Shandris was right. The moment Tyrande heard of their plans to free Illidan and other Night Elf prisoners who could be counted on to stand up against the Legion’s Invasion, she found the strength to pull herself free of her grief. At least temporarily anyways. She was in no way over Malfurion’s loss, and she would always blame herself for not being fast enough to save his physical body… but this was an opportunity to correct another injustice.
Ten thousand years. Illidan had committed crimes against their people, to be sure. They called him the Betrayer for his actions during the War of the Ancients. And even once all was said and done, even after he’d returned to them and helped them beat back the Burning Legion’s invasion… he’d followed up his redemptive actions by creating a new Well of Eternity, proving that he’d learned nothing.
When Malfurion decreed Illidan was to be locked away deep beneath Hyjal, Tyrande had not stopped her mate from punishing his brother so severely. She could scarcely believe what Illidan had become, the actions he had taken and the things he’d done. Before he was the Betrayer, he was one of her closest friends… but no more.
Of course, she was aware that every so often, Malfurion had visited his brother over the past ten thousand years from time to time. Her mate had not kept these visits secret from her, telling her each and every time that he had once again failed to convince Illidan to repent for his actions. But Illidan never had and Tyrande… Tyrande couldn’t bring herself to visit him, to have her view of Illidan Stormrage tarnished even further.
Now though, she regretted her decision. Ten millennia was long enough for anyone to languish in chains. If they weren’t going to free him earlier, should they not have just killed him? After what had happened to her beloved, Tyrande found herself looking at the world with new eyes. Illidan’s actions might have been unjust, but the punishment must still suit the crime. Leaving him locked away for so long… freeing him now was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t just her guilt saying that.
And so she descends deep into the Barrow Deeps alongside Shandris, Lord Cenarius, and their allies. The orc druid Rognak, along with the Orc Warchief Thrall and the Human Leader Jaina Proudmoore. And… a few others that Tyrande wishes were not following them.
“I still say this is not the correct path to take. The Betrayer languishes in prison for crimes he committed the last time the Legion tried to invade our world. Let him remain in prison. We do not need his help.”
Archdruid Fandral Staghelm. Tyrande’s jaw clenches as the stuck-up, egotistical, bull-headed male speaks up as they all journey deeper into the caverns beneath Hyjal, having entered from a hidden path found on the edge of the Moonglade. Tyrande has long had an ill-opinion of Fandral Staghelm, though she’s done her best to keep it to herself. As the High Priestess of Elune, it was not her place to speak ill of one of their people’s greatest warriors. Even still…
A rumbling echoes from the hulking druid at his side as Broll Bearmantle rolls his shoulders and grunts.
“Hmm… while I am inclined to agree with you on this matter Archdruid, it is not our choice. Lord Cenarius has made his decision.”
Fandral scowls mightily at that but falls quiet. And indeed, that’s the biggest issue the egotistical Archdruid is currently wrestling with, isn’t it? With her Malfurion removed from play, Fandral likely imagines that he will be the obvious choice to take her beloved’s place. That he is now the most capable druid among their people. That is debatable, but one thing is not debatable… Lord Cenarius stands above them all.
Tyrande answers only to Elune of course, and the Moon Goddess has not spoken to her either way on this latest path they’ve started to walk. But even still, Lord Cenarius was alive long before any of them, and was a druid before the first of the Night Elves, her beloved mate, had even begun walking that path. In the end, there was nothing that the Forest Demigod could do that would diminish their people’s respect for them. Fandral would likely gain her mate’s place in due time, but for now he answered to Cenarius so long as the Lord of the Forest walked among them.
Fortunately, a commotion takes place a little deeper into the Barrow Deeps, when they find themselves accosted momentarily by furbolg desperate for aid. Perhaps sensing that Fandral is nothing but trouble, or merely sending the most capable among their number to take care of the issue, Lord Cenarius orders Fandral and Broll to peel off and assist the furbolg tribe in saving their shaman. Fandral’s huffy, poorly concealed offense at the ‘menial’ task is amusing to say the least.
