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Chapter Text

Kel'Thuzad watched as Jaina Proudmoore and Prince Arthas Menethil (Arthas, but not his king), arrived in Hearthglen. He was hidden behind a set of trees, watching and waiting. He wondered how long Jaina was going to walk along the same path as before. Did she not see the folly of it? Choosing the same choices twice and expecting different results was madness. He had expected her to make drastic changes, but here she and the prince were, yet again walking into a bloodbath to be.

He paused at the sensation of magic in the air followed by a sqwaking sound. His eyes watched a raven familiar fly out of Hearthglen, surging downward first along room to gather speed, drawing so close to Kel'Thuzad...

It would be so easy, to reach out and grab the familiar as it passed, to crush the life out of it and show Jaina the consequences of her choices...

But he didn't.

He allowed the familiar to fly away, carrying whatever message Jaina had given it. He was not going to risk either of them dying by denying them reinforcements. As it was, since she hadn't teleported away, it was going to take longer than before for aid to arrive and save them.

His eyes lingered on Hearthglen, at Jaina staying to participate in the battle. "So this is the different choice you make Jaina..."

He slowly shook his head. "Foolish girl. Do you expect to follow down this path of damnation Arthas walks, and divert him at the last moment? You are more likely to damn yourself in the process and change nothing."

He pursed his lips. "I made a promise to my King, and you are making it very difficult to follow through with that..."

"You alright Jaina?" comes the voice of her prince.

"Just... need to put the theory of managing my mana into practice," she said, an embarrassed smile crossing her face.

Arthas laughed wearily. "Yeah, I'm about spent to. How much longer do you think the reinforcements will be?"

It had taken roughly half an hour for Uther to gather enough troops to be sent into the fray the first time around. It had been roughly... fifteen, maybe twenty minutes already if she counted right. Though, in hindsight, it would take a familiar longer to fly than it had taken her to just teleport...

"Hopefully no more than half an hour," she estimated.

Arthas looked grim. "If they keep coming at the pace they have been, I don't know if we can hold that long Jaina. Especially if that damn floating skeleton mage keeps coming back every other attack."

"It's called a Lich," explained Jaina, "They're probably reviving it without pause using it's Phylactery."

"A lich?" murmured Arthas, giving her a curious look, "What is a Phylactery? What else do you know of these things?"

Jaina paused briefly, realizing she shouldn't know what they are yet. She really needed to think before she said anything. "I..."

"Another attack is coming!" cried out a defender.

Arthas immediately broke off, and Jaina silently praised the timing. She didn't know how she would have been able to explain it. She made to join Arthas before a cry of an attack from another entrance sounded. She broke off and ran to the second attack, arriving as the Undead washed over the defenders. Jaina waved a hand and sent out a burst of arcane energy, sending the Scourge flying back, giving Hearthglen's defenders time to regroup.

Wave after wave of Scourge came at Hearthglen, and wave after wave was struck down. Jaina got her turn, several of them in fact, to face off against the Lich and destroy it. Each encounter burned her reserves of mana, and mana potions to restore it...

"For Lordaeran! For the King!"

Jaina turned her head sharply, pure relief crossing her face, as Knights started riding into town, Uther the Lightbringer at their heels, warhammer shinning with brilliant light. Finally! It had starting to close in on an hour, they wouldn't have lasted much longer. They were however in a better state than Jaina recalled finding Arthas in originally. Hopefully he and Uther wouldn't have their spar of words...

Hearthglen was reinforced, and the Scourge shoved back and out of it. Immediately Uther started having the civilians ferried out of the town before approaching Arthas.

"I'm surprised you kept things together as well as you did lad," said Uther, voice warm with pride and a smile on his lips.

Oh no... not again...

Arthas turned his attention from staring out the entrances of Hearthglen to glaring at Uther. "Just say it Uther! I know I wasn't good enough! If I had a legion of knights at my command, I could have..."

"Arthas!" came Jaina's sharp voice, not willing to let things devolve as they did before, "He's praising you, not rebuking you! Take a breath and calm down."

Arthas turned his glare at Jaina, and unlike last time, she didn't shrink away from it. Arthas grumbled a bit and turned away, leaving Uther staring at him silently. He approached and put a hand on his shoulder. "Lad..."

Arthas being Arthas, he broke free of the gentle hand and stalked away. "I have defenses to man, you can plan the offensive this time."

Uther sighed softly and watched him go. "The weight of the crown is not comfortable to feel, not for the first time, and not like this."

Jaina stared at Arthas's retreating form silently, brooding to herself. It didn't... feel as sharp as it had been the first time, but Arthas needed to not turn away from Uther, not this time. She glanced at the Lightbringer, wondering what to say. A lot of what she had said before, about Arthas feeling responsible for all the deaths, were self-evident things that she had stupidly parroted out rather than say what needed to be said.

"He needs us Uther," she said softly, drawing his attention, "No matter what he thinks, says, or does, he needs our help to get him through this."

Uther rubbed his face tiredly. "I know lass, believe me, I know. If you will excuse me, I have to gather the knights and drive off the undead."

It was a little awkward, to have downtime this time around. Before, it had been such a chaotic mess that Uther and Arthas hadn't had a chance to speak until it was all over and the Scourge fully driven off. Somehow, she didn't think giving Arthas even more time to stew was a good thing. She watched Uther ride out with his knights towards the Scourge's base, and then set out after Arthas...

Who made it very difficult to approach him.

The moment he saw her coming, he merely walked away, again and again. She didn't want to cause a scene by calling him out...

Finally, he whirled on her. "What do you want Jaina?"

She frowned at him. "I'm worried about you Arthas. Uther was just..."

"Was what Jaina? Ridiculing me for barely holding things together?" he spat out.

Jaina pursed her lips. "As I said, he wasn't rebuking you, he was praising you for managing to keep Hearthglen standing against such odds."

"So I was expected to fail then?" he said bitterly.

Light, she had forgotten how stubborn and idiotic Arthas could be sometimes. "No Arthas, you need to listen, he was just..."

"I don't want to hear it Jaina," he snarled out, pointing a finger inches from her face, "I am sick and tired of people trying to tell me what I should and shouldn't do or feel! My people are dying to this madness, and all you and Uther can think to do is ridicule me! Do you even care about what is going on?"

SLAP

She hit him, slapped her hand across his face, leaving him red and stunned. "How dare you!"

"I love you deeply Arthas," she hissed, "But sometimes you are so damn infuriating! Are you truly so blinded by your stress and pain and pride? If you think for a moment that I do not care, then I question how well you ever knew me."

Arthas's face lost a bit of color. "Jaina... I..."

She whirled away and stalked off. She needed... she needed space. She couldn't be near him right now. Even with how much of a mess things turned out last time, he had never accused her of not caring. It... it hurt. He was so demanding, she recalled that, always desiring devotion and loyalty. If you weren't with him, you were against him. This situation expanded on those faults. So was this just his pain speaking?

Or... was this her fault? Had she done something to placed such doubt in him of her? Last time, she had been devoted to him up until Strathlome, had their interactions in this new timeline caused an earlier split between them? She feared it, feared it so badly. She couldn't lose him, not again...

She found a crate to sit on and watched dispassionately as the defenders patrolled the town. Uther returned half an hour later, victorious, and made for Arthas. She could see the hopeful expression on his face, but Arthas, from what Jaina could see, was in even more a foul mood than before. Right about as foul as he had been originally. She stared at them as their tone started raising into near shouting at eachother. She hung her head, sighing with a bit of depression, and stood up, walking over.

"...there and kill Mal'Ganis myself if I have to!" exclaimed Arthas heatedly.

"Easy lad, brave as you are, you can't hope to defeat a man who commands the dead all by yourself," said Uther, holding out his hands as if asking for calm.

"Then feel free to tag long Uther. I'm going, with or without you."

Jaina watched him stalk off, feeling numb. She didn't understand, she had stood by him in Hearthglen, a pillar of support, yet nothing seemed to have changed. Why? Was... was she not enough? She shook her head and walked after him, ignoring Uther softly calling for her attention. She wasn't going to leave Arthas, not now. She needed to do more than be there as silent support. She needed to take action. She found Arthas readying a horse to ride, mounting it.

She walked up and held a hand. "Are you going to help a lady up, or make me climb myself?"

Arthas stared at her wordlessly, his face stony and cold, before it melted a bit, a look of relief on his face. "Of course my lady."

He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her arms around his chest. They took off out of Hearthglen silently, nothing but the echoing of hooves and the howling of the wind in their ears.

"Thank you, for coming with me," said Arthas.

"You're my prince, Arthas, my love," she answered back, "No matter how much you piss me off, that's not going to change."

There was silence for a minute of riding before he finally answered, "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have spoken to you in such a matter, I'm just..."

"Stressed," she answered for him.

Arthas sighed, the sound almost lost in the wind rushing passed them, though his words were not. "It's not an excuse, but yes. I've never... been through anything like this, never would have wanted to. Light, as awful as it sounds, orcs torching villages was preferable to this."

Jaina went silent for a long moment, pondering the Horde, Thrall's Horde. "The orcs ran from this."

Arthas briefly glanced back before refocusing on the reins. "Ran?"

"I know you didn't get much downtime between your last mission and this one to learn of it, but the Orcs took to the seas and fled," she said, "They must have had some indication or warning of what was coming."

This would hopefully be a good lead in towards Medeivh. Perhaps she could make Arthas see reason when the Prophet showed up.

"I don't know if I should be relieved or not at that," admitted Arthas, "I don't think we could handle both the Scourge and the Horde at the same time."

"I don't think they'd be allied," said Jaina, "If anything, the Horde fleeing... it concerns me, deeply. The Horde never backed down during the Second War until they lost. That they ran before the first fight even happened... I'm worried there is more going on that just what we see."

Arthas nodded solely, but didn't reply. So on and on they road...

Except...

Jaina frowned. Where was Medivh with his warning for Arthas?

Shouldn't that have happened by now?

"Dammit," muttered Arthas, "So damn tired I can barely see straight."

Where was the prophet?

Where was he?

"I'll be useless at Stratholme if we don't at least get some sleep," said Arthas, "We'll camp here for the night."

Jaina nodded numbly, her chin brushing his neck, as it hit her. Medivh wasn't coming. Medivh knew she had come back in time, and as was now evident, was leaving things to her. What the hell had she never considered that he might do that? She was hoping to argue with her prince alongside Medivh... but that's not going to happen now. She dismounts the horse, taking Arthas's offered hand, and conjures the supplies they'd need to make a camp, since Arthas has stalked off and not bothered to grab them himself. For food, a few apples, some water, a loaf of bread...

Bread...

Jaina couldn't help instantly retching, taking and flinging the bread away.

"Jaina? came Arthas's startled and worried voice.

"Sorry, I just... after Hearthglen, the bread... I can't..."

Dammit, what was wrong with her? She had went through years of the Scourge and Demonic plots and plans and madness, this shouldn't hurt like this anymore. She should be used to it...

Arthas's arms wrap around her, pulling her up and tightly to his chest. "I know Jaina, I know. Its a simple, basic food, something that everyone, anyone, should be able to eat without fear."

His grip tightens, his own voice growing hoarse. "Its madness. This plague destroys everything, even our trust and faith in what should be normal and safe."

Jaina gave a bitter laugh. "Oh Arthas, you don't know how right you are," she thought of many instances over the years, "What if they sneak the plague into town drinking wells? Into healing ointments or other medical supplies? Bathing water? Into anything and everything we trust without thought. We're going to have to be endlessly vigilant on everything..."

Again.

"...for years."

Arthas leans his head down to bury into the crook of her neck, swearing softly into her skin before admitting, "You're right."

He raises his head, inches from her face. "That's why we must stop this, here and now. We must be the vanguard for my, for our people."

He leans down and catches her lips with his own, and she can't help the need she feels from herself as well. She clutches him and pushes against him passionately. Because they are approaching the point where everything went wrong before. She can't lose him again... she can't...

He pulls back, breathless for a moment. "We will stop this Jaina. I swear it to you, then..."

He cups her face. "Then once it's all over, I'll do what I was to weak, that I shamefully didn't have the courage to do at the Winter Ball. I'll take you as my Queen, and we'll have the children you spoke of back then."

Jaina can't help the choking sound that escapes her lips. She remembers, last time, the most Arthas had said was 'talking about a new beginning' or however he has phrased it. He had never, not once, admitted aloud to her that he desired her as his Queen, that he actually wanted to have children with her. Its like her heart is ripping apart and melting back together again over and over. Its everything she wants and hopes, all they have to do is get through this...

"Arthas..."

She pulls his head down, lips hungrily craving her prince, her king. They stumble into their tent, armor and clothes stripped aside, cries of passion filling the air before he spills within her and they collapse under the covers, submitting to sleep...

"Where the hell is Uther? He had all night to ride here."

Jaina places a calming hand on his shoulder. "We're not the only ones who were exhausted Arthas. Everyone needed to sleep and recover."

He huffs a bit, muttering, "I suppose."

She gives him a sly smile, trying to alleviate the foul mood that was starting to form, "Though, they probably got more rest than we did."

Arthas barks out a sharp laugh, smiling sheepishly at her-oh how beautiful it was to see that smile. "Well, you're not wrong."

"Alright my muscle ridden prince," she teased, "Camp wont pack faster, make it snappy."

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Already exercising your queenly authority?"

She laughed, the rich sound echoing through the sounding wood. "I could get used to it."

Arthas chuckled before waving a hand. "Didn't you conjure everything? Can't you just snap your fingers and...?"

"I like watching my man sweat and work," she teased again before doing so, the equipment gone in an instant.

Arthas rolled his eyes and slung his warhammer across his back. "Lets move, Uther should hopefully catch up by the time we reach Stratholme."

They mount his horse and ride off as rain starts to fall from the dark clouds above. Jaina delves into her memories as they ride, reliving this day so long ago. She cannot leave Arthas, not this time. But she knows Uther will not do as Arthas commands, he will not purge the city. Nor would she want him to. She knows that not all of Stratholme was infected. Her goals are to preserve as much of Arthas as she can, to save as many lives as possible, to not let the infection spread from the city, and to not allow Arthas and Uther's relationship to be destroyed.

She doesn't know if she can manage it all, especially with Arthas's hotheadedness. Even with her as support, he's still not even close to being at his best. SHE MUST, she absolutely must, take command of the situation. So, when it begins, when they arrive and dismount, Uther and his men catching up and approaching from behind, she ascends the hill Arthas had stood on before to deliver his condemnation of the city.

As Arthas and Uther approach one another, Jaina doesn't even give them time to speak and start cutting into one another. She cries out, pointing her finger down at the city, at some of the grain bags by the gate. "ARTHAS! The grain!"

Arthas whirls, panic on his face, and rushes up the hill, Uther on his heels. All color and life seems to seep out of her prince's face as the sickly sweet smell of infected baked bread rises to them. "Light preserve us... we're to late, they're all infected..."

"What?" exclaimed Uther sharply.

"The Scourge is insidious," Jaina says with fury, "They infected all the grain shipments from Andorhal, anyone who eats the grain will die and turn into the undead."

"That can't be..."

Jaina whirls and pokes a finger sharply into his collarbone, making him take a startled step back. "You weren't there Uther! At the start of the battle for Hearthglen. You didn't see more than half the villagers keel over and die only to rise again as Zombies in a matter of minutes when the Scourge started spilling into town."

Uther's jaw grinds, a grimace crossing his face. "Alright lass, I believe you, calm down. We need to figure a way to..."

"This city must be purged."

Oh light damn it Arthas!

"Arthas?!" exclaimed Uther, "How can you even consider that? There's got to be some other way!"

Jaina butts in before Arthas can damn everything between him and Uther. "Not in the time we have left, Uther. Getting a sample to Antonidas is easy enough, but having him discover a cure before this turns into a bloodbath? It's not going to happen."

Uther looks at her, incredulous. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Arthas considering this is horrific enough, but you Proudmoore? You would honestly consider purging this city?"

"Watch your tone with her, Uther," snaps Arthas.

Jaina holds up a hand, placing it against Arthas's chest. "I can fight my own battles, Arthas."

"We don't have time for an argument," he hisses, "We have to purge the infection before it destroys all of Lordaeran!"

"And I agree, but we're going to do this MY way," snarled Jaina, poking a finger against Arthas's armored chest, "Not go in there without a plan other than indiscriminately killing everyone."

"And do you," demanded Arthas sharply, "Have a plan, Jaina? The Plague kills and turns too quickly for something long and drawn out. We don't know when they ate the infected grain. We could have minutes for all we know."

"Do you trust me?" she demanded back.

Remembering ALL the times he demanded that of her without offering it in return.

He searched her eyes for a long moment before nodding. "Always."

Oh blessed light...

It felt so good to actually hear it...

"I do have a plan," she said, swallowing, "Its a betrayal, of so much I swore to do and swore against doing, but it will allow us to save as many people as we can."

There were hints of concern in his eyes. "Jaina... I can do this on my own, you don't have to..."

"I am not some weak trifle maiden," she growled out in warning yet again, "I will do what must be done, Arthas. I have a plan to identify and segregate the infected from those who are clean."

"And what if they lie and refuse to come out? Anyone who might by chance not be infected would fall anyway," he counters.

She smiles bitterly. "That's easy Arthas. I'm going to... I'm going to lie myself."

He stares at her blankly for a moment before grim understanding crosses his face, his eyes close in pain. "And they'd have no reason to disbelieve us."

She turns her gaze to Uther, sighting the pain, the loss, this disbelief, the hardship on his old face. "Don't do this, surely a quarantine..."

She shook her head, he hasn't faced years of Scourge like she has, 'quarantine', especially for a city of this size, will not work. "Uther... this isn't some normal, natural plague. It is a calculated, militarized, magical plague. The undead, the infected, are controlled by cold and calculating individuals who will use all of their malice to spread this disease to all of Lordaeran. Normal quarantine will never stop this."

Especially when Mal'Ganis stepped into the fray,. They couldn't quarantine the entire city, handle the infected, handle the demon, and handle an actual Scourge assault at the same time, they had after all discovered the ruins of a Scourge base nestled INSIDE of Stratholme after it had been burned. Fighting against all of that? Some infected would definitely escape, if not outright overwhelm them if they were trying to protect the city of continually turning victims as the same time. The population of Stratholme severely outnumbered the gathered forces outside of its gates. The entire crisis was a lose-lose situation no matter what was done.

She had been so naive, so horrified originally by what Arthas had proposed. She had still thought the Plague of Undeath could be fought. She remembered Crusader Bridenbrad in Icecrown. Remembered how the Heroes of Azeroth had tried to save him, how they had gone to the Keeper of the Grove Remulos, Alexestraza the Life-Binder, even the Naaru A'dal. NOTHING had worked. The only way that had saved Bridenbrad had been the Naaru strip his soul out of his body, and that hadn't even been breaking even. The body had still died. There was no cure.

Still, she can't make Uther partake in this, wouldn't even if she could find a way. She will allow him some hope.

"I'm sure some pieces of the infected grain must still be in the bags, take them," said Jaina grimly, forming a portal, honing in on her Master's presence, "There is no more time to argue, every second we waste allows the Scourge to potentially claim more and more lives. You have until they start to turn to find a cure and come back."

Uther stared at her for a long moment before nodding sharply, turning, and sprinting for the grain bags, grabbing a few after feeling the bottoms for grain, and coming back to the portal. He walked through without further time wasted, a number of his knights following after, refusing to partake in what was about to happen. The gathered soldiers at the base of the hill look up with grim expectation, waiting for orders.

Jaina takes in a deep breath and lets it out, gazing down at the men. "Light forgive us all for what we must do. There is no glory in this, only grim necessity. We will be the ones to bear scars on our souls in order to preserve the rest of Lordaeran, and perhaps even the entire world, for surely the Scourge would not be so content as to simply stay here."

She begins barking orders, "We need a quarantine area set up outside the city as quickly as possible! Preferably with a height advantage for us and only one exit for anyone infected who turns. It needs to be BIG, we don't know how much of the city actually is infected or not. Perhaps build additional smaller ones if necessary. Anyone who is not doing this MUST rush through the city and serve as a crier, calling for a gathering. ALL of this city must know that we have come to address the Plague. GO!"

The men split off instantly. Surviving peasants from Hearthglen going to work building fences and blockades in a large area with the support of some footmen to do heavy lifting. The rest spill into the city, rushing to pass word, knowing that time is off the essence. Jaina turns her grim face and sees its mirror in Arthas. His face is stony and cold, but his eyes are full of pain and grief. He gives one sharp nod, its time. So holds her hand out to him, he takes it, and they stride to Stratholme.

She feels it the moment she steps into the city. The cold, calculating, monstrous presence of a dreadlord not bothering to mask the dark energy its presence gave off. Mal'Ganis most likely, she knows Arthas fought the demon in Stratholme. Yet... there are no cries of 'Undead' or 'Scourge'. The presence feels almost... curious. Like its waiting to see what they do before it acts. Its sad to know its likely going to find some kind of sick amusement out of what is about to happen, but if that buys them time, then so be it.

There is already a huge crowd formed in the city square, hundreds of people, more spilling into the streets beyond, some of the young and adventurous even climbing onto lower rooftops. Jaina lets go of her prince's hand as they move to the forefront of the crowd, and Jaina stretches out her senses. She is relived to know that she was right. Even the ones at the front of the crowd are mixed, some giving off the sickly sensation of infected to her senses, but some still pure. It also grieves her, how many were needlessly killed here originally.

One of them, a young woman, takes a desperate step forward. "Prince Arthas, may the light be praised! Many of the people in the city have begun to fall seriously ill, can you help us?"

"That is what we are hear to speak of," said Arthas, his voice tense, an undercurrent of shakiness to it that most wouldn't detect, "How many would you say have gathered? Our words must reach as many as possible."

The woman glances back at the huge crowd. "A good portion of the city, word can be passed back if need be, and I can see more and more stranglers coming."

Arthas takes in a breath and lets it out. "Very well, I... suppose we will begin. Jaina?"

Jaina frowns briefly. Something is... off. While the survivors of the culling of Stratholme were few... it had been reported that the infected had started turning minutes after Arthas had started the purge. There should be a few by now, at least... dammit, she didn't have time to analyze this, but she was missing something.

"People of Stratholme!" calls out Jaina, "By now you've begun to realize that something is wrong, an abnormal amount of people suddenly becoming ill at once. It is not a coincidence, it is an attack, a magic plague created by a sick and twisted cult!"

There is a loud murmuring growing, alarm showing.

"The Crown Prince and I have discovered that this plague is being used to murder the people of Lordaran, its already wiped out several smaller villages, and Hearthglen was nearly destroyed by it yesterday, we are working to combat this and it is why we have come before you now," explained Jaina, raising hands in placation, "Please, do not panic from what I am about to say, we must be orderly in order to handle this crisis."

The crowd tenses.

"Anyone who has eaten grain recently shipped from Andorhal is infected."

She watches the horrified look crossing so many of the gathered people's faces.

"But," says Jaina, before she lies through her teeth, lies in a way that will forever scar her soul, "We have a cure. Anyone who has eaten the infected grain needs to gather themselves to be organized and treated outside of Stratholme. The illness kills quickly, anywhere from hours to a day depending on the constitution of the infection. Anyone who is to sick to move must be carried. Please, you must hurry and spread word if we are to save as many as possible!"

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. "Anyone infected, please move outside of the city, anyone who isn't needs to spread word..."

Her face darkens with righteous fury. "...And burn ANY grain or bread you find. Do not handle it with bare hands, wear gloves. Go quickly!"

Its an organized chaos as the crowd rushes this way and that way. Infected civilians willingly turning themselves in, sobbing with relief, thanking them for... for saving them... its like a knife to her gut over and over again... she cannot cry... she must not cry... she cannot show weakness... she cannot give any hint of the horrific deception that is going on... Arthas doesn't look much better than her, there are tremors in his hands. Perhaps it would have been easier on their hearts and souls to just commit mass slaughter, its what warriors like Arthas can do and handle, this cruel manipulation is far heavier, far worse than them. Even if it saves some lives.

The only true problem would be if Mal'Ganis struck now and started converting the city, but... he's still watching. She can still feel him, feel... feel his eyes boring right onto her from wherever he is hiding. Jaina turns her back on the gaze and strides out, ushering people along and into the hastily made quarantine zone. Its a large depression between four hills, wooden walls constructed between thee of them, only allowing one entrance on the fourth, guards are already stationed on the walls, riflemen checking their ammunition, grimness coating them. The infected people allow themselves to be herded in like sheep to the slaughter.

The stages of infection that she can see vary, some look pale, others have difficulty standing, very few have become more immobile, looking like death washed over them. Those will turn within half an hour. They don't have much time. Ten minutes later, hundreds of people have been squeezed together, mothers and fathers holding pale and sickly children on their shoulders or tight to their chests. They look to the hill Arthas and Jaina are standing on, so much trust and hope in their eyes...

It hurts...

It hurts so much...

Light... light please...

The trail of infected trickles to a close, and Jaina stares at them, at the people who will die and be forgotten... no... no, she refuses that. For this to be some nameless slaughter. She snaps her fingers and conjures rolls and rolls of parchment. She takes them down to the entrance and calls out, "I wish to preform a census while the cure is readied. Please, come forward one by one and give your names so that we may call you one by one for treatment when it is ready."

She hands off parchments to footmen, to knights, priests and other magi that joined them at the battle for Hearthglen, even to Arthas, and they record names one by one. It is one of the most agonizing things she has ever done in her life. It takes everything she has not to burst out crying. She can softly hear some of the footmen weeping, but their helmets help mask the sound, and block the sight of it. The ones to sick to move have others tell their names. All the while, Jaina considers the number of infected here... its far less than the population of the city. Just how many innocent had been slaughtered by Arthas and his men, by the turning infected, the Scourge and Mal'Ganis's assault force, by the fires and smoke inhalation, by the spreading Plague as the unaware or the hiding continued to eat the grain? The answer she suppose is self evident considering what happened originally...

She swallows back the thought and continues recording names. It continues for another twenty minutes... then, as they are wrapping the census up, as if right on schedule...

The loud sound of someone heaving is heard, following by pained screaming. People suddenly scramble back away from the center, from a woman on her knees heaving blood.

"Light preserve us!"

"Where is the cure? She needs a cure!"

"What are you waiting for?"

Footmen and knights line up at the entrance and wait as Jaina and Arthas move to the top of the nearest hill to watch. The woman dies, falling over into her own bloody puke. She lays still for a few moments before she begins to twist, an unholy glow crossing her eyes, a guttural grown escaping her lips. She lungs at the nearest person and bites into their neck, ripping and tearing, causing an alarmed scream to ripple through the crowd...

Jaina points a finger and releases a bolt of lightning, killing the zombie instantly. The zombie's victim shoves the smoking corpse off of him, clutching at his bleeding neck, looking terrified out of his mind.

"What is this madness?"

"What happened to her?"

"Light above... what is going on?"

Jaina takes a deep breath and lets it out, her voice steeling as she calls out, "The Plague that afflicts you is called the Plague of Undeath. Its purpose is to infect, kill, and corrupt all life in Lordaeran, turning everyone into undead slaves with no free will."

The horrified masses stare up at her.

"We don't need an explanation, just cure us!"

"There is no cure," sounded out Jaina, "I'm... I'm sorry. We had to separate you all so you wouldn't be forced to kill those who weren't infected."

There is silence for a stunned moment before someone cries out, "They're going to kill us!"

"No!"

"They lied to us!"

"Please!"

"You can't murder us!"

"There's children in here!"

"People of Lordaeran," booms out Arthas, taking a step forward, moving to support Jaina, "Lord Uther the Lightbringer has been sent to Dalaran to try and discover a cure, however, there is no guarantee that he will succeed with the Archmagi. Therefore we must take action to preserve the rest of Lordaeran. The Plague kills in hours, and Stratholme would spill out into the rest of Lordaeron like an unstoppable tide. It is our duty to stop this, not just us, but you as well. I... I ask you to be brave, to make the ultimate sacrifice in the name of Lordaeron and the light."

He took in a breath and let it out. "This plague will kill you, turn you into undead slaves used to purge all life from Lordaeran. There IS no other way. I'm sorry. We will hold on as long as possible to wait for Uther, but..."

Another infected heaves blood and falls to the ground. A rifleman puts a bullet through their head as the corpse rises and eyes those still living.

Sobs and wails break out through the crowd, all the while, Jaina can feel Mal'Ganis watching, pure sadistic delight emanating through the air. The sick bastard is getting off watching this...

"But it is unlikely he will return in time," he finishes, "Those who wish to hold on for as long as possible are free to do so. Those... those who wish an early release, to not suffer this undeath for even a moment, come forward."

No one moves, then another heaves blood and is shot when they rise from the ground and lunge at the living.

Then steadily, some start to come forward. Jaina initially fears that they might stampede, but no... the people... the people are so brave... so strong. The riflemen and mages are the ones who do the execut... the releasing. A shot through the head, or a bolt of lightning into their brains and they are down quick and painlessly. The dead are carried out into a forming burn pile that is monitored and guarded by a number of soldiers. It is sickeningly clean and orderly and despite this it gives her a small, pained hope that perhaps they can manage this crisis...

"We're going to make a memorial here," says Jaina softly, "With the census."

Arthas nods grimly, grief etched all over him. "We will."

Then she feels Mal'Ganis's dark magic in the air, and everything goes to hell when a number of the more sickly start glowing and turning instantly, like some kind of sick twisted conversion ability. Jaina's eyes widen in shock as it hits her. That was what she was missing from earlier. The Plague was a creation of the Lich King, who was when one truly thought about it, a demonic creation himself, formed and empowered by Kil'Jaeden, the armor created by the Nathrezim. They could influence the plague, once Arthas had started the original purge, Mal'Ganis would have seen his intent and played upon it. That fucking demonic BASTARD! The Culling of Stratholme had truly been a setup, start to finish, to separate and isolate the prince from her and Uther, to prey upon an emotionally, mentally compromised and exhausted Arthas.

The crowd starts screaming as to many zombies to put down in an orderly fashion start to tear into the living, and Jaina knows this is going to spiral out of control. There is still a battle to be fought against Mal'Ganis and his forces, this cannot be allowed to break out into a battle that weakens their forces. So she raises a hand, the beginnings of a pyroblast spell readied, before she looks down at a footmen at the base of the hill, the one clutching all the census papers.

"The... the census is complete, correct?" asked Jaina, tears streaming down her face as she formed the massive fireball over the rising bloodbath.

"Y-yes...," stammers the footman, moving to shield the papers.

"Then let us never forget what happened here this day."

She drops the pryoblast.

Chapter Text

Jaina walked like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.

It is the thought that strikes Arthas as he watches his future queen move to look over the ruins of the quarantine with grim grief stricken intensity. There's not a single zombie or infected civilian left standing. Its merely become a pile of ashes and charred corpses. So many innocent reduced to nothing over this madness. Worse yet... the look on his queen's face is horrible, never has he regretted something as much as he does Jaina being involved in this madness. She's going to have to live with what she did here today for the rest of her life, and this was worse than the mercy killings being spread across a number of people, Jaina had to euthanize the majority of the entire group...

Yet she was still standing strong and unbroken. His unbelievably strong queen...

He moves to stand next to her, a hand gentle on her shoulder. "You did what you had to do Jaina."

She nods sharply. "I know... I know."

She takes a shaky breath and lets it out. "Arthas... that wasn't just a happenstance that they started turning in bulk."

He narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"I felt dark magic in the air, someone or something triggered the plague to surge like that," said Jaina.

Arthas feels like the wind has been beaten out of him for a moment, before his face contorts with pure and utter wrath. "The Cult?"

She shakes her head. "It felt darker, Arthas. Its darker than anything we've met since we set out to investigate this."

A growl rumbles in his chest. "This 'Mal'Ganis' demon that Kel'Thuzad mentioned?"

"Most likely," said Jaina, her lips pursed tightly...

"My lord! Undead have been spotted in the city! They're going after the civilians!" came a cry.

Jaina was already moving before Arthas had even registered the words. "Everyone form up and follow our lead! We need an assault force ready to fight the Undead and several escorts ready to evacuate civilians! MOVE!"

Arthas falls in behind his Queen, regarding her as they ran. She'd risen to a commanding role and executed it as if she were born to lead and accept the consequences of doing so. He's not blind either to how she had been carefully managing him and Uther earlier as well. Too frustrated and angry and too damned tired to help her in the process, but not blind to it. She had taken responsibility to direct since they had arrived at Stratholme, and he'd be stupid not to note how much she had changed from the young maiden he had known before. Part of him regrets any involvement he had in hardening the young woman that runs by him now because of his youthful ignorance and cowardice at the Winter Veil. Another part whispers that if he hadn't, she might not have found the strength to stand so firmly, and he treasures that strength now.

He pushes aside his tiredness, calling on the light to invigorate him. He will be his queen's shield and weapon. He briefly considers voicing that her orders are to be obeyed as if they were his, but as his gaze passes over his troops, over Jaina's fellow magi, over the few elven priests and dwarven riflemen, he recognizes its unneeded. They readily follow her. He does to, there's something about her now that she didn't have in her youth. A charisma, a determination and will that is steel. He sees her will, and can only imagine the Scourge breaking themselves upon it without result. Hells, she seemed more vulnerable to his own stupidity than she did the undead, and he had no intention of being a weakness to her.

They storm into Stratholme as civilians are fleeing out of it, sighting ghouls running down the innocent, and roars, "FOR LORDAERON!"

The initial battle is as brutal as it is messy, rushing through the streets to face off against and drive back the undead. Covering for civilians fleeing for their lives. Fires have started all over the city, smoke is starting to fill the air. As much as Arthas wants to charge ahead run the damned down, he is mindful that Jaina is an archmage, not a melee combatant, and they are in close quarters on tight streets in a city where the Scourge could come from anywhere. She is by no means defenseless, and would probably flog him for the thought of holding himself back for her safety, but he's not going to risk it...

Until the choice is taken out of his hands.

"Arthas," she instructs, "We need to split our efforts. One of us needs to support the escort group, the other needs to focus on taking on the main Scourge force and keeping them at bay until the evacuation is as complete as we can make it. Either of us will work regardless of the task, your holy light or my teleportation and disabling magic can protect the civilians. Pick and go, now."

Arthas hesitates for a moment, wanting to argue, wanting to not separate, but he cannot be selfish. He cannot show such selfishness when she had shown such strength and will. Both paths are dangerous, whether exposure to the bulk of the Scourge, or the distraction of protecting civilians while running through the city. Ultimately... he decides that she would do better facing the main force of the Scourge, as odd as it sounds its safer for her. She had one task, destroy the Scourge, and it was something she could do well, where a single distraction could kill her unarmored body, especially without the Holy Light to heal her. He would have faith in his queen either way, but its better stacking the odds as best as he can.

"It is a Paladin's duty to safeguard the people," he answers softly, "Take Marwyn and Falric as your personal guard, and show the Scourge hell, I'll rejoin the main force soon."

She grins. "Better hurry Arthas, I might not leave any for you."

He grins back at her cheek before he grasps her shoulder. "Stay safe, Jaina."

"You too, Arthas."

Its agony to leave her, marshaling a smaller, quicker group, but he forces himself to do so. "Most of the civilians on the streets have either fled or been killed, we have to check household by household. We will take a section of the city away from the main force, clear any immediate undead, and split into pairs to check their dwellings, no one goes alone. Lets go!"

Where Jaina moves her forces up to Elder Square to block in the main Scourge Force, Arthas heads towards Market Row, checking briefly in the rest of King's Square. Only a few towards the entrance of Stratholme hadn't already fled. They find a number of adults and children huddled in closets and under beds, scrambling to get them out under escort. Its not difficult up until they hit the edge of Market Row, leading into Crusader's Square. The Scourge have set up one of their towers, its spiritual attack barraging buildings and any civilians trying to run. A large group of Scourge, ghouls, a pair of abominations, a meat wagon, and necromancers, stand guard, reanimating anyone who falls.

