A/N: This story is AU now, but at the time it fit the canon.
This is the story of why the Lich King Arthas tore out his own heart.
Originally written for the Blizzard fanfic contest in 2009.
Thank you for reading!
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Her people's whispered words had always been present, but they reached full frenzy in the final weeks before the Alliance's first push into Northrend.
"They were lovers once."
"How did she react when she heard?"
"Will she play a role in his defeat?"
She did not blame them for whispering – she did not have answers for most of their questions, and the answers she had were not ones she liked. She could understand their curiosity. There was one question, however, that she could not bear, the one that she had so often asked herself:
"Why didn't she stop him when she had the chance?"
Forgive
Jaina knew that Thrall was the only person she could tell about her plans. She had debated whether she should inform him before she left, but had she tried to slip away, he would have no doubt noted her absence and sent a rescue party. There was no point in wasting more life than necessary on a wild goose chase like this. If she was up front with him, however, he would keep her secret. He knew what it meant to fight to save a friend who was beyond hope. He also understood that some dreams were the prologue to a story, and that the moment of awakening was where the story truly began. In fact, he had been the one to teach her that.
Perhaps, deep down, she had asked to meet with him because she hoped he would talk her out of it.
Their usual meeting spot was at a small summoning circle atop a red cliff above the Barrens. This place was their secret; Jaina had created a small summoning circle beneath a rocky overhang. She could easily teleport here, and she had given Thrall a scroll that allowed him to do the same. While the guards of Orgrimmar respected her enough to leave her be, some of Thrall's closest advisors were not keen on his meetings with her, and so a neutral meeting place was necessary.
As always, Thrall had arrived first. He leaned against the trunk of an apple tree that Jaina had planted early on in their friendship; it was a symbol of the union between their two peoples. It had been a struggle to keep the tree alive in this harsh climate, and she suspected that it would still be many years before the tree bore fruit. The tree had become a better metaphor for the Horde-Alliance relationship than she could have anticipated.
The orc stood as she approached. His hair was neatly plaited, and his armour had a delicate polish to it that contrasted sharply with his bulging muscles and fierce, toothy smile. He gave a stiff bow. She grinned and set her staff down on the ground beside her.
"You're looking quite well, Thrall," she said.
He pulled himself to his full height.
"And you, Jaina." There was a note of concern to his gruff voice that made her wonder if he had meant the words. Her hands were trembling so hard that the bracelets on her right arm jangled a high-pitched whir. She interlocked her fingers behind her back to steady herself.
Thrall tilted his head, gaging her mannerisms, then sat and patted the soft earth before him. "Sit," he said. "There is something on your mind."
Jaina folded her legs beneath her and sat facing him. "I had a dream," she said. A bit ashamed, she hesitated.
The orc's brow furrowed, and Jaina relaxed. She had been pretty sure that Thrall would be the last person to dismiss her, but it was still a relief that he was taking her seriously.
"I stood in a bed of snow," she said, speaking freely now. "At my feet was a hand, nearly buried in the snow. I bent down to grasp it; the hand gripped mine. I tried to pull free whoever was buried there.
"As I pulled, the hand began to get colder. The skin turned grey and the nails turned black. The fingers curled into my flesh. I screamed and tried to let go, but the grip was too strong. It tried to pull me in with it, so I had no choice but to keep pulling against it.
"Suddenly, I felt an overwhelming burst of strength. The hand came out in one harsh pull, attached to an arm, a shoulder...a head. His twisted lips mouthed one word:
"'Forgive.'"
Jaina swallowed hard. Thrall leaned forward and rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Who was it, Jaina?"
She looked up at him and, almost ashamed, whispered,
"Arthas."
Thrall's expression flattened. He pulled back and sat up straight, regarding her.
"It's a sign, Thrall," she whispered. "I can pull him free. He needs forgiveness. He deserves redemption."
The orc's blue eyes searched hers; he had guessed her next words. "It's too dangerous."
"I'm going after him."
"It's too dangerous," Thrall said again. He shook his head and stood. "Dreams can be powerful messages, Jaina, but they can also be manipulated."
She stood as well. This was not the reaction she had expected. "You think this is a trap."
"Our armies are all mobilizing against the Lich King as we speak," said the orc. "He knows this, and it frightens him. He is probing us for weaknesses to determine who can be corrupted to his side. You would make a powerful ally, and because of your history with him, you are the easiest to corrupt."
The woman strode forward, her hands on her hips. "I am also the only one who might be able to undo this," she exclaimed. "If I succeed, Thrall, then thousands of lives could be spared."
He did not flinch under her accusing gaze. "And if you fail, Jaina, then thousands more could be lost."
Her eyes flashed. "The same could have been said of your attempts to save Grom," she accused, "and it would not have stopped you."
The orc spun so that his back was to her. A green hand pressed against the bark of the apple tree and the fingers curled into claws. It was a low blow, and she knew it. Even so many years later, Thrall could not speak of Grom without his voice cracking.
