Silvermoon Trip

[moonshadows]

 

“Illidan, I would speak with you.”

Tyrande’s voice echoed through the spell. Illidan carefully detangled himself from his spellwork and stepped through the Twisting Nether to the room where the crystal array would transmit his image to its sister array in Darnassus.

“Tyrande! To what do I owe the pleasure?”

The priestess looked uneasy despite her friend’s smile. “We have received word from Silvermoon that they are having some kind of trouble in the Ghostlands. While trying to clear the last bits of Scourge out of a mausoleum, they unleashed…something. No one survived. Lor’themar asked the Horde for aid. One of your students, Hith’ssiss, took a look and said that she could not break the wards but that you might. There is a Sin’dorei boat sitting in Ruth’theran village right now, and an ambassador from Silvermoon being taken on a tour of the city. He came to me to see if you would be willing to visit Silvermoon and see if you can solve their problem.” Tyrande bit her lip briefly. “He says the captain has agreed to keep the secret of your identity, and all of the crew have sworn an oath to do the same.”

Absently, Illidan hooked his Champion closer. “I dislike the idea of travelling like that…”

“I’ll go with you,” Tyrande said promptly. “Make it a visit of state. Extending a hand to our separated kinsmen.”

Still, the lord of Eldarath looked reluctant. “If you’re going, Tyrande, then I will go to ensure that you are safe since Furion is tied up at the moment.”

The priestess’s expression cleared. “Thank you, Illidan. When can I expect you to arrive?”

“I can pack in two hours,” Tessa said quietly.

“Three hours, then,” Illidan said. “I must speak with Rainbird and the other students before we leave.”

==================================

At dawn, when the night elves were going to sleep and the blood elves were waking up, two cloaked figures in the middle of a troop of Sentinels marched aboard the Sin’dorei ship and sequestered themselves in the stateroom suite where Tyrande was waiting. Even being out of sight, alone with his oldest friend and his Champion, the former Lord of Outland looked uneasy and wasted no time closing himself in his room for the day. Tessa watched quietly with worried eyes before retreating to her own room.

A day and a half out to sea, Tyrande’s concern got the better of her and she knocked on Illidan’s door. She understood his desire to not be seen, but her Sentinels warned them when the ship’s crew came by with food and even though Tessa had made brief appearances before retreating to either her room or his, Illidan had yet to return to the common room.

“Illidan? Are you alright?”  Shamelessly, the priestess pressed her ear to the door and faintly heard a reluctant ‘let her in’.

Tessa opened the door and then immediately returned to Illidan’s side, leaving Tyrande confused by the sight of the half-demon sitting miserably on a small stool while his Champion alternately rubbed his shoulders and ran her hands up his horns.

“…Illidan?”

“I told you I disliked the idea of travelling like this,” he said heavily, hunched over with his arms wrapped around his torso.

Suddenly, it all made sense. “You’re seasick. Let me get you some dry bread and-”

“No.” He winced, either at the nausea or at having half-snapped at Tyrande. “No,” he said more gently. “I haven’t put anything but magic into my body in three weeks. I have no desire to do so now when it’s not likely to stay there.”

“That’s a good point,” Tyrande conceded. “Maybe…some fresh air?”

At that, Tessa jerked slightly. “Fly, Kal’shan.”

He looked over his shoulder at her. “Hn?”

“You spent ten thousand years underground. The motion is making you dizzy and sick. But if you’re flying…”

“The motion is under my control. Yes, my Champion, I think you’re right.” Slowly, leaning heavily on Tessa, he stood up. “Lead the way.”

Word spread like wildfire through the crew that the reclusive mage was coming on deck. Every available hand crowded discreetly out of the way, eager to get a glimpse of the mysterious man but unwilling to get in his way. The curiosity and fear doubled as heavy hoofbeats clomped across the wood, and then the sailors gaped as their unnamed passenger shot straight into the air and enormous wings opened with a snap. The second, smaller figure was largely unnoticed until she joined him in the air and they began a wheeling, swooping dance far above the ship.

After a minute in the air, Illidan found himself enjoying the experience of just flying for the sheer pleasure of it, and turned a mischievous eye to his Champion. Whether she read his intent from his thoughts or his body language, she wheeled and dashed away, and the chase was on. She was more agile, but he had strength and stamina and it was just a matter of time before he caught her in a dive and wrapped his arms around her, keeping her wings pinned. In silence they plummeted headfirst towards the ocean. Her pulse raced from the chase, and he smiled into her flying hair when she hesitantly called his name. The ocean was frighteningly close now, and while she trusted him utterly, she was still nervous.

Again his wings opened with a snap, and they skimmed just above the waves at what seemed to be the speed of thought, close enough to feel the spray on their faces, and then the ship loomed up in front of them. Speed was traded for height and they shot into the air again, Illidan’s massive wings cupping the air. He backwinged, stalled, and dropped to the deck with a grace that belied his size. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tyrande grinning broadly and felt his lips stretch in an equally wide smile as he spun his Champion around and bathed in her sparkling eyes and flushed, beaming face.

“Oh, Kal’shan, that was incredible!”