Arthas kneels behind a crate, motioning his men to pause as he sizes the enemy up. "Riflemen, shoot the necromancers, I want them dead immediately, there is little point putting down the undead if they merely reanimate them. I will face the big bulky ones and keep them entertained. Footmen, keep the ghouls from surrounding me, and off the riflemen. One person needs to make a break for the meat wagon and disable it, we're here to save the civilians, not let them be bombarded to death while we fight, MOVE!"

He breaks cover and rushes the group, shielding himself with divine grace as the Scourge's fortification rains spiritual attacks on him. He roars and slams into one abomination, his own heavy armored form, sending it skidding back and falling over. He swings his warhammer at the other, smashing it into the undead's face. His men swarm into the undead with their own warcries, bullets whizzing past and dropping the necromancers. Its a brief, brutal, bloody mess before they finish the undead and hack the undead fortification to pieces.

Then screams start from inside the buildings. "SPLIT AND GO!"

He doesn't bother waiting to see if anyone specifically joins him, he bum rushes towards the nearest building, elbowing through a partially broken door and finding a ghoul nuzzling into a woman's abdomen, bloody face twisting back and forth, ripping and tearing with guts in its mouth as the woman screams in agony. Arthas roars in frustration and slams his warhammer into the ghoul's side, sending it flying into the wall, the woman's innards dragged with it, before he blasts it with holy light. He kneels next to the sobbing dying woman as she spits up blood, sensing with his light, and finding the flickering of taint spreading from his wound. Even if he poured all of himself into healing her fatal wound, it wouldn't matter. "Dammit... I'm sorry."

To damn late.

She shakily points to a closet echoing the faint sounds of whimpering. "D-daughter... please..."

Arthas rushes to the closet and throws it open, finding a cowering peasant girl. "Its alright young one, I am Prince Arthas Menethil, I am here to protect you."

The girl chokes out, "M..mama..."

Arthas places his warhammer on his back and picks up the girl. "I'm sorry young one, I'm so sorry, close your eyes."

The girl does so, burying her face in the cloth hanging from his cauldrons, sobbing into them. He wraps a protective arm around her, gives the dying mother on the ground a grief stricken nod, and runs. It would have been a kindness to put her out of her misery, but not with the child there to see or hear it. He exits the building, spotting others of his men doing the same from more. They link up with a large cluster of civilians and begin the next escort run. Ghouls run out of alleyways, skeletal archers shoot from windows, abominations lumbering into view, and Arthas swears aloud.

"Don't stop to fight! Defensive perimeter and shove through!"

Arthas closes his eyes as he runs, sucking in his breath, clutching the girl tighter, and heavily calls upon the light in his moment of need. "LIGHT!"

He waves a hand, desperate in his faith, and light erupts in a wave, throwing ghouls away and sending the abomination sprawling. Arthas's vision blurs at the heavy expenditure, stumbling a bit, but regains his footing and leaps over the abomination, barely missing its cleaver at it swings up at him. The rest of the men and civilians swerve around it as it tries clumsily to regain its footing. The rush into King's Square, breaking free of the ambush, and make for the entrance. They exit the city and drop the civilians off with a huge chunk of waiting men and civilians before rushing back in.

The ambush force is gone when they return to Market Row. They are wary, until they hear the sounds of combat further in. They rush into Crusader's Square, spotting a number of footmen and, to Arthas's surprise, a fellow Paladin, blocking entryway into the Stratholme Bastion. "Brother!"

The man glances over at him, his face sweating heavily. "P-prince Arthas! Light be praised, reinforcements."

Something is wrong with the man.

Arthas can feel it immediately. His forces rush into the fray, helping to clear it away, but when he approaches, the Paladin falls to his knees, clutching at his heart. "Whats wrong?"

"My damn accursed father," spat the man, "I am Aurius Rivendare, son of..."

"Baron Rivendare, I know the man," answered Arthas with confusion.

"He's betrayed us!" spat Aurius, "He is the one who let the Scourges forces into the city and allowed them to set up. They have made a base deep in the city past Elder's Square. He... he inflicted some kind of dark curse upon me, his own flesh and blood, when I refused to follow his madness, I only survive off the lights blessing."

Arthas's vision burns with fury at the treachery. "Is he still here?"

"He fled when I didn't immediately fall to the curse," said Aurius scowling, "I... I was going to try and help the bastion evacuate before I perish, or perhaps... perhaps the light of the Alonsus Chapel may stay the hand of the curse."

"Can you not cleanse it?"

"It's far beyond my abilities, brother," said Aurius, breathing labored, "I don't have much time before I have to make my choice, we must get the civilians in the Bastion out. The whole damn city is going to burn at this rate."

"Right," said Arthas, hesitating, "After we get them out, get to the chapel and stay there. Perhaps Uther can do something for you."

Aurius takes in a deep breath, and lets it out, standing out of sheer will. "Lets move."

A runner goes through the bastion, hollering for all personnel and civilians to evacuate, and Arthas raises an eyebrow at the huge number that piles out, easily hundreds. "This is going to be a mess to protect."

"I know," muttered Aurius, "I will hold the rear and beat back any that chase us down, let your light be the one that pushes us through."

"For the Light.

"And for Lordaeron.

They move as a large stream, Arthas's own guards along with the bastion's stretched thin. Arthas is at the forfront of the group, and he already spots a number of Scourge gathering in Market Square to try and challenge them, a cluster of acolytes attempting to summon in fortifications. Arthas grunts at that, raises his warhammer, and charges, into the fray. He shields himself in divine grace, plowing through and making for the acolyte, beating them down, and then shoving his glowing warhammer into the ghostly structures starting to form, disrupting and destroying them before they can be made...

Then more people join the fight, and Arthas is briefly surprised to see civilians with swords, pitchforks, wooden planks, even chairs of all things, swarming over the lesser undead and beating them down. A fierce pride fills him at his people's fury and courage. Arthas takes on the lone abomination, containing it until they surround and kill it. Their massive group spills out into King's Square, and rushes like a tide through the street towards the entrance. Arthas escorts them until they cross the bridge, then runs back, finding Aurius leaning against the open gate, huffing with exertion and pain. Arthas throws the man's arm over his shoulder, and starts moving back into the city, his men falling in behind him.

"That's the majority of this side of Statholme, we move to join Lady Proudmoore and the main force!" he calls out.

"Lets give the undead hell!"

He grins and moves as quickly as he can, down the empty and aflame Festival Lanes, into Elder Square. He sights a heavy line of footmen holding position on the pathway into the Gauntlet, funneling the undead trying to breech through into a single killzone. Jaina stands with her back to him, hand glowing and calling down sheets of ice down upon the undead. Body parts of the undead litter Elder Square along with the fallen.

"Brother, wait," asks Aurius, "They might not be too far gone."

Arthas pauses and sizes him up. "Are you sure you have it in you?"

"It is a paladin's duty," rasps Aurius, and Arthas nods with understanding and grim approval.

They raise a hand apiece into the air and cry out for the Light. The Light of Redemption shines down from above, and a number of the fallen gasp awake, wounds mended enough to fight, spirits recalled to their bodies. A cheer goes through them briefly drawing Jaina's attention, she smiles at him, gives Aurius a briefly curious and baffled look, before refocusing on her task.

Aurius buckles to his knees, and Arthas curses, dragging him to and into Alonsus Chapel, noting the single form of a priest the churches only remaining occupant. "My brother needs aid!"

The priest rushes over as Arthas rests Aurius into a pew. "I will look after him prince Arthas."

Arthas nods crisply, once at the priest, once at Aurius, and leaves, his duty to his fellow paladin done. He will mention the man to Uther, and should Aurius live long enough, hopefully the Lightbringer may have the power to save him. He marches over to Jaina.

"I see you left some for me."

She grins at him. "Just a few. I wasn't aware there was another Paladin here."

"Aurius Rivendare, his father turned traitor and afflicted some kind of curse on him, he's resting in the chapel until we can bring someone to cleanse the curse," explained Arthas.

Jaina's eyebrows furrowed in thought before she slowly nodded. "I see."

Arthas drew his warhammer from his back. "He told me it was Baron Rivendare who let the Scourge set up a base inside the city, Aurius said he fled. He may escape today, but one day there will be a reckoning."

Jaina's face contorted with fury. "That there will be."

"Now, lets break through this mess and bring an end to this," snarled Arthas, charging for the killzone, shielding himself once more in a shield of the divine, and begins to drive back the undead.

Inch by bloody inch they shove out of Elder's Square, and into the Gauntlet...

Then it stopped, and all of the sudden the dead fell back...

Arthas, Jaina, the captains and their men slowly, carefully made their way to the now eerily quiet and bloody Gauntlet...

Arthas tensed as a green circle of power appeared a ways infront of them, and out of it appeared a monster. It was gigantic, twice the size of a man, armored neck to cloven toe in black and purple armor of a sinister design. Its head was only slightly humanlike in structure, with glowing green eyes and pointed ears, a mouth and a nose, but any similarities ended there. Its paleness rivaled the undead they had fought, demonic horns came out its forehead. It had claw-like fingers, sharp and deadly. Sprouting from its back was gigantic purple wings with horns on the top of them. Its mere presence was nauseating, his warhammer shined brightly and angrily in defiance of the foul creature.

There was only one thing this monstrosity could be...

"I've been waiting for you, young prince, I am Mal'Ganis."

The voice was deep, dark, mocking...

It snapped its fingers, and Arthas took in a sharp breath as the sickly form of an ill, plagued woman appeared next to the demon. It ran a claw through her hair, blood running down her forehead as she sobbed. The demon drove its talon through the back of her, erupting on the other side with a sickening spray of blood before lobbing her across the square until she came to a stop. Then her dead form twisted, an unholy glow illuminating her eyes as she rose and lunged for Arthas...

Jaina put down the tormented soul before Arthas could even begin to lift his warhammer.

"As you can see, your people are now mine. Your paltry efforts have saved only a few compared to what remains. I will now turn what is left of this city household by household, spilling out to run down those you have supposedly saved, until the flame of life has been snuffed out... forever."

"Not a chance in hell, Demon," spat Arthas, gripping Light's Vengeance tightly, wrath spilling across his face.

"We shall see how your forces fair against mine," said Mal'Ganis, sneering at him a green glow emanating from him as he began to fade out...

Only to startle and stumble, coming back into focus. "What?!"

Jaina had a glowing hand held out. "And just where do you think you're going, demon? If you thought you were going to come in here, openly mock and murder our people in front of us, then teleport out, you have another thing coming. Arthas?"

"Yes my queen?"

"Kill him."

Oh, he liked Jaina's attitude. "Gladly. CHARGE!"

Arthas and his men thundered across the city square at the snarling demon. "Begone!"

Mal'Ganis waved his hand, and Arthas let out an 'omph' as a green swarm of energy burst forward and slammed into them, sending them flying. Arthas scowled as the demon turned tail and fled like a coward, only to be turned into a block of ice before he could get out of the square. Arthas glanced over at Jaina, sighting a sneer of contempt on her face. The look of hatred and wrath upon her wasn't something he was used to seeing, something he didn't like to see, but if ever there was something that deserved it, it was this demon.

Undead started spilling into the square before they could take advantage of the frozen demon. Arthas let out a snarl and a warcry, his shinning hammer slamming into an abomination, his men's blades and shields covering his sides from being overwhelmed while he faced the strongest of the horrors... of his poor people defiled so. Because as Jaina had said, they must never forget. These were their people, tortured and tormented and twisted into this. Their slaying was a mercy and salvation from this damnation. So when he swung his warhammer with wrath and fury, it wasn't at the shells of his people, but the demon and undead that enslaved them.

Sheets of ice fell from the sky, impaling, pinning, and slowing down droves of undead, killing some, making the rest simple for them to pick apart. He snuck a quick glance, Jaina stood behind them, two guards watchful at her side, intense focus on her face. He refocused and shoved through the undead, rushing for Mal'Ganis as the demon broke free of his icy prison. Arthas roared as he swung, only for the demon turn and grab his warhammer underneath it's head, hissing as its hands burned from touching the holy weapon. Arthas struggled to push forward, for all his strength, physical and light infused, this demon was a wall of muscle and darkness. Mal'Ganis curled his other fist and slammed it into Arthas's armored chest, managing to send Arthas back and to the ground gasping form breath.

His captains were there in a second, shields raised defensively to cover him.

Mal'Ganis's lips curled and he merely took to the sky instead, his wings flapping in mighty burst. "Hmph."

A bolt of lightning cracked from below, but the demon swerved to avoid it. "You amuse me, little archmage."

Arthas staggered to his feet, warily eying the airborne demon, before moving closer to Jaina, just incase it tried something.

Jaina glared up at it, her hand moving to track it's movement, cackling with energy. "Do I?"

"Oh yes," mocked Mal'Ganis, "The way you lied and deceived those who trusted you was delightful."

Jaina's hand wavered.

"I perhaps spent to much time reveling over such betrayal, I dare say that if you accepted a proper infusion, you would make a fine demoness."

Jaina's face clouded, something dark crossing it. "You are not the first to mock me that way."

Arthas staggered away, an arm going to cover his eyes as a brutally intense stream of lightning erupted from Jaina's hands. The pained scream that escaped the demon's lips was worth the spotty vision he had when it faded away. He blinked a few times, squinting and sighting Mal'Ganis plummeting deeper into the city, smoking rising from his body as it fell. Arthas made a mental note to never truly ever piss Jaina off.

"Not so little now am I dreadlord?" spat Jaina, eyes trailing its descent.

"Think you got it Jaina?"

She shook her head. "Doubtful."

She wiped her forehead and reached for her belt, pulling out and guzzling a mana potion, a harsh breath escaping her lips. "My reserves are nowhere near where they should be for this."

Arthas raised an eyebrow, lightly scolding while propping her up, "I'm fairly certain, Jaina, that was one of the most powerful spells I've seen from you yet."

Jaina huffed and started forward. "Arthas, my body and power can't keep up with my knowledge, this is nothing compared to what I could do if I were stronger."

Arthas isn't deaf to the murmuring of a few of the priests and other mages with them, some of them regarding Jaina warily. He gives them a brief warning look before he moves to walk beside his queen, and then in front when the undead start to come at them again. Their forces make steady work, pushing deeper and deeper into the city. Unfortunately, Mal'Ganis had far more time to establish his presence in this part of the city. They find barley any living civilians, and those they do find, the undead ignore their forces in order to rush for and tear apart, even if the attempt costs them the immediate skirmish. It fills Arthas with smoldering fury. They've saved no one since he joined with Jaina. But that is next to nothing compared to the wrath that fills Arthas as they break into the Scourge base and do battle there.

So many bodies of men, woman, children, of innocents, of his people, are haphazardly piled into bloody gruesome meat wagons, being dragged off to Necromancers or other cultists who either reanimate them or are in the process of cutting them apart to make more abominations. The stench is beyond foul, his eyes blur and he has to constantly fight the urge to gag and heave, some of his men having to falter to do so despite the combat going on around them. He's more than once slipped on blood and found himself face-first into chunks of flesh, dead bodies, or undead which lead into a grappling struggle if his men don't pry it off him.

Its...

Its madness.

"Together now! Burn the buildings!"

Arthas briefly turns his head to see Jaina working alongside the other magi, fire streaming overhead and engulfing into the abominable Scourge structures. It makes navigating through the base a bit difficult when structures are toppling over, fire and smoke spreading everywhere. His men are struggling to fight, the coughing is enough to hear alongside the cackling of the flames, the screams of pain, and the guttural cries of the undead. Arthas grits his teeth and pushes through, his glowing warhammer battering aside the undead. Where is he?

Where is that demon bastard?

They find him at the edge of the base, the demon standing next to a portal that several cultists are chanting to keep open. "MAL'GANIS!"

Mal'Ganis regards the living rushing towards him with contempt, a sneer directed at Arthas, and then a contemplative look at Jaina before he refocuses."Unfortunately for you, it wont end here. Your journey has just begun, young prince. Gather your forces and meet me in the arctic land of Northrend. It is there that we shall settle the score between..."

"The score?!" came Jaina's now shrill voice, "Do you think this is some kind of sick game you demon bastard?!"

Whatever Mal'Ganis would have said in response is lost as he dives through the portal when Jaina unleashes a blinding bolt of lightning at him.

"DAMMIT!"

Arthas roars in fury and slams his warhammer down on one of the remaining cultists, taking him down and splattering his head across the concrete. He raises an arm to cough into, his vision blurring as a building collapses, sending dust and smoke and fire everywhere. He takes in a ragged breath before roaring, "OUT! Everyone out!"

They flee the burning ruins of the base, its barely better outside. Stratholme is still burning, the fire spreading further and further. He regards his surroundings with a deep sense of loss. He had hoped, after they had separated the infected, that they could have saved Stratholme, saved his people. He knows it could have been worse, the entire city could have been lost, enslaved into damnation. Yet... it doesn't feel like enough.

They flee the burning city, regrouping outside to see many civilians gathered in clusters, the bastion forces turned into guards for them, a number of civilians self-armed as well. The landscape is littered with his people, and it eases his pain to know that a number did survive that catastrophe. Its not nearly as much as he would have preferred, but between the plague, the smoke, the fires, and the undead, its not a complete loss. However, unless Mal'Ganis is stopped, this will happen again. He turns his gaze northbound, towards Northrend off across the sea...

"Arthas," says Jaina sharply, "Don't even think about it."

He turns and narrows his eyes at her. "It won't end unless we stop him."

"That was literally the most obvious trap ever," she snapped back, "He wasn't even subtle about it!"

"Because he knows that unless we go after him, then he'll have all the time in the world to prepare for another offense against my kingdom and my people!" he countered.

Jaina ground her teeth. "I'm aware Arthas, but we aren't going off half cocked after the demon. We need Lordaeron's army mustered, and the Silver Hand assembled. We need a true assault force readied, the only thing a small force will do is feed us to the dead and bolster their numbers."

Arthas took in a breath, then let it out, its not worth arguing about, and she's not exactly wrong. "Yes, of course. You are right in that. Though if Uther is still as squeamish as he was earlier, I'm not to hopeful that the rest of my brothers and sisters in the Order will be ready to do what must be done."

He catches her shifting, her mouth briefly opening, something argumentative in her eyes, before she pulls it back as he just did, rubbing her eyes tiredly. "We have first hand accounts from our men and the civilians of what happened here along with our own testimony. I pray it will be enough to convince them and your father."

"And if its not?"

"Then we will find another way," she said before turning and glancing over the survivors, "Attention! We will begin to teleport all of you to the Capital Area shortly. Please ready yourselves, I know today has been harsh, but you must persevere in starting over."

"But... what about Stratholme? Our home?" someone calls out.

Jaina turns her gaze to the burning city, a shadow covering her face. "There is nothing in there left to save."

With that, she and the other magi begin forming portals and ushering the survivors through. Arthas takes one last look at towards Stratholme, his stomach clenching in frustration and loss, before moving to help his men pack up their impromptu base...

Chapter Text

It was... stupor inducing, Jaina supposed, to see everything she had hoped by altering the Battle of Stratholme turn to ash.

"My son," stressed King Terenas, "It is our duty to save our people, not abuse our authority to lead them as lambs to the slaughter!"

"They were infected, father!" shouts Arthas in return, "They turned within an hour, less even, what were we supposed to do?"

"Anything but round them up like cattle and butcher them!" answered Terenas sharply before glaring at Jaina, "Or should I say cook them?"

Jaina's lips purse under the gaze of the King, Uther, Master Antonidas, and the Court in the Lordaeran Capital Throne room, all gazes critical.

"Jaina," begged Antonidas, "Sending Uther to Dalaran with a few samples and an ultimatum was not the proper way. You should have come for me, I could have gathered our best for a mass stasis spell, then we could have devoted effort to..."

"You say that in hindsight," said Jaina sharply, "But how honest are you, Master? If I had come to you, would you have immediately come with others? Not argued about the severity and the danger with me? Would we have even thought of that idea under the pressure of the situation? Not after the fact?"

Antonidas's eyes narrow. "Do not take that tone with me, apprentice."

"I did the best with what I had," she shot back, "The fact that you are questioning it means you still are underestimating the threat the Scourge posses. The only reason we even had the time we had before the infected started turning in bulk was because the demon found our efforts 'amusing' to watch."

"Yes," said Antonidas flatly, "I've heard the reports from several different sources, of how this 'Mal'Ganis' approved of your work."

"Antonidas!" exclaimed Arthas when Jaina faltered, "That is uncalled for!"

"The truth is often a painful thing, lad," said Uther quietly, "You did what you thought was best for Lordaeran, but what of the cost of the people, and your own souls? You still can at least hear the light, Arthas, look on yourselves, you can see the harm its done, the darkness of what you did."

"What we did or what we witnessed and struggled against?" rebutted Arthas, "My apologies, Lord Uther, if you weren't there to help us bear the burden we carry now."

Uther's jaw tightens. "Yes, your burden. How thoughtless of me. How about the burden you've placed upon the Crown and the Order of the Silver Hand? You lied to the people you were supposed to protect and led them to be massacred, even if their fates were sealed what you two did was abominable. How are the people we are supposed to protect ever going to trust us again?"

So foolish and ignorant, they all were. Late into the Third War and the campaign against the Lich King, this Battle for Stratholme would have been an acceptable victory, not a good one, but people were saved and the Scourge was beaten and driven back. They were all still thinking of facing the Horde, still trapped in that mindset when the Scourge, and eventually the Burning Legion, required something far more harsh to survive.

"If they want to live against what is coming, they will," said Jaina harshly, drawing stunned looks from all but Arthas, "You, Uther, do not understand what we are truly up against."

"Dark heathens that seek to stamp out the Light and its people, they're not the first nor will they be the last," said Uther.

"Wrong," she said, grimacing, "We're facing the literal end of the world."

Terenas scoffed. "Fear mongering, Lady Proudmoore?"

"Do you think the undead would be satisfied corrupting Lordaeran and consuming all life in it? That they wouldn't move on afterwords?" she posed.

Not even touching on the Legion.

"They'd have to defeat us first, and the Light stands ready to defend Lordaeran and her people," said Uther sharply before turning to Arthas, "Without betraying their trust in us. As it is lad, I should strip you of your position as a paladin."

Arthas stared at him in shock, speechless.

"As should I for you Jaina," agreed Antonidas, "However, I..."

"Do it."

Antonidas went into a shocked silence.

Jaina regarded him coldly. "I can already see that we wasted our time coming back. You're not going to help us stop this, are you? Not going to approve of an assault on Northrend to end the threat of the Scourge? They need to be destroyed, now, before they can become the threat they have the potential to become."

"Are you even the slightest bit repentant, Jaina?" asked Uther seriously, "Or are you so driven by fear and hate that you would throw everything away on the path of vengeance?"

"I regret the loss of the life, regret that it had to be done," she said sharply, "I will always have to live with what I did, but if my reputation, my life, my very soul is the price I need pay to save us all, then I will pay it."

Antonidas stares at her with loss. "Then you give me little choice. Jaina, I hoped to merely put you on probation, a suspension of duties while you reflect on what you did..."

He pauses, looking at her, pleading for her to give him a reason to back down, but she just stares at him coldly. Some part of her, the young and foolish mind she has now perhaps, screams at her to stop, to stay with her master and work with him. The older, cynical, bitter woman knows better. She will always be watched and judged from here on in even if she stayed, never fully trusted. It will only grow worse and worse from here on in. She has to do what she can before everyone turns on her again. Because... because they will... just like before... she fought so hard for them all... but they abandoned her... betrayed her...

She'll be all alone again...

Antonidas closes his eyes and sighs softly. "I hereby strip you of your position as an Apprentice Archmage of Dalaran. For your own sake, Jaina, return to your home and find healing among your family. You are not of the right mind and conscious, something in you is... broken, even I can see that without needing the light."

Jaina should feel something, at the betrayal of her Master, she just... feels utterly apathetic. Like she had been when the had been exiled from Dalaran in her own time. Rank and position meant nothing to her in the face of stopping the Scourge and the Legion. Even if the entire world hated her, so long as evil was stopped, she would be content. And broken? Maybe she was, she had already lost everything once, no one comes out of that the same as they were. She's... she's not the young archmage they once knew. Not even close. Just an old, bitter woman who will do what must be done.

"I see," is all she says.

"As for you, Arthas, you are suspended from your duties as a paladin," said Uther, "Your father has also agreed that you need to be kept here in the capital to meditate and find yourself again. Despite what you may think, this is not meant as punishment, but as guidance and care. You are not well, this trial was not one you were ready for. Its not a trial I would have wished on anyone, and where at times you did rise to the occasion, your actions after the massacre were commendable, what you did to get there was not."

He sighs. "I still have faith in you lad, but all actions have consequences."

Arthas says nothing, jaw set, frustration and fury in his eyes.

"There is one, last thing," said King Terenas, "Proudmoore, even if it sets me at odds with the Lord Admiral, you are not welcome in Lordaeran from now on."

"Father!" exclaims Arthas sharply, "That's unacceptable!"

"It is my WORD!" roared Terenas, "The Butcher of Stratholme is not welcome in these lands when she walks completely unrepentant! Should she properly seek forgiveness then perhaps one day my mind may be changed, but not now, not for years in the face of this callous disregard for my people's lives."

Butcher of...

She regards Terenas coldly. "I tried to save you AND your people, but you wouldn't let me. When the Scourge and their masters devour you all, you only have your damn self to blame."

"Leave," ordered Terenas.

Jaina turned and walked out.

"Jaina wait!"

Arthas came after her, ignoring his father's demands to remain, letting the doors close behind them.

"I never expected this," seethed Arthas.

"I should have," said Jaina quietly, "They're to damn soft to survive the Scourge, haven't truly seen firsthand what we are up against."

He nods in grim agreement. "They'll damn us all to the Scourge. They want to buckle down and hold the line, but how can we? I talked with Rivendare after Uther cleansed the curse, his father had alluded to other high ranking nobility of Lordaeran having betrayed the crown. How can we hope to defend our home with traitors littering it? All it would take is a single traitor dumping the plague into a well to start it all over again. We have to break the heart of the Scourge and scatter them, only then can we properly cleanse Lordaeran of its taint."

"I don't see how Arthas," said Jaina tiredly, "We have no support..."

"We do," said Arthas grimly, "Though its probably going to get us both permanently exiled from Lordaeran, I stand with you. If it saves my people, I'll pay the price."

She frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The men will follow us," said Arthas, "Any who fought against the Scourge know just what we face. They will accept a call to arms, even in the face of my father's orders. Hopefully we can draw in enough to drive into Northrend and destroy the Scourge."

Jaina hesitated, unease sparking in her. It would have been one thing if they had the full might of Lordaeran and the Kirin Tor at their back, but this... this was too much like Arthas's original campaign north. "I'm no coward Arthas, but I am realistic, can we truly get enough men? Not to mention people of power? If you are the only paladin and I the only Archmage... none of the Kirin Tor will defy Antonidas now that he's given a public order, not for me."

"What about your father?"

She laughed bitterly. "Once my father catches wind of this... he'll probably agree with them and hog-tie me home to scream at me until I'm 'fixed'. I... I don't know who we can call upon that will both believe us, understand the danger, and are willing to accept the consequences of facing it."

The elves wont help then, not until the Scourge has stepped upon their lands. Those of Kalimdor wont come with her even if she teleports over and asks (Night Elves might shoot her considering their early outlook towards outsiders). The Horde would probably kill her on sight if she managed to figure out where at sea they were and teleport to them...

"I'm alone Arthas," she said bitterly, "All alone."

All alone...

All over again...

Again again again again...

"Not alone, never alone," he says sharply.

He grips her shoulder and turns her, pinning her against a nearby pillar as his mouth crashes into hers in a deep, passionate kiss, breaking away and pulling back after, "We will always have eachother."

She smiles shakily at him, tears in her eyes. That's right... she still has her prince... hasn't lost him yet... "My prince..."

"My queen."

She smiles bitterly. "Well, not likely anymore."

He closes his eyes and exhales. "You'll always be the queen of my heart, never doubt that Jaina. Lets go."

Falric and Marwyn were a given, they fall in behind Arthas, righteous anger in their steps after he explained what happened. "We need to move quickly. Once Uther and my father catch wind of whats going on they will try to stop us."

"Yes Milord," they both echo.

"I need you two to split up and round up the men, any who were at Stratholme, any who will follow us," said Arthas, "But not in the presence of a paladin or the knights."

"Of course, what of you?" asked Falric.

Arthas grinned. "I'm going to get us ships."

Jaina was still uneasy about this, but, she asks, "Where do you want me Arthas?"

"Teleport me northbound towards the fleet," he says, "And begin teleporting the men once they gather. Hide in the woods outside Brill. Falric, Marwyn, send the men her way."

Like a thief siphoning water from a well, Jaina stole away one squad of men after another. Under the trees of Brill she beckoned them through a portal to another set of trees up north near the coast. All the while, she is counting, and all the while, her stomach is sinking. Its not enough. At this pace, even if its all night, its not enough. Not for Northrend, even IF its not yet the bastion the Lich King of her time had made it. Arthas had never stood an actual chance the first time around, not with the horror's of Naxxramas being at the ready, not to mention who knows what horrific servants the Lich King currently had. Finally, here and now, Kel'Thuzad was still alive, a horrible change from before, and him alone had the power to break the forces if not contained. The Lich King had allowed Arthas breach into Northrend...

Had allowed him...

Jaina closes her eyes, exhaling in a mixture of hope and despair after the next group of men go through. If they used the Lich King's arrogance against him, his own plans, could they kill him? He would be the most powerful source of energy and evil in Northrend, once she got close enough she'd hopefully be able to feel his presence. If they teleported close enough and blitzed him... could they destroy the Frozen Throne? What defenses did this Lich King personally have compared to Arthas as the Lich King?

Could they get out alive afterwards even if they did kill the Lich King?

Doubtful, it would likely take everything they had to do the deed to begin with, escaping after... was it a suicide mission then? Suicide missions didn't work well against the Scourge unless you managed to blow yourself up at the same time, because they tended to just reanimate those that died. There was a chance, a small chance, that in the chaos of the Lich King's death and the Scourge going out of control, that they could slip away. Or, be torn apart by hordes of mindless undead with no master. Even if the died though, and were reanimated...

There was no being short of the Lich King or an entity on his scale or above that could control her, and she'd kill anyone that tried to make an undead slave out of Arthas. They could potentially make their own Forsaken, something better than what had existed before. Honestly though, she'd rather burn her body from the inside out that be undead. If it got to the point of dying and becoming undead...

Well...

She could create scrolls or trinkets that could do the deed and blow them to hell and back.

She doesn't want this, but she doesn't see any other way out. There was... the potential of going back in time again, but could she survive the madness of murdering another timeline? Even if she somehow convinced Arthas to come with her? Not to mention she didn't know where the Book of Medivh was in Dalaran, and didn't have a prayer of getting it through the entirety of Dalaran's magi and security wards. She was good, and perhaps if she were at her prime she could have managed it, but not now. Not in this young, largely untested body with pathetic mana reserves compared to what she will one day have. She'd be lucky to defeat any of the Council of Six at this point...

Her thoughts trailed off as the next group arrived, and with it, a Paladin. She tensed briefly before pausing. "Aurius."

"Lady Proudmoore," said the younger Rivendare, "I come to offer my service in the name of the Light, even if we must tread and do what makes it weep to see it saved."

That... was different. "We could definitely use the help right now."

Another Paladin would be a blessing, maybe even make up some of the loss not having any other magi will have. Arthas hadn't had the major fallout the original Stratholme had with the Silver Hand, but any paladin siding with him at all would help soften the blow Uther dealt him earlier. "Any other brothers or sisters joining us?"

"Unlikely," said Rivendare, sighing, "Few would question Uther even in the depths of their own mind. But what I saw... what we went through... it must be stopped."

"Go then," she says, motioning to the portal, "Arthas will be glad for your help."

He gives her a nod and goes through.

She hopes, and prays, that he is the first of many surprises on who will show up.

He ends up being the only one of note.

Jaina honestly thinks they have less people than Arthas took with him last time. He had the entire 1st Legion Expeditionary Force, with some mage and priest support. Hell, she didn't even see Thassarian come through and she knows he was murdered and turned into a Death Knight up in Northrend before. There was a chance he was maybe on one of the ships Arthas was... acquiring... but she's not sure. Somehow, she's made the foray into Northrend worse, weaker overall. Jaina knows she's strong, and will only get stronger, they might have more overall power with her, but not sustainability against the Scourge. Even she needs support against endless hordes of undead, men to hold the line and keep them off her while she focuses on her spellwork. Or to guard the camp when she needs to rest and recover her strength.

Her, Arthas, Aurius, and Muradin should they find and link up with him, are not enough.

Its not enough...

But they have to try regardless.

No matter how hopeless it had seemed before, no one had truly ever given up.

Though, she idly wishes she had several dozen Heroes of Azeroth to throw at the problem right about now.

That tended to usually work.

Somehow.

In the end, they fill up about three ships with supplies and several hundred men. The strike force is... so small. So incredibly small. Were this an elite fighting force from her time maybe it could work. But here and now? At least half of them will die and be reanimated against them in the first week of the campaign north. The rest will grow and learn, becoming a stronger force. The next half will likely die when they breach further into Northrend and encounter harsher resistance, the more horrific creations and abilities of the Scourge...

Depending on what kind of defenses the Lich King sets up as his bait with Mal'Ganis.

Its cold, hard, brutal logic, but after years of facing the Scourge and the Burning Legion, and so many other threats, she can already see how much of this will play out. The Lich King could have destroyed Arthas in the original campaign north easily, but that wasn't his goal with Arthas. He didn't want a slave, he wanted a host, a true willing host to have corrupted from her noble prince. You didn't get that from mental domination and enslavement.

Even then, from what she understood, Arthas had ended up dominating that fusion between him and Ner'Zhul.

The ebb and flow of this would be simple to predict: The Lich King will offer token resistance at first, allowing them to establish a base and push deeper. He would steadily increase the amount and strength of the Scourge until they entered into the depths of Icecrown. Then it would a crushing madness, Scourge from all sides, incredible do and die pressure, but then, the rumor he placed would come to fruition.

Frostmourne would be there offered as salvation.

She wonders idly if she's strong enough to destroy the blade without it being gorged on countless souls for power. If so, how would that effect the Lich King? The Blade was part of the whole armor setup, at least that's what she had been led to believe. If they destroyed a piece of the whole, would it wound the Lich King? Cause disruption that they could use to penetrate to the Frozen Throne to destroy it?

She doesn't know, there's so much uncertainty, so much unknown, so much at stake...

Well... that's how its always been. The original scourging, fleeing across the sea, allying with the Horde, Hyjal, all the time since... nothing has ever been certain.

What is certain, and brings a soft smile to her face, is the clear brotherhood on her Prince's face as he and Aurius stand at the helm of their ship, pestering one another with friendly needling. Its kind of surprising, Arthas is still somewhat young, twenty four. Aurius looks to be... late thirties, early forties. Yet there's no age disconnect, no deference between them based on rank, royal or within the Order of the Silver Hand. Just two men bantering with each other as an escape.

Because both of them distinctly look like they could use it.

Arthas's need is obvious and the same as her own. Aurius? Considering he was at the heart of Stratholme when that madness began, betrayed by his own father who then tried to kill his own son, perhaps the comradery is something he desperately needed for his own well-being. She personally knows the pain of a parent turning on her, but his is a worse pain, because Jaina had earned her mother's condemnation for failing to do something to save her father. She leaves the men to it, retreating to her and Arthas's cabin to brood, sitting on the edge of the bed.

