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“You’re going too?” said Maiev as she stepped away from the command table, her cloak billowing behind.
Illidan faltered, breaking his stride for a moment as she spoke, Jace marching ahead, not noticing his Lord had paused until he was talking to himself. Agitated, he turned to urge Illidan on, but at seeing Maiev’s presence before him, the wind whipping her long white ponytail, he kept silent, and waited.
“I have to. Kayn is injured; Kor’vas and Issari haven’t been in touch in a day, and we are stretched so thin on the Shore -” Illidan flared his wings, frustrated, his bared fel eyes closing.
“Is it - is it Suramar?” she asked, a note of longing in her words as she pushed back a fallen shock of white hair. It was a mess; she needed to bathe. When had she last slept? When had he? There was something in him that…dulled. Something that made his shoulders, drop; that made his ears, flat.
“Yes,” he said, gazing towards the tall spire of Nighthold, pushing through a swathe of thin clouds. An arrogant upstart of Nightborne, still loyal to the Legion, had thrown themselves back at Suramar, pick, picking away at the camps around the city, ambushing, with a dagger to the back. They figured the distraction of the Broken Shore was enough. It helped.
Maiev clenched her hand, nails scratching against her palm. “Haven’t they learned; haven’t they given up?” she said, thinking of Suramar - missing it. She hadn’t yet had time to step upon it’s reclaimed steps and relive, a memory. A good memory. Did she still have them?
“The Legion haven’t given up, our whole lifetime and beyond,” he said, turning back to face Maiev. “Why start now?”
The light of his eyes, waned, but beneath the fel green, Maiev saw a memory of when he could see; when his eyes shone gold, with promise of greatness; with promise to be something.
You did, though. You did great things. Great and terrible things. And you became something; you became - this.
She did still have good memories. So far and away - faded by the claws of time; by the weight of her choices, heavy, heavy on her shoulders.
“I want to come,” she said, holding his gaze; holding her breath.
“Maiev - we need you here,” said Khadgar from the side, interrupting this - this - a memory etched real, now - becoming something.
Illidan, said nothing.
He watched her war with herself, her words, her heart. She gave so very little away, with every nuance of her expression, her posture, so closed and brittle. But he remembered. He knew.
Even with eyes that could not see as they once did; with a heart that beat, laced with fel; with a demon’s soul that clawed, pushed and pulled - that had become as much Illidan as it.
He knew.
Did she?
The wind coiled around her, painting her outline for him as her cloak rippled; as her hair shifted like a dance, caught in the lip of the wind with a snap, a swirl, catching in the elaborate curves of her armour, aglow beneath Elune’s light.
“They need you here, Maiev,” he said, gently, his wings curving around his side, slowly, slowly, the clawed tips almost reaching, touching, her arms.
“What about what I need?” she said, her eyebrows tilting, just a little, just enough, as she stepped forward - once - pausing mid stride, mid breath.
“And what is that?” he asked, only for her. The tips of his wings slid along her arms, timid. Illidan watched, as she parted her lips, words falling, soundless. He could feel the tremor in her body beneath the touch of his wings, so slight, light, that only he remembered; that only he knew.
“My Lord,” said Jace at his side, approaching with caution. “We need-”
“I know,” he said, giving his Illidari a glance, before he turned back to Maiev, her statuesque pose, elegant, unwavering, as if frozen in time, woven in memory.
And then he stepped back, pulling back his wings.
“Stay safe, Maiev.”
She watched him leave. She watched, counting her breaths, counting his steps, counting the hours.
Come back…alive.