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Darkshore is, in a word, dark. There is no life in the trees, no wisps to be seen. No Ancient Protectors patrolling. He can’t protect his people, or the wilds. He hopes that whatever plan Tyrande has will make up for that.
They meet up in the southern edges that border Ashenvale, and Malfurion has enough presence of mind to ensure he’s placing himself between Illidan and Maiev as much as possible when they reach the shores and begin to search for clues. Illidan is tense, but mostly with worry for Tyrande.
The champions land on the beach and fight back the forsaken while Illidan uses his spectral sight and hones in on a wreck, which they quickly discover is Tyrande’s ship.
Picking through it, Malfurion finds her bow, a book, and a bridle.
The book, he hands to Maiev. The bow, to Shandris. The bridle is Ash’alah’s, and he looks around for the nightsaber worriedly. He cannot think about Tyrande directly right now, or he will break.
The tome has worrying insight. Maiev and Sira seem to instantly know what it means, murmuring about the ‘Night Warrior’, something that Malfurion has never heard of. Illidan, however, goes still. Having been highly attuned to his brother since he was attacked, Malfurion instantly notices and glances at his twin.
“If it is the Night Warrior… that power kills the wielder. Every time it has been attempted, but one.”
Malfurion’s heart freezes in his chest and he forgets to breathe entirely. Tyrande… what is she doing?
“The Betrayer is right,” Maiev’s voice, as always, comes out half-snarled, but Malfurion does not imagine the slight flinch in Illidan’s wings. “The ritual will kill her if she attempts it. We need to get to Auberdine, now.”
They re-board the boat in silence, and Malfurion places himself between his brother and the rest of them, wondering if Illidan coming along was a good idea. The tension he can feel under the demon hunter’s skin has only increased, writhing with something uncomfortable and lonely. He reaches out and puts his hand on Illidan’s where it sits on the rail of the ship. It doesn’t seem to help, but at least his brother does not flinch again.
After a moment, the heavy wings creak slightly and the one nearer to Malfurion encircles his shoulders. Illidan’s not speaking, but he is at least still communicating. The druid hums softly, sending his support through their bond. Illidan sends back determination.
It’s not comforting.
They reach Auberdine, or the ruins of it, and hunt for the relic that Tyrande apparently needs. Maiev sends Sira to scout the coast, which does nothing to relax Illidan. They find the empty altar- Tyrande has taken the Eye of Elune already. Still, there is no sign of her, and Malfurion wants to scream, or cry, or lie down in the dirt and never get up again. He does none of those things, because before he has the chance they are ambushed.
“You’re just in time!” The horse-mounted forsaken cackles before summoning a huge, blight-ridden abomination.
Illidan takes the thing down quickly. Unfortunately, the forsaken then orders a series of others to Blight the land directly in front of the group, trapping them. While Illidan takes to the air, he’s not able to get close enough to actually bring down any of the forsaken without choking on the Blight. He throws his glaives, and they lodge in the Blighted ground and two of the five.
Malfurion watches the sickly green, similar to fel but so different, march toward him and feels sick.
“Ash’al theredas!” Maiev calls, and the arcane rings like a bell as it kills the remaining forsaken and clears a path through the Blight. He, she and Shandris hurry through it as it begins to creep again, choking on the fetid air.
Illidan flies in lazy circles above them, and Malfurion hears a shunk! As the glaives fly back up to their master.
“Coward,” Maiev spits on the ground as they move onward, and Malfurion does not have the strength to chastise her. His eyes are fixed on a white saber, loping toward them.
“Ash’alah!” Shandris runs to meet the nightsaber, scratching under her ears. Malfurion follows, footsteps heavy, heart heavier. She is leaving everything behind. Him. Her. Shandris.
What does this deathly ritual do?
The saber is miserable, but Malfurion manages to calm her, and soon enough she is leading them further inland, Illidan continuing to circle above.
Could you check on Sira? These woods are clearly treacherous. Malfurion sends lightly, knowing it will distract his brother to have something to do.
Things go rather quickly, from there.
They find Tyrande.
She’s performing the ritual. It is too late to stop her, so instead they defend her.
Against all hope, it works.
Her eyes open, black as night, and she smites the Horde surrounding them like they are nothing.
Malfurion finds himself intimidated, and not in a pleasant way. He swallows it down, and follows Tyrande’s lead. She sends Shandris and Maiev away.
They head toward Lor’danel Landing and encounter the same forsaken commander, who tries to bait their rage, as if they are not weary with it. It’s quick work to swallow the man’s forces into the ground with the root system of Darkshore on his side. Tyrande says to let him rot, and so Malfurion does. The darkness emanating off of her is palpable and he shivers with it.
“Nathanos Blightcaller lurks nearby with a pair of the Banshee Queen’s Valkyr,” she informs him. “Have Illidan find them.”