The dangers of using a plan that is entirely dependent on her enemy's arrogance are not lost to her. All Archimonde had to do at the original Battle for Mount Hyjal was stop, look around, wave a hand and destroy all the wisps, and he would have won. Their victory was only because of Archimonde's failure to contain his arrogance. The problem was, the Lich King was not Archimonde, and she didn't know nearly enough about the original Lich King to know if he would suffer the same failure. She knows some things about Ner'Zhul the Orc. She knows about Arthas the Lich King. She knows very, very little about Ner'Zhul the Lich King.

He is cunning, intelligent. He set up the Scourging of Lordaeran perfectly. Lured in Arthas with masterful manipulation and deception, along with who knows how many other cultists or people who ended up undead. He has eyes and ears through his Scourge, and can constantly be appraised of their progress. He is a calculated schemer, and that alone puts this entire plan she's thinking of in jeopardy. If only because if she follows Hyjal to a T, feeding Ner'Zhul's arrogance by playing along and then trying to subvert him at the last minute...

Unlike Archimonde, its very likely Ner'Zhul will have a backup plan. Unless he doesn't have time to enact it, but... there's so much risk, and the dread in her stomach...

Arms wrap around her and she jolts when her prince plants a gentle kiss against her cheek. "I swear I could feel you brooding from the deck."

She huffs and swats his arms. "Brat."

"Prince Brat to you."

She hums, leaning back into him. "You and Aurius seem to get alone well."

"I wish more of the Silver Hand weren't such sticks in the mud," said Arthas sourly, "He's a good man. Friendly and outgoing, but only after I worked it out of him. I fear the treachery of his father is going to make it difficult for him to so easily trust another again. I had the benefits of being a fellow paladin, and someone who fought through Stratholme alongside him. Others..."

Jaina nods solemnly. "It will be a long road, for all of us."

He goes silent for a long moment. "A long road. As much as Uther seems to think otherwise, I'm not blind to what we did, what we had to do. We will have to live with it for the rest of our lives. We didn't need a damn reminder ground in like that. Does he think I don't hate myself for what we did? That you don't? I saw you Jaina... when you... you freed them from their suffering. The expression you had was awful."

Jaina closes her eyes and takes in a shaky breath. "Some roads are longer to walk then others."

Hers covered the span of being complicit in murdering an entire timeline. She doesn't think she'll ever see the end of that road.

"We'll walk it together, my Queen," he murmurs, head leaning down to kiss her cheek, slowly and tenderly trailing down her neck.

His intent is plain as day.

"Do we have any -oh- further duties we need handled today," she said, trying to stifle a moan.

"The ships are on the way," kiss, "Provisions have been counted and double checked," kiss, "And orders have been distributed," oh he was going to leave a hickey with that one, "The sun is soon to set," his hands are slowly bringing the clothes down from her shoulder, "I think, all things considered, we've earned some time to ourselves. Light knows once we make landfall on Northrend we're not going to have the chance."

Their time on the ship might be the last time they ever have the chance to.

So, she turns to meet him as her robes fall off her shoulders, wrapping her arms around him, kissing him, and falling upon their bed, making love to her prince for the first time in a very long time...

"We need to brief the men."

Arthas glances over at Jaina, sitting in the mess deck alongside her, his captains, and Aurius. "About what specifically? They know what our purposes is, and we did not deceive any of them about my father's orders."

"About the Scourge," said Jaina, "I don't know how many of them were or were not at Stratholme. They need to know the capabilities of the Scourge that we have seen. The less caught off guard they are, the more that will live."

Arthas considers it before giving his Queen a nod. "Fair point. I hadn't considered it to be honest, I think maybe their fellows would have briefed them, but its always better to be sure."

The concern for their men warms his heart in a time when so much weighs on it and tries to make it cold. His father is a fool, Jaina would have made an amazing Queen of Lordaeran. "I'll gather as much of the men as possible down here, and have someone take notes to give to the other two ships."

He watches, half an hour later, as Jaina lectures their troops on the Scourge. Warning of things even Arthas hadn't been aware of. He had known fighting abominations was awful, but he hadn't actually paid attention enough outside of beating them into the ground that they had an actual air of disease around them. His light likely protected him from the worst of that. Her tips to let a stronger single combatant try to handle them if possible was thought out. An entire ring of men surrounding an abomination to cut it down was overkill, and would only serve to potentially plague more men or be cut down by the sweep of a cleaver.

Blunt weapons for skeletons, or at least severing a limb off. They lacked the physical strength an actual muscled person would have, thought it was somewhat fortified by unholy magic. Overwhelming numbers were their strength, along with swords getting caught between a rib-cage and doing absolutely nothing. Their riflemen were directed to shoot other targets, since shooting a skeleton was rather pointless and likely to just break a single bone or pass through a gap and waste a bullet.

His eyebrows steadily climb as one by one, Jaina completely and utterly picks apart the Scourge they had fought against as if she had been fighting them and figuring out their weaknesses for years. Some of it is common sense when one stops to think about it, but the fact that she's caught so much of it as one person... he's been impressed by a lot of things about Jaina since they were reunited, but this... this is something else.

"We don't know if there will be any more of those... Lichs like there was at Hearthglen," says Jaina with distaste, "In Northrend, but please, if you come across one, scatter. Do not group up, their area spells are devastating. I do not disparage any of your abilities, but this monstrosities are best lest to myself or the Paladins. Being skeletal, it has the same advantages as normal skeletons, but ramped up in power to cover weaknesses. Generally, a paladin casting divine shield and beating them into the dirt works well."

"What about the demon?" asked Falric, shuddering a little, "I saw that thing in Stratholme. You blew it out of the sky, but it was still blasted alive after taking that hit."

"Mal'Ganis," spat Jaina, "Is a creature of nightmares. Its... its likely there isn't a single person here strong enough at the moment to take the demon."

"But the strength of the light and its followers is in unity," offers Aurius.

Jaina nods, glancing at Arthas. "I doubt Mal'Ganis can take the three of us together. Even a pair might be able to take him."

She glances at Falric. "But he is a cunning creature, when the odds were against him, he retreated and laid his bait."

"So... its a trap then?" poses Falric.

Jaina sighs. "Yes, its a trap."

Falric considers it. "Springing it on our own terms then?"

"In a manner of speaking," said Jaina before admitting, "But honestly, there is very little choice but to spring it. To follow him to Northrend. If we don't stop him and destroy the heart of the Scourge now, it will be far to easy for them to infiltrate and start another outbreak. If we are being perfectly clear..."

She clears her throat. "Do you all understand how lucky we were, in the initial outbreak?"

Arthas blinks. Did he hear that right? "Lucky?!"

"Arthas," she said tiredly, "Just how many graveyards exist throughout Lordaeran? Especially the capital area graves in Trisfal Glades?"

That makes Arthas wince, a tendril of horror running down his spine. "Light above..."

The true scope of what the Scourge could become was starting to hit him, more than just a horrific threat that had to be stopped. Now he considered the logistics of it, beyond 'every man and woman who dies becomes another slave of the Scourge'. He starts considering the numbers... especially when he considers those who died in ages past. Plenty of graveyards go back many, many, generations. Cremation has never been a common method of dealing with their dead. He doesn't want to consider how many unmarked graves or graveyards or are scattered around.

"We stamped down the Scourge swift and hard," she says, jaw set, "We saw what they were capable of in the Battle for Hearthglen, when they reach the size of a small army. That was off massacring and reanimating a few villages. What happens if the Scourge really gets going? Towns? Cities? Entire cemeteries? We headed it off before it could hit a catastrophic stage. But that's the thing, its so easy for the Scourge to start to reach that stage. A vial of their plague in a well or a granary and there potentially goes an entire town. Anyone they kill is another slave raises, its..."

"An exponential problem," says Marwyn, "It could get out of control in the blink of an eye."

"Correct," she offers tiredly, "So much rests on preventing the problem rather than dealing with the aftereffects. Those aftereffects keep on killing and creating more problems."

"This madness needs to be stopped here and now," agreed Arthas.

Aurius jabs him lightly with an elbow. "Here and now being a few weeks by boat."

He scoffs at the light laughter that rings through the mess hall. "Yes, in a few weeks, make fun of your poor prince."

Jaina is smiling at him, he gives her a sloppy grin in response.

"So, any advice if that demon comes and takes a swing at us?" someone asks.

Jaina gives a mirthless smile. "Duck?"

That gets another laugh, and Arthas settles in to watch his Queen ferry questions one by one. The way she interacts with the men, so at ease with their soldiers. Not like a noble looking down their nose. Or a paladins distant compassion. There's no overbearing pride there seeing this as beneath her. Its something he loves about Jaina. She's just so approachable. If one treats her friendly, with respect, she readily returns it with a smile. She thrives off it honestly; in this last few minutes, she's... she just seems so much happier than he's seen her since they met again. To be... well... if he had to say it, its almost like... like she's been missing these kind of interactions... that she hungers for them, needs them...

His eyes furrow in concern, thinking back to the moment they met up again for their mission. She had been shaken and unsettled, had that all be him? Or something else? Had her last few years in Dalaran since... since the disastrous Winter Veil, been that harsh on her? More than just him having pushed a change on her? He remembers how coldly she had interacted with Antonidas towards the end of that disastrous meeting. She had... she hadn't given a single damn about being banished from Dalaran...

Jaina, an apprentice archmage who had been training for years to become one, had pretty much encouraged Antonidas to banish her.

The unease sets in deeper now, it really hits him what that meant. He's not blind that Antonidas had tried to give her an out, Arthas had been mentally screaming for her to take it at the time, he hadn't wanted her to lose her position, but she... she had walked away from the Kirin Tor without a second thought. This had to be more than just the threat the Scourge represented. She hadn't cared about leaving what had been her home since she became an apprentice. Just what the hell had happened to her the last few years?

He asks her that night as they lay in bed together.

She doesn't respond for the longest of times, enough to deeply unsettle him.

"I've... been alone for a long time now Arthas," she said quietly, and there is something... cracked... in her voice that he does not like at all, "Untrusted. Treated with suspicion, or fragile like I'm damaged..."

He grips her and pulls her tightly against his chest. "You're not alone now Jaina."

She rolls over, her eyes peering up into his, gentle and hurt need in them. Her holds her close that night, no passionate love like the last, just care, thumbing through her hair until they both fall asleep...

Jaina considers the water elemental she summoned sputtering around the deck.

Summoning elementals (and spirits) was generally a shaman thing, what mages did was a little... different. Mages used simulacrums, creations meant to imitate and replicate the function of the real deal (though they could take control of real elementals if they found them, but shamans really didn't like when they did that). The elemental she had summoned before her was not the same as one from Neptulon's realm. They were honestly more like arcane golems than actual elementals. She had never questioned a Elemental Lord on it, but she had the impression they were not amused by the simulacrums. To her point, while water could be useful, she finds she really wants fire based elementals. She knows its possible for a mage, she'd studied reports of the Scarlet Crusade, some of them had been seen summoning fire elementals in their monastery by the Heroes of Azeroth. So she knows she can do it. Its just...

Practicing with a fire elemental on a wooden boat is a terrible idea.

On the other hand, there are other elements as well. An earth elemental would be very useful to blocking a choke point, going toe to toe with abominations, or even drawing the focus of the mindless hordes. Which might be more important, because they have a numbers weakness she needs to make up for. Fire she thinks will be easy to make, transforming arcane energy to make something like an earth elemental would be a little more difficult, its kind of why mages generally just used golems. She doesn't have pretty much any ingredients or metals needed to make one though, so making an elemental was it.

She still wants to practice before they make landfall though, but they're over the sea, there's no dirt to even use as the basis for an arcane construct version of an earth elemental...

Over the sea...

She snaps her fingers, grinning. "Ah, but I don't have to practice on the boat."

She could just summon it over water instead. Should have thought of that to begin with. She considers how she forms a water elemental, compacting arcane energy, turning it cold, along with pulling moisture and air into a form. So... lets try turning the energy warm instead... she focuses the energy out past the ship, but mostly just makes a combustion of fire with a loud crack that makes the deckhands jump. Jaina scowls at the little explosion, pondering where she went wrong, and tries again...

She's mortified it takes her a whopping ten attempts to actually get it, watching the flaming being drop out of the air and sizzle into the ocean. Honestly, it hadn't taken her that long to learn spells since she was an apprentice. This body needed more experience in spellwork it seemed. To that end, she needed to decide how she wanted this elemental to work. She could simply make it a fire version of her current water elementals, or maybe she could form them as melee fighters, burning nearby undead. Though that risked burning allies, but so did fire projectiles going the wrong way. There was also the matter of delivery, summoning right next to her VS summoning at a distance. Ranged VS melee...

Then a nasty idea hit her.

She grinned and began to channel a fireball, focusing it her intent, similar to a pyroblast. She shoots out the blast a ways, imagining she's shooting into a horde of undead, and then detonates it in an explosion, which would destroy weaker undead and damage stronger ones. Out of the explosion, a fire elemental leaps, ready to tear into the damaged and offbalanced undead. Though, this one simply drops and dissipates into the ocean. Still, its a clever little idea, she always did like mixing spells together or coming up with new ideas...

She'd call it an Elemental Bomb.

Double meanings and all that.

"Jaina, stop giving the men a heart attack please."

Jaina glances back at her amused price and gives him a cheeky smile. "No promises."

"What do you think awaits us beyond this, Lady Proudmoore?" poses Aurius one day.

They're both leaning against the railing, staring north.

"If we live..., well...," she hesitates, "Has Arthas filled you in on how our entire mission went, from start to finish?"

"Not the entire thing, no, mostly shared miserable grumblings we drink to," admitted Aurius.

Jaina snorted. "Figures."

"What about it?"

"Kel'Thuzad mentioned demons," said Jaina, "And directly implied that both the Horde and the Scourge were instigated by them."

That makes Aurius go deathly silent, a number of deckhands glancing their way at her words.

"If that is truly the case," said Jaina, "Then I plan on doing something about that. Even if Lordaeran and the Kirin Tor wont. Perhaps... perhaps we can start up an organization, a faction, that specializes in dealing with such instances."

"You've given thought about this."

She nods. "A little over the voyage. The Horde, the Scourge, its not going to just end even if we defeat the current threat. Trust me, I... I want some peace and quiet after this, a chance to rest and recover and... and start a family, to be happy, but that doesn't mean I don't acknowledge what needs to be done in the long run. Someone needs to step up to handle it, because the Scourge is not the end."

Thoughts of Tichondrious shroud her mind.

It never ends.

A twisted grimace crosses her face. "Evil never truly dies, it always finds a way to come back, to get a another chance to strike again."

Aurius nods. "It always does, but so long as someone is there to rise and meet it, then it will always fall. You can consider me your first volunteer, when you start this 'faction'."

She smiles warmly, at the trust and faith put in her. "It'll be good to have you."

"You can probably count the crew in too," called over one of the not-so-subtle eavesdroppers.

But it only makes her feel warm.

Feel settled.

To have people on her side again.

"Though, you probably ought to tell em all about the demons starting both the Horde and the Scourge if you want to recruit, because that's... news."

Ah...

"Well, time for another meeting then."

Jaina stood silently, hushed whispers blowing past her ear on shivering winds. Her arms were crossed. Her hood was drawn. She stared with solemn focus at the distant shores coming into view. The oppressive atmosphere as they drew near Northrend was troubling. It wasn't... this wasn't like when she had set down that first time, the Horde from one side, the Alliance from another, in the campaign against Arthas as the Lich King. There was a palpable aura of dread hanging over the continent. The pure, raw, dark and twisted power that seductively called to her had not been there before.

She felt like something malevolent was staring at them, watching them, when no eyes were present. That she was willingly walking into the maw of a nightmare, mouth waiting to close around and devour them.

Every single instinct she had was screaming for her to take her prince and run.

Run and run and never stop running.

'The dead in this land might lie still for the time being, but don't be fooled. Your young prince will find only death in the cold north.'

Jaina swallows thickly.

The power emanating from Northrend is more psychic, more magic, than the raw might Arthas as the Lich King had. Ner'Zhul's presence permeates the very air seeping out of the frozen north like a malignant disease. Her gut feeling is that while Ner'Zhul is not more powerful than Lich King Arthas would be, he is far more evil. Without a shred of lingering sentimental little lights Arthas still had even at his worst, like him keeping her locket. Even more, Arthas was a human base, a human mind. Ner'Zhul hadn't been an Orc since Kil'Jaeden had gotten ahold of him, ripped him down to a soul, bound him to demonic crafted armor, and remade him as the Lich King.

There had been a lot of closed door arguments about why Arthas hadn't just full on unleashed the Scourge all over Azeroth. Some say he just wanted to test and lure in the Heroes of Azeroth to be his generals, which had nearly worked and would have screwed the entire world if Tirion hadn't gotten free, so there is that. Some of the few who had known and remembered the original prince pondered if some small fragment of him remained to hold back the worst of his capabilities. Truthfully, they don't know. But ultimately, there is no shred of a doubt to her that facing down Ner'Zhul will be nothing like facing Arthas.

For the first time, in a very long time, Jaina feels out of her depth and afraid.

That doesn't mean however, that she isn't going to face that fear head on and do her damn well best to destroy it.

No one else seemed to feel anything, though Aurius and Arthas seemed grim, but that was more along the lines of knowing what was coming than feeling something. As the shores of Northrend crawl closer and closer, Arthas moves to stand at her side, staring off into the Frozen north. They say nothing to one another, offering nothing but the comfort of one another's presence as they brace themselves for the cold north, and the undead that await them...

Chapter Text

She came north.

Of course she came north.

Kel'Thuzad sighed wearily, pulling on his beard as he watches, kneeling down on a cliff face overlooking the land bellow, as Arthas and Jaina lead their expedition onto the shores of Northrend, cautiously making their way off their ship. Why in the world had he expected any of his warnings to be heeded? Its not as if he hadn't directly warned them against coming north, against the rumors of Frostmourne. He had taken an insane risk then, trusting that Ner'Zhul wasn't paying as much attention to him rather than setting things up elsewhere.

The illusion of trust and obedience was a chain he had to cautiously wear, because it could be used to strangle him if bucked.

But all of his careful setup and planning seemed to be for naught, because Jaina Proudmoore was making the exact same mistakes her prince had in another life. Just with her tagged on this time. Actually... he squinted, was that less ships than before? Good gods, what was she thinking? No, foolish question, she wasn't. Tichondrious had chosen his target well. Proudmoore was a damaged, compromised woman. For all the raw power and potential she had, the cracks to her psyche and soul were all too apparent. Only death and enslavement would find her here in the cold north.

"She was my heart, Kel'Thuzad, even after I tore it out. I made so many mistakes... if there is one thing I can do, for her, for all the pain I caused her... as I lay here dying, my soul my own again, my last wish is for you to protect her."

He was going to fail his king's last request, and there was legitimately nothing he could do about it.

He stills his thoughts when he detects Ner'Zhul's mental approach, feeling a phatom overbearing presence weighing on his shoulders that peers out his eyes with his own body. "My champion has come."

"He has indeed," offered Kel'Thuzad, "Though, not as alone as we thought he would."

Ner'Zhul tilts Kel'Thuzad's head downward in a casual display of command and control. "Proudmoore and a paladin... Rivendare's spawn?"

"Indeed."

"I suppose Rivendare can have the paladin as a token to play with," mused Ner'Zhul, "As for Proudmoore, such loyalty to my champion demands its own rewards. She will be a powerful servant, she will serve for my glory, she will toil for the dead, for obedience, she will hunger. Arthas shall become the first and most beloved of my Death Knights. She will serve him, willingly or not, as she will serve me, and she will find it... joyous."

It had been a very long time since Kel'Thuzad had first heard Ner'Zhul's malice, a very long time since he had been heavily affected by it. Yet sometimes, Ner'Zhul could still manage to send a shiver down Kel'Thuzad's spine. "Perhaps, perhaps."

That causes Ner'Zhul to shift his attention from them to him. "You disagree?"

"You have implied before that you desire Arthas as a... willing champion," said Kel'Thuzad diplomatically, "Jaina has stood alongside him against everything he has faced, and if reports are to be believed, been exiled from Lordaeran for it. How you treat Proudmoore may have a negative impact on Arthas's willingness, not that I suppose you truly need it in the long run."

Oh but he did if he wanted the Prince to merge and become the King. That however is a thought he keeps hidden deep within.

Ner'Zhul regards him for a long moment before shifting Kel'Thuzad's head to look back downward, power enhancing their ca-joined vision to see the closeness between them. They stand side by side, united, giving out orders to make their base camp. "I suppose such bonds will have to be tested then, so see if they can be broken before he takes up the blade. Albeit, testing them when their forces are so paltry will be an effort in restraint."

"I'm not so sure," mused Kel'Thuzad, "Mal'Ganis is still smarting from Proudmoore's parting shot. I dare say that pushing her to grow and struggle may fetch us an even more powerful ally in the long run, as will making our soon to be Death Knights even more powerful."

Or make them strong enough to survive what is to come.

He can feel Ner'Zhul considering his words down the bond connecting Master to Servant. "Perhaps, but I do not wish to frighten our little lost lambs from my pastures yet, not before the lands digs into them to feed. Do you wish to give them greetings?"

Did he wish to lead the first attack wave was what that translated to.

Kel'Thuzad shook his head. "They came for Mal'Ganis, its best I not distract them from their goal chasing after me, Proudmoore was rather eager to kill me when we first met. She may end up giving chase, and killing me may be enough to sate their appetite if things grow to dire here for them to handle."

"I suppose," mused Ner'Zhul, not particularly caring, "I still find myself curious, Kel'Thuzad, why you chose to live through this phase."

Because hiding his thoughts as a soul bound to the Lich King rather than a physical entity was a difficulty he didn't think he could manage. "There has been a few unexpected happenings that make me believe a more physical guiding hand may be appropriate."

"The dreadlords have been overly watchful since the Scourging began, unfortunate and unexpected," agreed Ner'Zhul, "As was pulling a large portion of the Scourge to slip south for Ironforge and Stormwind so early. I do not like being split so thin. Had the Prince and his consort convinced their foolish king to strike north with everything they had, I am unsure if we could have survived."

"The foolishness of mortal men and their politics," said Kel'Thuzad, shaking his head.

"Another reason the Scourge having no voice of dissent, only obedience in their suffering, is for the best," said Ner'Zhul mockingly, "Those like you may serve with some allowance for free will and thought so long as their aims do not endanger the Scourge..."

Kel'Thuzad shivers as he feels a phantom touch, like Ner'Zhul is petting him as a favored pet before gripping inside of him, his spine, in a painful ice cold grip. "...I will be sure to remind them, as I remind you, that you still belong to and obey me. Do not think I have forgotten your first thoughts of usurping me when you made your way to the Throne. I can still so easily strip you of thought, turn you into a mindless one all while still claiming your service."

"I was a foolish man then," gritted out Kel'Thuzad, "Have I given you a reason to doubt me since? Have I not feverishly served you?"

"You have, you have," said Ner'Zhul in malice filled gentleness, mock placation that amused the disembodied voice, the petting sensation returning, "And so long as you continue to do so, you will have your promised immortality, an existence beyond your comprehension, as one of my prime lieutenants, from Arch-Necromancer to Arch-Lich of the Scourge."

Oh he was looking forward to that again.

"I wait with baited breath," said Kel'Thuzad before glancing down in consideration at Proudmoore. The chances of her and Arthas leaving this alive or with their wills their own was going to dwindle rapidly the further they got in. Perhaps damage control was in order. "And it occurs to me the vacancy I am leaving, how kind of your champion to bring a potential replacement with him."

If she was valued, there was less of a chance for her to be stripped of her mind.

Ner'Zhul glances at Proudmoore for a moment before laughing darkly. "How considerate indeed..."

"I don't like it," muttered Arthas, moving down the path towards a clearing in the dark looming woods, "Its too quiet."

"Well, just be on your guard then-," began Jaina before feeling...

She yanked Arthas backwards as a bullet tore through where he had just been walking.

"The hell!?" yelled Arthas, "Who the hell is shooting at us? Take cover and ready yourselves!"

The footmen ready themselves, rushing forward, only for a familiar voice to ring out, "Bloody hell! Hold yer fire lads, they're not undead!"

So, they had met up early then.

"Muradin?" poses Arthas as a number of dwarves peek out from a carefully hidden and barricaded area, "Muradin Bronzebeard? Is that you?"

"Damn boy," says the dwarf with relief, "I never imagined that you'd be the one to come to our rescue!"

"Rescue? Muradin, I-I didn't even know you were here," answered Arthas awkwardly.

"Just the same lad," begins Muradin before pausing and tilting his head to Jaina, "Lady Proudmoore."

She gifts a strained smile. "Not much of a lady anymore, but its good to see you again."

Muradin frowned. "Not a... oh boy, there a gonna be a story why that's tae case lass? Why are you two up here?"

"Why are you?" she poses back.

"Easy, easy," said Arthas, making motions of peace before them, "No need for tensions between friends."

Arthas hesitates then, considering what to say, but Jaina doesn't even think about mincing words, "Surely you've met the undead if your greeting to us was any indication."

Muradin winces. "Aye lass, I have."

"There was a invasion of Lordaeran," answered Jaina, "A plague of undeath meant to kill or corrupt the populace. Stratholme is gone, as are several villages in the northern parts of the kingdom."

Muradin grits his teeth. "Damn, I've saw tae undead moving and growing here, but I didin think it was anythin on that scale. Bloody hells."

"Were here to put an end to it," said Jaina firmly, harshly, "We could use any help we could get."

Muradin nods slowly. "Ya'll have it then."

Then he frowns, glancing at their numbers as the men move in to set up base around Muradin's own little camp. "Though yer numbers seem..."

"My father," says Arthas with frustration, "Refuses to see the danger of letting the Scourge continue and wishes to bunker down. We disagreed."

"Oh boy," muttered Muradin, "Lad, are you here in defiance of yer father's own orders?"

"Is that going to be a problem?" challenged Arthas.

Muradin mulled it over for a moment. "So long as you keep my involvement on the down low after, I like havin access to Lordaeran ale after all."

That gets a laugh out of Arthas. "Perhaps tonight you can have some, I know the men had to have snuck a few bottles with them."

"Aye, so I will, but for now, I've got a base of my own men up north cut off by the undead," said Muradin.

"Do you by chance have a map and coordinates, or a good picture of it in your mind?" asked Jaina.

"Yeah, but why... oh, Archmage," said Muradin, a huff escaping him, "Can you git all of us there?"

"In a few trips easily," said Jaina, glancing at Arthas, "Why set up our own base when we can just teleport and build upon theirs?"

"I like your thinking Jaina."

The battle that commences as Jaina teleports their group in set by set is... rather easy all things considered. Their men spill out of the dwarven base with a cry of fury and vengeance against the undead. They wash over the defenses the Scourge had summoned in outside the base. Paltry all things considered, a minor necropolis and a few spirit towers. They blow through it and rally, surging quickly at both Arthas and Jaina's prodding towards a nearby encampment of the undead they are warned about.

The Lich commanding it is a unwelcome surprise, but only a brief one, before Jaina lobs a massive ball of fire at it and blows it apart, a fire elemental spawning out of the blast and charging at the nearest undead. She arcs a chain lightning over the heads of the melee combatants, blowing holes through a ring of necromancers before they can even begin to reanimate the dead. She bombards the spirit towers with sheets of piercing ice while the dwarves and the footmen cut and shoot the undead down.

They drop the undead base in ten minutes flat, and Jaina is honestly surprised by how clear cut and clean that victory was. She nods to herself satisfied, watching Arthas and Aurius tend to their wounded with the holy light.

She approaches Muradin. "Have your men pack up your base camp, we're pushing north."

Muradin looks up at her. "Already lass?"

"The days only begun," answered Jaina, it had hardly been two hours since they landed, and she knew Northrend's day and nights, they had plenty of time to find a new location further in, "We need to penetrate deep and fast, find and eradicate the heart of the Scourge before a proper defense can be mounted..."

Ner'Zhul is silent as Kel'Thuzad watches the living push rapidly north. "Well then."

Proudmoore certainly knew how to not keep her head down and avoid drawing Ner'Zhul's gaze. Blowing apart a lich in a single spell as a supposed apprentice archmage was a great way to get the Lich King's undivided attention. She's only going to dig herself a deeper grave, and yet...

"She is driven," mused Ner'Zhul in dark consideration, weighing and judging, "Perhaps more than my Champion. I can feel her hate and loathing, her pointed determination, and yet... her mind is oddly well shielded. She is more skilled and powerful than I had thought, she should already have been named a full Archmage. Perhaps she was due more of my attention prior to now than I gave."

...and yet, it was obvious to Kel'Thuzad, knowing that she knew of Ner'Zhul's existence, to know exactly what her goal was here. At Jaina's full power in her prime, perhaps she could have fought Ner'Zhul, weakening slowly as he was after pushing Frostmourne out of his prison and leaking energy, especially had she waited until Illidan had done his little spell again. But here and now? Ner'Zhul is deceiving in his immobile prison. Ner'Zhul has no physical defenses outside of his minions, but the mental and magical power he wields is well beyond most mortal means to fight. Kel'Thuzad knew better than to underestimate mortals, the so called Heroes of Azeroth had constantly caught every opponent they faced offguard after all. Kel'Thuzad had not enjoyed being destroyed twice by them.

But all he sees here are the odds stacked against Jaina.

"Considering her banishment," continued Ner'Zhul, "Her mind could be... guided, to resent and hate her former colleagues."

Kel'Thuzad is still a little vindictive about his own banishment. "Her killing her own master would be delightful."

Ner'Zhul laughs. "It would indeed, as would her leading the attack that destroys Dalaran."

That... would likely fracture Proudmoore more than she already was, but if it reaches that point, there would be little he could do about it.

He looks over the marching forces once more, a frown on his face. Her only chance is for Ner'Zhul to underestimate her, badly, and Kel'Thuzad is admittedly at odds with that happening. At least, until he's become a Lich anyway. Then he has no need of the current Lich King, aside from him to die and leave Kel'Thuzad unbound. He would not say no to having his true King back again, he honestly missed the trust and respect he shared with Arthas than the mocking ownership of Ner'Zhul.

"She is dangerous," said Kel'Thuzad softly.

A soft, sad, unwanted breach towards his promise.

But Kel'Thuzad is a selfish, greedy being. He will try to fulfill his true King's asked promise, but not at the cost of his own lichdom.

It will be the only warning he will give Ner'zhul.

Ner'Zhul hums. "Perhaps. She is likely to bleed more of my forces here than I had intended to sacrifice to my Champion. It will make the return from Northrend more difficult, in that, she will make up the difference."

Oh, she'd more than make up the difference.

In fact, there was a lot that happened in the future that Jaina Proudmoore had been a critical part of; The Hyjal Alliance being the most important one coming up, or rather, it was her that had led Lordaeran's survivors across the sea. If not her, would anyone take that journey? If it were only Orcs and Night Elves at Hyjal, if they even allied, could they hold back Archimonde long enough? Does Jaina not realize her own importance to these events? That if she fell to the Scourge, there would be absolutely drastic consequences?

If Archimonde won at Hyjal, the Scourge would remain as slaves to the Legion, cast from the Twisting Nether by Kil'Jaeden from one world to the next on their burning crusade.

He feels a mental scowl from Ner'Zhul, "They are pushing forward north more than intended. I had planned that they would stay at the overtaken base, its position was carefully chosen to be defensible and near to Frostmourne's cavern, the perfect allure before Mal'Ganis struck and surrounded them, forcing them to seek the blade. I will need to have Frostmourne moved north as well."

Kel'Thuzad nodded in agreement. "And more of a trail left for the dwarf to follow..."

The push out of the Howling Fjord midway through the second day. Jaina can faintly recognize some landmarks, but, Northrend had changed in the years between now and the invasion of Northrend. Pleasantly, there is not a Vrykul in sight. They enter into the Dragonblight, and Jaina looks west. The sight of Wyrmcrest Temple is blocked by what would eventual be the mountain that Wintergarde Keep would be built upon. She considers idly if she could get the dragons to help her...

But no.

Medivh's warning rings in her ear.

If she ran into a Bronze Dragon there, they would be able to tell she had come back in time, and it would all be over.

There was no guarantee the dragons would be 'bothered' to help her anyway.

So they continue north, coming upon a Scourge base being hastily constructed blocking the entrance into Crystalsong Forest.

"Don't let them get their defenses up!" yells Arthas, "Charge! In the name of the light!"

Jaina doesn't immediately follow the charge, eyeing meat wagons and dark casters along the cliffs above the pass. There is a line of abominations spilling out to block the way. Hordes of ghouls crawling along the ground. The Scourge are trying to contain them here, and the defense isn't to be taken casually. If they had delayed their swift advance and allowed the Scourge to set up base, this would have been a deadly battle. Instead, Jaina lobs an elemental bomb up the cliff, exploding a meat wagon, the elemental it spawns leaping at a acolyte. She teleports up the cliff herself and works on destroying the Scourge their forces below can't really get at. Lightning arcs from her finger tips, chaining down the line of dark casters, meat wagons, and skeletal archers, with no way for them to maneuver or run out of the way.

Its a slaughter, especially when she's cleared the cliff face and rains down spells from above on the backline of the Scourge below with no way for them to get at her. They break through the defensive line and destroy the in-progress base, banishing buildings being summoned in, or destroying the few that were summoned. There were more casualties this time compared to the last base, but still, not what Jaina expected. The land should be absolutely teeming with undead. Assault waves should number in the hundreds of undead, bases teeming with a thousand at least. Each battle should be absolutely grisly and hectic...

Was she... was she overestimating their numbers? Overestimating the early Scourge? Even without all the dead of Lordaeran, she'd have thought Northrend would offer more...

A cheer goes up as the last undead is cut down, the troops already moving to start a burn pile to deny the Scourge reanimating their undead.

"Caught em with their pants down we did lad," laughed Muradin as Jaina teleports back down.

Arthas chuckled, good natured, a grin on his face, confidence and pride clear. "That we did old friend. I don't think they were expecting us to push so hard and so quick."

Muradin nods. "Aye, there was a lot of undead gathering here. Had they gotten it all set up..."

He shakes his head. "Would have had to find a way around, or find that artifact to breech this."

Arthas blinked. "Artifact...?"

"We originally came here seekin rumors of a Runeblade called Frostmourne."

Jaina's soul shivers at that dreaded word. Arthas's eyes sharpen. "A Runeblade? Here?"

"Aye lad," said Muradin, "Though the closer we came to finding it, tae more undead we found instead. I'm to old tae think that mere coincidence."

"You think Mal'Ganis doesn't want us to find it?" mused Arthas, an odd look in his eyes that Jaina finds unsettling.

"Its odd though, isn't it?" interrupted Jaina, trying to set Arthas against the idea, "If there is some kind of powerful Runeblade here, why wouldn't Mal'Ganis use it himself? He's certainly got enough undead that he could easily scour the lands to find it."

Arthas frowned a little. "You think its just a rumor?"

"A rumor, or a trap," she advises.

He looks dissatisfied with that, with her. "I don't know Jaina, we need everything we can get to defeat Mal'Ganis and the Scourge, weren't you worried on the way here that our forces wouldn't be enough?"

"Well, that was before we crushed through the first several bases with little problem," said Jaina, moving to step forward and place a hand against Arthas's chest, "We have everything we need to end this, my Prince, right here."

His hardening expression melts into a smile, he gently grips her wrist and pulls her hand up to kiss her knuckles. "That we do. Still..."

He glances at Muradin. "Keep some of your men investigating the possibility while the rest of us focus on pushing against the Undead."

Jaina doesn't like it, doesn't like anything involving Frostmourne, but she doesn't have a reason to keep pushing on it that won't seem like paranoia. For now, she will watch and wait and intervene when necessary... and enjoy the hushed awe on her prince's face as they move into Crystalsong Forest, enthralled by the vivid crystal landscape. They set up camp a bit into the woods, and then Jaina gets another surprise.

The Decrepit Flow, the fortified dam, isn't there.

The fortification of Icecrown hasn't even been started yet.

As such, a lot more of Crystalsong Forest is submerged, and the Mirror of Twilight lake is much, much bigger than she remembers.

