Unhappy reunion

[moonshadows]

“Illidan?”

“Yes, little Ember?”

The girl gnawed on her strip of meat a moment longer before saying carefully, “How are babies made?”

Illidan regarded her for a moment. It was true that in the last month, she had progressed to full sentences and a conversational level that seemed at odds with her age, but this seemed too premeditated, and he was wary of a trap. “When a man and a woman love each other very much, and they decide to be a mommy and daddy, the man gives some of his seed to the woman, like a bee visiting a flower, and the baby grows inside her.”

“But bees fly away.”

“Yes, they do. But Daddies don’t.” He saw the argument in her expression and continued, “Sometimes, they have things they need to do that take them away from their babies for a while, but Daddies always come back to help the Mommy take care of the baby.”

“Like how?”

“Like feeding them,” he said, scooping her into his arms and cuddling her. “And hugging them, and teaching them and protecting them.”

“Like you do?”

Illidan froze. “Ember, I am not your father. We’ve been over this.”

Undeterred, she looked up at him. “But you feed me and protect me and teach me and hug me, and you love Mommy.”

“Malfurion is your father,” he said sternly.

Angry now, she beat his chest with one small fist. “Never see him! Don’t want him. Want Illidan!” she declared, her vocabulary slipping with the intensity of her emotions. “Want you, Daddy.”

“I am not your father,” he growled in equal parts pain and anger, “and you will not call me that!”

Ember stuck her chin out stubbornly, glaring right back. “You want it.”

He did, stars help him. He wanted it more than anything, and the truth of it nearly broke him. “I want many things I cannot have,” he whispered, throat tight. “Wanting doesn’t make it truth. I want you to be my baby girl, Ember, but you are not.”

“But I look like you,” she protested, shaken by his visible pain. “Hair…eyes…”

“Ember, little Ember, when your father and I were young, looking at each other was like looking in a still pool of water. You look like me because I look like him.”

“Then how come you can’t be my Daddy?” Her little hands plucked aimlessly at his chest and she looked up at him pleadingly. “You do all the Daddy things. You love Mommy. You love me. Want you, Daddy.”

For a second, Illidan thought his body would forget all the horrors that had been inflicted on it and allow him to weep. He held Ember tightly, trembling, and drew in a shaky breath. “But you aren’t mine,” he whispered.

Reality crashed down upon him, followed by despair. She wasn’t his. She was Tyrande’s, and Malfurion’s, and he had to give her back. Just like everything he had ever wanted, she would be taken from him and once again he would walk away knowing that his twin had been blessed with everything and that he, the monster, would walk away with empty hands and return to the ashes and shards of what he called his life. He wanted this precious girl to be his, wanted the lie to become truth, but no – his half-troll healer had abandoned him, proving that he was unworthy of anything he had ever dared to dream of. Best he return the child to her mother – Tyrande, Tyrande, what would she think? – and flee so that he did not ruin her life as he had ruined his own.

Ember, scared, huddled in his arms and said nothing.

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Tyrande,

I can no longer in good conscience keep your daughter with me. It grieves me, because I have failed to remove the demon from her and let you both down, but I will not be the cause of any more strife with Malfurion. When we meet in Moonglade two weeks from now, I will be returning your daughter to you.

Illidan

 

Illidan watched Ember sleep, cuddled up to his pillow, and wondered if she would sleep as soundly when he was no longer a part of her life. He wondered if she would understand why he was leaving, and if she would ever forgive him.

He wondered if the madness would claim him at last without her small hand around his cracked and bleeding heart. Slowly, he lay down and choked back a dry sob as she tuned and nestled against him, still asleep.

For you, Tyrande. Everything I do is for you.

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 “Lord Illidan.”

The big half-demon stopped, Ember held securely in his arms. An interruption now was highly unwelcome, even one coming from his lieutenant, who knew better than to bother him with trivialities. “Yes?”

Kael’thas swallowed. “Your ‘expert’ sent a missive.” Silently, he offered the roll of parchment.

