moonshadows

The procession snaked its way across the frozen tundra like some sort of mangy snake, shimmering blues and greens contrasting with red, gold, and the duller colors of the fur cloaks sported by shivering Sin’dorei. Near the front stalked the tall, bat-winged figure of Illidan Stormrage, seven and a half feet if you counted the curves of his horns, towering over blood elves and naga alike. Next to him, the half-troll looked positively dainty. Her hair didn’t seem such a dark brown in the harsh light of day, particularly not with the way it glared back from every snowy surface. Not that Illidan was looking. He was doing his best not to fume at the pace of the procession, but it couldn’t he helped. Without mounts or vehicles, they were reduced to trekking on foot. The fact that his weakened condition did not hold up the procession was not improving his mood, and Zul’vii was taking the brunt of it.

“No. You’re pronouncing it wrong. “Dal dieb. Daaaahhhhl.”

“Daaaaaahl,” Zul’vii repeated, glaring.

“Dieb.”

“No. Deeeeeeee ehhhbb.”

“Deee ebb.”

“Better.”

“Why is it so important that I know how to greet this priestess right?”

“High Priestess Tyrande has led the night elves for ten thousand years,” Illidan snapped. “It is by her will that we will be allowed to enter night elf lands, or forced to go elsewhere. I will not run the risk of you greeting her improperly.”

“Why do I even have to greet her in the first place? I’ll just stay with the other healers.”

“Because she may want to speak to you.”

“Why would she want to speak to me?”

“Because you are a half-celestial, you ignorant whelp!”

“So?”

Illidan stopped dead and stared at her. Sensing a break, the naga surrounding them in a loose ring stopped as well. The effect rippled out, the entire mixed army settling on the frozen ground to catch their breath.

“You miserable, wretched excuse for a troll,” Illidan seethed. “You are a walking miracle and you don’t even appreciate your rarity. You are the reason I am alive; if Tyrande wants to speak to you, you are going to greet her properly!”

“Well, how was I supposed to know?” Zul’vii shot back. “I was raised by my parents in the middle of nowhere. I didn’t even know these night elves existed until you told me!”

“Well, now you know!”

“Okay, now I know! What I don’t know is why it matters so much to you! You have the army, why don’t you just tell her to piss off and just go wherever you want?”

The crack of flesh against flesh echoed in the still air. Zul’vii tumbled to the ground, startled and a little afraid, bleeding where Illidan’s talons had scratched her cheek. Shadows fell on her and she looked up to see him looming over her, wings spread, hands clenching and unclenching. His teeth were bared and his eyes glowed an unholy green, brighter than she’d ever seen them.

“I would kill you right now if it would not mean my own death,” he hissed between clenched teeth. “I would kill you, and everyone in this procession, in a heartbeat if Tyrande were in danger and your deaths meant that she would live.”

“I-I didn’t know you were so religious,” Zul’vii said shakily.

“I love her, you blathering fool!” Tears sprang to the troll’s eyes and he grinned maliciously, stifling the pang of guilt they brought. He was trying to make sure she didn’t bond to him, after all. “I have loved her for ten thousand years. I willingly gave my eyes and became a demon hunter for her sake; for her I endured ten thousand years of imprisonment. I care more for her than I do for my own wretched life, and you will greet her properly.”

“Ishnu dal-dieb,” Zul’vii whispered, every syllable perfectly pronounced. The cuts on her cheek closed of their own accord, flesh knitting together until the only sign of damage was a trickle of drying blood.

Illidan forced himself to relax. “Good.” Idly, he wiped his palms against the thick fur leggings he wore, leaving bloody streaks.

“Give me your hands,” the troll said quietly. “You’re bleeding.”

Slightly surprised that he’d done that to himself, Illidan stretched out both hands and did not protest as warm light washed over them, closing the puncture wounds before streaming up his arms and down into the hungry void in his belly. He stifled a groan as the gnawing eased and was replaced by a pleasant haze. He was well aware that the troll was apologizing, and that he was accepting it. However, he felt too good to care.