But that's aside the point...

They have a clear path straight into Icecrown.

And the next day, they shove through the undead and step foot into the heart of the Scourge...

Dreadlords are distasteful beings to be around.

Especially this conceited arrogant work.

"Is the great Lich King afraid?" mocked Mal'Ganis, "Of two paladins, an archmage, and a dwarf?"

"Afraid? No, intelligent, yes," snapped Ner'Zhul, "Was it not you who advised me of the dangers of pushing Frostmourne from this prison? My powers slowly ebb. But beyond that, they should never have breached into Icecrown. You ripped over half of my forces away to begin Scourging the lands of Ironforge and Stormwind, this weakness is directly your fault."

"Calm yourself Ner'Zhul," soothed Mal'Ganis, "You are in no danger. Should it come down to it, you always have Naxxramas as a trump card."

The disdain Ner'Zhul emanates can be missed by no one. "So you refuse to clean up your own mess? The objective is to convert the boy into a willing tool, not simply kill him."

Mal'Ganis let a deep growl escape his throat. "Willing tool or not it does not matter to the Legion, but fine, if you are so terrified of these mortals, I will take a more personal approach. Its not difficult to summon a few infernals nor open a portal or two for demons to add to the pressure. He will have no choice but to seek your blade, and in doing so, fall right into our hands."

Mal'Ganis vanishes through a green portal, leaving Kel'Thuzad alone with an irritated Lich King. He can feel the psychic pull, Ner'Zhul is recalling all Scourge scattered across Northrend to Icecrown. Even Naxxramas is being flown the long way around to return to the Frozen Throne, to avoid being seen or detected by Arthas's forces. Jaina's only chance had been to catch Ner'Zhul offguard, to make him underestimate him.

She had done the exact opposite, the expedition blowing through defenses and traps and native hostiles along the way from the Howling Fjord to the entrance of Icecrown with minimal casualties in days when it should have taken weeks with their forces limping along. Jaina herself was frequently on the forefront, blowing away fortifications, obliterating clusters of undead, and always, always, going for Scourge casters and range units with her lightning. She is single-handedly turning fights that should be disastrous, or at least somewhat even, into landslide victories. Whats more... these battles should leave Proudmoore exhausted, mana drained heavily with her rate of spellcasting, yet she keeps on going barely winded. There is something about her that he's missing, that he didn't have the chance to understand in the future. This combined with a pair of paladins there to heal the wounded and resurrect the dead has allowed them to maintain their strength and numbers.

Arthas is still far more entwined with the light than he had been the first time, it still readily answers his call.

The prince and the archmage were currently clearing out a base near what would have one day been the Decrepit Flow. Ner'Zhul had been adamant that was the furthest they would allow the humans. Icecrown today did not have a fraction of the defenses that the Icecrown of the future would have. The only true defense the Frozen Throne had was a ring of Obelisks that were enchanted to seal access to the peak that bore the Lich King. Along with any Scourge forces defending them.

Kel'Thuzad is very, very nervous that Jaina is going to make it there, and Ner'Zhul has long since stopped considering her a trifle little archmage. Jaina is not going to let herself be stopped by anything short of death, and if she actually starts to take the obelisks, Ner'Zhul is going to drop his plan of converting Arthas in favor of saving himself, unleashing everything he has in response...

"How is she drawing upon the Laylines beneath Northrend?" ponders Ner'Zhul, making Kel'Thuzad startle, because he had not been aware of that, "Its almost as if she's doing it subconsciously, but that is more of an Elven trait..."

"Well," said Kel'Thuzad, briefly scrambling for a cover for Proudmoore, "It would seem Prince Sunstrider has been naughty."

"Oh?"

"They were once somewhat interested in one another in Dalaran," said Kel'Thuzad, vaguely recalling and embellishing upon the incident, "I believe the report was that Arthas and Kael'Thas were confrontational over the young Archmage's heart. It would seem Sunstrider has taught things to Proudmoore that he should not have."

Please don't look into it, please don't look into it...

Ner'Zhul grunts in frustrated acknowledgement. "Antonidas was a complete and utter fool to let this girl slip through his fingers. She is far more powerful, skilled, and dangerous than any around her age and status should be. That however could come back to bite us. She will be capable of activating the obelisks around the Frozen Throne if they breech that far, and Arthas has yet to truly search for Frostmourne."

"Perhaps he needs more of a push," suggests Kel'Thuzad, eager to get Ner'zhul's focus back on the prince rather than the archmage.

"What do you have in mind?"

"Naxxramas is too much for them as a whole," agreed Kel'Thuzad, "But a single champion of the dread citadel? I am rather fond of Patchwerk."

Ner'Zhul contemplates it. "Yes, along with the Mal'Ganis's incursion, it should be enough to force Arthas's hand into seeking the blade."

Perhaps, or more hopefully, Jaina would get the hint that Naxxramas was right around the corner and take this last chance flee Northrend. Because this IS the last chance. If she initiates a battle for access to the Frozen Throne, then it will be all or nothing.

A Symphony of Light and Darkness where there will be only one winner...

Chapter Text

The chilling bite of Icecrown is something Jaina would never forget. The howling, screaming wind. Sunlight blocked by clouds shedding snow upon them. Darkness coats the air. She breaths in Ner'Zhul's malice with every breath, the oppressiveness of it overwhelming this close to the Lich King. The guttural cries of the damned as ghouls and zombies shamble at them. Its a steady, continues stream. This intensity is what Jaina expected for all of Northrend.

Arthas, Aurius, and Muradin are at the forefront, battering the tide of undead as they push in steadily...

Then...

"You've done well, young prince, to make it this far into the roof of the world."

Mal'Ganis stands at the top of a hill to the east of them, watching, a sneer on his face. "But this is where your journey ends, boy. Only death will sing the tale of your doom."

"Mal'Ganis!" snarled Arthas.

The dreadlord laughs. "Come then, young prince, my forces wait for yours to the east as they did before. IF you can survive the dead and the cold to meet me."

Mal'Ganis turns and flees, and with him, the stream of undead follow.

Arthas turns to give chase. "We march east! That undead loving demonic bastard dies today!"

"Arthas WAIT!" Jaina yells.

He glances back, eyebrows furrowed in annoyance. "Jaina, we don't have time. I know its a trap, but he is what we came here to kill!"

She shakes her head and points north. "Don't you feel it Arthas? To the north? That... that pure and utter evil?"

He glances northward, a frown on his face, his grip slowly tightening on his warhammer as light ignites around it in outrage to what they feel. "I do."

"Light above," mutters Aurius, "The air has become heavier and heavier, darker and darker, the further north we've tread, but I never thought it came from one single source. I've never felt anything like it. Even the demon doesn't feel like this."

"Mal'Ganis isn't luring us into a trap, Arthas," said Jaina, "He's luring us away from whatever that is we're approaching. The undead have all been scrambling to stop us, they never thought we'd breach this far into Northrend. This Arthas... I feel it in my bones, whatever that is, its the source of the undead."

She moves to stand next to him. "We didn't come here to kill Mal'Ganis, Arthas, we came here to destroy the Scourge. Without the Scourge, Mal'Ganis is just one demon."

Arthas stands still for a long moment before slowly nodding. "We march north. If Mal'Ganis wants to dance, he comes to us."

"I dun know lad," muttered Muradin, shivering, "I've been tae some dark places in meh life, but nothin has ever sent chills down my spine like this place. Are we going to be enough?"

"We have to be," said Jaina grimly.

"We are the chosen of the light," said Arthas firmly, "We will not falter."

The moment they start north instead of following Mal'Ganis east, the very air thickens with hatred and fury. Like she has sickly lungs struggling to take in a single breath. The floodgates break open, and the undead are coming from everywhere.

"Defensive formation!" roars Arthas, "Circular, footmen and knights on the outside, riflemen and engeneers on the inside! Once we find a suitable spot, we're making a base."

Their forces become a ball of the living, the hordes of the undead breaking upon shields and falling upon swords, bullets and arrows dropping more and more as they come. Jaina arcs chains of lighting and drops sheets of ice as the press deeper. Then, they crest a hill...

Jaina chokes a bit when she sees it. Off in the distance, a spire, THE spire, a large ominous gate a faint sight at its base. Jaina grounds herself as best she can, briefly finding her Prince's hand to squeeze. He squeezes back, gazing grimly at the spire. Then, he points, and she follows his gaze, sighting a large black obelisk coated in runes on top of a small raised and bricked area. Jaina has no idea what it is, those weren't there in the future. She feels power emanating from it. She nods, and they make their move down there.

They once again catch the undead unprepared, acolytes scrambling to summon in defenses around the Obelisk. Jaina is startled to see them trying to set up a full fledged base, buildings she'd normally only see in a bastion of the Scourge. "Whatever that obelisk is, its important."

"Take the base!" ordered Arthas, "We set up here!"

Jaina begins summoning elementals to help hold the line as they tear down the in-progress Scourge base and begin setting up their own hastily made fortifications. Its a brutal slugfest as lines of abominations, ghouls, zombies, and crypt fiends rush in, trying to drive them off. Gargoyles screech overhead, diving in. Jaina waves a hand, sending a wave of lightning flashing through the sky and dropping them.

The tide slowly ebbs, and all the sudden cuts off, but Jaina knows better than to think the undead are done. They're gathering for a large assault rather than a steady stream. Jaina takes the moment to guzzle a mana potion before approaching the obelisk. She places a hand upon it, and feels it pull for magic, a circle of power appearing before it. She narrows her eyes, moving to stand in the center, and aims a hand at the obelisk, funneling power into and connecting to it. The ground under her shivers as the obelisk ignites in blue flames. Off in the distance, like gears turning, a blue symbol appears over the gate leading to the Frozen Throne.

"So that's it then," says Jaina, feeling fate weighing on her shoulders, "These Obelisks are locks, we need to control and activate them in order to get access to the spire. Muradin, get a gyrocopter up and running to do a pass around, how many are there?"

Ten minutes later they have their answer.

"Four obelisks," said Arthas, "We control one, the Scourge hold the other three with fully set up bases, teeming with undead according to the report."

He turns around to address their forces, so many determined and grim eyes staring up at them. "This is it men. There are no doubts, the evil we came to destroy is here before us, in its awful twisted dark glory. We have arrived at the heart of undeath itself. We are the vanguard to protect Lordaeran, nay, the entire world from this blight. We stop this evil here, we stop this evil now! We are the chosen of the light, the banishers of the dark! I will gladly lay down my life to stop this evil, and I call upon all of you to do the same!"

"We're with you Prince Arthas!"

"Lets take these bastards down!"

"No rest, no mercy!"

"To the death!"

"To the death," agrees Arthas grimly, "We stop this evil here, or we die trying."

The last and only time Kel'Thuzad had ever felt Ner'Zhul this enraged was when Illidan Stormrage had set foot upon Icerown Glacier. This about matches that, except its worse. Illidan had lead a massive assault force consisting of both Elves and Naga. This strike force isn't even a quarter of that size, and none of those that oppose the Scourge now, even Jaina, are as powerful as Illidan was after consuming the Skull of Guldan. The Lich King is practically frothing at the mouth in fury, that he can't conceive how its gotten so far. How a simple trap for Arthas had led to the strike force challenging the Scourge for access to the Frozen Throne itself.

Then it gets worse.

Because a portal appears, and its not Mal'Ganis that steps through.

"This is unacceptable," snarls Tichondrious, wings flexing as the greatest of the dreadlords, and one of three active time travelers, gazes upon them, "One paltry assault force has threatened the survival of the Scourge? The very invasion of Azeroth has been placed in jeopardy by your little plan to convert a mortal prince!"

"If the Legion had not sabotaged my own defenses by stealing my warriors...," began Ner'Zhul.

"I am not here to hear excuses," snapped Tichondrious, "Archimonde is most displeased. Mal'Ganis has been given clearance to do whatever is necessary to end this threat. If you fail to stamp out this threat yourself, he will incinerate the body of the prince you crave as punishment for your failure. End this now Ner'Zhul, or the Legion will end it for you."

With that, Tichondrious give a derisive sniff and leaves, portalling out.

Kel'Thuzad frowns intently. "How long until Naxxramas arrives?"

"Half an hour," gritted out Ner'Zhul, "They should never have breached this far. Had I known Proudmoore had this much power and potential, I would have put in great efforts to claim her prior to the Scourging of Lordaeran. I've been watching through my minions, focusing my abilities to sense how she casts, and I've never see anything like it. She has many different forms woven into her spellcasting. There are faint hints of draconic, druidic, shamanistic, and warlock teachings in everything she does in addition to her normal achmage learnings, perhaps even things I am not aware of. She's feeding off her own lifeforce to cover her mana pool all the while pulling energy from the laylines below her feet to sustain herself."

Kel'Thuzad's eyebrows widen briefly before narrowing. "I see."

So that was what a lifetime of struggle and conflict had made Jaina Proudmoore into. He wondered idly, just how many Proudmoore had studied under and emulated in order to perfect her craft so. "She's been busy learning more than any of us could imagine. I dare say Antonidas hasn't a clue, otherwise he'd have never allowed her to leave. I must say, I approve of the desire to study and gather such a collective of knowledge and power."

"We're it not at our peril, perhaps I would approve of my future servant as well," said Ner'Zhul, "But not here, and not now. Not with so much at stake. I have plans that Arthas is critical for. I cannot lose him, any else will not suit the role he is destined for as well as he will."

"The more important the prize, the more important the fight for it," said Kel'Thuzad, "This, here and now, is a defining moment of the Scourge, a challenge for the greatest of prizes. The Prince and the Archmage, champions of the Scourge beyond imagine that the Burning Legion would take from us."

Because now Kel'Thuzad has to shift his promise to his true King. The Legion will destroy both Arthas and Proudmoore. Better a life of undeath than permanent death, even if Jaina would likely prefer death. She can be made to eventually see reason, see the benefits of an eternal undead empire, once Ner'Zhul has been disposed of ofcourse...

"Then it is a challenge that will require all of my available tools to claim victory over," said Ner'Zhul, "Kel'Thuzad, take to the field."

"Of course, my lord," answered Kel'Thuzad before pausing, "Did the dwarves ever end up taking the bait?"

"Several of them are being carefully led towards Frostmourne's current rest, but I cannot count the original plan to succeed in the face of our current struggle," said Ner'Zhul, "I will settle for the Prince safely killed and claimed if I must, slowly converting and winning his allegiance and... what is the dreadlord doing?"

Kel'Thuzad pauses, glancing skyward, at the snowstorm slowly bleeding green. "Ah. Well, I suppose the race is on then."

His eyes tracked as the sky split open and the first infernals began to rain down...

"BRACE YOURSELVES!" screamed Jaina.

Jaina choked on fear as she cast one spell after another as undead clawed at their fortifications and demons rained from the sky. Streams of lesser demons are arriving with the undead. She hadn't imagined this, hadn't thought the Legion would get involved. But of course they would, the Scourge was legitimately threatened, and if the Scourge didn't pave the way then the Legion couldn't invade. She should have though, she should have known, her foolishness might have just gotten them all killed. Taking on the Scourge was one thing, but both?! Hyjal's defenses had been broken one after another by that, and what they had here wasn't close to that. Still...

Arthas and Aurius were practically bathed in the light, auras shining as they fought with its grace, its power reacting violently to the combined evil of undeath and demonic energy. Muradin gave a war cry and leaped high for one so small, smashing a hammer in one hand and an axe in another through an infernal's skull. Every single member of their strike force is fighting desperately with everything they have. Surprisingly, no one is panicking, their discipline and determination is amazing, and fills Jaina with pride.

"Arthas!" she shouts, "We're never going to win this on the defensive!"

"How the hell are we supposed to push out from this?!" he calls back.

"Split the assault force!" she answers, "One of us has to lead striking out at the bases and claiming the obelisks, the others have to hold the line."

"Lass!" calls out Muradin, "We don't have the forces for this! Not for bloody undead AND demons. We'll never be able to hold all four obelisks! We'd have to split up into four groups to hold all of them! We have to pull out!"

"No!" barked Arthas, "We end this here!"

"We didn know about the damn demons Arthas!" snaps Muradin, "We don't have enough men!"

Jaina shakes her head. "You three hold the base, I'm the only one that can activate the obelisks anyway, all I need is a guard to keep the undead off me, and I'll do the rest."

"Falric, Marwyn!" calls out Arthas, "Take your most trusted and guard Jaina with your lives! The fate of our people depend on what happens here today!"

Jaina waits for her guards to gather around her, then she teleports them out of the base, away from the thickest of the fighting. She crests a large hill, gazing down upon the four bases at a distance. Demonic green energy emanates from the east, while undead stream from the north and west towards the south. If they want to have a chance, they have to stop the demonic storm, close the portals. The Scourge's forces are finite at this point and time, the Legion are not. So she teleports them again to the east. She fears so deeply for her prince, but she must bring this to an end. She begins summoning fire and water elementals as they run northeast, skirting around the tide of undead and demons surging for her prince's base. The come to the Western Obelisk, eyeing the base set up around it.

Eying Mal'Ganis standing in front of the obelisk, green energy channeled around him, beckoning the skies to rain infernals, three portals around him spilling out demons. Eyeing the dreadlord who was completely defenseless at the moment, focusing on his spellwork.

Jaina takes in a deep breath, letting it out, and pulls heavily on her power. She aims her hand forward and begins channeling a huge energy blast of fire and lightning and ice cackling with energy around it, and then lets it loose. Not at the base, but right for Mal'Ganis. It impacts and rips an agonized scream from him. The explosion sends the demon flying away, charred and bruised, disrupting his spell to summon infernals, and blows away the portals. Jaina sags to her knees from the exertion as her summons take point and charge the base while the Captains surround her in a protective ring.

Falric fishes a mana potion off her belt and helps her drink it. She guzzles it greedily, offers a quick 'thanks', and rises to her feet. "We hold the line here, let me blow them away with my spells, just keep them off me!"

"With our dying breath, m'lady," vows Marwyn.

Jaina digs her feet into the snow, grounding herself, as she calls on herself as she has few times in her life. She lets loose arcs of lightning, blasts of fire, sheets of ice that, combined with her elemental summons, begin to mow through the base...

Until a wave of shadow bolts pierces through her summons and kills them. "Impressive Jaina, most impressive."

Jaina's eyes narrow as the most hated necromancer saunters into view with a horde of abominations and ghouls at his heels. "Kel'Thuzad, I was wondering when you were going show up again."

"When its most inconvenient for you of course," he says smoothly.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she says, launching a bolt of lightning at him.

He catches it with his bare hand, an aura of black and blue energy starting to coat him. Jaina suckers in a breath as she feels dark outside energy funnel into him. The Lich King is directly empowering him.

"You should never have come to Northrend, Jaina," he said softly, almost sadly, "You had your chance to run and survive."

"Running was never an option, not unless I wanted to lose everything I had ag...," she cut herself off, gritting her teeth.

There is something almost sad, knowing in his gaze and tone. "I see. You cling so desperately to your prince, and in the end, it was not your curiosity, but your desperate love, that would be the death of you."

He waves a hand and shadow bolts surge out towards her guard. Jaina waves her own, a surge of fire meeting and detonating the bolts. He flicks his wrist, and the undead with him, and still surviving in the base rush for them. "Captains, keep the undead at bay, and under no circumstances are you to get involved between me and Kel'Thuzad, you will only die."

She blinks forward, past the undead, right infront of a startled Kel'Thuzad and casts frost nova, a ring of frost entrapping Kel'Thuzad and the nearest undead. She cries out in power as she thrusts her hands forward, unleashing a torrent of fire. Lets see him be reanimated from this!

A shield of ice, not quite ice block, but a solid barrier, absorbs the spell. Kel'Thuzad's eyes are narrowed in concentration, he dispels the frost clinging to him. He launches frostbolts at her rapidly, forcing her to duck, weave, and teleport out of the way. Then he does a massive volley of them, sending dozens of hem all directions. Jaina swears to herself and ice blocks herself the protective if but chilling wall of ice around her protecting from the barrage...

Then Kel'Thuzad is there and places a hand on the block, and Jaina loses control of the spell.

Her eyes widen as he smirks at her, waging a finger. "How kind of you to imprison yourself for us, such thoughtfulness makes my job much easier."

How the HELL did he steal control of her spell?!

And then Falric smashes into Kel'Thuzad in clear disobedience of her orders, shoving him away and raising a hand with his blade to strike the blow. Kel'Thuzad catches the footman's wrist and stops him cold, the thin bony grip at odds with the heavy armored arm, yet keeping it perfectly still. Kel'Thuzad places a hand against his chest and blows a shadow bolt right through him. Jaina screams in rage as Falric drops to the ground, his duty done and service complete. The distraction was enough, Jaina re-takes control and shatters the ice block, ice exploding in all directions, some stabbing into Kel'Thuzad and making him grunt.

Jaina lets loose a devastating bolt of lightning, arcing right through him. Kel'Thuzad roars in pain as he's flown backwards, lightning cackling all along his figure. Yet still, empowered by the Lich King, it doesn't kill him. He lands on his feet, reaches out, and catches the rest of the lightning on his open palm before flinging it back at her. She dodges to the side, gritting her teeth. Kel'Thuzad rubs his chest briefly, wincing at the pan and brief spark of energy still in the scorched hole through his robes and on his skin. He looks at her with wariness, blue energy pooling into his hands.

Jaina doesn't have time for this.

She also doesn't believe she can take him alone, not directly empowered by the Lich King, not without giving her life the same way Falric had done, and her job isn't finished yet. She waits for him to send a barrage of icebolts at her, then teleports past them, right into Kel'Thuzad's face, and places her hands glowing purple against his chest. He has a moment for his eyes to widen, a irritated scowl on his face, before Jaina teleports him as far away from the area as she can manage, her legs wobbling from exertion.

"Falric!"

She turns her head to see... to see three living guards left, Marwyn and two footmen. Marwyn kneels down next to his fellow captain's corpse, grieved. Jaina walks over, places a brief comforting hand on his shoulder, and moves to the Obelisk. She stands in the circle of power, focusing her energy and activating it, the ground shivering as she does. She wipes her forehead free of chilling sweat before it can freeze. She feels so spent already, her reserves are waning badly, she doesn't believe she can take the other two bases anymore than she can take on Kel'Thuzad with the Lich King fueling him.

"Captain Marwyn!" she calls out.

The man bows his head briefly over his friend before moving over. "Yes M'lady."

"I'm going for reinforcements, hold this obelisk," she orders.

He swallows, glancing briefly at his two fellow soldiers, and nods at the suicide mission. "Be swift m'lady."

She pauses for a moment. "If either Mal'Ganis or Kel'Thuzad return, retreat, you can't fight that."

With that, she teleports back to the main base. Its in utter chaos. The demons may be gone, but the damage is done. Outer fortifications are destroyed, at least half of their number was butchered in the onslaught, piles of bodies made away from the front lines and the necromancers. She spots Aurius healing the wounded, exhaustion clear on his face, and yet...

"Aurius, where are Arthas and Muradin?" she calls out.

He glances over at her. "Some of Muradin's men returned, they apparently located that Runeblade of theirs. They left to retrieve Frostmourne."

Jaina's heart stopped.

No.

NONONONONONONONO!

"I TOLD HIM IT WAS A TRAP!" she screams in fear, "WHERE? WHICH WAY?"

Aurius startles at her screeching but calling over a dwarf. "Take her to them, now."

Jaina barely remembers the desperate sprint through the blurry howling winds, snow and wind gusting against her as if intentionally to slow her progress. Undead drop and die without any real focus, her entire purpose in coming back had been to save her prince, she can't lose him, she can't...

They move down winding chasms, and into a cave...

"It's cursed lad! You can't!" echoes Muradin's voice.

"I don't give a damn! We barely survived that last onslaught! If my own soul be the price, to save us, to save my people, to save Jaina, then I'll gladly bear more scars than I already do to see this through!"

There is a shattering sound and a cry of pain from Muradin, Jaina sprints, she teleports and sprints. Muradin is on the ground bleeding, Arthas has an odd, almost hypnotized look in his eyes, dark whispers ripple through the air, and his hands are reaching for the Runeblade of her nightmares...

"ARTHAS NO!" she cries out.

She teleports once more and slams into him, making him yelps and startle as they pitch over, his armored shoulder clipping Frostmourne's hilt and knocking it to the ground as they hit the ground and roll...

Jaina screams.

Jaina screams in agony as horrific ice shoots down her arm, into her body, deep into her soul.

"Jaina?!" asks Arthas in worry and fear, pushing them up.

Jaina makes a choking sound as her eyes swerve to see... to see her hand on Frostmourne's blade.

No.

No...

No no no no...

Its all fading away.

All of her emotions.

All of her feelings.

Replaced with numb ice and cold fury.

Her hand shakes as it slowly moves down the blade, seemingly without her consent, and grips the handle.

"Jaina," he says sharply, "What the hell were you thinking?!"

Her voice is emotionless and dead-like as she speaks, "I had to save you, Arthas, no matter the price."

"Jaina?"

She stands up and separates from him. "Heal Muradin, Arthas, this fight isn't over yet."

"Jaina, whats wrong?" he asks, his eyes searching hers, and growing more worried by the second when he can't find whatever he is looking for.

She glances at the dais that Frostmourne had been on, briefly reading the inscription, about a so-called curse. "I... I can't feel anything anymore."

"What?" he whispers before swallowing thickly, "Gods, was that the curse to be paid? Jaina, dammit, why did you stop me? That was my burden to bear, not yours!"

Dark whispers are slowly working their way into her mind, but Jaina has no emotional distraction, and shuts them out. The Scourge is her enemy. Arthas's survival is her objective. She will do whatever it takes to see to the fulfillment of her goals. Power unlike anything she has ever felt before is funneling through her fingertips into her very being. She is going to drive Frostmourne down Ner'Zhul's metaphorical throat and make him choke on it.

"Heal Muradin," she orders again, "Then we move."

He hesitates for a long moment before nodding. "Once we've won here, we're going back home. Surely Uther and Antonidas can help, can find a way to lift the curse."

Jaina isn't leaving Northrend alive.

She's not planning on leaving behind a corpse either.

Once the deed is done, she's incinerating her own body.

But she says nothing, merely nodding.

Muradin groans as Arthas heals him. "D-dammit lad... I... I warned you."

Arthas's face closes off for a moment. "I know... I know..."

Jaina wastes no more time and teleports them from here all the way back to base, and it feels like it costs her no energy at all to do so. Power corses through her veins like never before. She sees the undead assaulting her base, her men, HER LOYAL SOLDIERS. They belong to her, nothing may take what is hers...

Use the blade...

Jaina twitches at the whispers, and is suddenly aware of how dark and possessive the thoughts of her troops had been. Ner'Zhul has already started trying to corrupt her mind. She takes a brief moment to asses. She will have a short time before Ner'Zhul has worked his way into her head. He may have her soul in the blade, but her body and will is still her own for now. She has spent years studying and learning, and had in fact made her own preparations once upon a time to limit the damage the Scourge could do if they killed and reanimated her. She quarantines her memories of the future she lived as deep as she can, protecting them in a way that will require Ner'zhul to completely shatter her if he wants to even think about getting them.

That in turn lessens their usefulness, for how can he be sure its not mad delusions?

She guards her thoughts as best she can, but she can feel the dark taint on the edges of her mind, like a shadowy figure in her peripheral vision that she just cant see no matter how quickly she turns. Her time is short.

She regards Frostmourne for a long moment, and is thankful she can still somewhat feel hatred. "The blade has a voice."

Arthas startles next to her. "What?"

"Oh bloody hell," muttered Muradin, "I shoulda known."

"What is it saying?" asked Arthas warily.

Frostmourne lights up with unholy blue energy. "To use it."

Jaina swings her blade-swings Frostmourne in an arc at nothing, and all around the base, ice ruptures up from the ground, spearing the undead on frost-made pikes in an almost casual display of power. Arthas flinches back from the spellwork, his warhammer glowing in offense. The base briefly cheers, before the shouting is snuffed out.

Aurius is the one who speaks, "Light above, Arthas! That blade is giving off the same kind of energy the undead do!"

"Dammit," snarled Muradin, "Damn it! I had a bad feeling about this, how tae information had come, it hadn' felt right."

"I told you Arthas," said Jaina, lowering the blade back down, "The blade was a trap."

"Then get rid of it!" he snaps back, fear in his voice.

She smiles without warmth, a shake to her voice, "I can't."

She couldn't unclench her fist around the blade. "We don't have a lot of time, Arthas. I can feel it, like a taint, working its way into my head. We have to destroy the Scourge quickly if we are to have any chance."

He looks at her in so much desperation and fear, "Jaina... Jaina, if it wont let you let go, then we can..."

"If you try to take the blade, I don't know if I can stop myself from hurting you," she answers mirthlessly, shutting him down, "The clock is ticking Arthas. The more time we waste, the more time the blade has to work on me."

She doesn't give him a chance to respond. She mentally grabs him, Muradin, and a number of their men, teleporting back to Marwyn's position. The man is on his last legs, his two men dead, the undead rushing for his position. Jaina waves Frostmourne in their direction, and icy blue lightning arcs from it in a bright explosion. Any undead it hits either drop dead or are frozen solid by the lightning. Jaina silently marvels at the power of it, before waving her hand and shatters each and every frozen undead into pieces.

She reaches back to the base, and teleports more men here, without even being there to see them. Gods above, its unreal. "Aid Marwyn in his defense of the Obelisk."

She teleports them again, towards the north Scourge base, and pauses when she sees Naxxramas itself slowly flying into position above the base. She sneers at it, twirling Frostmourne before stabbing it into the ground. The entire area shudders. Frost surges up in a massive torrent, in the form of a giant frozen hand, and grips around the Dread Citadel. Both the hand, and the necropolis, are frozen solid. Just like that, in thirty seconds flat, she's taken the Scourge's most powerful bastion out of the equation.

Jaina Proudmoore wonders if this is what it feels like to be a God, because she's never felt so powerful in her life.

Never felt so cold.

The undead at the base come at them, and Jaina laughs.

She sounds mad even to her own ears.

She doesn't stand back and let the men take point.

She's the one leading.

She's the one tearing into the Scourge at melee range, Frostmourne ignited with blue energy reaping through the air. Spellwork casually flies off the blade or her hand, destroying undead and flattening buildings. When the last undead falls, a blue aura of malice coating Jaina's body, she eyes the area, satisfied, and moves to the Obelisk the base had once protected. She ignores the looks of horror on everyone's faces, on Arthas's face, and steps into the circle of power, dominating the Obelisk.

"One more to go," she said in her dead, emotionless tone.

Arthas takes a step back from her as she moves past, afraid, of her, and yet she feels nothing.

He doesn't understand the sacrifices you make... none of them do...

Jaina shakes her head sharply, trying to banish the thoughts. She picks up the pace, one base to go, then the Frozen Throne is hers. Waiting for them at the last Scourge base is Mal'Ganis, still roughed up from her earlier parting shot. He stares at her thoughtfully.

"So, it was not the Prince who took up Frostmourne, but the Archmage, not quite to the Dark Lord's designs," mused Mal'Ganis.

"Arrogant jailer...," whispers Ner'Zhul, "The cause of all your suffering, of all your struggles. Do you not feel hate? Do you not feel malice? Do you not find it... joyous?"

"Do you hear it," posed Mal'Ganis, "The voice of the Dark Lord of the dead? Do you hear him whispering through the blade you wield? What does he tell you, oh Archmage?"

"Take your revenge..." whispers Ner'Zhul hungrily.

Jaina smiles like a ghoul, feeling darkly giddy to take both of them offguard. "Silly little dreadlord. I already knew."

She feels Ner'Zhul's taint still, an echo of unease and surprise coming off him.

Mal'Ganis narrowed his eyes. "Knew?"

"Do you think I'm stupid?" she asks, voice dark and feral and devoid of anything good and just and loving, "That I didn't make the connection? That I didn't think it suspicious that out of nowhere a magical blade, apparently our salvation, was found? That the moment my soul was stolen from me, a dark, twisted voice suddenly stared speaking to me? Whispering into my ears? Did you think I wouldn't understand?"

"It was a trap for my passionate, reckless prince, but unfortunately, it found ME instead," she said with malice, "And with this POWER, I am going to kill both you and the Dark Lord."

She find she's starting to like the cold.

The shivers of malice coating her being.

She misses the warmth.

But she'll take the hatred, so long as she can use it to kill anything that would endanger her prince.

"But for the record," said Jaina, enjoying the way Mal'Ganis took a fearful step back, "He told me to kill you anyway."

She teleports forward as she swings, and drives Frostmourne through Mal'Ganis's chest. "Take heed, Dark Lord, you are next."

She rips Frostmourne free and moves on as the demon drops, waving the blade and sending out blue energy in a wave that slams into the oncoming undead. Then...

"YOU WILL OBEY!" roars Ner'Zhul in her mind.

Jaina staggers briefly, clutching her head, gritting her teeth. "Never."

She ignores the rest of the undead, leaving them for her forces, her Prince, and moves to the Obelisk.

"YOU WILL OBEY!"

She staggers again, hissing, but moves to the circle of power, funneling energy into the Obelisk and taking command. With an ominous click, she feels the gates of the Frozen Throne be thrown open. The remaining undead in the area rush for them, all the while Ner'Zhul is screaming in her head, but they cut them down. Jaina takes deep ragged breaths, focusing, trying...

Her prince...

She did this for her prince...

Her eyes found his, and he was so very scared, for her, of her, she couldn't tell anymore.

It didn't matter.

All she wanted was to save him.

"Its almost over Arthas...," she rasps, pained, a bit of blood leaking down her nose from Ner'Zhul's mental assault, "Split the forces to guard the Obelisks, then you, Aurius, and Muradin will come with me. We have to end this... we have to end this now..."

He does as she commands, as he always should, and gives out the order. She struggles against every barrage, ever strike Ner'Zhul takes against her, pressing into her mind inch by inch, slowly overcoming her defenses. They haven't much time, but it will be enough.

It has to be enough.

Together, the four of them, a prince, a paladin, an archmage, and a dwarf, make their way across the snowy expanse towards the Frozen Throne...

Chapter Text

The wind howls and screams around Jaina.

She's so cold.

The four of them move across the snowy fields towards the spire.

Jaina moves the slowest.

Every step is agony.

Every step adds another weight to her body.

Every step increases the loudness and pressure from Ner'Zhul in her mind.

Her body is shaking.

She stumbles to her knees.

"YOU WILL OBEY!"

She sobs, tears pouring down her cheeks and freezing in the frigged cruel air.

"Jaina?"

Arthas kneels down in front of her, careful to avoid Frostmourne.

"OBEY! Kill them! Protect your king!"

Jaina closed her eyes, ragged breathing. "You... are not... my king..."

Her opens her eyes. "He's... he's so loud Arthas... so loud..."

"Just focus on my voice, alright?"

"O...okay...," she whispers.

"OBEY!"

Focus on Arthas's voice...

Focus on Arthas...

"OBEY!"

'I will save Arthas!' she shouts back at him.

Ner'zhul startles, irritation and fury bleeding back at her defiance. Its all she can manage to shout, its her only goal, nothing else matters...

"KILL THEM!"

'I will save Arthas!'

Ner'Zhul growls, Jaina struggles to her feet, repeating the mantra in her head over and over again to drown him own. She struggles to think, to focus...

"I... I shouldn't have come," she manages to say, "The... the closer I get, the more... the more powerful the influence."

She shakily points to the spire. "Arthas... Aurius... you... you have to go. Pull on your faith... as much as you can... let it shield you... and end this."

"What about me lass?" asks Muradin.

Jaina smiles without warmth. "You... you stay here. If... if I lose control... you stop me from going after them."

Muradin couldn't stop her, not if she fought, but... she could convince him to end this. To kill her and destroy her body, dwarfs after all have the tendency to carry both ale and explosives on their person if nothing else.

