Warnings: This is rated M for a reason: Violence, language, adult situations etc.
Disclaimer: World of Warcraft and its characters belong to Blizzard, I'm not making money off this, promise.
Chapter 1
The Lich King, feared leader of the Scourge, once known as Arthas Menethil, bane to all of Northrend... lounged lazily atop his icy throne. His helm rest on the left arm while his armored arm cradling his chin rest on the other. Frostmourne lay sprawled across his lap, his fingers absentmindedly tracing the intricate rune patterns while his thoughts lay nowhere in particular.
Rarely did he have a moment to sit and reflect, there was always so much to be done, as of late more so than usual... adventurers had begun to flock to Northrend in droves, and though they had usually proven to be little more than a nuisance, a few always managed to slip through the cracks.
Parasites... he whispered to himself. Little more than bottom-feeding maggots who roved from place to place, wherever the coin was good. Despite the highly unfavorable conditions and extremely precarious nature of Northrend, they still somehow found their way here and promptly become a thorn in his side. He knew logically that mercenaries could normally prove to be useful if wielded properly, with the right motivation even, he even had his eye set on perhaps turning some of them... it was the nature of the scourge, using the fallen corpses of their enemies to turn them into allies. Granted normally unthinking allies, but obedient. Even his lieutenants were sniveling at his feet, begging his forgiveness for their pathetic failures or cautiously informing him of their minute successes. Kel'thuzad had certainly been preoccupied recently with overzealous adventurers piling into Naxxaramas by the dozen, eager to strip his sergeants of their baubles...
Which brought his attention back to the very reason of why he indeed had a moment to himself, to collect himself before he welcomed his newest prisoner. The Scourge rarely took prisoners of any kind, ordinarily any sort of opposition was cut down where they stood. And while they bodies were still fresh, the blood still flowing from their wounds, consciousness only beginning to fade from their eyes... they were raised to serve the Lich King. Their mangled corpses twisting and breaking, becoming the very thing they despised most; he loved the irony.
His tongue briefly left his mouth to sweep across the arid, pale lips that were now so familiar as he again thought of his prisoner. His subordinates had been confused to say the least when he had made the order to bring the prisoner in alive, but this one was special. Over the course of months they had meddled in his affairs, disrupted his plans, slicing through his lieutenants as if they were nothing. But they were nothing... a temporary means to an end, a convenient outlet for distributing lesser orders to so that he might focus on the truly important.
Yes... this one should do nicely.
As if on cue, a leathery creature with disproportionate limbs entered the grand, icy chamber that was his master's resting place and began to crawl towards the frozen throne. The geist moved in such a manner both in subservience and out of necessity. This particular scourge was especially adept at jumping and balance, able to navigate the most unstable terrain. They made decent spies if one could ever get them to speak properly...
The thing made a dry wheezing cough, as though its throat had been stuffed with cotton. "...hmmgph... hhhhmm... the prisonhher h-has arrived, mmmph, master" it managed to wheeze out, twitching nervously at his inability to speak quickly enough.
The Lich King gave the slightest of nods and waved the thing away. "Bring her in."
Putting its face to the floor in an attempt at a bow, the geist went scampering back to the ornate doorway, making a few hurried gestures before disappearing and the doors swung open wide.
Two abominations, one of the most feared and repulsive scourge but little in the way of mental capacity entered, innards appearing to leak from any available orifice. Their enormous bulbous bodies began to shuffle towards their master ushering the prisoner, flanking the diminutive form of a human woman. One giant swollen hand each resting on her shoulders, it appeared an almost absurd sight. More than tripling her size it seemed rather an unnecessary precaution, who could possibly be a threat with two hulking abominations and the Lich King himself in a room? But just the same, her hands magically sealed behind her back, armor and weapons stripped away, the woman appeared little more than child about to be punished.
She wore simple black clothing, her shirt sleeveless, her boots practical. Her dark hair lay in disarray, dirt and blood marring her face. Her countenance was a cold mask, amber eyes boring straight into Arthas. It was nearly impossible to read exactly what emotion swam in those liquid depths, but she did not waver from her stare.
As she drew closer the Lich King took in every detail. He'd seen her before of course, but always through some distorting medium: a portal, a blurry image, a dream, but now she was before him in the flesh. He noticed her arms, muscled and firm; warrior arms to be sure. He also noticed under the grime the milky whiteness of her skin, and the goose flesh that prickled there. One could argue that she wore very little and they were not only in Northrend, but the frozen domain of the Lich King himself in the shivering pits of Icecrown... but he had observed a mind over matter mentality about this one and he did not easily dismiss that it could be something else making her hair stand on end. Her continued stare did not unnerve him of course, it only reinforced his determination that she was the right one.