Illidan shook it out impatiently and scanned it quickly.

 

This will be no comfort to you for some time yet, but when you are ready to hear the answer, I will give it. What is broken must be mended before it can be healed.

 

Wordlessly, he shoved the parchment back at Kael’thas and spread his wings, not so much lifting off as hurling himself angrily at the sky. So, Prophet Velen had known that it would turn out this way, that their meeting would never happen. At least he could tell Tyrande that there was an answer.

Ember was quiet on the trip, brief as it was. She was excited that she would be seeing her mother again after a whole year, but her instincts were screaming that something was wrong.

As they crossed over into Moonglade, Illidan glided to a stop in the clearing where it had all begun. Nighthaven wasn’t far, and it was dusk – there would be plenty of druids around to warn Tyrande that he was coming. He walked, Ember held tightly in his arms. The blood elves had made her a new tunic and combed her wild hair; she would be presentable, at least. It didn’t matter if his hair was tangled and matted, or if his leggings were ragged. All that mattered was delivering this precious girl to her mother.

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He saw her before she saw him, her energy shining like a beacon of silver-white purity. Ember wriggled in his arms, guessing from the lines of his body that her mother was close, but he waited until Tyrande called his name before setting her down. He couldn’t quite prevent a soft smile as she tore down the path like a wild beast, hurling herself into Tyrande’s arms with a glad cry.

“Alannaria!” Tyrande hugged her little girl just as tightly as Illidan had.

“Ember, Mommy.”

The priestess looked at Illidan curiously.

“You forgot to tell me her name,” he said apologetically. “She was unable to speak, so I gave her a new name, untainted by Archimonde.”

Tyrande looked surprised. “Unable to speak? But…”

“It was the demon,” Ember piped up. “He took my name. I’m Ember now.”

“Her feral fits were her attempts to wrest control of the body back,” the big half-demon clarified. “If I had to guess, I would say that everything you’d thought was your daughter, was Archimonde.”

Slowly, Tyrande nodded. “But now she has control?”

“I haven’t seen him take control in nearly nine months.”

“Well, you’ve done more for her in one year than I managed in four, at least. Thank you, Illidan.” Child on one hip, she leaned forward to lay a kiss on his cheek.

“I couldn’t solve the problem,” he said, cheeks flushing slightly, “but if you send a message to the strangers that crashed not long ago, there should be a solution they can help with.”

“I’ll do that, thank you.”

Horror drained the joy from Ember’s face as it dawned on her what was happening. “Illidan?”

He took her flailing little hand in his. “You’re going back home with your mother,” he said gently.

“But…want to stay with you!” Her lower lip trembled.

“You can visit, if your mother agrees, little one. Right now, you need to focus on getting him out of your head.” He tapped her forehead, and she giggled. “Tyrande, have you heard from Furion?”

“He should be coming out of the Dream now,” she said warily. “Why…?”

“Your daughter needs to see her father,” he replied firmly.

Ember flailed for him again. “Want Illidan to be Daddy!”

Tyrande didn’t miss the pain that flashed across her old friend’s face.

“No, little one. I’m not your father. You’ll see him soon enough.”

She scowled. “Look like you.”

“Because I look like him. I’m your uncle, Ember.”

The girl turned pleading eyes on her mother. “Mommy?”

“I understand now,” the priestess murmured to him. “No, my precious one, Illidan is your uncle. If you’re good for a few months, we can visit him.”

Ember opened her mouth to answer, but a pair of thickly-muscled arms wrapped around Tyrande and the child both, and a bearded face nestled between theirs, and Illidan leaned back in painful relief.

“There,” he said. “This is your father.”

“Illidan,” Malfurion growled, “what are you doing here?”

Whatever answer might have been made was drowned out by an outraged bellow as Ember’s teeth met on the druid’s ear. Several seconds of confused shouting later, Malfurion stood safely on Tyrande’s other side, alternately clutching his ear and examining his fingers for blood.

