Of all the amazing stories that populate the universe of World of Warcraft, Arthas and Sylvanas are definitely my favourites.

This story is set at the beginning of the Lich King expansion, when Arthas wakes up from his lethargy and becomes the Lich King.

For those unfamiliar with the story, this story will attempt to explain the events of the past to make it more accessible for everyone, but those who already know it will appreciate in detail every memory ^ ^

This is a translation of my fic "Una larga y gélida espera" /s/9237779/1/Una-g%C3%A9lida-y-larga-espera

So I apologize in advance for the mistakes. I will be thankful for any advice or correction.

I hope enjoy it! Any review will be welcome!

*~~ CHAPTER 1: THE AWAKENING ~~*

Something awoke inside Sylvanas that winter night, so cold and terrible as she had lived with the Scourge, obeying the orders of her executioner many years ago.

He had awakened.

She could feel the ice cracking on the Lich King's icy throne as if were her own soul which was breaking in sharp fragments. After years hibernating beneath the icy land of Northrend, Arthas had awakened to continue with the evil plans he had left unfinished when his forces abandoned him.

Sylvanas had spent all those years planning her revenge. She'd gotten that a part of the army of undead from the Scourge leave the Lich King, to join her, and had settled in Undercity, in the remains of the grand fortress of Lordaeron, which once had been a happy and prosperous kingdom, ruled with wisdom, but it had fallen into the hands of the betrayal of their own prince.

The Curse of Frostmourne, that pitiless sword, had corrupted the mind and heart of Prince Arthas, wielding his arm to kill his own father, King Terenas, who received his son with pride when he returned from a dangerous mission entrusted to him to end one of the most fearsome enemies who had settled Azeroth: Scourge, a pest that was destroying the lives of all his subjects turning them in living corpses and monsters.

Sadly, the man who had returned wouldn't be Arthas Menethil any more, now was a Death Knight because death and destruction were all that he spread in his path. He massacred his own people and destroyed the home where he grew up under the orders of the powerful sword at which he had offered his own soul to give him the strength to save his people. However, the runeblade's plans were very different and it corrupted the mind of its miserable carrier to convince him that he should do just the opposite.

To achieve this spectacular blade, Arthas had been abandoned and betrayed by all he loved, everyone had turned their backs when he most needed them, supporting a pain greater than his own existence by doing what he thought was right in that moment of despair as he watched his people fell under a plague that could not be controlled. He traveled to the ends of the world, to the frozen lands of Northrend to get a power that would allow him to protect his people from enemies, and now this same power he had turned in the most cruel and relentless enemy who had faced ever, joining precisely to the rotten army that in principle intended to stop, gaining control of a crowd of soldiers who never die. The whims of fate had played with him, it had laughed at his efforts with its perverse irony, the curse of the sword had consumed and transformed his soul, but now none of that mattered to Arthas, the hissing sound of his Runeblade through to their enemies and the cries of agony of their victims when they fell at the hands of his emaciated and sickly army were all that made sense to him. He couldn't feel anything except an insatiable thirst to control everything. All the painful memories of his life as a prince of Lordaeron were behind, buried in a place so deep they would never see the light.

Scourge's control belonged to a hidden and unknown called the Lich King, hidden in the cold and lonely lands of Northrend, a continent whose lands located in the north, lashed by an inhospitable and disproportionate cold that dispelled the idea of wanting explore its corners. The Lich King was able to talk to Arthas from there through the blade of Frostmourne. He had granted the power of the Scourge army to him to raze the world at will. Arthas had not questioned him why he had received such unstoppable gift and therefore he followed the orders of the Lich King and the damn Runeblade.

When Sylvanas escaped from the power of Arthas, she thought that the ruins of Lordaeron would be the ideal place to settle down, to build her revenge against this man from the forgotten rubble of the kingdom which he had destroyed.

Besides revenge against Arthas, who had mercilessly killed all the elves that lived next to Sylvanas, who had profaned her beloved and sacred land and had taken her life by giving her an inert and empty existence, now loaded with other great responsibility too. Sylvanas had become a queen of a, not inconsiderable, undead faction.

The Forsaken.

So they called.

Sylvanas was proud of that title. Forsaken. Yes, they had forsaken to the Scourge, to their Lord Arthas, they had gotten rid of those damn chains that subjected them, the yoke of his power, the overwhelming control of Frostmourne, which did see that was due to the strong arm of Arthas, when this damn blade was actually who dominated the wearer at will, urging him to end more lives to appease its insatiable thirst. Frostmourne was always thirsty for new souls.

