They'll be fine

[moonshadows]

“Illidan, my brother, I would speak with you.”

The deep, rumbling words echo through the spell, and we glance at each other in surprise before racing to the array room. Calls from Darnassus are rare, and this is the first time Malfurion, not Tyrande, has been the one to call.

“I am here, my brother,” Illidan says as he steps onto the mosaic before the array.

The Archdruid looks drawn and worn. “I don’t want to impose on you,” he says wearily, “but could you and Tessa come spend Winter’s Veil in Darnassus with us? I know you’re not comfortable in the city, but Tyrande hasn’t been feeling well. A visit from her oldest friend would mean so much to her…”

“Of course,” Illidan says immediately. “The students have already left for the holiday – when should we arrive?”

Malfurion rubs his eyes and sighs. “A soon as you can, brother.”

My star glances at the late-afternoon sun. “We’ll be there tonight.”

 

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I fly through the Twisting Nether, following my own trail back to Darnassus and into the tower suite that was briefly ours, then down to an unoccupied balcony. A few veils hide me from eyes and ears, and I follow the familiar energy signatures to the High Priestess’s suite, where I open a portal to Eldarath keep. Illidan steps through quickly, the special insulated glass box swaddled in thick cloth held carefully in both hands. I let the portal drop and knock on the suite door, and a moment later Malfurion gestures for us to be silent as he ushers us inside. His mind churns with concern, fear and worry for Tyrande, and between his duties and staying up with her, he hasn’t been sleeping. Seeing his brother brings a shining ray of hope to the whole mess, like the glowing calm of the emotional storm. Somewhere in his mind, he associates Illidan with the idea that everything will be okay, and I realize that despite his domineering attitude, he has never been the dominant twin.

As the door shuts behind us, an official-looking night elf woman enters from another room and closes that door gently before smiling at the Archdruid. “She’s not sick,” she says reassuringly. “She’s pregnant. Congratulations!” With another smile, she slips out of the suite and Malfurion looks more unwell than I’ve seen him since I had my fingers in his mind, showing him his sins.

“Furion?” Illidan asks, confused and worried.

“This is terrible,” he whispers in horror, as though he hadn’t heard his brother.

“What? Why?”

Malfurion closes his eyes and rubs them, trying to repress a shudder. “Tyrande…can’t carry to term. Something goes horribly wrong when the baby gets big enough that we think this time, maybe it will start moving…the first time was so hard on her that we didn’t try again for a thousand years. She’s conceived a handful of times since then, when the pain fades enough for her to want to try again, but…” He lets his hands drop and looks quickly at his brother. “She’s not in any physical danger; it’s her heart I’m worried about, not her life. She…she wants to give me a son, but I’d rather just have her happy. Please, brother,” he pleads, golden eyes begging. “Talk to her. She’s given up hope that this time, the babe will live, and she’ll be blaming herself for this, consumed with the idea that she’s failing me. You can comfort her the way I can’t. Please.”

My eyebrows go up as Illidan hands me the swaddled box and vanishes into the other room. For the first time since I’ve known him, there is no anger or resentment in Malfurion’s mind. He is genuinely relieved to have Illidan here, and truly wants his brother and his wife to have some time alone to talk. There isn’t even the slightest hint of worry at what they might do, given privacy and close proximity and emotional intimacy, just the knowledge that Illidan is Tyrande’s friend, and the faith that his brother will make everything right. Curious, I slip into my star’s mind and find Tyrande weeping on his shoulder as he hugs her, reassuring her that this time, she will not miscarry because it would upset him to have her so upset, and she knows that I will do anything for him and after all, if I could fix his mind then a simple pregnancy should be easy, right?

“She won’t miscarry,” I say calmly.

Malfurion looks at me, hope warring with skepticism and the fear of being hurt when hope is dashed. “How can you know that?”

I smile serenely, an expression Uncle Josh would have recognized. “Because if she did, it would make Illidan very, very unhappy.” I’m not about to tell him that I struck a deal with the Warchief for this, or that his child will be a Champion. My reputation, and my mother’s, are all the persuasion I need; he knows that I would turn the world upside-down for my star, and that his brother would do his best to turn it upside-down for Tyrande. He may not know how we’ll do it, but right now, he doesn’t care. He trusts us to protect the woman he loves from the heartbreak of losing another child.

“Thank you,” he says shakily, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath. “I know you haven’t forgiven me, but-”

“Actually,” I interrupt gently, “you just sent your brother to comfort your wife without resenting him at all, or accusing him of anything in the silence of your mind.” I smile as he blinks, startled out of his worry, and it’s a warm expression. “I forgive you, Malfurion Stormrage. Happy Winter’s Veil.”

“What’s this, my Champion?” Illidan asks quietly as he emerges from the other room, shutting the door carefully behind him. “Tyrande’s getting dressed,” he says to his brother. “She’s much calmer now. Tessa, what’s this about forgiving my brother?”

