Revenge of Kael'thas

(Disclaimer: This story is based upon a game called World of Warcraft. Therefore, I do not claim any rights to their story, or game.)

((The Epilogue comes first, then the drag-out fight chapter is right after this one. Sorry, guys, but this new plot needed a bit more context before I jumped into the thick of things! And, for those of you just tuning in, 'Return of Kael'thas' no longer exists. It is being replaced by this story. Any old chapters from the Return of Kael'thas story can be found in 'MLFMP Deleted Scenes', so you can re-read anything that you've become particularly attached to whenever you want.))

Prologue: The Pen Pal from Hell

The bed was cold. Jaina took uneven breaths. Inhale shallow, quivering lip. Slightest pulse of a delicate vein, just beyond the edge of her eye. A man's finger teased there, turning the skin ice blue. Jaina exhaled a drawn, painful breath. He frosted the gentle flush of her cheekbone next, then pressed into the hollow above her jaw.

"You have a beautiful skull, Jaina." Arthas said.

What did she feel for him? Jaina forced her eyes open. She clawed her own fingers clawed into the white pillow case just beneath their heads. No. Right now, every ounce of her strength was focused on survival. Good.

Arthas touched his nose to Jaina's and puffs of white breath passed between them. Sunlight made the walls, the floor, everything carved from the heart of dark frozen ice, glisten. Sparse adornments had been abandoned on a crystalline table. Two old, forgotten statues faced either gently melting bedpost, against the far wall.

"Can you still hear me?"

"…Yes."

"Then try and answer, love." Arthas had to stop himself. She shivering for fear of him, or near to death with the cold. So sexy. He laughed and smelled her. "Once more. What is Thrall going to do with Lady Vashj?"

"I have Vashj."

"Do you, now?" Arthas squeezed Jaina hard, in a cuddle. "Oh you're cruel, I adore you, I knew it! There's a black streak in there somewhere… But what do you plan to do with the bitch?"

"…Saved her life." And then some breathy whispering about Stormwind and justice.

Arthas frowned, and his latent cruelty came and stole all away all the princely charm. "Oh fuck it all. You got my hopes up Jaina Proudmoore, I don't see what sense Bolvar or any of them would ever make of it. Just give her to Tyrande. Mmm… that'd be disastrous fun."

Jaina furrowed her brow, and appeared as hurt as if Arthas had bitten her. "…I don't understand you."

"Vashj? This is the sea witch who helped Kael'thas and Illidan get to Outland, but was conveniently unavailable when the time came for their silly triad to face me here in Northrend. What fun is it to just hand Vashj over to the authorities, Jaina? Darling? Sweetheart? Give her to Tyrande for me instead, and the High Priestess will completely freak out." Arthas laughed, and that echoed in his empty black ice palace. "I'd pay to see that, my little Magistrix. I'd sell tickets, Jaina. You know that I would."

Jaina breathed against his shoulder. She started to smile. "Jerk. Haven't changed…"

"No, Nerdboy's the jerk. And Illidan. By the way, why haven't they killed one another yet, Darling? Vashj is well out of the way, by now."

"Thrall said…"

Arthas made a fist but then reached around and tugged hungrily at the woman's brunette hair instead. He made and crushed ice crystals with every eager stroke. "Go on, I won't be angry with you. I never have been."

"…Kael'thas was just married. He's planning to come home."

"No. He isn't."

"Thrall is a Farseer. And my fleet—"

"Well, Kael'thas is a Ghoul-turd. How about that? I know that for a fact. Kael'thas isn't going back to Silvermoon. The Horde would kill him, including your Thrall—I don't care how he sweet-talks you when I'm not around, and no one in the Alliance would stand for that, either. I also have some serious trouble believing that Kael'thas actually found someone to marry him in the first place. No wait, you're joking and it's just his succubus, isn't it? What was her name… Ruth… Ruth something. Doctor Ruthie."

"…Who?"

