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Maiev faltered, staggered, as she pulled her chakram out of the felguard’s back, once, twice, the cut deep and unforgiving.
“Get out,” she cried, aware of all around her, of the steps that closed in, of the blades that were raised, just for her. “Shit.” She pulled again, freeing her blade at last. It sent her staggering back several steps, her feet catching against the arm of an Inquisitor, his orb, smashed in his hand, shards sticking out from his fel stained skin at odd angles.
It was dark. Cloudy. Humid. And she was sweating, drops falling into her thick brows, obscuring her vision.
It wasn’t meant to be like this. They were only meant to to find Sira and Kor’vas. They were only meant to bring them back. But they weren’t here, at the edge of Stormheim, where she could smell the salt of the sea; the shriek of the gulls; the roar of the sea. A trail, left behind, said they were long gone, a swarm of demons - dead and alive - crawling in their wake.
And now they were caught, never a moment to breathe, as they fought against the last of what had crawled out of a portal - a portal Illidan destroyed with his eyes, the energy of fel to fel, making Maiev’s heart, stop.
It beat again as her back collided against something - someone - and Illidan was ahead, paces away, catching a fel bat as it swooped low.
“You’re all so small,” said the Eredar, his heavy accented drawl, smooth.
It was instinct, and all Maiev could do was lift a hand before her face and blink forward, anywhere, somewhere.
In her panic, she landed atop a dead doomguard, and she slipped, her foot cracking a rib as she tried to find traction before she fell, twisting her ankle sharply, and unceremoniously.
Maiev cried out as she fell, exhausted, hot, frustrated. But she ignored the pain and stood, charging ahead with a limp as she leaped at the Eredar, but he wasn’t exhausted, hot, frustrated. He just laughed, sending out a blast of fel fire from his palm, casually.
“Maiev!” called Illidan, landing gracefully to the shore, catching a felguard’s neck with his hand. “Are you-”
“I’m fine.”
She dodged the Eredar’s flame, just, bearing her weight on her twisted ankle. It made her body shudder, but she tried to hide it. She wasn’t weak. She wasn’t.
“Are you though?” said the Eredar, extending a hand, slowly.
Maiev paused - and the second she saw his fingers curl, she knew she shouldn’t have. She was too slow. Too slow and weak. She tried to move as she saw the whip of fel fire, coiled like a viper as it bit around her ankle, searing through the mail, the leather, to her skin. And then he pulled, sending Maiev to her back, and she felt something crack.
Chakram fell, scattered, her cloak twisted beneath, the edge cut off from the chain of fel.
She tried not to cry out, she tried not to show her pain, but a sharp, short gasp - loud and desperate - passed her lips. Shit.
She was afraid.
Her helm was askew, and she couldn’t see. The sweat was pouring into her eyes, stinging. As she felt the fel chain pull against her ankle, she almost cried out for help. But he was already here.
Descending from the skies, slamming the Eredar to the ground, Illidan wasted not a breath, and cut his throat, staggering off the top of his chest as he turned to Maiev, sheathing his glaives.
“You’re welcome,” he said, watching as she threw off her helm, swearing, and sat up, messily.
“Shut up,” she hissed, pushing off her pauldrons, sighing at the release of their weight. “And help me up.”
Illidan smirked, taking hold of the arm she extended and pulled her up with ease, only for Maiev to fall right back down, crying out as she fell over on her wounded ankle.
“Damnit - damnit,” she shouted, wiping the back of her hand over her forehead, stained with sweat.
“Let me look at -”
“Touch it and I’ll castrate you,” she bit, slowly, painfully, pushing what remained of her boot off. Throwing aside the ruined leather, Maiev stared at the wound, at her fractured ankle, swollen twice the size of her other, and surrendered. “You’ll have to carry me.”
“I could have told you that,” said Illidan as he knelt known at her side an arm beneath her back, the other beneath her knees.
“Hey - hey - what-” she said, surprised - but not - at how easily he could lift her. And she fell against his chest, exhausted, hot, frustrated.
“You want me to carry you. I’m carrying you,” said Illidan, his voice monotone, as large, powerful hands held her steady.
“Like this?” she said, trying to shift in his hold, only finding herself turn closer against his chest. She could feel the outline of his tattoos near burn through her leathers and mail.
“I can always carry you slung over my shoulder. You might get a wing in the face, but then again - silver lining,” said Illidan through a lopsided smile as he made to move her, to hoist her over a broad shoulder.
But Maiev resisted. She scrambled against his chest, and with her arms, she latched, around his neck, her claws twisting in his black hair. “You dare-” she whispered, her eyes slanted.
“I didn’t think so,” he said, reinforcing his grip. “Hold tight. We’re going up.”
With a bend of the knees, Illidan pushed them up, up, and towards the sky, his wings flexing powerfully as they left the shore, the bodies and her discarded armour behind.
Illidan breathed deeply, enjoying the night air as it sailed beneath his wings, his hair, over their sweat stained skin. Of all the things he had become, this was one thing he liked. To fly. To be free. Above, beyond, away, just he, and the sky.
And as he looked down at the curled Warden in his arms - trembling - Maiev, too.
“You’re shaking,” he said, feeling her hands tighten behind his neck.
She said nothing.
“Maiev,” he pressed, rolling a thumb along her side.
Fingers twisted through his hair - then she spoke. “I’m afraid of heights - of flying.”
Illidan rolled his thumb again, and descended, slowly, the spread of his wings making him glide, effortlessly, against the lip of the breeze.
“What are you doing?” she asked, lifting her head.
“Walking,” he said as hooves met ground, with a click.
“It’s at least four hours walk to camp,” she said, fingers wrapping against his neck, gently, the edge of her claws tracing a tattoo. His wings came around to his side, the edge brushing against her shoulder, embracing her, making her shiver.
“Then I’ll walk for four hours.”
Maiev’s head rested back against his chest, and she could hear the beat of his heart. Steady. Steady as the click of his hooves, as the sway of his hair.
She smiled.