IV: To Climb the Highest

More than once, she had heard "on top of the world" used, and whenever it was, the feeling described was almost exclusively one of joy or elation. Why exactly that connotation had come about was not immediately obvious when one was actually atop the world, the Blood Knight decided, her eyes scanning the land below. In every direction, the world seemed to stretch out infinitely.

The dragonhawk she had ridden up to the pinnacle of the massive keep circled nearby, while in the distance the form of a dragon as pale as the endless snows was growing larger as it approached, but neither of them was paid any real mind. No, somehow it was an entirely different feeling to look down upon the world from here than it was to do the same from the back of her dragonhawk. Flying was exhilarating, with the wind rushing past and the whole world seeming within her grasp.

She was a skilled rider after so long, and the serpentine dragonhawk felt almost like an extension of her own body, its armored, silvery body complying to the subtle commands contained in every move, every shift of her slight form upon its back. The creature was an exceptional mount; it was no wonder why her people had chosen to tame them. But to be atop the tremendous keep was not at all the same.

To quantify exactly what the different, however... That task took more effort, if it could be done at all. Green eyes narrowed as they looked out over the frozen wastes of Icecrown. In the distant loomed a towering fortress, yet from so far, so high, even it seemed small. The wind still blew savagely, as though trying to bruise the pale skin of her face, guarded only at her mouth and jaw, and somehow that managed to be an entirely different feeling from the rush of wind past her face as she soared through the frigid northern sky...

Her eyes shifted again, glancing to the north, where the ocean seemed to stretch out to the world's end. Maybe it did. Up beyond the northern isles of Icecrown, she somehow couldn't imagine that even the mages of Dalaran knew what was to be found. From so high, even the unnatural mists that had been drawn to those islands posed no threat to her vision, and somehow that was more frightening.

Maybe the world ended, but on some level that thought was better than the idea of endless ocean... It wasn't so different from staring into the Twisting Nether, the endless expanse of debris and nothingness that she'd nearly fallen into more than once in her time in Outlands. "When you stare long into the abyss..." The wind stole her words, and she shook her head, to clear it. The wingbeat of the approaching dragon was loud enough to be heard over the wind, now, but she had realized what made this place unsettling-even frightening.

When she soared above the world upon the wings of her dragonhawk, it was by choice. In those precious moments, she was the ruler of her own destiny; life and death and everything that those two choices entailed were within her grasp, and that choice was hers alone to make. Here, it was the opposite... Here she was trapped, with no way to freedom, no escape from the towering height save death. Not even her mastery of the light could grow wings strong enough that she could reach the ground 'pon them.

The sound of another pair of boots told her that she was no longer alone, but even so, her gaze lingered in the distance a moment longer, before she turned back. In the same moment, her weapon was drawn; the blade was new, and still exceptionally sharp. The elegant handguard and detailing upon even the blade itself bespoke sin'dorei craftsmanship, and the weapon matched its wielder rather perfectly-a beautiful, deadly weapon.

"Sarinissa," she greeted, voice just loud enough to be heard over the wind. Two pairs of glowing green eyes met as paladin and Blood Knight nodded to each other in greeting.

"Alindrianna," echoed the other, drawing her own ornate weapon, which might've been called a poleblade or glaive. Despite that both of them wore black armor, there was a certain pointed contrast there... The most obvious aspect of it was that the other blood elf's armor was detailed in blue rather than in red, and her hair was hidden almost entirely beneath her helm, revealing only her face and a few telltale auburn strands that managed to escape.

However, it went deeper than just that. There was a difference in the set of their faces, in their stances... To put a name to those subtleties seemed impossible, but somehow the pair, despite their similarities-both in race and in their abilities-could scarcely have seemed more different. Whatever else might've been contained in their gazes or voice, though, there was definitely mutual respect there.

"I see you came rather early. Eager to get this over with?" The paladin said this after a moment, her eyes shifting to the colossal horn that dominated one side of the keep's roof. From her tone, she herself wasn't terribly eager for what was to come, although it seemed distaste more than any sort of fear. No, fear was not to be found in either of them, in this moment.

"Eager? No, I would not say that. Anxious, perhaps-I tire of these games. I would sooner walk into the home of this fool of a thane and strike him down there. I think it would serve our purposes far better anyway. There aren't any of those vrykul fools here to watch their champion fall as nothing, and that would terrify them far more than all of this subterfuge." A touch of annoyance had enter the blonde's tone, as she replied, though it wasn't directed toward the other. Now she moved toward the horn.

"You're still so eager to just rush into things... It won't do anyone but Arthas any good if we just rush in and die. You know I don't care for these games either, but at least there is someone to kill. I'll take this over being back in Karazhan any day." The beginning was spoken with light amusement, but the last part came out nearly as a growl.

That brought a bitterly amused laugh from the other. "I doubt a thousand of these brutes could hope to kill us, but still, I suppose you're right. If there is ever another place such as that accursed tower, I swear to Elune..." The words trailed off, and Alindrianna shook her head. "Let's get on with this, then."

