A/N: I decided to do the 30day songfic challenge because I like to procrastinate on things I'm actually supposed to be writing. Also, it's been a while since I've been around fanfic. So, all my chapters are going to focus on my current otp, JainaxArthas. It was bound to happen. Anyway, I don't own Warcraft or anything.

Our love is growing upside down

They say you'll never make it home

But I will wait

Won't bury your clothes

…

With her fingers resting delicately on the wooden edge of the ship, Jaina Proudmoore stared off into the endless blue waters of the Great Sea. The wind tugged at the skirts of her robes and at her golden blonde hair, sending a few stray strands dancing wildly around her face. The air was crisp and stung her exposed skin, but she hardly noticed the pain. She had been all over these waters throughout her life, and still she had never felt so very overwhelmed and unwelcome as she did in that moment.

After the first few months, the nightmares had finally stopped coming each night. Jaina had stopped recalling the sight of blood as it clung to each blade of grass, the vivid smell of death that lingered in the air. The memories had stopped replaying themselves constantly in her mind, and she was able to find sleep once more. After a few more months, she was almost able to pretend her life had gone back to normal, at least as much as it possibly could after what she had endured. She could lose herself in her books and spells, lock herself in her chambers and cease to remember the world outside.

Now, six years later, all of those carefully repressed memories were being dragged back to the surface again in but a single moment. She should have known when Varian Wrynn had arrived in Theramore that it would not bode well for her. She should have seen it in his carefully held gaze, his dark eyes that he couldn't seem to make meet her own. She should have known, when he so softly asked for her help, like he was afraid of her answer.

She could have said no.

Should have said no.

But Jaina knew all too well that where Arthas Menethil was concerned, saying no had never been an option.

And so, there she stood, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the rail of the ship and tried to fight off the siege of painful memories threatening to break through her carefully constructed mental barriers.

It isn't Arthas anymore. That was her mantra, the one thought she had to keep repeating to herself, over and over and over, until it was the only thing she knew, until it consumed her entirely. It isn't really Arthas. The things the Lich King had done, the innocent lives he had so mercilessly taken, her Arthas never could have done those things. This was just some imposter posing as her lost love. No, her Arthas was dead.

That particular thought stung deeper than she wanted it to.

A sudden, gentle hand on her shoulder drew her back into reality, and for possibly the first time since they had left Stormwind Harbor, she felt the icy air nip at her face. A shiver coursed through her body as she forced herself to turn away from the vast expanses of water, finding herself face to face with Varian. The king was wrapped in a thick cloak, doing his best to ignore the temperatures that were plummeting further with every nautical mile they sailed. Still he looked as regal as ever, even with his brow furrowed in concern for his friend.

"Are you alright, Jaina?" He murmured quietly, his steely eyes boring into her. Jaina was forced to lower her own blue eyes to her feet, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of his question. Such simple words, but of course it was the hardest thing she had ever been asked. No, she was not okay. How could she be? They were sailing to Northrend with the intention of slaying the only man she had ever loved. The man she had intended to spend her life with, until fate had stepped in and decided it had other plans.

"I'm fine," she assured him. All the spells that she could conjure up, and still she could not manage to summon some confidence to her voice. Tucking a strand of blonde hair behind her ear, dampened by the sea spray, Jaina mustered the best smile she could manage. It was weak, at best, and the brunette before her looked less than convinced. She was glad when her old friend stopped peering at her so cautiously, and instead took a place at her side, his own eyes fixating on something far off, something that probably didn't even exist. "I'll just be happy to be on land."

Varian could not resist smirking just slightly at her. "Don't tell me the daughter of the great Admiral Proudmoore is feeling sea sick," he teased. It was a feeble attempt to lighten the mood, because he just could not fathom how hard this must have been for her. He had known Jaina, and Arthas for that matter, since they were all children. They had grown up together. They had played together. And now, he and Jaina were on their way to confront Arthas and make him atone for his crimes against Azeroth.

No, he thought firmly. This isn't Arthas anymore.

Still, his attempts are cheering her up worked, if only for a moment. She returned his grin, but it quickly faded back to the sullen expression she had worn since he had come to summon her from Theramore. Jaina became aware then of the king's heavy hand falling over the top of her own. It was calloused from years of bearing a weapon, of defending his people, his kingdom, his very beliefs. Varian had always had a habit of being overly concerned and comforting, just as Jaina had always had a habit of acting like she was okay when in reality she was on the verge of shattering.

"We'll be making port soon," the dark haired man told her. "I promise."

The mage nodded slowly and resisted the urge to pull away from his touch. "We will do what we have to," she said, her words a mere whisper. "And then we will go home." But Arthas, her Arthas, he would never make it home. She could pretend, she could so easily play out in her head a thousand impossible scenarios in which he came back to her. But they were nothing but fantasies, and when she reminded herself that she was harboring dreams about a crazed murderer, she felt her cheeks flush with shame. For she too had gone to great lengths to protect her people, just as Varian had, and so the idea of ever reconciling with the Lich King was preposterous.

The king had pulled away, and for a moment she thought he might have gone. But when she glanced over, she saw him there, that same steely gaze transfixed on her. "Jaina...if you think you cannot…" He trailed off, unsure of what else he could possibly say. He had run out of comforting words years ago, when he had come to accept the fact that there was just nothing to be said that would ever make her aching stop.

After six years, Jaina had gotten good at lying to everyone. But Varian Wrynn saw right through the fake smile she had plastered to her face, caught the way her voice rose a few octaves too high when she answered. "I'll be fine," she squeaked, the words cracking near the end. Still, he chose not to say anything more, to turn away and leave her alone on the deck of the ship, staring out at the open waters as if she might find the answers to her lingering questions floating below the surface.

Only when she was alone did Jaina allow a single tear roll down her cheek. In that one tear, she wept for all that she had lost, for all that her people had lost. She wept for the dead of Lordaeron, for their fallen dynasty. She wept for the loss of innocence, for the memories she clung to so dearly of her lazy summer days spent running free with Arthas. Her Arthas. And as Northrend loomed closer, she braced herself for the coming fight, vowing to leave her heart behind on the shoreline as they plunged into the wintry depths of the frozen wasteland.

She took a long, shaky breath, trying to gather her composure. When the first spires of the mountains came into view against the clouded horizon, Jaina wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. "Arthas," she whispered into the air. "I'm coming for you." The words were lost to the swirling snowy winds, and for the briefest of seconds Jaina almost hoped he could hear them wherever he was.