Warcraft: The Scourge of Time

Chapter One:

The Lord of the Damned returned to find himself far less. His Champion had betrayed him, and all that he had sought was in ruins. Yet he would survive, for he was-

Inside what appeared to be an Orcish hovel. Oh certainly it was technically a fine building by Orcish standards, but then his people were as clumsy as they were stupid. His Champion had been far more intelligent, and far more deadly. And The Lord of the Damned had forged him into a being far greater, and more terrible than any had been before him.

…Although in retrospect he might have taken a few more precautions regarding his final plan. It was uncharacteristically naïve of him to assume that his Champion wouldn't take an opportunity to stab him in the back. He had never been much of a rational actor after all.

Yet something was not right here. The Lord of the Damned did not have full control of his own form. He could look through his eyes, and whisper in it's mind, but he knew it would take time to begin his plan.

Time was something he had in spades.

…...

It was a fine summer day in the Lordaeron Capital when Prince Arthas Menethil awoke from a sleep he had never taken, in a room he had not seen in years. Indeed, so clouded were his memories of this place, that he did not recognize it initially. When at last his mind adjusted to the sensation of sleepiness, and he realized the place he was in was-

"-My bedroom?" he said in surprise, his voice higher pitched than he remembered. It was the very same room he had lived in for years now that he thought of it. Yet for some reason he felt as though…

He felt as though he should not need to sleep. Which was odd, considering the fact that the last thing he remembered was going to bed after a long day of education in the Lordaeron Palace. Strangely though, his memories of the previous day were blurred, and rather hard to follow.

He stood up, somewhat unsteadily and looked around the surrounding room for a mirror. For whatever reason, he could not remember the layout of his own room. It was rather frustrating, and Arthas found himself wanting to tear down the violet curtains and scream. He didn't know why.

He spotted a large mirror designed so that someone could see their entire body in its reflection, opposite to his bed. Still a bit unsteady, he approached it, and looked in. Unsurprisingly he looked as he remembered looking the day before. He was a boy of nine, with golden hair that reached to slightly above the neck. His mind told him that it was all perfectly natural. That he was perfectly fine.

So why did he feel as though it was all wrong. His hair, he thought, should have been whiter and longer, his face gaunt, and older, and he imagined himself in armor, with a mighty sword. His instincts were screaming that everything was all wrong. His mind felt... constricted, as though his consciousness had been able to pierce walls and now was limited merely to the physical. And he had a vague notion that something was terribly wrong. Unfortunately, one cannot act solely based off of a vague notion, and so he began to prepare for the day.

He had some difficulty even remembering which clothes were which, and what steps were required, as if it was a habit he had long abandoned, though he clearly remembered doing it yesterday. A sneaking suspicion that he was forgetting something very important began to dawn on him. He caught himself absently reaching for a weapon at his side that wasn't there. Worst of all, he kept trying to see things that he knew were not visible to the human eye.

The human eye. What was it about that statement that made him feel a sense of frustration far beyond that of the sort he usually felt.

Then there was a knock on the door, and Arthas glanced back, surprised. "…Enter." he called at last, his voice sounding wrong to him as well. It was far too young.

The door opened, and a young girl of about fourteen walked through the door. She had long blonde hair, and for a moment Arthas didn't recognize her. Who was this person exactly?

Then he remembered her, rather suddenly. "…Calia?" he said, somewhat uncertainly as he looked at his sister.

"Sorry Arthas." she apologized, though he noted that her voice was somewhat unsteady "But father sent me to request your presence." Her voice seemed odd, as if it should have been older. More importantly, he noted that she seemed rather unnerved by something.

Once again, that sense of wrongness was there, only now it was far stronger. Suddenly a vision flashed before his eyes of King Terenas Menethil looking up in confusion, as a white haired man drove a blade into his neck.

It was not a pleasant thought, and he flinched at it.

"…Arthas, are you alright?" She asked hesitantly, as he stared into space.

Arthas shook his head, and looked up. "Uh… yes, very well. Inform father him that I will join him shortly. Thank you Calia."

Why was he thanking this idiot? In fact, why was he even talking to her. It wasn't as if this pathetic human could-

Where the hell did that thought come from? He thought, suddenly unsettled by the sheer ruthless pragmatism within it.

Come to think of it, he remembered Calia as a young woman, and since she was his older sister that would mean.

"Actually…" he said, his voice somewhat unsteady "Did father mention why he desired my company?"