“Let’s keep moving,” he called lazily.

With a few moaned complaints, the naga and blood elves resumed their march to the sea.

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

The abandoned fishing village Kael’s path led them to had enough boats for everyone, assuming most of the blood elves and naga sat in the cargo holds. A few sirens and myrmidons led the way, following the trail left by their brothers and sisters escorting Kael’s ship. Illidan rode in the bow of the leading ship, and thus, so did Zul’vii. The troll alternated with being disgustingly enthusiastic about the sea, and sullenly snapping back at the half-demon sullenly snapping at her.

“If you don’t like the sea,” she finally demanded after several hours of this, “then why are you up here?”

“Because I get seasick!” he snapped back. “Hours of retching is not my preferred method of passing the time.”

Zul’vii blinked. She wanted to feel bad for him, but he wasn’t making it easy. “So then why do I have to stay here with you? We only get on each other’s nerves. Do you secretly enjoy my company, or do you just like making me miserable so you’re not the only one suffering?”

Illidan smirked. “Yes,” he said, and turned back to face the wind.

Half an hour later, he still hadn’t elaborated despite her increasingly angry demands. When she got frustrated enough to stomp off, however, he caught her wrist before she’d gone more than a dozen steps. They glared at each other for a long minute, and then he grimaced. A tug on her energy gave Zul’vii the clue she needed to figure out what was going on: he needed her healing. The troll sighed, irritation bleeding out as she poured it into him. He was proud, she suddenly realized. He hated showing weakness, and his condition must be grating on his nerves. She resigned herself to not getting a word of thanks until he was no longer dependent on her.

Once the void had been temporarily filled, Zul’vii was allowed to slip away. Illidan didn’t command that she return shortly, but they both knew that she would. The afternoon was wearing into evening when she returned, hauling two bedrolls and half a loaf of bread. Ignoring that Illidan was ignoring her, she sat on one bedroll and cheerfully ripped a bite out of the bread. Still he said nothing, and when her meal had been devoured, he ignored her preparing a place to sleep for each of them.

“You need to sleep,” Zul’vii huffed as the sun slipped below the horizon.

“No.”

“You’re not gonna stay up all night, are you?”

“I will wake you when my wound needs tending,” he said distantly.

Amber eyes narrowed. Nearly a week of marching had taught her a thing or two about how the status of Illidan’s spiritual wound affected his mood, and she wasn’t above manipulating that. If he was afraid that he’d get seasick in the middle of the night, that might drive him to try to stay awake, but then he’d just be tired and cranky the next day. Zu’vii didn’t know how many days they’d be at sea, but she had no intentions of having to put up with that. She reached out with one finger and gently touched the nearer hoof, slowly pushing into his body some of the pure energy that seemed to fountain up inside her. When his body wouldn’t accept any more, he smothered a yawn and she grinned. Quickly, she pulled her hand back and pretended to sleep. Hooves scraped on the deck, then there was silence while Illidan glared at her, trying to judge her state of sleep. He nudged her outflung hand with one hoof, and she muttered incoherently, pulled it back, shifted, and sighed. Satisfied that she would not see to mock him, he sat on the bedroll she’d left for him. He would not lie down, but he could and would doze sitting up.

When the restless dreams became too vivid, Illidan woke up and halfheartedly kicked at his healer. She woke with a curse and grabbed the offending leg, pouring healing energy into him while muttering vile imprecations in his direction. After a few moments, the unhappy surging in his gut stilled and he simply drifted with the rocking of the boat. It was a surprise when he next opened what passed for his eyes and saw dawn on the horizon. A glance at Zul’vii showed her sprawled out, still asleep, and he grinned. He could get back into position without her being the wiser.