Even though he’d trusted that she would be thrilled with the display, it still took him by surprise and his grin faltered for an instant before the rush of giddy joy made his stomach flutter – or maybe that was her hands, spread across his chest and gently caressing the sensitive whorls of cursed flesh. Smirking, he tossed his head, throwing his hair back and robbing Tessa of both breath and speech.

“That was an excellent suggestion, my Champion. I feel much better.”

==================================

The night elf turned this way and that, posturing before the mirror in the stateroom and admiring his reflection. Silky, midnight-blue hair cascaded over his shoulders. Long, slender fingers smoothed down his silk vest and brushed the whole, unblemished skin it displayed. Golden eyes stared back at him, the most striking feature of his handsome face, and when he smiled, his teeth were even and white. Yes, from the top of his unhorned head to the toes of his elegant boots, he was-

“Illidan?”

The hurt whisper was a knife in his heart, twisting with the knowledge of what this must look like to his Champion. No, no, no – how could he have been so stupid? He should have known better! He was going to ruin-

He turned, afraid of what he would see, and the reality matched his fears in spirit if not substance. One hand was curled defensively over her heart, the other half outstretched to him, and her face was a study in confused betrayal. No, how could he have hurt her this way? He didn’t mean-

“Tessa.”

Her name was prayer and apology all in one as the illusions dropped and he pulled her to his chest, held her so tightly that he must be causing her physical pain. She trembled in his arms, cheek pressed against the fel scars of his chest, and for a terrible moment he thought she was going to cry. He forced the blades of his self-hatred away, touched her mind gently and bled apology. His Champion inhaled, a deep, shuddering breath, and her pain bled away on the exhalation. Not willing to take any chances, he ran clawed fingers lightly up her horns until she melted against him, forgiveness implicit in her posture. Still, he was trying to court her, and the self-measured progress he’d made with yesterday’s aerial display had just been undone.

“Had I wished to return to that form, I would have accepted Tyrande’s offer of Elune’s mercy,” he growled softly, unable to hide the anger at himself, praying she would know he wasn’t upset with her. “I had thought to perhaps use illusion to disguise myself when we reach Silvermoon, but I would rather be hated and feared as myself than cause you pain by hiding what I am.”

In his arms, she made a little ‘oh’ that caused his stomach to flip-flop. Somehow, his frank confession had elicited the kind of reaction he would have expected from an outpouring of poetic imagery. He could work with that. Poetry was never his strong point, anyway.

“Your admiration means more to me than the collective opinion of the entire blood elf race.”

Again she made that ‘oh’ sound, and he could hear the notes of romantic hope that escaped her mind. They made him smile into her hair, tender little shoots to be protected and nourished, feeble flames to be fed until they devoured her whole. He wished he knew how her people courted; which gestures would tell her that he wished this intimacy to extend past the boundaries of master and Champion. But no, with her people it was only one that did the courting, and the other accepted it. And he, like a fool, had built this wall too well – she had already laid herself down at his feet, and he had no idea how to tell her yes.

It was almost a relief when a knock on the door interrupted them.

 

==================================

==================================

 

After what seems like forever, there is movement from the mausoleum. The figure straightens, the shape of curved black horns clear against the white stone, and beside me, Tyrande relaxes – but something feels off. The defenses around his mind are intact, but…crooked.

“Something’s wrong,” I say tensely, diving inside for a deeper look.

Tyrande looks at me warily. “What-“

“That’s not Illidan.” It is, but his mind has been broken,  the pieces forced into a new shape. I see the intent just barely before thought becomes action – ‘destroy the one you love most’.

“But-“

“Get down!”

The push I give her is augmented with magic; she tumbles to the right, startling the Sentinels on either side of us. I duck beneath the blast, deflect it harmlessly into the air, and launch myself at him. Whatever intelligence has made him its puppet does not expect that I would attack my star. The carefully-constructed defenses turn inwards, flooding Illidan’s re-arranged mind with ten thousand years of torment. He sways, knees just starting to buckle when I reach him. My high-velocity embrace knocks him off his hooves and I kneel, his head on my lap.

Let’s go, you mangy whoreson. You think you’re safe in there? His mind is my territory.

I can sense the Sentinels and the sin’dorei magisters run by me, hear Tyrande’s cold, sharp voice calling commands, but I dismiss it. My duty is here, inside my star’s re-broken mind. The puppeting sentience despairs as I chase it through the familiar maze of corridors and galleries, down into areas it has not had time to break and re-shape. With a final cry of false defiance it retreats, and I am left with the task of once again, putting Illidan’s broken mind back together.

It’s laughably easy.

After having spent so long repairing these structures, I know exactly where they go. It’s like putting a puzzle back together; child’s play. Just as the last pieces are being sealed back together, his hand cups my cheek.

“I…do not…deserve you…my Champion.”

He sounds shaken, which under the circumstance is better than I’d expected. I pull myself out of his mind and lean into his palm. There are two Sentinels behind me; Tyrande must have left them as a guard. After a moment, he sits up suddenly and pulls me into his lap, cradling me. I rest my head on his chest and he bends his, burying his face in my hair. His whole body trembles in spasms. If he had eyes, he’d be crying. There’s no need for words; my hand on his shoulder, my love in his mind are all the communication this moment requires.