Tyrande even cracks a smile for a moment as she watches the egotistical Archdruid walk away with Broll at his side, grateful to see the back of him. Then, she remembers all that she’s lost a heartbeat later, and the smile drops. They continue onward from there, with Tyrande’s shoulders set and determination in her eyes. Until finally…
“We have reached the prison. Hold for a moment.”
Tyrande frowns as Lord Cenarius holds up a hand of branches, calling for them to halt. Every fiber of her being vibrates with urgency. After how Malfurion was lost to her, she hates the idea of being ‘too late’ yet again. But… no. There are no undead here. Illidan has languished in this prison for ten thousand years. He will not die in the next five minutes.
Still, when nothing happens for a moment, Tyrande shifts from foot to foot, mirroring the impatience of the mortals with them funnily enough. The way that Rognak, Thrall, and Jaina all shift back and forth and look around in curiosity and anticipation is to be expected for such a short-lived race… and yet, here she is, involuntarily mimicking them. Letting out a quiet huff, Tyrande forces herself to stay still… even as a Keeper of the Grove steps out into view just a moment later.
“Lord Cenarius. What are you doing here?”
The Keeper sounds surprised, something that Cenarius acknowledges with a bow of his head.
“Keeper Califax. Long have you held to your duty and watched over the prisoners kept here deep beneath Mount Hyjal. Unfortunately, we come with grave news. The Archdruid Malfurion has lost his physical body, and the Burning Legion invades Kalimdor once more. If we are to fight them off, we will have need of some of your prisoners.”
The Keeper of the Grove inhales sharply at the news, his eyes widening in shock. He looks truly dismayed to hear that her mate is dead… but also uncertain of Cenarius’ orders.
“My Lord… the Watchers have kept these prisoners chained beneath the earth for many, many centuries. As far back as the last time the Legion invaded, as far back as the Sundering. Many of them are not fit for release, not even for battle against the Burning Legion.”
Tyrande grits her teeth at that. She can tell immediately… Califax numbers Illidan among those who are not fit for release. But she holds her tongue. If Cenarius were not here, it would fall to her to speak. She was the leader of the Night Elves after all. However… whether Califax would listen to her or not, the Priestess of Elune could not say. The Watchers had originally been organized to watch over Illidan Stormrage… by her beloved. But they had long since formed their own mandate, taking it upon themselves to lock away the worst offenders they could capture without killing over the past ten thousand years.
By all rights, Keeper Califax SHOULD have listened to her if she spoke. It rankled her something fierce that Tyrande didn’t know for certain that he would. But… better to let Lord Cenarius do the talking in any case, since they had him here with them.
“Indeed. Not all are fit for release. But some are… enough to perhaps make a difference.”
The Lord of the Forest’s tone brooks no argument and the Keeper bows his head in deference after only a moment more of hesitation.
“Very well, Lord Cenarius.”
From there, they begin freeing the prisoners who Cenarius deems trustworthy enough to do battle. There are some ancient horrors that the Watchers have managed to shackle in the depths of the Barrows beneath Hyjal, but there are also some Night Elves who might still fight for their people… and of anyone, Lord Cenarius is decidedly the best for picking and choosing between them. He’s an excellent judge of character, after all.
But then they come to Illidan’s prison… and Califax interposes himself once more, the Keeper of the Grove clearing his throat.
“Ah… perhaps you mistake which cell this is, Lord Cenarius. The Betrayer lurks behind this gate. A terrible evil that must remain here at all costs… I’m sure you’d agree.”
Here, Tyrande finds she can no longer stay quiet. Growling, she strides forward.
“Illidan was one of our people’s greatest heroes once! He can become that again, if you would just give him a chance! Surely ten millennia is more than enough time to hold anyone in chains!”
The Keeper scoffs, shaking his head.