Jaina hesitated.
"I am going, Thrall," she said. "I have to try."
The orc steadied himself and stood but did not face her. He began to rummage through the bag that was attached to his belt; she hadn't noticed it before. After a moment, he turned and approached her. One hand held up a crude talisman on a leather cord. The talisman was constructed of silver feathers and grey clay. He draped it around her neck.
"It will protect you from the cold," he muttered.
Jaina, looked up at him, surprised.
His other hand held a scroll; he handed it to her. "There is a group of goblins who are building a tower southwest of Orgrimmar," he said. "Show them this. He will expect you to come through the humans, so this may buy you some secrecy."
Jaina's hand curled tenderly around the paper."You knew all along that I was going," she realized.
Thrall's smile was sad. "You were not the only one to be visited by dreams last night, Jaina," he said.
"Did your dream say that I succeed or fail?" she asked, shoving the scroll into her satchel.
"No," he replied, his voice gruff, "only that you were going. But please, come back safely."
"I will," she promised. "Thank you, Thrall." She hesitated, then reached over to grip his shoulder in a quick farewell. "Take care."
She picked up her staff and swung it in an arc in front of her body, murmuring the runes of teleportation. Her body shimmered, then was gone.
.*.*.*.
Jaina surfaced to the west of the front gates of Orgrimmar. This was not a familiar location to teleport to, so she had misjudged the distance; she hovered for a moment in empty air, then yelped and fell three feet to the ground. The unexpected landing knocked the breath out of her. She wheezed and looked around, but luckily, she was far enough away that none of the guards had noticed her.
"Better three feet two high than twenty feet north," she muttered to herself. Who knew what diplomatic issues would arise if the guards spotted her? She would have to be more cautious if she wanted her mission to succeed.
Her eyes drifted southwest. There was a tower there that she did not recall seeing before, though it had been a long time since she had ventured into Durotar from Orgrimmar. This was the landmark Thrall had mentioned. The tower looked skeletal, with a jagged silhouette and large gaps in the frame. A large zeppelin was docked atop the tower. Its shape was unlike that of any zeppelin she had seen before. She squinted to get a better view, but the red haze of dust and heatwaves obscured the details.
The clanks and bangs of construction grew louder as she approached, and now she could see goblins running around the tower. Jaina was not certain how she felt about goblins. On one hand, they were renowned for their technical genius, and they had done much to aid her people in times of need. On the other hand, they were notoriously greedy and often just plain annoying.
The airship was in clear view now. The ship was larger than any she had ever seen; it hung from a cloth cylinder of gas that had been painted and stitched in a pattern that was vaguely shark-like. Several goblins were at work on the tower, their squat green forms scurrying around under orange construction helmets. Two orc grunts, a male and a female, stood at the base of the tower, presumably standing guard. Jaina swallowed and withdrew the scroll that Thrall had given her.
The female was the first to notice her. She pointed a blade at Jaina.
"Halt!" bellowed the orc, her voice deep and gruff. This was followed by a few phrases in Orcish that Jaina could not follow - her knowledge of the language was better than most humans, but still limited. The sorceress halted ten feet away from the guards and lay down her staff, then raised both of her hands. One hand held the scroll from Thrall.
"I'm a friend," she said in Orcish. "From the Warchief," she added, waving the scroll.
The orcs looked at one another warily, then sidled toward Jaina. The sorceress waited, patient. While the orc grunts had earned their reputation for ruthlessness, they were also honour-bound and would not attack an innocent.
The male orc trained his weapon on Jaina's throat while the female leaned forward to snatch the scroll, leaning in so close that Jaina could smell sweat, earth and musk. The orc grunted to herself as she unrolled and read the scroll. Her eyes widened; she showed it to her cohort, who lowered his weapon.
"Come," said the female orc, spinning so quickly that her flowing auburn braid almost hit the sorceress. Jaina flinched, then bent to pick up her staff. She fell into stride behind the grunts as they approached the tower entrance.
Her escorts hollered at the entrance; a moment later, a goblin appeared. He was taller than the other goblins - about the height of Jaina's chin - and had broader shoulders. His nose protruded from his face like a beak, and razor-sharp incisors punctuated his smile. He stared at Jaina for a moment, then replied to the grunts. His voice was deep and rumbling, not at all like the shrill voices that Jaina associated with the race.
The goblin and the orcs bent over the scroll. Jaina was curious what Thrall had written. They murmured to themselves, then the goblin nodded and stepped forward.
"Lady Proudmoore," he said. His Common was as fluent as his Orcish. "You're welcome to use our services. You come highly...recommended." His smile was so broad that Jaina immediately wondered what sum of cash Thrall had promised.
"Your services?" she asked.
The goblin motioned at the zeppelin. "Ain't she beautiful?" he said. "She's the fastest in the fleet, will get you to Northrend by morning. We were about to send her on her maiden voyage, so you're just in time."
