Into the Light

52 | THE ONE WHO REMAINS

Tyrande woke to shadows. Was she dead? She moved her hand, and felt the softness of a cushion underneath her fingertips. Her eyes adjusted, slowly, working out the features of her surroundings. She couldn't turn her head, but the decor and arches of the ceiling told her she was in Dalaran. She lifted her brow, astonished. How could she be here, and living?

No. She wasn't alive, at least not as she used to be. All of this was an illusion, a trick of Sargeras. He would come to her soon, and reality would return, bitter and painful. She was a demon now, the consort of a titan. Soon all of Azeroth would burn. Tears gathered in her eyes as her last memory replayed, watching Illidan transform into Sargeras's avatar. Illidan was dead, as presumably all the rest were now, too. They had failed. She had failed.

She tried to lift her hand to brush away her tears. She couldn't. Her hand was so heavy, she didn't have the strength. She let it fall back onto the cushion.

Movement beside her made her freeze. Sargeras. He was right there. Her heart clenched, terrified. He would take her, and make her his, just like he almost did when he held her in his tendrils. He had done this to her, made her powerless, so she would not be able to fight him.

"Tyrande?"

Illidan's face leant over hers, naked with hope. A deep gash lay across his temple, crusted over with dried blood. Smuts of dirt and blood stained his face. Why would Sargeras come to her like this? Tyrande closed her eyes. It was another one of his games, he was trying to manipulate her. It wasn't real. He would change at any moment, and show his true self. This time she would not fall prey to his seduction, she would resist to the bitter end.

His hand touched her face, tender. "You live. I have waited for hours, I didn't think you would come back--" he shuddered. A tear splashed onto her cheek. Tyrande started. Sargeras would never cry. She opened her eyes. Illidan gazed at her, filled with joy. What was happening? She chanced the question, a wild tendril of hope taking root in her breast.

"Illidan is it you, or . . . are you Sargeras?"

He choked, and shook his head. Taking her hand in his, he kissed her fingertips.

"I was never Sargeras, my will was too strong. It was you he took."

"No. I saw you become him."

Illidan stroked her hair from her brow, his tenderness almost undoing her. "Gul'dan made you see a lie, to break your will. It worked, you almost killed us all."

She swallowed, frightened. "Then if I am his avatar, how can I be here? Am I dead? I don't know what is real anymore, I don't--"

Illidan's mouth covered hers, silencing her. He kissed her, passionate, possessive, his arms sliding underneath her. He pulled her off the sofa and into his lap, cradling her against him. Though Tyrande could do nothing to stop him, she realised she didn't want him to stop, after all they had suffered together, it felt right somehow. Real. He broke the kiss, soft. Remorse shadowed his features.

"Tyrande, forgive me. I shouldn't have. There is much to tell you, you will need time to recover. Sargeras is gone, banished from Azeroth by a being I cannot even begin to comprehend. You live, and are whole again. That is all that matters."

"It is over? We won?" Tyrande asked, incredulous.

Illidan nodded, tightening his hold on her. "Not all of us."

His voice cracking with grief, he told her of Malfurion. Her heart shattered. How could he be gone? Strong, brave, stubborn Malfurion. She wept, far into the night.

When the light of a new dawn trickled in from the open doors of the balcony, Tyrande was still awake. From far below, she could hear the sounds of celebration in the streets of Dalaran. The door to the office opened and Kalec entered, exhausted, his tunic filthy with blood and ash. He stared, astonished, at Tyrande, whole again. Without saying anything to either of them, he cast a portal to Darnassus and walked away.

Illidan lifted Tyrande into his arms and carried her into the portal. On the other side, he walked through the Temple of the Moon, staring straight ahead, ignoring the astonished looks from the priestesses. He carried her to her house, and lay her on her bed, gentle. Catching the leg of a stool with his foot, he dragged it over and settled himself onto it, still bloody and filthy. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his fingers folded together. His intention clear. He was going nowhere.

Footsteps pattered up the stairs, the room filling with concerned faces. One woman pushed forward and took over, ordering healers to be found, and food and drink to be brought.

Tyrande let them fuss over her. A little chirp rose up from the floor, and Iasar jumped up onto the bed, uncertain. She approached her mistress and rubbed her head against Tyrande's inert hand, seeking attention. Illidan leaned forward and lifted Tyrande's hand, helping her to stroke the kitten. Tyrande smiled, quiet. She had forgotten how soft her little companion was. Iasar purred, and snuggled into the crook of Tyrande's arm, content.

A breeze drifted through the window, and Tyrande caught a whisper of her husband's scent on the cushion. The last time she had been in this bed she had been with Malfurion, and now he was gone, leaving her nothing but her memories. Her heart clenched, aching and raw. She had had no idea how much he had truly meant to her. But she knew now. She glanced at Illidan, watching her, his eyes veiled, hiding his feelings from her, respecting her need for time.

She closed her eyes and let sleep call to her, knowing when she woke, he would still be there, watching over her, waiting.

One day he would have her. One day. But not today.