i needed to go ’cause i needed to know you don’t need me
you reap what you sow, but it seems like you don’t even see me(love can’t be measured in steady steps)
(one day, i am a god, then i crumble next)you say it to me like it’s something i have any choice in
if i wasn’t important, then why would you waste all your poison?— lo vas a olvidar
Chapter 1: fall…
Maiev Shadowsong had never been one to gawk. Her mother—Elune be with her—drilled it into her children that one’s eyes should always be fixed ahead, chin held high with pride. It was hardly ever worth it to so much as peer down your nose at another, even if you were above whomever it may be. Maiev, of course, couldn’t help it at times what with the incompetence she lied witness to. But she certainly wasn’t peering down her nose this time. No, not once had she found herself so fascinated by the visage of another that she would stare in wonder of all things…
Least of all, a male.
As she was wont to do nearing the evening, Maiev had taken a stroll through the courtyard with the intention to sit upon the mighty fountain at the very center with her current tome in hand. She would bask in the light of the rising moon to commune with her beloved goddess. Such a task required a serene place, and the Temple of Elune had an exceptional courtyard—nothing compared.
Except for tonight as a tall, strong figure paced the curve of the fountain. Maiev watched as he pulled his dark blue hair free of its bindings, the tresses brushing against his broad shoulders like silk. If he did so to improve his appearance, Maiev could only applaud his decision. Much better than the rat’s tail, she thought. His hair is much too short.
He turned then, allowing her a proper look at his face. He had a strong jaw, slight cheekbones, and a pair of amber eyes. He scowled as he peered down into the fountain—displeased with his appearance, perhaps?
Maiev swallowed her hesitation, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. In the blink of an eye, she was behind him, slightly off kilter. She peered up in the direction of where the moon would rise, briefly cursing the gift Elune had granted to her. It was most welcome, yes, but not when she was attempting to get a male’s attention for once in her life. Besides, she was no coward; she would have approached regardless of the stone in her stomach.
“You should leave it that way,” Maiev spoke up, her voice more confident than she felt, “or bear the rat’s tail, as it were.” She knew the smile she wished to flash was absent from her face, neutrality etched into her firm lips.
The male furrowed his brows. “And who are you?”
Admittedly, his haughty hostility caught her off guard. Maiev scoffed, never one to accept anyone’s ire without a fight. “Priestess Maiev Shadowsong.” Her scowl rivaled his, now peering down her nose at him despite him being a head taller. “You are occupying my space, outsider.”
Without hesitation, she pushed past him to sit upon the fountain. The tome, heavy in her hands, plopped dramatically into her lap as if to illustrate her authority. “It is I who should be asking who you are.”
The male scoffed, a nasty smirk tugging at the corners of his beautiful mouth. “You’re hardly worth a breath. What makes you worthy of knowing my name?”
“Well,” she began, opening her tome to where she left off, “you’re here to visit someone, are you not?” It was a guess, but from the way his shoulders tensed, she had been correct. “If so, then it isn’t about worth, but rather, whether I will fetch them for you.”
Maiev refused him even a glance, holding her head high as her silver eyes glazed over her tome.
“Illidan.”
Only now would she look at him, lips parting as she exhaled a smug breath. “Illidan,” she enunciated. Maiev would never admit it, but she liked the way his name rolled off her tongue. His name tasted sweet, granting a vision of speaking it for the rest of her life. “Just Illidan?”
His scowl seemed permanently affixed to his face, though he spoke with his chest puffed with pride. “Illidan Stormrage.”
A mighty name for a mighty male. Maiev forgot herself for a moment, snatching her gaze away as she fought to maintain her pride. “And who do you seek, Illidan Stormrage?”
“Tyrande Whisperwind.”
Unable to help herself, Maiev glowered. “Hmm, why?”
“I do not believe that is any of your concern, priestess,” he snarled.
Before Maiev could respond in kind, a soft voice lilted, “Illidan,” from behind her.
Mother Moon… Maiev sighed, lips puckering with displeasure. She hadn’t even been needed to fetch the novice priestess. Of course, she would arrive of her own accord, as if guided by destiny.
The senior priestess watched as Illidan’s eyes softened, a gentle smile pulling his grimace out of place. “Tyrande.”
And Maiev burned.
***
It wasn’t often she wore her softest silks. It had been many moons since they’d last hosted any celebrations. But from the way Maiev had dressed herself that day, many of her sisters were curious if there’d been some announcement they missed from the High Priestess. Was Maiev finally due to be named Dejahna’s successor; or perhaps she was called to Zin-Azshari for an audience with the Queen? Or—how scandalous—was she preparing to do a binding ceremony with a secret lover?
She had been acting strange lately. Some would say she’d finally gone soft, others would say she was merely too distracted to lash out that sharp tongue of hers. But if that were the case, what male would possibly mate with Maiev Shadowsong?
Those were just some of the whispers Maiev had heard in regards to her choice of vestments, and admittedly, some of the comments successfully screeched against her metaphorical armor. Maiev was well-aware she wasn’t a very desirable person. Despite kaldorei females being regaled for their ferocity, it seemed Maiev did not tread the line close enough for the liking of eligible bachelors. There was no room for weakness for Maiev. Softness had no place in her bones, nor her tongue.
It was the reason the males she’d interacted with in the past ran in the opposite direction, polite smiles excusing themselves to avoid her wrath. And if she were desperate, perhaps she could accommodate her mate’s needs by making herself smaller—agreeable. But, by Elune, why should she be the one to change?
If a male could not handle her in all her ferocity, he was not worthy of her devotion. And embarrassingly, someone she felt might be worthy was the exact reason for her fanciful appearance—not that she would ever openly admit to it.
Illidan Stormrage would visit the temple again that day.
Religiously, he would come visit Tyrande Whisperwind at the same time each week for the past few months. It was obvious to Maiev—and anyone who had seen them together—that Illidan was attempting to court Tyrande. But it was also obvious that the novice priestess did not reciprocate his affections in the slightest, making it a futile endeavor.
