Through His Lover's Eyes
Tonight was like one of a childhood dream. The moon shone overhead, an incandescent pearl glimmering silently as it bathed the city in a swathe of misty gray cloth. The jewel-like spires, so often flagrantly colorful and illuminated during the day, stood like silent watchers in the shroud of night. The light played patterns across the towers and seemed to make the city fade in and out of reality, playing tricks with the mind until one was not sure where they were.
The quiet was what completed the picture. Ever since the battle against the Lich King had started, Dalaran had become a warlike center for the different factions, often resulting in precarious stances between the inhabitants. Though the horde and the alliance were stubbornly fixed upon their ambitions, the other powers, such as the mages of the Kirin Tor, the devotees of the Argent Crusade, and the Death Knights of the Ebon Blade seemed to escalate the tension already coursing through the veins of the floating city. In time, matters would be brought to a head, but until then, the sects brooded menacingly under the façade of a united banner: to bring an end to the Lich King.
Yet none of these troubled thoughts filled Lady Jaina Proudmoore's mind as she gazed out over the peaceful city. Instead her mind dwelled on darker matters that even she dared not to think upon lest her true weakness be revealed.
Her sapphire orb-like eyes drifted to the northeast where she could see the constant, and ominous, thunderclouds that clamored and shook the sky. Ever since she had come to stay in Dalaran, the darkened skies were ever present over Icecrown, the realm of the Lich King… The realm of Arthas.
Yet even as her thoughts brushed upon his name, she recoiled from them. He was dead to her. Unless…
She pushed the thoughts aside and forced herself to mentally go over the invasion plans for Icecrown Citadel. The sheer complications of the attack sequence were enough to keep her occupied for hours on end, whiling away the time searching for a weakness in Tirion Fordring's plans. Yet she had exhausted all possible train of thought on the matter, and once again her thoughts wandered to the forbidden path she had sworn she would not retrace again, ever since her near escape from the Frozen Halls.
Up until the fateful meeting between herself and the Arthas, Jaina had hidden behind a mask of hatred and scorn towards the Lich King. She had convinced everyone, herself included, that her deepest desire was to see Arthas' broken body upon the Frozen Throne's floor. She thought she was strong enough to move on from her past. She had believed that because her duty to her people was powered by sheer will, she would be able to deny the clawing sensation of her emotions that were ripping her apart from the inside out, ever since she had left Arthas in Lorderon.
She loved Arthas. Regardless of the atrocious things he had done in the name of both the light and darkness, whenever she heard his name she pictured the golden haired boy who could make her laugh with one mischievous wink. She could see him standing in the gardens of Dalaran, seeming to glow in the light from the afternoon sun as they had walked besides one another, sharing their deepest secrets and emotions. Though she had publicly forsaken him since his betrayal of humanity and sanity, part of her buried deep beneath the years of hatred, turmoil, and resentment, could never forget the laughing boy. That secret piece of her soul pulsed with hope that he, the Arthas Jaina had loved, was still there, hidden underneath Ner'zhul's hold and Arthas' blindness.
Jaina shivered as her thoughts shifted to her last confrontation with the Lich King.
As she had entered the chamber, Frostmourne, stealer of souls, had been floating above its pedestal. As Jaina walked slowly toward the demonic sword, the light seemed to shift in the chamber, and a blinding chasm swirled around the blade. An apparition of Arthas' father, Terenas Menethil, last of the kings of Lorderon appeared before her. In an urgent voice, the ghost had recounted all of his knowledge about the possible defeat of the Lich King to Jaina and the warning of a successor to Arthas.
Suddenly, the doors at the end of the cavernous chamber burst open, and standing with a terrible power radiating from his form stood the Lich King. Covered in blackened plate armor etched with a cobweb of frost, the lord of all evil and dark strode forward and seized the hilt of his accursed sword. Immediately, the spirit of Terenas Menethil was banished back into the blade. Ordering his commanders to deal with the band of elite soldiers Jaina had brought with her, the Lich King had turned to retreat into his icy tomb.
Jaina, as though in a slowed dream, started to follow the Lich King. She did not know why she was gripped by the insane urge, but the small piece of her soul that had believed Arthas to still exist had taken control over both her mental and physical facilities.