"Oh," Jaina was able to manage. She swallowed hard.
The goblin peered at her. "Hope you aren't afraid of flying," he said.
Jaina swallowed again. The only person she had ever confided in about her fear had been Arthas, and he had laughed at her.
"You're a sorceress," he had said, tapping her nose in a familiar motion that was at once pedantic and adoring. "You can float to safety if anything goes wrong."
"It's a bit difficult to float to safety from a fiery ball of death," she had replied.
Now, she eyed the gas-filled cylinder, and the shark-like grin seemed menacing. Jaina steeled herself.
"Of course not," she told the goblin. "I'm a sorceress. I can float to safety if anything goes wrong."
The goblin hesitated. "It's not usually the height that's the prob-" He caught himself and his grin broadened. "Never you mind," he said. "We'll get you set up inside a cabin and you won't even know you're flying. Come with me."
.*.*.*.
Jaina was grateful for her cabin. The ship shuddered and groaned as it pulled away from the dock, but she was safely confined inside thirty cubed feet of solitude, where she did not have to think about the makeshift instruments on deck. There had been some sort of strange bicycle contraption - she hoped that it was not what powered the ship. She did not ask.
The cabin was small and simple, with a cot, a side table and some candles. The sorceress lay down and folded her arms over her chest. Perhaps she could sleep through the entire flight. She hadn't slept much the night before, after her dream.
The moment her eyelids slid closed, however, she found even less peace than before. Her body was exhausted, but her mind would not allow her to sleep. A memory that she had long ago buried slid to the surface. Normally, she could fight it, but the fatigue had stripped her inner fortitude as well as her physical strength.
There stood Arthas atop the hill, his shoulders thrown back, his face proud, his golden hair streaming behind him like a banner. He had never looked more like his father; the regal aura pulsated from him with each word he pronounced.
This city must be purged.
The words slid past Jaina like arrows, almost too fast for her to understand their meaning. She stared, her mouth open, unable to protest as, with one sentence, Arthas dismissed the man he had loved more than any other, the Order he had idolized his entire life, and the tenants of the kingdom he had sworn to protect. The wounded, quivering frown on Uther's face was enough to convince her that Arthas was on a path that was too dark for her to follow.
She had turned, ready to flee, when Arthas spoke her name. The tone he used was the same as when she had ended their relationship, and its rawness made her hesitate.
"I'm sorry, Arthas," she had managed. "I can't let you do this."
There were so many other options she could have chosen. She could have tried to talk him out of it – he valued her opinion, and she was better at softening his temper than Uther. Even better, she could have teleported him back to Lordaeron. He would never have forgiven her, but that was a small price to pay if it would have stopped all that had happened since. Looking back, she could not understand why she had simply walked away.
Maybe because deep down, as abhorrent as the idea was, she agreed that the culling was the only option.
Now her eyes flew open, but the hurt look on his face was still burned into her mind. It had been the last time she had seen him face-to-face. She had wanted to face him in Dalaran, but Antonidas had insisted that she flee. Now she had the opportunity to see him again.
Perhaps even to save him.
Her heart began to pound in her chest.
The motor was more even now than before, and the shuddering of the ship had eased into vibration. Voices sounded from outside the cabin door. Jaina stood up, surprised, as she smelled the scent of cooked meats. Perhaps she had managed to fall asleep after all.
The common area outside her cabin door was alight with candles, and the crew members sat at several tables, enjoying a leathery looking substance. Several younger goblins sat at a nearby table, bent over some sort of game.
One of the crew members motioned at Jaina. "Eat," he cried. Unlike the goblin she had talked with earlier, this one's voice was the shrill, annoying shriek she expected of the goblins. She did her best to disguise a wince and accepted his gift of food.
The leathery substance was surprisingly fragrant for its dried state – it smelled of spiced lamb. She took a bite. The food was made for goblin teeth and was a bit tough against her human incisors, but she managed to work her way through it with a bit of effort. She thanked the crew members and began to wander around the common area.
A goblin in the corner had thick spectacles; he sat at an easy chair, flipping through a book on gears. He stared down Jaina from over the top of his glasses, only returning to his book once she had moved along. Jaina reflected that perhaps the annoyed feelings between humans and goblins were mutual.
She went to move back to her cabin, but the goblin who had offered her food intercepted her. He looked up at her with a toothy grin that was speckled with flecks of meat.
"You're Jaina Proudmoore," he exclaimed. His voice was too loud, but none of the other goblins seemed to notice. "You've worked with my father before. He's a mercenary. Goes by the name of Lugs."
Jaina couldn't recall working with a mercenary named Lugs, but the goblin's enthusiasm was so great that she couldn't bear to let him down. "Then well met-" She hesitated.
"Lugs," offered the goblin. Jaina sent him a quizzical look. "Family name," he explained.
"Eh, Lugs, leave her alone," called one of the crew mates. "He's a little strange," she added to Jaina.
