think of one, right now."
Illidan smirked. "Then let me try and answer those unspoken ones. Firstly, I need to reassure you, the man in your room is Khadgar. The Leader of the Kirin Tor, Archmage, your lover, Ocel's father and my friend." He waited until she acknowledged his words. She nodded. "Secondly, the journal," he waved his hand over the book. "I think primarily, it is exactly what you thought it was, a book in which he wanted you to know his feelings. A testament. A sacred declaration of the love he felt, nay - feels - for you." He watched as her face relayed relief that devotion and passion was Khadgar's main purpose when he put pen to paper. "As for the ward of secrecy..." he started. Sarah's eyes locked with his. Illidan drank from his glass.
"All is not lost," Sarah said suddenly. "You said that, when you realised there was magic in the book. Drek'thar also said it when he spoke with us in Draenor and Vindicator Ocel mentioned it to Khadgar when we were in the Dark Portal. What does it mean?"
Illidan nodded and went on to explain it was a term used thousands of years before relating to a magic that would be required to alleviate a particular situation. It was not openly spoken about, and was more commonly known as the Thalassian Secret although he believed many other races had their own version of it. The problem it was intended to correct should never have come about in the first place, had rules been observed. It was only in absolutely dire situations it would have occurred. The spells required to make things right, were considered amongst the most powerful and potentially lethal forms of magic.
Thousands of years ago, in Illidan's times when he was but a youth, High Elves, as they were collectively known then, were the only race who could shapeshift. It was instilled in them from an early age, that there was one particular instance when they should never, ever transform. That was in the midst of a time portal. They could shapeshift before or after entering, but never while within. To do so, would mean they would be unable to return to their elven form for their transformed selves would be of neither their own time nor that of the other side of the portal. They would be stuck whether it was as a cat, a bear - or a bird.
Khadgar, being human, as was his mentor Medivh, could not ordinarily shape shift. They relied on powerful magic to do so. That is why both used Atiesh, the guardian staff which was empowered to transform its wielder, thus enabling them to adopt the form of the raven. This explained, Sarah now understood what had happened to Khadgar. Yet, it could have been prevented altogether had he done as she said and moved to her. This she voiced to Illidan, who agreed, but then suggested that the Thalassian Secret was a safety net which Khadgar had put in place should the only option be for him to transform within the portal.
"But how did he know that we would manage this? I mean, well - well, we didn't, for days! The whole world thinks him dead. They are still grieving." Sarah said, desperately.
"Yes," Illidan replied, a look of perplexed encumbrance crossing his handsome face. He took a deep breath then looked at her with a reassuring smile. "I think somehow, the people of Azeroth will simply be so overjoyed to have their Archmage back, that the whole, sorrowful - misunderstanding, will be overlooked."
Sarah guffawed. "Misunderstanding? Oh, I do hope that is how they view it, Illidan."
"I am sure they will. But, in answer to your query about how did he know we would find out, you said that you had not read to the end?"
She nodded and took another sip of wine.
"There was a small footnote in common language. The only section in the language I could see too. It asked that you pass the journal to me, for there was something he wanted me to check."
"Check?" her eyebrows pinched up.
"I had to first, by using the magic, see if he had indeed become a raven and survived. That is why I could not involve you until I knew for sure."
Sarah nodded, but remained quiet for a moment. "I should have been able to detect his heartbeat though," she said.
"No, you wouldn't, for it was the heart of a raven that survived, not the man himself."
"But I can hear the hearts of many creatures," she protested.
"The heart of a true creature and that of one shapeshifted like Khadgar's are very different, Sarah. Technically, his raven form does not exist, for it was created purely by magic."
"Your people are also undetectable when shapeshifted, then?" she asked, trying to grasp the intricacies of magic in its varying forms.
"No, you will hear our hearts whatever shape we take, for it is part of our heritage, our bloodline, our species although now it is only the druids who can shift."
She clasped her hand to her forehead. "Oh, this is so complex. I do not know how you all manage to perform these different types of magic and understand what does what and how..."
Illidan laughed. "It is no more different to learning a trade, Sarah, but granted some are more gifted than others."
She looked up at him. Placing her glass on the table, she rose and moved over to his side. She took his free hand in both of hers. He placed his glass on the table and covered her hands with his. "None is more gifted than you my friend," she said sincerely. "Thank Elune your nose got the better of you when you picked up that journal."
Illidan's fangs flashed as he laughed. "The magic called to me Sarah, I was not being nosy."
She hung her head, embarrassed. After a moment she looked back up at him. "Well then, I still thank Elune and whatever other forces are out there that have blessed us with your friendship. I apologise for doubting you in the study..."
He huffed and rounded his shoulders. "I would have probably done the same if the shoe had been on the other foot. You have no need to apologise, Sarah. Ever."