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

“Young Kael. Were you successful?” Three days at sea with nothing to do but wait and think had not been easy on his temper, but it had not been as bad as it could have been, either.

The blood elf prince smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “See for yourself.”

The blood elves crewing Kael’s ship were still clustered around the plank set up to cross between the two ships, and coming across was-

“Tyrande,” Illidan breathed, ten thousand years of longing and pain making his voice tremble. He didn’t even notice Kael’thas giving him a look of pity, nor would he have cared if he had seen it.

The priestess looked around once she was securely on deck, heading immediately for the half-demon. “Illidan!”

The fact that she sounded concerned rather than angry gave him a seed of hope. “Tyrande.” He tried to make her name into all the things he could never find words to say to her.

She looked him up and down. “You seem healthy enough. By what miracle did you survive the fight with the undead?”

“A young half-troll that Kael’s people found and brought with them.” Illidan took a deep breath. “Her other half is spirit-healer.”

“Can I talk to her?”

“She doesn’t speak our language,” Illidan warned. “Orcish, trollish – that’s all she knows.”

“I know some orcish,” Tyrande said firmly. “Let me speak with her.”

“Of course, Tyrande.” Illidan was glad his blindfold hid both wistfulness and worry as he inclined his head to her and strode away. The troll was idly leaning against the railing a few yards away, and she turned curiously as he approached. “She wants to speak with you,” he snapped.

Zul’vii sighed. “Alright.”

She stepped away from the rail, but Illidan caught her arm. “If you are disrespectful to her in any way, whelp,” he growled menacingly, “I will ensure that you regret it to your dying day.”

One pale green hand went involuntarily to her throat. “You’ve made your point, now let me go.”

Clawed fingers dug tighter for a moment, then released her arm. Burning green eyes followed as she walked over to the High Priestess.

“Ishnu dal-dieb,” she said carefully.

Tyrande’s eyebrows shot up. “Ishnu alah,” she responded. “I thought you didn’t speak our language,” she continued in orcish.

“I don’t. Illidan made me learn that just for you.”

Tyrande sighed, looking faintly exasperated and obliquely pleased. “I should have known. Only he would be more concerned with making sure I was treated with respect than with treating one such as you with the respect you deserve.”

“He loves you,” Zul’vii blurted out. She was surprised by the look of sad compassion the words sparked from the priestess.

“I know,” she said softly. “I love him, too…”

Zulvii’s heart plummeted.

“…but not the way he wants me to.”

The troll struggled to make words form. “What?”

Tyrande smiled sadly. “We were childhood friends – me, and him, and his brother Malfurion. It was Furion I chose to be my mate, and although he never directly challenged my decision, I know Illidan never gave up the hope that I would choose him, instead.”

“But…” Zul’vii gaped. “He…ten thousand years? And he…”

“He still loves me. And I can’t return it.”

Hope struggled to not be crushed. “And he knows?”

“He knows, and I’m afraid it’s slowly killing him as much as it is keeping him alive.”

Suddenly, a lot of Illidan’s rough edges made sense to the half-troll. It wasn’t entirely that she grated on his nerves just by existing; he was bleeding from the heart and had no desire to be healed. Most men would take comfort in the arms of another woman, but Illidan would rather drive them away and be alone with his unrequited love. He would remain true to Tyrande if it killed him. A wave of sympathy swept through her, and she found herself wishing she could heal this unseen wound of his, as well.

“..to him?”

Zul’vii shook herself out of her thoughts. “I’m sorry, I was distracted. What did you say?”

“I asked if you had any intentions of bonding to him.”

It took a moment for Zul’vii to realize her mouth was hanging open, and close it. “What do you mean by ‘bonding to him’?”

Tyrande gave her an inscrutable look. “Stories of your kind are rare, but they all mention that the spirit or half-spirit must bond to a mortal. Details vary or are missing, of course, but I assume that you would know if such a thing had taken place.”