During those years, Sylvanas had ruled her undead subjects with respect, creating a faithful and united people that will obey her to beyond death, until their bones and rotting flesh could no longer move. They owed their freedom to her Lady and admired her by all she had endured.

This formidable elf had perished fighting with honor against the Death Knight who dared to laugh at the courage and determination of the people of Quel'Thalas, that magical place, full of purity, nature and protected by the relentless power of the Sunwell. Scourge destroyed not only each of those innocents who opposed the invasion, besides they polluted the Elrendar river with their decomposed corpses and desecrated land destruction leaving a mark on the ground where never again sprout life and had called the Dead Scar, leaving an indelible memory of that tragic day that was tinged with the blood and pain of their inhabitants.

But death was not the only punishment that Arthas had provided the warrior who came face to face with her destiny. He enjoyed torturing his enemies making them obey cruelly and soulless orders that tore their hearts, so he raised Sylvanas' body granting her the form of a banshee, thus obtaining a dangerous subjet who won't stop fighting for a moment to escape the excruciating control of the undesirable who given her death.

But revenge was a dish best served cold and Sylvanas had all eternity to bide his time.

For many years, Arthas remained asleep under the Frozen Throne in Northrend, recovering his fervent power, locked under the Lich King's helmet after having destroyed his previous carrier, Ner'zhul, the orc shaman who had betrayed nature attracted for the juicy powers of sorcery and had been turned into a miserable entity was named first Lich King. That entity had actually been created by the whim of the powerful demon Kil'jaeden, who delighted creating this damn existence and granting him the power of the Scourge, perfect puppets to spread plague and destroy everything that was beautiful and pure in the world . But that decrepit orc consumed by greed and power was destroyed by the unwavering hand of Arthas, absorbing what was left of him and finally becoming the legitimate ruler of Frostmourne, obtaining the title of the one he had served without questioning why.

Arthas won't be the Death Knight of the Lich King any more. Now he was the new Lich King.

He had finally awakened from his lethargy. It was the moment that Sylvanas had been waiting to unleash the fury of revenge. Now Arthas had come out of hiding and could face him. However, instead of a feeling of happiness by being so close to her triumph, a sense of fear gripped her body.

She had forgotten what she felt linked to the existence of that Death Knight. A sudden and unexpected nostalgia wrapped remembering the painful moments she had endured under her command. Such was the agony of existence that had learned to accept the pain as her only companion. Losing any other human feeling, pain was the only thing pushing forward. As undead, she couln't feel anything else. She wasn't sleepy, hungry or tired. Her body floated into an unreal existence. At least there was no longer a banshee, a ghost floating tore her enemies with her shrill cry. When she escape from Arthas control, she recovered her old Elvish appearance. However, her rosy skin was now as gray as the ashes of their ancestors. Her blonde hair as golden as the sunlight had become silvery strands that reflected the influence of the moon. Her crystalline eyes, as sky blue as the rivers that crossed the valleys, had turned red as the heart of the mountains, like the blood of their fellows who had been spilt in battles that were doomed from the beginning. Frozen in that prison of time where her heart couldn't beat anymore. Her beautiful appearance, which all her subjects admired, because her body did not decompose like others, was the incessant scar reminded her every minute all that she was lost.

However, that lifeless body was a second chance. The chance to achieve everything in life had failed.

Sylvanas felt confused. Her determination had worn herself for years to plan carefully her revenge, to experiment a harm able to destroy her enemy, waiting for him to wake up. But now that she had recoverd the link, she was overwhelmed by his distant presence. She had forgotten what she felt under his control, under those cold eyes that subjected, under the wicked smile that spread across his face whenever he ordered one of his evil plans. Their existence only made sense to revenge of him. But once she archieve this, what would become of her? Would she achieve her rest or feel a deeper hole into her heart unable to beat?

Her existence was linked to Arthas. Her confronted souls were joined by a tie covered with thorns that drew them to each other relentlessly. Her agony was connected to the cursed of the Death Knight. So far, concentrated on her plans and her obligations, she hadn't realized she missed those painful moments with him.

Hatred and desire can walk together, often apart by a line too thin. Feelings so deep seldom exist separately. Hating your dearest person, desiring your worst enemy. The vagaries of the heart are often cruel. Sylvanas's heart was no different. But it was time to undergo those feelings. Continue to do all she could do, the only thing pushing forward her but without knowing where she was carried. Continue with her yearn revenge.

The Lich King opened his eyes after so long, with his sky blue and frozen eyes through the holes of the metal helmet. He felt a renewed and unstoppable energy through his body. He inhaled frigid air that permeated the air, grabbed the arms of the throne and stood feeling them contracted all his cramped muscles.

He had slept enough.

The world awaited his return.