TBTT 52. Because the cutscenes didn't cut it

[moonshadows]

Through the blinding haze of pain, one thought stands out: what did that demon do to me?

Dead branches and dried leaves crunch beneath my hands. No doubt I’m getting thorns and stars-only-know what else in them, but I can’t really feel it. Not when my fingers are white-hot rods of agony. I need to get away – until whatever poison this is either kills me or has run its course, I’m easy prey for any of the Legion’s beasts that happen to fancy a crispy Kal’dorei treat. I’m leaving a trail that even the most sheltered city-dweller could follow, but I don’t really have a choice. The last few attempts at standing up ended in falling, and more pain…so I crawl. My sense of up and down has been pretty well slaughtered by the searing torment that blankets me. It seems to be concentrated in my extremities – hands, feet, and of course, my head. Particularly my head, where it feels like blazing coals have been set into my temples. The last time I clutched my head, however, my touch brought yet more pain and on top of everything else, my stomach is roiling and it’s hard to breathe.

Maybe I shouldn’t have consumed all of the power in the Skull, but – if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to kill the dreadlord guarding it. The magic courses through my blood, fire and ice and acid eating me alive. There’s no part of me that doesn’t hurt. The demon’s claws raked me in several places; I can feel the blood dripping down my sides and my face. There’s irony for you. If I had eyes, I’d be blind from pain and blood, but since I don’t…

My demonic eyes seem to be the only part of my body that isn’t betraying me. I can see the forest around me quite clearly, even if it is a riot of colors clashing between the healthy hues of life and the sickly shades of corruption. 

Ow!

…stones, however, are practically invisible until I find them by trial and error and my knee has just come down hard  on one. I jerk in reaction and my body completely spasms, flinging me onto my side where I promptly hit my head against another rock and bite my lip hard enough that I taste blood. Maybe if I play dead, I can catch my breath and fool anything that might be hunting for me. Maybe…if Elune has decided to be kind to me after all those centuries of torment…Tyrande will convince Malfurion to come looking for me. Then again, it wouldn’t take much – he’s already convinced that I’m just waiting for the right moment to betray them all. A bloody chuckle bubbles up and turns into a cough. Hellfire, I wasn’t even supposed to engage the demons – Furion didn’t trust me to not consort with them. ‘Scout them out,’ he said. ‘See if you can locate their leader but DO NOT engage him without us,’ he said.  

Fool. I’m more than a match for any demon. Do you think I would risk Tyrande’s life so callously – as you seem willing to do –  brother? Well, surely this time even Furion will not be able to find fault with what I’ve accomplished. 

“Foul demon! What have you done with my brother?”

Fresh pain lances through me as previously-neutral roots leap to life and wrap themselves around my ankles, wrists, and throat. As they haul me into the air, I realize that I must have lost awareness –  otherwise I would have seen the blazing green-gold of Furion’s power or the unmistakable silver-white of Tyrande as they approached. There is a fleeting impulse to wonder why Furion seems to think I am a demon, but that gets trampled by the desperate need to breathe.

“It is I…Furion…” The root does not loosen, and I can’t blame it. That doesn’t sound like my voice. “This is...what I’ve…become.”

The roots release me all at once and I drop to the ground, crying out in pain as something in my back bends the wrong way. I expected nothing less from Furion, honestly. I turn my ruined eyes to Tyrande, letting the pure light of her wash over me. Any second now, I’ll hear her crisp voice slice the air like a dagger, suggesting some arrangement for bringing me back to their camp and hopefully chiding my brother.

“No! Illidan, how could you?”

What’s that, little elf? You thought you couldn’t possibly feel any worse than you do now? Oh, foolish elf. Silly little pawn. Didn’t you know that your Goddess hates you and your only purpose in life is to suffer? That was horror in Tyrande’s voice, little fool. Horror and disgust. Whatever Tichondrius did to you has just cost you the last shred of affection anyone ever had for you. What, you wonder what lies your oh-so-noble twin told her to make her see you as a monster to be reviled? Nothing but the truth. Foolish little monster, no one cares about you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?

Chiding myself doesn’t lessen the pain any; it never did. But when you are alone with yourself, there is little else to lash out against. Still, I have one feeble spark of hope left. Surely, when they see what I’ve done…?

“The leader of the undead has been destroyed…and the forests will heal…in time.” Instinctively, I raise one hand to my throat when talking hurts – as it is liable to do, when one has just been half-strangled by a root – but sharp pain blossoms where my fingers touch my skin and I let the hand drop. 

“At the cost of your soul?” 