“You are distraught, Priestess. I am so very sorry for your loss. But Illidan Stormrage is nothing but a monster and we do not free monsters, we chain them.”
Before Tyrande can respond… Cenarius’ hand falls upon her shoulder.
“Hold. The Priestess is right, Keeper. Illidan Stormrage has an opportunity here for redemption. We shall see if he takes it. Stand aside.”
Here, the Keeper looks… quite aggrieved. His eyes flicker between all of them, and he grimaces.
“… I would feel much better if the Warden were here to give her approval on this matter. Maiev Shadowsong and her second are both away on a mission right now… they will not be pleased to find their original prisoner missing when they return.”
Tyrande almost blows up at that, but before she can launch into a tirade about how little she cares about Maiev’s pleasure, Cenarius’ branches tighten on her shoulder and he speaks in her place with a level tone.
“Illidan will not be missing. He will be in my custody and Warden Shadowsong may take it up with me if she feels personally wronged upon her return.”
For a long second, Keeper Califax looks like he STILL might try to stop them. But in the end, a Keeper of the Grove’s loyalty to the Lord of the Forest runs deep… deeper even than Califax’s loyalty to the Watchers it would seem. Tyrande can’t help but wonder when they became so… fractious. Was she not the leader of their people? Was Lord Cenarius not their shepherd, a Forest Demigod who had helped lead their people down the right path for so very long?
Thankfully, Califax finally steps aside, bowing his head in silence, allowing for Tyrande to step forward and fire a radiant arrow at the lock on Illidan’s prison. The gate flies open and suddenly… he’s there.
“Tyrande…”
Tyrande smiles shakily, even as tears well up in her eyes. Illidan steps forward, free for the first time in ten thousand years. His eyes, burnt out so long ago and replaced by flame, are hidden behind his blindfold but he looks upon her all the same, as though she is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in far, far too long.
And yet, a shadow is cast over their reunion, one of massive proportions.
“Illidan, I…”
He steps forward then, and reaches up, brushing a finger across her cheek and the tear away just as it falls from her eye.
“I know. I heard. Malfurion is… dead?”
Lord Cenarius is the one who answers that, intoning deeply.
“Trapped, young Stormrage. His physical body was slain by the Scourge and raised as a shambling undead. It had to be destroyed. But his spirit lives on in the Emerald Dream… for now.”
Illidan takes this in, tilting his head in Cenarius’ direction to show he’s listening for a moment, but never taking his eyes off of her. His hand remains on her cheek and Tyrande leans into his touch, letting a shaky breath leave her lips.
“I see… I never thought… it is much too ignoble an end for a brother of mine.”
A watery laugh escapes Tyrande’s lips at that. It’s the sort of thing Illidan would say. She can tell he’s grieving just as much as she is though. He has to be. For all their quarrels, for all their heartache… they were brothers. He loved Malfurion as much as she did. Tyrande knows this to be true. She-
Tyrande blinks, her thought process brought to a jarring halt as Illidan moves his hand from her cheek to her chin. Tucking his fingers under her chin against the hollow of her throat, he lets out a low sigh.
“Tyrande…”
He’s looking at her like… well, like he hasn’t seen her in ten-thousand years. Which is fair. But she would have expected more grief in his eyes. He did just lose his brother, after all. Instead, Tyrande sees a flash of something else in her old friend’s gaze. Something akin to triumph. To lust. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, and Illidan leans forward, pressing his forehead to her own.
“Do not worry, Tyrande. I am here for you. Now and forever. My brother might be lost to us… but at least we still have each other.”
Tyrande’s heart seizes in her chest. Surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant, did he? But… no. The worst thing was, he probably meant it both ways. For her, Illidan clearly intended the words to mean one thing, but she can tell that inwardly, he means something else entirely. He meant… he meant to replace his brother. He meant to have her at long last. Maybe not now. Maybe not this moment… but some day he would try and claim her.
In that moment, Tyrande feels something ugly and twisted well up in her chest. Her facial features contort and she pushes herself away from the brother that she didn’t choose.