Although he sounds nonchalant, I can hear the faint edge of warning in his thoughts. He’s not happy about the idea of me holding a grudge that he no longer holds. “This is the first time he’s seen you and not felt resentment or jealousy towards you,” I say calmly, and his mind flinches with the pain of betrayal.

“Brother…?”

“It’s true,” Malfurion says heavily. “I resented you, Illidan. I was jealous that Tyrande still cared for you, and feared that you would steal her heart away after all this time. I wronged you, my brother, and I have no excuse for it. I’m sorry.”

After a long, shocked moment, it sinks in for my star that Malfurion has been hurting, and is still hurting, and that for once, he has the power to wound his twin and make him suffer as badly as he’d suffered. The gratitude that screams from Malfurion’s mind as his brother embraces him rivals what Illidan feels after he’s made love to me, and I suspect the Archdruid’s eyes will be wet when they separate again.

Tessa! I know you had something to do with this!

I jump slightly as Tyrande’s thought stabs at my mind, but it’s her pregnancy she’s talking about, not the reconciliation in front of me. A glance confirms that she isn’t even out of her bedroom yet. I promise that the child will be born alive, and have both his or her parents’ best traits, I say at the edge of her mind.

She’s still suspicious, but she trusts my word and is willing to overlook the issue of how if it means getting the child she wants so very badly. The door opens and she emerges calmly, dressed in a simple gown of turquoise that compliments her hair. “Tessa,” she says less sharply than normal, “what’s in the box?”

Illidan’s cheeks darken slightly as he unwraps the enchanted warming cloth, wings carefully hiding what’s inside as he gently lifts the pot with its precious contents: six immature plants and one in full bloom. “They were your favorite,” he says quietly as he offers the pot for her inspection and approval. “Malfurion told me they all died out after the Sundering, but you once gave one to me, and I so treasured it that I preserved it with magic. It was still where I left it. I convinced it to seed, and the seeds to sprout. It’s not much of a gift – I’m only returning the flower you once gave me.”

To everyone’s surprise, tears creep down Tyrande’s cheeks. “Oh, Illidan! I – I don’t know what to say!” Reverently, she touches the flame-colored blossom and a sob escapes her. She turns to muffle it in her husband’s shoulder, and Furion rubs her back reassuringly. “It’s…been an eventful night,” she says apologetically once she’s recovered a bit.

Malfurion smiles gently, eyes wandering over all three of us. “And it’s not even midnight.”

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I follow Tyrande’s thought to the balcony, where she stands watching Darnassus bustle about. Used to the day being their active time, Illidan and Malfurion are slumbering inside. “You called?” I ask, knowing that she knows I know she did; her thought prodded me until I woke up.

She smiles warmly at me. “I overheard some of what you said earlier, about Furion no longer having any hidden resentment or jealousy.”

“Once I pointed out to him what he was doing, he got it sorted out faster than I thought he would,” I lean against the balcony, the chill of the marble going straight through the silk of my dressing gown. “It was nice to see them expressing affection without pain or anger on either side.”

“Mm.” Tyrande leans against the marble next to me. “There’s more that can be done,” she says crisply, the thought that I should be doing it hanging loudly between us.

“What do you mean?”

She offers me a memory – an old one, from right after my Kal’shan was hauled off to Zin-Azshari. Once I have tasted it, I know what needs to be done and why she thinks I should do it.

“I’ll have to go deep,” I warn her. It’s her husband, after all.

“I know,” she says calmly. “Elune will forgive you.”

It’s not easy; with everything my star has suffered, the link isn’t going to be easy to find even once I know what it should look like. The fact that I didn’t uncover it when I was putting him back together hints that it was very deeply buried, and I’m not sure where to start looking, so I leave a mental finger in his mind while I slip into his brother’s. The Archdruid’s businesslike style is apparent even here, and the walled-off section with barricades recently removed isn’t hard to find. It only takes a few minutes to take down the rest of the walls and gently ease the link open. Actually going through it to Illidan’s mind is a bizarre sensation that makes my eyes cross, like watching myself watch myself through someone else’s eyes, but I am able to find a battered barricade that’s passed itself off as heavily-scarred mindflesh. It’s down in one of the older galleries, with the memories of Nathrezim torture surrounding it, and I go very slowly trying to uncover it. Despite that, the memories stir restlessly just as I get one corner unsealed. I mutter an obscenity as the first lost-sounding cry resonates through the bond that links me to him.

“What’s wrong?” Tyrande asks, alarmed.

The memories are moving faster now, and I can’t gel them all in place fast enough. “Illidan’s having a nightmare.”

The lost cry swells into a vast howl, a plea for someone, anyone, to take the pain away and I can feel him start to reach for me. Before I can reach back, however, Furion’s sleeping mind charges through the re-opened link like a mother bear on the warpath in the defense of her cubs, shattering the barrier and causing my mental presence to dissipate in surprise.

The wail from my star’s mind cuts off. The silence from inside shifts subtly.

“What-“

“Shh.” I cut Tyrande off, wild glee climbing my throat, scrambling to get fingers in their minds again.  