“Allanaria!” Tyrande snapped. “Apologize for biting your father.”

“No,” the girl spat back. “Not my Daddy.”

“Of course he is.”

“No. ‘Larian’s Daddy. Not mine.”

Malfurion frowned, trying to hide how much the comment hurt him.

“Falarian’s father is your father,” Tyrande tried again.

“No. He doesn’t do Daddy things. Illidan does.”

“Brother,” the druid growled, “what have you done with my wife and daughter?”

“What have I done?” Illidan repeatedly incredulously. “You think that in the last five years, I have somehow…what?”

The energy of nature spiked around Malfurion, nearly tangible with his rage, and Illidan responded by drawing invisible shadows around himself, glaring coldly.

“Your anger only proves your guilt, brother,” the druid spat. “Do you think I’m blind? Don’t try to deny it.”

Illidan’s lips peeled back in a snarl. “You’ll have to tell me what I’m denying, because I think you’re still asleep.”

“Her eyes. Her hair. Her aura. I’m only surprised I didn’t see it coming. After all, that’s what you’ve wanted all along, isn’t it?” He shot a look of purest contempt at the half-demon. “Did you use sorcery on Tyrande to force her to take your seed, or did you just force her?”

Tyrande’s angry cry of “Furion!” was interrupted by Ember exclaiming “Knew it! Knew Illidan is Daddy!”

The half-demon, for his part, paled in fury. “How dare you,” he hissed. “How dare you accuse me of taking what is not mine?”

“Isn’t that what you do?” Malfurion stepped closer, challenging Illidan with his very nearness. “You take whatever pleases you, regardless of right and wrong, regardless of how others will suffer because of your selfish actions! I know you’ve envied my relationship with sweet Tyrande, envied my son, but I didn’t think you’d stoop so low as to force yourself on her out of jealousy!”

“Furion, stop it!”

“Oh, you would like that, wouldn’t you?” Illidan laughed, the sound cold and not entirely sane. “You’d like to lay all this at my feet and paint me the villain. If we are speaking of jealousy, perhaps we should reflect on how you leaped to the conclusion that I might have taken something of yours. I will not deny that I have envied you everything you have, brother, or that I would slaughter a thousand innocents if it would buy me Tyrande’s love and grant me the precious daughter she holds, but no.” He drew himself up to his full height and sneered down at Malfurion. “I will not deny that I have dwelled a thousand times on the thought that Ember might have been mine, should have been mine. But she’s not. She’s your child, Furion. You sired her. What have I done? I’ve given her the fatherly affection she should have gotten from you. I’ve held her and fed her, taught her and protected her. The better question, brother, is what have you done for her?”

“Is that it, then?” the druid growled, not shaken in the slightest. “Because you feel entitled to her, she should be yours? When in reality, you abducted her from her home and tainted her with your demonic filth?”

Illidan’s rage overwhelmed his control; his sight blanked out and his hands fisted until dark blood dripped and for a moment, he was certain that his half-troll would take his fists in her hands and pry them open, healing the wounds – but no, she was gone. The thought sobered him and, bitterly, he opened his eyes again. “You blind, self-righteous, hypocritical fool,” he spat. “I brought her back. I brought Tyrande back. You have everything I have ever wanted, and not once have I ever taken any of it from you. Everything I have ever treasured, I have lost. Everything I have done, I did because I thought it was the right thing to do: for Tyrande, for our people, for the world. For your daughter. For you. And yet, somehow, I am still a monster in your eyes. I will never be good enough for you, will I? In your mind, I will always be the demon in the shadows, performing the most vile deeds and laughing while the world burns.”

Malfurion’s anger faltered in the face of this quiet, bitter torrent of words.

“You have everything I have ever desired. You have insulted me in ways that defy comprehension, and you have accused me of something I would rather die than see come to pass, when I have only done everything in my power to protect what is yours and not betray your trust, even though you hold none for me. You have said everything there is to be said except farewell, and since I have done everything else for you, I will shoulder that burden as well.”