“N-No… No, Illidan.”
He looks at her, shocked… and then anger spreads across his features.
“What do you mean, no?”
Tears prick at her eyes, but it’s best that she say this now, even if she does have quite the audience. She wishes they could have talked this out privately, but it’s obvious this needs to be dealt with as quickly as possible. In the end, they simply don’t have the time for her to be gentle.
“We will never be together in that way, Illidan. Malfurion was my mate. You… you are my friend.”
Those last words are thrown on in an attempt at a soothing balm, but even Tyrande can admit that she says them almost as an afterthought, in an effort to assuage the pain she knows she’s likely causing him. But even still, she can’t let him think that there’s a chance between them. Just because Malfurion is… just because her mate is lost, does not mean she loves Illidan Stormrage.
For a long moment, Illidan Stormrage just stares at her. And then, with a snarl, he whips around… and flees. Tyrande chokes as the Demon Hunter runs from the prison, vanishing too fast for anyone to react. There are some aborted attempts of course, chief among them Keeper Califax who lets out a low growl.
“Damnations! Lord Cenarius, I would remind you that you said the prisoner would remain in your custody! That he would help you fight the Burning Legion! And now he’s fled!”
Before Cenarius can reply, someone else speaks up, surprising everyone in the room, Tyrande included. It’s the orc druid, the one called Rognak who clears his throat.
“Well… we’ll have to go after him, of course. But if we chase after him too loudly, he’s only going to go to ground all the faster. Let’s follow… at a distance until he’s calmed down.”
The Keeper of the Grove looks ready to ask just who Rognak thinks he is, only for Cenarius to nod his head in agreement.
“The young druid speaks true. Come. Illidan will not get far. The woods above are still mine after all, no matter how demon infested they have become.”
And so they leave the Keeper fuming. And Tyrande is left reeling, wondering if letting Illidan free was a mistake after all.
Shandris was right. The moment Tyrande heard of their plans to free Illidan and other Night Elf prisoners who could be counted on to stand up against the Legion’s Invasion, she found the strength to pull herself free of her grief. At least temporarily anyways. She was in no way over Malfurion’s loss, and she would always blame herself for not being fast enough to save his physical body… but this was an opportunity to correct another injustice.
Ten thousand years. Illidan had committed crimes against their people, to be sure. They called him the Betrayer for his actions during the War of the Ancients. And even once all was said and done, even after he’d returned to them and helped them beat back the Burning Legion’s invasion… he’d followed up his redemptive actions by creating a new Well of Eternity, proving that he’d learned nothing.
When Malfurion decreed Illidan was to be locked away deep beneath Hyjal, Tyrande had not stopped her mate from punishing his brother so severely. She could scarcely believe what Illidan had become, the actions he had taken and the things he’d done. Before he was the Betrayer, he was one of her closest friends… but no more.
Of course, she was aware that every so often, Malfurion had visited his brother over the past ten thousand years from time to time. Her mate had not kept these visits secret from her, telling her each and every time that he had once again failed to convince Illidan to repent for his actions. But Illidan never had and Tyrande… Tyrande couldn’t bring herself to visit him, to have her view of Illidan Stormrage tarnished even further.
Now though, she regretted her decision. Ten millennia was long enough for anyone to languish in chains. If they weren’t going to free him earlier, should they not have just killed him? After what had happened to her beloved, Tyrande found herself looking at the world with new eyes. Illidan’s actions might have been unjust, but the punishment must still suit the crime. Leaving him locked away for so long… freeing him now was the right thing to do. And it wasn’t just her guilt saying that.
And so she descends deep into the Barrow Deeps alongside Shandris, Lord Cenarius, and their allies. The orc druid Rognak, along with the Orc Warchief Thrall and the Human Leader Jaina Proudmoore. And… a few others that Tyrande wishes were not following them.
