This was it. The end of the road for him. This was what he had fought for… was it?
Prince - no… KING Arthas Menethil, faithfull servant and champion of The Lich King stood over the fallen body of Illidan the Betrayer, blood still dripping off of the runeblade known as Frostmourne. Turning his back on the demon, he walked towards the entrance to the glacier, leaving all outside but a cold and bitter wind…
The endless staircase leading to his master… To his destiny… As he climbed, step by step, thoughts swirled within his mind like a never ending vortex.
"You are not my king yet boy…"
"Forget this business and lead your men home."
"…nor would I obey that command even if you were!"
Fools… Both Uther and Muradin did not and could not understand. He did what he had to do, for the sake of his people. His old mentor had held him back. He was afraid of the prince surpassing him, he must have been. The dwarf cared not for the perils of man. So there was nothing he would not do to get back to his mountain. Old fools, both of them…
In the end, all his efforts had been for nothing…
"..-mn it Uther, As your future king, I order you…"
"-ve you lost your mind, Arthas?"
"Then I consider this an act of treason…"
Uther could have been at his side. He should have been there, cheering victory as they would drive Mal'ganis from Lordaeron. If he had joined him, perhaps they could have prevented the events that followed. No, the old man had to remain defiant, telling him what to do when clearly the Prince had command. He spoke up, in front of -everyone- and left with half the troops. Traitors… All of them. Good riddance…
"You lied to your men! Betrayed the mercenaries that fought for ye!"
He did what he had to! The dwarf's influence had been too strong, but they were so close! So close to defeating Mal'ganis, ending the plague! And those mercenaries would have turned against them sooner or later if they knew who they were. So a swift death… Yes, it was the only way. Those boats had to be destroyed. Those mercenaries had to be killed. For the sake of Lordaeron. For the sake of justice… For my people.
"What's happenin' to ye', Arthas?"
Vengeance… Vengeance poisoned his mind like a blood-hungering orc in the midst of battle. Did the old fart not see that? It was all that mattered! Everything rested in his hands, in Arthas' hands! It was his responsibility to save his land, to free his people and to rid the world of the Scourge!
"…Your young Prince will find only death in the cold north…"
Arthas halted. This… This memory was not his. Who had said that? He turned to see if there was someone behind him, yet he was greeted by nothing other than the bitter cold wind and unholy sounds resonating from the Icecrown Spire he was ascending. Looking back up, he saw that he was not far from the top. Just a few more stairs…
But the unknown memory tormented him. Who? Where, when? His mind raced over his memories of the past months… Was it Uther? One of the other Paladins? Kel'Thuzad, Sylvanas, Antonidas, Jain-
Jaina…
In all this time he had not given one thought to her. Not one moment where he had thought of the woman he used to love… A hesitating step up the stairs.
He had decided. He sheathed the Runeblade and closed his eyes. Her face burned brightly in his memory, in his mind, and he faded from Northrend…
—-
She should have seen this coming. After all, it was inevitable.
"I will not stand for this!"
"You will have to. Do you think we asked for this?"
"It's bad enough that they have razed and destroyed far too much back on the home continent, but now you are considering sending emissairies to the orcs?!"
Jaina stood up. "We are living extremely close to them now. If we want any notion of peace, we are going to have to negotiate with them. If need be, I'll do it myself. Besides, I did not hear you complain when we fought side by side against the Legion!"
The noble with whom she was arguing narrowed his eyes. "Times were different then…"
"Times have not changed. Our situation is not the best, so now is the perfect time to drop all your sad prejudices and accept the facts presented. Now if you do not mind, I have other things to attend to!"
Her final sentence did not permit any defiance, so the noble sneered and exited the tent. Jaina sighed and conjured a flask of water and a goblet.
"Everything all right, M'lady?"
Her captain stepped forward. She poured herself a drink and nipped it thoughtfully. "I am. But I could use some time alone… So if you would…"
The captain nodded, saluted and exited the tent as well, leaving the sorceress alone. Placing the goblet back on her desk, she buried her face in her hands. So many troubles already, and now they came with this… A wind swept over Theramore and she shuddered briefly. How to convince them that an alliance with Thrall would be to their best benefit…
"Jaina…"
The voice crashed down on her as if she were assaulted by ten Archimondes. Looking at the entrance, she saw him. Snow white hair, armour as black as the void and a face so pale… And blue eyes. Those eyes that she had fallen in love with, so long ago.
