A/N: Though the characters are the same, this story stands alone from my other Warcraft stories. It was inspired by a dream my friend, Yazzy Dollface had, and, naturally, I had to turn it into a story. It was too good to just let slip away. All I ask is that you, as readers, keep an open mind as this is a "what if?" story. I hope you enjoy it, and reviews and feedback are always welcome. But no negativity, please. There's too much of that in the world, as it is. Spread kindness, people. Please and thank you.
Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with World of Warcraft. People, places and events belong to Blizzard. I only own Trisen, Thallon and Raenus. Traylon, Zorrion, Sairexanaris, Yazzoo and Solanlan belong to Yazzy. Rodonov and Tomparis belong to my other friend, rodonov. They were gracious enough to let me borrow their characters.
The winds of Icecrown were bitter and cold. The full moon hung high over the citadel. Death Knights of every race stood gathered before the Lich King's throne. Robes of black and silver rustled in the wind, faces hidden in the shadow of their hoods, blue eyes glowing deeply. She walked down the middle of the crowd, back straight, eyes forward. The Lich King's gaze was upon her. She had a task, and she would not fail.
The Lich King sat upon his throne, glowing eyes gazing down at his Death Knights. She could feel his eyes boring into her. Her eyes were locked on a lone figure kneeling at the base of the stairs leading up to the throne. It was a male Blood Elf. From his tattered robes she knew him to be a mage. His raven black hair fell down over his face, hiding his features. She came to stand in front of him, eyes going from the figure to the Lich King. Arthas gave her a single nod.
She drew her blade, the steel resonating with the rune of power she had embedded in it long ago. She placed the flat end of the blade under the figure's chin and lifted his head up. His hair parted, revealing his face. He was young, for a Blood Elf. His features were soft and handsome. His glowing green eyes held a hardness from seeing fierce battles. However, his fight ended here.
But, as her eyes gazed into his, she felt a strange sensation wash over her, as if she knew this mage. The hardness in his eyes was replaced by one of sadness and regret. She hated the way he looked at her. It felt like pity. And then, he spoke.
"Trisen," he whispered, his voice hoarse and weak from the cold.
That single word sent her blood boiling. How did he know her name? And how dare he speak it with such remorse. She held her sword above her head. The blade gleaming hungrily in the light of the full moon. The mage closed his eyes. She brought the sword down.
Trisen shot up in bed, eyes wide, chest heaving with fright. She looked around, finding herself in her bedroom and not in Icecrown. The full moon's light filtered in through the window. Silvermoon City shone like a diamond outside. Trisen's attention was brought to something beside her. She looked down to see Traylon stirring in the bed next to her. His raven black hair glowed silvery blue in the moonlight.
Trisen breathed a sigh of relief as she put her hands over her face. It was just a dream. Nothing more than a nightmare. Trisen lowered her hands and pushed back her side of the blankets, carefully getting out of bed. Her white dressing gown flowed down to her feet as she headed downstairs to the kitchen. She went to the ice box and broke off a small chunk of ice, dropping it into a glass next to the chest. Trisen took the glass and went over to the small bar. She picked up a bottle of Darkmoon Special Reserve and poured herself a glass. Replacing the stopper on the bottle, she took a sip of the drink.
"You must be anxious for sleep," a soft voice said from the darkness.
Trisen looked up to see Traylon coming into the kitchen. She looked away and took another sip.
"Who was it this time?" Traylon asked.
Trisen swallowed down the potent brew. "Sairexanaris," she lied.
"Tris, do you really think I don't know you well enough to know when you're lying?" Traylon questioned, crossing his arms. "Who was it?"
Trisen's haunted look was answer enough. The mage slowly nodded in realization.
"No wonder your choice of drink," he commented.
"I wish the nightmares would stop," Trisen said.
"Everyone has nightmares, Tris," Traylon told her.
"Not like these," Trisen replied.
She gulped down the rest of the Reserve and went to pour herself another glass. Traylon walked over and put his hands over hers.
"It's over, Trisen," he assured her. "He's dead."
"There must always be a Lich King," Trisen reminded him. "If not Arthas then Bolvar Fordragon. You were there, you saw what happened."
"Yes, I was," Traylon said. "And I also saw Fordragon get encased in ice. The Lich King you knew is dead."
Trisen met his gaze, eyes scared. "I can feel him, Traylon," she whispered. "He's still there. Gnawing at my every thought. What if he's not dead? Evil like that can't be destroyed so easily."
Traylon cupped his wife's face in his hands, his green eyes locking with her blue ones. "What you're feeling is an after effect of the nightmares," he told her. "Arthas is dead. We put an end to his reign."
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