She had followed him into a dark antechamber when suddenly he had turned to her and laughed mirthlessly. The hollow sound still rang in her ears as the maniacal cackle had pierced through her.
In that moment, Jaina's eyes had locked on the eyes of her former lover. Glowing an eerie and unnatural sapphire, the orbs were shining from under the spiked helm that cast most of Arthas' face in shadow.
Jaina would never forget what she saw in those eyes. There was no humanity, no pity, and no regard for mercy or love. There was only hate and madness embedded in the cruel orbs. In that one second, she realized that the boy she had once known had been, long ago, lost to the void.
The pain that gripped her then was beyond mortal agony. It would've been better if the Lich King had killed her and ripped her soul from her body. It would be better than that tormenting agony that had filled the very fibers of her existence. She believed that last thing she would ever see on this earth would be Arthas' heartless mocking eyes.
"Jaina?"
Jaina was abruptly drawn back to the present. Turning around, she saw the tall and muscular frame of King Varian Wrynn. He walked slowly to stand next to her and looked out over the city's spires.
His once handsome face had been hardened over the years, and the moonlight threw the lines in his face into sharp relief. The once laugh-lines had been turned into scowling wrinkles, and his eyes, long ago filled with happiness, had become darker and more brooding. The gash that covered half of his face was a husky vermillion, signifying a scar that would never heal.
"Peaceful night," said Varian, his deep tones quieter than usual, "I assume it is the calm before the storm."
Jaina nodded silently next to her king. Tomorrow was to be the last assault on the Lich King. Tirion and his paladins, the Horde, and the Alliance were to strike deep into the heart of the Frozen Throne, hopefully killing Arthas and ending the terror of the Scourge.
They stared out at the city, each lost in their own thoughts.
Suddenly, Varian turned to Jaina, "You must not dwell upon him Jaina. You as well as I know that Arthas is lost. You cannot let your hopes and feelings loud reality. The Alliance cannot afford to lose you."
Jaina remained gazing out at the city spires.
Seeing she was not going to comment, Varian spoke again, "This brooding is making things worse. Ever since your encounter in the Frozen Halls, you have barely been yourself. If you fall into this depression now, you are not serving your people, but your emotions. You know that our duty is first and foremost to that of our people. Such petty things as emotions must be ignored."
It was not said in a particularly confrontational way, yet Jaina felt an unknown anger seethe in her chest. "I have always put my people first my lord," said Jaina quietly. "I have done everything I could have done to aid in the fight against the Lich King. I have confronted him in his very chambers, and I have fought every emotion I have affiliated with my past, and I have lied every possible lie to myself in order to be able to kill Arthas, and yet you, dear king, who can't even bring himself to ally with the Horde even if it would mean an epoch of peace, stands before me lecturing one of his greatest allies on her failed duty?" Jaina turned to Varian, her eyes glowing with a terrible rage, "I have done my duty, my lord."
Varian's temper, controlled throughout Jaina's tirade bubbled over. His face contorted in rage as he said quietly, "your duty is defined as hiding your emotions when someone mentions the traitor's name. By ripping yourself apart over a long dead companion is pointless. Do you not see that it is killing you?! You almost died in the Frozen Halls! Think of the consequences if you were to be resurrected as a minion to the Scourge? You are one of the most powerful mages on Azeroth. If turned, you would obliterate us! And yet besides that, you believe that it is justified to run after a most terrible being in order to find a nonexistent part deep inside him where there is feeling and humanity within the Lich King, traitor to the Alliance, murderer of the blood elves, destroyer of Uther and countless other light-bringers, and killer of hundreds of thousands of soldiers, and twice that number of innocents. Jaina, he rips ones soul from their body, enslaves it, and forces it to fight against that person's former friends and family. I see no good in that monster's soul. There is only raw black evil. It is madness to believe otherwise."
Jaina stared at the sky for a longtime before whispering, "He was once your greatest friend."
Varian looked as though he has been shoved in the chest, yet he took a deep breath before continuing. "Yes. He once was. But no more." The sting was evidently intended in his voice and hatred rang out in volumes from it. Letting the comment hang in the air, Varian paused for a moment, then continued in a gentler tone, "We must rid this world of this evil. For the sake of Azeroth."