Arthas's jaw sets, he sees right through her. "No. Jaina, no. We haven't come this far only for you to..."

"There's no time Arthas," she seethes, cold fury igniting.

Why can he never listen to her?

"Arthas lad...," begins Muradin.

Arthas whirls on him and begins shouting.

Jaina can't hear it over the dark whispers slithering through her mind...

They'll betray him...

Jaina blinks. What...?

Look at them, disregarding their prince, challenging him. When his back is turned, they'll kill him.

A shiver rolls down her skin, paranoia coursing through her, eyes going wide, frantically glancing back and forth between Aurius and Muradin and Arthas.

You have to act.

Jaina's grip tenses on Frostmourne.

"After all," whispers Ner'Zhul with dark seduction, "You will save Arthas, won't you?"

"Get away from him," snarls Jaina.

The three men turn, Arthas's eyes furrowing. "Jaina?"

An aura of blue malice surrounds her, she surges to her feet, mania in her eyes, and surges right for Aurius, "Get away from my prince!"

Aurius barely brings up his warhammer in time to block, cursing aloud, "Dammit! Muradin, take off her hand with your axe! Better she lives crippled then any of us dying! Get that sword away from her!"

Jaina spins with inhuman speed, Frostmourne deflecting Muradin's axe before casting frost nova, freezing the pair. She teleports behind Aurius, grinning with malice, Frostmourne twirling in her grip as she makes to sever through his back...

"Jaina STOP!"

Arthas comes from behind and grabs her, his powerful arms locking around her and lifting her up. "Let me go Arthas! I have to save you!"

"Save me from my own allies?" he cries out, "Jaina! Its the Dark Lord, drown him out!"

He doesn't understand...

She's trying to save him.

He is a danger to himself...

He always was, so reckless and careless with his own safety...

You want to save him, don't you?

She had to save him, it was her entire purpose...

You have to keep him forever close you.

Forever close...

You must kill him to save him, to keep his soul forever close and protected near you in the blade...

Kill him to save him...

Jaina slams her head back with a crack, making Arthas lose his grip and stagger backwards. "Damn!"

"Save you save you save you," she stutters out as she turns, voice rising, its so hard to hear over the dark whispers, "Kill you to save you..."

Arthas takes a few steps back, warhammer raised defensively. "Jaina! Listen to yourself! How can killing me save me?"

Her entire body is shaking.

Its so cold.

Why is it so cold?

She raises Frostmourne, ready to save her Prince. To strike it through him. To free his soul. To save him.

Save him, save him now, my Champion.

Arthas steels himself and lowers his warhammer.

She surges forward.

"I love you Jaina."

Frostmourne stops inches from piercing through his armor into his chest, her entire body locking up.

What are you doing? You have to save him!

Jaina gives a strangles cry and staggers back, falling to her knees and sobbing. "No no no no no! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!"

"Damn you woman!" roared Ner'Zhul, "Kill him! Kill him now!"

Jaina took a deep, gasping breath, and it was like everything crystallized into horrific focus. "Light... I almost... I almost killed my prince..."

She swallows thickly. "Arthas... Arthas please..."

He kneels down in front of her. "I'm here Jaina."

"Kill me," she begs, "Kill me and destroy my body."

"Jaina! No!" he denies.

"He has my soul!" she warns, struggling to put emotion she can't feel properly into her voice, "Its only a matter of time before he gets the rest of me."

"I'm not giving up on you," he says before glaring behind her at the others, "Back away! Now!"

"Arthas lad," says Muradin, "She was damned the moment she took up the blade, all we can do for her now is set her free."

"All we have to do is kill the damn Dark Lord, and then shatter the damn blade to get her soul out," Arthas snaps back.

"Prince Arthas," said Aurius, "The men protecting the Obelisks wont last forever..."

"Damn the men!" Arthas shouts back, "I'm not losing her!"

Jaina gave a brittle broken laugh. "Arthas... I guess... we are made for each-other, aren't we? We'd throw away everything we have and betray everything we know for one another."

She had been complicit in murdering an entire timeline to have another chance to be with him, and here he was risking the entire expedition, the salvation of the entire world, for her. The world didn't deserve to be afflicted with the pair of them...

Arthas grins his teeth. "We've come too far together Jaina."

Howls ring through the air, Arthas turns his head sharply, but Jaina doesn't need to look. She can feel them. The undead are ignoring the Obelisks and gunning right for them.

Arthas takes in a breath and lets it out. "If this so called 'Dark Lord' thinks he can have you, then he has another thing coming. I will fight for you Jaina, I will always fight for you."

Jaina's throat constricts. If she was still capable of feeling love, her heart likely would have melted for him.

Arthas pressed a hand against Jaina's chest over her heart, light softly pushing in, fighting against the Darkness.

"You think your light powerful enough to drive me from her?" mocked the Lich King, his voicing pouring through her and to him as he fought for her, "With how darkened you've become since you set out on your journey, Prince Arthas?"

"My light? No," agreed Arthas, "My love for her? Yes!"

Jaina gasped as the intensity of the light increased. How could something feel so good yet burn so badly? Yet it... it was working, slowly, surely, a warm light started to drive away the cold from the depths of her mind. When had it gotten so deep? When had Ner'Zhul burrowed in so far?

"Hmm," mused the Lich King, disgruntled, "Unfortunately for you, I believe in backup plans. Anub'Arak, attack."

Jaina barely had time to process the thought before the huge bulking beetle form of the enslaved king of Azjol'Nerub burst through the ground at their feet, smashing into Arthas and sending him flying as Jaina staggered away. With a roar, Anub'Arak, charged at a shocked Aurius and stabbed clean through him with a giant talon, killing him and tossing his corpse aside before going for Muradin. Jaina was powerless to help, the Lich King paralyzing her body through Frostmourne.

"The dwarf is next, then your prince will die," mocked the Lih King, "One way or another, for all your defiance and efforts, I will have what I desire."

Not if she could help it.

Jaina sucked in a breath and began to draw on everything she had. Gusts of fire began to surround her, shards of ice, cackles of lightning, arcane energy flowing through her. She bled her lifeforce, all of her mana, her will, everything into it.

The Lich King scoffed. "Even if you kill Anub'Arak, I have other servants closing in on you."

"Who says I'm aiming for him?" snarled Jaina, focusing on the two things she could truly still feel as more than desperate clinging memory, hatred and cold fury.

The link to the Lich King was two way, and that was her only chance. She grabbed it in his moment of confusion, screamed with power as she pulled it all in, then launched the most devastating magic-mental attack she ever had in her life.

The Lich King screamed.

So did all the Scourge around them. Anub'Arak staggered, his armored form crushing Muradin underneath his bulk as he fell onto his side. Gargoyles plummeted out of the air. Ghouls rushing up the slope collapsed and began to claw at themselves in agony. A splitting, agonizing headache blitzed through Jaina's mind, and she collapsed to her knees, utterly spent and exhausted. Arthas rushed to her and knelt down, hand raised to heal.

"Kill me," whispered Jaina, "Please Arthas... before it's to late... if you love me, kill me."

"I'm not going to kill you Jaina," snapped Arthas sharply, "I'm going to save you."

"Even if you succeeded in driving the Lich King from her mind, which you cannot fully do so long as she is connected to him through the blade," came a silky smooth voice that Jaina hated, "It wouldn't free her soul from the blade."

They both turned their head to see Kel'Thuzad slowly walking up the hill, blood running down his nose, but not as phased as the rest of the Scourge.

"What do you mean?" demanded Arthas.

"Did she not explain it thoroughly enough to you? The blade stole her soul the moment she touched it," said Kel'Thuzad softly, almost sadly, "It was meant for you, she figured that out. She loved you so much that she risked and ended up losing her soul in your place."

Arthas looked gutted. "I..."

"You DARE!" roared the Lich King in fury as he recovered.

Jaina screamed as agonizing pain ripped through her, the Lich King's rage poured upon her. "AAAAAAHHH!"

"Jaina!" cried out Arthas, trying desperately to pour light into her and banish the shadow.

He was thrown back in a dark explosion ripping from her at the Lich King's fury.

"Only you can save her, prince Arthas" said Kel'Thuzad, "But not with the light. She took your place by taking the blade, spurned and drew the Lich King's wrath by so boldly defying and striking against him. The only way you will spare her the fate of eternal torment in store for her is if you take your place back."

The Lich King pauses his assault on Jaina's mind, regarding Kel'Thuzad through Jaina's eyes.

"You expect me to believe that not only would you return her soul, that you wouldn't kill her?" scoffed Arthas.

"Oh yes," said Kel'Thuzad, "The Lich King can return her soul to her from the blade, and she will live if she joins the Cult of the Damned."

"Never," spat Jaina.

Kel'Thuzad pulls a bottle of some dark liquid from his belt. "You wont have a choice."

Dark approval pulses from the Lich King as Jaina's eyes linger on the bottle.

No.

Nonnononoonononononoononononoooooooooooooooo.

Its the cultist elixir...

If they make her drink it...

It would enslave her will to the Lich King as deeply as if she were undead bound to him herself.

"Arthas don...," she begins.

Cold hands grip her spine, and the Lich King renders her silent.

Arthas stared at Jaina helplessly, before turning to Kel'Thuzad, his voice so hushed. "Why? Why this?"

"Events were set in motion long before either of us were born, Prince Arthas," soothes Kel'Thuzad gently, "There is little choice that any of us had. But here and now? You were chosen for this role a long time ago, my prince."

"That answers nothing," spat Arthas.

Kel'Thuzad smiled. "Do you expect us to reveal everything while you still give fealty to the living?"

Arthas goes silent.

"So the question is," purred Kel'Thuzad, "Do you love her as much as she loves you? To give your soul for hers?"

"I was already prepared to do that in the cave," said Arthas harshly.

"Hmm, I suppose you were, a certain archmage does have a tendency to cause a bit of a mess," answered Kel'Thuzad sagely.

Arthas closed his eyes.

Please... please Arthas, fight him. Kill Kel'Thuzad, rush the spire, strike the Lich King down, please...

"Fine," said Arthas grimly, shattered her hopes and grinding them into the snow beneath their feet, "But you fulfill your end of the bargain first."

Jaina gasped, tipping over as sensations poured up her arm from Frostmourne, a tint of warmth returning to her body in a flurry of desperate emotions. But it wasn't the same as before, there was pain, darkness, seeped into her soul, scarred more than it had been before. It had literally been torn from her body by a demonic crafted blade. She lays in the snow, Frostmourne clattering from her grip, gasping for breath, shaking and shivering and sobbing. "A...Arthas..."

"There, soul returned," mused Kel'Thuzad before speaking in a knowing tone, "But, as you can see, she is in no condition to fight, let alone move, nor will she be able to teleport you out of the area if you rush to her. So if you try to spurn this most generous offer, she will die, and suffer a fate worse then death afterwards."

Arthas gritted his teeth in frustration.

Kel'Thuzad regarded Jaina for a long moment. "You defied and actually managed to mentally attack and hurt the Lich King, something few in this world could have ever hoped to manage from the position you were in. You could have easily become one of the most powerful Sorceresses in the world. Instead, you will now become one of the greatest of necromancers, perhaps even second to only the Lich King himself in time."

Freezing tears pour down Jaina's eyes, she wants to claw the necromancer's eyes out, but she has no strength...

He turns to Arthas. "Take up the blade, Prince Arthas, and complete the pact."

"Arthas...," Jaina sobs, "No... please no..."

Arthas drops his warhammer and slowly walks forward, shoulders drooped, grim and grief stricken. He kneels down, looks at Jaina one last time filled with loss and love, and grabs the sword.

Jaina wails as she sees the light leave his eyes.

Arthas shudders, gritting his teeth as he stands, staring down at Frostmourne. "Unpleasant."

"Losing your soul tends to be that," agreed Kel'Thuzad, plucking the cultist elixir off his belt and... and offering it to Arthas, "Now, give her the elixir, and it is done."

Jaina's heart seizes. They wouldn't... they wouldn't be so cruel and so heartless as to make her prince do that to her...

Arthas takes the elixir.

She stares up through blurry eyes, into the now cold eyes of her prince, as he stabs Frostmourne into the snow, kneels down, cupping the back of Jaina's head to lean her up, and pressing the bottle to her lips. Jaina wails and struggles fitfully as he shoves the bottle into her mouth and pours the black liquid down her throat. Any warmth she feels is gone as ice returns, coating her entire being. Ner'Zhul's malice fills her again, and a dark, vexed, but victorious voice booms in her head:

"You. Are. Mine. Now and forever, Jaina Proudmoore. You will serve for my glory. You will toil for the dead. For obedience, you will hunger. And in my service, you will find your duty... joyous."

Jaina screams.

Chapter Text

The way Jaina shivers in the snow after she passed out should mean something to Arthas.

It doesn't.

He should feel concerned.

He isn't.

He should be afraid for her.

He wasn't.

He closes his eyes for a long moment, feeling little but cold biting into everything that he is. He is loosely aware of growing negative feelings, of which he suspects he is intentionally being allowed to feel through the blade. He glances down at Frostmourne, his grip tight around the handle, before he purses his lips. He might not be able to feel as he once did, but that doesn't mean he has forgotten what is important to him. He cannot allow himself to lose sight of what he just sacrificed so much for.

Who he just sacrificed so much for.

For the Love a Queen, he damned them both.

"I trust, Kel'Thuzad, that you aren't going to allow her to freeze to death after going through the effort to enforce her loyalty?" posed Arthas, single eyebrow raised.

"Of course not," agreed Kel'Thuzad, the creaking sound of a meat wagon crunching over snow coming closer, "Since most of our nearby bases were destroyed, and Naxxramas needs to be... thawed out, it will be a bit of a longer trip to somewhere she can recover. Honestly, she runs herself ragged to the bone in constant conflict, fails to dress for the weather, gets her soul stolen, lashes out and then takes the Lich King's retribution, has her soul put back, and then takes the elixir..."

Kel'Thuzad huffed. "It doesn't take much to take her down, does it?"

Arthas can't feel amusement, but he knows he should smile at that, he has to force himself to. It feels... odd. "She is something else..."

"She is," agreed Kel'Thuzad, moving to so gently pick up Jaina and place her on the thankfully empty meat wagon, though not quite clean of blood and a little gore.

Kel'Thuzad takes off his outer robes and places them over Jaina before flicking his wrist, levitating Aurius and Muradin's corpses on the wagon and dumping them in the back without care. He hoists himself up and sitting down next to her. "I will see to her survival, you, prince Arthas, I believe have your first task ahead of you, a test of loyalty."

"My soul is in the blade," rebutted Arthas flatly, "I'm under the impression that loyalty is irrelevant."

"So was hers," pointed out Kel'Thuzad, "But she still managed, surprisingly, resistance."

'Those who bear Frostmourne are meant to serve willingly,' echoed the voice of the Dark Lord, making Arthas briefly startle to hear it so clearly in his head, 'They are bound to me, but have a larger degree of autonomy. If you stand against my will, Prince Arthas, I am very much capable of meting out retribution. If not to you, then to her."

Arthas is thankful, relatively, he can still feel anger. "I accepted the damn pact, Dark Lord."

"You may call me the Lich King, and in time, perhaps you will earn the right to know my true name," said the Lich King, "And yes, you accepted a pact, not the pact I desired, but you are bound to me non the less. How you give your service to me, and to the Scourge, will determine your place here."

Arthas frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Those who serve me willingly, fervently, are granted... boons," advised the Lich King, "Or small tokens of generosity. Some of my cultists requested that their families be bound to my service, living in the cult, rather than reanimated as mindless ones. For their devotion to me and the Scourge, I granted these boons. Kel'Thuzad serves me on the desire for immortality, ascension to a undying form of power all the while retaining intelligence, and I have every intention of granting him this so long as he continues to serve willingly."

Arthas glanced at the necromancer. "You didn't take the elixir?"

"My loyalty has never been in question since after the first day," said Kel'Thuzad.

"That sounds like a story," commented Arthas.

Kel'Thuzad smiled tightly. "For another time perhaps, now, its time we were under way."

The wagon starts off, and Arthas stares at Jaina's fading form for a long while.

"We both know, Prince Arthas," growled the Lich King, "That despite the elixir coursing through her veins binding her to me, she will defy me in any way she can manage. I am still so very angry that she dared strike me. How well and willingly you obey may lessen my retribution for such incidents."

In short, obey and do whatever he wanted, or Jaina suffered the price.

He had been grateful to feel anger, now he is thankful to feel hate.

"This, is likely how it will be for some time," said the Lich King, sounding sour about it, before his voice turned... almost seductive, alluring, "But understand, Arthas. The choice is ultimately both of yours. Whether this is damnation, or paradise. Whether you serve as slaves, or as champions. Learn to accept your places within the Scourge, and when the world is ours, you may yet still become a king and queen..."

There is a dark chuckle of promise after that shifts something uneasy in Arthas's gut.

"Now," said the Lich King sharply, "The gate must be closed. Your first task is to kill the men who followed you here and seal access to the Frozen Throne. Anub'Arak will assist..."

He pauses. "No, no, you will do this on your own. The numbers have been culled small enough for you to manage, and I wish to see if you have it in you to take all of their lives on your own."

Arthas should be horrified...

But he feels nothing at the prospect of betraying and murdering his men.

He glances down at Frostmourne once more. Being souless is... truly an awful thing, isn't it? It would be so easy to just kill and not care, because he can't care, even if he knows he should. He could easily become such a monster...

What is he saying?

He's going to become one no matter what, willing or otherwise.

"I don't know how to seal an obelisk," says Arthas, keeping any thoughts of conflict in his mind where they belong.

"You will be trained, once this is done, on how to wield the power of death," advised the Lich King, "But for now, when you stand in the circles of power, I will guide you."

Arthas nodded and moved, feeling nothing about what he was about to do, the howling chilling wind not even a bother anymore. He heads east, and finds Marwyn still alive, a few of the reinforcements Jaina teleported there standing with him.

Marwyn sighs with relief. "Is it done M'lord?"

Arthas regards him for a long moment before striding forward, his heavy footfalls crunching in the snow.

"Where... are the others? Jaina? Muradin? Aurius?"

He reaches forward and places a hand on his shoulder.

"Prince Arthas, is... everything alright?"

"I'm sorry."

Arthas drives Frostmourne right through his captain's armor like it isn't even there.

Marwrn gasps, clutching at Frostmourne's blade as a ghostly hue is pulled from him right into the blade, before he leans forward, dead over the blade, arms dropping. Arthas grasps his captain and gently lowers him to the ground as the other survives gape at him in horror. He sees, briefly, Captain Falric's corpse hidden behind the obelisk, likely by Marwyn. He pulls Frostmourne free and turns to his men.

"Defend yourselves," he orders sharply, charging at them.

Only one manages to even raise their sword in time to block a single blow. Arthas has never felt so fast, so powerful before. He regards their bodies for a moment, before he notices ghouls approaching, the undead beginning to drag the corpses away...

"I have a request," asked Arthas, glancing at his captains.

"Already you demand of me a boon?" asked the Lich King, darkly amused, "After so boldly challenging me prior?"

"I... wish for my captains to retain who they are," asked Arthas, "They served me well in life."

The Lich King considered him for a moment. "So they did, and so they shall forever more. I will grant you this boon for your readiness to kill your men in my name. But you do understand, they are not likely to thank you for this, especially if I do not... alter them... to enjoy their service."

"I will accept the consequences of it," said Arthas, not liking what 'altering them' implied.

"Very well, but you will be the one to raise them into service once you learn how," warned the Lich King, "Now, seal the Obelisk."

Arthas moves infront of it, into the circle of power...

And then its like he is a puppet, his body no longer moving under his will, something so dark and filled with malice jerking his limbs around. He is engulfed in a dark aura of so much power it makes him choke in shock to feel it. The Lich King raises Frostmourne, and points it at the Obelisk. Blue energy pours out of the blade, engulfing the Obelisk, and snuffing out its flames. Above the gates to the Frozen Throne, one of the symbols winks out. But curiously, the gate doesn't close.

"It requires all symbols be activated or deactivated to close it," advised the Lich King.

Arthas nods as the Lich King returns control, and Arthas stares for a long moment at the gateway.

"We will meet face to face one day, Prince Arthas, but that day is not today," said the Lich King, "Now, finish your task."

And so he does.

He feels no guilt...

He feels no remorse...

...as he betrays his men one, by one, by one, until there is no living person left in Icecrown who doesn't belong to the Lich King.

Jaina gasps awake, blinking a few times, to find herself laid in a bed in a ghostly lit room, blue candles illuminating it. She lays under a blanket, and... and there is a wet washcloth against her head.

"So you've awoken, mistress," comes a female voice.

Jaina blinks and jerks back at the sight of a hooded acolyte leaning over her with the washcloth.

Jaina makes a choking sound, closing her eyes and laying back in bed, teeth grinding. It happened... it really... really happened... light no...

"Ah...," mused the cultist, "So you are indeed an unwilling one. Curious that you were made to drink the elixir rather than simply being killed and reanimated, but it is not my place to question our master's will."

Jaina opens her eyes and glares at her. "Spoken like a true lap-dog."

The cultist shrugged. "I make the best of my service as I can, young one."

Jaina squints, seeing an older face under the hood.

"I was... tricked into service myself," admitted the cultist, "But I have embraced what I have become. Trust me, its better than the alternative."

Jaina scoffed. "Right."

There is silence for a moment before the cultist resumes dabbing at Jaina's head.

Jaina scowled. "Who are you, and why are you here?"

"I am Amara Deathwhisper," answered the cultist, "And I have been assigned as your... chambermaid I suppose. I am to watch over you while you recover, and introduce you to life as a member of the Cult of the Damned."

Jaina slow blinks. Deathwhisper? As in Lady Deathwhisper? Eventual Lich and Supreme Overseer of the Cult of the Damned?

She can kill the cultist, here and now, and starts to call on her power to rid the world of...

Jaina seizes briefly, gasping as her vision darkens with pain.

Then the icy dark presence of the Lich King comes to her, fills her mind. "So you've awoken, Proudmoore, and already you plot against me? The elixir that runs through your veins prevents such action. Regardless, such defiance deserves PUNISHMENT!"

Jaina screams as a lash of pain splits down her head, her spine, all the way to her toes, her entire body enflames with pain.

Then its gone.

"Let this be the only warning you need," warned Ner'Zhul harshly, "Continue to defy me, and the punishments will escalate."

Jaina grits her teeth, but doesn't answer.

The Lich King pulls away from her mind, going back to whatever he was doing.

Deathwhisper tsks. "You do yourself no favors, young one."

Jaina glares at her in helpless fury.

Deathwhisper sighs, sets down the washcloth, and places a gentle hand against Jaina's shoulder. "Your old life is over, young one. You can accept your new life, embrace it and make it your own, or resist and suffer for it."

Jaina bats the hand away. "I will never willingly serve the Lich King."

"Then it is unfortunate for you that he does not need your consent," rebukes Deathwhisper sharply, "If you wish to be paraded about under his will at all times, then by all means, he will do so if you so childlishly defy him."

"Childishly?!" exclaims Jaina, sitting up, "I've been made a slave to a monster that wants to wipe out all life on Azeroth! There is nothing childish about this defiance!"

"Not all life," disagrees Deathwhisper, "If all life ends, then no new members may join the Cult or the Scourge, eventually there will be no new dead to raise, and we will stagnate. The Lich King will keep the cult alive to continue to thrive and produce more subjects at least."

"How thoughtful and caring," mocked Jaina.

Deathwhisper leans down to whisper, "You saw the flame that holds our chains, what is to come is so much worse than you can imagine. So long as the demons control our lord, we cannot become what we truly could be. A marvelous, wondrous, eternal empire. Kel'Thuzad has spoken of the concept recently, and I do so find it enticing."

Jaina had seen what the Scourge had become after the Third Ward, there had been no wondrous empire. "And anyone who doesn't 'join' is crushed under foot? You can pin the blame on the demons all you want, but you're not much different."

Deathwhisper drew back, scowling at her. "Perhaps, perhaps, but know this, Proudmoore. The demons would burn Azeroth, turn it unto ash, leave nothing remaining. We might be monsters to you, but we are Azeroth's monsters, we champion this world in our own way. Once we win, we will turn this world into a fortress world that the demons will never be able to breech."

Jaina says nothing, because she's not exactly wrong if the entire world is under Scourge control...

Jaina scowls and banishes the thought. "So, pick your poison then?"

"Well, you made your choice already when you stepped foot on Northrend," mused Deathwhisper, "So truly, the only choice now is if you support the Scourge willingly, or are dragged along, but I know from experience, young one, that having your body puppeted around, the Lich King speaking through you, is... unpleasant. If you wish to keep your pride, to make your servitude your own, then embrace it."

"Pride is pointless," said Jaina bitterly.

She hadn't felt pride for herself or anything she had done in a long time. Recently, she had felt pride for Arthas... but not so much after he damned himself for... for her.

Dammit Arthas...

Deathwhisper hummed, seemed pleased. "Well, I suppose I don't have to slowly wean you off it then if you've already learned a lesson it takes many servants a long while to learn."

Jaina raises an eyebrow at her.

"When the Lich King can force you to grovel and crawl on the ground at will if you irk him, pride really falls away swiftly."

"Know from experience?" mocked Jaina.

"Yes."

That makes Jaina snap her mouth shut.

"I've played the part of the unwilling slave," said Deathwhisper tiredly, "Had him use me to fell my village with deception, murder, and a single vial of the plague to show me just how easy it was. Screamed praise for himself through my mouth in the middle of my village making it seem as if I were an insane lunatic cultist, ruined my reputation and slaughtered my village in a single night. There are still a few cultists and intelligent undead from home that haven't yet realized it and shoot me dark looks in passing."

Deathwhisper leveled her gaze on her, and two voices speak you, "Would you like that I do the same of you, Proudmoore? Kul'Tiras could fall so easily, they would welcome you in and I would slaughter them through you all the while singing my own praise from your lips. Your entire people, your family, enslaved to my will and hating you forevermore for 'willingly' delivering them into my hands, and I would never let you tell them otherwise."

Jaina snarled, hand pointed at Deathwhisper, at the Lich King, but a flash of pain spikes through her head before she can call forth any magic. She hissed furiously and lowers her hand.

Deathwhisper smirks and leans forward, eyes glowing blue, the Lich King speaking softly, "Serve me at least somewhat willingly for the time being, Proudmoore, and Kul'Tiras will be saved for much later, and perhaps if you earn my favor, you will be allowed to determine their fate."

Jaina's hands shakes in helpless fury, and fear for her family, spitting out bitterly, "What does my willingness even matter?"

"Less energy that I have to waste reigning you in, and less irritation having to do so, I have enough to do without needing to direct you," the Lich King answered simply, "In addition, the undead do not forget, Proudmoore. The scourging of the world is the pathway to eternity. Future politics within what is to come will not forget what role you played and how you played it."

"I was under the impression there wouldn't BE politics," said Jaina flatly, "If everyone served you."

"There will always be politics," said the Lich King dryly, "Those trying to elevate themselves, to earn my favor, to better themselves in the eyes of the damned. Your standings in the future depend on the now. And you, Proudmoore, have great potential that could so easily be elevated within the Scourge, potential that I would rather serve me willingly. For all that you have angered and defied me, I am not ignorant of your capabilities. You could become one of my greatest servants."

Jaina just shakes her head. "You're going to die, as am I, the future you speak of is irrelevant."

The Lich King huffs, and then releases Deathwhisper, returning to a dark voice in her mind. "So doubtful are you Proudmoore? Then go with my servant, and see firsthand the strength of the Scourge."

"You mean the strength we nearly broke through?" snapped Jaina, "With a small strikeforce?"

A growl rippled through her mind. "The only reason you breached so far is because over half of my forces were stolen away to lay waste to the Kingdoms south of Lordaeran."

Jaina froze.

What...?

What did he just?

"What do you mean?"

"Mal'Ganis was but a petty underling," answered the Lich King, "Who served much higher powers. He answers to a demon called Tichondrious, who initiated the Scourging of Ironforge, and of Stormwind, with my forces."

Jaina chokes.

No...

No no no no no!

What had she done?!

What foolishness had possessed her to enter into that pact with the demon?

She had been so focused on Arthas, she hadn't given the wider picture any thought. But the demon had. It takes her only a moment to recognize that Tichondrious was going after the Heroes of Azeroth, slaughtering them before they could reach their peak. If he culled a large chunk of them, or light forbid even managed to wipe out Stormwind and/or Ironforge...

She...

She just doomed the future.

She's not even going to be in a position to challenge the Legion, not as a slave to the Scourge.

Jaina swallows thickly.

They had defeated Sargaras, ended the Legion...

She had ruined everything...

She wilts, depressed, and stares up at the ceiling.

"I am not one to let my servants waste their and my time wallowing in self-pity," said the Lich King, "Get up."

Jaina's legs moved without her consent, and her depression turned into irritation and fury. But her mouth was kept firmly closed as she was forced to follow Deathwhisper out of the room. Cultists and undead move through the hallways, some nodding to Deathwhisper, others regarding Jaina with expressions she's not sure she understands, or wants to understand...

Respect.

Fear.

Awe.

Hunger.

Desire.

"They know," she murmured to herself, finding her lips working again.

"It would have taken an effort in ignorance not to have felt your mental attack reverberate through the Scourge with your presence attached to it," snapped the Lich King.

"Don't you have anything better to do then hound me?" she asks snidely.

"You have little comprehension of what I am, Proudmoore," answered the Lich King, "While I speak to you, I am speaking to countless others, preforming and guiding many different tasks, plotting future plans. I am not a limited being like yourself, I have countless focuses and perspectives. I may have a primary focus, but I can create many lesser focuses to deal with other duties. One will always be paying you at least some attention."

Jaina startles a bit at that. That... was new information to her that she hadn't known before. Ner'Zhul wasn't an orc anymore, he wasn't a being like anything she understood anymore. She wonders if Arthas had kept that as the Lich King, or had lost it either in part or in full. "I see."

Then she startles at something else, a cultist leading young enthusiastic children through the hallway. "What in the..."

"I did tell you," said Deathwhisper, "That the cult would live to continue producing subjects. They are raised in devotion to the Lich King, the future of the Cult of the Damned."

Deathwhisper chuckles, "Kel'Thuzad often complains about paying child care."

Jaina slow blinks. What?

"Why does the Scourge even bother with money?" asked Jaina slowly, complete sidestepping the ridiculous notion of Kel'Thuzad... doing that.

"A leftover from the living," mused Deathwhisper, "And we haven't really had the time to come up with a new, better system while the Scourging is under way. Currency is such a greedy, living concept, the Scourge will have no need of it eventually. For now, it pushes the greedy, and teaches responsibility to the young. Serve fervently, get rewarded in coin and knowledge."

Deathwhisper greets the cultist children as they draw near. "Good evening class, what are you up to this night?"

"Wewre cutting open a sowdier and miss Molly is gonna show us all the owgans!" answers one of the children cheerfully.

Jaina stares in horror.

Deathwhisper nods. "Good, proper reanimation does require knowledge of anatomy."

The cultist hums as they go and then glances at Jaina. "I'd have you sit in and watch, but you need basic lessons in shadow and necromantic magic first before it has a purpose, these children are more advanced than you are in such regards at the moment."

Jaina hates that the comment makes her bristle. She never wanted to learn either school of magic, but she can admit a weakness in that she likes being knowledgeable about magic, and anyone, especially children, knowing more grates. She's studied the magic from an outside perspective picking it apart, but never as the caster.

Deathwhisper gives her a knowing smile. "Archmages, all the same."

"I'm not a member of the Kirin'Tor," Jaina mutters under her breath.

Deathwhisper pauses, her eyes going distant, before her eyebrows climb. "Oh ho? They banished you?"

"How do you..."

"The Lich King speaks to us all whenever he so chooses," answered Deathwhisper, "As your caretaker, such things are relevant to me."

The cultist huffs. "Honestly, the ignorance and foolishness, a person of your power and ability? And they cast you out? Ridiculous. You will find far more acceptance and encouragement here if you can look past your... bias against the Scourge."

"Bias," repeated Jaina in perhaps the flattest tone she had ever taken in her life.

Deathwhisper gives a crooked smile before resuming the walk down the hall. When Jaina's body doesn't immediately follow, she hesitates before doing so on her own. If only so she doesn't have to suffer the awful feeling of the Lich King's foul presence jerking her limbs around. She follows Deathwhisper into a large circular room with a ritualized area in the center. A flat stone alter with dried bloody runes around it. The room is dimly lit with blue and green candles flickering. Next to the alter is a small basic of water. Kneeling around the circle are more cultists, hoods up. Two however stand at the ready.

She also vaguely recognizes both of them.

Lady Blaumeux.

Grand Widow Fearlina.

Or well... not so much the grand widow yet. The insane redheaded cultist looks to be in standard cultist clothing, though she is standing and her hood is down.

"Welcome, lady Proudmoore, to your initiation into the Cult of the Damned," said the Death Knight, "I, am Blaumeux, High Cultist of Naxxramas."

Jaina slow blinked. High Cultist? Not... oh. The Four Horsemen haven't been made an official thing yet, have they? In fact... Lady Blaumeux is in cloth clothing, not Death Knight plating, nor are her eyes glowing. She wasn't a Death Knight yet. Jaina... she's so early, isn't she? This is still months before Arthas returned to kill his father originally. The Scourge is still an infant compared to what it will become. She wonders how much of the horrors of the Scourge she knows about don't exist yet. Its likely Naxxramas wouldn't be half as dangerous as she thought it would have been.

Jaina brushes the thoughts aside and swallows. "What... am I supposed to do?"

"Strip," answered Blaumeux, "And lay on the alter."

Jaina sighs and peels off her clothing, shivering as the cold presses in on her naked flesh. At least she's somewhat protected inside compared to Northrend's true cold. She lays down on the alter, twitching at the cold stone. "So... everyone does this?"

"Oh no," answered Blaumeux, "Only our most valuable members go through this, those with the most potential, those who proved worthy. I went through this ritual, as did Deathwhisper, as will my young apprentice here, Fearlina, once she has proven herself. The hopefuls taking part of this ritual may one day earn the right as well."

Jaina frowned. "Why am I having this now then if I haven't..., she spits out, "Proven myself?"

"Oh but you have young one, you have," said Blaumeux, honest admiration in her voice, "You and your prince carved a brutal path into the heart of the Scourge, and make no mistake, you were the driving force behind much of it. I doubt Prince Arthas could have breached Icecrown without you, gone half as far as he did. Then, lets not forget, that you challenged and struck our Lord."

A crooked smile appeared. "It of course did no true damage to one so beyond death outside of the shock, the startlement of your audacious challenge. Pain is fleeting after all, and he punished you for it, we all felt your screams."

Jaina grits her teeth, but doesn't answer.

"Now, are you a virgin?"

Jaina flushes. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Blaumeux raises an eyebrow. "It determines if we need to have it taken. This ritual isn't for the pure."

Now she finds she's rather glad for the Winter Veil mess she had with Arthas.

"No," answered Jaina flatly, "I'm not."

Blaumeux nods. "Good, now, cleanse her."

The acolytes and Fearlina move to the basin, reaching in to pull out wet cloths. Jaina grimaces, but keeps herself still, when they begin to wipe her down. She eyes the cultists, their robes, and determines that, thankfully at least, they are all women. She doesn't think she would have been able to tolerate an unwelcome man putting a hand on her breasts and between her legs combined with all this that she's woken up to. Its still mortifying in itself. She's had chambermaids before who have helped wash her. But honestly, she's not infirm, she can wash her damn self.

Though considering the faintly illuminated sheen the wash cloths are leaving on her skin, its not likely pure water.

They lift and flip her over, repeating their cleansing, before she is again turned over and laid on her back. They called it a cleansing... but honestly, Jaina feels slimy and unclean. Worse than being in her bloodied and dirty clothing...