“I still say this is not the correct path to take. The Betrayer languishes in prison for crimes he committed the last time the Legion tried to invade our world. Let him remain in prison. We do not need his help.”
Archdruid Fandral Staghelm. Tyrande’s jaw clenches as the stuck-up, egotistical, bull-headed male speaks up as they all journey deeper into the caverns beneath Hyjal, having entered from a hidden path found on the edge of the Moonglade. Tyrande has long had an ill-opinion of Fandral Staghelm, though she’s done her best to keep it to herself. As the High Priestess of Elune, it was not her place to speak ill of one of their people’s greatest warriors. Even still…
A rumbling echoes from the hulking druid at his side as Broll Bearmantle rolls his shoulders and grunts.
“Hmm… while I am inclined to agree with you on this matter Archdruid, it is not our choice. Lord Cenarius has made his decision.”
Fandral scowls mightily at that but falls quiet. And indeed, that’s the biggest issue the egotistical Archdruid is currently wrestling with, isn’t it? With her Malfurion removed from play, Fandral likely imagines that he will be the obvious choice to take her beloved’s place. That he is now the most capable druid among their people. That is debatable, but one thing is not debatable… Lord Cenarius stands above them all.
Tyrande answers only to Elune of course, and the Moon Goddess has not spoken to her either way on this latest path they’ve started to walk. But even still, Lord Cenarius was alive long before any of them, and was a druid before the first of the Night Elves, her beloved mate, had even begun walking that path. In the end, there was nothing that the Forest Demigod could do that would diminish their people’s respect for them. Fandral would likely gain her mate’s place in due time, but for now he answered to Cenarius so long as the Lord of the Forest walked among them.
Fortunately, a commotion takes place a little deeper into the Barrow Deeps, when they find themselves accosted momentarily by furbolg desperate for aid. Perhaps sensing that Fandral is nothing but trouble, or merely sending the most capable among their number to take care of the issue, Lord Cenarius orders Fandral and Broll to peel off and assist the furbolg tribe in saving their shaman. Fandral’s huffy, poorly concealed offense at the ‘menial’ task is amusing to say the least.
Tyrande even cracks a smile for a moment as she watches the egotistical Archdruid walk away with Broll at his side, grateful to see the back of him. Then, she remembers all that she’s lost a heartbeat later, and the smile drops. They continue onward from there, with Tyrande’s shoulders set and determination in her eyes. Until finally…
“We have reached the prison. Hold for a moment.”
Tyrande frowns as Lord Cenarius holds up a hand of branches, calling for them to halt. Every fiber of her being vibrates with urgency. After how Malfurion was lost to her, she hates the idea of being ‘too late’ yet again. But… no. There are no undead here. Illidan has languished in this prison for ten thousand years. He will not die in the next five minutes.
Still, when nothing happens for a moment, Tyrande shifts from foot to foot, mirroring the impatience of the mortals with them funnily enough. The way that Rognak, Thrall, and Jaina all shift back and forth and look around in curiosity and anticipation is to be expected for such a short-lived race… and yet, here she is, involuntarily mimicking them. Letting out a quiet huff, Tyrande forces herself to stay still… even as a Keeper of the Grove steps out into view just a moment later.
“Lord Cenarius. What are you doing here?”
The Keeper sounds surprised, something that Cenarius acknowledges with a bow of his head.
“Keeper Califax. Long have you held to your duty and watched over the prisoners kept here deep beneath Mount Hyjal. Unfortunately, we come with grave news. The Archdruid Malfurion has lost his physical body, and the Burning Legion invades Kalimdor once more. If we are to fight them off, we will have need of some of your prisoners.”
The Keeper of the Grove inhales sharply at the news, his eyes widening in shock. He looks truly dismayed to hear that her mate is dead… but also uncertain of Cenarius’ orders.
“My Lord… the Watchers have kept these prisoners chained beneath the earth for many, many centuries. As far back as the last time the Legion invaded, as far back as the Sundering. Many of them are not fit for release, not even for battle against the Burning Legion.”
