She's not a child

[moonshadows]

"I spoke with the Warchief's Champion."

Tyrande cast a curious glance at her oldest friend. It wasn't like him to make small talk; he must be working up to something.

"She said that because Tessa is my Champion, she will love me until the day she dies, no matter what I do."

"Illidan, that's wonderful!" The priestess's face split into a broad grin. "I'm so happy for you!"

"It's not that simple!" He took a deep breath, calming himself. "Forgive me. I did not mean to snap at you, Tyrande. I'm just..." The former Lord of Outland turned away, running clawed hands through his hair. "I know she loves me. I've known for years. But she's too young to-"

"She's not a child, Illidan." Tyrande said firmly.

He turned to look at her. "But..."

The uncertainty on his face reminded her sharply that while she and Furion had actually lived ten thousand years, Illidan had only suffered through them and in many ways, wasn't much older than his Champion. She sighed and reached one hand out to cup his cheek, guilt twisting inside her at the way his eyes fluttered briefly closed at her touch. Not for the first time, she wished things hadn't turned out the way they did.

"Illidan," she said softly, "you were younger than she is now when the demons first came."

Now it was his turn to sigh, but he said nothing.

"You love her, Illidan." The priestess smiled gently. "Of all people, I know what your love looks like." Her thumb moved over his cheek as though brushing away a tear his demonic eyes could no longer shed. "You're afraid, aren't you."

Again he said nothing, but his closed eyes were all the answer she needed. With both hands, she cupped his cheeks and drew his unresisting head down until she could kiss his forehead. His arms went around her and Tyrande became aware suddenly of the strength and restraint in him as he hugged her. She'd never quite realized how powerful he'd become, and it awed her more than a little that for everything he'd endured and done, he still gave her the near-worship that he had when they were barely out of childhood.

“I just want you to be happy,” she whispered, cheek pressed against his. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted for you.”

Now he spoke. “I still love you, Tyrande,” Illidan said miserably. “Even though…”

Even though I don’t entirely deserve it, not after what I let you suffer through. “Shhh." One finger on his lips cut off the truths neither of them really wanted said aloud. "I love you, too, Illidan. I always have.” Tyrande smiled sadly. “Court her. The way you courted me.”

His hands moved to her shoulders, holding her slightly away so that he could search her face with the green orbs that still unnerved her slightly. Not for the first time, she spent a moment in wistful regret, wondering what it would have been like to spend ten thousand years being worshipped by the elder Stormrage. Well, if she couldn’t have that devotion lavished on her, she would do her best to ensure that it was lavished on someone who could accept and appreciate it.

“Do it for me, Illidan,” she said firmly, well aware that he could never refuse her.

One wickedly taloned finger trailed feather-light down her cheek, the gentle action at odds with his dangerous appearance.

“For you, Tyrande.”