Illidan bonds to Zul'vii

[moonshadows]

Darkness filled the tent, but Illidan’s eyes ignored it. The troll burned on her bedroll, a beacon of purity, fast asleep and unaware of his penetrating gaze. Normally, she would be awake and tending his wound. Normally, he would wake her for that purpose. But not tonight.

The void was closed.

Illidan turned his magical gaze to himself, noting the fel green that permeated his body, the mark of what he had become. But beneath that… One clawed finger traced a line, faintly pulsing, that began somewhere in his massive chest and wound its way, like a river, to the center of his abdomen. The place where Frostmourne had first touched his skin. The center of the void. Instead of a gnawing pit devouring his essence, however, there was a small sea of pure white. Further examination only confirmed that the half-troll’s energy formed a delicate network beneath his skin, covering every bit of himself that he could see. She had healed him, yes, but at what cost to his freedom? Was this what a celestial bond looked like? None of the old stories would tell him, of course. In all of kaldorei history, no one had done to their eyes quite what he had done to his.

Should he kill her? Certainly, he didn’t need her to heal his wound anymore. His life did not depend on hers. But what if they were bonded? Could he even bring about her death if that were the case? And if he did, would he live long enough to regret it, or would the madness take him too soon?

He had to know.

Silently, the Lord of Outland stood and left the tent. Kael’thas slept in a pavilion in the center of the blood elf encampment; the guards were wise enough to let Illidan pass and one of them slipped inside to wake their prince.

“Lord Illidan?” Kael rubbed sleep out of his eyes.

“My wound has healed,” the half-demon said quietly. “I am leaving for a few days, no more than a week, to see how Akama is doing in the Black Temple. I will inform Vashj; you will tell no one of where I have gone. If any ask, say that I am retrieving my blades.”

“I understand.” Kael looked more alert now. “If the troll should ask…?”

“She is not to know where I have gone. Is that clear?”

“Yes, of course.”

Lady Vashj slept similarly protected; a Siren woke her.

“What brings you here at this hour, my lord?”

“As I have informed young Kael, I am recovered from my wound. I will be gone for a few days, no more than a week, to see how Akama fared in our absence. You are to tell no one where I have gone. That includes the troll.”

The naga straightened, her snakes peering at him through the dim light of the pavilion. “You are testing her,” she said in a low voice. “Now that your life does not hang in the balance, you are seeing if she has bonded to you.”

“Watch her carefully, Vashj. I am entrusting this to you.”

“I will not fail you, Lord Illidan.”

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When Zul’vii opened her eyes, she already knew something was wrong. The tent she shared with Illidan felt empty even before she looked over to see his bedroll abandoned. But surely…surely he wasn’t gone, right? Hastily, she scrambled out into the-

-late-morning sunlight. She’d slept in. He never let her sleep in. Something was wrong. The first blood elf she asked didn’t know anything; neither did the second, third, or fourth. It took seven naga before one of them remembered seeing Illidan visit their lady’s pavilion in the middle of the night, and an infuriating half hour before she was allowed to see Vashj – only to be told that he had gone off on an important errand, and that it was of the utmost secrecy.

“But I’m his healer!” she raged.

Vashj looked at her with reptilian pity. “His wound has closed,” she said in that slithering voice of hers. “He no longer needs you.”

Zul’vii was too shocked to cry. All those months…the bristling protectiveness…and in the end, all she had been to him was a useful servant. She’d thought – she’d hoped – but his heart still belonged to Tyrande after all, and there was no room for her. “Thank you,” she murmured absently. No one stopped her as she left the pavilion, no one barred her way as she returned to the tent he’d insisted she share with him. She stared at her bedroll, realizing that he would likely demand that she remove herself once he returned, and suddenly the effort of doing anything was more than she could bear. Her knees buckled and she fell, only to discover that she was crawling across the floor, sobbing hysterically, and that her goal was the bedroll that smelled like him. Zul’vii cocooned herself in his blanket, hugging her chest with both arms, and cried herself to sleep.

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The first day was easy; he ignored the tug of what was more than likely guilt, and spent his time conferring with Akama. The second day was worse; she was on his mind constantly, thoughts of her weeping uncontrollably alternating with images of horrible, bloody deaths that could befall her in his absence. The third day, even draining the life-force out of a demon unlucky enough to cross his path did not ease the growing emptiness inside him that had nothing to do with his energy levels and everything to do with his half-troll. On the fourth day, he opened a portal to the second Well of Eternity and bathed himself in its waters, restoring his reserves of magic and reaffirming his ties to the lake he’d altered, and the World Tree the dragons had planted on it. With his troll on the same continent again, the pull eased, but not even the overwhelming aura of the second Well could erase it entirely. His sleep was riddled with nightmares, old familiar ones, and he woke in a mood more foul than anything he’d experienced since Frostmourne had tasted his soul. The certainty that something bad was happening gnawed at him the way the void had, and to distract himself from it he rode the mountain’s currents down to Tyrande’s encampment within Moonglade.

