Jaina Proudmoore dismounted from her horse as one of the camp hands rushed to help her down and stable the horse. She murmured a soft thanks before looking up at the other approaching figure: Arthas Menethil, Prince of Lordaeron.
"Ah!" the flaxen-haired prince said, pressing his hand to his chest in a playful gesture. "The rose of the battlefield!"
Jaina could not help but notice that the humor in his voice was strained, and the warm glint in his eyes faded quickly. He had, she knew, a penchant for burying his emotions beneath his princely obligations and a wicked wit, but at the moment, he was doing a poor job of it.
"Good morning, Arthas," she said, offering him a kind smile. She stood back and gave the man a concerned once-over glance. "Battle has taken its toll on you, it seems."
And indeed it had—the paladin prince's face was pallid & haggard; there was several days' worth of stubble along his sharp jaw and dark circles ringed his weary green eyes. His armor and mace, however, were as they always were—a pristine, shining silver. Above all else, Jaina noted to herself with some humor, he kept his paladin's accoutrements unblemished.
"Well, my lady," he began in a tight and overly-formal voice, "I apologize if my appearance is unseemly to you, but as you can see—" he gestured to the muddy encampment around them, strewn with busy soldiers, some wounded, "appearances are not foremost on our minds at the present."
"Arthas," Jaina sighed, reaching out for the prince's arm, "That's not what I meant. I just—"
"Don't worry about it," Arthas said, pulling his arm away from her and waving a dismissive hand. He turned from her, striding toward the largest tent. "I am glad you're here, Jaina. I can't—I can't figure out what is happening to these people."
The pair walked into the tent, where Arthas pulled up one of the better chairs for Jaina before collapsing into a simple wooden one himself. He cradled his forehead in his hands, pale locks of hair spilling over his long fingers.
"This is not—this is no simple plague, Jaina. These people do not just fester and die, they—" he looked up at her through his fingers. "I don't know what to do. I'm glad you're here. Maybe we've bothered too much with holiness and weaponry and mundane measures. It has to be magic in origin. I don't know what to do."
Internally, Jaina was shocked to hear such an admission from the prince, who had always been headstrong to the point of arrogance before now. He had always prided himself on being in charge. People considered him brash, even for a royal. She did the only thing she knew to do, and leaned forward to stroke the back of his head comfortingly, like she remembered her mother doing when she was young.
"Whatever is happening, we'll figure out how to stop it together," she told him.
Arthas took her free hand in his own and kissed her fingertips. He rested his head against her chest and exhaled deeply.
"I hope we can," he whispered into the crook of her neck.
Someone cleared his throat, and Jaina and Arthas leapt away from each other, both faces reddening. Arthas' mentor, Uther Lightbringer, stood in the entrance to the tent, his form so large that the mighty warhammer at his hip seemed dwarfed compared to him. His armor shone as brightly as Arthas' did.
"Hello, Uther," Arthas said, standing up and quickly regaining his composure. The man Jaina had comforted only moments earlier had completely dissolved, and the confident, collected Prince Arthas had once again taken center stage.
"Prince Arthas," Uther nodded. He turned to Lady Jaina and bowed deeply. "Lady Proudmoore. It is good to have someone with such magical talent here. Has the Prince told you of our situation? It may be somewhat dire at the moment, I'm afraid."
"I was briefed in Dalaran. . ." Jaina hesitated.
The corner of Sir Uther's mouth twitched upward in a grim half-smile under his graying moustache. "I am not usually one to disagree with the Kirin Tor, my lady. However, there is no way that they could have prepared you for what you will see here. His Highness tells me you are quite strong-willed, which I am grateful for. You'll need it. I think. . .I think, regrettably, that the best way to let you understand what is happening here in Lordaeron is to show you." He turned back to Arthas. "I have something to show the both of you."
Arthas and Jaina exchanged furtive glances, and followed Uther to the outskirts of the barren encampment, past a series of bonfires. The air was ripe with the stench of charred flesh, but Arthas and Uther must have dealt with it for so long that they no longer noticed. Jaina discreetly put her hand over her nose and mouth as they walked past several soldiers heaving corpses into the fires. Some, Jaina noted, were horribly mutilated, and some seemingly unscathed.
"We have resorted to burning all of the dead, not just the ones we know are infected," Uther said solemnly. "But they are given a proper send off by our priests."
"It's a necessary precaution," Arthas said, almost defensively. "We can't let this spread."
"Now keep your distance," Uther warned. They approached a small gathering of soldiers. "We're not sure how contagious this beast is, or even if it really is dead."
The soldiers parted for the trio as they approached. At the sight before them, Arthas leaned away, holding a hand in front of him and scrunching up his face in disgust. "Oh," he said. "Oh, damn. Did it follow you home, Uther?"