“I don’t think it has, then.” Zul’vii swallowed hot disappointment. “What is this bond supposed to be like?”

“The ancient stories say that the two who are bonded will suffer if they are separated, but again the details vary.”

Illidan’s reluctance to let her out of his sight was suddenly all she could think of, but that was only because he needed her healing, right?

Tyrande sighed again, this time clearly exasperated. “He didn’t tell you anything. I should have known.”

“He doesn’t want me bonding to him.” Only when Tyrande gave her a sharp look did she realize she’d said that out loud. She flushed. “Well…if he loves you so much, then he wouldn’t want to care about anyone else, would he? If the two who are bonded suffer when they’re apart, then wouldn’t they care about each other a great deal?”

“Illidan is not good at showing when he cares,” Tyrande said with a soft smile. “He expresses himself better with actions than words. Only as a last resort will he say what he feels – but when he does, he is painfully honest.”

Zul’vii nodded, not sure what to say to that. When it was clear that Tyrande had no intentions of elaborating, she cast about for another topic. “So…are you going to let him and the blood elves and the naga stay in Felwood?”

“Of course,” the priestess replied, somewhat surprised. “I don’t have the forces necessary to clear the demons out, and Prince Kael’thas kindly offered to do so as repayment. I don’t entirely trust the naga, of course, but if they answer to Illidan, I have no worries that they will cause any trouble.”

“He wouldn’t let them,” the troll agreed. An internal itch made her glance at the position of the sun, and then she realized why she was feeling so restless. “I should go,” she half-apologized. “Illidan will need his wound tended soon, or he’ll get grumpier than normal.”

Tyrande perked up. “May I watch?”

“I…guess? It’s not very exciting.”

“He’s one of my oldest friends and you’re a living legend,” Tyrande said gently. “Exciting or not, if you will allow me to watch, I would be grateful.”

“Sure,” the troll said, still off-balance by her legendary status. “Just follow me.”

Illidan was right where he’d found Zul’vii, staring out to sea, clawed hands gripping the rail hard enough to make the wood creak. When she reached for his wrist, he flinched away violently.

“Hold still, you big baby,” the troll chided, grabbing for the wrist he’d pulled away. “It’s just me.”

“Obnoxious overgrown grub,” he snarled, muscles already relaxing as soothing white energy flowed into him. “Sneak up on me again and you may find yourself breathing through your throat.” Suddenly, he stiffened.

Tyrande stepped closer, fully into Illidan’s field of vision, fingers probing fearlessly at the half-demon’s abdomen. “What did this to you?” she murmured.

“Frostmourne,” Illidan replied, letting his breath out in a hiss. “The Lich King’s sword draws out the soul of whomever it cuts. My flesh was healed, the muscles and skin knitted back together, but…”

“But there’s a bleeding hole in your spirit,” Tyrande said grimly. “Elune’s power cannot heal that; this is beyond anything that I have seen. I see now what you meant when you said that only by a miracle had you survived. If not for your having found a spirit healer, even a half-blooded one, your soul would crumble into nothingness.”

Zul’vii looked up, startled. “Is that what’s happening?” The thought of Illidan, grumpy overgrown fossilized bat that he was, bleeding away to nothing made her heart cry out.

The priestess poked and prodded some more. “Your energy shores up the edges and forms a kind of clot, but it looks like it doesn’t last.”

“I told you I consume energy,” Illidan half-growled. “What my body is able to absorb, it is able to use to heal the edges before the center is devoured by the void.”

Suddenly, Zul’vii understood. “So I should to do this before you need it, because by the time you need it, the edges are already being damaged again.”

“Yes,” he ground out.

“You know,” the troll continued cheerfully, “I don’t think I was wrong about you being able to digest food. I think it just turned out badly because the void had eaten all my energy. I think if I kept you topped up, you’d be able to eat.”