Lugs looked so offended that Jaina smiled. "It's okay. He's not bothering me." The goblin echoed her smile. He urged her to sit at a nearby table, then slid into a seat across from her.
"Why are you going to Northrend?" he asked. "A scouting mission?" He was a little calmer now, and his voice didn't grate nearly as much as it had before.
"A secret mission," said Jaina, confident that the words would excite her companion. She was correct; he squirmed in his seat.
"A mission to do with the Lich King?" he whispered.
Jaina did not answer, but let her eyes sparkle at him. Lugs covered his mouth.
"How will you find him?" he asked.
The sorceress hesitated. She had been so obsessed with the idea of finding Arthas that she hadn't taken the time to figure out how to get to him.
"I suppose I'll teleport," she said.
The goblin's eyes widened. "Don't do that," he warned. "There are a lot of hidden crevices and dangerous animals in Northrend. You might accidentally teleport to the wrong place, and then-" He waved a hand toward the table with a long whistle, then simulated an explosion at the bottom. The sound reminded Jaina of her fear of flight, and she cast a wary eye around the room.
"No, don't teleport," continued the goblin. He sat bolt upright, and his demeanor shifted, all business. "I can help you with something much better than that."
"How much is it going to cost me?" asked Jaina automatically.
The goblin blasted a laugh. "You are a shrewd businesswoman," he cackled. "Tell you what - no charge up front, but if you like what I offer, then I will be the sole supplier to your people."
"Supplier?" asked Jaina.
Lugs leaned forward. "Snowy gryphons," he said. "They're fast, they camouflage well with the snow, and they're very regal beasts." It was hard to imagine that this squawking, excitable little creature could see anything as regal.
"I've found their breeding grounds," he whispered. "I staked the territory, so they're mine."
Jaina searched his gaze. "You've been to Northrend before?" she asked.
Lugs nodded. "Last time we flew there," he said, motioning to the ship around them.
The sorceress raised an eyebrow and leaned back. "I thought this was the maiden voyage," she said.
"Maiden successful voyage," emphasized Lugs. "Last one almost made it until right at the end." Here he repeated the explosion noise that he had performed earlier. "Luckily we ditched right into the ocean, so no one died!" He laughed.
Jaina stared at him.
"You should hear about the trips before that," chuckled the goblin.
Her hand rose to halt him. "That's fine, thanks, Lugs," she said. "I think I'm going to try to rest for a bit. I'm feeling a bit-" She halted; she'd been about to say 'green around the gills,' but the phrase likely made no sense to a goblin, who no doubt saw "green" as a healthy colour. She had used the phrase around Thrall once, and he had stared at her with blank confusion.
"-like I need a rest," she finished instead.
Lugs nodded and stood. "I'll wake you up when we arrive in Northrend," he said. "We can head out to check the merchandise."
Jaina bade him farewell and moved back to her cabin. The air was already getting chillier, and there was no blanket on the cot. Fortunately, the sorceress had brought her cloak. She fastened it at her neck and pulled the hood over her face. The fabric was heavy and warm. Several years earlier, after her father's death, she had stopped wearing the cloak. It had been a gift from her father in her youth, and it had many memories attached to it, both good and bad. It was the cloak she had worn the day her father died...and the cloak she had worn the day she walked away from Arthas.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror. In the shadow from the hood, her eyes faintly glowed a blue. It was a side effect of the arcane magics, and so subtle that it could only be seen in darkness. For a time, she had worn the hood everywhere on purpose, eager to show off her magical ties. Those had been easier days, when her only responsibility was to learn and grow. Now she had the weight of the world on her shoulders.
"I will save him. I will save us all," she mouthed into the mirror. The words were uncomfortable. They did not fit the petite mouth that had uttered them. She frowned and lay down on the cot, hoping that sleep would silence her worries.
.*.*.*.
A knock at her door startled her awake several hours later. She blinked and sat up. Her breath came in clouds before her face, but she felt only a faint chill. Her fingers wrapped around the talisman that Thrall had given her; it was warm against her skin. Evidently it was a powerful frost ward.
The knock sounded again, followed by Lugs' shrill voice: "Wake up, wake up! We're in Northrend!"
Jaina stood and opened the door. The goblin was dressed in a thick leather coat with a fur hem. He beamed and handed her some more of the leathery meat substance he had provided earlier.
"Breakfast!" he shrieked.
The sorceress thanked him and accepted the meal. He danced from foot to foot as she ate; his antsy behaviour fed into Jaina's anxiety. Her stomach twisted in on itself, but she forced herself to finish the food anyway. She would need all her strength. A swig from her water canteen and she was ready to leave. Her fingers tightened around her staff and she nodded at Lugs.
They climbed the staircase to the deck, and Jaina squinted against the light. It was a cold light and much harsher than the lazy light in Theramore. Lugs led her along the deck and onto the dock. The dock was still heavily under construction, though there were no workers to be seen. They descended a rickety staircase amidst the skeletal tower and stepped onto dusky, pebbled soil.