"Well, she's pretty. Of course I know about her. You poor thing, is your brain so fogged now that you even forgot how I used to do things? Oh, aren't you precious, Jaina Proudmoore! You think I'm some kind of saint beneath all this? You always did, didn't you? Adorable. Just exquisite. Now, tell me, who is this wife if it isn't a stunt with old Ruthie in some kind of grand costume to fool and endear the masses? Kael'thas married something like a Tauren, didn't he? A hideous cow. He would. He's desperate. We both know him best, that bookworm. Maybe Kael'thas won't answer my letters, but I bet his heifer would. And, you know, that'd be elite, to get in and control even that far…"

Jaina sneezed. Arthas marveled over how cute it was. Her nose blushed next, and then the place over her breast. Arthas pressed his ear against it, and she went instantly blue. The heart beat slowly in a cavity deep below…

"Oh no. Darling, you're getting too cold…"

"Kael'thas... up to… something. But Thrall and I, we have a plan—"

"That will have to wait love, when you can die. Shh. Come here, hold onto me. That's it…"

The Lich King had but only to reach out with an expectant hand, and suddenly, a loyal Deathknight was there to place a warm gold goblet in it. Arthas made Jaina sit up. Her drowsing head lilted back and the slight ball of her throat exposed. Arthas leaned in and craned her neck back still further, bringing the steaming concoction to her lips. Jaina choked immediately, and spat it back in his face.

"Make her." Arthas growled through violet, dripping slashes across his eyes and nose . A second Deathknight seemed to unfreeze from the far wall, no longer just a statue suit of armor. This one was a Troll who pinched two big callused fingers over Jaina's nose. She gasped for air and struggled, but Arthas was able to force the rest of the drink down. When Jaina was done coughing and crying, Arthas begged her to calm and rest, rubbed his cheek against hers, kissed her everywhere above the blue collar of her dress. This became a soft, terrified lullaby whispered against the woman's ear. Arthas encircled arms around Jaina's waist and her breathing slowed once more. Her arms and legs were rosy with life and pretty again, but also limp like a rag doll. Arthas and his Deathknight servitors all watched closely.

"My dear, little Magistrix… I would not have to do this to you, if would just obey me. I did not like waiting and waiting for you to arrive, no I did not. Do you think I want to make you into a puppet like these others? No, no I couldn't stand that." The Deathknights shared a look over their master's head then. "And worse than you being… forever changed, they would find us out, wouldn't they? My love, my dear, you must mind me alone, now. You must be strong for both of us. Ah, now, that's the steady heartbeat I need. Are you feeling alright again? What of Thrall? Quickly, while our special wine lasts... How does the Warchief plan to fight Kael'thas, exactly? Isn't that what Thrall intends, to oppose him? Kael'thas would be too powerful left unchecked. And what do you think Kael'thas is planning if he's somehow been freed of Illidan? Did your spies learn anything about that? You need to tell me. None of this fits into my plan. There are too many loose ends. Jaina? Wake up! I can't advance any further if you don't tell me something of value!"

Jaina looked at Arthas differently now, however, and at the Deathknights suddenly leaning so close. Her frosted lips opened, the perfect pearly teeth inside her mouth were smeared with thick red muck. The strange wine gurgled deep in the woman's throat. She was trying to scream.

Athas sneered at his men. "…Unthaw her."

The first Deathknight, a Human, took the emptied wine goblet away with one hand, then he reached in and hefted Jaina up and over a shoulder using his other strong arm. Jaina watched Arthas the whole time they departed. She was frightened, nearly to death.

When his bedchamber door closed, Arthas began speaking quickly, "This goes against everything, Zabran. Kael'thas is alive, and he shouldn't be. Illidan as well… why the first hasn't prostituted his addicted elf-ass to the Legion by now and why the second isn't strung up by his horns in Shatthrath City at this very moment, the notion is far beyond me. At the least, if Vashj couldn't manage to off one of them, then Kael'thas and Illidan should have murdered one another, Zabran."

The Troll answered, tusks catching glazed ice-light. "Yes, Lich King."

"And then there's Tyrande to consider. I truly wasn't joking, she does need shaking up. Why won't that woman make a move to save Malfurion or else murder Illidan? It should be so easy for her now. Tyrande would have been the key to eliminating at least one of my enemies—I truly don't care which, but for some reason she refuses to act. What in Fel could Tyrande possibly know about Illidan Stormrage that the Lich King himself doesn't—"

"Or else, Masta, Tyrande be actin' discreetly, workin' all along with otha people we dun know about."