Jaina nearly retched when she saw the bloated, grotesque figure on the matted grass in front of them. The foul odor of decay hung thickly over the corpse. Ropey, ragged innards spilled from the creature's swollen grey stomach. Jaina blanched and looked away from the sight to Uther, who stood wit his hands clasped behind his back, staring intently at the body.
"Is it even human?" she asked.
Uther shrugged, his bushy brows inching upward. "It—It looks to have been, well, created, lady. See the seams?"
And in fact, Jaina did see where the patchy pieces of sallow flesh were sewn together. She ran through all of her knowledge of necromancy and the various dark arts, trying to think of what this might be, what could be done about it. In the end, all she knew is that the unsettling feeling in the pit of her stomach would not go away any time soon.
"Did you find it like this or did you kill it yourselves?" Arthas said in a sober, hoarse voice.
"We found it quite alive—or animated, at least—lumbering through the forest to the east."
"Brill. . ." Arthas murmured, turning from the body.
"Yes," Uther said. "Should we check on the town?"
The two paladins' conversation faded from Jaina's ears as she crept nearer to the body. The closer she got, the more she could feel the dark magic emanating from it, corrupting the surrounding air, corrupting the air around Jaina. The woman shuddered and stepped back.
"This is strong, strong necromancy," she said suddenly, interrupting the two men. They turned toward her in unison. "This thing is dripping with all sorts of dark magic. Powerful stuff."
"You're certain?" Arthas asked.
"Yes." Jaina said. "And not to be alarmist, but I would not doubt that demons were involved. I can feel their taint on this creature."
Uther and Arthas both frowned. Arthas muttered a curse under his breath and walked away, hands balled up into fists. In his frustration, he kicked over a nearby chair. A few soldiers had gathered nearby, watching.
"Arthas," Uther said sternly. "Calm down."
"Calm down?" Arthas hissed, whirling around to face the elder paladin. The broken vessels in the whites of his eyes only served to brighten the green irises, making them appear almost animal-like. "This is my kingdom, Uther. These are my people that are being infected with Light knows what! I'm terribly sorry if I'm losing a bit of composure, but under the circumstances, I think it's understandable!"
"It's my kingdom too, boy," Uther growled. "And there's no use throwing a fit about this. You've got to lead your troops, now. I believe we should go toward Brill, since that's the area we found this abomination in. Do you agree?"
Uther sounded not unlike a very grave, very angry father with those last words and Arthas, though glowering, managed to get himself together. "It's the only clue we have to go on," he said, suddenly sounding very weary. "Round up a cadre of men, but leave some at the camp to keep guard. Jaina, you may make yourself at home in the tent we were just in. Help yourself to anything you like, and wait for our return."
Jaina cocked an eyebrow, looking incredulous. "I'm going with you, Arthas. You'll need me out there. Neither of you are trained to deal with magic like I am."
Arthas folded his massive arms over his chest and gave her a disapproving stare, but Uther spoke up: "She's right. And it's why she's here, after all."
"But Uther—" Arthas protested. Uther held up his hand.
"In fact, she'd likely be safer with us than at the encampment."
Arthas inhaled deeply, and shook his head. "Your father would never forgive me if anything were to happen to you, Jaina." He slung a pack over his steed, a massive white stallion bedecked in the white and blue of Lordaeron's flag. Arthas looked back at Jaina with an intense, enigmatic gaze. "And truthfully, neither would I."
"You have known me long enough to know I am not one of those porcelain doll noblewomen you all have on the mainland," Jaina replied, taking Arthas aside and grabbing his elbow. "I won't crumble at the first sign of threat."
Arthas had not forgotten that, not that she'd ever let him—Jaina was every bit, even more so, the lady that the noblewomen of Lordaeron were. But she'd grown up the apple of her father's eye in Kul Tiras, running wild in the port city, unpretentious and sun-kissed, compared to the alabaster princesses of Arthas' own realm. When her mother died, she had been one of the few women in the palace of her island nation, and so became greatly influenced by her father and brother. She was more interested in politics and history than dresses and perfumes.
It did not mean, however, that Arthas did not instinctively try to protect her from danger.
"Fine." he sighed, casting his eyes toward the noonday sun. "But ride close to me, and if we DO run into any problems, you stay back unless Uther or I tell you otherwise, understand?"
Jaina rolled her eyes. "So controlling! You'll make a great king."
A frown crossed Arthas' face until Jaina playfully hit him in the shoulder and began to walk back toward the rest of the camp.
"Don't worry, I'll try to stay alive," she said, looking back at him and smiling. He could not help but not smile back and follow her.