Never harm him

[moonshadows]

He sits in a clearing, cross-legged, antlers emerging from dark green hair. I land in front of him.

“Malfurion Stormrage.”

His eyes narrow at my appearance and flick to either side briefly.

“No, there is no one else around.”

He is reaching to the plants, now, readying them as a weapon. That’s fine, I’m already inside his mind. I sit.

“We need to talk, you and I.”

“And you are…?” His voice is deep, almost a purr or a growl.

“I am Jentessa, daughter of Ryxl Ironheart, who is Champion to the Warchief of the Horde.”

He nods once, slowly. He knows the name. “And you are here because…?”

“I am here because I am following the family tradition of being a Champion, only I have chosen your brother.”

His eyes narrow. “Illidan…” Yep, that’s pain mixed in with the anger. Then he stops in confusion. “But he’s dead.”

I let my head tilt to one side, wings spreading for emphasis. “We who are of Nathrezim blood are not so easy to kill.”

Ooh, that’s more pain. “Why-“

“-isn’t he here?” I finish his sentence mockingly. “You expect him to go where he’s not wanted?”

That struck a nerve. How interesting that under all the hate, there’s pain that his twin did not return for more abuse. Selfish pain that Illidan chose not to let his brother know he still lived. It’s like he’s unaware of how much he hurt my Kal’shan.

“You have no one to blame but yourself.”

He jerks, eyes wide.

I tilt my head again. “Or at least, he blames no one but you,” I continue lightly.

Every word strikes that hidden nerve, and he welcomes the pain…but then covers it with fabricated rage.

“He was punished for his crimes, nothing more.”

“How comforting, to know that the leader of what remains of the Kaldorei punishes those whose crime is being injured.” That cut the rage short, now let’s play on the guilt. “I expected better from Tyrande, however.”

Anger again.

“You leave her out of this-“

“Why? That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?” I ask sweetly.

The anger falters. There it is – she did seek to heal my Kal’shan, but Malfurion convinced her that Illidan was too dangerous. He feared to let his mate coo over his brother like a bird with a broken wing, lest the desire to heal turn into the desire to love, and she forsake him. A petty fear, one he admitted to himself was petty – right before he buried it under “evidence” of how dangerous my Kal’shan was.

“Don’t worry,” I tell him coldly. “He no longer desires to steal her away from you.”

Anger. Guilt. Relief. Shame. Bitterness. I let the tangle of emotions play out, and wary anger emerges the victor.

“What does he desire, then?”

My smile cuts like a knife. “My Kal’shan desires nothing more than to look upon the face of his twin once again, and perhaps reach some sot of understanding.” The venom in my words alarms him, but I cut him off with a sharp gesture. “No, he does not desire to harm you or yours, even after all that you have done to him. He comes in peace, seeking to restore the bond you once shared.”

My anger confuses him. I take pleasure from that. He’s trying to form words into a question, but I don’t need words to tell me what he wants to know.

“I do not like you, Malfurion Stormrage.” He’s not surprised, but I’m not hiding it either. “You did things to my Kal’shan that no one should ever do to another, much less blood to blood. It took me years to put Illidan back together, to heal his mind to the point where he can think of you and yearn for what you once shared, rather than bleeding where the broken edges of his mind cut deeper into the wounds. But I did, and he still holds a love for you that you do not deserve.”

Confusion, affront, guilt, more confusion…and at the bottom of that, pain-tinged hope.

“Why are you here?” It comes out less like a growl this time.

“I am here to make sure that speaking to you does not wound him. I spent too much time undoing the damage you caused to let you cause more.”

The confusion catches onto something finally.

“And how do you intend to do that?” There’s a bit of accusation there, but more bitterness.

I smile again and he fears me, but it does not occur to him to try to defend himself if I should try anything. Ten thousand years and more, and he is as vulnerable to my skills as a baby.

“I am going to show you what my Kal’shan suffered,” I tell him sweetly. The opalescent ball that appears in my hand is only there to distract his mind; what I show him will be there, not in the ball. “I’m sure that once you see what your brother has suffered, you will have no desire to cause him any more pain.”

He leans forward, peering into the illusion. I show him Illidan as I first saw him, zooming in closer until he is seeing into my memory of his brother’s mind. The maze of jagged edges and bleeding wounds horrifies him, but I dive deeper – down to the real damage. Because it is my memory, he understands what he is seeing. The blood drains from his face and his hands clench on his legs.

