TBTT later: Want to go home

[moonshadows]

The soothing motion of her hands slows and stops. Calm and relaxed, he opens his eyes to see her staring at him with apprehension, longing, and surrender. Absently, he frowns, wondering what the problem is. He feels fine – better than he can remember ever feeling, actually – so what…?

“Kal’shan?” she asks hesitantly, her tone pleading. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

The frown deepens. She’s afraid, and he’s only ever seen her show fear at he idea of his rejection. “What is it?”

A touch against his mind; he opens his defenses, welcoming her in, and she lays a crystalline memory-construct before him. He touches it, and the assembled memories flow through him: their first meeting, the first time she entered his mind to gel the broken pieces into place, and every successive instance of her manipulating his mind. Three years of surreptitious repair and gentle guidance. It is a confession of everything she’s ever done to him, and suddenly he remembers his decision to turn a blind eye to her antics and withhold his judgment until she had freed him from the shackles of pain and rage. It seems that day has come at last; a few effortless motions to the darkest corners of his psyche and he is certain that he is whole and unbroken once again – thanks to her tireless, painstaking work.

She trembles at his continued silence and he represses a smile. So afraid that he will be upset with her, so devoted that she does what needs to be done whether or not he will be angry at her for doing so. Silly child, how could he possibly be upset with the greatest gift anyone could ever give? Not just devoted enough to fix him, but also honest enough to confess her acts even if it means losing his goodwill – oh, how he cares for his young Champion! Gently, he gathers her into his arms and mind and lets his affection flow freely from his mind into hers. She trembles in his embrace, and he suspects she may be fighting tears.

“Thank you, my Champion,” he murmurs, stroking her hair gently. A bitten-back sob escapes her, and he holds her tighter. “Shh, now. It’s all right. I’m not angry. You were very brave.”

You’re not angry? She asks silently, not quite able to believe it and unable to stop the tears of pure emotional release.

For once, he’s the one broadcasting reassurance. How long had she been dreading this moment? Three years? Rather than answering in words, he shows her the memory of the day he nearly killed her on purpose, and the realization that for good or ill, he needed her to fix him. And, even before that, the desperate yearning for freedom from the pain of his tortured psyche that led him to command her to do what needed to be done.

You knew. Her shining wonder at his trust in her is tarnished by shame that she could have been so foolish as to think, even for a second, that her actions had gone unnoticed.

“I knew the results,” he corrects gently, stroking her hair. “I knew you were doing something, but I was never able to detect you actually doing it.” The yearning he has repressed for a year and a half trembles behind its wall, and he lets it bloom into hope. “I have a new project for you to devote your time and energy to, my Champion,” he breathes, heart constricting in fear at what could happen if this goes wrong, but at the same time aching for it to go right.

Her breathing evens out as his desires take precedence over her own reactions. “Hm?”

He closes his eyes, breathing in the floral scent of her hair, remembering the perfume of other flowers. “I want to go home.”

“You’re afraid of being hurt again,” she says softly.

His arms tighten around her, mind a churning storm. She touches the structures of his mind, letting him know that she is there, and then goes to work gelling his fears in place. When his mind is passably still again, he sighs and relaxes his desperate grip on her. “I am afraid of a lot of things, he says dryly. “Still…”

“If the bridge cannot be repaired, it will not be because you didn’t try?”

“I will not abandon them,” he says, his sense of responsibility roaring defiantly. “Despite being called the Betrayer, I never turned my back on my people – no matter how ungrateful they were,” he finishes sourly.

She blinks. “That’s why you cared about the naga and the blood elves. They were once Kal’dorei.”

“It has been too many years. I want to see how they fared. How the forests are healing.”

“You want to make sure Tyrande is okay.”

Yes, he says silently. And…my brother…

Even though he hurt you?

The hard bud that once had been an inflamed trauma-tumor pulses once. He’s my brother. No matter how much I may have suffered, if anything has happened to him…

Suddenly, she remembers the flower on its bed of emerald-green grass and realizes that she had been shown the treasured memories of two people, not one. “I’ll make sure he understands,” he says grimly, soul drawing into a half-shell around her in his defense. “Let me talk to him first, Kal’shan. I’ll make sure he understands that you’re not broken anymore, and that you’re not going to do whatever he’s afraid you’ll do.”

“Tyrande,” he says sadly, releasing her to brace one forearm against the wall and lean against it. “He will be afraid that I am going to try to take her from him.”

Despair wails in the hidden places of her heart. “Are you?”

The hand splayed against the wall clenches into a fist. “No. She chose him while I was…in Zin-Azshari, and after ten thousand years, she loves him still. I will not do anything that makes her unhappy, even if her joy is bought at the cost of my own pain.”

She watches him for a long moment before taking his other hand in hers. “You’re afraid she will reject you, even as a friend.” Her hand tightens around his. “I’ll talk to her first, too. If she’s going to reject a half-demon, then she can reject me.”

Absently, he turns and gathers her into his arms again, his mind a kaleidoscope of happy childhood memories drenched in longing. She’s cleaned the pain off of them; they shine like colored glass where once they had been dirty, discolored shards. Now, however, they cause a different kind of pain as he yearns for the friendship and affection he once enjoyed.