Jaina took a shuddering breath then said, almost inaudibly, "Yes, my king."
Straightening, Varian turned to go, "I expect to see you on the Skybreaker tomorrow as we depart into the final stage in the war against the Lich King," said Varian, authority ringing in his voice. When Jaina did not answer, he turned to her once again and said quietly, "Jaina, the only thing we can do for Arthas is to release him from his self created hell. I take my leave," and with nothing more to say, King Varian Wyrnn left the chamber.
Jaina remained staring out the window for a longtime afterwards. Only the stars witnessed her silent tears.
She was sitting alone, her back against a tree reading one of the tomes from the Dalaran Library. It was autumn, and though it was still warm many leaves had quietly fallen in defeat to the ground, their fiery hues coloring the landscape in a swathe of color. It was nice to be able to leave the confines of the mage city and its ancient professors, and in order to enjoy the last rays of warmth of the year, Jaina had taken her studies to a remote part of Crystalsong forest.
The dappled light of the setting afternoon sun played across her hair, making it shine like golden thread. A slight breeze playfully ruffled her locks and suddenly a hand shot out and tucked a loose strand back into Jaina's hair. Looking over, she could not help but smile as Arthas grinned back at her.
"Jaina," he laughed softly, his mischievous blue eyes twinkling, "you worry me. You study so much I fear you will end up becoming grey like those archmages!"
She laughed and retorted playfully, "better grey and intelligent than young and foolish!"
He smiled at her once more, and her hearth momentarily skipped a beat. She grinned and said, trying to keep her voice from shaking, "I have something for you."
He looked amused, and once again the mischievous look played across his face, "What could the ancient yet fair student give to a lowly prince?"
She gave him a withering look, but she ruined it by giggling, "Oh just a trifle," she said, handing Arthas a small locket. It was a simple gold chain, ending in a small golden heart. Inside the case was a miniscule picture of Jaina herself that she had magically shrunk to fit the confines of the frame.
Arthas stared at it for a long moment then looked up at her, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Thank you, my lady."
A torn expression appeared on his face, as if he was struggling to make a decision, then coming to verdict, his eyes shone with a love Jaina had never seen before. Leaning toward her, he whispered, "you are wise beyond your years, and yet you are the fairest still," He closed his eyes slowly and his lips met hers.
She closed her eyes, yet in that split second of darkness, everything seemed to change. As though falling through a void, she opened her eyes to not be in that sunny field, but rather in front of a peaceful city. At first she believed it to be Stormwind, but as she looked closer, she saw that it appeared to be different. The stone was different and the towers and gate were in the wrong places. At the sound of hoof beats behind her, she turned around and felt dread clench her stomach.
Arthas, older and less carefree, clad in full armor rode next to a silver haired paladin garbed in the regalia of the Knights of the Silver Hand. Even as she watched, the paladin reined his horse and turned to Arthas.
"Arthas, as Stratholme has not yet been affected by the plague, we cannot purge the city in the name of the light when there are still innocents alive in there."
"Uther," said Arthas turning to the man, "regardless of their innocence, in a few hours they all will be mindless husks seeking to devastate our forces. If we act now we will lose fewer soldiers and still be able to reach Mal'Ganis in time than if we wait!"
"Arthas, we cannot do this in good conscience! If those people-"
"Do not tell me what to do Uther! I am the Prince of Lorderon and I say we purge the city now!"
Uther's face turned into a shocked mask, "Even if you were my king, I would not obey that command. I will not purge that city while innocents still reside in it, whether they ingested the plagued grain or not!"
Arthas' face darkened. "Then be damned!" he shouted, "I have no need of you anymore. I dismiss you, Uther Lightbringer from the order of the Knights of the Silver Hand! Farewell!"
Spurring his horse forward, he turned back to Jaina, "My apologies Lady Proudmoore that you had to witness such a disgrace. Will you join me in the purging of Stratholme and the defeat of Mal'Ganis?"
The words that had been said years ago echoed in Jaina's throat once more: "I'm sorry Arthas… I can't watch you do this." She turned slowly to follow Uther.