“To what purpose?” Illidan demanded stiffly, keeping his tone civil with difficulty so that he didn’t snap at a half-celestial in front of Tyrande.

“Winter’s Veil dinner with your family?” Zul’vii asked cheekily.

Illidan went utterly still, and Tyrande gasped softly.

“My parents died when I was a child,” he said coldly, “and my brother ordered me banished from night elf lands.”

“I revoke the banishment,” Tyrande said quickly. “Furion doesn’t have that kind of power, anyway.” She colored lightly. “I would have done that much sooner, but you left.”

Illidan was silent for a long moment, throat working. “Thank you, Tyrande,” he said at last, voice thick.

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

“We have prepared a rude camp for your people,” Tyrande said as the ships anchored just offshore. “We did not know how many to expect, but we have cauldrons of soup and stew cooking, and nets of fresh fish. I imagine a hot meal would be welcome after the cold of Northrend.” She smiled faintly.

“You are too kind, High Priestess,” Vashj said with a sinuous bow.

“My Sentinels will stand watch so that your people may take a well-earned rest. Illidan, I would like you and Zul’vii to be my guests for the evening meal.”

“Of course, Tyrande,” Illidan said, that tone of quiet longing in his expression as well as his voice.

The troll held her silence as she followed elf and half-demon through the rough camp to a pavilion guarded by armed female elves, then inside. Illidan sat awkwardly on one of the large cushions arranged in a circle around a low table while Tyrande ducked into another room. Warily, Zul’vii sat as well. When the priestess returned, she placed a pot of steaming soup on the table alongside the bread and cheese before kneeling. Zul’vii watched as she ladled broth and small noodles into a wide-mouthed mug and handed it to an unprotesting Illidan. Astounded, she was so caught up in watching the half-demon drink soup that Tyrande had to nudge her elbow to get her attention.

“Thank you,” she murmured as she took an identical mug of broth and noodles and sniffed it. Curiosity, or perhaps annoyance, got the better of her. “I thought you didn’t eat,” she said to the man doing just that.

“You can keep me infused with your healing energy,” he retorted impatiently.

Zul’vii looked at Tyrande. “Okay, what am I missing? Did you drug him when I wasn’t looking?”

“It’s duck broth with traditional kaldorei noodles,” the priestess said calmly, serving herself.

Zul’vii waited. When no further explanation was forthcoming, she nudged Illidan’s shoulder. “Soooooo?”

“Silence, you insignificant brat,” he snapped, jerking his arm out of her reach as though protecting the mug.

“Illidan!” When he flinched and muttered an apology, Tyrande turned to Zul’vii. “It’s been a comfort food for him and Furion since they were children.”

“Oh.” Zul’vii sipped at her broth enough to be polite, then set it on the table and helped herself to bread and cheese instead. As an afterthought, she prodded Illidan’s leg with one finger and let her energy flow into him.

The big half-demon relaxed slightly, eyes closing as he sipped from his mug as though drinking nostalgia instead of broth. Tyrande watched him carefully, her impassive expression thawing somewhat.

“If you are not opposed,” she said smoothly, “I would like for you and Zul’vii to spend the night in my pavilion. Please accept my hospitality.”

Illidan drained his mug with a contented sigh. “Of course, Tyrande.” He put the mug on the table, fingers lingering as though reluctant to let it go. “Thank you for this.”

Zul’vii nearly choked on her bread.

“I thought that after all you’ve been through recently, you could use a good mug of broth,” Tyrande said warmly. “I’ve prepared rooms for you and Zul’vii…”

“It is better if she sleeps in the same room with me,” he said slowly.

“Your wound; of course. Stay here a moment, and I will have a room arranged.”

As soon as Tyrande left the room, Zul’vii turned to Illidan and opened her mouth, only to be interrupted by a hand held up to forestall her.

“I have been under considerable strain recently, something I do not foresee changing in the future. For the present, however, I am content and I would like to simply enjoy it while it lasts.”