Though she shouldn’t have, Maiev took pleasure in his humiliation. She enjoyed the way Tyrande rebuffed his attempts to come closer and the fear in his eyes when she pulled away. It was better than any tome open in her lap—even better than the moonlight lapping at her skin. Truly, Maiev could not help but wonder when the stubborn male would give up; when those amber eyes might flutter elsewhere…
When they might look her way.
Maiev shook her head of such thoughts, frowning. Ridiculous. His admiration was no prize. No, she was the prize, and he should’ve been honored that she would even spare a few moments of her time to speak with him as she did.
She sat upon the fountain, a new tome in hand. If she didn’t distract herself, it would be obvious that she anticipated Illidan’s arrival. This was herfavorite place. It had nothing to do with him, so she had to be careful not to misrepresent her presence in that courtyard—no matter how desperately her eyes begged to flutter toward the temple’s gates.
Soon, the crunch of grass accompanied the steady stream of water below her, wind chimes tinkling a beautiful melody in the distance.
“Ah, Maiev,” he intoned. “As expected.”
“Illidan.” Maiev sighed, flipping to the next page. “Here again, I see.”
Illidan scoffed. “You cannot fool me, priestess. You were anticipating my arrival, were you not?”
She willed herself to keep her expression neutral despite the warm flush creeping up the length of her sternum. “Anticipation? Hardly.” Truly, she despised the male before her—how dare he assume she was somehow looking forward to his visit?
Even if it was the truth.
“You are wearing the finest of silks,” he observed with a haughty lilt, “hair brushed into place with red on your cheeks. Ah, I can even see your wisdom teeth, little liar.”
Maiev snapped her tome shut. “What are you suggesting, wretch?” She stared up at him defiantly, nostrils flaring with rage.
Illidan was smirking, hands folded behind his back. “Nothing, priestess,” he insisted, “but you should know, I intend to confess today.”
“What does that have to do with me?” She swallowed back her disappointment, replacing it with contempt. “And you should know, my appearance certainly has nothing to do with you. I am a lady too.”
There was a pregnant pause, Illidan’s eyes searching Maiev’s face. “You are a female, yes,” he said carefully, “but you are hardly a lady, Maiev.”
“Illidan, you—!” Launching herself onto her feet in a frenzy, Maiev’s foot caught on a stone. She tripped forward into Illidan’s chest, her face flaring with humiliation.
Of course, Illidan burst into hysterical laughter—and yet, he allowed her to steady herself, fixed in place. She was the one to unceremoniously snatch her arms away from him. “May Elune bless your confession, mongrel!” Maiev snapped. “Trust me, you will need all the mercy she could possibly offer…”
His laughter died then, giving way to that signature scowl of his. “What are you saying, Maiev?”
“If Tyrande should answer, perhaps you’ll find need of my comfort,” she taunted, “Illidan.”
“Comfort?” He clicked his tongue with disapproval. “No, Maiev—you will get no opportunity to mock me. You’ll see.”
It was Maiev’s turn to silently glower at him, lips pressed into a firm line. She would say not another word, she merely moved past him, far from the courtyard to nurse the wounds she hid from him. All her efforts to glow—futile. She would never shine the way Tyrande did in his eyes. Instead, she was some fool; a jester for his entertainment.
Little did Maiev know she would not see Illidan again under such petty circumstances.
***
“Sisters, we have more wounded!” Maiev stumbled into the Temple of Elune, a male slung over her shoulder as he gripped at the bleeding hole punched through his stomach. At the behest of a desperate traveler, Maiev rushed to the site of an alleged demon attack, discovering an entire caravan of injured night elves.
As if they didn’t have enough people to treat already.
Elune, please, grant us strength! Maiev assisted the kaldorei into a cot, a flurry of activity as the wounded who could walk on their own spilled into the temple. Without a beat, Maiev barked orders at her sisters, guiding more of the wounded to available cots. “Mirana! We need more water!”
“Yes, my lady!”
“Illyria, gather the children into the Chapel of Moonlight!”
“At once, Lady Maiev!”
Maiev looked around in flurry before her eyes landed upon two of their most ferocious priestesses. “Naisha, Calythra!” The two females rushed to Maiev, faces hardened with anticipation. “The caravan is to the east of the city wall—arm yourselves! Check for anymore survivors, and if not…” Maiev swallowed back her sorrow. “Reclaim those who were lost.”
“Of course, my lady!”
As they departed, Maiev’s chest heaved with emotion. The Chamber of the Moon echoed with a cacophony of suffering. Screams of the wounded, wails for the fallen, and all the tears wept pouring over the mezzanine from survivors above—she could hear it all. It reverberated within the hollow of her skull, rattling the ridges of her clenched teeth. It was between her calloused knuckles, chilling her bones until she was frozen with despair.
But she could not weep herself. No, Maiev could only feel rage.
“Lady Maiev, we’re losing her!” Maiev spun about, finding another one of her sisters with a female sputtering blood. The silver light from her hands was fading rapidly. “I cannot sustain the light she needs. It is more than I can give!”
The High Priestess was away from the temple, meeting with Lord Ravencrest at Black Rook Hold. They could not rely on Dejahna’s gifts at that moment—damn it all! Maiev gritted her teeth, recognizing the challenge Elune had put before her. If any of us could bring this soul back from the shadows, it would be her.
“Where is Tyrande?” She looked up, eyes scanning the chamber, but she could not find the young priestess anywhere. Maiev felt the blood rush to her ears, enraged by the absence of the one person they needed gravely. “Tyrande!” Maiev cried, launching up onto her feet.
Though she ripped through the temple in a fury, the senior priestess ensured to mind the survivors scattered about. “Where are you, Tyrande?!” Rushing through the sprawling halls of their home, Maiev burst through every closed door she’d come across. Never would she have predicted she’d seek out Tyrande Whisperwind of all people with such fervor.