My – what? Maybe consuming that much fel magic isn’t something most anyone would approve of, but that doesn’t mean-

“You are no brother of mine,” Furion growls. 

When have you ever acted like a brother to me, O mighty druid? I am no brother of yours? Fine, then. The feeling is mutual.

“Be gone from this place! And never set foot in our lands again.”

That’s it, then? Bleeding, beaten, and half-dead, freed after ten thousand years of torture and agony only to be banished for accomplishing what was asked of me in the first place? Or perhaps you are banishing me in order to blind Tyrande to your arrogant ways, eh? Afraid that after ten thousand years, you’ll lose to me at last?

“So be it,” the words are spit – along with some blood – out of my mouth. “Brother.”

Yes, walk away. Turn your back on me again, Furion, as you’ve done for ten thousand years. I’ll show you! I’ll make you admit that you were wrong about me. As the glow of their souls fades, the comforting flames of anger and resentment flare again in my heart. They’ll see. I’ll find a way to-

Hands on his horns and a soft voice gently singing an alien lullaby break him out of the memory he’d fled to, reliving one of the worst experiences of his life as an alternative to accepting the reality of the injury he’d inflicted on her. She hasn’t yet done whatever she does that takes the pain away; either that, or the raw agony has overpowered it. He feels lacerated, not just in mind but in –

Oh. Well, that would explain it. Thankfully, keeping his talons dull so that he doesn’t cut Tessa means that he has some lovely scrapes and bruises, but clawing at himself has not left him covered in bleeding scratches. A small blessing, but one that lets him dismiss his injuries and turn his attention towards her, instead.

“I thought I ordered you to return to your rooms,” he says weakly, throat tight and raw from muffled cries of anguish and the memory of choking roots. 

“You did, and I did.” Her firm, unrepentant tone doesn’t soften the slightest bit. “You didn’t order me to stay there, so I didn’t.”

“I see. You just took it upon yourself to go against my wishes.” The acid in his voice is directed at himself. He doesn’t really want to be lashing out at her this way, but he can’t help it. Some primal part of him, strengthened by ten thousand years of torture, realizes that he is vulnerable and is doing its best to drive her away before he can be wounded even more.

“My place is at your side,” she says softly, hands leaving his horns to move his arm around her shoulders as she sits in the corner beside him.

You have already proven yourself adept at seeing what needs to be done and doing it, so I...command you to keep doing that. The memory floats up out of the chaotic sea that is his mind, even as his arm tightens around her in a mute plea for her to not leave, despite anything he says. Yes…he needed this, even if he thought he didn’t want it. 

“I hurt you.” Changing the subject is the most admission of defeat he can bring himself to utter.

“It’s just a scratch. Not even bleeding, see?” 

The arm is presented for inspection and, as promised, it has already scabbed over. He traces the cut lightly with one fingertip, marveling that she has not turned on him for this. 

“Why did you return?” He doesn’t know why he’s asking except that at the moment, he needs to hear some kind words to staunch the bleeding from that memory.

“I was worried about you.” The words are a hesitant whisper.

She was- “Worried?” He looks at her in shock, but she’s ducked her head. Right now, he really wants to see her expression. One careful finger under her chin is enough to make her look at him, and the devotion he sees there eases the reflexive fear of some ulterior motive. “You were…worried?” For once, his voice is as gentle as he intended it to be.

She blushes. “I know it’s silly, because you’ve gone through so much and none of it slowed you down, but…” Her gaze drops briefly to where her hand is splayed against his chest, then comes back up to his face. “I…you needed me. The first time we sparred…you were worried.” She doesn’t need to mention that he almost killed her; that thought is loud enough in his head. “I wanted to let you know that I was okay.” Hesitantly, the hand on his chest creeps up until  she is cupping his cheek lightly, skin barely brushing skin. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, he pulls her closer and holds her tight. Oh, my Champion – I am now! 

For a long time, neither of them move. Irrefutable proof that she will not turn away from him takes a lot of the sting out of the memory of abandonment, and greedily he wallows in the knowledge that she cares. Finally, he loosens his embrace and leans back slightly. 

“You will need to traverse the Twisting Nether to return, if that is the way you arrived,” he says without preamble. 

She nods and detangles herself, stretching casually as she stands up before putting her forgotten practice glaives away. A cheerful smile and wave, and she steps out of the physical plane. Once she is gone, he groans and stretches. The meeting with his minister of Justice will have to be rescheduled; right now, he has no desire to deal with the petty concerns of conquering the world. Conquering a hot shower, or maybe a long soak, is all he feels up to dealing with this evening.