“Well, that’s taken care of.” Tyrande’s crisp words bring his attention back to the world. After a moment, she kneels beside him and lightly touches his arm. “Are you alright, Illidan?” she asks gently. “You’re holding your Champion like you intend to never let her go.”

He lets go just enough to look down at me, something churning behind his eyes. “Maybe I don’t.” His voice is the not-angry growl he habitually uses when there are other people around.

Illidan stands up, effortlessly pulling me to my feet at the same time, and we begin the trip back to Silvermoon City.

 

==================================

 

It is a tangible relief to my star when the liveried servant relays Lor’themar’s message that he will meet with us tomorrow. Dinner is a quiet affair, just the three of us in the suite of lavish rooms assigned to us. Illidan is still shaken badly, and neither Tyrande nor I feel much like talking. We don’t want to pry if he doesn’t want to share, and all it takes is one glance for there to be a silent understanding between us that his health is the only topic we would care to discuss.

Tyrande is the first to announce that she is retiring for the night. When I say that I am going to sleep as well, it is a lie for her ears only. He knows I’m not trying to deceive him; Tyrande hears ‘I’m going to sleep’, but Illidan hears ‘I’ll be awake if you want to talk’.

For the next hour, I lie awake in the enormous curtained bed, listening to the blade-storm screaming of my star’s mind. When the blades cease their whirling and his mind cries out for me, Tyrande is still awake. Sneaking out of my room is out of the question, so I step through the Twisting Nether and join Illidan on the balcony his room sports. He doesn’t react to my presence, but when I step up beside him, he pulls me into a hug. Nothing out of the ordinary as far as that goes, but enfolding me with his wings is new. We stay like that for a while, until he’s gone over what he wants to say enough that he feels comfortable saying it.

“I almost lost you,” he murmurs.

“But-“ His arms tighten around me, and I give up after that one word.

“It wasn’t Tyrande I was aiming at.”

The implication of that breaks over me, leaving me gasping for breath.

 “I know you’ve loved me for a long time, and yet you made no demands of me. You waited for me to make a decision without once growing impatient. And I, like a fool, withheld my judgment while I waited for your devotion to fade, certain that you would find someone much better than me.”

His voice is low and rough, and I hold my tongue. There’s more he intends to say.

“I’m still not convinced I will ever be as good a husband as you deserve, but after today…” He takes a deep breath and releases me, both hands on my shoulders, searching my face for the slightest hint of reaction. “I don’t want anyone but you, and I don’t want you to have anyone but me.”

Before I can do more than open my mouth in shock, he is kissing me. Not the gentle, restrained kisses he’s doled out a handful of times, no; this kiss burns with ten thousand years of denied need. His passion spills out of his mind and into mine, searing away the capacity for rational thought until I am a vessel of Yes, yes! and I press myself against him, hands trying to be everywhere at once, reveling at the feel of his fingers in my hair, on the small of my back. When he finally relinquishes my mouth, it is to hold me tightly, head bowed so that his breath tickles my ear.

“I’ve wanted keep you all to myself since you first smiled at me, but I held myself back for one reason or another. Tonight, I intend to claim you as my own.” His voice deepens, and he growls in a tone that demands  absolute obedience, “I will tolerate no objections, is that understood?”

I love it when he dons the mantle of his power, and he knows that. Each syllable is a finger stroking down my spine, awakening desires I’d forced to stay asleep for years. “Yes!” The word is hardly more than a gasp. “Yes, my Kal’shan!”

I can feel his satisfaction; his mind purrs like a nightsaber, but craves something more. Giddy with the range of actions now open to me, I run my fingers along the very sensitive membrane that connects wing to back. He arches against me, stifling a moan, and then retaliates in kind. The feel of his skin against the edges of my wings is electric and it is my turn to arch against him, moaning his name.

That is what he was yearning for; a guttural sound escapes his throat as he kisses me again. One hand slides down to my rear, lifting and pressing me closer against him as he grinds against my body. My legs wrap around his waist almost of their own accord, and I can clearly feel his hard member against my soft flesh.

When he breaks the kiss, my back is pressed to a wall. He leans back slightly, searching my face again even as his fingers caress it. “I need your help, my Champion,” he says, bracing as though something unpleasant were about to happen. “My only experience has been…I don’t want to…the things she did…” He growls, in anger this time. “I do not want this tainted by her memory.”

Now it is my turn to kiss him, one hand in his silky black hair while the other caresses the upper edge of one wing. Inside his mind, I take all the memories of Maiev that had long since been sanitized, and veil them. Without the memory of her abuse, he rocks to an uncertain halt, no longer sure of how this game is played.

“Your body knows what it wants,” I murmur. “Listen to it. You won’t hurt me.”

Without bothering to answer, he pulls me away from the wall and carries me to one of the low-backed couches the sin’dorei favor. I unwrap my legs as he sits down and wind up astride him. He growls at the material of my nightgown, and I remove it before he takes matters into his own hands. The subsequent exploration and experimentation do not leave me much in the way of clear thought, and when he is satisfied with what has been presented to him, I discover that my fingers have been tracing the whorls of his fel tattoos. Apparently, this robs him of his capacity for clear thought, as well. While he is distracted, I untie his sash and loosen the drawstring to his pants. As silly as it is, given everything else that’s going on, I spent a lot of time embroidering those pants and I don’t want to risk them being sacrificed in the heat of the moment.