"The orcs are going to finish building their base here," explained Lugs. The clouds of condensation from his breaths were so thick that they nearly obscured his face.
Jaina surveyed their surroundings. The land here was a harsh, snowy tundra. Bits of dull-coloured brush poked through a sheet of white. The horizon was scarred with angry white peaks, with one tall peak that towered above all. Above the mountains, the sun's rays skewered a maelstrom of clouds. Even though her talisman protected against the bite of the cold, Jaina began to shiver.
"This way," chirruped Lugs, impervious to the hostility of the land. He tugged his hood into place, gripped Jaina's arm and pulled her west, toward a small group of snow-covered hills. They crested the hills to reveal a valley that held several nests filled with sleeping infants and doting gryphons. One of them turned to the intruders and squawked. Jaina flinched.
"It's all right," assured Lugs. "They're tame. They haven't learned to be afraid of goblins or humans yet." He made a cooing noise and sidled toward the beast. It squawked again and flexed its impressive wingspan, revealing brilliant white plumage. Lugs closed the distance between them and pressed a small green hand to the beast's beak. A pleased chirrup rumbled from the beast. The goblin turned around and waved Jaina forward.
"This is Pete," he said.
"Pete?" repeated Jaina.
"He's a gryphon," added Lugs unnecessarily. "I've been feeding him and training him a bit each time we come out here."
"Each time you come out?" repeated Jaina, wondering how many times the goblin zeppelin expeditions had failed. She stepped forward and pressed a hand to the side of the beast's head. It chirruped again; its beating wings kicked up snow from the ground in a whirling mist. It pranced on the snow, the movements fitting its cat-like body.
"Well," said Lugs, "hop on!"
"Bareback?" asked Jaina.
"He's not saddle-trained yet," replied the goblin. "I'm going to get all of them saddle-trained eventually, but it will take time. But he responds well to direction. The top of his head makes him go up; tapping either side of his face tells him to turn in that direction. Tap his flank with your heels, and he'll descend."
The sorceress had ridden horses bareback many times in her youth. It couldn't be that much different on a gryphon, even hough the altitude difference between a horse and a gryphon was significant. She didn't let herself explore that thought; instead, she strapped her staff to her backpack and moved along to the gryphon's flank.
She clucked and cooed at the beast and eased her way onto its back. The gryphon's ribcage and loins were the solid, stocky build of a lion. Her legs wrapped tightly along either side of the beast; her hands steadied themselves in the beast's feathery mane.
Lugs' mouth tightened into a frown.
"You'll have to leave more room," he said. "I can't fit on."
Jaina tilted her head at the goblin. "You want to come along?" she asked, not certain she had understood correctly.
"Of course," said Lugs. "It's too dangerous a mission for one person alone."
The sorceress sighed; her smile was sad. "I am very grateful, Lugs, but this mission is far too dangerous. Foolhardy, even. I cannot in good conscience allow someone else to put himself in danger on my account."
The goblin's brows pinched. She could tell that her words had hurt her. "My father is a mercenary," he said. "Adventure is in my blood. This is the journey I was born for, not the data collection they'll have me doing back at the base."
Jaina could tell that he wasn't going to back down. Three runes slid from between her lips. A flash of light enveloped Lugs. His goblin form shrank, stretched, molded into a cylinder and then sprouted fluff.
The sorceress dismounted and knelt down before Lugs' ovine form. The sheep bleated angrily at her.
"Sorry, Lugs," she said, stroking the sheep's fuzzy cheek. "You'll get plenty of chances to prove yourself, but this adventure is too risky."
She mounted again and looked down at the sheep. It had begun to wander, tracing erratic patterns in the snow. He would morph back in a minute or two.
"If I'm not back in two days," she said, "then I'm probably not coming back at all. Thank you, Lugs, and take care."
She patted the gryphon's head. Its wings beat against the air twice, then it began its ascent.
.*.*.*.
Jaina Proudmoore.
The Lich King's eyes snapped open and he took a step back, trying to distance himself from the intruder he had sensed. There was no mistaking the presence. Her aura was stronger than when they had last met, but its qualities were unmistakable: strong-willed, pure and cultured. He swallowed against the near-forgotten taste of lavender perfume.
Unwanted magical presences were a rarity in Northrend, but when they did occur, his usual policy was to send a wraith to investigate. This presence, however, was a greater threat. Her powers were stronger than any sorcerer he had ever faced, and while he was confident that he could overtake her, she would not be an easy match. No, this was not a presence to take lightly. He would have to monitor her himself.
He turned and began to pace. If he stopped to admit it, her powers were not what worried him. The biggest threat was within himself, buried deep within his chest. A sound he had not heard in many years, from beneath layer upon layer of ice and neglect...
A single, resounding thump of a heartbeat.
.*.*.*.
