His white hair streamed like a frozen river, hard edges glinting with the pale, breathless sun. His face had no shine, no whispers of the light that once caressed his warm skin, no glow that reached out with welcome to whoever would accept its embrace. He was nearly dead now, though the concept seemed strange to him; he himself had never felt more alive. The adrenaline, the numbing cold, weaved together a high pulse, and combatted the starving ache that clawed and tore and gnashed at his insides so incessently. And unbeknownst to him, he was no longer a who, but a what- the who shouted from caverns of black somewhere inside his draining soul. Arthas, the death knight, anguished lover of the parasitic Frostmourne, stood without shame in his father's blood.
The time was now. The high elves sat helpless to the Lich King's prized champion, though their doom was aided by one of their own. Dalaran would fall next. Dalaran, the home and study and life of Jaina Proudmoore...Arthas felt no emotion at the imagining of her corpse. Perhaps, he thought with optimism, it would be preserved enough to fight alongside his army. A smile creeped along his white lips. Isn't that what they had always hoped for, to fight alongside one another? The course of his thoughts shifted rapidly, as a cruel voice haunted the air around him like a chilling breeze. Arthas listened intently and only stopped to summon his companion; it was with an ethereal shriek that Invincible appeared before him, and yet the ghoulish horse commanded from Arthas just a mere glance. The message had been received. Mounting the skeletal demon, Arthas headed east, without even a thought to the death he left behind.
The Sunwell must be taken.
The news of Arthas' betrayal had not escaped her ears. Blonde hair, lush and soft as spring's grass, fell about her shoulders in pretty angles and curls. Pink flushed her face, and her angry lips scintillated with the color of the reddest roses. She was no doubt a beauty, seemingly unaffected by the grief that had befallen her, but for her shrouded eyes that now glimmered with the gray mist of sorrow. Jaina could solely wonder at the creature her dearest friend had become. She was there when it had began, she was certain. What did she do wrong? Could she have altered the destiny upon which he had seemingly, continuously, flung himself?
A knock on the door interrupted her ruminations. Kael'thas hurried in, the door closing automatically behind him, as though it was a servant bowing before his might. The stress of the fall of Lordaeron played obvious across his handsome face as he sat down beside her. She witnessed his distress, and quickly threw herself into him in a frantic collapse. His arms enclosed around her, but his words frothed with hatred, as he snarled, "Monster! To think you were ever in his arms once. The thought is intolerable!"
She stifled a sob. Arthas was good then. She knew it. She felt it. But to tell Kael'Thas that was a dangerous venture. Instead she buried her head within the haven of his chest. They rested quietly for awhile, each one's mind lost in the troubles of Azeroth, each one's presence providing a safe respite for the other. Finally Kael whispered, "Don't go."
The gray mist in Jaina's eyes parted to reveal a deep, sparkling blue. "I know it will be hard on us. But he was right about what has happened. They all failed to listen. There is no more room for failure."
"My ancestors left Kalimdor for a reason. We cannot abandon this land; it is a symbol of our freedom to practice as we please."
"And by returning you will save this land," Jaina retorted. The prophet had told her to go West. She would not budge. She would not be like the others. Kael noted her resolve and held back his reply. Anyone who had been in Dalaran long enough knew that Jaina Proudmoore did what her spirit believed was right, no matter what the obstacles.
Her voice cooled as she said gently, "Let us enjoy this time together. I will be fine. As you know, some of your own will be traveling with me." He nodded before lifting her head so that their eyes met. Entwined, their gazes wove together for a lingering moment, until he leaned forward and pressed her lips against his own.
Suddenly the halls rallied as though with thunder, and Jaina and Kael both sat up instantenously. The sound dissolved as it approached, appearing to be the rushing shuffling of thousands. Jaina stood up-her head a chaotic vortex of chants- and readied herself for the worst. Kael was no slower, but as the sound neared, they found no need for fear.
"Jaina!" A familiar voice rang out, albeit a little out of breath. The door swung open and in came one of the trainees. He bowed before them in a fast and imperceivable manner before bursting out, "Quel'Thalas has fallen!"
They found need for grief.