And at last, she heard that familiar lilt. Her words were hushed so Maiev could not make out what was being said, but she knew—oh, she knew she was not alone. Unable to hold back her fury, Maiev burst through the door, eyes flashing with a power she kept buried. “TYRANDE!”
If she had slowed for a moment, Maiev might’ve felt shock from who stood in the room with Tyrande, holding her hands in his palms. Tyrande backed away from the mighty kaldorei male, green locks hanging down to his waist. “Maiev, what is—?”
“Do not speak!” Maiev spat. “You are needed under the mezzanine—at once!” Her shoulders shook, glowering at the pair. “People are dying, Tyrande, and you’re off participating in a tryst.”
“That is not—!” Malfurion Stormrage attempted to bellow, but was quieted by Tyrande.
“No, Furion, she is right. I must go!” Not a second more. Tyrande rushed past Maiev.
After a firm look in Malfurion’s direction, Maiev followed after her. She hadn’t been expecting Malfurion Stormrage when Maiev breached that room, and as much as she was disappointed in Tyrande, she was also relieved.
Relieved that it was not the twin with the silky hair and bright amber eyes; the twin that wrapped his limbs around her mind and set it on fire. With everything happening, it had been easier to dismiss the thought of him, but every once in awhile, his memory would press itself like a blade against her throat. A part of her had hoped to see him again, even if it meant watching him drown in Tyrande’s hands.
But maybe it was for the best that they never crossed paths again.
They returned to the sputtering female, Tyrande getting to work immediately. “Aid me, sisters! Pray to Elune!”
The other priestesses in the area gathered around Tyrande at once, the silver glow from her palms growing into a blinding light. Maiev stepped back, holding her breath as she felt Elune’s blessings all around them. Every gaping wound, every broken bone, all the pain and sadness. She was there with them, guided by Tyrande’s hands. Oh, Mother Moon…
Maiev had to remind herself to breathe—though, breathing brought little comfort.
It was at that moment Maiev knew that, no matter how hard she prayed nor what good she did, Elune would never favor her the way she favored Tyrande Whisperwind. The senior priestess backed away slowly, a wild fire burning a hole through her belly. There, in the Temple of Elune, Maiev’s greatest flaw was born…
Her resentment.
Tyrande had brought the injured kaldorei back from the brink of death. With a smile on her face, she quickly left the other sisters to tend to her, excusing herself to rest. But Maiev knew where she was going. Back into Malfurion’s arms after playing savior… She was disgusted, but not with Tyrande.
It was herself Maiev held such disdain for.
She wiped her brow, breathing out a sigh of relief as activity died. Naisha and Calythra still hadn’t returned, so she could not rest just yet, but she would at least slow down to conserve her strength. Maiev was always the first to wake and the last to rest. She couldn’t help it. Even if she tried to rest at the behest of others, she simply couldn’t.
Maiev briefly closed her eyes as she leaned against a wall nearby, whispering a prayer to Elune under her breath in hopes that her light would ease her aching bones and provide her with a new burst of energy. In her trance, she heard the foyer door slam open, bringing a hope of her sisters’ return.
“Where is Tyrande?” A gruff voice demanded, cracking through sharp breaths.
Immediately, Maiev’s eyes fixed themselves onto the shuffling form of Illidan Stormrage, doubled over in pain. Blood steadily dripped across the stone ground, a single fist held taut against his stomach. “Illidan!” Maiev marched over, grabbing up his free arm to help carry his weight. “Sisters, let’s get him to a room, quickly!”
Illidan grunted as they moved him through the halls, pulling him into a priestess’ quarters. “Where is Tyrande? I need Tyrande…”
Maiev gritted her teeth. “You need healing, Illidan.” After placing him onto the mattress, she turned to the sisters aiding her. “Bring clean water and some bandages, I will examine him.”
“Yes, Lady Maiev!”
A wet cough from behind caught Maiev’s attention. “Lady Maiev,” Illidan teased. “Hardly.”
“Stop talking,” she ordered him, sitting upon the mattress by his side. “Let me examine your wound.”
Maiev began to pull at his tunic, but Illidan pushed her hands away. “No,” he fussed angrily. “Bring me Tyrande.”
“Don’t be stupid!” She disregarded his protests, pulling at his tunic until his chest was bare. Maiev focused on examining the wound, trying to ignore the way his broad chest glistened with the perspiration of his pain. “It is not deep, but we need to stop the bleeding before you become a bloodless fool.”
“As opposed to what?” Illidan coughed.
“A common one.”
Despite his scoff, Maiev believed she saw the ghost of amusement flutter upon his lips. “Is this your bedside manner, priestess? No wonder males cower in your presence.”
“Yet you do not,” she said, pressing her palm gently against his firm abdomen.
“I might if you are not more careful,” he winced, glaring down at her hand. “But…no…there is no one I fear less.”
Maiev hummed, her palm beginning to glow. She would start healing, but until she received supplies to clean his wound, there was no way to know how much further she must go. “I suppose I am lacking in ferocity then.”
Illidan chuckled weakly. “Ferocity, you have in spades, priestess. What you lack is venom.”
With a cocked brow, Maiev softly argued, “I have plenty of venom.” She was trying to concentrate on healing, pouring Elune’s light into him.
“I’ve yet to see it,” Illidan replied. “I have only seen the shallow flash of fangs.”
Maiev opened her mouth to speak, but a fellow priestess entered the room with the water and bandages she’d requested. “Thank you, sister,” she said, before glancing up at her. “Would you please inform me once Naisha and Calythra have returned? I shan’t rest until they’ve crossed that threshold.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Thank you.”
Maiev and Illidan were left alone once again. She moved from healing to cleaning temporarily, submerging a fresh bandage into the moon-blessed water. The senior priestess mopped up the blood obstructing the wound, revealing that she’d made good progress. “I’ve managed to stop the bleeding,” she told him. “I will keep going.”