“Illidan!” The priestess’s face lit up with joy and relief to see him, and a part of his emptiness eased. “You got the message I left with Prince Kael’thas and Lady Vashj?”

The half-demon frowned. “No. What message?”

Tyrande’s brow furrowed. “Zul’vii fell ill just a day after you departed. They brought her here, but neither Elune’s power nor that of any druid has been able to cure what ails her. She burns up, held in the grip of a nightmare that none can wake her from, and even if she can be restrained long enough for broth, or even water, to be poured down her throat…it does not remain there. I have my suspicions, of course. That’s why I left word with your lieutenants to request your presence here as soon as you returned.”

Illidan turned his head this way and that, magical gaze passing through the wooden walls of the building until he located the flickering beacon of his troll’s energy. “Tyrande, will you excuse me a moment?”

A bit of the worry left the priestess’s face at Illidan’s distracted tone. “Of course. Take your time; I will be here.”

The druids guarding the small building – hardly more than a hut – glanced nervously at each other as the Lord of Outland stalked towards them. They had orders to protect the delirious troll inside, but neither of them was certain if the half-demon bearing down on them was enemy or ally. He seemed to have no intentions of stopping, and at the last second, they stepped aside rather than be crushed underneath his hooves.

Zul’vii thrashed on a mattress, blankets tangled around her legs. Her green skin was paler than usual, sweat darkening the hair that had lightened to the shade of a fawn’s hide through the regular use of her power. The font of her pure power pulsed with each heartbeat, something he’d never seen it do before. As he knelt, he heard her whisper hoarsely through chapped lips. The words were scattered, following thoughts that flickered and shifted by the second, but he was able to string enough of them together to understand that her nightmares were about him.

“So this is how it is,” he murmured, one clawed hand skimming gently over her clammy cheek. “This is the price I pay for cheating death: being bound to you, my life forever entwined with yours, the sanctity of my heart forever violated by your face.” He watched impassively as her head turned, blindly seeking the touch of his skin. “If you died, how long would it take for me to share your fate? If my absence was so harmful to you, why are you not recovering?”

The troll moaned, half-sobbing his name, mourning him.

“Of course.” Fel-green eyes slitted. “The bond is not complete. I have not accepted it, and my rejection causes you to suffer. It is merely an addiction that plagues me, but for you – for you, it is suffocation. I could kill you, be rid of you. Ride out the withdrawal and be free, be myself.” His hand trembled against her skin. “Be myself, free to love Tyrande. Free to forever yearn for a woman who chose my brother, whose affection comes hand in hand with her pity because she will never love me the way she loves him. No matter how much I suffer for her sake, no matter what miracles I perform, I will never make her heart sing the way Furion does. I will remain imprisoned within the cage of my heart more surely than my cell held me captive. Will you be a kinder warden than my loneliness? If I shackle myself to you, will I yearn for the skies I forsook in granting you life?”

Zul’vii wept softly, tears tracing uncertain paths that intersected with his fingers. Ten thousand years of being alone rose like smothering dust, memories of darkness and solitude descending to choke him. Gently, he gathered the thrashing troll in his arms, wishing he could weep to give expression to the sharp pain tightening his throat.

“I accept the bond,” he whispered into her hair. “Wake up, you obnoxious whelp. Come back to me and tell me what an arrogant old bat I am.”

The troll’s ragged breathing hitched, then smoothed out. Illidan laid her back on the mattress, one hand stroking her hair possessively until those pale amber eyes fluttered open and locked onto his.

“Illidan? Where am I? …you left, and I dreamed…”

“Silence, whelp,” he growled. “You are too weak to waste your breath prattling. You need to regain your strength for the campaign in Northrend.”

One hand grabbed his wrist, tighter than he thought she could have managed. “Illidan…Vashj said…” The troll licked her chapped lips. “She said…you don’t need me anymore.”

The silence stretched.

“She was mistaken,” he said at last, voice as distant as he could make it. “The process of healing my wound has led to us being bonded. You will remain with me, as you have been. Now hold your tongue; I will see to it that you are given food and water, and I expect you to be on your feet again by the time I am ready to return to Vashj and Kael.”

Zul’vii looked at him a moment longer, confusion warring with wary hope, before she released his wrist and shivered. Scowling, he untangled a blanket and covered her with it. Her eyelids slipped down again, and within moments she was asleep.