Illidan doesn’t even notice – that is, not until my fingers find their way to his manhood and my own exploration and experimentation begins. I don’t get very far, however. Hands on my waist urge me up and his desire burns as hotly in my loins as it does in his. We both pause after the initial penetration to savor the sensations, minds as intertwined as our bodies are. My star is the first to resume motion, emboldened by the feelings flowing from my mind into his. He focuses on my pleasure, intending to satisfy me before he allows himself release, but my climax pushes him over the edge and he holds me tight as our bodies shudder in synchronized bliss.

With our minds intertwined so deeply, his adoration floods me. This was entirely unexpected. Does he really see me that way? A miracle to be cherished to the exclusion of all else, the light that pulled him out of the darkness? That he feels undeserving of my devotion is not a surprise; however, the profound depths of that sentiment are. My love floods his mind, cradling his psyche even as he lays his head on my chest and if he had eyes, they would be wet from the undreamed-of joy he has found this night.

Eventually, he stirs and we both realize we nearly fell asleep on the couch. He stands up, still holding me, and carries me to the bed which, although lacking curtains, is even bigger than mine. Tenderly, he lays me down and then climbs in himself, drawing me towards him until we are spooned together. One of his wings drapes over us in place of sheet or blanket, and his arm snakes around my waist in a casually possessive gesture. Contentment hums through every inch of skin contact, and I can feel him drop easily into sleep.

I’m not far behind.

 

==================================

 

When I wake up, I really, really don’t want to get out of bed. Unfortunately, I really, really, really don’t want to explain to Tyrande why I’m here, and I can hear her mind out in the common room. Illidan’s sleeping like the dead, and I can’t resist kissing his cheek as I slip out of bed and go through the Twisting Nether to my room. There is a limited window of time between when the servants bring breakfast and when we will be expected to make an appearance, and I’ll be washing more carefully before meeting Lor’themar anyway, so a quick rub-down with a sponge will do for now.

Oh, ward it and tie it with ribbons, my nightgown is still on the floor somewhere in Illidan’s room. I’ll have to wear another one, and hope the dressing gown covers enough that Tyrande won’t notice the difference. As it turns out, she doesn’t notice – because she’s headed for the door to Illidan’s room.

“I’ll wake him!”

Tyrande hurls startled curiosity at me as I rush by her and slip through the door without knocking. She knows that he and I are closer than most because of the bond and the reconstruction I did on him, so it’s not that unusual for me to volunteer for something like this, but my haste has caught her interest.

Safely inside the room, I look around – yes, there’s my nightgown, and my star’s sash. I stuff both into the bag inside his trunk and pull out clean pants and sash – nothing too fancy, that’s for later – and turn towards the bed. My lips curve into a smile – he’s frowning in his sleep. Adorable.

Wake, Kal’shan.

My thought stirs his mind into action and he stretches – quite gloriously, in my opinion. The usual groggy morning scowl creases his features as he climbs out of bed and he blinks at me for a minute until yesterday’s events catch up to him, and then he looks uncertain and afraid.

“Tessa?”

I glance at the door. “Tyrande’s expecting us for breakfast.” Pants and sash are offered and he takes them, looking a little disappointed and off-balance. One hand on his chest and the other in his hair, bringing his head down for a kiss, clear that up.

“Well then,” he says, satisfaction warring with grumpiness, “we shouldn’t keep her waiting.” Even though I’d dearly love to.

I give him a wicked grin and he smirks, taking away my breath and all capacity for rational thought. By the time I shake off the effects, he has changed and is gesturing me over, ready to open the door. Tyrande is watching us intently as we step into the common room, and I drop my eyes. I can feel myself blushing. Surely she knows. She has to know.

“Tessa, child,” she says in a maiden-aunt way, “what’s gotten into you?” Illidan’s penis!

…she knows. My cheeks flame. Breakfast is an uncomfortable ordeal…for me, anyway. My star seems oblivious to everything as he picks at the food for the sake of appearances. After the violent seasickness he suffered on our way here, he’s reluctant to have any solid food in his system for the trip home. I nibble just for something to do that does not involve looking at Tyrande who knows, sweet oblivion she knows. What’s she going to think? She wasn’t all that fond of me to begin with, and the mantle of her goddess’s power keeps her mind shielded except for the loudest public thoughts.

“Tessa.” Her crisp, businesslike tone is reassuring. “May I speak with you privately for a moment?”

“Of course, High Priestess.”

She leads me over to a corner, well out of Illidan’s earshot. “How is he?”

“Still a little shaken, but the damage has been fully repaired.”

The tolerant smile looks somehow more…predatory than usual. “That’s not what I meant.” In bed! In bed! Illidan’s penis!

Okay, I did not need to be having this discussion. Although my cheeks are still flaming, I lift my chin defiantly. “Neither of us has had any experience that was not Maiev’s abuse.”

For a moment I am terrified that she will share her own experience as a frame of reference, but instead she thinks bloody vengeful thoughts about the imprisoned Warden. When she puts those aside, she looks a little wistful.

“Understand, I do not regret my choice,” she says calmly. “But ten thousand years is a lot of time in which to think about how things might have turned out. They are twins, after all, and I can’t help but wonder if they are identical in that respect, as well.” She is silent for a moment, which is good because there’s nothing I can think of to say to that. “Shall I introduce you two as betrothed, then? I assume you will let me perform the wedding.”