"Possibly… and then there's the seventh Bloodknight, Magnus the Unmaker. Isn't that the name Jaina mentioned when we first got her in here? Now, why would Kael'thas speak to someone like that alone in the Ghostlands, away from the rest of his group? Gods, and during his so-called honeymoon at that. What a wonderful way to spend a wedding night… But when he's already got a collection of incompetents going, what's one more? Why keep the last one a secret from the others? A plan within a plan, perhaps? I don't like this at all, Zabran. I've reached all over with my abilities, but I can't divine past Northrend, and that's all Jaina would confess. All this waiting and waiting for those two to go on and die already is just infuriating…"

"Dis not as important as Sindragosa or de Argent Tournament..."

Arthas sat cross-legged on the frozen bed. He rested chin in palm, thinking, while his fingers roved to a thick fur mantle behind him. Marriage… Magnus… Tyrande… Illidan… Nerdboy…

Well, that Kael'thas had a son was at least no surprise. It amused Arthas to hear that news and then consider what the boy's existence must mean, if Illidan didn't object to it. Didn't Kael'thas realize the obvious connection? No mad, obsessed Demon Lord would allow his slave to have a son and heir but not a kingdom, those being one in the same. That part had been fun to figure out, Kael'thas' demise was obvious in that area.

But the rest? Arthas stopped fiddling with the rhino-fur mantle and pulled idly at the skin beneath his eye until the red underside of the lid exposed. "When it was time to conquer Azeroth, I attacked the Horde and Alliance cities directly. And so I picked the time and conditions of our battle. I even recruited champions from their own brash heroes who raced North. Zabran, you remember that path from Sen'jin to Icecrown, don't you? Now, Kael'thas and Illidan—so far away—are a threat to me. Zabran, the course now could not be more clear, when the trouble is the same. Obviously, Nerdboy has been working very hard on something secret. Something not even that old fool Illidan can see. Tyrande… Tyrande is like a vulture, circling and waiting for the fallout." Arthas cringed. "No, she'd never stoop to that… unless Kael'thas and Tyrande are working together?"

"Masta, dis not good strategy."

Arthas ignored it, and simply plucked out an eyelash while he thought. Zabran cringed. "…I find a collaboration between them hard to believe. Either way, I will have to handle Kael'thas in the same method that I handled the Horde and the Alliance. I must force him to come here and play his hand early so that I can see it. Then I will ruin him. And oh, he is planning something. Something great and terrible, I can feel it. I know Kael'thas better than anyone else left living. And he likewise knows me… Really, I've left him to live for too long."

Arthas looked up to see Zabran very irritated. "My King, you sure dis not be all because joo old friend get married before you? Cause I kin see it, an' we need to stop dis thinkin' of de past, quick! Kael'thas have a wife and son and a kingdom too, no problem at all… he even escaped da evil voices in his head, but you had to sell your soul to Ner'zhul just to—"

Arthas grabbed a fistful of the black rhino-fur mantle behind him and threw it savagely at his servant, directly into the Deathknight's face. The head and horns were still intact, impressive taxadermic specimen for a man versed in the dead to have. It was as if Arthas had brought the beast back to life to gore the Troll—and perhaps Zabran, in his terror, believed this. The Troll screamed the name of some old god, Arthas grinned to hear such a primal horror expressed, ripped beyond the barrier of even a past life. Oh yes, he was still so very good at freezing and shattering apart the hearts of prideful, useless men. Uther, then that bloated and ungracious father of his, and after Terenas there had been so many more… Anasterian, even Kel'thuzad before Arthas enabled him to find his truer, more capable form, as a Lich. Dear, dear Kel'thuzad… And most recently, precious today, there had been Zabran.

"A Deathknight can never escape the past, only learn from it. Imbecile." Arthas smiled at his distressed servant.