"Well, he didn't say outright, but I believe that it has something to do with those Knights from Stormwind who came to the castle." said Calia. "Anduin Lothar or some such."

For a long moment there was absolute silence. Calia took a step back at the intensity of the look. Arthas glanced at the mirror, and gazed at his reflection. There was something about his eyes that seemed… off, though he could not place it.

"I see." he said "Thank you sister. I shall go and see what father requires of me."

She blinked in surprise at his formal tone, but seemed to shrug it off. "Alright then, I was planning to go purchase some things in the market, so I will probably not be around until later."

"Really?" said Arthas "Are you certain there are no other things you need to be doing."

"Like what?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Like studying, learning new skills. Coming to understand the ins and outs of the nation you may one day rule." said Arthas, and this time she seemed genuinely mystified.

"…Arthas you're the crown prince." she replied "I'm never going to be Queen."

"I certainly hope not." said Arthas, before realizing that left on it's own such a comment might be considered insensitive. "As that would require me to either die, or have my name thrown into utter disgrace within both our life times. Something I would prefer to avoid."

She looked genuinely concerned now, and Arthas felt a good deal of frustration at that look. "Arthas, are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright." he replied "Why would I not be alright?"

"Well it's just… I…" she stopped as she tried to find words. "You seem very different from how you usually are, is all. Did something happen?"

Arthas inwardly wondered the same thing. "I don't know." he admitted, and Calia raised an eyebrow. "I'm sure I'm just disconcerted." he reassured her, putting on a smile that did not reach his eyes.

"Alright then, Arthas. Just don't keep father waiting."

She closed the door, and Arthas stared at it for a moment, before glancing over to the mirror that stood on his wall.

His face was young as it should have been. His hair golden as it always had been. He was nine, as he had been last night. But though he did not know what it was, he felt as though his entire existence had been warped. He sighed and began to prepare for the day.

…...

Sylvanas Windrunner, the Dark Lady of the Forsaken awoke in altogether unfamiliar surroundings. By this time she had gotten used to the endless moaning of broken, and defeated spirits, drawn by force from their graves by unholy magic to haunt the halls of the Lordaeron Capital.

Thus she was very surprised to find that she didn't hear it when she woke up. The bed she was lying upon was soft, and well stitched. The smell of decay did not reach her nose, and as she to find that she was in a room of High Elven make. A bookcase stood over the side was filled with volumes on strategy, as well as several books of a less serious nature. While opposite to it was a large mirror. Over he bed she saw two long, curved knives, firmly hung over her bed.

This was her old room. Where she had lived before the scourge had come. She had thought that the Windrunner residence had been burned down, or at least converted into something else entirely, though she had not been back in years.

She stood there, stock still for several moments, half disbelieving of what she saw. She was dimly aware that she was walking forward, and running her hand alongside the books.

She withdrew it suddenly. She had felt sensation! For years since she had been killed and brought back as what she despise she had felt nothing beyond her own hatred of him. She had barely remembered what it felt like. And now she was here in the middle of what she now realized was her own room.

She glanced to the side and looked in a mirror…

And fell back in utter surprise, loosing her footing, and crashing into a a nearby piece of furniture. She stood, somewhat unsteadily, and looked into the mirror once more, uncertain.

She had not been mistaken. Before her, she saw a fair skinned elven woman, with long golden hair, and clad in a light gown that clung to a curvaceous figure. She was alive.

"How…?" she said, at an utter loss for words, before the answer appeared before her. Visions flooded her mind of the recent battle in undercity.

"No." she said to herself. This was not real. This was just a magically induced hallucination, designed to force her into false hopes so that she could be tormented further. That was it.

How dare he.

How dare he!

Suddenly she shrieked in anger, grabbing one of the blades from above her bed and hurling it into the mirror. The sound of shattering glass was everywhere, and she felt a slight pain as one of the mirror shards nicked her shoulder.

"You bastard!" she yelled to the one she knew was listening "How dare you taunt me with this! Do you really think that I would fall for this illusion! You've already stolen everything else from me, and I won't let you do it again!" she screamed, and tears running down her eyes for the first time in years as she grabbed the fallen blade, and began hacking at the frame of the mirror. It didn't matter that it was just an inanimate object, or that it wouldn't help her situation in the slightest. She needed to destroy something. Seeing even this small sign of her old life had brought forth memories, and hope, and she hated it. She hated him. For a few moments she fell into a mindless rage, slashing at everything, tapestries, furniture. Anything to make it go away!