My jaw drops, and I sputter for a minute before coherent words make it past the churning flail. “No! By the glowing piss of Sargeras, let him come to terms with it enough to announce it himself!”

Tyrande laughs, sounding thousands of years younger, and claps me on the shoulder. “You’re right. Very well, I will keep your secret.”

And with that she glides back to the table, calm as you please, leaving me with burning cheeks and feeling like I’m fourteen all over again.

 

==================================

 

"Kael'thas."

"Illidan."

The two men stare at each other, each feeling the ache of old wounds. I can feel my star's regret for the things he did when he was Lord of the Black Temple, and the sin'dorei mage's mind looks...scarred and bandaged, as though he were still recovering from some trauma, and inexpertly cared for.

I'll be outside, I say inside Illidan's mind. He sends back wordless thanks. I squeeze my star's hand once, bow formally to the former prince, and gracefully back out of the room. The door closes with a discreet click, and I turn to face the woman who thinks she's hiding in the shadows - the one who thought 'The Betrayer!' when my Kal'shan passed by.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't call him that, even in your mind." Pause while she curses silently and wonders if she can take me in a fight, or if doing so will only earn her Illidan's wrath. "...you think very loudly."

She relaxes the spell that kept her physically hidden, but limned her form with magic. Sin'dorei, black hair, armor and weapons that speak eloquently of having survived countless dangerous situations, and a lack of fear. There's an interesting tinted swirl to her astral substance that makes me wonder how she managed that. She waits for me to say something, but the ball's in her court.

"I would appreciate it if you would stay out of my mind," she says coldly, a strange sort of crystalline defense drawing around her. "Demon."

"Half demon, which is half again as much as you can claim." She didn't mean it as an insult, so I don't take any. That doesn't mean I'm going to let her think I'm a pushover even if I am younger and less-experienced. "My name's Jentessa, daughter of Ryxl Ironheart by dreadlord Mal'Ganis."

"Vaala Dawnstrike. I know both your parents by reputation." She relaxes slightly, reading my lack of hostility. "No offense, but the last time I saw-" gestures at the door indicate who, but 'the Betrayer' does not cross her defenses. "-he was...um..."

"Unstable?"

"...that's a good word for it."

"I fixed him." Her disbelief is almost palpable, and I silently dare her to challenge me. She's thinking about it. While she does, I run her face through my Kal'shan's memories and find a match. Well, that explains things. "He remembers you."

That surprises her. "He does? But-"

"You only met him once. He asked you some questions to test your loyalty. You only lied on one, 'knowingly allow others to inflict harm'. He didn't hold that against you."

She's quiet, thinking hard.

"He'll be glad to see you survived," I say softly. "He blamed himself for the massacre of the initiates."

That seems to snap her into focus again. "Just like Kael." Her eyes roll in exasperation so old it's become affection. "Blaming himself for every sin'dorei death since the Scourge marched through Quel'thalas. Hey, while I was in the Black Temple, I heard that he was hung up on that priestess Lor'themar invited over to help out with the cultist stuff that kinda ate the first guy to find it."

She's thinking loudly again, but she's doing it on purpose so that she doesn't have to say anything out loud. The sudden change of subject proves that she is as adept with her mind as she is with her blades, and as eager to take advantage of an opening. "Not anymore." Now that Tyrande's not in the room, I can be smug about the cocky answer to the rhetorical question she'd asked. I don't say it out loud, but that particular smug look is universal. Vaala leaps to the correct conclusion, and hope flares in her eyes.

If I could win out over ten thousand years, you can win out over twenty, I say at the edge of her mind.

Ackthph stop that!

You weren't trained to use your new powers. I blow some relaxation at her. Don't feel bad, Illidan wasn't, either.

Hey! I did okay on my own!

I give her a raised-eyebrow look. "If you were the type to be satisfied with 'okay', you would never have survived this long."

She grimaces. "Okay, you've got me there." After a pause, she asks, "So how badly am I doing?"

"Let me put it to you this way. When I met Illidan, I was fourteen and hadn't finished school. He'd been about one-quarter Nathrezim for ten thousand years, and half for at least twenty, and the only challenge with getting into his mind was doing it without him knowing." I tilt my head to one side, thinking. "You know, I should probably go back and finish my education sometime. Not that it really interferes with anything, but..."

Vaala glances at the door, indecision screaming from her.

"It would take too long to teach the normal way, anyway." She blushes slightly as she realizes I must have picked up on the other half of her thoughts, as well. "If you'd be okay with me actually going inside your mind, I could assess your abilities and give you the knowledge of how to use them."

"I'll have to think about it," she says, but that's not what she means.

She doesn't intend to let this source of knowledge pass by, but she needs to steel herself for it. She also intends to talk to Kael'thas to find out if Illidan is stable, and judge my intentions by my previous work. I nod silently. For a long minute, neither of us says anything.

"So, do you fight?" she asks, fingering the hilt of one of her swords.

"Some...mostly just sparring."

Vaala grins. "Want to spar?"

It's a peace offering via formalized violence, very traditional in many races of the Legion. I grin back. "Okay."