"This ritual could be considered an... infusion, an alteration," explained Blaumeux, "And considering we don't have even the required year minimum to build you up to a proper understanding and conversion to shadow and necromantic magic, a little... boost to speed things along isn't remiss. Your training as it is will be harsh and swift."

Oh, Jaina doesn't like the sound of this.

"We have a deadline to meet, before the Scourge returns to finish what it started," continued Blaumeux, "Now, visible or hidden?"

Jaina blinks. "What?"

"Do you want the tattoos visible or hidden?"

"Tat... what?" began Jaina.

"Visible," came the Lich King's voice, "All who look upon her are to know just whom and where she belongs. She will not be preforming undercover tasks."

What in the world were they going on about? She had seen cultists with tattoos before, but they were making it seems as if...

Well...

It wasn't like every dirty secret of the Scourge had been unearthed, there was likely far more than any of them had ever known.

The cultists retreat to the outer edges of the room before returning with little bowls of what looks like ink. A quick sniff reveals a repugnant smell, like death and decay. They are set in a circle around her on the alter before the cultists return to their kneeling position around the circle. Fearlina and Blaumeux both remove the gloves from their hands, dipping them in the basin, then returning to the bowls of ink. Then, she feels the Lich King's power grip her, completely immobilizing her.

Blaumeux draws a bone dagger from her belt, then cuts open Jaina's palm, earning a sharp hiss from her. Her hand is lifted, and her blood is squeezed out into each ink bowl. Blaumeux slowly walks around the alter, drawing her dagger deeply across parts of Jaina's body, except for her arms, letting blood flow across the alter. Jaina's jaw is clenched, trying to hold back her cries, and the fear. Fearlina takes the dagger from Blaumeux when she is done and carefully mixes the ink bowls. Jaina breaths deeply, continually. Blaumeux withdraws a potion from her robes, and brings it to Jaina's lips.

"This will help with the blood loss," Blaumeux murmurs, "We must have blood flowing freely for this. You will be given a few days to eat and to rest after this is done, allowing you to recover, and your lessons and training will be less... intensive, until you are returned to proper health."

Her head is tilted back, and the potion put into her mouth. She swallows it, and Blaumeux returns the empty bottle to her robes. The cultist rolls her shoulders and briefly flexes. It takes Jaina a moment, as a faint red and blue light begins to illuminate the area, that Blaumeux is waiting for Jaina's blood to flow down and reach the ritual circle. She swallows thickly. If the Lich King wasn't keeping her firmly still, she knows she'd be shivering, afraid. She is already starting to feel a little faint, her pulse slowing as dark magic starts to press in.

"This will take time, and it will hurt," warns Blaumeux before she dips a finger into one of the ink bowls, and touches it upon Jaina's shoulder.

Jaina screams instantly, Its like sharp ice-cold daggers are being stabbed into her flesh, into her magic, into her soul. She cannot move, cannot escape, cannot shove them away or attack, she can't even writhe under the ministrations. The master and apprentice pair are slow and methodical, using their fingers, and small brushes, to lay the ink on Jaina's skin. If its even really ink, it does not run down her skin, the moment it lands, it sticks and digs into her. Light above its agony, and nothing lessens it. No one reacts to her screams, Blaumeux herself hums a small tune, a soft smile on her face. Fearlina seems only a little uncomfortable, but goes about her duty like a good little cultist. Not yet the insane fanatic she will one day be.

It goes on for hours, and she's screamed herself dry, small gasps all she can manage anymore. She is dreadfully faint and dizzy, hearing cutting in and out, vision blurry. She hears... hears chanting... the cultists around the circle are chanting now. The glow from the ritual circle is much brighter, and yet darker. The shadows in the corner of the room flicker, like wraiths. She feels the presence of the Lich King all around them, watching carefully and critically as his will is done. She feels a call that's familiar to her, death so close like other times she's been critically wounded. But its not allowed to touch her, the Lich King pushing it away and pulling her feeble desperate reaches for it back. She knows deep down that even if the Lich King allowed her to die, he'd simply animate her as an undead. But she can't help the want... the need to escape...

"You will never escape me, Jaina Proudmoore," says the Lich King, his voice powerful and booming, and definitely his direct focus and not a minor one, "You. Are. MINE."

She screams as unholy blue energy briefly shines out of her eyes and mouth, the Lich King's power illuminating through her.

Then its over.

Blaumeux and Fearlina stop their agonizing touches and set aside their bowls. The chanting ends. The Lich King relaxes his grip. But Jaina doesn't move, she lays there sobbing quietly to herself. The cultists bring out a new basin, with actual water, and begin to carefully wipe her down again. Blaumeux touches each laceration she left on Jaina's body and knits them closed with dark magic. Jaina blinks rapidly as she's made to sit up, Fearlina's hand on her back to keep her upright. Jaina lolls her head to look at her arms...

From shoulder down to fingers, she has a pair of full tattoo sleeves. On her right she bears skeletal tattoos, bones running down her arms, with skull symbols near her shoulderblade almost like pauldrons, another on her elbow, her wrist, ending on pale boned fingers. She's faintly sure she's seen them before, either on cultists, etched into places within or upon Scourge buildings or ritual circles, or carried on flags. Various symbols of the undead.

On her left she bears shadowed tattooed. Black and dark purple tendrils that snake down her arm, condensing around symbols on her elbow, her wrist, into now dark fingertips. Underneath and around the tendrils she sees no bare skin, just ink, though... this ink is more subtle, black and... dark blue? Its a little hard to tell with the world spinning around her at the moment, but yes, dark blue like shadowed ice. She blinks rapidly, trying to focus on what she sees. She's not as familiar with shadow symbology as with Scourge ones... at least they're not demonic symbols she supposes.

But worse than the physical is what she feels from her magic. She still feels her arcane might, but parts of it are... tainted. At least a third of her power had become wispy and dark, shadowed and cold in a way that she can't properly grip. Another third felt like rot, like death and decay that she shies away from. She feels... sickly... defiled...

She supposes she'll stop skirting around it.

She actually feels damned.

And that...

She just stops.

She goes limp.

Fearlina and two other cultists catch her and bring her sitting again.

Deathwhisper approaches for the first time since the ritual began with clothes. Jaina barely pays attention as they put the garbs on her. Her eyes briefly flicker to the dark and purple clothing, a sleeveless tunic that keeps her arms bared. Cloth pants. An outer robe that's put on her that covers down to her wrists. The rest of the cultists begin the clean the area as Deathwhisper and Blaumeux grip under her shoulders and drag her out of the room. The halls are blurry to her... and she feels so tired...

The return her to her room, where Blaumeux leaves her to Deathwhisper's tending. The cultist brings her to her bead, takes off the outer robes, lays her down, and pulls the covers up to her shoulders.

"You did well, Jaina, I'm surprised you didn't pass out during the ritual, few are the ones who can retain consciousness all the way through it," said the cultist in a quiet tone, "I will give you time to rest, and will only wake you for food and drink. Now, sleep."

Jaina passes out not long after.

Chapter Text

Jaina is given two days of bed rest before her 'chamber maiden' kicks her out of bed. Deathwhisper leads her to a small dining hall if one can even call a few tables and a cultist slaving over a cauldron giving out some kind of mush a dining hall. It's even more tasteless than what was being served back on the ship while they were crossing seas. She has a hunch good food is one of the many things that are going to no longer be in common. Or at least, the bottom of the Cult wouldn't have any, so it's her reality.

Her eyes flicker around the room, not lingering on hooded figures, pale faces, or the rotting dead. The smell makes her want to retch when paired with eating. Worse on her stomach is the lack of her Prince. Where is Arthas? She doesn't know what she's going to do when she sees him; scream herself hoarse, sob on him, hit him with a fireball, or just... she doesn't know. She does want to see him though... to see if there is anything left of her prince...

That damned blade stole his soul again, last time all of what had been between them had been the locket. Now...? She doesn't know... still...

"Where is Arthas?" she asks Deathwhisper quietly.

The woman doesn't look up from her bowl. "Receiving training as a Death Knight of the Scourge, as you will be starting your training as a Necromancer today."

Her stomach twists at that, while part of her magic hungers for it. She hates the vile feeling infesting her magic, the taint. She does not know how they shifted parts of her magic from a more pure arcane focus into necromantic and shadow. The ritual is not one known to her, certainly nothing that came up in interrogating the Cult of the Damned. Sneaky bastards slipping around their questions...

Deathwhisper tilts her head briefly, eyes trailing up Jaina's arms. "Though I imagine you will also be receiving lessons in shadow magic, necromancy is what your focus has been decided upon."

Jaina frowns. "Aren't Necromancy and Shadow magic under the same field?"

Deathwhisper turns her head away from her food to eye Jaina thoughtfully. "To an outsider's perspective, yes, they might not differentiate the intricacies of the two fields of magic, but the truth is no. There are parts of these magics that may overlap, such as a simple shadow bolt for example. But, while Necromancers may tap into the shadow, their magic is, primarily, death. Where Shadow Magic employs its power from the void. A Warlock, for example, is most certainly not a Necromancer, even if both types they may dabble here and there with each other's power."

She tilts her head back. "From your perspective, it would be like saying elemental magic and arcane are the same thing since parts of them overlap or can do the same thing. Both can conjure fire and lightning and ice, but the actuality behind that power differs. "

Jaina wrinkled her nose, she's dealt with enough idiots making that comparison before. "Okay, I get that. Shamanism and Druidism are asking the aid of the elements, or of nature itself or certain spirits, not morphing arcane power to your will. While one can try to make the comparison with Fel energy being morphed into a similar framework as the arcane, and technically speaking it is arcane magic, just heavily corrupted to the point it might as well be a different field altogether. A mage trying to use the arcane for a spell, and then using offered Fel energy, will have disastrously different results after all."

Deathwhisper stares at her with unguarded interest. "I see what our Lord means. You have an impressive knowledge-base and understanding of magic one your age should not have. I'm very curious, when and where did you encounter not only Fel energy, but druidism? I can guess with Orcs for shamnism, but not the other two."

She gave her a sly look. "Unless you've dabbled with warlocks before, hmm?"

Jaina winced and shut her mouth. Stupid. Absolutely stupid. Only a brief moment of letting her guard down for an academic conversation and she'd let slip far too much.

"I am curious myself, where you learned the strange mixture of magics that you wield," mused the Lich King, "Answer."

Jaina says nothing.

"Answer."

Jaina winces at the mental pressure, but says nothing.

Deathwhisper sighed. "Our Lord gave you the chance to answer willingly, you bring this on yourself."

The Lich King burrows into her mind, and Jaina gasps in pain, slamming her head facefirst into the table as her body spasms. He digs and digs and digs through her memories...

Then he pauses at the lock.

She feels icy, vile hands caress the chains binding her memories of the future, of anything she should not know or that hasn't happened yet. Fingertips trailing along her mind that send goosebumps down her spine. She has never wanted something to get away from her as much as she does the Lich King's touch. It's beyond violating...

"You are a very, very, clever little archmage," muses the Lich King, "And a very foolish one."

It takes her a moment to realize he is speaking through Deathwhisper again, she raises her head to see the woman's eyes had turned a glowing malicious blue. "What would you do if I broke that lock on your memories, I wonder?"

"Go insane," Jaina answered honestly, "Which is the point, the intention behind it. Destruction of memory, descending into madness."

The Lich King twists Deathwhisper's face into a feral grin. "And as such, how could I trust whatever it is that I find? As I said, you are a very clever little archmage, yet I wonder, why do you think I would find this result unacceptable? I do not need you sane to puppet your flesh."

"You've made your intentions towards Arthas plain," gritted out Jaina, "You wanted him to take up the blade, willingly."

He doesn't react, merely watching her.

She lies through her teeth. "I don't know why his willing servitude matters to you, but it does. I have few weapons I can use against you, but that is one of them. You destroy me, you lose any chance of his willingness."

The Lich King throws back Deathwhisper's head and laughs as if her calling him out means nothing. "Oh little Archmage, so pointlessly defiant. It is rather amusing to see you struggle so."

"Really?" she drawled, "You seemed furious about it when I marched on Icecrown."

He levels his cold gaze back down on her. "At that time, you were a foe who aimed for the heart of the Scourge. Had Lordaeran and the Kirin Tor marched with you, I held doubts if we could have held since the demons stole away a large number of my warriors, and that suspicion was formed prior to seeing your true might, and your technique... oh yes, you are already almost as powerful as some of my strongest champions. Take pride Proudmoore, in that for a moment, you were a worthy and legitimate threat to the Scourge."

He sneers at her. "Now, you are a servant, a treasured prize, and it does not matter if you defy me. Your soul is bound to me, Proudmoore, infused with death itself by my will, much like the young Prince. You will only ever die if I so command it, and thus, I have all eternity to discover your secrets. I am patient, and I will win. One day, you will kneel to me willingly, in devotion to the Scourge, and tell me without prompting. It does not matter if it is tomorrow or in a thousand years, you will one day champion me. After all, your service is eternal."

Jaina clenches her fists, shaking with fury and helplessness, but says nothing. There IS nothing to say.

He makes a derisive sniff. "You also undervalue your own worth, Proudmoore. You are correct that I would rather the Prince serve willingly, but your own worth weakens if you descend into madness, and you are far too valuable to a prize to waste. Now... eat your sustenance, foolish little archmage, there will be many a time you won't have the chance."

The blue glow fades out of Deathwhisper, and the cultist shudders as she regains herself, rolling her shoulders, and resumes eating.

Jaina waits for the focus on her to fade before she lets her thoughts carefully free. The Lich King is an arrogant prick. What he said is terrifying in theory, but in reality, how long will the Scourge last? She only need to hold out until the Lich King perishes, one way or another. Or until she dies in a way he can't reanimate. She will never let him use her knowledge of what is to come. With that in mind, she recognizes that damage control is the best she can do until Illidan does his crazy scheme to try to destroy the Lich King.

She scoffs at herself. Damage control. Really? Once her and Arthas have been 'trained', Lordaeron is going to turn into a bloodbath. It would be even worse than last time with her enslaved to the Scourge. Even more dire, without her to pave the way... was... was anyone going to flee to Kalimdor? Would ALL of Lordaeran fall this time? The Kirin Tor? Would any of Quel'Thalas survive?

She swallows thickly with sudden dread.

Can... can Hyjal be won if there are only Orcs and Night Elves there to defend? If they lost and Archimonde won... not only would the chance of her world defeating the Legion be undone, but with the power boost the demon lord would get from consuming the World Tree... could any other world in creation handle that?

This is why time should never be messed with.

Jaina has never felt so small as she did when she realized she might have doomed all of creation in her selfish desire for another chance at life.

She swallows thickly at that, not liking the way Deathwhisper tracks the bob down her throat. She needs... she needs to think. She needs time to think. There has got to be some way to still salvage things. Hyjal is her primary focus, the Scourge can wait till after.

"What," said Jaina quietly, "Can you tell me about the demons?"

Deathwhisper hummed. "Perhaps another time Proudmoore, finish eating unless you wish to cast on an empty stomach."

Wouldn't be the first time. But, she takes the hint and shovels the goop down. Deathwhisper leads her out after, down several hallways, and into a disgusting room filled with animal carcasses, ranging from rats to bears, laid out on slabs. Standing there at the center of the room is...

"Welcome Acolyte Proudmoore," comes Kel'Thuzad's casually smooth voice, a sardonic smile on his face, "To Necromancy one-oh-one."

She has the burning desire to punch him.

He flicks his wrist and casually conjures a desk before levitating a notebook from somewhere in the room over to lay on it. "The first few hours of your lessons will be devoted to anatomy. While a perfect understanding is not necessarily necessary, you are not going to be a feckless neophyte. Your creations, your reanimations, will be nothing so... base nor botched. By the time your training in Northrend is done, you will be reanimating at a level close to mine."

She scowls at him.

He smiles thinly. "It's not negotiable."

He motions to the desk. "Sit."

When she doesn't move he sighs and rolls his eyes, "Proudmoore, you are not a child nor a teenager, sit."

She clenches her jaw. "If I must be taught, I think I'd rather be taught by someone else."

Kel'Thuzad purses his lips for a long moment, staring at her, before he sighs, "Perhaps this needs to be done sooner rather than later. To hammer something into you."

He draws close, his eyes boring into hers. "I know you've already been warned, but here it is yet again. Listen carefully Proudmoore and decide if the path of disobedience is the one you wish to tread."

"Imagine, that after months, years, of your continued disobedience, the Scourge captures someone who meant something to you. Where if you had been in control of yourself, perhaps you could give them a quick clean death, or if you had served well, asked or traded in a boon to the Lich King to stave off their fate," explained Kel'Thuzad, "Instead, the Lich King forces you to torture them yourself all the while controlling your voice and making you seem as if you enjoy it. Then, much like Lady Deathwhisper, they are reanimated, and you are never allowed to tell them the truth."

Jain went silent.

"My point was made well then," said Kel'Thuzad, pleased, "And in truth, this goes for even the common folk. Would your rather them torn apart by ghouls, eaten alive? Or a quick bolt of lightning or shard of ice to kill them in seconds?"

"That's horrible either way..."

"It is your reality now, Acolyte," snapped Kel'Thuzad, "It is what you damned yourself to the moment you entered Icecrown. I'd question what you were thinking coming here but it's obvious you weren't. That task force's size was pathetic. If not for your own efforts, I doubt they would have breached even a quarter as far as they did. The Scourge will not tolerate such foolishness, such a waste of resources and potential."

She scoffed. "How much was wasted in your little plot to lure Arthas here?"

"A calculated choice, a carefully selected sacrifice," countered the Arch Necromancer, "In truth Jaina, how much do you think the Scourge wasted in, what did you call it? The 'little plot'? Hmm? Let me tell you: A few cultists, a few necromancers, several vials of the plague of undeath. That is it. That is all it took to start the Scourging of Lordaeron. Everything else was built or reanimated on Lordaeron's soil. Almost nothing of Northrend was used in the attempt, far more was sent south to Ironforge and Stormwind, not even by our own desires."

Jaina swallowed, shaken. "That's... that's it?"

Arthas's Scourge was hardly that efficient...

"We could have fully unleashed ourselves," said Kel'Thuzad, "A full-on brute force war. Perhaps the Scourge would have won, perhaps not. Instead, with negligible effort, several towns and one city has been scourged. A rift formed that drove you, your prince, and your small expedition to us to be conscripted. Arthas was the primary prize sought, because, with him, we have one guaranteed unexpected strike before anyone knows he has been... enlisted into the Scourge. I'm sure you can guess the target and the damage that will be done with it."

She clenched her jaw and looked down at the desk. "The King."

"Quite right," agreed Kel'Thuzad, "The King will die unexpectedly at the hands of his son, and a new Scourging will be started in the heart of the capital city. The core of Lordaeron will be destroyed before anyone realizes what is happening. The rest of Lordaeron will be a trifle in comparison. Hardly a wasteful effort, no, it is surgically precise, with minimal waste. Crushing resistance and leaving us with a leaderless enemy."

He places a hand on the desk, using the other to grab her chin and force her to look at him. "The Scourge you think you know is not the one that exists at this moment, Jaina. Keep your mind in the here and now. Consider if you can do more 'good' in willing service or pointless defiance that will see you puppeted about. There is no denying that the Lich King is cruel to his enemies and those who defy him, but he is fair, is generous even, to those who serve him willingly. You would be surprised what boons he may be willing to give."

He pauses briefly, "And as I said in Lordaeron, the demons prevent the Scourge from becoming the glorious empire it could become. Your hatred belongs with them, not us."

Jaina scowls at him, but he's done with his tirade and turns. He flicks his wrist and conjures a chalkboard. "Now, we are going to start with a basic overview of anatomy followed by dissections of various specimens. Only when I believe you have a firm understanding will you attempt your first reanimation. I hope for the end of the day but will accept by tomorrow if I must. Oh, and Acolyte? The Lich King will know if you are intentionally failing or not giving proper effort, so don't bother..."

When she's not being sour about life in general, Jaina isn't a bad student. Certainly intelligent and understanding, for the most part, and yet, Kel'Thuzad sometimes finds himself amused by the odd question here and there for things that should be apparent...

"...and we're not wearing gloves for a dissection why?" posed Jaina.

He gives her a patient look. "Acolyte, we are literally infused with necromantic power. Even the most basic of cultists bound to the Lich King are offered protection from normal illness and disease."

She frowns thoughtfully. "I... see."

Most likely considering how disease was never rampant in their past life amongst the cult. At least... as long as it wasn't magical in nature. There were a few instances where a botched magical plague caused issues here and there, but idiots not following proper procedure did it to themselves. "Mind yourself if you ever find yourself in research, however, magical ailments we are not so fortuitous against."

She nods and eyes the rat before her with distaste. He resists the urge to sigh and moves to the other side of the slab. "Have you ever performed a dissection before?"

"Witness yes, done, no," she answered.

He hummed. "I will walk you through it this once, then expect you to do the rest yourself, so watch and listen carefully..."

Kel'Thuzad is wistfully reminded of his own first foray into necromancy carving into rats, mostly at Ner'Zhul's prodding, but with less firm guidance and more vagueness. Of course, that had been because the Lich King wanted Kel'Thuzad firmly under his control before anything specific was taught. He slices open the rat and carefully begins pointing out organ positioning.

"...but what does that matter?" asked Jaina, skeptical, "It's not like an undead's heart is pumping blood."

He hummed. "No, it doesn't, and perhaps were you to be a lowly necromancer, this lesson would be moot. But tell me, Jaina, do you wish to reanimate undead slaves, mindless fodder? Whose bodies are literally falling apart? Or do you wish to reanimate people as close as you can to perfection? To keep their bodies and minds in as close to pristine condition as possible."

She looks at him blankly. "Why would the Scourge care?"

He shrugged. "I doubt the Lich King would, unless you botched an important reanimation of course, but I was trying to be considerate of you."

Her face turned oddly unreadable.

And of course, the Lich King was watching as well, his mocking laughter echoing in his mind. "I would call you pathetic and soft, my most favored servant, if I did not see where you were going with this. Such a temptation you set before her. That she is being merciful by reanimating them intact."

The Lich King cackles and Kel'Thuzad gives a mental chuckle as well, though his is for a different reason. One day, the Lich King will fall, whether to Arthas and Jaina, or to an outside force, and every Scourge that Jaina reanimates as intact as possible is another productive member of the future Undead Empire. Hopefully.

"In summary," said Kel'Thuzad, forcing the topic to continue, "While the individual organs may not individually matter save of course for the brain, the remains of the nervous system is actually something necromancy uses to keep the body functional."

She frowns. "What about skeletons?"

"Are moved by the more magical aspect of it rather than muscle, especially for speech for the more important ones, its a tad more complicated and certainly not a day one lesson," he admits, "But necromancy keeps the nervous system animated to help direct the body, and allows for lesser sensations of touch, pain, and the like."

She nods thoughtfully. "Question. Something I've heard argued, whether undead can really 'feel' or not..."

Most likely from future discussions. She has to be careful with how she phrases things to not betray her secret, for if she does Kel'Thuzad doesn't think he can save her from Ner'Zhul ripping through her mind for the information, regardless of the state of her sanity after. "Lesser sensations. Echoes of what once was if you will. The more powerful the emotion was in life, the more of it stays in death, though, not always. It also depends on the state of decay for normal undead."

He pauses in thought. "I'm not sure if you've encountered any shades or ghosts or banshees as of the moment, but their emotional capabilities are a bit more... ephemeral if they haven't possessed anything, as are skeletons. There is a state of undeath that I have been promised, well... the price of that is a bit heavier."

Unless he is holding his phylactery (his very soul), his emotional capabilities as a Lich are heavily stunted. Of course, why would a Lich need emotions is the thought process behind that, along with the whole 'shedding one's humanity' thing. He could pitch his tone to give an illusion of emotion, but really, that's a calculated choice more than anything else. To truly feel without his phylactery, something really, really, needs to impact him.

The moment Arthas died... the moment he gave his last command...

Kel'Thuzad carefully wraps up that memory and buries it away as deep as he can. He is helping Jaina along in her path of damnation, his promise is basically forfeit in any meaningful way. "Now, I have another rat I wish you to pick apart on your own. Recite to me as if I was an acolyte myself."

She does so, and he takes in her words without really listening. He'd already heard about her tangent when she was eating earlier. When she is put into an intellectual or academic situation she appears to be able to... compartmentalize her situation a bit better. She is also more thorough than a brief overview, either verbatim repeating his earlier pointers, giving her own view on it, and even a few worthy guesses of her own into the beginnings of the art of necromancy. He finds it a wonder that Jaina Proudmoore took almost no direct apprentices in her previous life save one for a short time.

'She will fit nicely into the role of Grand Necromancer when she sheds her past,' Kel'Thuzad muses to the Lich King, every single praise, every single point of potential, he will dangle before Ner'Zhul to draw his appetite, so make him desire her willing service more, 'She'll be able to teach generations of acolytes well.'

'Perhaps, but I foresee that it will yet be a long time coming,' answered the Lich King, 'I had not intended to consider Kul Tiras for some time, and I doubt the Legion would care about the island kingdom. But I suspect I will need to have it properly infiltrated and ready to be Scourged if need be, even if the efforts end up as nothing more than a threat to keep Proudmoore in line.'

'Of course,' agrees Kel'Thuzad, 'Just... less of the more bloodthirsty cultists perhaps, if someone jumps the gun, it will reverse the desired effect.'

He winces as a throb of annoyance spikes down the bond. 'I am aware, pet. Do not assume to direct me as you would the feckless neophytes.'

'Of course, my apologizes,' Kel'Thuzad offers before getting a grunt of dismissal in return.

He returns to the lesson, watching Jaina begin to dissect without passion one specimen after another for the next few hours. She gets quicker as they go, not that it's truly that complicated. Most beings follow at least some basic biology: brains, lungs, hearts, etcetera. There are of course more unique beings that break away from the norm, but the base is all she really needs, even if reanimating a species she hasn't encountered before. When she finishes the last, a bear, her robes coated generously in blood and some flesh, he nods slowly to himself.

"Good, good," he muses, "Good. Now..."

He regards her stony emotionless face for a moment. Even with her control, he does believe it was wise to hold off on a human specimen for the initial lessons, he doubts she would take it well even if she didn't give an actual reaction. A slow pull would be the best way. "Eventually, necromancy will come as easy as breathing to you, without the need of an incantation or intense focus. But for now..."

He conjures a book from his collection, opening it to the required page and pointing, "Read the initial steps, if you have questions ask, after, I will guide you on your first reanimation: A rat. Oh, and try not to smudge blood on the pages please."

She glances down at herself, grimaces, and mutters a quick cleaning spell to remove the stains. She takes the book from him, pacing as she reads over the passage. He waits patiently until she's done and hands him back the book. "Now, to begin..."

She ignores him, walking over to the rat they dissected earlier, her lips parsing to release a string of dark words, a green glow illuminating her right hand. She points a single finger at it, and a bolt of necromantic energy surges out and hits the rat. Immediately, the cut open flesh glows an unholy green, and stitches closed. The rat squeaks and scrambles for a moment, paws screeching on the slab. It pauses its scramble and turns to regard Jaina, its eyes glowing. Kel'Thuzad raises a single eyebrow at that. The infusion ritual and engravings would certainly help, but that was still a flawless first attempt. She is extraordinarily apt at magic.

"Impressive," he praises.

Only... her emotionless demeanor has cracked. She turns to look at him, and she seems feverish, sweat rolling down her head, eyes wide, hands shakey. "I... I feel it."

"Of course you do," he answers, "You reanimated it."

Her arm still twitches. "Will it always be like this?"

He regards her for a moment before it hits him. "Ah, do you mean the connection as a necromancer to your dead? Or the rush of using such dark magic, hmm?"

She swallows thickly. "This is... it's heavier than some of my more powerful spells."

"And more addicting than the standard use of arcane," agrees Kel'Thuzad, "One of your biggest trials will be controlling that pull. You are a master of your magic, not the other way around."

She swallows, shivers, and glances at the door. "Are we done?"

He nods. "Begone with you. What remains of the day is yours. This base is a minor one, you may explore it if you wish, there is a small library you may visit on the other side, you may converse with the other residents, or you may retire to your room if you so wish."

"Where is Arthas?" she asks.

"Training," said Kel'Thuzad, "Keep up your performance in your lessons, and you will see him in a few days."

She gives a short, sharp nod, and leaves. He watches her presence, but to his minor disappointment, she merely returns to her room. He supposes it was foolish at this point to expect her to readily seek out more knowledge, or willingly acquaint herself with others in service to the Lich King. It will come with time he muses before retiring to his temporary study to begin planning out Jaina's next lessons.

Though not before a bit of amusement and nudging Jaina's undead rat to return to her.

He smiles to himself before leaving.

Chapter Text

Jaina sits at her desk in her room, resting her head on her arms as she watches her undead rat scurry around on the desk. Waking up that morning to find it on her bed staring at her had gotten it flung across the room, a reflexive lightning bolt barely missing it and singeing the wall. After calming her beating heart she'd picked it up and set it down to observe. It was... odd. To feel it. It was kind of like her connection to the water and fire elementals she'd summoned for combat. A passive side awareness. The rat wasn't what she expected, and honestly confused her.

There was no flesh eating hunger.

No malice nor hatred nor hostility.

Maybe it was because it registered her as an ally? But... from what she feels...

There was a flicker of mild curiosity that she imaged is natural for the rodent. Poking around, sniffing, pawing at things. It gets close to the edge of the desk, then turns and scurries back to her, a flicker of a pull between them. It peers up at her with its glowing eyes, then it scampers off and repeats. Its a mockery of a rat, an imitation of what it once, unnatural and wrong. Yet...

There is no desire in the rat itself to naturally do anything but try to be a rat.

"Because there was no will nor intent to do so with your creation of it," comes the Lich King's voice, "You reanimated the rat simply to do so, with no further desire behind it."

Jaina purses her lips at the unwelcome voice in her mind, but knows there's nothing she can do about it. "Do zombies not naturally attempt to eat people?"

She gets an amused huff from the Lich King. "You make the assumption that there is a natural state for something like a zombie. There are certain states of undeath that can happen somewhat on their own, ghosts and other spirits of the like are the more common, and those depend on a variety of factors in how they interact with the living, if they do at all. A corpse reanimating is not something that simply happens on its own. It requires magic, power of some sort, to interact with it, and that comes with intent, with a shape to its form behind it. Anything reanimated with the Plague of Undeath with no further intent behind it will be a mindless corpse with hunger and hatred for the living imposed upon it for that is how this plague was designed."

Jaina frowned. "But I reanimated the rat..."

She gets a sensation of mocking amusement from her enslaver. "Reanimating something with necromantic magic is not the same as reanimating something with the Plague of Undeath. Were the Necrolytes and Death Knights of the First and Second War part of the Scourge? Were they bound to my will?"

Jaina tilts her head thoughtfully. "No. They weren't. How is the Scourge linked then? Because if a necromancer reanimates something, it should be bound to them, not to you, if I understand this correctly."

"Indeed," he agreed, a tint of approval in his tone at her understanding, "Those bound to my will, either through undeath, through loyalty forced, or by swearing themselves to me, are linked to my power and will. Infused with mere specs of my power which binds them, and their creations, to me. Their reanimations are connected to both myself and them. As the driving force behind the Scourge I can overtake control from a necromancer if need be, but otherwise it is their natural focus and the focus of their reanimator that drive the mindless masses."

So why wasn't it acting normally then for something reanimated from someone bound to the Lich King?

She gets a sigh from the Lich King, her thoughts apparently loud, before the rat's necromantic green eyes shift to an unholy blue. It squeaks at her and lunges, trying to bite at her. She flicks her wrist and sends it flying backwards off the table, where its blue eyes fade back to a normal green. It squeaked in confusion before it scurried back towards her and repeated its earlier wanderings.

"Kel'Thuzad, for all that you loath him, has been rather vocal in his support for you and your young prince," advised the Lich King, "As such, when he suggested a more... observant approach to my interactions with you for the time being, I chose to heed his advice. The rat defaulted to you because I am not active in our connection unless you give me a reason to be for the time being."

Observant. That's what he's called it between them thus far?

"I could show you how I usually handle those who would disobey and defy me if you prefer."

Jaina's jaw clenches and she grits out. "That wont be necessary."

He laughs darkly, and she jumps a little, feeling like he had been right behind her when he did, breath on her neck. But there is nothing. She swallows back her discomfort and focuses on an oddity. "Why would Kel'Thuzad be 'supportive' as you said?"

She gets a flicker of disinterest from him. "For all he is my most favored, he is still so pitiably mortal. He was once a child of Lordaeron. His loyalty is first and foremost to me, but even I find myself surprised by the flare of it he has for the young Prince, enough to wish to ease the boy's recruitment into the Scourge. He, like you, was once a member of the Kirin Tor, and like you, cast out by them. Perhaps he sees some of himself in you. It doesn't particularly matter."

Jaina bristles. "I am nothing like Kel'Thuzad."

Ner'Zhul laughs. "Aren't you? He was a mage, like you. He is powerful, filled with potential, like you. He has a thirst for knowledge, like you, and is not afraid to reach for it, like you. He did not let such trifle things like rules or the dictations of his peers stop him, like you. He first sought the darker arts of magic to protect the Kirin Tor and Lordaeron, to further their cause, and his own understanding of magic. I wonder how much knowledge and power you sought for similar desires, hmm? I wonder... had you my voice in your mind speaking and guiding you, would you have taken the trek north he did after Antonidas gave his ultimatum?"

She gasps as his presence bore down on her, causing her to clutch the desk for support as her body shook. "Do not delude yourself Proudmoore. From the moment I started observing you when you stepped foot upon Northrend, I saw darkness in you. Something harsh and bitter. The only difference between you and him was timing, opportunity, and what brought you into my grasp. His was the pursuit of knowledge, yours was your prince."

He releases his grip on her. "Get your sustenance and then report to Kel'Thuzad for your lessons."

She grudgingly obeys, sitting across from Deathwhisper when she reaches the cafeteria. Though, she isn't alone today. High Cultist Blaumeux sits next to Deathwhisper, Fearlina across from her. Jaina hesitates briefly before sliding in next to the eventual-Grand Widow. The young woman briefly looks at Jaina before refocusing on eating the goop they offer for food.

"Acolyte Proudmoore," greets Blaumeux, "I hear Kel'Thuzad had nothing but praise for your initial lesson."

"Gossip?" said Jaina dryly.

Blaumeux grinned, eyes glinting. "Preparation for our next steps is necessary, along with downtime for the living portion of the Scourge. Needed, if but... boring. You are certainly one of the more entertaining additions to the Scourge. I do hope you continue to be fun."

Jaina gives her an unimpressed look, giving out a scathing, "I'm glad to be of entertainment."

"The higher ups gamble on you," said Fearlina in a quiet voice.

"Come now dear, don't spoil the fun," chided Blaumeux.

Jaina blinks. "Gamble? On what?"

Fearlina fidgets under both woman's gazes. "...on how long it will take you to break or willingly submit to the path we must walk."

Jaina bristles.

"Oh don't be so offput dear," soothed Blaumeux mockingly, "Most of us were bet against at one point. Some who haven't been scourged yet even have bets on them."

Her grin turns a touch malicious. "Especially the paladins. There a few of those holier than thou bastards I can't wait to see grovel. Their precious light never saved any of us, nor will it save them."

Jaina schooled her face, considering the bare hint of bitterness underneath the malice. "Dare I ask what bets are placed against me?"

"Now that would spoil the fun," teased Blaumeux, "It also varies depending on how you define break or willingness. Why, despite her prowess, even young Fearlina here still has a touch unwillingness to her. Mostly she needs to simply get over her squeamishness."

Fearlina scowled at her. "Yes, well, coming from being a botanist to chopping up body parts for abominations among other things is a bit of a shock."

"I suppose," mused Blaumeux, "Though when you finally let go, you will be so beautifully destructive."