“Illidan,” Tyrande called uncertainly. “What…?”

“I’m leaving,” he said shortly. “Farewell.”

He turned, fists still clenched and dripping blood, and began walking away. Three sets of stunned eyes watched him for as many breaths, and then Ember gasped in alarm.

“Wait!” she cried, both hands reaching for him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. “Wait! Wait! No leave!” She was screaming now, working herself up to a shrill, hysterical pitch, thrashing against her mother’s arms. “Wait! Illidan! Illidan!” When he didn’t even hesitate, she burst into tears. “DADDY!”

Now Illidan stopped, and with slow, deliberate motions, turned around. One bloody fist opened; one red-stained talon pointed at Malfurion like an accusation. “That is your father, as much as I wish it were otherwise.”

“No leave!” she screamed, choking and sobbing. “Love Ember! Love Ember!”

“Exactly,” he said softly, the expression on his face cutting through Malfurion’s rage and leaving guilt in its wake. Slowly, stiffly, he turned his back and continued walking.

“LOVE ILLIDAN!”

Illidan jerked as if struck, and when he resumed moving, it was with the hopeless resignation of a man mortally wounded. Malfurion Stormrage stared as his brother dragged one hoof in front of the other, the hysterical crying of his daughter a mere backdrop to his disbelief. This was not the brother he thought he’d known; this was a stranger with a foreign maturity he’d never dreamed of. Never had he expected this from Illidan.

Never had he felt so ashamed.

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Tyrande felt a headache settle between her eyes as Illidan walked grimly away, and it was only partially caused by the child screaming in her arms. Repairing the fragile rapport she’d built with her long-estranged friend would be difficult, she knew. He wouldn’t be angry with her, but he was very, very hurt and she feared that he would pull away – hide, as he had done in his youth when things got too bad. For now, there was nothing that could be done for him; any attempt to call him back would only drive him away.

With a long-suffering sigh, she bounced her daughter lightly. Alannaria – Ember? – cried disconsolately, having given up on screaming for Illidan to come back. Now her tiny arms wrapped around Tyrande’s neck as she wept, the blind faith of a child in her mother’s ability to make everything right. Hopefully she would cry herself to sleep; certainly nothing else would comfort her unless Illidan returned. But the true reason for Tyrande’s headache stood next to her, watching his brother walk away.

“Tyrande…”

“Don’t,” she interrupted sharply. She knew that tone; Malfurion used it when he was trying to convince someone that he was right. It was a calm, reasoning tone, but right now it only grated on her already-raw nerves. “We will discuss this later, while the children are asleep.”

“But-”

“I am unhappy with you right now, my love. We will discuss. This. Later.”

Malfurion opened his mouth, then shut it. His eyes were sad as they lingered on her stern expression, then dropped to the weeping child in her arms. He reached for her, but Tyrande turned away and his hands dropped to his sides. “I will meet you back in Nighthaven, then,” he said softly.

The sound of wings receded; the forest quieted until the only sounds were Tyrande trying to soothe her daughter.

“Want Illidan,” the child moaned.

“I know, precious one, but Illidan is very hurt right now and we need to let him be for a bit.”

“Love Illidan,” came the half-sobbed response.

“I do, too, little one.” Tyrande held her daughter tighter, nuzzling the soft indigo hair on her head. “I do, too.”

Slowly, the priestess began making her way back to Nighthaven.

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“They’re both asleep,” Tyrande said as she shut the door behind her. “Hopefully they will stay that way, although Alannaria seems to have exhausted herself crying. I don’t think her body has the strength for a feral fit.” She walked right past Malfurion’s open arms and into the kitchen where she set a kettle to heat. After the events of the evening, she needed a cup of honeymint tea.