"I should warn you," she says as she gestures me to follow her, "as a demon hunter initiate, I spent several months training under Varedis himself."

There's an acceptable courtyard not too far away. She draws her swords, and I summon my cheap-but-serviceable warglaives. I suppose I'll have to get something better at some point. At her nod, I prepare myself. We dance for a while, metal ringing off metal. She fights much dirtier than Illidan, but as with my Kal'shan, her intentions are overheard easily enough. If not for that, I doubt I would have been able to beat her without resorting to magic. While she's loud about what she intends to do next, making my defense much easier, she's not nearly as helpful in broadcasting the openings in her own defense, and I find myself defending more than attacking. Finally, she steps back and nods once.

"You're good, but you were holding back. I don't think I'd want to face you in a real fight."

"I only held back magic," I say, flushing slightly, "and you're broadcasting your attacks with your thoughts. If not for that, you would have gotten me at least half a dozen times."

"Damn. I guess I better take you up on that offer of training, then. You're still good with the glaives, though."

I toss my hair back cockily. "You spent several months training under Varedis. I spent several months training under the best."

"And here I thought you learned from me."

His voice is like lightning shooting from the tips of my wings down to my nether regions. "Illidan!" Kael'thas is standing next to him, so I restrain myself from flying into my star's arms, but from the look - oh yes, that's the smirk - on Illidan's face, he knows exactly how much my train of thought has just devolved into monosyllabic teenage glee.

"I see you've met my Champion," he says casually to Vaala as he closes the distance between us and snakes one arm possessively around my waist.

Glaives are banished so that I can lean into the one-armed hug. He shoots a look at Kael'thas, then smirks at Vaala, his body language reading I'm so glorious, watch me and envy. The thumb of his other hand caresses my cheek and I lean into the touch automatically. His hand keeps moving, sliding into my hair, and then he kisses me. Burning, possessive, dominating, the whole act is one big demonstration of mine put on for the benefit of the two sin'dorei watching. When he releases me, I melt against him with my cheek on his collarbone. There's envy coming from both Kael and Vaala, and each is thinking of the other: her, longingly; him, hesitantly.

"Kal'shan, this is Vaala Dawnstrike." I pull myself together enough to simply be standing in his embrace rather than draped all over him.

"Pleased to - I know you!" The pleasantries are interrupted by recognition. "You were one of the initiates." His voice loses its growl and gains gentle regret. "Varedis spoke very highly of your self-control. I'm glad to see you survived the massacre. At least someone did."

Vaala stares for a minute, speechless.

"It's disconcerting, isn't it?" Kael quirks an eyebrow at Illidan, the twist of his mouth speaking of quiet amusement. "Makes you wonder when he's going to snap and rage at imagined slights."

"Well..." She looks back and forth between the two men, torn, in full agreement but not wanting to say it out loud.

"I'd protest that I wasn't that bad, but I am well aware that I was, in fact, that bad." Illidan's dry amusement makes Vaala shake her head.

"Told you I fixed him," I say smugly.

 

==================================

 

"Well, that was...unexpected." Vaala glanced at Kael'thas as the two half-demons left the courtyard.

The former prince made a noncommittal sound, watching Illidan and his...consort?...walk away with enviable closeness. "I'm happy for him."

"Even after everything...?"

Kael shrugged. "He was hurt. He wasn't exactly sane. He's found someone willing to put up with that enough to help him; I can't begrudge him happiness after the unfathomable horrors he must have suffered."

The strangely focused look that had been aimed at his back vanished as he turned around. "Do you think she was telling the truth, then?"

"That she fixed him? Absolutely." A humorless grin stretched the blond man's lips. "The first thing he did was apologize for everything he'd ever done, or which he felt was his fault. Illidan never would have admitted fault as the master of Black Temple."

"She offered to train me," Vaala admitted, chewing absently on her lip.

Delicate golden eyebrows raised. "Train you in what?"

One finger tapping against her forehead was answer enough. For a few minutes, silence reigned in the courtyard as each sin'dorei was lost in thought.

"I believe there is something we need to discuss," Kael'thas said finally, "and this is not the place to do it." One arm crooked reflexively, the polite gesture of a nobleman offering to escort a noble lady, and absolutely normal for royalty - even former royalty. Nothing out of the ordinary at all.

Except, Vaala thought as she tentatively rested her fingertips against his forearm, that he had never stood on formality like this with her. With Jaina, yes, but never her. She examined his face closely as they walked back to his sitting room, but his expression was cool and distant. The perfect noble mask. What brought this on?

Once the door had closed behind them, Vaala lifted her fingers from his arm and crossed hers in a gesture he knew all too well. However, Kael'thas was not about to let her decide the conversation they were going to have. "I am leaving Silvermoon City," he said, his tone making it clear that he could not be dissuaded. "My presence here would only serve to destabilize the current government." Vaala nodded; good, she understood. "I will be retiring to one of the smaller Sunstrider estates, with a minimum of fuss - and a minimum of guards." Elegant lips quirked. "I believe the last several years have spoiled me. Being able to go where I please without six armed men to shadow my footsteps is a freedom I have no desire to give up. However, I am aware that there are certain elements who no doubt desire my death. To completely forgo protection would be the very pinnacle of foolishness." The former prince took a breath; this was the moment of truth. "I would ask you to come with me."