Illidan closed the door to the hut behind him, then fixed the two druid guards with a stern glare. “See to it that she is given food and water,” he snapped. “Bread, cheese, fruits, vegetables. No meat. And fetch me at once if her condition worsens.”

“A-as you command,” one stuttered out.

The half-demon nodded and strode away as angrily as he had approached.

Tyrande looked up from a mug of honeymint tea as hooves clattered against the floor, offering Illidan a smile as she waved him to a nearby seat. The half-demon did not return the expression with his usual look of lost hope.

“The troll will live,” he said firmly. “I will remain here until she is well enough to return to Felwood.”

“Illidan, that’s wonderful!” She bathed him in a warm smile, and was relieved to see his stony expression thaw. “Now sit, and talk with me. Tell me how things progress in Felwood. It seems like it has been ages since we were able to catch up with each other.”

Tentatively, Illidan sat.

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“High Priestess, forgive the interruption, but…” The druid looked nervously at the half-demon. “Your guest asked to be notified if-”

Illidan didn’t wait for the rest of the sentence; he charged the door and the druid barely had enough time to dodge out of the way.

Zul’vii was crying hysterically when the door to the little one-room hut slammed open, then shut. Hands grabbed her shoulders, and she lashed out at whoever they belonged to, thrashing and kicking and screaming. One of them tried to cover her mouth, and she bit down on it as hard as she could. The owner of the hand growled, and the hand shifted so that its palm gave her no purchase. Fingers dug into her cheeks on one side, a thumb on the other. The hands lifted her into the air, one around her head and the other painfully tight around her wrist.

“Annoying troll whelp,” growled a familiar voice. “Try to use me as a chew-toy again, and I will rip you limb from limb.”

The troll paused in her struggling. An unintelligible word buzzed against his palm. Pale amber eyes blinked several times, lashes matted together, before focusing on him. Illidan sneered and opened both hands, letting her fall back down onto the mattress.

“You came back,” she whispered hoarsely.

He scowled.

“I missed you.”

“So much so that you worked yourself into hysterics,” he spat. “Are you still a child, brat, to cry for me in lieu of your parents?”

Still flushed from crying, she scowled back at him. “I missed you, you ungrateful smelly old bat! Didn’t it occur to you that I have no friends? You left me alone in that camp and didn’t even have the decency to tell me you were going!” She wrapped her arms around her knees and repeated, softly, “You left me alone.”

Illidan sat on the floor next to her mattress. “What a hardship that must have been.” Sarcasm dripped from every word. “To be left amongst other people for five days. Fool. Idiot. Spoiled brat. I was imprisoned for ten thousand years, you half-breed ingrate. Have you any notion of what that was like? Left alone in a stone cell, my warden the only face I saw – when she deigned to visit. I went centuries with nothing but my own thoughts for company! I was abandoned by everyone who had ever known me, imprisoned by my own twin brother, and Tyrande, my only friend, forbidden from seeing me. You think what you experienced was suffering? You know nothing, you overgrown inchworm. Nothing.”

“With your warm and caring personality, I can’t imagine why no one would have visited,” Zul’vii snapped back. “Where’s your brother? Maybe I should go and bond with him!”

“Oh, and wouldn’t that just be the final touch?” Illidan sneered. “My brother is loved and respected by our people, a mighty druid smiled upon by the gods and adored by Tyrande. Everything that should have been mine, he has.” The green glow of his eyes narrowed. “But he won’t have you.”

“What…what do you mean?” Zul’vii ran one hand over her throat in a nervous gesture.

“We are bonded, foolish whelp. Or do you not remember me telling you that?”

“I thought it was a dream,” she whispered, eyes wide. “We’re…bonded?”

“We are bonded. Something Furion the golden child cannot take from me, as he has taken everything else. My glory. My freedom. My destiny. My eyes.” The green glow winked out as he drew a deep breath and let it out shakily. “Tyrande.” The arcane constructs that passed for his eyes opened again. “But he cannot take you. Even if he should discover your existence, you have bonded to me. Finally, my oh-so-noble brother will be denied something.”

The words took several moments to sink in. When they did, Zul’vii swallowed hard. She had bonded to Illidan. Yes – she could feel him, faintly, the way she could sense injuries or weakened spirits that she could strengthen and heal. She could feel him, and he was a seething, bleeding mass of pain, betrayal, and loneliness except for one bright corner where Tyrande shone like the larger moon. The tears started again, and she blinked to clear them. He was so hurt…how could she ever heal that? She had her foot in the door for now, but he could shut her out at any time. Unless…if they were bonded, did that mean he couldn’t ignore her?