"Sister! What are you doing?!" she heard an all too familiar voice cry out freezing her in place. It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible. She had died long before Arthas attacked Quel'thalas, she couldn't have-

She turned around barely believing it possible. What appeared to be Alleria Windrunner stood before her, holding a sword in one hand, obviously concerned about the noise above her.

It wasn't possible. It wasn't possible.

"Sylvanas, what is-" began Alleria.

"Stand away from me!" Sylvanas, raising her blade to point it at the phantom stepping back "I don't know how he knew about Alleria without meeting her but I know you aren't her!"

"What are you talking about." said Alleria "Who? What has gotten into you sister-"

"MY SISTER IS DEAD!" screamed Sylvanas, her voice one of desperation and anger. "Alleria has been dead for years! Quel'thalas has been destroyed! The Sunwell is corrupted by his dark magic, and what little that remained of my people destroyed by the second scourge invasion! YOU AREN'T REAL!" She moved forward with a lightning fast strike, and narrowly missed Alleria's cheek as the abomination that looked like her sister ducked to the side.

Had Sylvanas been less angry, she may have reacted with greater precision, but as it was Alleria grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, pushing her to the ground.

Sylvanas struggled against her sister, thrashing madly. "Get off me! I will not believe this… this lie!" her voice broke, even as she said it.

"Calm down Sylvanas!" Alleria said "Quel'thalas is still here! Whatever you saw, it didn't happen. The Sunwell isn't corrupted. There is no power in this world that could do what your talking about!"

For a few moment she struggled against it, but she was at too much of a disadvantage to break free.

Yet something, she realized, was different. She could feel a source of strength, entering into her. One that she could scarcely remember. It was a feeling that had once been felt by all High Elves, before the Scourge came to Quel'thalas. She had almost forgotten about it.

The magic of the Sunwell. She had forgotten what it felt like to have such magic run through her veins, though it had once been second nature to her. There was no way that such a thing could be known to him.

The knife fell from her hand as a hope that this was something other than and illusion dawned upon her.

Sylvanas collapsed fully, the tension draining out of her, and she lay upon the floor, "I…" she began, but there were no words to say that could express what she felt. "I'm sorry…" she said, he voice breaking as she began to sob. It wasn't enough. It would never have been enough. But it was all she could think to say.

Alleria relaxed her grip and fell back, so that she was kneeling by her sisters side, as she helped her up.

"Sylvanas, what happened that-" began Alleria before she was cut off by Sylvanas embracing her in a hug. Alleria stood in place for a moment, surprised, before somewhat awkwardly returning the affection.

For years Sylvanas had felt nothing but hatred, and a need for revenge against the person who had stolen everything from her. She had despaired utterly of having any satisfaction save that of his death.

It didn't matter what had happened that had sent her home. It didn't matter how it had happened, or why.

Nothing mattered except for the fact that she was home.

…...

Authors note:

Well, this idea is one I have been building for a while. Those of you who have read Arthas: Rise of the Lich King may note some references to data within it. This is because I felt that the Act I was excellent, Act II was good, with some major flaws, and it was only in Act III that the book became the Character ruining abomination of Lore that it was.

…Which now that I think of it is somewhat appropriate, seeing as Act III chronicles the Death Knight segment. Though the book still sucks, and cutting out Azjol Nerub was complete bullshit, since it was by far the most interesting part of that Campaign and foreshadowed the entire Old God storyline.

Either way, I hope you enjoy this fanfic.

Oh, and the first part of this story is in Italics because it takes place in a different time from the other two, which take place in the present.

In regards to the segment with Arthas, well… I can't really explain the nature of what is going on with him without spoiling a lot of the plot. Suffice to say that while his memories and physical form are that of a nine year old boy, there are things on a subconscious level which are very different. More on that later.

As for Sylvanas' segment, I was honestly not really sure about it. But I decided that I had to go through with her freak out in the end. Think about it, Sylvanas Windrunner's character is defined by her desire for vengeance upon those who have wronged her. So suddenly finding herself back where it all began will not only be incredibly disconcerting, but seem far too good to be true.

Anyway, I have the second chapter all ready, but I won't be posting it for at least a few days. I want to wait on that until I'm sure it's usable.

Until next time.

-Lord22