 A lot of conflicting thoughts and impulses chased themselves through Vaala's mind. Was he asking what she thought he was asking? Or was he merely asking for what it seemed to be on the surface, and she'd be a fool to think otherwise? Instead of letting this internal debate show, she scoffed with all the confidence and bluster she could manage. "Like you could keep me out anyway?"

The noble mask dissolved in the wake of the rueful grin and chuckle. "I know. Call it bowing to the inevitable."

"So, when do we leave?" Vaala asked casually, refusing to interrogate him as to which other members of their little band may or may not be coming with them.

"It would be impolite to leave before our guests," Kael said with a slight grin. "Which brings me to another thing we need to discuss."

One black eyebrow arched silently. This ought to be good.

"Lor'themar is holding a ball tomorrow night for the High Priestess and her companions." He paused, trying to sound casual. "I have no doubt that as sullied as my reputation is, there are still plenty of mothers with the same mindset as yours, who would see me as a fine match for their unmarried daughters. Could I convince you to accompany me and ward them off?"

Vaala grinned crookedly. "What would I wear?"

Kael'thas threw his head back and laughed. "Oh, that's up to you. I've learned my lesson."

"Well then, I've got your back."

He actually looked...relieved...at that. "Thank you, Vaala."

For what? Keeping the gold-diggers at bay, accepting your convoluted invitation, or not leaping to conclusions? She said nothing of this, opting instead to grin at him the way she had for years now. "Just remember, you owe me."

 

==================================

 

That night, he announces casually that he is going to bed, but his mind screams a silent plea for me to understand, that he needs some time alone. I smile and casually announce the same, and we casually return to our separate rooms. For a while, it seems like everything will be okay. He's working things through, his mind prowling like a nightsaber, ensuring that all is well within his domain. It takes an hour or two before he falls asleep, and I follow his lead.

Some few hours later, I wake up to a silent cry resonating in my soul, like trembling fingers grasping desperately at the bond that connects us. A quick check shows me that he's still sleeping, so this must be a nightmare. It doesn't even occur to me to take the door; I phase right through to his bed, but he doesn't wake up. A bad one, then. One hand is outstretched as though reaching for something that's not there. I take it in mine and rub my cheek against his knuckles. His breathing hitches, the wail from his mind pauses, and then his fingers tighten around mine. A few moments later, he slips gently into a deeper sleep. I could probably go back to my own bed now, but I don't want this to happen again. At least, that makes a very reasonable-sounding excuse. The truth is, I don't want to go. So I don't.

"Tessa?"

Sunlight streaming into the room from one side and Illidan holding me close from the other make this a warm and happy place to be. "Mm?"

"Why..." He breaks off and brushes hair off my cheek with one hand. "Why are you here?"

"You needed me." I open my eyes in the wake of his fingers. "You were having a nightmare."

Chagrin fills his face. "I'm afraid...I may require this kind of reassurance from you for a while."

"How about the rest of our lives?"

Fingertips tracing his tattoos serve to distract him from his gloom, and he pulls me closer against his chest. I'm unable to properly follow the curves with my fingers this way, but I improvise. He groans as my tongue caresses the sensitive flesh.

"What was-"

My other hand reaches just a tiny bit and strokes the membrane of his wing where it meets his back. This time, he hisses in arousal, but also mimics my motion. When I arch my back and gasp his name, he hardens with a grunt and I find myself pinned to the bed, both hands on my shoulders and his knee guiding my legs apart.

I'm not objecting.

He dips down to taste my breasts briefly before claiming my mouth, and I can feel the head of his penis slide along my folds, but he freezes there.

"Once again, my Champion," he breathes against my neck, "I must ask you to-"

The veil is in place before he can finish asking; I anticipated this.

"Thank you," he murmurs.

His lips are on mine again before I can do more than open my mouth, which means that my cry of pleasure as he penetrates me is muffled - but not enough that he can't hear it. He growls in satisfaction, drawing back only to thrust in even deeper, his pleasure bleeding into my mind and mingling with the sensations of my body. When he releases my mouth in favor of capturing one nipple, I retaliate by tracing mindless patterns on the soft folds of his wings, which open at my touch. It's not long before the cascading rings of pleasure overload me and once again, he smothers my cries with his lips. My climax bleeds back into his mind, however, and then it is my turn to swallow his sounds of ecstasy. In a heartbeat, he goes from controlling and dominating to tender and comforting, his mind weeping astonished gratitude and devotion.

As the afterglow fades, he runs one hand down my side to rest on my hip. "I'm afraid I may require this kind of reassurance from you for a while, as well," he says, sounding not apologetic in the slightest. "Say...the rest of our lives?"

"Are you proposing to me, Kal'shan?" I ask teasingly, fingers trailing over his chest.

I get an amused growl for that. "Were you going to say no?" At my expression, he laughs. "That's what I thought. Besides, I thought we settled that two days ago."

Before I can answer, there is a knock at the door.

It's Tyrande!

Go, I'll meet you in the main room.

I go. A clean nightgown, my dressing gown, and I leave my room just as Illidan leaves his. Despite this, Tyrande isn't fooled - possibly because Illidan pulls me in for a possessive kiss. When I am able to think again, I glance guilty at the High Priestess and discover that she is grinning broadly and warmly.