“What- how did this happen?” The words are choked out.

Slowly, I rewind, letting him see how simple thoughts cause the broken shards to grind against one another, cutting again and again into the flesh of his mind. Once he understands that damage I speed up. Sickened, barely breathing, he watches as ten thousand years of damage are undone. At first, he thinks that it is only imprisonment that harmed his brother. But then he watches as he himself closes the door to Illidan’s prison, and realizes with fresh horror that his brother’s mind is still shattered.

I slow down the replay, letting him see in mind-searing detail how his actions stirred the broken shards. I take him back, back, to the origins. Let him see how his twin’s mind was abused. Show him in crystal-clear detail the damage that by rights should have left Illidan a broken husk. When his brother’s mind is finally whole once again I dismiss the memories and the illusion, letting him digest what he’s seen…and making sure there is no damage to his mind.

My Kal’shan would not like it if anything happened to his brother.

Watching him shake and choke feels very good. His eyes are wide, his knuckles white. He breathes like he has been running for his life, and sweat soaks his clothes. No doubt he would be vomiting if I didn’t have my fingers in his mind. No, he is not permitted the luxury of physical distraction. The guilt threatens to drown him, and I pull him back. He is not permitted the luxury of insanity, either, nor do I permit him to cry.

“What have I done…”

“Things no one should ever do another,” I say quietly. “Much less brother to brother.”

He looks at me, haunted, no longer staring sightlessly. The half-formed thought is easy to plant and grows quickly in his guilt. When it reaches full flower, he starts trying to put words together – but I beat him to it.

The sphere appears in my hand again and he peers eagerly into it. Again the image of his twin flies at him, but this time he winds up inside Illidan’s memories – not mine. The carefully-crafted replay goes slower this time, and I am very careful that nothing breaks inside his mind. Ten thousand years pass in as many seconds and Malfurion lives every abuse, every thought. I shape the results carefully, keeping them from causing any real damage. Everything after his time of imprisonment is merely skimmed over, however. It’s only there to demonstrate how being transformed and exiled added insult to injury, and I stop with Maiev’s vengeance.

When the sphere fades again, he looks at me as though I were a demigod, for surely only one such could ever hope to undo that kind of damage.

“You…fixed him?” He can’t quite belive that after all he went through, his brother could ever be restored. He seeks reassurance.

“I fixed him.” How generous of me, giving comfort to the enemy. “You didn’t care enough to try, but I do, and I did. You don’t deserve him,” and he does not argue with this, “but he wants to see you and I am his Champion.”

“I will not harm him,” he promises, every fiber of his being shaking with conviction born of horror and pain. “By the stars, I will never harm him.”

 

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Illidan lands a few feet away. I can tell just by the set of his wings that he’s afraid, and I blow reassurance into his mind. The blades slow and stop, but do not retract, poised to protect his mind should it become necessary.

“Illidan!” Malfurion takes two tentative steps forward after his hopeful cry. My star does not move. “When Maiev said…I thought for years that you were dead.”

“I was.” He’s relaxing at the lack of hostility, but still wary.

“Please believe me, brother, that it grieved me to hear that. I never wished for your death.”

That’s true as far as it goes, but he really should say out loud what his mind is screaming: that he had my star imprisoned to keep him safe, to keep him alive.

“You suffered far too much, brother,” the druid continues sadly, startling his twin with a fierce hug. “Despite all our differences, I never wanted you to have to endure even a tenth of what you did.” His mind shrieks ‘I’m sorry’, but what he says is, ”Forgive me.”

“Of course,” Illidan says, surprised by how repentant his brother is being. Carefully, he returns the hug. “For my part, brother, I am sorry for any stress I caused between you and Tyrande. She is happy with you, and I could never wish unhappiness on her.” He grimaces as they step apart. “Forgive me. I was…not stable.”

“I know,” Malfurion says warmly, one hand on his twin’s shoulder reassuringly. “I can’t hold that against you, not when I did my share of making things worse for you.”

Well, things seem to be under control here. Malfurion has forgotten all about me, reconnecting as he is with my Kal’shan. I slip into the Twisting Nether and follow the faint traces of remembered silver-white power, seeking the one who emanates it most strongly, searching for the night elf who matches the treasured memory of Tyrande Whisperwind’s soul.