"Jaina?" The sadness in Arthas' voice made Jaina look back over her shoulder at him. Their eyes met and she saw the hurt and anger flash in his eyes. She wanted to reach out to him, when suddenly the world seemed to spin and change once more.
The sky blackened to form a black saronite ceiling, and the world around Jaina became cold. Where Arthas had stood was, in his place, a tall figure clad in the darkened armor adorned with skulls. Frostmourne was held loosely by the figure's side, but as always, Jaina was drawn to look into the figure's nightmarish face.
The inhuman crystalline eyes stared coldly into Jaina's and once again that soul splitting sadness tore through her.
The Lich King drew close to her and raised his sword. Jaina held her staff up to block the oncoming blow, but the power behind the thrust struck her to the ground. The staff clattered uselessly away, the diamond tip shattering.
As Jaina's vision dimmed, she saw the leering face of her past-lover floating above her. "Die well, Jaina Proudmoore," the lich said as it raised Frostmourne once more.
Jaina awoke in a cold sweat and stared at the dawn light breaking through her window. Though she has seen the nightmare almost every time she closed her eyes, it did not make the images any less painful or real. Straightening up, she saw the armies marching down over the now awake city, and with a jolt Jaina was brought back to the terrible reality. The last stand against the Lich King had come.
In a few hours, Jaina stood on the deck of the Skybreaker. The unnatural thunder rumbled overhead and the hellish towers of Icecrown Citadel loomed ominously in the distance. Earlier this morning, the airship had been buzzing with excitement, from the heroes of the Alliance clamoring with loud voices over special fight plans and attacks, to Brann Bronzebeard, who was yelling a fierce dwarvish war song. Yet now the gunship was silent with trepidation of the encounter to come as the spires of the Citadel drew ever closer.
Tirion Fordring, who had insisted on meeting the champions at Icecrown Citadel rather than create resentment among the factions by favoring a skyship, had met with both Jaina and Varian that morning to tell them that both leaders were expected to stay at the encampment just inside the Citadel's gates.
Though Varian had wanted to refuse, Tirion insisted that reinforcements from Stormwind would probably be needed as the vanguard fought their way to the Lich King. Varian nodded, and Jaina has agreed. If reinforcements were needed, it would be her duty to create a portal to summon the regiments.
Though deep inside, Jaina wished she was going with Tirion and the other champions. She wanted to be the one that ended her lover's misery, and macabre as it might seem, she wanted to see him one last time before he fell to her blade.
Jaina shivered as they reached the gates of the Citadel. A large Argent Crusade and Ebon Blade encampment surrounded a large battering ram that had been used to open the gates. The members of the Skybreaker had disembarked from the ship, only to walk silently into the gates before them.
As they passed through the blackened saronite gates, a hush fell over the group. The reality that many of the soldiers would die in this forsaken tomb settled over them, weighing on their minds. Like ghosts, they continued to walk slowly into the cavernous entrance hall, more subdued than before.
They were greeted with cheers from the soldiers already stationed in the chamber, but even the jubilant cheers seemed to echo eerily off the death filled corridor. The somber mood did not lift from the champions, and soon everyone fell silent.
Tirion Fordring walked to the front of the group and turned, staring directly into each of the soldiers and heroes faces. "Today we will rid the world of the taint of the Lich King," he said, his voice ringing with power and authority, "Too long has he threatened our homes, our lives, and our world. Many good soldiers have fallen in order for us to reach these halls, and now we have. Tonight we shall reach the cursed ones chambers, and tonight he will fall. IN THE NAME OF THE LIGHT!" Tirion shouted, raising the Ashbringer over his head.
The champions surrounding Tirion added their voices until the swell seemed to shake the halls with their clamor. Jaina added her high pitched voice to the shouts and the soldiers and death knights of both the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade joined in until the deafening roar had drowned out all possible fear and anxiety of the fight to come.
"Onward heroes of the Argent Crusade!" shouted Tirion above the racket, and with that the heroes rushed into the darkened halls.
A few people remained at the now quiet entrance way, Jaina and Varian among them. King Varian walked over to her and said, watching the fading backs of the heroes, "And now we wait."
"Yes," said Jaina, "And now we wait."
