His Perfect Queen; an Arthas Menethil Love Story
Name: His Perfect Queen
Author: HollyEmpire00
Rating: T (may change to M as the story progresses)
Summary: As his army prepares for war, Arthas must fight his own battle. With his heart, a lady and his destiny. Arthas/OC, angst! Reviews wanted!
Warning: Rated T for language (not so much), blood, some gore, character death, and overall theme. Warcraft Themes~!
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, Warcraft3 Reign of Chaos or Warcraft3 Frozen Throne (obviously~ If I did, I'd be like…supermegafoxyawesome rich!) . You think I'd be writing this if I did? No! Anyway, they belong to Blizzard Entertainment, the gods of MMORPG's. All of the things you don't know are mine, so characters, creatures, abilities, lands and places and buildings you don't know about are all mine~! =]
Thank you all so much for choosing to read this story, I really appreciate it. Reviews are welcome, flames are not (unless they're constructive), and I want feedback please!
HOLLY: 17/02/12: Updates will be every week for this story at the moment until further notice, thank you for all your patience, bear with me, I'm having a little internet trouble at the moment. Thank you all for your support! Also, my other stories will be updated every two or three weeks :P
HISPERFECTQUEEN
Chapter 1; Now, it Begins…
The Icecrown Glacier of Northrend. It is known now as a place of unprecedented evil and as the source of the devastating power that controls the Scourge. The thick, almost impenetrable fog of dark cloud that surrounds the peak is nature's own warning of the horror that waits at the top. The small rays of white sunlight that peek through these folds cast a false image of reality; a pure light in the darkness. For atop the icy glacier, seated on a throne like a king was death itself in a human form. The Lich King.
For many years, the Frozen Throne sat unfilled, the bitter cold surrounding its home too much for any traveller, be it the dwarves settled on Northrend's coast or otherwise. For so many years he waited for his champion, for the one who would come and set him free.
He waited for many, many decades, what seemed to be an eternity in imprisonment, until He was born. The child that had hair like sun-spun gold and eyes the colour of the richest hazel; a child borne of the highest; a child of pride, of honour, valour and the kindest heart; but with a hidden darkness locked away within him. The son of a great king, who would one day be a king himself.
In the few years to come he watched over the child as he grew. He grew strong; in both mind, body and spirit. His master, a paladin of the Silver Hand, never suspected that there could be such darkness within this child, the heir to a kingdom of such light. Rest assured, this darkness was there and it grew, unnoticed by the people around him as he grew older, wiser and stronger. Until, one day, the air that surrounded the icy region of Northrend began to grow colder once again.
Having him fight against him at first was expected. Being the son of the king, it was the child's very purpose to fight against the threat to his kingdom. There was little use, and he suspected that the boy knew it deep down, though he didn't show it. He didn't mind his champion-to-be fighting the forces he'd soon be commanding, as he could be tested, trialled against the best he could offer.
When the time was right, he called to him; led him to the icy shores of his domain where he had pursued a wretched dreadlord demon. What he had not expected was that dwarf, that red bearded midget, to be a friend, let alone a mentor to his knight. Indeed he was, and that only made his victory all the sweeter when that dwarf, Muradin, led his champion right to him.
The sword was the key. It always had been. When he had thrust it from his icy prison, he had sent it to its resting place with the purpose of his knight being the one to take it. Of course, the price was a heavy one, the taking of something dear to him. The soul of that dwarf had done nicely. He had been too narrow minded to see the reality. And when the prince finally attained the sword gifted to him, Frostmourne, the very light was ripped from him, his soul bound to the sword, and that darkness that had lain dormant for so long was set free upon the world.
He doesn't know why he did not order his champion to seek him out while he was lost in the blizzard ridden land as he slowly became inhuman. Things would have been so much easier if he had. So much precious time could have been saved. Perhaps it was because he wanted to see the power that this child possessed; he wanted to see him wield it against his own kingdom. Perhaps it was because he somewhat enjoyed seeing his champion's sanity slowly slip away as he whispered to him through the runeblade.
When his knight finally returned to Azeroth, he took pleasure in watching from his frozen homeland as the little prince betrayed his own father, murdering him on his throne, before wreaking havoc on the land, destroying everything and making way for a new order of darkness and decay.
The Scourge was ruthless, but by his champion's command it was even more so. They hunted their prey with such a cold-blooded hunger that it was almost unnerving to him. His champion had strength. A lot of it; and he was not afraid to use it. So when he finally realised that by sending the sword to the child, his own powers were diminishing, he sent for his champion's aid.