Putting on his cruelest smirk he began to speak, voice rumbling and echoing throughout the chamber.
"It was my understanding..." as he languidly stood from his throne, "that a good rogue never allowed herself to be caught."
The rogue said nothing, lips tightening only slightly. Her eyes remained steady, but making their own candid sweep over the Lich Kings unarmored face. She had seen him before of course, both as the young Arthas and at his full might as the Lich King on many occasions. She'd even fought side by side with him with the aid of the Bronze Dragonflight, helping him burn Stratholme and slay the innocent citizens inside to "save" them from the plague. He had been so young there, his handsome face gleaming with determination, lines of hardness only just beginning to form. Then again she had seen him when she had just but first arrived in Northrend. In a dream in the Howling Fjord he called to her, speaking of her potential, then nearly slaying her on the spot. And again just as King Ymiron was about to awaken, the Lich King appeared and whisked him away to the Pinnacle. And again! Coming face to face with the treacherous Drakuru, he had spared her, speaking of a time where they would meet again.
There were countless other instances in which she could recall him directly involved in whatever endeavor she was working on at the time. The rogue was not so foolish as to think this coincidence, but neither did she think that the majority of these missions were important enough to constitute a personal visit from the leader of the scourge himself.
Trying to push the thoughts away for they helped little in her current situation, she chose instead to focus on his face now, having never seen him both with his helmet off or relaxing in a seemingly casual manner. Traces of the attractive young man she had seen at Stratholme did remain but she did not believe that much if any of that man still existed. His skin looked tired, pallid and gaunt. The glowing blue eyes seemed a furnace of malice and hate, burning into anything his gaze passed over. The white tendrils of hair, unkempt, dirty and forgotten hung lifelessly down his back. And his mouth... she couldn't recall ever seeing him smile but there it was, curved slightly into a malicious half-grin, promising unspeakable horrors. Strangely it was the thing that put her most on edge, as if he saved it for only his "special" victims.
Remembering that he had spoken she ceased her musings and remained silent, noticing that he was looking at her somewhat expectantly. Not necessarily for her verbal response but possibly more to gauge her reaction to his words and presence.
"You should be honored I think, you have been so troublesome since your arrival here in Northrend that laying a special trap just for you, well that does not happen often."
The smirk, if it could be called that, continued.
"I must admit, it was not easy finally getting my hands on you..." the Lich King emphasized this by picking up Frostmourne and taking a step down from his throne, his eyes never leaving hers, the curve of his mouth even growing a tiny bit wider.
"Tell me, rogue, what is your name?" He took another step closer.
The woman did not quiver, she merely stood, raising her chin ever so slightly in a defiant gesture. She was more than prepared to die, she had narrowly escaped death countless times, but not knowing what exactly he had in store for her was beginning to eat at her nerves. A narrow escape did not seem to be in order this time, however, the manacles holding her hands in place were unlike anything she'd ever encountered with no conventional lock to pick and magic binding them in place. One abomination was a feat in of itself to take down when she had surprise and her swords at her side. And of course the obvious problem of the Lich King, inching closer with that damned smile on his face, Frostmourne hovering at his side.
"It is of no consequence," he replied to his own question after the rogue didn't respond. "I already know your name well, Vaedra. It has plagued me ever since your arrival here. It is... unfortunate, that you do not wish to know more of why I have brought you before me. But no matter..." He turned as though he intended to retake his seat, but in a whirlwind of movement he spun around and in two lightning fast strides he stood directly before her.
"While you are in my presence however, I will not tolerate insolence. When I ask you a question, I expect you to answer it." His cold breath washed over her face, the stench of death filled her nose. The smirk was gone, replaced with a deadly grimace and the eyes seemed to burn her to her very soul.
The rogue appeared unfazed, she held her composure and would not show weakness. She wouldn't go out quivering like a kitten. She had stared death in the face more than once, and here he was incarnate, coldness she could feel emanating from his person, smoldering eyes threatening to consume her in an instant.
The smirk returned as he regarded her cool composure. "I didn't expect it to be easy." And with that he nodded to the abominations which until now had been utterly motionless, perfectly predictable and easy to manipulate. Using their brute strength they abruptly shoved Vaedra down to the floor, her nose just brushing the ground.
"Ugh.." at the sudden pressure and movement she couldn't help but let a grunt escape her. She could only see his armored feet, and then Frostmourne, the cursed blade resting next to her cheek.