Her palm began to glow once again, but weaker in lumens as her chest heaved. Mother Moon, please, I must heal him—do not leave me just yet.Exhaustion weighed down upon her shoulders, her vision growing hazy.
“You seem worn, priestess.” Illidan’s voice brought Maiev back to the moment.
She wriggled her nose, adjusting her expression in an attempt to wake herself. “I’m fine,” she insisted. “Do not worry about me. Focus on Mother Moon’s light.”
“When did you last rest, Maiev?”
“Irrelevant questions,” she spat, “I am doing just fine.”
“Fine.” He sounded unconvinced.
Maiev licked her lips nervously, trying her best to keep alert. “How did this happen?”
Yes, conversation would help for certain.
“Stumbled upon a caravan overrun with demonic filth,” Illidan recounted, a snarl upon his lips. “I gave chase—slaughtered the beasts where they stood.” There was a grunt under the weight of Maiev’s ministrations, but he continued through it. “But…there may have been misjudgment on my part for the distance of a blade.”
Maiev nodded. “I see.”
She must have made an expression too closely resembling amusement as Illidan scowled at her. “Do not mock me, Maiev.”
“I’ve done no such thing,” she said serenely. “Though you may deserve it.”
“Do you heal everyone at such a leisurely pace?”
“Hush, now.” Maiev glowered. “I’m working.” Though she diverted her gaze back to the task at hand, she could have sworn she’d seen Illidan’s eyes twinkle with mirth.
The conversation slowed as did Maiev’s movements. Without something else to focus on, she would continue to grow weaker as she worked on Illidan. I am so close…
“Tell me,” Illidan said suddenly, “how many did we save?”
Maiev gazed up at him, brows furrowed. “What?”
“The caravan,” he elaborated. “How many survived the attack?”
“Ah, um…” She felt caught off guard, unsure of his stake in the onslaught. “Well, until Naisha and Calythra return, there is not a definite number. But certainly, without the courage of a straggler, more would have been lost.”
Illidan chuckled. “He made it swiftly then.”
“Who?”
“The straggler,” he told her with a haughty grin. “I’m the one who sent him.”
Maiev paused then, glancing up. Before she could say anything, however, she realized Elune’s light had faded from her palms. But as luck would have it, she’d managed to heal the wound, leaving only the faintest of scars in its place. She clicked her tongue at her own incompetence. The senior priestess should’ve been able to heal Illidan completely…
Not leave him with a scar for a memory.
Then, as if to add insult to injury, Illidan spoke once more. “I knew Tyrande would come for them.”
Maiev felt her jaw grow taut, the edges of her vision turning red. It was as if she swallowed hot coals from a hearth, boiling within the depths of her stomach. Why was it always Tyrande regaled for her talents? Why was it always Tyrande who earned everyone’s favor?
Why was it always Tyrande Illidan twisted himself into knots for?
Her growing envy towards Tyrande Whisperwind disgusted her. Bitter root on her tongue, leaving bile to build in her belly. When Maiev looked in the mirror, she saw a kaldorei female who was most magnificent, and yet, she felt so insignificant. Her courage, her faith, her strength—it would never leap out to anyone. She would never catch admiration by the throat, doomed to cling to her loneliness. And no amount of begging would allow salvation to pull her from the precipice.
“She did not.” Attempting to curb her rage, Maiev wrung Illidan’s blood from the bandages she’d been using to dab at his wound. “I was the one who came upon the caravan. I was the one who sent for the wounded. All the while, Tyrande was…”
Despite her bitterness, she trailed off in hesitation. Then she stood, picking up the now blood-stained bowl and carrying it across the room to another table. It was for no specific reason, really—just an excuse to turn away from him so he wouldn’t see her anger. “…Indisposed.”
While she desperately wanted to dash Illidan’s hopes by informing him of what Tyrande had been doing, there was some part of her that felt it would’ve been a mercy—albeit, a mercy that shined a most foul light upon her rotten soul. Instead of implicating Tyrande herself and earning his resentment, he would have to face the cruelty of discovering her indulgence on his own.
“Indisposed?” Illidan echoed back suspiciously. “With what, exactly?”
Maiev used a clean bandage to wipe her hands of his blood. “Cannot say for certain,” she cautiously replied, “but I do know she was not where she was needed.”
“I see.”
Suddenly, there was shuffling behind her, followed by a series of grunts. Maiev turned, brows furrowed with bemusement. Illidan had been seated up in the bed, torso twisted as his arms fussed with the humble pouch on his hip.
Maiev felt a simmering in her belly, forcing her to swallow back a sudden onslaught of reverence. His broad shoulders rotated with every subtle movement, the muscles in his arms and chest flexing beneath his glistening flesh. His entire being fluttered along the length of her sternum, causing her to quiver.
She forced her eyes shut, gritting her teeth to ward away the lecherous thoughts that threatened revelation. I must rest soon—the delusions have already begun.
Illidan’s hand buried itself deep into the pouch, the fabric reaching halfway up his toned forearm. A most comical sight, indeed.
“How far does it go?” Maiev blurted.
He smirked up at her, seeming to identify her expression as awe. “It is enchanted. I like to remain agile when I travel.”
Maiev hummed to disguise her wariness. Her experience with the arcane had largely been those wayward souls of whom struggled with an addiction for it. Their society had gone from the overindulgence of arcane magic to being ripped from the teat of their Well of Eternity, so coveted by the ever-radiant Queen Azshara.
While she held the same reverence for the Queen as the rest of their people did, she felt that she too had been seduced by the arcane. It hurt Maiev’s soul to believe their most beautiful Queen could have fallen into its depths with little hope of salvation. To Maiev, the arcane was the blood of evil disguised as a blessing—necessary, but far too tempting for the common mortal.
“If Tyrande was truly so indisposed as to miss a call to action,” Illidan explained, “then I’ll be unable to give this gift to her directly. Not tonight, at least.”