They lost Lordaeron as a result of his power waning over that blasted banshee, the one his champion had created from the soul of an old friend, and with his knight's power fading there was little choice but to let them keep the city. It was a great loss, and in the escape they had lost what few faithful members of the Scourge they'd had in the area, but that was nothing but a fraction of the forces they had. And with his knight moving across the countryside towards the coast, he gathered more and more followers on his journey.
That necromancer; his loyal follower and believer, he had never been so thankful that he was in his service until he had saved his champion from death at the hands of that vengeful spirit, that banshee queen. It was regrettable that he had been left to deal with resisting the uprising in the land of Azeroth that used to be his champion's kingdom, but it was unavoidable.
He needed his knight at his side as soon as possible, for there was another that journeyed north towards his territory, one who threatened to destroy him in the name of his ancient creator. The demon hunter, the prince of the fallen Highborne elves and sea witch of those vicious naga; the three of them were a deadly combination. Had he not sent his long time servant, the king of the arachnids, to aid his champion, he may not have survived, let alone have reached him in time.
The battle at the base of the glacier was one he remembered somewhat bitterly. Oh, the torment of seeing the enemy getting closer and closer to his final haven. The closer they got to securing the obelisks, the keys to the gate, the more he power he sent to his champion, aiding him the best he could in the fierce struggle. Finally, when the demon hunter fell into the blood soaked snow, his champion victorious, and the battle for the obelisks won by his army; he breathed a sigh of relief from his prison atop the icy glacier.
The time had finally come. He remembered the torment his knight suffered as he climbed the icicle lined steps to his throne, the memories of the dead swirling in his mind. The moment he had been waiting for was finally at hand, when he would unite with his master and meet his destiny; but all he could think of were those that had died in order for him to achieve this goal, of those who would oppose him, of those who he had stepped over to get to the finish line. When he at last set foot on the top stair of the peak, his mind was clear. The thoughts seemed to vanish as he saw the Frozen Throne for the first time, his armoured master imprisoned within its crystal structure.
Ner'zhul, his master and lord was in front of him and he was victorious; Ner'zhul was triumphant, his champion and death knight, Arthas, before him.
When the ice finally cracked under the force of Frostmourne's strike, and when the helm finally fell to the snow covered stone, there was silence in Northrend. As Arthas Menethil, crowned prince of the land that was once Lordaeron, lifted the helm of Ner'zhul to his head, the freezing metal sliding over his dirtied, platinum blonde hair, the land beneath his feet began to stir.
One second…two…three seconds…and then a great, booming, triumphant voice…
'Now, we are one!'
And with that, the greatest evil known to man was reborn once again. The Lich King sat on his throne at the pinnacle of Northrend, the runeblade Frostmourne by his side, wearing the armoured helm of Ner'zhul, the master of the Scourge. They were one; Lord of the Undead, one of the most powerful entities to walk the earth. Their reign of terror had begun
And no one could stop them.
HISPERFECTQUEEN
When the shockwaves of power radiated across the world, the army of the Scourge stopped in its tracks as it made its camp on the western coast of the Plaguelands. Kel'Thuzad looked north, his skeletal hands clenching and unclenching with excitement at his sides. Prince Arthas had won; he had been victorious over that wretched dark elf demon lord, Illidan. Wringing his hands together the necromancer held his head high, his magic working to raise his voice, and addressed the surrounding army.
"Our leader, Prince Arthas has been victorious in his quest to the north!" he cried, throwing his arms wide. "He is now one with our lord and master; Ner'zhul and his champion are one!" The army began to cheer. Loud roars of exultance echoed across the countryside; the rattling of chains, the beating of drums, the stamping of feet.
Kel'Thuzad allowed himself a quiet moment of reflection over the past few years of tedious work. All of the struggle, the hardship, even his own death had all been worth it. His master, Ner'zhul, and the champion of the Scourge, the death knight Arthas Menethil were one in the same, and the war was as good as theirs.
"Rejoice, my brothers! For now we shall prevail! Our time has begun!" Another roar of cheers from the Undead warriors, and the necromancer fell silent.
Kel'Thuzad's long cloak swirled around him as he turned and slipped into the Black Citadel, his thoughts turning to Northrend. He was…concerned somewhat about the next step in Ner'zhul's plan for the Scourge to dominate. While the Lich King was now whole, his spirit resting in a powerful vessel, there was one more thing that needed to be done before they dared to siege Lordaeron again.
They needed to find the one person who could stand beside the Lich King, commanding the Scourge for eternity. In Kel'Thuzad's mind, this had always been viewed as a difficult task. Locating them would have been problematic, and then hunting them down would be even more so. But now that Ner'zhul was freed from his prison, they had an advantage.
Ner'zhul knew where to look.
HISPERFECTQUEEN
17/02/12
HOLLY: Please read and review! Love you all~!
EDITED 31/01/13
EDITED 29/02/13- added better page breaks!