Richard A. Knaak - Stormrage

Curiously, only then did Malfurion truly sense that the ancient evil, though it fought to keep its grip there, did so from somewhere deep in the depths of Azeroth’s own seas. Bereft of Xavius’s link to the dream realm, it was still powerful enough somehow to keep that one place under its horrific sway.

At last it became clear that there was nothing more to be gained by pressing. Aware of those yet needing them, Malfurion sealed off the vicinity around the rift. There was silent agreement between Tyrande and him. The day had been saved…this other war would have to wait for another, a better, time.

With the danger passing, the night elf felt his hold on the incredible energies slipping away. He was not bothered, but still had matters with which he had to deal before they fully vanished.

Sweeping across both realms, he sought out any surviving corrupted. There were few, and of those only a handful could he salvage. Gnarl was one of those, for he had been but recently taken. Remulos was already cleansed. However, many, regretfully, were like Lethon and Emeriss and could not survive without the Nightmare; they melted away as the shadow satyrs had. For what and who they once had been, Malfurion mourned them.

Next, he restored to their bodies those surviving members of Varian’s dreamform army, no matter from where they had been summoned. Night elves, of course, and orcs, trolls, draenei, blood elves, tauren, dwarves, gnomes, goblins, humans…they had all done their part, even some among the undead. He savored briefly one sight, that of the king rushing to his son and the pair holding one another tight. For those defenders who had no physical forms to which to return, the archdruid attuned them better to the Emerald Dream, so that their lives there would be at the fullest possible.

Of those who had been his closest allies in this, he found special time. Thura he delivered back to her people, letting their leader, Thrall, know of her significance in the struggle. Lucan Foxblood, the human of unique abilities, became the charge of Hamuul Runetotem. The tauren agreed to stay in the Moonglade for a time to teach the cartographer how best to control his unique abilities.

The two were oddly suited to one another’s company and Malfurion had great hopes that the teaching would go well.

And even as Malfurion did this, he sensed Tyrande summon forth the Sisters of Elune to go forth into the Alliance-held lands and do what else could be done to bring further calm and order to those victims at least. Shaman and druids also lent their skills to the Nightmare’s former slaves, tending to those with whom their particular race had ties so as to avoid any chance of further conflict. It was impossible for all the wounds to be healed, even by the forces guided by the archdruid. Too many had died for any power to be able to erase all the memories. Though banished to the Rift of Aln — where Malfurion prayed it would stay — the Nightmare’s legacy would haunt the world for years to come.

Malfurion saw many other things for which he would have liked to have utilized the gifts of Azeroth and the Emerald Dream, but knew that it was time for him to end his efforts. With much gratitude, he let the other druids break from the spell first. They had given much, more than he should have asked. He was proud of all.

And finally, Malfurion reluctantly separated himself from the spell, returning to the two realms the bounty that they had given him. The archdruid refocused upon the real world. His gaze settled upon she who had been with him from the beginning to the very end despite the great faults that had eventually led to his capture and torture and despite the travails through which she had gone through because of his failings. Malfurion saw the love within her and, though he knew he was not worthy of it, was determined that they would not be parted again.

He put a gentle hand to Tyrande’s cheek.

Exhaustion overtook him.

Malfurion collapsed in her arms.

Broll Bearmantle took the news of Malfurion’s awaking with an exuberance rarely seen in most night elves, much less druids. He let out a hearty yell that echoed throughout the enclave and rushed to the Temple of the Moon. He raced past those taking a more solemn approach to the home of the Sisterhood, only caring that his shan’do appeared to be well.

Two armed Sisters briefly blocked his path until one recognized him. “Our orders are to allow only a select few in,” she explained, “lest the temple be overwhelmed with those concerned for the archdruid’s health.”

Broll nodded, grateful that he was one of those Tyrande had permitted to enter. Aware where they had brought Malfurion, Broll needed no directions. He rushed through the temple, giving homage and thanks to the Mother Moon’s image more than once during the trek.

They had made a place for Malfurion underneath the great statue, where moonlight ever shone. The high priestess had insisted that he be brought to the temple, though the first notion of the druids had been to take their esteemed shan’do to the Moonglade. However, Tyrande had refused to be swayed and as she was not only ruler of the night elves but also Malfurion’s beloved, in the end none could refuse her.

Eyes shut, Malfurion lay on a mat of woven leaves and herbs — an offering of the druids. Tyrande knelt beside him, a soft, moist cloth in her hand. She had been tending to him as if she were a novice, not head of the order. Behind her, and standing guard, was an equally quiet Shandris Feathermoon. The general wore a look Broll would have more expected of a child concerned over her parents than that of a seasoned warrior.

“My lady,” Broll murmured to Tyrande as he neared. Shandris gave him a cursory glance; she had registered his presence much earlier and thus was not concerned. “I had heard that he was…that he was awake…”

“And so…and so I am…” Malfurion responded, his eyes slowly opening. The archdruid’s orbs still shone like the sun…and always would, it seemed. He gave the other male a brief smile. “But she” — with his gaze, he indicated Tyrande—“insists I rest some more

…a command with which, after a failed…failed attempt to rise…I must agree…” Malfurion’s smile grew. “But I’m remiss. I see that the struggle has changed you as well, Broll…”

That to which the archdruid referred was Broll’s own eyes, which, while not as resplendent as those of his shan’do, now also gleamed gold. In reaching into himself and into Azeroth, Broll had finally broken the final barrier — a self-imposed barrier — and truly become the great druid so many had believed he was. More important, the change went deep within. Gone was Broll’s uncertainty; he himself knew at last that he was as he had always been meant to be and his every movement radiated his great confidence in his calling.

But that was not of interest to him at the moment. Only one thing mattered. “But…you are truly well?”

The high priestess paused in her ministrations to stare at Broll as if he were mad. “He is in the house of Elune and I am her hand in this world…do you think he would be otherwise?”

“Forgive me,” the druid returned with a chuckle. “I clearly wasn’t thinking.”

Malfurion put a hand on her knee. Tyrande’s expression softened. To Broll, the archdruid replied, “She is rather protective.

I’ve made her a promise she intends I keep.”

“ ‘Promise’?”

“It is fortuitous that you are here, Broll, for I can think of no other I would have stand with me when I and Tyrande take our vows.”

It took Broll a moment to register what he meant. Shandris laughed lightly at his delayed reaction.