Zul’vii sniffled, then slowly laid her head on Illidan’s knee, one hand curled around his calf. Tentatively, she pushed some of her energy into him and felt him relax minutely. Her breathing evened out, and for several minutes they stayed that way. She felt him shift subtly, and then one clawed hand came to rest gently on her sweat-matted, tangled hair.

“Foolish, stubborn troll,” he murmured.

She debated saying something, but if he thought she was asleep, he would be hurt to find out that she wasn’t…and that she had witnessed him expressing something passing for affection.

Illidan sighed. “But you’re my troll.”

Zul’vii’s heart soared. Maybe it wasn’t the outright devotion she’d secretly hoped for, but they were bonded. Even if she wasn’t exactly what he had wanted, she was the one thing that was his and he wouldn’t give her up.

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“My lord, you return.” Vashj gave Illidan a sinuous bow as he stalked inside the pavilion.

The half-demon sat on a pile of cushions. “I return.”

“The troll?”

“Resting in her bedroll. What happened, Vashj?”

The naga settled back down. “The morning you left, she came to me asking where you were. I informed her that your wound was healed. She seemed in shock. I had her followed – it drew no suspicions, as my people have consistently guarded your tent. My myrmidons overheard her weeping. They checked her when there had been no sound for several hours, and found her fevered and sweating. We tried healing her, both my people and Kael’s, but nothing seemed to even touch her. In two days, she looked like she had been sick for two weeks. Kael sent a messenger to Tyrande; she sent one back with a pair of hippogryphs requesting the troll be brought to Moonglade for healing. She left you a message, but I assume you have seen her.”

“I have. What is your opinion, Vashj?”

“I watched her wither over the course of three days. I do not doubt that if you had not returned, she would have died.”

Illidan scowled. “I concur.”

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Tyrande woke up suddenly, blinking her eyes against the bright afternoon sun that streamed in around the shutters. Although there had been no sound, nothing to interrupt her sleep, her heart was pounding and she knew what had happened. She scrambled to the window and threw the shutters open just as an enormous stormcrow shot inside, wings thundering as he came to a stop and shed his feathers.

“Furion!” Tyrande threw herself into his arms.

“Tyrande.” The archdruid embraced her tightly, inhaling the scent of her hair.

“What brings you out of the Dream, my love?”

“That’s what I came to ask you,” he said warily. “There was something…unusual in the Dream for a few days. A vortex of pulsing energy, crying out in pain as though being consumed by darkness. It was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. I tried to investigate it, but by the time I tracked it down…it was gone. Since it was in Moonglade, whatever it was, I came to make sure you were alright.”

The priestess snuggled against her mate’s solid chest. “There is nothing to fear, but much to catch up on. What you saw was the anguish of a half-celestial.”

Malfurion started, eyes wide. “What? I thought they were myth. What could cause pain to one such as they?”

“You know the old stories, Furion. You know what is required of them.”

“A bond…so this celestial bonded, then?”

“I believe so, but with Illidan it’s hard to say.”

“WHAT? Why was he here?”

“Furion! You know nothing of what he has been through.”

“Then enlighten me, Tyrande,” the druid said evenly. “I have had other responsibilities to attend to.”

“He and Prince Kael’thas and Lady Vashj attempted to end the undead threat.” Tyrande deliberately did not say why; he knew well enough. “Illidan nearly lost his life. The only reason he did not was that the half-celestial was able to slowly heal his wound. Unable to open the portal back to the ruined homeworld of the orcs because of his injury, he asked for sanctuary for his forces and I granted it.”

“At what cost, Tyrande? What new injuries has he inflicted on our lands and people?”

“None,” she said sharply, pulling away to stand, hands on her hips, and give him a disapproving look. “They have settled in the demon-infested Felwood and are earning their keep removing the demons from it. Until just recently, Illidan still suffered the soul-draining wound that nearly killed him.”

“And now that he is healed?” Malfurion asked grimly. “What now?”

“We are negotiating with the human king in Stormwind, and with the leader of the free undead in Lordaeron, seeking an alliance so that we may lead a joint assault on the Lich King and end the threat he poses. The Illidari forces are a vital part of this effort; only they know where the Lich King’s base is.”

“And afterwards?”

“He has assured me that he and his forces will return to Draenor. Furion, when he asked for sanctuary, he asked it only for those who follow him and offered to go elsewhere himself if he was not welcome. You are too eager to see him as the villain, my love.”

Malfurion scowled, then sighed. “You may be right, Tyrande. I will try to see him more fairly from now on. But for now…” He smiled, one finger tracing the line of her jaw down her throat and along her shoulder. “My time here is short. We should take advantage of it.”

With a smile of her own, Tyrande led the way back to bed.