Cautiously, we peer around the door frame. Moments later, the two brothers emerge simultaneously from the rooms they had been sleeping in, stumbling but moving unerringly towards each other, still more asleep than awake.

“Illidan?”

“Furion!”

“I can feel you.”

“I can feel you, too…”

They embrace roughly, throwing each other off-balance, and Illidan cups his wings protectively around his twin as they fall to the floor, each unwilling to release the other. Malfurion is openly weeping, and Illidan’s breath comes in broken gasps. Unintelligible fragments of sentences are uttered, the rest unspoken as their thoughts race and blend through the link between them. Joy and relief flood both minds, however, and I withdraw the tentative fingers I’d had in them. Tyrande seems to be fighting back tears as well, as she watches the reunion so intensely touching that the idea of getting up off the floor – or even sitting up – doesn’t seem to have occurred to them. After a few minutes, the flood of emotion drains out of them and their breathing evens out as sleep reclaims them.

“Should we move them?” she asks as we step carefully back inside.

I shake my head. “Not unless we can do it without separating them. Illidan won’t let go, I know that much from experience.”

She makes a noncommittal sound. “They were like that as children, too, but they’ll get cold. It’s the middle of winter.”

As if to prove her point, Malfurion shivers. I hold one hand out to forestall her, and after a moment, Illidan drapes a wing over the sleeping form of his brother and shifts until his twin’s head is cushioned on one arm, chin on the top of the druid’s head the way he has held me so many times. Or rather, I realize, he has held me the way he used to hold him.

“They’ll be fine,” I say with a smile.

 

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Malfurion wakes first and moves to free himself, only to have Illidan’s arms tighten around him with a familiar unhappy grumble. “Wake up, Illidan,” he mutters reflexively, and suddenly they are both awake, alert and tense with surprise.

“Furion?” Bafflement wars with hope.

“Illidan…what happened?” The druid’s voice is equally laden with cautious optimism. “I remember…”

“I had a nightmare.“ Embarrassed, he releases his twin and helps him to his feet.

One upright, however, Malfurion embraces his twin fiercely. “Do you always have nightmares that bad?” he murmurs.

Illidan laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “I used to have worse ones. Tessa chased the really bad ones away.”

The druid flinches as he releases his brother. “Brother, your eyes were being ripped out. What could be worse than that?” My star stares into his brother’s eyes a long moment. The druid pales. “…oh.” He looks around, sees me standing next to Tyrande, and gives me a look of pure gratitude which is interrupted by his brother returning the fierce hug.

“You came for me,” he whispers. “I was crying out for someone to save me, and you came.”

“Yes, but why now? Is it because-“ he breaks off, flushing at the reminder of the resentment he’d harbored until yesterday.

“Yes…and no,” my star answers, and now he’s looking at me with gratitude. “I will not deny that it would have hurt for our link to be opened while you still…” he breaks off, unwilling to say it. “But it was buried so deeply on my end that I doubt you would have been able to hear me without help.”

He releases Malfurion and moves towards me, but to my surprise it is Tyrande that he hugs. From the look on her face, she was expecting this just as much as I was – which is to say, not at all.

“Had my Champion known about the link I share with Furion,” he says in a low, urgent voice, “she would have repaired it long ago. But she did not, which means someone had to have told her.” He swallows. “Thank you, Tyrande.”

The priestess hugs him back, unashamed at having been found out. “I told you, Illidan – I want you to be happy. I know how much it hurt Furion when you closed him out…”

“Ripped out,” the druid repeats, shaking his head. “I can’t blame you there, brother.” His arm snakes out and he pulls me into what looks like a casual embrace, but I am well-versed in the things a hug can say, and he is desperately grateful for the assistance in re-establishing the link between them. More than a little off-balance by this show of unspoken affection, I hesitantly return the embrace and he chuckles softly at my confusion. I love you because he loves you. The thought rings loudly from his mind, a silent message that he knows only I will hear.

The depths of that simple statement make me blush, and with another chuckle he releases me. Before I can seek the usual safety of my star’s arms, however, Tyrande hugs me with equal intensity.

“Thank you,” she says quietly. “This is the greatest Winter’s Veil gift I could ever have imagined.”

Illidan and Malfurion grin at each other.

“Better than my gift?” Furion teases, pulling his wife away for a kiss.

“I’ll be doing all the work for the next several months,” she counters with an affectionate smile.

“Better than my gift?” It’s Illidan’s turn to tease.

Tyrande takes his face in both hands and kisses his forehead. “You are the more precious flower,” she says firmly. “One I never thought I would see bloom again, and lost to me for far longer.”

“Tyrande…” he breathes. Then he composes himself and silently summons me to his side with a glance. “I must concur,” he says as he holds me tightly. “This is the best Winter’s Veil gift I could ever imagine.”

Somehow, the four of us are all crushed together in a group hug. No one speaks, but we are all thinking the same thing. ‘Happy Winter’s Veil’ has never been so true.