The Temple bells had barely finished their evening song when Tyrande stepped onto the marble walkway, arms full of scrolls and starlight rose cuttings she intended to press later. The courtyard glowed with the setting sun—rosy light catching on the water basins, turning the mist into drifting pearl.
She had just knelt beside the herb beds when the gate creaked.
"Good evening, Tyrande."
She looked up, heart stuttering before she could stop it.
Malfurion stood there.
Tall, hair a soft tumble of green, formal robes slightly rumpled as though he'd dressed in a hurry. He had the look of a man who had rehearsed this moment a dozen times and forgot every word at the sight of her.
Tyrande rose slowly, smoothing her skirt. "Good evening, Malfurion."
"Good," he echoed, then immediately winced. "I mean—yes. Good."
She blinked, puzzled. "Are you all right?"
He cleared his throat. "Yes. Perfectly. I only—" He paused, drew a breath that was far too dramatic for the situation, and tried again.
"I wondered if… if you might consider… joining me for—well, that is to say—for an outing. A meal. Potentially."
Her brows inched upward. "An outing?"
"Yes. Unless you would prefer a meal. Or—" His ears flushed violet. "What I mean is that dinner is an option. But only if you are free. And only if you wish to be… fed."
"…Fed."
He shut his eyes. "I am doing this poorly."
Tyrande pressed her lips together, trying—valiantly—not to laugh. "Malfurion, are you asking me to dinner?"
He opened one eye, hesitantly. "I… yes. That was the plan."
Warmth curled in her chest, soft as a candle flame. "Then you should have simply said so."
Relief broke across his face like sunrise. "Then—yes. Dinner?"
She pretended to consider. "I have some free time now, actually. Novices Xana and Madison offered to cover my evening duties. It seems Elune has granted you fortunate timing."
"Now?" He blinked. "Now is… very soon."
"Should I change?"
He blinked again. "You look beautiful already."
She turned pink to the tips of her ears.
"…Then yes," she said softly. "Now is perfect."
They walked the familiar streets of Suramar City, the stones warm beneath their feet, the air rich with the scent of flowering vines and early summer fruit.
The Vineyard Bistro sat on the upper terrace draped in purple blossoms, the view of the city shimmering beneath them. Servers greeted them with quiet bows and led them to a table beneath an arched trellis.
Tyrande brushed her fingers over the carved edge of her chair. "I've never been here before."
"I haven't either," Malfurion admitted, lowering himself carefully. "Lytavis recommended it."
She smiled, her voice soft. "I'm flattered you put in so much effort."
He glanced down, bashful. "I wanted it to be worthy of you."
The meal arrived: spiced venison stew for her, roasted roots and wild mushrooms for him. They ate slowly, conversation weaving itself gently between them—hesitant at first, then easier, the way vines find the right stones to cling to.
Malfurion set down his spoon. "Cenarius has taken me on as an apprentice."
Her eyes widened. "You're returning to Val'sharah?"
"Yes. He asked for me." A pause. "But it means I will be there more than here."
Tyrande's throat tightened—not with disappointment, but with something gentler. "Do you enjoy the work?"
"More than I can say." He hesitated. "But I would like… truly like… to see you again. When I return."
The words landed between them with the softness of petals—but they rang like a bell in her chest.
"I could write," she offered, a hopeful tremor beneath the calm. "Not every day—I doubt even Elune could grant me that much free time—but often."
His entire posture seemed to brighten. "I would look forward to your letters."
A beat.
"I… will write back."
She laughed, a quiet musical thing. "I hope so. Otherwise it becomes less of a conversation and more of a diary."
He flushed but smiled.
Night had settled by the time they left the bistro. Suramar's lanterns shimmered along the streets, their glow catching in Tyrande's hair in a way that made Malfurion lose track of his own steps.
They walked slowly. Not because the Temple was far, but because neither wanted the walk to end.
When the Temple arches came into view, Tyrande felt her breath catch. A pang—soft, unexpected—ran through her.
"This was… lovely," she said quietly.
"Yes," Malfurion said at once, too earnest to hide anything. "It was."
They stood near the base of the marble steps, the evening cool around them. Tyrande turned to face him, her hands clasped lightly before her.
"I'm glad you asked me," she said.
He swallowed. "I'm glad you said yes."
Silence wrapped around them—comfortable, bright, shimmering with possibility.
Tyrande stepped closer.
So did he.
And then—hesitantly, reverently—he leaned down and kissed her.
It was soft at first, almost tentative… then deepened just enough to betray how much he'd wanted this. How long he'd thought of it. When he pulled back, just an inch, his breath trembled.
So did hers.
"…Malfurion," she murmured, voice a whisper against his lips.
He looked at her as though the entire canopy of the heavens had just been handed to him.
"I will write to you," he said, voice low and steady now.
"I know," she whispered, smiling.
He watched her ascend the steps, her silhouette haloed in moonlight. When she reached the top, she turned back—eyes bright, lips soft with the memory of their kiss.
And even Malfurion Stormrage, student of Cenarius, felt his knees weaken in the gentlest, sweetest way.