Only a few hours had passed since the champions had left the Icecrown Citadel's gate, but now Tirion and a group of elite soldiers stood before the frozen throne. It appeared terrible, yet hauntingly beautiful as an unknown azure light played across the scene. Pure ice formed the broken glacier that now was used as a throne. A platform was suspended in the air leading up to the base of the throne, made with a darker beryl colored ice. Chained in front of the chair was a burning creature, yet the group was too far away to make the person out. Yet all eyes were drawn to the being sitting upon the deathly throne.
Each of the heroes thought not of a king as they looked upon the Lich, but rather a God of death. A terrible radiance emanated from the Lich King's being, and in that moment, it seemed as if the champions' strife had been in vain. This was more powerful than any being that walked this earth. The Lich King was far more terrible than the demons of the burning legion and the tainted of the Sunwell. This was a power of pure evil, that none had ever faced before.
"Arthas!" shouted Tirion to the Lich King, "Come forth and face us! Your time has come!"
The Lich King sat on his throne unmoving, and then suddenly he started to laugh.
The halls shook with the mocking laughter that seemed to roll from the Lich King's tongue. The mirthless cacophony echoed throughout the throne room, and the heroes around Tirion, though the bravest of their kind, took a step back from the insane laughter.
"Enough of this!" shouted Tirion, his voice rising above the cackles, "Come and face us Arthas you coward!"
"So you have come to bring the light's wrath upon me," said the Lich King, his chilling voice filled with a mocking air, "Then come." He said rising, "Frostmourne hungers!"
In the hours since Tirion and his soldiers had been gone, Jaina had paced the entrance hall. Yet now, she sat slumped against a wall, dozing.
King Varian had told off the soldiers who had insisted on waking her and returning her to Dalaran. "Let her sleep," he had told them, "The Gods know she will need it." At the orders from their king, the soldiers had immediately scuttled back to their tasks, yet Varian could still sense their edginess. They were growing restless. Varian was too. It had been too long since the champions had departed, and there had been no envoys or messengers sent for reports.
I guess we will know soon enough if they have been defeated, thought Varian wearily. No doubt we will know as soon as the horde of rampaging scourge attacks us. But if they succeeded in killing… No. Varian could not let himself have those hopeful thoughts.
A few meters away, Jaina unnoticeably turned in her sleep and muttered inaudibly.
She was once again in the small glaive in Crytalsong, yet everything seemed to be different. The trees were green, and the sunlight sparkled off their emerald coats. Yet it wasn't the sunlight Jaina was used too. There was no sun, but rather the light seemed to come from everything. The colors in the meadow were deeper and richer than Jaina ever could have imagined, and as she turned her head in wonder, the world seemed to shift and dance before her eyes. Though the place was seemingly unrealistic, Jaina knew she had been here before.
The light around Jaina seemed to convulse and take form. A blinding white light seemed to shine from the void itself and Jaina held up a hand to shield her eyes. Yet as she did so, the light faded and a hand gently pulled hers away from her face.
An Arthas from Jaina's youth stood before her. He looked as he had the day in this very forest long ago, but he was different. There were no lines etched upon his face, and his skin and hair were brighter and more youthful, yet it was his eyes that drew Jaina's attention. There was no pain or anger in them, just a peacefulness Jaina had never seen. The look in his eyes was blissful and happiness seemed to radiate from his very soul.
"Jaina," said Arthas quietly, "it's over."
"What?" said Jaina, confused, "what is over?"
Arthas smiled, "It is just done with. Everything, that is."
Jaina opened her mouth to speak, but Arthas held a finger to her lips, "I haven't much time. Frostmourne is shattered, and my soul has been released from its icy prison. I…" he paused, his face darkening, "will have to pay for my sins, but at the moment I am here to say my final words to you. I have come to say that… I am sorry. For everything. I have caused you more pain than anyone should ever have to suffer or endure." Tears shone like crystals in his eyes.
"Arthas," Jaina said, "I…" she paused, lost for words.
"I love you Jaina, "Arthas said, "I always have, and always will. Maybe someday you will be able to forgive me for what I have done, and when that day comes, I will be waiting for you. But alas, my time here is short. I must leave." The light was surrounding Arthas once more: "Farewell Jaina," he said, and then he was gone.