Lugs had trained the gryphon Pete well. The beast responded easily to Jaina's commands, and its flight was so smooth that she did not feel that she was in any danger of falling off. They had flown over the sharp, wintry peaks and were now approaching what Jaina supposed must be the infamous Icecrown Glacier. Lugs had been right that this terrain would have been far too difficult to traverse on foot. She affectionately patted Pete on the head, forgetting that this was also how she steered him; the gryphon veered. A bit embarrassed, she straightened out his course.
She could see Icecrown Citadel near the horizon now. This was where she would find Arthas, she was certain - the evil aura was heavy in the air even from this distance. Her fingers caressed the gryphon's shoulder as she uttered two runes. A sheet of invisibility blanketed her and the beast. There was no chance that this spell would fool Arthas himself, but it might provide some protection against his minions.
The gates of Icecrown Citadel were built of a jagged, sharp steel, with heavy chains, skulls and spikes that reminded Jaina of the Scourge ziggurats she had seen in Azeroth. She could see the citadel in the distance; its piercing spikes disappeared into a brilliant blue glow that was too harsh to look at directly. The maelstrom of clouds circled overhead like a falcon hunting its prey, but here the sun's rays were completely obscured behind a dark, thick storm.
Jaina swallowed against the bile rising in her throat. She landed the gryphon on a snowy outcropping that overlooked the gates, then dismounted. The butt of her staff smacked into the ice between her feet and she stood square. The veil of invisibility slid from her body.
She waited. Her breaths came in jagged spikes.
His aura moved closer. He was here, he had sensed her, and he was coming. The sorceress longed to flee. All she had hoped for - that everyone was mistaken, that Arthas was innocent, that all of this had only been a nightmare - was about to shatter beneath the heavy maul of certainty. She braced herself against its impact.
She did not see it coming.
A snake of dark, necromantic magic noosed around her neck. Her back slammed into the ice. She managed to hang on to her staff and yelled a word of power. A protective blue light encased her body; the noose dropped from her neck. Jaina leaped to her feet and spun.
He loomed behind her, taller than she remembered. His thick armor was covered in spikes, skulls and chains, like the architecture of the Citadel. In his gloved hand he held the blade Frostmourne. Its demonic runes glowed blue along the flat of the blade, and its serrated teeth glinted.
She did not want to look at his face - so long as she did not recognize his face, her impossible hopes might still be real - but the burning blue glow of his eyes was too compelling to ignore. Beneath the barbed helmet, even beneath the pallour of undeath, the broad, smirking lips were the same ones that had so often whispered words of adoration into her ear. Anger rose in her throat.
"You bastard!" she yelled. Her voice sounded thin in the swirling wind. "How dare you?"
The Lich King watched her for a moment, then set down his sword. His hands clamped on to either side of his helmet and he eased it from his head.
Jaina sank to her knees. The same proud nose, with its deep scar across the bridge. The same high cheekbones and strong brows. His hair, once the colour of gold and the proud texture of a horse's mane, waved behind him in a limp white stream.
"Why are you here?" he asked. There was still Arthas in his voice, but a stranger as well. It was as if another voice, deeper and angrier, had been stamped on top of it.
"To save you," she said. It came out as a plea.
Arthas tilted his head back and laughed. It was the same sound that used to fill her heart with joy. Jaina's eyelids clenched to hold back tears. This was not at all how she had planned their conversation. Her hands tightened on the shaft of her staff.
"You're a little late, Jaina," continued the Lich King. The tone was contradictory - his voice sounded almost playful, but the echo had a sharp edge to it.
"It's not too late, Arthas," she cried, her voice shrinking in the wind's howl. "Many of Azeroth's greatest foes have repented to become Azeroth's greatest heroes." She shook her head. "You know that the whole world is mobilizing against you. There will be massive bloodshed. It doesn't have to be this way!"
His eyes flashed and he stepped closer to her; Jaina hunched and prepared to defend herself.
"There is no glory to be had in peace," he spat. "Think of our heroes growing up, Jaina. They were all warriors. Every last one of them slaughtered men, women, children, just as I have, just as I will. You think you worship them because they fought for justice." He smirked. "There is no justice, Jaina. There is no right. There is only powerful and the weak."
The woman hesitated.
"You are right," she said. "But the Arthas I know would have given anything to protect the weak. That was why he sought power. That was why he took up Frostmourne." She watched his face carefully; were her words reaching him at all?
The Lich King laughed again, but this time there was a colder edge to the sound. "The Arthas you knew died a long time ago."
A gust of icy wind ruffled Jaina's cloaks. She shivered and gripped the warm talisman about her neck.
"You can still use all this power for good, Arthas," she called over the wind. "It is not too late."
"That was always your problem, Jaina," he said. "So powerful, yet so content to wallow in mediocrity." He began to bend down toward his sword. The sorceress eyed him. His eyes locked with hers, and he halted, his fingertips inches from the hilt.
"If I'd known that this was what you meant when you spoke of your ambitions," she countered, "I would have stopped you when I had the chance."