Illidan has, in fact, already found them, as evidenced by the deep and frantic focus Malfurion finds when he reopens their bond. He gets an impression of the shore, the buildings, just North of Lor’danel, and tells Tyrande such.
“Wait for my signal,” she tells Malfurion before taking off running.
Malfurion wonders if she sees him as someone who will follow her to the ends of the world, even after hurting him so deeply. (He is.)
He shifts into his lesser used saber form and takes off, sticking to the shadows.
(She will always be the best of them.)
When they reach the shore at different angles, Illidan is back-to-back with a Warden, protecting her with his glaives as she cradles a stomach wound. Blightcaller has half a dozen Dark Rangers under his command and they seem taller than they should be, and Malfurion realises in horror what has happened.
Of course.
Because the kaldorei cannot find peace, even in death.
He can hear Sira pleading with one of them even as the blades clash, heavy arrows knocked aside by wings and glaives and felfire.
And then-
“ BLIGHTCALLER!”
Tyrande is on the group, and Darkness falls.
One of the two Valkyr says, “We need more time!”
Illidan lets out a short, sharp laugh in the dark.
Malfurion holds his breath.
“I do not stand alone!” Tyrande calls out, and that is his cue.
Nathanos says something suitably witty, and it is with great pleasure that Malfurion roots each and every undead with feet on the beach. He is gentler with the kaldorei, but he cannot afford to not hold them at all.
“Your end has come!” Her voice is sharp, though he cannot see her. There is a flash of moonlight in the dark, and Nathanos screams out, along with one of the Valkyr.
“Witch! You will pay dearly for that!”
The dark fades as rapidly as it has come, and Malfurion is treated to the sight of Nathanos Blightcaller, without his shoes, behind carried away by the remaining Valkyr.
His boots remain entangled on the beach, along with six undead night elves, one dead Valkyr and the body of Delaryn Summermoon.
Tyrande is watching Nathanos get further away with a frown. He shifts to his elven form and steps closer to her, his ex-wife, and wonders if things will ever be normal between them again.
“Hm. Our forces gather. The time has come to reclaim our home.”
Her black eyes bore into his, but Malfurion is used to unsettling eyes. “What do you need from me?” He asks, voice gentle.
She seems surprised he would ask. “Nothing, for now. But be ready.”
The dismissal hurts less than he thought it would.
-
Later, he and Illidan stand between the half-dozen Undead and Maiev, arms folded. “They did not choose this, and yet you blame them,” Illidan snarls, flighty and anxious and wrathful.
Malfurion feels like the world has taken on a darker tint since they left for Darkshore. The contrast is more obvious in the brightness of Stormwind. Maiev, especially, seems crueller. Colder.
“They are a security risk!”
“They were in Blightcaller’s presence for five minutes, all of which Moonwarden and I were there for!”
Sira is a bit of a sore point. She still hasn’t woken up from whatever poison was on Blightcaller’s weapon. The healers say she’ll be alright, but… it does not help.
“You know as well as I that your word counts for nothing, betrayer!”
Illidan has gotten so brave, Malfurion thinks. But he should not have to take all of Maiev’s attention like that, not ever.
“Lady Shadowsong. I will personally vouch for these six. I’m sure the Ebon Blade know how to help them adjust. They could be a risk, but that is not their fault and we cannot abandon our people,” He steps forward, drawing Maiev’s eyes and her ire. “You may be in charge of our forces, but I lead our people while she is absent. Not you. Do not let your position put ideas into your head.”
Maiev has lost and she knows it, so she simply sweeps out of the room.
Illidan… sighs, and steps closer to Malfurion, brushing their shoulders together. It’s something like comfort.
Malfurion sighs too.
And then there are the six elves, undead and miserable and probably losing faith in Elune by the second. Not that Malfurion blames them for that.
He takes a deep, calming breath and starts by asking their names.
-
Even later, Malfurion leads Illidan back to his quarters in Stormwind Keep. His brother is shut-down, too wrung out to do anything but follow like a lost fledgeling.
It hurts, deeply. The day has been rough on them both, for their own reasons.
It hurts even more when he coaxes his brother to sit and something about it triggers a panic attack that he must have been holding back all day.
Illidan, who has had to face his ghosts down more than once today and had wardens at his back. Illidan, who needs peace more than anyone.
Illidan, who struggles to breathe when he’s scared.
Malfurion sits beside him, murmuring gentle words of encouragement and holding his hand. He knows how to pull his brother down from this, how to peel away the panic until all is left is Illidan, shivering and exhausted.
Eventually, Illidan allows him to pull him into the bed where they curl up around each other as if they were boys again. Those times are long-gone now, locked behind millenia of marching years. All they have left is each other.
“We’ll get through this,” Malfurion murmurs, as much for himself as for his twin.
Illidan just tucks his face into Malfurion’s beard and stays there.