Tyrande grits her teeth at that. She can tell immediately… Califax numbers Illidan among those who are not fit for release. But she holds her tongue. If Cenarius were not here, it would fall to her to speak. She was the leader of the Night Elves after all. However… whether Califax would listen to her or not, the Priestess of Elune could not say. The Watchers had originally been organized to watch over Illidan Stormrage… by her beloved. But they had long since formed their own mandate, taking it upon themselves to lock away the worst offenders they could capture without killing over the past ten thousand years.
By all rights, Keeper Califax SHOULD have listened to her if she spoke. It rankled her something fierce that Tyrande didn’t know for certain that he would. But… better to let Lord Cenarius do the talking in any case, since they had him here with them.
“Indeed. Not all are fit for release. But some are… enough to perhaps make a difference.”
The Lord of the Forest’s tone brooks no argument and the Keeper bows his head in deference after only a moment more of hesitation.
“Very well, Lord Cenarius.”
From there, they begin freeing the prisoners who Cenarius deems trustworthy enough to do battle. There are some ancient horrors that the Watchers have managed to shackle in the depths of the Barrows beneath Hyjal, but there are also some Night Elves who might still fight for their people… and of anyone, Lord Cenarius is decidedly the best for picking and choosing between them. He’s an excellent judge of character, after all.
But then they come to Illidan’s prison… and Califax interposes himself once more, the Keeper of the Grove clearing his throat.
“Ah… perhaps you mistake which cell this is, Lord Cenarius. The Betrayer lurks behind this gate. A terrible evil that must remain here at all costs… I’m sure you’d agree.”
Here, Tyrande finds she can no longer stay quiet. Growling, she strides forward.
“Illidan was one of our people’s greatest heroes once! He can become that again, if you would just give him a chance! Surely ten millennia is more than enough time to hold anyone in chains!”
The Keeper scoffs, shaking his head.
“You are distraught, Priestess. I am so very sorry for your loss. But Illidan Stormrage is nothing but a monster and we do not free monsters, we chain them.”
Before Tyrande can respond… Cenarius’ hand falls upon her shoulder.
“Hold. The Priestess is right, Keeper. Illidan Stormrage has an opportunity here for redemption. We shall see if he takes it. Stand aside.”
Here, the Keeper looks… quite aggrieved. His eyes flicker between all of them, and he grimaces.
“… I would feel much better if the Warden were here to give her approval on this matter. Maiev Shadowsong and her second are both away on a mission right now… they will not be pleased to find their original prisoner missing when they return.”
Tyrande almost blows up at that, but before she can launch into a tirade about how little she cares about Maiev’s pleasure, Cenarius’ branches tighten on her shoulder and he speaks in her place with a level tone.
“Illidan will not be missing. He will be in my custody and Warden Shadowsong may take it up with me if she feels personally wronged upon her return.”
For a long second, Keeper Califax looks like he STILL might try to stop them. But in the end, a Keeper of the Grove’s loyalty to the Lord of the Forest runs deep… deeper even than Califax’s loyalty to the Watchers it would seem. Tyrande can’t help but wonder when they became so… fractious. Was she not the leader of their people? Was Lord Cenarius not their shepherd, a Forest Demigod who had helped lead their people down the right path for so very long?
Thankfully, Califax finally steps aside, bowing his head in silence, allowing for Tyrande to step forward and fire a radiant arrow at the lock on Illidan’s prison. The gate flies open and suddenly… he’s there.
“Tyrande…”
Tyrande smiles shakily, even as tears well up in her eyes. Illidan steps forward, free for the first time in ten thousand years. His eyes, burnt out so long ago and replaced by flame, are hidden behind his blindfold but he looks upon her all the same, as though she is the most beautiful thing he’s seen in far, far too long.
And yet, a shadow is cast over their reunion, one of massive proportions.
“Illidan, I…”
He steps forward then, and reaches up, brushing a finger across her cheek and the tear away just as it falls from her eye.