The unusual lack of hostility took the troll by surprise. “Alright,” she said warily. “Truce. Until you break it.”

“Agreed.”

Tyrande stepped back inside. “It’s been prepared. This way.”

In silence, troll and half-demon followed the priestess to a room with two thin mattresses heaped with pillows and blankets.

“Thank you, Tyrande,” Illidan said again, voice still uncharacteristically gentle.

“Sleep well, Illidan, Zul’vii. Mother Moon keep you safe and light your path to sweet dreams.”

Zul’vii watched as Illidan made himself comfortable on one mattress, waiting on the other until his breathing evened out before making sure he was full of her healing energy. It was clear to her that the lack of hostility was him being as nice as she could expect from him for a while, and as much as she wanted to beat the arrogance off of his smug face most of the time…he was vulnerable right now. She couldn’t bring herself to strike at him if he wasn’t going to defend himself. Irritated, she flopped over onto her back and sighed. Why did she have to care about him so darned much? He certainly didn’t appreciate her.

She rolled back over and stared at him through the darkness, remembering her parents. Maybe, just maybe, he did appreciate her. Hadn’t Tyrande said that his actions spoke louder than his words? Sure, he hadn’t come out and said please or thank you to her, but he’d agreed to a truce and he hadn’t insulted or threatened her. For Illidan, that was practically begging.

Is it possible to be nice by omission?

Zul’vii rolled onto her back again. She’d better get some sleep before she had to tend his wound again.

Not much time had passed before Zul’vii woke up suddenly. She lay still, listening, and heard it again: a whimper. In a flash, she’d rolled out of her blankets and groped for his hand. When she found it, he gripped it tightly and whimpered again. Thinking that she must have been wrong for the duck broth to go sour so quickly in his stomach, she pushed healing into him – but his wound was already full. This was something else.

“Are you having a nightmare?” she whispered incredulously. “There, there. Zul’vii’s here.” The half-troll stroked his hair awkwardly. When his other arm reached blindly around her waist, she nearly shrieked and smacked him, but he only shifted so that his head was on her leg. “You really are having a nightmare,” she said softly. “There, there. It’s alright.”

For several minutes she sat and soothed him with her touch. When his frantic grip on her hand relaxed, she tried to extricate herself but found that he wouldn’t actually let her go. The troll stared at him for a long minute, trying to decide her course of action, then shrugged and used his broad back as her pillow. When his wound started nibbling the edges of his soul again, she didn’t even need to wake up fully to sate it with her energy. He never stirred.

When Illidan woke up, it was to the realization that he and the troll were curled up around each other, and that he did not particularly want to move. The memory of agreeing to a truce until he broke it warred with the fervent determination to not let her bond to him. He was still comfortable and content, and did not want to shatter this island of serenity in the turbulent sea of his life – but at the same time, he wanted to shove her away from him, drive her off with harsh words and ensure that she did not infiltrate his heart with her presence the way she was filling his body with her energy.

“Illidan, Zul’vii, the sun has risen and – oh.” Tyrande backed out of the small tent-room as swiftly as she had entered it.

“You were having a nightmare,” Zul’vii said, hastily sitting up.

“Luckily,” he said, doing the same, “I do not remember it.”

An uncomfortable silence fell as Zul’vii tried to figure out if a lack of sharp words was him thanking her, and Illidan struggled with the decision of whether or not to break their truce. He was comfortable, yes, but vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Better to break it deliberately than to let it stretch and make her think him soft.

“Impudent whelp,” he said calmly.

She looked at him for a long moment, then nodded slightly. “Arrogant fossil,” she replied, equally calm.

A bit of gratitude warmed his heart that she had understood his intentions, and he scowled, hating himself for that. Without another word he stood and left the room, seeking Tyrande in the cloth halls of her pavilion.

“You’re welcome,” Zul’vii muttered to the empty air, then sighed and stood to follow him.