Maiev wrinkled her nose as Illidan began to pull his arm from the pouch, his expression narrowed with concentration. She didn’t say anything, a part of her wishing not to know. But as Illidan would have it, he would divulge all his intentions and best laid plans to Maiev—odd for someone who was known to be more private.
Emerging from the bag was a potted flower. A mere bud, but even without blossoming, Maiev could identify it. “Alor’el.” There was that sensation again. Her chest tightened, veins turned to ice, as that awfully sharp lump nestled itself within her throat. Lover’s Leaf. A gift she could only imagine herself receiving, but never one she would.
Illidan nodded with a smirk. It was as if he enjoyed rubbing his desire for Tyrande into Maiev’s face, though the reason was unclear to her. “The caravan was merely a setback to my journey,” he told her, “but as fate would have it, I still found my way to her.”
Maiev swallowed down her dismay, delivering a sharp retort, “Well, not really.”
Illidan scowled momentarily, but then his smirk returned. “You will keep it for me until I can return.”
“I beg your pardon?” Maiev scoffed. “I will do no such thing. Give it to her in the morning.”
“Believe me, I would,” Illidan said. “Lord Ravencrest, however, expects me to return to Black Rook Hold at first light. So I must take my leave sooner rather than later.”
Maiev folded her arms over her chest. “I fail to see where that concerns me.”
Illidan stood then, peering down at her in all his glory. As he drew nearer, Maiev forced her defiant gaze onto his face. His chest was still glistening under the flame of which illuminated the room, shadows dancing over the ridges of his muscles. And he was proud—haughty—as if he knew…
There is nothing to know.
Of course, Maiev would never back down. “And what would I receive in return?”
Illidan took pause, giving her a curious glance. “What would you want?”
A flurry of options came to mind, but all were too mortifying to speak into existence. For a moment, however, she dwelled on them, as if they were prophetic visions. Her hands pressed against his broad chest, his ragged breaths tickling her cheeks. Her hair hanging over his face as she pressed down upon him, his greedy hands gripping her waist. The feeling of his lips on her neck, clever tongue desperate for the taste of her skin. Their scents blending together, filling the room with ardor. She could almost taste it on her tongue…
“A weapon,” she blurted, swallowing away the flavor of her cravings.
Illidan cocked a single brow. “A weapon?”
“Yes.” Maiev nodded. “A new glaive, perhaps.”
“Is the armory of Elune lacking?” It felt as though Illidan had been looking right through her.
Her mouth was bone dry trying to navigate his incursive, double-edged questions. She licked her lips, and for a brief moment, it seemed as if his eyes had caught the tip of her tongue. A wave of heat washed through her body—and yet, she shivered under his gaze.
“My mastery of the moonglaive is greater than any other female in all of Suramar,” she boasted, chin held high. “However, I would prefer something more balanced, and perhaps, one of a kind.”
“One of a kind…” Illidan hummed, stroking his smug chin. “So it shall be done. I will return within the week to give the alor’el to Tyrande myself.” He returned to the bed, fixing himself up to rest. “Do not fret, Maiev—you’ll receive your token of conceit. But do mind your rancor in that time. You may kill the poor thing before it has even the chance to bloom.”
Her cheeks puffed, glowering at the male with unbridled ire as she snapped, “If it blooms at all, brute!”
As if to punctuate their exchange, the door to the room had opened abruptly. “Lady Maiev,” a priestess reported, “Naisha and Calythra have returned.”
“Thank you, sister.” Maiev smoothed the skirt of her battle-vestment, clearing her throat. “Let us go at once.” With one final glance at Illidan’s beautifully surly face, Maiev left him and the alor’el behind.
Sure enough, Illidan had been gone far before anyone had awoken—the alor’el bud upon the table within those quarters, basking in the morning light.
And indeed, Maiev would receive her weapon.
***
Some moons after his departure, Maiev had returned from a particularly fierce battle on the border between Suramar and Azsuna, white robe stained with felblood as well as her own. She clawed at the silver ornate breastplate she wore, throwing it down onto the floor along with her pauldrons, vambraces, and the leather faulds hanging elegantly from her waist.
She’d been removing an ornate helm from her forehead when a knock came at the door. “Enter.”
When the senior priestess turned towards her guest, she found one of her sisters standing within the threshold, large parcel in hand. “Lady Maiev, this was brought to you by a courier while you were away—stated he’d arrived from Black Rook Hold.”
“Thank you, Shalis. Could you leave it beside the alor’el, please?”
“Yes, of course.” Shalis did as she was told, then took her leave. Though, she seemed to have a curious twinkle in her eye as she did.
Maiev continued to strip herself bare, going as far as to pull her long silver hair from its rigid ribbon so it would fall against her back. A warm bath in the waters blessed by Elune had long since been overdue.
Still, despite the desire to run to their moon pools the moment her soiled robe hit the floor, Maiev’s anticipation held her in place. The item was wrapped in brown parchment, large and round. She wasted no time in unwrapping the parcel, finding dark green silks within. Such care for an item. She hadn’t anticipated that from Illidan Stormrage—not in regards to her, at least.
The silks slid to the wayside with ease, revealing the glinting silver of a blade. Maiev cautiously removed the remaining wrappings, finding the handle of her new weapon. Eyes wide with wonder, she drew the gift upward to get a good look. It was a glaive, but not the same kind of moonglaive the sisterhood wielded in battle.
This one seemed to resemble the full moon, the blade forming a perfect circle. Symmetrical ridges were carved into the outside of the blade, allowing for combat variety. The silver gleam elegantly contrasted the gold accents surrounding its inner circle and of which adorned the handle, so when she swung it, a multitude of colors would flash before her eyes as light reflected off the weapon.
Perfectly balanced—and one of a kind.
Along with the weapon, Maiev found a short note buried within the silks. The parchment possessed a neat scrawl, the indentations of a firm grip felt in the ridges behind each word; the penmanship of a passionate male with scholarly pursuits.
To Maiev,
Held in your hands is an umbra crescent.