The Troll nodded his head in assent and cried desperately. Zabran attempted to close the large ripped gash in his face with six trembling fingers. Arthas loved it, he didn't want to stop watching his handiwork bleed and putrify. But he was not done yet this morning. Arthas hopped playfully down from the bed and crouched on the ice floor, by Zabran's feet. Then, the Lich King removed the protection of one gauntlet and waved a bare hand to form an opaque white frosted slick. The other hand dipped into the pooled blood of his servant to effect a living warmth that might melt that surface and form runes…

Dear Nerdboy,

I am hurt that you did not invite me to your wedding, or that you never answered any of my letters over the years. Why not? Jaina has, Vereesa has, and even Rhonin himself may do so soon... Wherever there are people who fear death, one may find a faithful servant in the Lich King. I don't care whether they realize it or not. Kael'thas, really, it's only courtesy to indulge such a grand opportunity to speak personally with the Lich King. You aren't afraid that I'm going to steal your soul through a mere correspondence, are you? I assure you, only wish to learn how my old rival is faring, if you've achieved all your dreams of honoring your father and ascending the throne—did I leave a throne for you to sit on, since we last chatted at the Dalaran Academy? Ha! Oh, and most importantly, I am very eager to know whether or not Celestia still orders your name stitched in every piece of those pathetic royal drawers. Because when we finally meet again, I am going to pull on that waistband, and hard, then leave you hanging up by your britches from the Eastern Obelisk for all of Northrend to see. I wish you could see how I'm smiling at that fantastic memory. I want it to be just like old times.

Alright then, my threatening letter is done. Come face me, don't make me write you again, you hear me! Face me, and I won't send ghouls to rip off your pointy shriveled elf ears and stab hot cobalt rods into your eyes, and smash your hands to crunchy bits with the flat of Frostmourne. For, you see, I would want to be sure at that point, that all along, you have been absolutely incapable of reading my letters, hearing them read to you, or most importantly, unable to respond to the kindly author within an appropriate time frame.

Yours in Death—you pathetic son of a bitch,

Arthas.

"Here, Zabran—haven't you stopped bleeding already? I want this rune-forged, and sent to Kael'thas. I'm sure you'll loosen some tongues, somewhere, to find a proper mailing address."

The Deathknight took the icy plaque reluctantly. It was clear what he thought about the task, but Arthas glared and the Troll gave a sharp salute across his chest.

"Master… Arthas… Ner'zhul? Whoever still be in dere… I swear on everytin' I got left in me, dis be a bad idea. You carved joo' heart outta joo chest, but it still be cloudin' your judgment!"

Arthas stood and snapped angrily at Zabran. An impatient, charming smile stretched painfully across the Lich King's face, while the other man attempted to hide his gaze. "Letters convinced Jaina and Vereesa, and everyone else, didn't they? And even if you don't agree on what only I could possibly know, about this great big revenge plan Kael'thas has got going... This much, this is all I have left." Arthas pinched his fingers together to measure, "Can't you see it? I only ever speak about it all the time. This is the last reputation grind I need in order to get The Achievement. Got it, Zabran? I have every-fucking-thing else, except for this, so… please, and for the last time: Do. What I. Tell you."

Zabran backed off slowly, in his roving Troll way, out of the Lich King's frozen bedroom. Arthas stood alone after those great black doors closed. He laughed at himself. He laughed at everyone and every thing that had ever been done against him.

"It's not an addictive game at all, Ner'zhul, you were right. This is just the most fucking fun I've had a very long time."

A hollow voice spoke out from every crevice of the room at once:

GOOD, ARTHAS. THEN WE ARE SURE TO ENJOY THE NEXT PATCH.

Arthas leaned over the bed and grabbed his stomach, he was laughing so hard. It was just too good. He took off his helmet, wrested off the breastplate, the gauntlets, everything. He exposed his entire body to the cold. He loved it. It tortured everything else, murdered people and creatures and spirits ever so slowly, but he would never succumb to it. And that was the best secret of all, the one thing no one really seemed to understand about him. His life was already done. When he freed Ner'zhul and put on that twisted, Nerubian crown, there was not one regret left.

Arthas had died happy.

This new life, as the Lich King, was rapture. Frozen berry-blue and succulent, on a stick. Ha! Fantastic! What a fine dessert, for a man to eat ice… that would be a fine thing to try later, much later. Only a Death God could have a pleasant seat and actually, really eat ice. Jaina would completely freak. But for now, if only he could get his old and very last friend Kael'thas to come and play…

((Author's Note: If you've read this far, I thank you, so very much, for waiting.))