“I know. I heard. Malfurion is… dead?”
Lord Cenarius is the one who answers that, intoning deeply.
“Trapped, young Stormrage. His physical body was slain by the Scourge and raised as a shambling undead. It had to be destroyed. But his spirit lives on in the Emerald Dream… for now.”
Illidan takes this in, tilting his head in Cenarius’ direction to show he’s listening for a moment, but never taking his eyes off of her. His hand remains on her cheek and Tyrande leans into his touch, letting a shaky breath leave her lips.
“I see… I never thought… it is much too ignoble an end for a brother of mine.”
A watery laugh escapes Tyrande’s lips at that. It’s the sort of thing Illidan would say. She can tell he’s grieving just as much as she is though. He has to be. For all their quarrels, for all their heartache… they were brothers. He loved Malfurion as much as she did. Tyrande knows this to be true. She-
Tyrande blinks, her thought process brought to a jarring halt as Illidan moves his hand from her cheek to her chin. Tucking his fingers under her chin against the hollow of her throat, he lets out a low sigh.
“Tyrande…”
He’s looking at her like… well, like he hasn’t seen her in ten-thousand years. Which is fair. But she would have expected more grief in his eyes. He did just lose his brother, after all. Instead, Tyrande sees a flash of something else in her old friend’s gaze. Something akin to triumph. To lust. It’s gone as quickly as it comes, and Illidan leans forward, pressing his forehead to her own.
“Do not worry, Tyrande. I am here for you. Now and forever. My brother might be lost to us… but at least we still have each other.”
Tyrande’s heart seizes in her chest. Surely he didn’t mean what she thought he meant, did he? But… no. The worst thing was, he probably meant it both ways. For her, Illidan clearly intended the words to mean one thing, but she can tell that inwardly, he means something else entirely. He meant… he meant to replace his brother. He meant to have her at long last. Maybe not now. Maybe not this moment… but some day he would try and claim her.
In that moment, Tyrande feels something ugly and twisted well up in her chest. Her facial features contort and she pushes herself away from the brother that she didn’t choose.
“N-No… No, Illidan.”
He looks at her, shocked… and then anger spreads across his features.
“What do you mean, no?”
Tears prick at her eyes, but it’s best that she say this now, even if she does have quite the audience. She wishes they could have talked this out privately, but it’s obvious this needs to be dealt with as quickly as possible. In the end, they simply don’t have the time for her to be gentle.
“We will never be together in that way, Illidan. Malfurion was my mate. You… you are my friend.”
Those last words are thrown on in an attempt at a soothing balm, but even Tyrande can admit that she says them almost as an afterthought, in an effort to assuage the pain she knows she’s likely causing him. But even still, she can’t let him think that there’s a chance between them. Just because Malfurion is… just because her mate is lost, does not mean she loves Illidan Stormrage.
For a long moment, Illidan Stormrage just stares at her. And then, with a snarl, he whips around… and flees. Tyrande chokes as the Demon Hunter runs from the prison, vanishing too fast for anyone to react. There are some aborted attempts of course, chief among them Keeper Califax who lets out a low growl.
“Damnations! Lord Cenarius, I would remind you that you said the prisoner would remain in your custody! That he would help you fight the Burning Legion! And now he’s fled!”
Before Cenarius can reply, someone else speaks up, surprising everyone in the room, Tyrande included. It’s the orc druid, the one called Rognak who clears his throat.
“Well… we’ll have to go after him, of course. But if we chase after him too loudly, he’s only going to go to ground all the faster. Let’s follow… at a distance until he’s calmed down.”
The Keeper of the Grove looks ready to ask just who Rognak thinks he is, only for Cenarius to nod his head in agreement.
“The young druid speaks true. Come. Illidan will not get far. The woods above are still mine after all, no matter how demon infested they have become.”
And so they leave the Keeper fuming. And Tyrande is left reeling, wondering if letting Illidan free was a mistake after all.