Fearlina exhales in frustration and looks down at her bowl, shoveling another bite in. Jaina watches with a bit of curiosity. Its... well, obviously few people start as completely unrepentant monsters. Its jarring though, to see this reluctant cultist compared to the insane Grand Widow that eventually makes Naxxramas her home. Jaina looks down at her own bowl and wonders what would have happened to Fearlina and those like her if the expedition has successfully destroyed the Lich King. Would they have cast off the damnation tightening around their throat and ran? Tried to reclaim their original lives?

It feels like yet another failure, yet another person Jaina failed to save...

"Speaking of which, Deathwhisper you haven't given your bet yet on our young acolyte here," teased Blaumeux.

Jaina wonders if its odd she finds comfort in how unimpressed Deathwhisper seems with Blaumeux?

Deathwhisper speaks dryly. "I have better things to do then waste time antagonizing allies, whether they be unwilling or otherwise."

"Tch, coddling?"

"Hardly," said Deathwhisper, scoffing, "When are you returning to Naxxramas so that we may be free of you?"

"As soon as the damage is fixed," said Blaumeux, waggling an eyebrow at Jaina, "Turns out trying to crush something in a giant fist of ice requires repairs, who knew?"

Jaina gives a lazy smile in return, not hiding the pleasure and vindication from the act. "Yes, who knew if you gave someone trying to destroy you a ridiculous infusion of power that they would try to destroy you with it?"

In all honestly, with Frostmourne and the power of the Lich King flowing through her at that moment, she considers if she had been as powerful, if not more, than she had been before she came back in time. It had been... unreal. Little to no emotions, no morality, just duty to see her task done. Nothing had held her back in that moment, and she wonders if she could have full fledge destroyed Naxxramas if she hadn't been so focused on trying to get at the Lich King. She wonders how powerful she would have been if she had that power at her peak...

No, those thoughts are best left unconsidered, except that she needs the Lich King dead before she gets even close to that level of strength again.

"Who knew indeed," said Blaumeux, rolling her eyes, "We all could have done without the psychic backlash from you attacking the Lich King. That headache lasted far to long."

"My sincerest apologies."

Fearlina snickered.

Blaumeux huffed. "Come Fearlina, we have many new bodies to use in a few rituals thanks to a foolish expedition our newest acolyte and her prince brought to us. Lets be on our way."

Jaina's jaw clenched, and she really, really wants to kill the eventual Shadow Horseman of Naxxramas. She quiets the thought when she feels the Lich King's presence flicker in warning.

"Finish up Proudmoore," said Deathwhisper, "And I will take you to Kel'thuzad. I believe he mentioned a proposition for you today to encourage your progress."

Jaina frowns, wondering what is in store for her today, and shovels down the last of her mushy food. She follows Deathwhisper back to the same room as yesterday. Kel'thuzad has every dissection she had done yesterday laying across multiple slabs. She has a hunch what he wants her to do.

Kel'thuzad nods briefly to Deathwhisper, an unsaid dismissal, and regards Jaina. "Today, you will be practicing reanimation. Your first attempt was nigh flawless, I intend to make sure you can repeat that performance on demand, to make such an act reflexive in nature, without even needing thought. If you can manage these with similar results, we will advance to more... intricate animations. So, we will begin with a brief review of yesterday's lesson."

He wiggles two fingers, and the book from yesterday levitates over and opens itself on a desk. Jaina sits down, but doesn't immediately begin review. "Deathwhisper mentioned a proposition."

Kel'thuzad hummed. "I have several goals for you today, Acolyte, ranging from expected, to impressive, to extraordinary. You will eventually learn everything I wish to teach you, but learn them both quickly and skillfully..."

He considers her for a moment. "The first time you will be allowed to meet Prince Arthas again is the first time you successfully re-animate a human with their full, or near full, intellect and awareness intact. You will get once chance to try this at the end of today's lesson, consider this motivation to excel."

Jaina bristled, seeing how it was. Damn herself more and get rewarded for it. She isn't so ignorant that she didn't recognize this was coming anyway. She hates so much that this is her life now, but reanimating a sentient being was always going to happen from the moment the Lich King enslaved her and decided to force her to be a necromancer.

"I see," is all she says before refocusing and reviewing...

Kel'thuzad watches with minor approval as one by one Proudmoore reanimates the animals they dissected yesterday. The problem with perfection, he mused to himself, is if you get it once, it becomes expected of you, even if the first time was but a fluke. Oh, her reanimations are excellent, better then the sloppy barely useable attempts of normal uninfused acolytes by far, but with perhaps less quick responsiveness than the rat had. Of course, a rat is a small, simple thing. A bear however is bigger, more mass to push one's magic through. Its limbs drags a bit, it shuffles forward sluggishly and he notes that she observes that herself.

She frowns at it. "Hm."

"The smaller animals are simple, easy things," he explains to her, moving to stand aside her, robes swooshing along the floor, "You do them with a simple bolt of energy and intent, but the bear is bigger, pushing the same amount of energy..."

"Isn't enough," said Jaina, nodding, "I have to hold the intent and energy until it finishes."

She tilts her head, ever the curious scholar. "What happens if I keep pushing in energy after its fully animated?"

That gets a wry smile out of Kel'thuzad. "A good question, Acolyte. Allow me to answer with another, what does overloading a spell normally do?"

She raises an eyebrow. "That largely depends on what kind of spell you are trying to do. A purely offensive spell, assuming it isn't of delicate construction or ritual based, will be more powerful, but obviously costs more energy. Anything requiring finesse is likely to blow up in your face unless you can craft a way to empower your spell safely."

He wonders mildly how much experience she has doing so, as for the question, she both is and isn't correct in where her thoughts lead. "What does this tell you then?"

"If I push to much energy into a reanimation, it will either fail, explode, or have some unforeseen side effect most likely," she mused, frowning, eyes distant, "Maybe the reanimation goes wrong in some way."

If he had to guess, she was trying to search her memory for any such instances she may have witnessed. "There is another effect you might not realize, that is far more likely."

She frowned. "Like what?"

"Like your energy spilling out of your spell and contaminating the area. This can result in a variety of things, accidental additional but weaker reanimations, necromantic energy seeping into the ground and defiling the area, you get the idea," he advised, "When necromancers go for larger casts, they are generally trying to reanimate multiple things at once, though sometimes they are trying to spread the energy into the environment."

She narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment. "...that first part, does that have anything to do with the Blight?

Oh, very good Proudmoore. "How much may I tell her?"

The Lich King barely acknowledges the question. "She is bound to me."

Kel'thuzad supposes that is an answer in itself. Who is Proudmoore going to tell? "The Plague of Undeath was a creation of the Lich King himself. It bears his power and tears at life, but especially human life."

"Hates us that much does he?"

"Oh, he hates most living rather equally," mused Kel'thuzad, "Humanity merely had the unfortunate fate of being in his way towards his goals."

Baring of course that Ner'Zhul was once an Orc and may still be a bit angry over the defeat of the Horde and the destruction of his homeworld. Though considering he was responsible for his own planet's destruction and transformation into Outland...

He cleared his throat. "Now, the Plague seeps necromantic energy into anything it touches, but not just any necromantic energy, but his energy specifically. His version of undeath, his plague, is unique solely to him. You are aware of the demons, yes? I did try to warn you of them."

That gets a flicker of attention from Ner'Zhul. Kel'thuzad ever so carefully pushes a snippet of the conversation he had at Andorhal baring the warning of Frostmourne of course. "I attempted to align them against the demons early."

The reprimand is instant, and Kel'Thuzad has to struggle not to physically show pain. "Tread carefully Kel'thuzad, I will not risk the demons becoming aware of our plotting because of your pitiful mortal affection for your Prince. If any of them had been present to hear those words, everything would have been ruined."

"I... apologize, I will clear such things with you in the future first, I overstepped."

"You did," confirmed the Lich King, but nothing more was said.

"I said yes, Kel'thuzad," said Jaina with a snippy tone.

"I was conversing with the Lich King over what to tell you," he half-lied smoothly, before reconfirming, "May I?"

The Lich King grunts an affirmative, but nothing else.

"The Lich King was bound to his current form by the demons," continued Kel'thuzad, "As such, the plague uses both necromantic energy, demonic energy, and the Lich King's own personal twist to it to give its current form. This combination is why you will find no cure for it, no salvation. It is both from our world, and otherworldly, at the same time."

Jaina tilts her head thoughtfully. "...its the last that is most important out of it, that makes it incurable, isn't it? You could deal with the necromantic energy, you could even deal with demonic energy, but its the way he twists it all together that makes it so unbelievably dangerous. You can burn away the Blight, burn away his power, but not cure it."

Its always jarring, when the Lich King attention is so suddenly on him, then in him, sweeping away control in the span of an instant. He is once again a puppet as words not his own pour from his mouth, a glow of malicious blue seeping out of his eyes. "You are a clever little thing, Proudmoore. One day, I am going to enjoy picking through your mind to see what makes it work."

Jaina stiffens. "You need a hobby that isn't stalking me, Lich King."

Dark amusement tickles through the link to the Lich King. "I keep an eye on the things that belong to me, Proudmoore, that includes you."

Her jaw clenches, but she wisely doesn't bite back at the Lich King. His master takes his leave of control, a hiss in the back of his mind. "What a vexing thing she is, I am ever so curious to examine and study the shields she uses to guard her mind so."

It is something he is rather curious himself. His own shielding relies a bit on the Lich King's own arrogance and dismissiveness. He could not deny the Lich King if he demanded absolute entry and knew where to look, but that's the thing, why would the Lich King care to waste time picking through his supposed trusted servant's mind in depth looking for carefully hidden memories? How is it Jaina has hidden anything from the one she is bound to? He is not entirely confident in retaining his secrets when he becomes a Lich. He is aware that she threatened to drive herself mad with her shields if they shattered, but she is bound to the Lich King, it should not matter when he can will her to grant him entry.

"How can she possibly shield herself from you?" posed Kel'thuzad.

"Its a clever thing," mused the Lich King, voice oddly considerate, "Its not that she shields her entire mind, but things she deems of significance. It is a two part-shield of differing intents linked together. One part is a simple mechanism, a heavy seal linking her deepest secrets to the cornerstones of her mind. Break the lock break her mind. It is the other part that I will grudgingly admit draws my admiration in its cleverness if I understand it correctly."

The Lich King continues. "The second part of her  shields is not about stopping my controlling her, but instead on preserving certain secrets while allowing the rest to fall asway, and this is where its design fascinates me. For according to my will, my power, my magic, she is not withholding from me nor resisting my control, and yet she is. H er thoughts bleed in and out of focus whenever she has thoughts that connect to whatever lurks behind her locked shield.  I will glean thoughts that have portions missing, that annoy and yet intrigue me. I suspect, in that by allowing my ability to control her to flow through her uncontested, it deceives the spellwork binding her to me. The theory behind this is  remarkable, that she crafted such a thing so quickly... I'd say such a thing should take years of intense and careful study, and at least some knowledge of how my control works."

Well, she did have years to craft such mental defenses, years to question the Forsaken or the freed undead who joined the Argent Dawn and Crusade about their enslavement. Perhaps even interrogating captured cultists. He is very curious about trying to adapt such a concept to his own mind...

"Her memories as well," murmurs the Lich King, "I am steadily sifting through them when she sleeps, and yet, I can find no place where she has learned what she has shown, and even if such moments were blocked, one would think such blocks would stand out, would bring me against that blunt lock of hers, and yet despite their age her memories are seamless. She is puzzling and fascinating."

Oh Jaina, she needs to be so careful. All the pieces are there for the Lich King to pick up, he just hasn't connected the dots. Her mere existence as it is and what she represents is a puzzle the Lich King will not stop trying to unravel...

He refocuses when he notices her cutting her connection to the undead bear, letting it flop to the ground. He stands back and watches as she intentionally overloads the reanimation, necrotic green energy seeping into the air around the bear, fading off in the distance. Gone in sight, but settling down through the air onto the floor. The bear moves acceptably after that, though reanimating something multiple times has the tendency to wear and degrade them if certain precautions are not taken. He mentions it, but merely gets a distracted nod back.

Her eyes are on the floor around the bear, a slight frown on her face.

"Did you not believe me?" he poses.

"I did, but I wanted to see, to feel it, for myself," she murmurs.

Most likely to see if she could mitigate her own castings. Ironically, mastering her necromantic casting to that level where nothing leaks out would put her around his level of necromancy, which he muses is the goal. He supposes then its time to truly fail his promise to his King. "Do you wish to review, or shall we move onto your first human reanimation?"

In that moment, when he looks at her, he sees so much. The rage, the fury, the anger. The contempt, the hatred, the loathing. The fear, the horror, the helpless resignation. "Its not like I'll be given a choice."

"Oh, but you are," mused Kel'Thuzad, "You could refuse, and then the Lich King could puppet around your body to suite his whims, and he will not be kind in what he has you do as punishment for the defiance."

She glares at him, and he softens his voice, "I do not say this to be needlessly cruel, Jaina, I do not give these lessons out of sadistic delight. We are allies now, reluctant on your part or not. My words are as much a warning as they are advice: Make your damnation your own, or resist and suffer. You may think you have an idea of it, but there are not words for what it would be like to truly incur the Lich King's wrath as someone bound to him. You have advantages here that most do not that give you a leg up in the Scourge Hierarchy, and you were correct when you assumed the Lich King desires Arthas's willingness as we made that rather obvious. But Jaina?"

He walks close and tilts his head down to lock eyes. "That will only extend so far."

He turns and walks over to an empty slab, reaching out mentally to order a few skeletons to bring in a few corpses. "I was in a similar position to you once..."

She scoffed. "As if you didn't choose this willingly, regardless of what you spewed at us in Andorhal."

Kel'Thuzad smiles to himself in amusement. "Ah, but I did not lie. I did not know about the demons when I first came to the Lich King, nor did I even understand the true nature of the Scourge nor its purpose. I was a foolish man, bitter of my banishment from Dalaran by those I had considered allies, who did not heed my advice in learning and using Necromancy to combat our foes. I had not even considered the notion of forcing compliance from enemy undead, let alone the use of a magical plague of undeath. I remember when I first witnessed..."

He distantly thinks of that first jail cell in Naxxramas Anub'Arak had taken him to on his Road to Damnation, so many years ago, watching the wife and husband, one infected and dying, the other not. The wife's death, turning, leaping on her husband, chewing and tearing and feasting and mewling as she did so, unable to stop herself...

He shakes his head. "I suppose it doesn't matter anymore. At any rate, I was in too deep by the time I passed the point of no return, and when I was brought to the Lich King, he made it very, very clear how any notion of usurping him was... foolish."

"How so?" Jaina posed boldly, mockingly.

"With nothing more than sheer mental power, he forced me to crawl to him on my hands and knees, and I was not bound as you are," he said, shoulders rolling briefly with discomfort at the memory of being the focus of both Ner'Zhul's ire and desire, "At that point Jaina, I cut my losses and threw myself into service."

"I'd rather have died," she said flatly.

He gives her an unimpressed look. "We both know that wouldn't have stopped the Lich King in claiming your or my service."

"Not if I had incinerated my body as I went," she rebutted.

Kel'Thuzad smiles at the naivety. "Oh Jaina, why do you think that would have stopped him from claiming you?"

Her face blanks out after a moment of confusion, uncertainty in her eyes.

She was still so ignorant. Ner'Zhul was not Arthas. His King had gained raw power and mobility to be sure, and the allegiance of the Vrykul, but he had also lost something that the original Lich King had in being a psychic-magical entity, in being freed from the prison that the demon lord Kil'Jaeden had specifically engineered as both a prison and an amplifier. Of course she wouldn't know that, no one in this time would, he only know because he had held his King's confidence as Arthas sifted through Ner'Zhul's memories and soul for what he could use. It had not been so much of a merge between Arthas and Ner'Zhul as it was a consumption, an absorption that crafted the new Arthas dominate Lich King. He only risks saying it aloud because Ner'Zhul had hinted at it a few times without ever clarifying, only ever realized in hindsight.

"Northrend is the Lich King's domain," said Kel'Thuzad, "A lone soul drifting about would have been simple enough for him to pluck if no other force interfered before it moved on, especially if he were already focused on you. Death and incineration would not have been enough to save you from him, all it would have done was destroy your original body, forcing you to be thrust into some kind of construct, turned into a banshee, put into another corpse, or perhaps just forced into Lichdom, in which you would be even more bound to him than you are now."

Of course, the Legion burning a body and claiming or annihilating a soul was another matter entirely, one that had likely been Tichondrous's goal when he made the threat.

She swallows thickly. "...oh."

The skeletons come in with three corpses from the basic troops of the failed expedition and lay them side by side on a slab. "I will preform two flawless reanimations with their full intellect intact. The first I will do without guide, I want you to try and sense how I focus my intent and spellcraft. We will briefly discuss your thoughts, then I will give you a walkthrough of how I do the second. You will be given one attempt today to do so after."

Her lips purse unhappily, and he can see her steeling herself, eyes glazing slightly, likely trying to compartmentalize what was about to happen. He hums to himself, considering the corpses before him. After he had become a Lich, reanimation hadn't actually been that common. He'd been more for summoning his stronger minions from afar rather than wasting time reanimating fodder, along with his wide arrange of destructive spells. He does oh so miss Death and Decay. Though, he had been rather nostalgic when he had first come back as a mere necromancer again. It took him a short while, but he had swiftly reclaimed his old mastery as if it never left him.

He waits until Jaina's eyes are intently upon him, her magic a soft coating in the air as she focuses herself. He reaches out with a green glowing hand and lays a palm on the corpse's forehead and bows his head, closing his eyes, a mockery of a priest giving a blessing. His power and intent flows through the corpse as quick as a breath in and settles in just as fast as a breath out. The body jerks, eyes fly open, blinking rapidly with confusion and bewilderment. An intake of break that was forced rather than instinctual.

"Wha..."

Kel'Thuzad places a single finger across undead lips for silence, and feels the terror and horror from the newest Scourge servant as they begins to realize their plight. "Tell me Acolyte, what did you sense?"

She looks honestly confused, they always are when going for more controlled and delicate reanimations. "It happened fast, but... from what I caught your magic barely touched the mind. More of the power of it went throughout the body."

He smiled. "Very good, now why might that be? Think on retaining intelligence as the goal."

She doesn't give an immediate response, not a feckless acolyte desperate for approval and success that he usually dealt with. He hopes she does eventually accept her new life, if only to have a new proper academic partner to theorize with. She takes a minute, looking down on the terrified undead, and repeats softly, "...it barely touched the mind."

He waits.

Her eyes lift to meet his, her voice is quiet, but filled with sure and unwanted understanding. "Necromantic magic, death magic, rots and decays just as much as it reanimates. You'd want as little of it involved in the mind as possible. Just enough to restore it to close as it was when alive, but nothing more ideally because you'd run the risk of degrading the mind."

"Excellent deduction Acolyte," he said, nodding, "The mind, the brain, is a delicate enough organ without pouring necromantic energy into it. If you overdo it and burst a part of the brain, or rot it, you aren't likely to be able to fix that. Most intelligent undead unless they were directly reanimated by myself, by the Lich King, or by another master necromancer, are likely to have one deficiency or another because of how difficult it is to do perfectly. Anywhere from speech to memory, to coordination and the like. Some of these can be worked around or fixed, or are so small as to not be noticeable, others... not as such."

"How does a corpse even retain or make new memories?" she asked with honest confusion.

He grins. "Magic."

The withering glare he gets in return is expected. "Now, I will guide you through the next reanimation, pay attention, and perhaps your first intelligent reanimation will be mostly functional..."

Jaina finds that Kel'thuzad's smooth voice slides through her ears like an insidious poison. Everything he says makes sense in a twisted sort of way, especially because of how ritualistic it is. Will, intent, desire, crafted together by her magic in a design assuredly more difficult then casting a mere fireball, more inline with the stronger and more complicated spellwork she cast in her later years. The proper place to begin is the brain, the lightest touch, into the nervous system and the spine with a bit more, then, the majority of the power spreads into the bone and flesh. That is what she gets out of is second 'guided' walkthrough.

"...because of course, an undead is still primarily dead, they don't actually need to eat, sleep, or the like," explains Kel'thuzad, "That is why the largest portion of the energy seeps into and augments both bone and flesh. Enabling the corpse to move and function. The power that fuels it is linked to the caster, or absorbed ambiently from surrounding magics, rather than through biological function."

"I've seen ghouls eat before," she counters with distaste.

Kel'thuzad's lips purse. "That... is by design. Do recall, that the Lich King's desire is to kill most of the living and retain the rest under his thrall. By imbedding within the undead the need to eat, to cause pain, to feel pain if they do not, he incites his servants to fight more viscously, and, to his desire, punishes the living who resisted him before they became his servants. Undead who serve well can have such pains removed."

Jaina's jaw clenches. "Dare I ask just how much of the Plague of Undeath is by malicious design?"

"It would be easier to specify which parts weren't," he answers in a bland, non-committal tone.

He regards her as their words draw to a close. He motions to the last remaining corpse, no further words needed. No complaints, no stalling, no pleading will work if she tries. She calls on her tainted magic, lays a hand on the corpse's forehead as Kel'Thuzad had, and with years of carefulness used in other spellcraft, weaves a light trace of power through the mind, empowering her necromantic magic as it goes through the rest of the body, all with her intent:

Rise.

Eyes flutter open, a green glow to them, a startled and confused gasp. Eyes focus on her, blinking rapidly. "L-lady P-Proudm-moore?"

There is bewildered relief. "W-we w-won?"

Jaina has never felt more disgusted with herself in her life. "No. We didn't."

"W-wha-t?"

"Hmm," muses Kel'Thuzad, "A bit of a stutter, but if that is the only thing wrong then this was an exceptional first attempt."

The undead jolts, staring at Kel'Thuzad in surprise, then anger... then horror begins to build as the footman begins to realize something is wrong. Hand goes to their side for a sword that isn't there. Kel'Thuzad raises an unimpressed brow as the footman rolls off the slab and crouches, armored fists raised. "Acolyte Proudmoore was rather kind with the intent of her reanimation, if you don't wish for your unlife to be nothing but pain, then I suggest calming yourself and not striking. Alternatively, you can express a bit of control of your reanimation, Acolyte."

Does that mean if she does not will it, those she reanimates do not feel the pain the Lich King intended? If that's the case...

The footman makes to charge.

Jaina raises a hand. "Stop."

The footman stops, against his will.

Jaina has never hated herself more. Even if her enslavement of the poor man is a mercy compared to what would normally happen to a scourged foe, its still horrific.

"Serve me well and willingly, Jaina Proudmoore," echoes the Lich King in her mind, "And I will allow those you reanimate this small mercy. Am I not a kind and generous master?"

She sees the trap for what it is, but sees no way out of it. She is damned no mater what she does, but if she willingly performs these damnable acts, she is rewarded with less suffering of others. She shivers when she feels a hand rake through her hair, but nothing is there, a finger gently trailing down her cheek. "Serve well, and you will be a favored pet."

She goes rigid when it feels like a freezing touch, a hand so cold it burns, slips through her flesh to grip her spine, but there is nothing there. "Refuse me, and know suffering beyond your wildest imagination as a slave."

"Think on it Proudmoore," advised the Lich King, his paralytic touch fading, "You will see your young Prince in the morning, after all, good behavior should be rewarded, should it not?"

Dark laughter echoes through her mind, and it haunts her long into the night.

Chapter Text

The presence of Falric and Marwyn at his back should have put Arthas at ease in this unholy place.

It didn't.

His trusted captains, one dead defending his queen, one dead by his own blade.

Both risen by his hands.

Neither had been grateful.

"I had warned you," mused the Lich King, making Arthas twitch at the sudden voice, "I could still alter them to enjoy their service."

"Unnecessary," he muttered, getting a laugh from his dark master.

"Milord?" posed Falric.

Arthas shakes his head and motions to it. "Just... him speaking to me. I'm not sure I'll ever grow used to it."

A grunt of acknowledgement, then silence. No small talk, no desire for it. He's not sure how much they lost of themselves, and he hasn't dared to ask. Not after what he did to them. He is not ignorant of the fact he threw everything away for Jaina. The entire expedition, his men's lives, all of their free will, her own demands for him to kill and free her, that he damned every single one of them in order to try to save his love. He doubts their next meeting will be... civil. If she is anything but furious with him, he'd be surprised.

She'd have every right to be.

He damned them.

He may have even damned the entire world.

Without his soul, he can't even feel guilt over it, any remorse. He wondered, if he had his soul, would he have? In the heat of the moment, he had chosen saving Jaina over anything else. But with time for it sit and set in, what would he feel? Logically, he knows he made the wrong choice. By any outlook not born of the most ridiculous romantic, it was the wrong choice. By far.

He doesn't care.

Even if he had his soul, he doesn't think he'd care.

He still has Jaina.

That's all that matters, that's all that can matter now...

He shakes his head and refocuses: They're being rewarded, both of them allowed to meet for the first time since before their loss to the Scourge, as apparently both him and Jaina are excelling at their lessons. The willingness of taking to those lessons... its easier for him without his soul or most of his emotions, but for Jaina? He has little doubt there was prodding and/or threats involved, no matter how much the Lich King implies she took to it with the skills of a savant. Being skilled at something does not mean one enjoys doing it. Besides, Jaina being skilled at any kind of magic isn't very surprising after fighting alongside her through the Scourge's initial attack of Lordaeran and the Assault on Northrend...

...

Not to mention the sheer devastation she wrought with Frostmourne and access to the Lich King's power in the closure of the battle. Honestly, he's not sure why the Lich King doesn't give her the runeblade. But then again, the Lich King said those who wielded Frostmourne are meant to serve willingly. He isn't sure about the end goal of that, but he severely doubts there would ever be the willingness the Dark Lord wanted from Jaina in regards to that.

If the Lich King hears the thought, he doesn't comment. Arthas doesn't particularly wish to prod that any further, thinking that Jaina not wielding the blade is probably for the better, for her and for the world. He strides through the halls, heading for Jaina, following the nudging directions of the Lich King. He's not sure what he expected when he found her, but...

"What is the point of it though?" says Jaina, sitting at a desk arguing with Kel'Thuzad of all people over necromantic spellwork, "A rapid desperate reanimation is most likely going to degrade the corpse for future use. You started my lessons on reanimation with the intent to make it quick but skilled, not this distasteful butchery."

"Sometimes Acolyte, you will simply need a pile of bodies in front of you and your enemy," Kel'Thuzad answers, "It is... unfortunate to lose potential intelligent Scourge, but never forget you are not a warrior. Not a Death Knight. If an enemy closes the distance with you, you are disadvantaged no matter the spellwork you can use at close range to try and change that. A paladin in a divine shield can charge and beat you into the ground before you can do much about it without protection. You are far more valuable to the Scourge than any mere raised civilian would be."

Displeasure crosses her face, but not surprise. Considering the effort the Scourge put into claiming the two of them, perhaps not shocking that she recognizes this. He is still learning more and more these last few days about the plotting that drove him and Jaina out of Lordaeran to Northrend. A lot of background influence had been thrown around to get him onto the mission investigating the plagued north as Jaina's escort. He had not been aware that Antonidas had been prompted into choosing him to go with Jaina for the Kirin'Tor's investigation. Nor that his father had been slowly talked into the risk of sending him into the plagued north.

The Lich King's reach was far and wide even without the use of the Undead, the plague, or demons. But that was thoughts for later. "Better she have me as a bulwark between her and any threats than mere ghouls."

He doesn't like the thought of coming to blow with his fellow... former brothers and sisters, but he knows it will come to pass.

He watches Jaina stiffen briefly, head sharply turning to gaze on him. From head to toe, she looks upon him in his death knight armor. He might not be able to feel grief and regret anymore, but he can certainly still identify and see it in others. The only thing that changes is the absolute hatred when her eyes focus on Frostmourne. But not for him. A better reaction that he thought.

"Arthas," she greets quietly, rising to her feet.

"Jaina," he replies, nodding.

"Hm, I suppose that will be it for the day," muses Kel'Thuzad, "You have the rest of the day to yourselves. Tomorrow, I believe the Lich King has a joint reanimation planned for the two of you."

"Lovely," comes Jaina's sarcasm, "Dare I ask who or what?"

"The other paladin of your expedition," comments Kel'Thuzad in a bored, lazy tone, "You will need experience in the reanimation, creation, and augmentation of Death Knights after all. You both do."

Jaina grimaces, but Arthas isn't particularly surprised. He supposes in hindsight the only reason Aurius wasn't already raised would be to serve as a lesson. He is curious however about his old mentor and friend. "And Muradin?"

"The Lich King is still debating on whether to have him as a Death Knight, or as an infiltrator into Ironforge," answers the necromancer, "Infiltrating your father's keep will be far simpler than entering Ironforge's depths. The power and augmentation of a death knight would be likely to give him away. Its been difficult, we can admit, to get infiltrators or sympathizers in, but a Bronzebeard? If he can be masked enough, all he needs to do is plague their breweries and Ironforge falls overnight most likely."

Arthas tilts his head in consideration. Idly, he muses out-loud, "When it comes to their ale, dwarves are far more observant than you'd think. Perhaps you'd might infect a few that way, but all it will take is one dwarf complaining about an odd taste or smell to ruin your whole attempt."

Then, as he has to remind himself to do, he considers it from other perspectives. "It may not matter to your master..."

"Our master," reminds Kel'Thuzad mildly.

A flicker of anger rushes through him, but he minds his tongue, letting out a civil, "Our master, but Muradin will never be a willing member of the Scourge if you use him to slaughter his people."

Rather than remark on that, Kel'Thuzad takes several slow, methodical steps, his robes swooshing as he walks up to Arthas and looks up to meet his gaze. "And what of you, Prince Arthas? Shall the Scourge always have your enmity for what is soon to come? You will do so to Lordaeran before he would do so to Ironforge."

Arthas's lips purse. He doesn't immediately answer, because as much as he does not want to slaughter his people, when he thinks of what is to come, his anger rises, and its not only at the Scourge. He thinks of his father, he thinks of Uther, of Antonidas, and he feels rage. They had come so close. He has been a part of the Scourge for a short time, yes, but he has gotten a gauge of their forces. Even with Naxxramas, he fully believes the Scourge would have fallen under the combined forces of Lordaeron's army, the Silver Hand, and the Kirin Tor. Perhaps even a detachment of elves could have been spared if they took the danger seriously.

He and Jaina were abandoned by the leadership of Lordaeran. If they had proper support, especially with the Scourge forces being split up to scour the southern kingdoms, they could have won.

He feels the Lich King picking as his thoughts, like a hand softly trailing fingers inside his skull. There is no reprimand, no comment, not a hint of what the Dark Lord feels at what he lingered on. It is, however, a reminder that he is ever under watch. Ever observed. Even with what is supposed to be the sanctuary of his own mind.

"I don't know," Arthas finally says.

Jaina twitches, but holds her silence.

"I will never rejoice in the slaughter of my people," he says, "But I am not nearly as sanguine about the leadership of my Kingdom."

Jaina twitches again, opening her mouth, then slowly closing it, looking unnerved.

Kel'Thuzad gives a coy, pleased smile. "We can work with that."

The necromancer moves around him, slowly making for the door. "The Scourge does knows how to use both the carrot and the stick after all. Your people will serve the Scourge, one way or another, but perhaps some can be given the chance to serve willingly within the Cult of the Damned, rather than by force as undead. I suppose it depends on you, and our dear acolyte here."

Irritation rushes through Arthas. So not only is Jaina to be held as a hostage for his willing obedience, but even the chance for his people to not be torn to shreds and raised as mindless slaves is used against him as well? He doesn't stop the necromancer from leaving to argue with him. He is being given the day to spend with Jaina, so he will take it and not waste his time with pointless arguing.

Jaina speaks cautiously after the door closes, briefly eying his captains as they stand to the side of the door at rigid guard. "...the leadership, Arthas?"

He doesn't immediately reply, eyes lingering on the stress suddenly so intense on her face. Did his words truly upset her so?

He sighs, and repeats his thoughts. "We came so close. We could have won had they marched with us, Jaina."

"Maybe," she says, "Maybe not. I never expected the demons, and Naxxramas could have potentially evened the playing field."

She is playing devil's advocate, now? In the face of what had happened to them? "You took it out."

"After I picked up that accursed blade," she snapped at him, "Which, I remind you, was a trap. The moment anyone picked that sword up, our defeat became a matter of not if, but when. The only reason I was able to do so much damage as I did is because the Lich King did not initially fight me on it. He fed me his power in-fact. That is the only reason we breached to the Frozen Throne. Otherwise its likely we wouldn't have even taken the third base."

"Fair," he muses, "I still think we could have won with full support."

"I'm not saying we couldn't," she admits, "But I foolishly underestimated the enemy when I knew better. Its entirely possible there are other things and factors I don't know about, disregarded, or did not recognize, that could have endangered our chances even if we had brought Lordaeron's full might. Part of the reason we penetrated as deeply into the heart of the Scourge and came so close to winning as we did was because they underestimated us. If they had taken us as a serious threat they would have fought us as they did in Icecrown the entire way there."

She sighed and sits down on a desk. "The moment the demons showed up I should have pushed for us to retreat and mass teleported us back to the coast to flee. Maybe taken a few demon corpses with us for you to show your father to get them to take the threat more seriously while I tried to gather support in Kul'Tiras. If my parents would even listen to me."

He sets Frostmourne down against the wall near the door and moves over to stand at her side, a hesitating hand moving to rest on her shoulder. He should offer comfort now, right? "Perhaps, but its likely their view of you may have been poisoned by what we had to do at Stratholme, especially if Antonidas, my father, or Uther spoke with them. Don't punish yourself for that."

She reaches up a hand to clasp his gauntlet, a wry smile on her face. "I can imagine the screaming match I would have had with them."

It takes him a moment to force himself to match her smile. "Indeed."

She tilts her head, looking into his face, his eyes, and her smile fades into aching grief. "You can't feel anymore, can you?"

"...no, not aside from negative emotions that I suspect I'm being intentionally allowed to feel," he admits.

She bobs her head in a small nod. "It was the same when I briefly held the blade."

She swallows thickly, her voice cracking, "You... you don't... you don't have to fake it, for me."

He brings her hand up to his lips to kiss. "Who else would I do so for, my Queen? How else will I maintain who I am unless I force myself to remember how I should act?"

She falters. Why is she not happy? Why does his words, his vow, cause her pain rather than relief?

"Shall I cast them aside completely, and be nothing but the Lich King's merciless weapon?" he poses coldly, "One would think you would appreciate what I am trying to do for you."

She flinches from him, her hand slipping from his grasp to wrap around herself.

He reigns himself in, taking a long breath. "I am trying Jaina, but this is not easy."

She glares at him, and fury cracks through her voice. "It would have been easier if you had let me die and went to destroy the Lich King."

Ah, there is the anger he expected. "I doubt either Aurius or I would have been able to channel the light to enough of a degree to destroy the Lich King. I'm not sure if even Uther himself could have drawn enough light within the frozen heart of Icecrown to do the deed. Not alone at least."

She scowls.

He reaches and grabs her chin. "Look at me Jaina. Look. At. Me."

She meets his gaze, lips pursed.

"None of us were prepared for the true depths of the Scourge," he says, "You felt the Lich King's presence, his power. Beyond the Lich King himself, his legions were rushing for us, Kel'Thuzad was there, as was Anub'arak. Who knows if the demons were done yet either. Even if I had refused the bargain, Jaina, we still would have lost."

He lets her go and steps back, sighing. "Jaina... we lost the moment we stepped foot on Northrend without proper support."

Its painful to admit, but obvious in hindsight.

Her shoulder slump. "Without the entire backing of the Alliance, and probably the Horde too, we likely wouldn't have been able to win. Not against the Scourge and the... the demons. We should never have come to Northrend."

Sheer surprise goes through him, no, not just him, the Lich King echoes it. Arthas is... careful in his tone. "The Horde? You would have allied with the Horde?"