"Ah," he replied, "so she blames herself."
The comment threw Jaina off guard. Arthas did not waste the opportunity; he dropped his arm, gripped his blade and lunched. Frostmourne arced through the air. Jaina darted backwards just in time to avoid the blow. She twitched her staff and disappeared to reappear several feet behind him.
Her staff spun twice in front of her body. On each side of her rose a being made entirely of water, stretching and groaning to full height. Arthas spun. Jaina cried out. The elementals thrust their liquid arms forward, and water projectiles slammed into Arthas' chest. He staggered backwards.
With a grunt, he regained his balance. The flat of his blade pressed into his forehead and Frostmourne's runes glinted with the same glow as his eyes.
The water elementals screamed; their hands clawed at the air as their bodies crystallized into ice. A wave of cold washed over Jaina, too, but had no effect. The talisman around her neck glowed red.
She teleported twenty feet to her left and thrust the palm of her hand forward; a ball of flame launched toward Arthas. It hit him in the shoulder, but he barely flinched.
"Come now, Jaina," he taunted. "You can do better than that."
He was right. She was holding back. But she sensed that he was, too.
"I didn't come here to fight you," she cried.
"Because you know you can't win," he replied. "You're too weak to control your emotions and do what needs to be done."
The fact that he was right made her even angrier. Her brows dropped.
"Big words," she yelled. "You can't bring yourself to attack me, either."
The Lich King howled and shot out his hand. The same noose-like energy as before gripped Jaina's body and jerked her forward. She fell unceremoniously at Arthas' feet. The cold steel of Frostmourne pressed flat against her neck. The sorceress raised her chin. Arthas' face was inches from hers. His breath was icy on her face.
There was a snap and a tug, and suddenly she was aware of how cold she was. The ice bit through the fabric on her knees and hands. Her teeth began to chatter.
Arthas held up the frost ward between them. "Shamanism," he observed. "Surprisingly effective, when a person can manage not to lose it." He tossed it aside, and she heard it clatter against the ice.
Jaina trembled. The cold kiss of Frostmourne's steel was a painful reminder of her impending death. Thrall had been right - she was foolish to venture out here.
"I should have stopped you when I had the chance," she managed, her voice shuddering with her body's shivers.
His hand tightened around her throat and he lifted her aloft. The blade rotated; the razor edge barely rested against her skin.
"You don't get it, Jaina," he said. "You didn't have a chance. Anything you could have done would only have slowed the inevitable, save for killing me. And you couldn't even do that now, even knowing how much blood is on my hands."
The sorceress' legs kicked at the air and she clawed at the hand that held her neck. Her magic was no help - it was as if he was suppressing it. Her eyes locked with his, and his face twisted in anticipation of the kill. She waited for the killing blow...
Arthas' breaths were harsh. The grin on his face slowly faded. His lips twisted into a sneer.
Jaina's heart began to beat wildly.
"You can't kill me, either," she rasped.
"Enough!" he snarled. His blade clattered to the ice. The palm of his free hand slammed into her forehead; three harsh, guttural syllables burst from his lips and he released her neck.
Jaina dropped back into an abyss of darkness, spinning and falling... The last vision she had was Arthas' twisted face, his teeth bared and eyes narrow.
.*.*.*.
The Lich King sneered and dropped Jaina's limp form to the ice. He spun around. His hands raked into his hair. This was ridiculous - why had he hesitated?
"Stand," he muttered without turning around.
Behind him, Jaina stood.
He had two options. One was to kill her outright; her magic could pose a serious threat, as could her apparent sway over him. The other option was to convert her to a banshee. He had done this once before with the ranger Sylvanas. That incident had ended poorly when his powers had waned, but that would not happen again. Jaina was a powerful ally, and could be integral to the Scourge's plans.
The second option made more sense. He could sense that a battle was coming, and he could use as many allies as he could find.
He whirled around to face Jaina, but hesitated. Her face was blank and peaceful, and her eyelids were closed. A forgotten memory of the first night they had spent together floated into his consciousness. He had awoken several hours before her and had watched her face in the soft morning light. Her face bore that same expression in sleep: not a single wrinkle or worry written upon the porcelain skin.
Deep within his chest, his heart began to pound.
Arthas let out a low sigh. He would regret what he was about to do, he was certain. It was foolish and reckless.
"The next time I see you," he said, "I will kill you."
Her eyelids parted and she stared blankly at him. The placid blue glow in them was more than he could bear. He turned his back.
"Leave," he muttered.
Her aura began to move, so he knew she had obeyed. He bent down and gripped Frostmourne.
As he began to walk back to the Citadel, he passed by the frost ward he had stripped from her neck.
"She'll die without it. You purposefully left her to freeze to death," he tried to convince himself, but the words were hollow to his ears.
With a frustrated, bloodcurdling roar, he cleaved the talisman in two.
.*.*.*.