A tear trickled down Jaina's cheek, and she said, though she was alone in the meadow, "Farewell, Arthas."
A fanfare echoed in the distance, its sound reverberating off the saronite walls.
"My Lord?" said a soldier to Varian, "Do you think it is good or bad?"
"I guess we shall soon see," Varian said. He turned and found Jaina standing next to him, her face seeming to be far away and troubled.
"What is wrong?" Varian asked quietly.
"Jaina shook her head. Suddenly a soldier cried out: "LORD FORDRING! HE HAS RETURNED!"
Cheering erupted through the camp, and the soldiers rushed out to greet the victorious party.
Yet when they reached the group of returning heroes, the soldiers' smiles faltered. Tirion's grim expression was echoed on the faces of the heroes, but as Tirion looked around at the worried expressions of the soldiers, the paladin forced a smile.
"Tirion! What happened?" cried Varian, rushing to the paladin's side, "Is the Lich King dead?"
The paladin nodded solemnly, "It is over."
The soldiers once again cheered, and King Varian cried, "We must bring this news of victory to Azeroth! All will celebrate this night!"
And still cheering, the soldiers led the victorious party out of the citadel.
Jaina tried to be happy like the rest, but deep inside her heart seemed to have stopped beating.
Hours later, a knock came from the door of Jaina's study. All night, Dalaran had been in celebration. Raucous yells echoed from the streets and towers of the mage city, while thundering fireworks shattered the skies into purple stars. Both the Horde and the Alliance alike had joined in the fiesta and large barrels of ale had been broken into. Yet even as the night wore on, the city seemed to clash on, never tiring. Jaina becoming sick in the head, had slipped away from her chambers to get away from all of the noise. She had told all to stay away, yet someone still dared to trespass.
"Yes?!" said Jaina exasperatedly as she threw open the door.
Tirion Fordring stood before her in the entranceway, his grim expression contrasting greatly to his bright armor and colorful garb.
"Oh…" said Jaina taken aback, "my apologies Lightbringer, I did not mean-"
Tirion waved away the apology, "It has been a long day for all of us. Do you mind if I come in? I need a private word."
"Yes sir," said Jaina closing the door behind the paladin.
Tirion took a seat in one of the armchairs before Jaina's cluttered desk and closed his eyes. Jaina sat beside him staring into the warm fire flickering in the hearth.
After a long while, Tirion spoke, "the Lich King is dead. I was able to shatter Frostmourne, and by doing so, I released the souls from its grasp." Tirion paused, and looked at Jaina who was still staring into the fire, "Arthas, in his last moments, was free of Nez'rul's hold, but I fear there is no forgiveness for him. That he lost when he slew the innocents in Stratholme those many years ago. Yet, regardless of what he did, I came to say that he was a good man before all of this insanity, and everything he did was ultimately for his people. If Arthas was here before us, I am sure he would have been glad that we released him from his agony."
Tirion paused once more and watched as a silent tear trickled down Jaina's cheek.
"A hero found this on Arthas' body," said Tirion, taking a small velvet case from inside a pocket, "I meant to return it to you the moment we came back from the frozen throne, but due to the circumstances I present it to you now," he said, offering the bag to her.
Jaina, a slightly puzzled expression coloring her face, took the bag from Tirion and very slowly opened it. Inside was a simple golden locket. Opening it, she saw that the picture had long ago faded, but the jewelry itself was still intact.
"He kept it… all this time…"
Tirion smiled sadly, "It may have been the only shred of humanity in him, but yes… he kept it."
Jaina looked up from the simple chain, her eyes sparkling, "thank you, Tirion, for bringing this to me. You do not know what this means to me."
Tirion stood and inclined his head, "I thought you would want it," and quietly, he departed from the room.
Jaina remained staring at the locket for a long time, even after the embers of the fire had died down.
Eventually, she rose slowly, and walked toward the balcony of her room, still clutching the locket. The city was once again serene in the quiet dawn that was slowly brightening the clouds to the east.
As Jaina watched, the sun peeked slowly over the city spires, spreading its hopeful rays of light, signifying the start of a new day.
Jaina looked down once again at the locket, and then looked into the rising sun.
"I forgive you Arthas," she whispered.