He watched her struggle just a bit, uselessly against her bonds and the enormous fleshy hands that held her knelt to the floor.
"Tell me, why do you do it? Is it the coin? The glory? Some predictable woeful tale of your family being wiped out by the plague? You certainly don't seem to fit the profile of one in with the Argent Crusade lot." He paused, not really expecting an answer, resting his sword nearly on her shoulder directly next to her delicate neck. "So why?"
"Just finish this." Unwavering she spoke. It was not spat out or whimpered, merely... resigned.
And suddenly, he began to laugh. It started as a low rumble in his chest, escalating until he threw his head back and howled into the recesses of the ceiling. It was not a musical sound by any means, terrifying and maniacal, Vaedra almost believed for a moment that he intended to spare her... but for what sick end?
The sound ended abruptly, his sword arm had remained remarkably still for one so absorbed in his own twisted thoughts.
"Don't be a fool, I did not go to all this trouble, set an intricate trap for your capture, drag you all the way to Icecrown so you could lay before my throne like a dog and you could simply perish. No, I'm much too hospitable for that. Instead...I have a gift." The sword left her neck as he turned away from her.
"I don't want your 'Gift', Arthas." The toe of his armored boot collided with her ribcage before she could blink, the shattering pain ripping through her already beaten and sore body. The undead holding her in place prevented the reflexive action of curling up and huddling against any more pain, instead she groaned through clenched teeth. Her hair was roughly grabbed as the Lich King yanked her head back so she was forced to look directly into his blazing eyes. The deceptive calm on his face belied his inner rage.
"Oh yes, and you shall only be referring to me as Master... is that clear?" His nose was less than an inch away from her own. She uselessly tried to turn her face away from the stench that invaded her nostrils, from the chill of death she felt as he breathed.
Vaedra made to spit directly into his eye when the other gauntleted hand came up and suddenly backhanded her viciously. The coppery tang that she tasted was not new to her, but nor was it ever a pleasant experience. He released his hold and stood up, allowing her to dispel the blood accumulating in her mouth. After a few hearty spits she looked up at him again, a line of red trickled out the side and down her angular chin.
"It'll take more than that if you intend to break me." She said as coolly as she could muster.
That same smirk began to creep back onto his face, though it seemed to morph into more of a sardonic sneer the longer he looked at her. She was definitely... courageous if you could call it that, though she seemed to have a bit of impulsiveness and recklessness come over her when faced with inevitable doom. Pondering just a moment, he thought it reminded him of someone, a young man he once knew. While the young man was full of passion, the rogue was as chill as Northrend itself, but the spirit seemed to be the same, and this pleased him.
Looking down at his prisoner he spoke, almost tenderly, "Oh my dear, I do not intend to break you... I simply mean to take what is mine." Raising Frostmourne to point directly at the woman, her eyes widened ever so slightly and her jaw clenched. She didn't know what he meant exactly but she steeled herself for what was to come.
The Lich King closed his eyes and began whispering, an incantation she could not make out nor understand had she been able. No amount of preparation could have readied her for the feeling that began to come over her. She gasped for air as her heart wrenched, her stomach churned and her blood ran hot and cold all over at once. Something within her lurched, and she clung to hold on to it. It wasn't a physical part of her for she could not grasp it with her hands, nor part of her consciousness, for she would have reached out with her mental willpower to keep it safe deep within her psyche. Her body shook violently against her metal bonds chaffing the delicate skin on her wrists, her chest heaved as she watched with horror as a violet essence, like a ribbon almost, emerged from her chest and began winding towards the Lich King. He held out his free hand as the essence whirled into a perfect sphere, resting on the palm of his gauntlet.
He whispered another brief incantation into the sphere as it lay twinkling ethereally in the phantasmal, icy chamber. Appearing to be nothing more than a solid glass orb, shimmering faintly, he let out a faint breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Vaedra was trembling and a spattering of blood littered the frozen ground as it seeped from her nose. Her face was deathly ashen and dark rings emerged around her eyes.
"Wha-....what the hell did you do to me?" She sputtered out, her heart racing, her mind hardly able to form a coherent thought. A tumultuous downpour of emotions came over her, the carefully laid dams bursting open leaving her feeling helpless and oh so small... completely at his mercy.
Observing his work he closed his palm, hiding the orb from her view, making Vaedra's heart sink just a little more though she couldn't fathom why. He was slightly annoyed at the quivering woman at his feet but reasoned that she would undoubtedly need some time to recover being as how he was keeping her human. Looking down into her face thoughtfully he took the first step into her mind...
You are mine.
