Into the Light

30 | THE GREATER PRIZE

Illidan waited for Tyrande to recover. It took a long time. He hung outside her sphere, his palms and forehead pressed against its smooth surface, watching her, searching her for clues, so he could piece together what could have caused the disturbing scene he had just witnessed.

Tyrande was safe in that sphere, nothing could harm her in there. And nothing had gotten in, because he would have stopped it. It had to have been something in her dream--but what sort of dream could affect Tyrande like that? She was the strongest woman he knew.

He caught himself running his fingers against the sphere's smooth surface, as though stroking her hair, somehow the useless act helped soothe him, calm him, and ease his loneliness. He had never seen her so undone. He wondered if her mind had shattered under the intense pressure of being separated from her body. He longed to speak with her, to ask her what she was thinking, to tell him about her dream, so he could help her, but he held his tongue. He would not push her, he knew she would speak when she was ready.

He waited, patient. Hoping Elune wouldn't feel the need to continue healing him just yet. He still had a long way to go to come anywhere close to his full strength, but he was in no hurry to keep going when he saw the price Tyrande was being forced to pay. So long as the tethers had stopped, he was fine right where he was. He turned and leaned his back against the sphere. Perhaps if he wasn't watching her all the time, she might feel better. He crossed his arms over his chest, and looked out over the time streams, trying and failing not to think of Tyrande. A long time passed, he began to feel the tug of sleep. He closed his eyes, and dreamed of her calling his name. It came again, louder.

"Illidan?"

He jerked awake and turned back to the sphere. Tyrande hung in the middle watching him, wary.

"Did you call me?"

She nodded. He waited, his eyes on hers. She looked away, uncomfortable. He realised she didn't want to look at him. He recalled how she had tried to distance herself from him when she had woken up. Had he done something to her in her dream? Her behaviour made no sense. Surely she could see a dream was not real, just a trick of her mind. Once she spoke about it she would feel better. He softened his voice, made ragged from his endless shrieks of pain.

"Tyrande, please tell me what happened. Let me help you overcome this."

"I dreamed of you, you--" she pressed her lips together and blinked, falling back into her thoughts. She shook her head. He pressed his hands against the sphere, willing her to carry on, desperate to understand. What had he done to her? Whatever it was, he could make it right. She just had to tell him, so he could reassure her it had not been him, but an image of him created in her mind.

He almost couldn't bear to ask the question, but she wasn't saying anything. He had to know. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," she answered, low. She wrapped her arms around herself, defensive, and half-turned her body from him. She glanced at him, furtive, over her shoulder. "You were tied spread-eagled with fel tethers, but you had fiery tendrils coming out of you. You were holding me in the air. I couldn't move, couldn't speak. You kissed me, you tried to make love to me using the light of the Dark Titan."

He stared at her, understanding, sickened. Her lose of composure, her distress, the things she had cried out; if she could feel it here, it meant it was happening to her there. It was no dream, it was real, and she knew it. He roared, wishing he had his demon hunter form back. He longed for his power, to be able to break free of this place and take his revenge against Gul'dan. The memory of Tyrande panicking, beating at her legs, trying to get something off her replayed in his mind, vivid, visceral. He shuddered. Even he, as Lord of the Black Temple had never once forced himself on his concubines. It was vile.

Illidan pushed away from the sphere and let himself fall away. The sphere containing Tyrande receded into the infinite distance, becoming a speck. Rage consumed him. Where was Malfurion? How could he have let this happen to Tyrande? He screamed, venting his fury into the Nether. It wasn't enough. He tore at his chest, cutting deep into himself, savouring the feel of his blood leaving his body. He needed to feel pain. It wasn't enough he was being transformed into Sargeras's avatar, now the Dark Titan had taken his beloved too, and was using Illidan's body to possess hers. How dare Sargeras violate her? His hands clenched into fists. He screamed, furious, at the nothingness.

He did not need to imagine what she had experienced, he felt it well enough when the pieces of his soul were corrupted by Gul'dan; could feel them being fed into his body, could sense his growing power, and the dangerous seduction of it. Why hadn't he sensed her? Perhaps it was for the best, he didn't want to know what he was doing to her. But it would explain why Gul'dan had stopped sending tethers after Illidan. He had captured a greater prize: Tyrande. It had been a long time since Elune had sent her Light to Illidan, now he knew why. The Goddess didn't want to attract Gul'dan's attention.

In the distance Tyrande's tiny speck of light grew, closing the chasm of space between them. Why? She couldn't help him anymore. Elune had fallen silent, and Gul'dan had both his and Tyrande's bodies in the Chamber, using them for his own purposes. The only hope they had left was for Malfurion to save them. Illidan clenched his jaw, bitter. His useless brother was in over his head. Malfurion couldn't even protect Tyrande when he had her. Illidan would never have let that happen. Tyrande approached, fast. He turned his back to her. He couldn't look at her, so deep was his shame for having tried to violate her. He sensed whatever feelings she had left for him were gone, forever. He wished the tethers would come. He needed the pain, wanted it, anything to distract him from knowing he had lost the only woman he had ever loved.