“Oh, Illidan, I’m so happy for you!” She does actually sound genuinely happy. “I thought you’d wait a little longer, though.”

His arm tightens around me. “I waited three years. I think that’s quite long enough.”

“Are you going to wait three years before having children?” Tyrande teases, but for a bare moment, sheer overwhelming loss and heartbreak screams from her mind and I know that she has tried, and failed, to have a child and desperately wants one, even if it is only vicariously through her oldest friend. On the heels of that comes a very loud thought aimed at me like a spear: Tessa, don’t you dare breathe a word about this to Illidan!

So she knows I likely overheard her painfully sharp longing for a child of her own, and does not wish to worry my star? Too bad. He doesn’t need to consciously know what he wants for his wish to become my command. While he regains his mental balance from the unexpected idea of actually reproducing, I give Tyrande the beatific smile that Uncle Josh would have known meant I was elbow-deep in doing my job.

“Could we?” Illidan asks hesitantly. “I thought – that is, ten thousand years, and Maiev never…”

Ten thousand years of rape, and Maiev never conceived his child. “Nathrezim do it differently,” I say matter-of-factly. “If you extend your energy in a certain way, and I accept it…”

Hope and the echoing ache of the fear that he will ruin anything he touches flare in his mind, while pain and raw envy flare in Tyrande’s. “This is something we will need to discuss,” he says slowly.

“You will let me perform the ceremony, won’t you?” Tyrande asks, and Illidan starts slightly.

Be patient, his mind begs silently. Aloud, he says, “Yes…when the time comes. I’m not- there are things-“ he takes a deep breath and caresses my cheek lightly. “We have both waited so long for this…I want everything to be perfect.”

 

==================================

 

He sits on the marble bench, oblivious to the chill of the stone, watching as I explore the garden. Although Silvermoon is hardly quiet at night, no other minds are anywhere near this corner of the palace. I pluck a blossom at random and tuck it into his hair before boldly seating myself on his lap. His arms go around me, and he shudders while I lay my head on his shoulder.

“You do not regret tying yourself to me in this way?”

His voice is quiet, somewhere between a whisper and a growl, disbelief and fear warring with fragile hope. I hug him a little tighter. “Why would I?”

“I’m old enough to be your distant ancestor,” he says dryly. “Your efforts have repaired what was broken, but the scars are not so quick to fade. No matter how much you like my eyes, I still cannot bear to display them for you. And…” He takes one of my hands in his and holds them both up for inspection. My hand is smooth, the skin unblemished, while his is knotted and scarred. “…however handsome I may have been in my youth, this is now the reality.”

My fingers curl around his, and I press his knuckles to my cheek. “I never dared hope that you’d ever actually choose me,” I say calmly. “You loved Tyrande too deeply for me to ever compete with her for your heart.”

Horrorstruck, he pulls me tightly to his chest. “No, my Champion, no…I was a fool to have denied my feelings for so long.” He releases me just enough to look me in the eyes, one hand in my hair. “The day I collapsed in the gym, the first time I touched your horns, do you remember that?” His lips twitch at my expression. “I see that you do. That day, I realized that I had been deluding myself all along with the false hope that Tyrande would one day be mine. Despair nearly killed me. I had nothing left to live for.” He pauses and searches my face, his expression so serious and sad that I bite back a whimper. “Nothing…except you. I imprisoned you, threatened you, attacked you and nearly killed you. I doubted your honesty, your trustworthiness, and your loyalty. Still, you never waned in your devotion to me. I told myself for years that you were just a child because what I wanted…” He shudders again. “I am not gentle. Despite your assurances, I still live in fear of hurting you, and my experiences…well, you know the sort of things Maiev did. I am afraid that I will lose control and do something…” he swallows. “…I am afraid that I will do something to lose your devotion. I do not deserve you, Tessa. You are a blessing from Elune. I owe you so much for everything you’ve done for me, and I repaid you by giving you no choice.”

“No.” I smile at his startled look. “I made my choice the first time I called you Kal’shan, and I’ve never regretted it.” I cup his cheek, and he leans into it. “Least of all, now.”

His lips are warm and soft, and they part in surprise that I have been so bold. I break the kiss before it gets too hot.

“I love you, Illidan.” The words are a simple gift.

He stares, dumbfounded, and I know that if he could, he’d be crying.

“Tessa, my heart, my light – I am yours. I…I love you, too,” he whispers brokenly, pulling me to his chest and cradling me as though I were a priceless treasure.

For a long time we sit like that, simply reveling in the other’s touch. When the cool night air makes me shiver, his wings enfold me with their resilient warmth. Safe and warm and loved, I find myself drowsing until I feel a soft surface beneath me and wake to discover that I am in my own bed, and it is just before dawn. Tyrande is still asleep, so I strip out of my fancy clothes and toss on a nightgown before sneaking into Illidan’s room, dressing gown in hand. I toss it on the couch and crawl into bed with him, worming my way easily under one arm. He pulls me close and nuzzles my hair before letting out a contented sigh and sinking deeper into sleep. I take a moment to relish the perfection of being held by the most glorious man Azeroth ever produced before I follow his lead.