In the midst of her storm of emotions, repulsion rised for the man that had brought her kingdom to its grave, and had murdered so many.
"What are you doing here?!" she snapped.
"Jaina, I-"
"Not a word!"
Arthas faced the floor. He couldn't bare to look her in the eyes. Not now.
"If you came here to show remorse, you are far too late. The Legion has destroyed nearly everything in Lordaeron, and your new allies wrapped up the rest. Quel'thalas was even your own doing! Your actions are unforgivable, Arthas!"
He was still facing the ground. "I will not deny what I did…" he spoke softly.
"Nor do you regret it! not a single emotion runs through you anymore. You are dead, Arthas. Your very name has become a taboo. Do you realize this? You have become a stain! Your very essence, your very soul! Everything about you!"
She turned and lowered her head, tears welling up. All the memories of all the people that had stared at her in their state of death… People she had loved, she had known…
Arthas stepped forward. He wanted to hold her. Comfort her… Feel her warmth…
"Stay there…" Jaina's voice sounded weak and fragile.
"Arthas, how can you live with yourself? When you slaughtered everyone in Stratholme… When you killed your own father?"
The Death Knight closed his eyes. "All I ever wanted was to avenge my people…"
"But in the end, you were the cause of Lordaeron's fall. Your betrayal ensured the death of nearly everyone in the Kingdom!"
Arthas took in her entire being. He remembered the first time he saw her…
"Do not look at me like that…" She said softly, uncomfortable.
"How then?" He asked. "What did you expect when you saw me here? That I had come to kill you in cold blood -"
"Like you killed Uther?"
His face became a sneer. "Do not bring him up."
Jaina's eyes narrowed. "You see, even in death you fear him."
"I do NOT fear Uther, nor any follower of the Light!"
"You do not fear his power or strength, Arthas Menethil, You fear his wisdom and the fact that he WAS right about you!"
Her words placed his mind in a stasis. She was right. Uther was right. he knew that they had all been right. All but him…
Jaina stepped closer. "Arthas. You are no longer the Prince I fell in love with. I am sorry… But what existed between us died at Stratholme…"
Arthas removed a gauntlet and breathed in deep. "So this is it, then…"
He held something in his hand, and Jaina inspected the ornament. Her heart froze. It was a ring. One of the twin rings they had bought each other the day they had declared their love to one another. All thsi time, he had worn it, even in death…
In a flash, Arthas had stepped forward and pressed his lips against hers. It felt unnatural to her. But also familiar. Cold, but heart warming.
Ending the kiss, Arthas took a few steps back and placed his gauntlet back on his hand.
"Goodbye, Jaina…"
And in the blink of an eye, he vanished. And where he stood, only the ring was left. Jaina fell to her knees and cried. She had not cried like this when she was present at Uther's burial. At Terenas' burial. When she had left Stratholme behind her, the moment the Purging was about to begin… And yet now she cried as if she had just lost everything. He would never return. He was gone forever. Even as her captain rushed in the tent, placing a hand on her shoulder and asking what had happened, she would not stop. The ghost of the kiss she had received haunted her lips, even as the sun set over Theramore Island.
—-
Return the blade…
Complete the circle…
Release me from this prison!
Ner'zhul's voice echoed in his head. He tightened his grip on Frostmourne and gazed directly at the Frozen Throne, at the heart of the Scourge. A final tear escaped from his eye, and with a howl of grief and anger, he stepped forward, lifted the Runeblade and struck.
A deathly scream filled the glacier as the Throne shattered and the glacier rumbled. Ner'zhul's helmet fell down the steps and ended at the Death Knight's feet. Ever so slowly, he picked it up and looked at it briefly. Then, with closed eyes, he carefully placed the helmet on his head.
Voices whispered… They whispered too much. A searing pain coursed through his body, but it did not hurt. He felt a presence. An overwhelming presence. One by one, the voices dulled away. The ungodly presence embraced his mind, and slowly, Arthas Menethil's mind began to shut down.
Now… We are one…