"The opportunity never came up, but if it meant the defeat of the dead and the demons? Yes," she answers simply, "I would have."

"I keep thinking I have come to understand the threat she represented," muses the Lich King, "And yet I still keep being surprised. What a fascinating creature your Queen is, for I sense nothing but honesty at her words."

Arthas takes a moment to parse that. "Hrm. You think they would have agreed to do so? After the second and first war?"

"Not right away," she admits, "But after witnessing the dead and the demons firsthand? I think they would have been willing. They already knew something was wrong."

"How so?"

"Arthas, you forget, the Horde... the Horde somehow knew something was coming. The majority fled before the Scourge showed up."

Arthas crosses his arms, frowning in thought. "Curious..."

He hesitates and then sucks up his distaste to ask, "...my lord? Do you have any insight on this?"

The Lich King considers it for a moment. "Not to a great degree. Most orcs fled across the sea following their new Warchief. The few that stayed in the wilds, the few that have been raised, knew little beyond that their warchief had received some message of sorts to flee, spiritual in nature was the passing rumor. It suggests the warchief has shamanistic leanings."

The Lich King chuckles darkly. "He was wise to heed the spirit's warnings and flee. Wise, but it wont save him in the long run."

The Dark Lord goes silent, offering no further comment.

Arthas pushes thoughts of the horde away and refocuses on his purpose. His Queen. "Shall we go elsewhere rather than this dreary classroom?"

"As apposed to the other dreary rooms, hallways, or the arctic outside?" Jaina says dryly.

He pushes a smile across his face. "As you say."

He hates the grief in her eyes when he makes himself smile for her.

He has no idea how to fix it.

He knows it can't be fixed.

They end up deciding to head out in the arctic, not far from the entrance, but enough for some privacy from anyone who isn't the undead lord in their head. Or at least they would have...

"Be mindful my servants," comes the Lich King's sudden sharp voice, "My chief jailor approach. Tread carefully."

He has no idea what he is talking about until a demon much like Mal'Ganis rounds a corner. Its power claws along Arthas's spine, and he knows that Mal'Ganis is nothing compared to the fiend predatorily stalking towards them. Except... the demon has no regard for him, eyes only for Jaina. He makes to put himself infront of her, but she grips his hand tightly and hisses a single word.

"Don't."

The demon stops a short few feet away, its wings stretching above and back briefly before settling. "Lady Proudmoore, I must commend you. Your battle for the Frozen Throne was futile, but impressive. You might be pleased to know the wounds you inflicted on Mal'Ganis ultimately killed him and sent him back to the Twisting Nether. He'll return eventually, but it will be years yet."

"Pity," she says in a clipped tone.

The demons lips curl into a malicious smile. "Would you like to kill him permanently? I could offer that you know. Take you into the Twisted Nether, let you kill him there. His power, his essence yours for the taking to consume."

Jaina jerks slightly. Confused, then frowning, then some kind of understanding crosses her face and all emotion is suddenly gone. Her face closes off. "No thank you. I'll take being a cultist over becoming a demon."

Becoming a demon?!

Arthas readies to draw Frostmourne and drive it through the demon's face, but the Lich King immobilizes him before the thought can even finish. "You foolish Prince, you would kill us all if you dared."

The demon throws his head back and laughs. "How amusing, choosing the Scourge. Of all the choices you could have made in this life, you threw it all away coming to Northrend. You practically offered yourself to them on a platter."

The demon's tone is smug, victorious. Jaina grits her teeth and glares at the demon with hatred that almost rival's the way she looks at Frostmourne. Arthas has the uneasy sense he is missing something. Or maybe that feeling is from the Lich King, he's not sure. The way the two look at eachother... its almost like they know one another. "Who are you, demon?"

Its head turns, regarding him, consideration flickering through his eyes. "You, Prince Arthas, may call me Tichondrius."

A slow, cold smile spreads across his face. "I must thank you, Prince Arthas, for leading this foolish archmage to her doom. Had she not, perhaps she could have become a legitimate threat to the Legion. You have our sincere gratitude."

Arthas grits his teeth, but cannot not rise to the creature's baiting.

The demon rumbles with dark laughter and brushes past them, murmuring, "Now, where is that fool necromancer?"

It leaves them; Arthas lets a hiss escape his lips. "Vile, but powerful. Why was that thing not defending Icecrown?"

"As I said, it is a jailor, not a guardian," comes the Lich King's tone, his grip releasing Arthas, "The Scourge is bound to the Legion the demon heralds from... for now."

Well, that was a loaded statement, and yet... "Kel'Thuzad alluded to this, didn't he? Back in Andorhal."

The Lich King's eyes are upon him full force, the intensity is... uncomfortable.

"He said the Horde belonged to the demons... and apparently the Scourge does as well," if jailor meant what Arthas thought it did, beyond that, without the burning intensity of his emotions, he follows that thought to the natural end he had not understand properly in Andorhal, "These demons are behind the Scourge, they do not support you, they created you. They were behind the Horde and enabled them to invade our world."

"Yes," single word, no elaboration. But there is rage. There is hatred. Resentment. The Lich King chafes under the demon's thumb.

He does not speak the next question aloud. "The Scourge is not loyal to this... Legion."

"No," the Lich King confirms, "We are not."

Arthas has the odd sensation of staring down the Lich King despite not physically being in front of him. "I see."

Useful to know, and Arthas will be very curious to see where that disloyalty to these demon bastards leads. He does not press further yet, but in his mind he wonders... what will happen when the Scourge and Legion confront one another? Is the end of this world going to end up a battle of evils? Evils of this world against evils not?

"Lets go," comes Jaina's clipped tone.

His eyes search hers, but she is already turning away and heading for the entrance. When they arrive, he gives his captains leave to attend other duties the Scourge would demand of them. He steps outside and finds Jaina standing a distance away, staring out into a light snowfall. A gentle, if but chilling wind makes her hair rippled out behind her. He moves to stand beside her, staring out into the white expanse. He allows the silence for a time before he decides to ask, to know...

"Will you hate me forever, I wonder," he says softly, "If I say I don't regret choosing you? That I don't think I would have even if I still had my soul?"

Her shoulders slump, her gaze bleak, "No, because I'm not hypocritically enough to realize that I..."

She trails off and shakes her head, swallowing thickly, tears welling up in her eyes that slide down her face.

That she what? He's not sure she'd have chosen him over the world if that's what she was implying. She had to much principle, was to good, to have ever made the decision he did.

"Its like I said at the base of the Frozen Throne's spire," she said with grief, "We truly do deserve eachother. We..."

Arthas watches as something in his Queen cracks and crumbles.

"We're both monsters."

He moves to support her after a few seconds, to realize he should. Wrapping his arms around her and pulling her to his chest and holds her as she cries. All the while though... he doesn't understand. They're both going to become as such one they return to Lordaeron, he perhaps already has betraying her and his men. But...

Why in the world would she think she already was one?

Kel'Thuzad stares at Tichondrius in careful consideration. "I was under the impression that this was to be my role. My purpose."

"Oh, you can still have your little lichdom," mocks Tichondrius, "The High Elves and their Sunwell will need to fall before the summoning commences regardless, but once the time comes, Proudmoore will be the summoner. It is not negotiable."

"I am not sure she is capable of funneling the energies necessary," Kel'Thuzad lies smoothly, "She is still young and inexperienced. Will Lord Archimonde truly risk the Legion's plans on one who is still but a child?"

The dreadlord laughs darkly. "Underestimate the mage if you so wish, little necromancer, but she has all the power and control she needs to do so."

"And the essence?" Kel'Thuzad poses cautiously, watching as the dreadlord's amusement faded, "There are reasons more than the breaking of the High Elves that we aim to rebirth me from their Sunwell."

"Ner'zhul is careless in what details he lets slip," hissed Tichondrius, sneering, "Worry not, Kel'Thuzad, the girl is more than tainted enough, infused enough, to resonate with the required spells properly."

That makes no sense. The infusions they did to defile Jaina are surely not enough to resonate with the demonic spellwork of this magnitude.

"She is a sinner beyond your understanding," says Tichondrius darkly, a hushed whisper escaping his lips, "This will not be the first demonic ritual she has willingly been a part of, deceived into it or not."

Oh.

The Book of Medivh.

The spell that pull them back in time.

That murdered an entire timeline.

Kel'Thuzad had not enjoyed being a part of that despite the fact that he continues to exist. He had been an unwitting passenger, trapped in the book, his clever secret phylactery, but her? Jaina had taken the demon's hand willingly, had helped protect the dreadlord long enough to cast it. Perhaps the demon was right. Its ironic, that one decision damned and sullied her hands worse than his, worse than their Arthas. Technically, that spell resulted in more death than the entire Legion combined.

He wonders mildly how she copes with that fact.

Has she truly understood the scope of her actions?

Of what she helped the dreadlord do?

"I see," he said, carefully noting the Lich King's sharp interest in the dreadlord's words.

"How curious," murmurs the Lich King, "That I recall no demonic ritual in her memories. Perhaps the spellwork to protect her deepest secrets from me is demonic in nature? Yet she strived so harshly against them..."

"He did say she was deceived in some manor," Kel'Thuzad points out.

The Lich King grunts, but doesn't speak further.

"Are we clear, necromancer?" posed Tichondrius.

"Yes, we are clear," said Kel'Thuzad quietly, watching the demon turn and stalk away.

Again and again he fails his promise to his King.

The fact that Jaina is going to be used to summon the Legion is yet another blow that will work to destroy her.

Yet...

Why the focus?

The demon won his little bet with Jaina.

He had selected his target well, used her and got what he wanted.

So why is he still so interesting in her?

Chapter Text

Chapter 11: Homecoming

Jaina watches as Lordaeron's shores steadily come into view on the horizon.

Her stomach twists in resigned dread. This will be the last day of peace for the land and its people for a very long time, if ever again. Not with what she and Arthas were bringing. Their training was as complete as it could be for the time they were given. Preparations were made, and the ships they had originally brought to Northrend were loaded to the brim with Scourge hidden below deck.

Not that they were even needed.

She and Arthas were going to march into the capital with his captains at their back, unchallenged until they reach the throne room. Arthas would kill his father, and then they would literally raise an army out of the ensuing slaughter in the city. It was what happened before, only she was here now to make it worse. She closes her eyes and takes in a shaky breath, letting it hiss out between her teeth.

"Jaina."

She turns to see Arthas approach, hood drawn up to hide his bleached white hair. She missed the blonde so much. It was such a little thing, seeing it bleed out of him as he delved deeper and deeper into the powers of death, but it hit her right in the gut the first time she had seen it.

"I have a task for you, once it begins, its... important to me."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Yes?"

"Once father has... fallen, I want you to find Calia and capture her, I do not want her torn apart by our forces in the ensuing battle and reanimated mindless."

Jaina startles briefly. Calia. Calia Menethil. When was the last time she had even given thought to Arthas's sister? She had no honest idea what had happened to the princess after the fall of Lordaeron origionally. In all honesty, Arthas's fear had probably happened. She supposed... the fact that Arthas even was capable of thinking about protecting part of his family was better than before.

She pursed her lips. "What will you do with her? Keep her in a cell somewhere? She's not going to be willing to go along with this."

He hesitates briefly. "The same elixir you were given."

Jaina flinches, looking away. "...I see."

Delivering his sister into the Lich King's slavery.

The same thing he did to her. "It would be kinder to kill her."

He narrows his eyes. "No."

Jaina feels a flicker at the edge of her mind, the Lich King pressing in with warning. "One would think beyond your prince's desire that you would seek to preserve the life of someone you cared for."

Oh spare her the deceptive manipulation. Ner'Zhul wanted to curry his favor, nothing more nothing less. Every little perk and boon all aimed with making Arthas more mailable and willing for the bastard's endgame plan of fusing together to form The Lich King she had once known.

"My champion has made his order clear, Proudmoore."

"I'm aware," she rebuts at him.

There is a brief flicker, a whiplash as if she had been backhanded, echoing through her forced bond to her enslaver. She flinches, a light hiss of pain escaping her lips. "I will capture Calia, though she will not thank you for this."

"No," Arthas agrees, "Probably not, but at least she will live."

He still had so much to learn, her foolish prince. Sometimes death was preferable, as a blessing, a release...

And yet...

There is a dim, dim hope that had struck her during the voyage back to Lordaeron.

The Lich King lost control of the Forsaken when his prison was ruptured. The Forsaken were not just mindless troops, there were a number of significant undead that had went with Sylvanas. He had to consolidate his control, and while a great many had remained under his control, and another chunk had likely chosen to side with him anyway, he had still lost forces.

So...

In the event the Lich King loses his prison again, how does that affect those bound to his will via that elixir, rather than through necrotic magic?

Would he lose control of them too?

She's not naive enough to think he wont consolidate and maintain control over her, of course, but others...

"That elixir, how much of it does the Cult of the Damned have?" Jaina asks, thoughts turning.

Arthas's brows furrow. "We have about a cauldrons worth on the ship, far more back in Northrend, why?"

"The taking of Lordaeran," she said slowly, licking her lips uneasily at the vile thought, "Could be so much simpler with a vial of that elixir dropped in a well in each town. Less struggle... less bloodshed. I'd doubt the Lich King would truly care, but he's implied that he will give you a degree of control in how Lordaeran falls."

It would be so much less death. Many more bound living, but if they could be freed after the Lich King lost his power... they could start over again.

She expects to feel dark amusement from the Lich King, but she feels nothing aside from his watchful eyes, and he offers no comment. She wonders, does his hatred of humanity fight with his desire to tempt Arthas? She knows he would prefer the vast majority of Lordaeran dead over alive.

Arthas tilted his head thoughtfully. "We can do a test where we land. We will induce a celebration of our supposed victory, some of the elixir will be poured into a well, and into drinks of merriment. If it works well, we can replicate elsewhere, calling over more to be delivered, or created here. Though, we must remember not everyone will drink from a singular well, some have private sources, or take from rivers, ponds, and lakes. This will likely only work somewhat well on the small towns and villages over the larger cities."

"Likely," she murmurs, bile threatening to surge from her throat.

She is the one who suggested it... but hearing so clinical a consideration... being soulless is truly a terrible curse.

"You will be the one to contaminate the well," is the Lich King's only order after Arthas speaks.

She flinches, but swallows and nods. "Of course..."

The greeting they get when they land is... mixed.

Jaina has no need to hide her hair like Arthas does, it may have grown lighter and more brittle due to the dark magic imbued through her, but that's not enough to draw alarm. Not like Arthas's white as death hair, his pale, drawn, almost sickly corpse like face. It was something that had confused her about her last life. When did Arthas actually become an undead? Because she had been held in his embrace, she had felt his beating heart, inhumanly slow, but still there. She had eaten along with him in the mess hall, though he admitted it didn't really do much for him. Arthas was still very much alive here and now.

Did he die originally in the months he wandered alone in the frigid north after killing Malganis? Sometime during his time in the third war? Some random battle where he died and got back up without a care? When he merged with the Lich King? At the latest, he likely died after he cut out his own heart. She supposes it ultimately doesn't matter...

Arthas is received well enough, though several of guards and nobles scattered through the northern Lordaeron port town don't look impressed with his escapade north. Her though, the wary looks she gets, the whispers of 'The Butcher of Stratholme', let her know exactly what stories have been told of her. There is tension when she stands at her prince's side, but wisely, no one comments on her exiled status.

Arthas speaks at a brief gathering, truth mixed with lies escape his lips, and his people will be none the wiser until it is far to late. "The demon Mal'Ganis is dead by my beloved's hand, his command over the Undead Scourge is broken. The threat is over, what remains of the undead can freeze and rot in the cold north without a demon to lead them."

Cheers ring out. Cries of relief. Faces so happy ripple like a tide.

Arthas gives a empty smile. "Tonight, revel and rejoice. Tomorrow, you start your new lives free of the pain and suffering that could have awaited you."

All true.

All so very much a lie.

Not even an hour later, Jaina's hands shake as she empties one vile of the Cultist Elixir into the town well, and another she distills into several casks of ale to be enjoyed that night...

Jaina wakes to screaming and crying. She rolls out of bed in the town inn, tense, moving to the window and peeks out. Scourge and cultists walk through the town in casual command. Trembling townsfolk obeying their orders, their wills already stolen, a number of others are bound and herded into a group near the town well. One is dragged forward, a girl.

"Papa!" screams the girl, struggling in the grasp of a ghoul and a man. Another man approaches her, in his hands, a cup of water. His hand shakes. He tries to fight it, but cannot.

"Papa, papa please!" she wails, trying to turn her head away.

The father tips the girls head back and forces the drink down her throat. She wails for a moment before it cuts off. She goes rigged and stands, horror on her face as her body is enslaved and moved to do the Scourge's bidding.

Jaina steps away from the window, sits on the bed, buries her face into her hands, and cries.

She feels it, like a hand thumbing through her hair, the Lich King's touch. It is not kind, never kind. "Do you not find it joyous, Proudmoore? You succeeded in saving the majority of the town's lives. Yet still you have sorrow? You still want more? Such greed."

She hisses as her body goes rigid, like a hand had grasped her spine tightly in warning. "You leave with the Prince within the hour. Be ready."

Jaina's shoulders slump, a shaky breath escaping her. She knew this was to be the result, so why...

She wipes away her tears, forces herself up. A bath was already being drawn, a fearful villager shakily setting it up. She waits until they're gone, forcing herself through a quick bath for appearances sake. No scrubbing would get rid of the filth on her, so she didn't really try for metaphorical sake. She steps outside not much later, sighting Arthas speaking to the shaking mayor of the town.

"...and you will work with my men to exhume the local graveyard. Follow their guidance in preparing the dead for reanimation," orders Arthas, "I don't particularly care if you think its disgusting and beneath you. You will assist with digging the bodies up yourself, with your hands if you keep fussing."

"F-fussing?!" seethes the Mayor, "We've been bound to a twisted, malevolent monster, jerked around like puppets on a string if we disobey, and you call it fussing?!"

Arthas regards him coldly. "And you think we aren't?"

The man falters.

"We failed in Northrend without proper support while the crown sat content to let us struggle alone," said Arthas flatly, "This is the result. Accept it and find your place within the Cult of the Damned, or resist and live a slave. You should be grateful you have the choice."

"Grateful?!" the mayor roars before gasping and falling to his knees, pain splitting across his face without any obvious cause.

She knows the Lich King's wrath, she needs no guide to tell her his pain.

"My beloved allowed you a soft initiation," Arthas answers without a shred of empathy, "The entire town would have been ravaged otherwise, the majority raised as mindless slaves, only the ones showing promise allowed any sentience. So yes, you should be grateful."

He tilts his head to Jaina. "Show your gratitude."

The mayor crawls to her, gasping in pain the whole way, and kisses the tip of her boot. "T-thank y-you..."

Nausea roils through Jaina. Her jaw trembles, and she can bring herself to say nothing.

"You have your orders, we have ours, go," Arthas orders.

The mayor scrambles away.

A soft chuckle sounds from behind, a hated, silky smooth voice ripples out. "Naivety will do them little credit in their first steps into their eternal service. They will learn, one way or another."

Jaina purses her lips and turns to regard Kel'Thuzad. "Arch-Necromancer."

"Acolyte," he returns, "It would seem landfall went smoothly."

"So it seems," she answers, not bothering to hide her bitterness.

"I am entrusting the division of our remaining elixir to your expertise," Arthas cuts in, regarding Kel'Thuzad, "I will take one vial with me."

For his sister.

"Of course," agrees Kel'Thuzad, "There are a few key towns I would like to claim while you head for the Capital. Corrin's Crossing would be apt to have under our control. It could delay a response from Tyr's Hand if all they see is the town as it should be, and we have forces position there to intercept messengers to them, or even to Quel'Thalas. The longer we keep any mobilization from Lordaeran's military and the Silver Hand, the better."

Arthas nods. "Agreed."

"Even further, I have been appraised, briefly, of our... southern Scourgings," mused Kel'Thuzad, "Gothik and Heigan have command of the pestilence devouring Stormwind's lands and report a detachment of Lordaeron's knight's and paladins led by Gavindrad the Dire. Noth is leading the containment of the dwarves alongside Muradin. He's reported seeing Alexandrous Mograine in command of knights and paladin's supporting the dwarves. Its not expected that the Scourge will actually breach Ironforge, rather, they are making any effort for the dwarves to leave... unwise. With Muradin's expertise of the land, there will be no escape, and any effort to hunt for supplies on their part will be foolish. We will starve them out, and they will either capitulate to the Scourge, or die in the mountain."

Arthas hums. "I suppose it will be some time before I see Muradin again."

"You have an eternity, my Prince, it is only a matter of time," Kel'Thuzad answers.

"Fair enough," he agrees, going silent.

"The detachments sent southward will only make the Scourging of Lordaeran a simpler task...," continued Kel'Thuzad.

Jaina listens quietly, and tries very hard to not react. Both to the consequences of her actions, leading to the scourging of the Southern Kingdoms... and to one of her few hopes.

Alexandrous Mograine is in Ironforge.

That, thankfully, had not changed.

The Ashbringer is going to be forged.

The Scourge, the Lich King, has no idea what's going to be coming for them.

"Has Aurius already been sent out?" Arthas asked.

Kel'Thuzad nods. "He is going to target a few paladins known to live in retirement or isolation to help swell our number of Death Knights. You were but the first of what will be many."

He nods.

Jaina hesitates for a moment. Isolation? That could risk... "I'd advise him to avoid Tirion Fordring, that man is likely beyond him. Far beyond him."

At this point Tirion, even without the Ashbringer, would likely destroy almost any Death Knight in one on one combat aside from Arthas. Aurius is one of Arthas's last few real friends, she doesn't want him permanently dead. She hadn't seen much of him after his reanimation, but the few times she had, he had been with their Prince.

Kel'Thuzad tilts his head in consideration. "Fordring can rot in his little hut for the time being. It would be of befitting irony if we took his son Taelan, turned him into a death knight, and sent him against the father."

Jaina slow blinds, eyebrows furrowed. That... sounded almost vindictive. Had Kel'Thuzad and Tirion ever met before? Why did it sound like Kel'Thuzad hated the man? Regardless, his plan could also colossally backfire. It had been Taelan's death originally that has motivated Tirion out of exile and into restoring the Order of the Silver Hand, and eventually, the Argent Crusade. She of course mentions none of this.

"Hm, I've met him a few times, Taelan has a good head on his shoulders," mused Arthas, "I doubt he can be convinced while still living, but perhaps after his Scourging he can be made to see reason in the task."

Jaina clenches her jaw and looks away. She hates it, loathes it, to see any hint of Arthas taking to his new 'cause'. She never knows if he's truly being converted, or just keeping appearances. Sometimes she sees the Arthas she knows and loves, other times she sees the monster he had become. Most of the time... she just doesn't know.

Arthas has his sanity.

He has her.

She doesn't know what this will do in the long run, if it will mater at all. He has no soul to guide him, Ner'Zhul whispering such poison to him daily, made to commit horrific acts and wield dark corruptive power. Will he end up as he was anyway despite it all?

"Perhaps, perhaps, but that is for later, its time for you to be on your way," said Kel'Thuzad before a bemused smile crosses his face, "Your father is just dying to see you again."

Arthas gives him an unimpressed look at the terrible play on words. "So he is."

Falric and Marwyn seem to melt out of the shadows, stepping up behind Arthas as if they had always been there. The Prince gives them a brief nod. "We make for the capital. Its time to show our... displeasure."

They set off, Jaina falling in behind, her staff thumping on the ground step by step as they make their way to the heart of Lordaeran.

Bells sounded their approach as dusk set on the horizon. The drawbridge came down, the path to the castle laid bare. It had been confirmed Uther was elsewhere, some procession over at Light's Hope Chapel. There would be no true contest. She walks at her prince's side, petals rain down from above from the cheering crowds. Arthas looks up as he walks, a hand raised in greeting to his people. The responding cheers are deafening. Jaina falters briefly, a hand reaching out to catch a petal. It decays slowly in her hand, browning, then blackening, rotting from her mere touch. She swallows thickly and looks up to see Arthas glancing back at her.

She steels herself, drops the petal, and walks briskly to catch up.

He shoves open the doors to the throne room with the first hint of emotion that day: Anger.

He motions for the captains to stand at the door, near a set of the guards. Easy to take them by surprise that way. Arthas moves to the center of the room, before the throne, but he does not kneel before his father as is custom. Jaina comes to stand quietly beside him.

Terenas looks old. So much older than the last time she saw him. Weary and drawn. "Arthas."

"Father," he bites out.

The King exhales, frustration already showing. "So you've returned, victorious, with only a single ship I am told. The others and their men?"

"We have returned, yes," Arthas answers slowly, and Jaina can hear the was he savors that word, savors the undercurrent of anger, "The others all fell. Without proper support of the Crown, the Silver Hand, or Dalaran, what else was to be expected?"

Terenas narrows his eyes. "Mind yourself my son. You are the one who disobeyed orders and so recklessly took to the north. Had you but waited until we secured our lands..."

"They would never have been secured," Arthas rebukes, "Not with what we now know."

Terenas frowns. "Know?"

"The house of Barov are traitors to the crown in support of the Scourge," Arthas answers, "As are those of Caer Darrow. There are schools of necromancy under both Andorhal, and the keep on the island. Containment never would have been possible with their sabotage."

Terenas hisses in fury. "You have proof of this, my son? These are not light accusations to make."

Jaina wonders, why is Arthas putting up this front? Why not just end it?

"Because, Proudmoore," muses the Lich King, "He is pressing a point."

"We have proof, yes," says Arthas, "Of that and more. You have no idea how deep the Scourge has infiltrated our ranks. Beyond that, with so much spent to aid Stormwind and Ironforge, how many months, if not years, would have it taken for you to be ready to marshal our forces to take Northrend, father? The Scourge would have had ample time to prepare themselves, if not launch another scourging of our lands."

"Do not take that tone with me, my son."

Arthas takes a single step forward, fists clenched. "We had one chance father, one chance."

Jaina reaches forward to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Arthas."

He exhales and steps back.

Her word though, draws the King's attention. "I distinctly recall banishing you from my lands, butcher."

She regards Terenas coolly, but doesn't answer.

"Jaina is the only reason we made it as far as we did father, without her power and skill, we would have broken to the Scourge far before we did," Arthas warns.

Terenas opens his mouth to retort, then pauses, Arthas's words catching up to him. "Broken to... the runners said you returned victorious."

"That depends entirely on your definition of victory," Arthas muses, reaching up to push back the hood covering his hair. Terenas looks over his son, confusion marring his face. "Arthas? What has happened to you?"

"We broke through Scourge defense after Scourge defense, shattered their forces, and made our way to the cold heart of Northrend, Icecrown," says Arthas, reaching up to shift the cloak on his back, unclasping the first button.

"We contested the Scourge for the heart of damnation, for access to the Frozen Throne," he continues, hand shifting to the other clasp, "We fought the undead, and the demons when they unleashed themselves."

"Demons? As in multiple?" Terenas exclaims.

"Oh yes, hordes of them," Arthas answers, unbuttoning the second clasp of his cloak, "Without Jaina to confront the summoner, that tide alone would have broken us, but she did. My magnificent Queen did... but in the end..."

He pushes his cloak back, letting it fall from his shoulders. "It wasn't enough."

Arthas's death knight armor is revealed in all its terrible glory. Terenas finally starts to realize something is wrong, standing from his throne. "My son? What is this?"

"We opened the gate to the Frozen Throne, ready to challenge the Dark Lord of the Dead," Arthas continued, drawing Frostmourne from his belt, "Only to fall at its gates. We lost father, and Scourge bound us to them."

Terenas's eyes go wide. "No..."

"We had one chance, father, its gone," Arthas starts forward, "And now? Now, this Kingdom will fall."

"My son...," Terenas chokes out, horrified, grieving.

"Your majesty!" cries out the guards of the room. Falric and Marwyn draw their weapons and engage. Jaina flicks her fingers, ice binding the guards hands and feet, leaving them helpless.

Arthas grabs his father by his shoulder, and pulls Frostmourne back. "Our service is eternal, as will be yours."

Jaina watches as Arthas kills his father, driving the cursed blade through his chest. Terenas gasps, clawing at his son before his movements fade, and he slumps forward against his son, the blue of his soul being sucked away into the blade. Surprisingly, Arthas is gentle as he cradles his father, setting him down on the floor. A gentle hand cups his father's face, fingers trailing his old visage.

"I will begin setting up the ritual to reanimate my father, you have your task Jaina," Arthas says quietly, "Afterwards... I think I will enjoy seeing mother again. Though she may need... reconstruction, after being risen from the family crypt."

Jaina slow blinks. He was going to... okay, that didn't happen last time. He gives her a pointed stare, she twitches and nods, moving to leave. heading down a side door into the palace. This time of day... Calia should be preparing herself with the evening prayer. She walks quietly, her staff thumping along. She can feel the focus of the Lich King shift, echoes of orders being given. The Scourge will finish closing in on the capital city and surrounding it. Once they are done in the palace, it will be a two pronged assault, from without and from within.

Servants, nobles, and guards scurry along the busy corridors, unaware of the horror about to take place. A few give her startled glances, but don't try to stop her for one reason or another. Perhaps they think her exile is up and that she is allowed? Who knows. She spends the walk trying once again to lock down her emotions, to not give, to not break.

She knocks of Calia's door when she reaches it. "A moment!"

The door opens, and she sights the girl adjusting her dress, hastily put on. "There is no need to pester I will be ready... oh..."

Calia blinks, hesitation briefly displays across her face before she masks it. "Jaina? You've... returned? Is... is my brother with you?"

Jaina cocks her head. "Did the King not tell you?"

Calia huffs, scorn rippling through her face, crossing her arms, earning a faint smile from Jaina, memories of conversations and whining in old days long gone. "Hardly. A dainty little princess to be married off needn't be informed of anything but what fulfills her duty."

"Some things never change," mused Jaina.

Calia smiles. "No, I suppose they don't."

She hesitates before stepping back and motioning Jaina in. She walks in, watching the princess close the door.

Calia licks her lips. "Jaina I... I wish we could have talked before you left. I don't... I don't truly know what to think of Stratholme and the horrors there, father and Uther says one thing, but I overheard some of the guards say another, reports from those who survived the fight... just... how terrible was it, truly?"

"Horrible," Jaina answers honestly, "It was a setup, a trap, from start to finish. We did what we could to save as many as we could, no matter how terrible the choices we made were."

Calia looks away, wringing her hands. "Did... did you really lie to the people? Deceive them into being rounded up to be slaughtered?"

"We lied, yes," Jaina confirms, "In order to try and save many more."

Not that it matters now.

"Oh...," Calia looks away, swallowing thickly, "That's... terrible."

"Yes."

A scream sounds from a distance, then another, making Calia jolt. "W-what was that?"

Jaina turns to the door. "Come, its time to go see your brother."

"I... did you not hear that cry?" asks Calia.

"Come," is all Jaina says.

Calia scrambles a bit to get into step behind her. Fighting sounds at a distance, yelling, crying, screaming. Calia grows twitchier and twitchier as they draw closer and closer. 

"Light, what's going on?" whispers Calia, stopping, "J-Jaina I think we need to leave."

"Your brother is just ahead Calia," Jaina answers, turning and reaching out to firmly grasp her wrist. "Come."

A whimper escapes the girl, but she obeys. They return to the throne room...

"FATHER!" screams Calia, breaking Jaina's hold and rushing to the center of the room where Arthas is drawing runes of blood on the floor, "No-no-no-no! Father no!"

Arthas pauses to regard her. "Sister."

The girl turns away from her father's corpse and buries herself in her brother's embrace, sobbing. "He's dead, he's dead, he's dead... light preserve us, h-how did this happen? Assassins? Orcs?"

"I killed him."

Calia goes rigged in her brother's arms. She leans back away from him, shock going through her face. "W-what?"

"I killed him."

Calia pushes away, standing up, horror coating. "No... Arthas, no, why would you..."

Then she freezes, finally taking in the room as a whole. The dead guards and blood everywhere. Falric and Marwyn lining up bodies to be reanimated. A few of the already scourged guards assisting. "No..."

She turns her head back the way they came, but Jaina stands there blocking the door way. Calia starts shaking, tears rolling down her face, as she turns to face her brother in wide eyed horror. Arthas rises to his feet, reaching for his belt, and withdraws a vial of the Cultist Elixer. "You will drink this, and you will be spared. You have my word, my oath."

"Arthas... why?" Calia whispers.

"Because... we failed," he answers just as softly, "We had one chance to destroy the Scourge, but we failed without enough support."

"You're... one of them?" Calia asks, swallowing thickly.

"I am bound to the Scourge, yes, as is Jaina," he agrees, "You will be bound the same way Jaina is. But at least this way, you will still be living, you will still have your soul, you wont be torn apart and reanimated mindlessly. Its... better this way."

Jaina purses her lips tightly, flinching.

Calia takes a step back, glancing to the throne room entrance. Falric is already in position to cut her off. "M'lady, its already to late."

Marwyn cuts off another doorway. "Its... better to just go with it, Princess Menethil. Willing service is rewarded, defiance is... punished, painfully, with humiliation, and can be... lasting."

Calia's lips wobble, and she collapses to her knees, overwhelmed and crying. Arthas approaches, kneeling down in front of her, he uncorks the vial, tils her head back, and pours it down her throat. Calia is allowed a minute of sobbing, to air her grief, perhaps as a curtesy to Arthas, before the Lich King takes control. The girl goes rigged, then she starts moving to the center of the room, she gets on her knees, dabs her hand in her father's blood, and then under the Lich King's will, moves to start helping Arthas draw in blood.

Jaina moves to assist before the Lich King holds her back. "Arthas wishes this to be done by Menethil hands alone. I suppose you could consider this a... family matter."

The dark amusement makes her grit her teeth in hatred, but she doesn't answer.

"Leave the Prince to his familial duties," Ner'Zhul orders, "Reanimate the rest of the throne room guards and take the palace."

Jaina nods, takes a breath, and gets to work. A gentle hand touches cooling foreheads, necromantic magic seeping into the bodies. Most don't even have a chance to make an exclamation, only one even gets his hand on his sword, before their wills are overridden, their enslavement beginning.

"Any that resist are to be killed," she orders quietly, "Any that submit are to be rounded up for later conversion."

Jaina turns and marches back into the palace proper, the dead on her heels, and the slaughter begins...

Kel'Thuzad hums to himself, watching the revelry and merriment of the small village as they celebrate the supposed defeat of the Scourge. He turns to the boy he had sought out and offers a cup. "Come young man, certainly a drink wouldn't go amiss? It is a time of great joy, is it not?"

Blonde spikey hair swings in a head shake, a young Darion Mograine gives him a weak denial. "My father would have my head when he returns if he heard I had ale."

Kel'Thuzad laughs. "Well, I certainly won't tell him."

Darion gives a mischievous smile, so much younger than he had been at the Battle for Light's Hope Chapel when he sacrificed himself to free his father's soul from the Corrupted Ashbringer. He had always been rather fond of Darion before the boy went and turned traitor. Such potential and power the boy had. His feats as Highlord of the Ebon Blade...

Properly converted rather than enslaved, Darion could be so much more. He could be one of the finest members of the Undead Empire to be. Its why he had gone so far out the beaten path to this place. Fortunately, the Lich King was still mostly focused on Arthas and Jaina, allowing him to wander without question.

A young, foolish teenager, Darion takes the offered cup and raises it in toast. Kel'Thuzad watches, a smile spreading across his face, as the tainted ale is swallowed, one bob, two bob, three, the cup empties and Darion wipes off his mouth, grimacing at the taste. Kel'Thuzad laughs, slapping his back in false merriment and sends the boy off. He will allow Darion one last night of revelry and happiness, then his training will begin.

When the time comes, he will use the same trap as he did before to kill the Ashbringer, only instead of Renault being the betrayer, all the better will it be for Darion to be the one...