A moonblade forged from truesilver and enchanted for the hunt. If ever an enemy were to elude you, etch their name into the blade with a whisper. The name shall fade when nearing the foe and disappear entirely when the hunt is over.
One of a kind, as promised.
You’d be wise to hold up your end of this bargain.
– Illidan
Maiev glanced up at the alor’el bud, a small smile etched upon her face. Indeed, she cared for the enchanting flower as if it were her own. Anticipation poured from her fingertips everytime she watered it, all the while recalling the last she’d seen Illidan’s face. It seemed as though his visage simmered within her mind—those amber eyes lighting even the darkest reaches.
Little did she know, however, that it would be the last time she saw those eyes as they were. Nor did she realize the alor’el had bloomed in the moonlight alongside her umbra crescent the very same night all she held dear burned to ash. Every last glimmer of tenderness engulfed within the felfire.
***
Maiev’s heart fell into her stomach, the sickening twist of horror raging within her belly. Her brother—his little face as a youth so vivid in her mind even now, centuries later—laid upon the ground in a pool of his own blood. Beaten and bruised, his armor battered and singed by the heat of the explosion which erupted below his feet.
She watched his chest heave, shallow breaths escaping his quaking lips. Shandris Feathermoon hovered her palms along the length of his chest in time with Maiev’s own.
However, the glow from Shandris’ palms far outshined Maiev’s from how violently they shook, fingers as icy as the veins running through her body. No…never…
Not my brother.
But the silver glow faded from the senior priestess’ fingers. Her vision blurred blood-red with the threat of hot tears, the shaking of her shoulders more ferocious as the fire in her belly grew.
“Worry not, Maiev—Jarod lives!” Shandris’ words arrived, but smothered by Maiev’s rage, it was only the slightest of comforts.
“My…brother lives.” Perhaps repeating it to herself would quell the monster caged within. But to no avail, Maiev would lift herself onto her aching feet.
Guided by pure instinct, in all her ferocity, Maiev drew the moonblade gifted to her by the very demon that tried to take her brother from her. Her silver eyes flared with the light of a thousand suns. The mongrel was ensnared in roots, gagged by leaves—struggling, but immovable.
The growl that came from Maiev’s chest sounded as if it had come from someone else. A burst of wrath moved her quick feet, knuckles white upon the ornate handle of her umbra crescent. Her gaze fixed upon Illidan’s face, now marred by the green glow of felfire.
The male she once longed for—lost. What she would screech had released itself from the very depths of her sternum, calling him what he now was. “BETRAYER!”
There was no ounce of fear in his gaze, and in the face of his defiance, Maiev would be demanded to halt. “No, Maiev!” Tyrande had thrown herself into Maiev’s path, latching her palms onto the senior priestess’ quaking shoulders.
“MOVE!” Maiev growled in frustration, trying to shove Tyrande’s hands away. “He almost slew my brother!”
However, Tyrande would only hold onto Maiev tighter, Elune’s light willing the latter to stand down. “And he failed! It is not up to you to decide his fate—that is Jarod’s right, and his alone!” She glanced at Malfurion for confirmation. “Is that not so, Furion?”
“It is his right…”
But Maiev would hear no more of it, smacking Tyrande’s hand away as she returned to her brother. She was powerless to defy the High Priestess and her lover, especially when Elune seemed to be choosing their side.
With one final glance at Illidan, Maiev knelt beside her brother, holding his cheeks within her palms. Mother Moon, you may forsake my desire for justice, but do not forsake my brother. Maiev’s hands would glow once again, blessed with Her light.
Maiev—an exclusively feminine name with meanings such as diligent and tenacious.
And indeed, as much as her tenacity, Maiev had always been known for her diligence. Even as a youth, she possessed an unshakeable inability to let sleeping dogs lie when there was work to be done—and if there was no work to be done, she would find some.
Many others found managing this dedication an exhausting task which, in a way, she could understand. Though not truly from a place of empathy, as Maiev lived by the belief that those without resolve who would only wait for the world to come to them were doomed to fatigue under the most meager amounts of effort.
Despite her insecurities—or perhaps, because of them—Maiev believed herself to be above everyone else. Always the most clever of strategists, the most faithful of zealots, and of course, the most fierce of warriors. In a world of cowards, she would always stand her ground, even in the face of death, and strike without hesitation.
“Courage feels like fear,” her mother had once said, and never a day in all the centuries without her could Maiev forget the sound of her voice.
In her youth, her father had said Maiev’s hubris would be her downfall someday. The injuries from hunting a beast far greater than she should’ve taken would leave him overwhelmed with terror. He would scold Maiev, attributing her recklessness to her late-mother. Yet, he still tended to her wounds, knowing that Maiev would always return to the hunt before her bruises had even the chance to fade, and nothing he said could stop her.
Though, on the day of her coming-of-age ceremony in which she would choose her ancestral markings, her father ushered one final warning. “My daughter,” he’d said, “when you come at the world with rage, know that the world may someday come for you too.”
And on that day, Maiev chose the blades—for if the world were to come for her, she would not surrender without a fight.
Then he died as well, leaving Maiev alone to care for her beloved brother. It was she that would provide for him; clothed, and fed, and never a day without.
Admittedly, Maiev had always been tough on him, unable to express affection in traditional ways. When he said he desired to enlist in Suramar’s Guard, Maiev pushed back her move to Hajiri in order to train him herself. To Maiev, it was her duty to ensure her dear baby brother had been set up for success in his service. So she pushed him as hard as one could, training him as though she were captain of the Guard herself. And Maiev knew Jarod struggled, but she could not fail him by going soft.
Only when Jarod had enlisted did Maiev depart for her studies in Hajiri where they would be apart for the next few centuries. After she felt she’d learned all there was in the place the late-Kalo’thera ascended to high priestess, Maiev decided it was time she returned to Suramar, finally worthy enough to study under the current high priestess, Dejahna, herself.