Lugs was gathering core samples from the bedrock around the zeppelin amp when he heard a familiar shriek; he looked up to see the gryphon Pete circling overhead. Jaina must have returned. He hopped to his feet and placed two fingers into his mouth, giving a three note whistle. Pete let out a cry and descended. His wings beat against the air as his taloned feet gripped the earth.
The goblin stared and scrambled over to the beast.
"Where's Lady Proudmoore?" he demanded of the gryphon. Pete tilted his head as if trying to understand.
Lugs let out a low curse. He mounted the gryphon and let out a cry; the beast echoed his cry and ascended.
It was several hours before the goblin spotted her. His mount was so fatigued that he had decided to give up, but as he winged over the foothills of the mountains south of the Icecrown Glacier, he noticed a smear of purple against the white.
She had landed face-down; when Lugs rolled her over, her skin was swollen and had taken on a decidedly blue tint, but she was still breathing. He tried unsuccessfully to hoist her over the back of the mount, but her body weight was nearly twice hers. Gritting his teeth, the goblin coaxed the gryphon gently grasp her in his claws. It was not a dignified way for a lady to travel, but it did the trick, and they landed at the base camp shortly before nightfall.
The first mate was an amateur alchemist; he pulled out a satchel of herbs and mixed several pastes, which he then smeared all over the sorceress' body.
"This will hold her for a little while," he said, "but she needs proper healing."
"We must return to Durotar," exclaimed Lugs.
The captain considered this. "We still have work to do here. We're supposed to stay here for a week."
"She's friends with the Warchief," said Lugs. "I'm sure he'll pay extra for our inconvenience."
They set off for Orgrimmar the next morning.
.*.*.*.
Arthas howled and punched the Cathedral wall so hard that a crack split the wall, then began to pace. He had come to the temple in hopes of escape, but the incessant beating of his heart would not quiet. Each beat reminded him of his weakness. He had had a key enemy in his hands, and had let her slip away! With each passing hour, the beating grew louder, until it engulfed his mind in its pulsating taunts. Slowly, words began to take form:
Why did. You not. Stop her. When you. Had the. Chance.
He roared and tore off his chest plate. His clawed hand thrust into his abdomen, easily splitting the pale flesh. The ribs strained against the pressure as his hand contorted up into his chest. His fingers encircled the pulsating heart, and he tore.
A scream tore from his lips and echoed in the hall. Blackness swelled in his vision; he blinked it back and steadied himself.
His body was quiet now, but the heart still beat in his hand. Arthas held it up.
The last remnant of humanity. His last weakness. Not for long. He closed his eyes and began to channel dark energy into the organ.
The flesh began to blacken and shrivel around his fingertips. Arthas' lips curled into a sneer.
"The next time I see you, Jaina Proudmoore," he growled, "I will kill you."
He dropped the heart on the floor and strode away. The heart continued to rot, wilting like a flower. Ice licked along the black flesh like crystalline vines, strangling the organ over and over until it was encased entirely in jagged ice.
Deep within its prison, the last link to Arthas' humanity gave a final beat, and then was still forever.
.*.*.*.
Jaina's eyelids parted to reveal a broad, blurry green face. Two long braids tickled her face. She blinked and nudged them away with her arm.
"Jaina," said Thrall's voice. She blinked again and his voice came into focus. His blue eyes were soft and warm, and his toothy mouth was curved in a soft grin. It was a sharp contrast from the face she had seen before the blackness had engulfed her. Every muscle in her body relaxed.
"Thrall," she croaked. He passed her a water skin and she drank, grateful.
"One of the goblins found you unconscious," he explained. "We've managed to heal your wounds, but you still need to recover. An envoy will take you to Theramore whenever you wish." A little embarrassed, he added, "the goblin says to feel better soon, and also that the merchandise was what saved your life." He looked confused.
So the gryphon had saved her. Jaina wondered where Lugs had found her - had Arthas simply knocked her unconscious and left her to die?
"Thank you for the talisman, Thrall," she found herself saying. "It protected me a great deal."
The Warchief nodded. "Did you accomplish what you wanted?" he asked. He passed her a clay bowl filled with warm stew. She winced against her sore muscles as she pushed herself to a seat.
Jaina took a mouthful of the warm stew before she answered. She rolled the flavour across her tongue, considering.
She had reached him, that was certain. The fact that he hadn't killed her when she had the chance was proof. But that hadn't been enough.
"He's beyond saving," she said aloud. "I think he was right from the beginning. He said that anything I could have done to stop him would have only slowed the inevitable, and I believe he's right."
Thrall leaned back in his chair.
"Do you think, Jaina, that maybe your dream wasn't telling you that he needed forgiveness after all?"
The woman took another sip from the stew. It was delicious. "What do you mean?" she asked.
"Maybe," the orc said, "it was telling you that you needed to forgive yourself."
Jaina stared at him.
"I think you're right," she said, "and I think I have."
.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.
~End~