Malfurion sat at the table. “Tyrande…”

One hand raised cut him off, and she sighed as the tea eased some of the tension still fueling her headache. Another moment to enjoy the fleeting quiet, and then she opened her eyes to pin her husband with an unhappy look. “You will listen to what I have to say, Furion, because you have already said quite enough. Our daughter’s body hosts the spirit of Archimonde, and has since her conception. I called Illidan in to examine her nearly a year ago, when her fits became bad enough that I feared for our son’s safety. I asked him to take her for a time, and see what could be done. Although I could see that it pained him greatly to look at my daughter and know that she was yours as well, he did so. He sent me reports each month letting me know what advances had been made with her, and they grew increasingly adamant that she needed contact with her parents. I didn’t have the time to spare for a visit, and he was making such progress with her that I did not want to simply take her back. His last message stated that he could no longer in good conscience keep her with him. I know now why: she convinced herself that in your absence, he was her father. Before you interrupted, Illidan was trying to make her understand that he was her uncle, and it sounded like a discussion they had had before. He was sad, yes. He was bleeding inside, yes. But he was calm, and Alannaria was calm as well. In a few months, perhaps, we could have arranged a visit.”

Tyrande’s hands tightened around her mug and she closed her eyes, shutting out the stubborn look on Malfurion’s face.

“Illidan did not harm our daughter in any way,” she said firmly. “He neither abducted her nor tainted her. He did not claim to be her father, nor did he poison her mind against you. You, Furion, threw baseless accusations and old crimes in his face. You assumed the worst and attacked without listening to what he was trying to say. You did not listen to your brother, you did not listen to your daughter, and you did not listen to me.”

“But he-” The druid subsided at the look on her face.

“He what, tried to steal me away? You know better than that. He tried to take our daughter? He was giving her back. He what, Furion? What do you think he could have possibly done that would have earned him the things you said? For over four years he has done nothing but uphold his word, and the thanks he gets from his own brother is being driven away. Were you even watching him as you plunged your words into his heart? Did you see that what hurt him the worst was our daughter’s tears? He gave nearly a year of his life to bring her out from beneath Archimonde’s thumb, to make her as happy as she could be while separated from everything she had ever known. He loves her, Furion, and she loves him. She loves him, and you broke her heart by chasing him off, and for what? Jealousy? You are better than that, my heart. I know you are. This was beneath you.”

“I’m sorry, Tyrande,” Malfurion said humbly. He’d seen his wife angry before, of course, but never like this.

Tyrande’s eyes snapped. “No. Do not apologize to me. Give your apology to the ones you hurt: your daughter, and your brother. Beg them for their forgiveness, for until you have done so, you will not have mine.”

The druid jerked, surprised by the blade of guilt that pierced his heart. Was he that out of line? Truly? Unbidden, the memory of Illidan saying but for my part, I wish it to end came to his mind. Deep down, despite everything he had accomplished, was he still the petty child he had been ten thousand years ago? “I will go to Illidan’s camp immediately,” he said, deeply troubled.

Tyrande’s eyes followed him as he left the room.

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It was dusk when Malfurion entered the small cottage cautiously, but he needn’t have bothered. Tyrande sat by the fire, eyes closed and a mug of tea in her hands, and while she looked less tense…she did not look any happier.

“He’s gone,” the druid said heavily.

“I suspected as much. You hurt him enough that he fled to a safe spot, as he did when we were children. No doubt he will return in a day or two.”

He winced at the casual way she nudged the blade of guilt deeper. “It’s not that simple. The entire camp is empty.”

Tyrande’s eyes flew open. “What?”

“I checked every building. They’re all empty.” The druid sat on the other side of the fire, feeling very old. “The fires were still smoldering, and the ground held many tracks all leading to the center of camp, where they stopped. Illidan has pulled his forces out of Felwood.” When he dared to raise his eyes to his wife’s face, she looked pale.

“You will not say a word of this to the children,” she said tightly. “He may return in a week, or a month. I will not have our daughter freshly traumatized by the permanent disappearance of someone she cares so deeply about.”

“I’ve set wards to alert me should anyone return,” Malfurion assured her quietly. “I only hope he does.”