But more than that, she missed her brother, and wished to be near him once again.
Though, it seemed as if Jarod had been content to maintain their distance, neglecting to visit her at the Temple of Elune during her service. She would never admit it to anyone aside from Elune herself, but his avoidance truly ripped her soul apart. Through the entirety of her life, anyone Maiev held dear never could reciprocate her devotion, and she knew she only had herself to blame. Love was a risk, but never a risk she was willing to take.
A warden of her own heart.
However, it didn’t matter if Jarod cared for her the way she did him. It wasn’t his duty to love her, but it was hers to protect him. He was her little brother, and she would dedicate the rest of her now immortal life to looking after him. Even if he wished she would look elsewhere.
And that’s why she was here, standing before a council as they decided upon the fate of one Illidan Stormrage.
Her knuckles were white as they violently gripped the hilt of her umbra crescent to temper her wrath, countenance full only of resolve. She could not convince the council to sentence the Betrayer to a clean death, and so, Maiev would do the only other thing she could do.
“Maiev…” Jarod uttered so quietly, it pierced her steely heart. “Do you know what you’re offering?”
“Yes.” It was a firm response—unwavering and without hesitation. She did, however, avoid Jarod’s gaze, fixing those sharp eyes onto Malfurion Stormrage. “If this is the justice you have chosen, then I will give my life to ensure it is upheld.”
Malfurion stroked his beard, his eyes moving between Illidan, still ensnared in branches, and Maiev. “And how do we know you won’t kill him? You are the one who called for his death, are you not?”
“I may be brash, but stupid, I am not,” Maiev stated bluntly, before repeating herself. “If this is the justice you have chosen, then I will give my life to ensure it is upheld, Shan’do.”
“No,” Jarod interjected, “you can’t do this, Maiev. I won’t allow it.”
Maiev’s eyes flashed with a silver rage as she spat, “You do not tell me what I can or cannot do, little brother! Do not believe because you played commander during a single war that you can order me to do anything!” It was harsh—cruel—but it had to be done. If there were ever a time for her brother to retreat from her and steel his heart, it would be now.
There was nothing as cruel as losing a sister.
Still, the sting of tears sat behind her eyes, threatening to spill over the blades etched into her cheeks. And for the life of her, she could no longer look at him as he winced in the face of her severity. “Illidan Stormrage is far too dangerous to be left alone,” she positioned, commanding the room as she did. “We can all agree upon this.”
Maiev turned to Illidan then, using her moonblade to lift his defiant chin. His unsmiling mouth was gagged with leaves, the apple of his throat bobbing uncomfortably as the blade grazed over his ruddy purple flesh. His once amber eyes had now been consumed by the glow of green corruption, but even still, Maiev could feel the vehemence in his gaze.
To think, she once beheld a deity in his image, spending decades memorizing the subtle aspects of his countenance. The sly grin, the muscles in his jaw, and the way his fingers stroked the very chin she now tempted with her blade. Maiev’s feelings of warmth had persisted despite Illidan representing a future she’d been denied long before he betrayed everything she stood for. But now, contempt had finally taken root; now, all she could see was her home consumed in felfire, whittled to ash, and her brother’s face gone pale.
Maiev narrowed her gaze upon the Betrayer, grimacing at his demonic tattoos before pouring her hatred into his own. “And what better warden than I—the only kaldorei amongst you—with the resolve to be the blade of justice?”
At that very moment, a silver light shone upon the blade of hr umbra crescent. With a smirk, Maiev spun to face the rest of the council. “Even the Moon Goddess herself wills it,” she declared. “If I am to live an immortal life, then let it be as jailer of the wicked below the salt of the earth—within the bowels of hell.”
There was a pregnant pause, but not a single protest was made once it came to an end.
“Very well. I will take the liberty of creating his prison within the Barrow Deeps,” Malfurion declared. “Much is to be taken into consideration, so we will proceed at once.” The druid looked to Maiev. “Make your arrangements, warden. Your duty begins now.”
Maiev nodded, spinning around to find her companion, Naisha, who would assist her. Instead, however, she fell into Jarod’s path as he looked upon her with sorrow. “Not now, brother,” she tried to deflect, “I have much to do, and it seems little time to do it.” She moved past him, chin held high to disguise her own grief.
“And if you perish, Maiev?”
It was then that Maiev Shadowsong, with all that fire coursing through her recalcitrant veins, froze in place. All the emotion she’d been burying began to build within her belly, forcing itself up into the base of her throat. Her body shook, though she willed it not to, and it was a long while before she could finally respond. “Then to perish is my fate.”
“But I would never see you again,” he murmured. “Does that not give you pause, sister?”
Those tears lying in wait behind her eyes, they began to burn as they went unspilled. If she wished to keep them unshed, then she couldn’t look at him. She wouldn’t allow him a glance at such an aggrieved expression upon her face. “Do you not understand, Jarod? The atrocities of the Burning Legion must never again come to pass, and Illidan Stormrage is the effigy of such tragedy. Someone must protect Azeroth from his corruption, and only I can do so.” She moved to leave, but something held her in place.
“If ever you doubt my duty to you, little brother, remember…” Maiev took a ragged breath. “You will bury me long before I bury you.”
As she listened to her brother weep behind her, a traitorous tear slipped down over her cheek. But as quickly as it had spilled, it disappeared with the flick of a single, contrite finger. Maiev willed herself forward, away from her brother’s grief and onto the path of her destiny.
***
One would think that the closer they came to a planet’s core, the warmer it would be. And yet, Maiev would shiver violently as she traveled the winding tunnels of the Barrow Deeps, cursing Malfurion for insisting that her battle vestments would not be necessary below. The further she walked along the path lit by the deceptively serene glow of lanterns, the further she traveled below Mount Hyjal. And the deeper her descent, the colder it became—so cold, in fact, it was enough to convince Maiev that her priestess attire wouldn’t be enough.
Despite her discomfort, Maiev continued on. She would keep her focus upon the color of which the lanterns burned, recalling the instructions she had been given on how to navigate the Barrow Deeps safely toward her destination. If she made even a single wrong turn, it was likely Maiev would be lost forever to Azeroth’s depths.
Though cushioned by the soil covering the ground, the gentle padding of her steps were cacophonous in those hollow caverns. If it weren’t for the pools lying beneath each bridge and platform, droplets impacting their surface in rhythmic intervals, Maiev feared her steps would’ve been the only sound to grace her ears.
On and on, Maiev’s fate grew nearer with each cavern those tunnels spilled into, lunar lanterns lighting the way.
Despite her anticipation, however, Maiev could not help but marvel at the maze she now explored. The Barrow Deeps, as legend would have it, sprawled beneath all of Kalimdor for centuries. In certain pockets, furbolgs had taken residence. But in others, there would soon be druids slumbering to walk their own paths as they traversed the Emerald Dream. And now, a pocket would be dedicated to the imprisonment of Illidan Stormrage—the Betrayer—and his newly-appointed warden.
For an eternity.
Soon, the sound of voices joined the harmony of Maiev’s steps, an ease settling within her chest. She took a breath, the smell of soil, sump, and wood. Until then, she didn’t realize she hadn’t been breathing, adding to the haze of the dark tunnels which now consumed her. The warden strained her ears, following the incoherent voices.
“…enough alone, could you?” A familiar tone came into focus, granting Maiev access to what was likely meant to be a private conversation. “I want to believe that your intentions were pure, but what with your insatiable hunger for power—your greed—I cannot in good conscience allow you to pull anyone else into your hare-brained schemes.”
“And yet, you let me live.”
His voice brought her to a halt, a shiver slithering along the length of her spine. Not out of fear or even disgust, but rather, something else which she would violently shove back down into the core it emerged from. “There are worse things than death, brother,” Illidan rasped. “This imprisonment—unable to sleep, to eat, to die—caged like a beast in the endless dark. For an eternity.”
Illidan took in a sharp breath, then continued with renewed spite, “Admit it, brother. You want me to suffer. If your intentions were pure, you would have let the priestess slay me where I stood. Instead, you’ve recruited a sacrificial pawn to toil down here, enforcing your petty justice forevermore.”
A pawn…? Once shivering from the cavern’s chill, a simmering heat flooded her limbs. Impulsively, the warden flew through the doorway like a felbat from hell, silver eyes fashioned into daggers. I am no one’s pawn!
As she crossed the threshold into the chamber, Maiev slowed, absorbing her new surroundings at once. At the center of the room, a cage stood. Glyphs were inscribed along the supports holding the prison together, a strong magical energy radiating from it. And from within, between the metal bars, the green glow of Illidan’s ruined gaze.
The hair on Maiev’s arms stood on ends, but she would not falter. “Shan’do,” she greeted, a single brow cocked with pride. “Elune be praised.”
“Ah, Maiev,” Malfurion remarked, “you arrived with little trouble, I see.” He cleared his throat, drawing attention to his tense shoulders. Malfurion seemed to be uncomfortable—for what reason, Maiev could only assume.
“Just as you said,” she replied, “the lunar lanterns lit the way forward. Mother Moon continues to guide me, even this far below.” Maiev approached the cell, gaze bearing down upon Illidan as he stood within. “Remarkable craftsmanship.” She pressed her fingers against the metal bars, feeling a pulse of energy push back. “A barrier?”
“Good eye,” Malfurion stated. “Though formidable, warden, we would allow no risk of physical harm to you in passing.” The druid folded his hands behind his back. “These glyphs are interwoven with ancient runes to ensure Illidan will need little maintenance himself. You’ll only be required to maintain its enchantments from sabotage.”
“Hmm.” Maiev narrowed her eyes, suspicious of the magic before her. “I cannot determine what holds this cell together, Shan’do.”
“It is a blend of nature, the divine, and the arcane—”
Maiev spun to face him as she spat, “The arcane?! You mean to tell me you’ve indulged in the very poison which guided the Burning Legion to Azeroth?!”
A scoff sounded behind her, drawing further ire. “A simple barrier spell would hardly attract renewed vigilance from Sargeras, priestess.” Illidan possessed almost an uncanny ability to provoke Maiev in all the ways necessary to evoke a reaction.
Maiev turned back to face him now, unable to ignore the brooding devil which towered over her, even within his cage. “Simple?” She examined his body. “If it is so simple, perhaps I should shackle you like the dog you are for good measure.”
Illidan glowered at her, but still, a haughty smirk pulled at his lips as he met her at eye level. “Come in then, little warden,” he taunted, clawed fingers scraping down a metal bar. “Let us see what becomes of you if you dare.”
“Enough,” Malfurion growled before Maiev had a chance to respond. “Warden, there is much to go over.” He motioned for her to follow. “We’ll move to your new quarters. There, you’ll find all the literature required to upkeep my brother’s prison. How you organize your operations is all your own.”
Malfurion exited the chamber, Maiev scowling at his back. Though she referred to him with reverence, it was hardly her choice. He was now a significant figure in their society as well as favored by Cenarius. Just as she would with Tyrande, Maiev would continue to temper her distaste.
As she began to move toward the threshold, a chuckle brought her pause. She willed her body still as to not alert Illidan to the shiver his voice sent down her spine. “You’re hardly one to be laughing, betrayer.”
But he continued anyway. “Oh, Maiev,” he said in that sarcastic tone of his, “it appears you’ve gotten exactly what you have always wanted.”
She figured it was better not to respond, but it seemed her silence was enough for him.
“You and I—alone together—for the entirety of our immortal lives.”
Maiev’s hands gripped into a fist so tight, she thought her knuckles might burst through her pale flesh. Despite her anger, there was another emotion knotted deep within her heart; an emotion wound so tightly, it wrung out the fragility she kept buried away. A fate worse than death for you, Illidan, to be bound to me…
For an eternity.
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