When the words were met with a nod, the blonde lifted one hand to remove her spiked mouthguard and put her lips to the horn... Blowing hard enough to be heard was quite the effort, but the sound that emerged surely had to be enhanced by some magic, for it seemed to rend the very air and echo endlessly across the frigid wasteland of Icecrown. Moments later, the beat of wings filled the air, and a quartet of protodrake riders rose into view. Not long after, a fourth appeared, more ornamented than the rest, and ridden by yet another of the enormous vrykul.

"You challenge me, worms?! You haven't earned the right!" thundered the giant, his voice loud enough that it could be easily heard over the howling wind. Alindrianna rolled her eyes, about to respond... However, before either of the two blood elves could respond, another figure appeared at their side.

It still mystified the Blood Knight how it was that the val'kyr could be such stunningly attractive creatures when they had been vyrkul in life. The women of the fetid race were as vile and uncouth as the men, and perhaps moreso because they seemed to feel some need to prove themselves as "able" as those males... Yet in undeath, their beauty was enough to make even the most vain of her people gaze upon their translucent, winged forms with some measure of envy. Only their voices remained grating and unpleasant. "You are wrong, Balargarde!"

Normally, the appearance of one of the Lich King's harbingers would've led to her being slain before the vrykul they had come here to kill, lest she raise their foe in undeath as well. However, this time was different, and both knew that. It took effort not to laugh at the giant's reaction, even as he jumped from his protodrake, his landing shaking the very roof upon which they all stood.

"Vardmadra?! Did the Lich King send you personally?" From the shocked tone, it was not at all difficult to imagine the sort of face that was to be seen beneath the horned, spiked helm that the Overthane wore upon his head. Yes, restraining her mocking laughter took effort.

The val'kyr didn't deign to answer that question. No, her raspy voice was full of command and contempt; "You will accept their challenge." The words left no room at all for argument.

Hearing them, the Overthane roared loudly; "Very well. I will dispatch these creatures. It is only an inconvenience. Prepare to die!" From his back, the enormous male drew a somewhat crude sword, though one that very much matched his stature, and charged forward...

There was no more need for words, from him or from the two blood elves. Their own weapons were at the ready, and Sarinissa charged forward first, easily deflecting the first blow from his mighty weapon with her glaive-the sound of steel upon steel echoed, and the battle had begun.

Despite her contempt for him and all of his barbaric kind, as they battled against him, Alindrianna couldn't help but admit that the Overthane had rather impressive stamina. Blow after blow fell upon his mighty armor, steel and holy power alike seeking to rend his flesh and shatter his bones, yet he fought on in an inhuman rage, more than once forcing both of them back under his onslaught of blows.

Indeed, there was something almost tragic about the moment. Despite that colossal strength and unending endurance, the most he could help to do was push them back. No matter how mighty his blows, he could not hope to truly strike at either of them, not when his barbaric sword would shatter before either of their finely-crafted weapons would even weaken, and not when any minor wound he did manage to inflict was mended just as swiftly by the inexhaustible font of holy power from which the both of them were able to draw...

Just when it seemed that the giant's strength was beginning to wane, however, a chill settled over the field of battle. That was, of course, not a physical chill, for nothing could turn the air colder than it was in the frozen sky above Icecrown. No, the chill that permeated everything so suddenly was entirely a chill of the mind, of the spirit. That chill threatened to freeze over that very wellspring of light from which their unending power stemmed.

Before she could find the source of the sudden frigid coldness-even though some part of her already knew it could only be one thing-the Overthane had drawn back, falling to one knee as he turned; "STOP! Kneel you fools, it's the Lich King!"

The Blood Knight had not thought that her blood could run colder than it had when that chill settled over her. Nothing could've been further from the truth she realized now, as her gaze found what it sought and she gazed into the eyes of Death.

Those eyes were somehow both colder than any ice in all the world, and at the same time they burned with a flame that seemed to sear her very soul with nothing more than a glance. Alone, they were already a hundred times more than any other creature in Icecrown-or all of Northrend-had been, and yet here they were nothing more than the smallest facet of the Lich King.

Even the towering form of the Overthane seemed nothing but a mote of sand, or an irrelevant flake of snow, in the face of the presence that was the lord of the Scourge. His body was clad in armor, forged of the black blood of a fallen god, and yet the irresistible chill that permeated the world at his very presence had frozen and frosted over even such otherworldly armor as that. In one hand, he carried the storied blade of Frostmourne, the weapon against which no mortal blade could ever hope to stand. That thought alone was almost enough to make her step back in sheer terror.

Indeed, she would've done so if it were not for the fact that the paladin beside her did take that step back, her face nearly as white as the snow below. Alindrianna couldn't imagine that her own face was much different, in this moment. But something in that sparked anger deep within her heart. So many times, she had fled from things that she feared, forever drawing away, running, escaping them... Not this time.

It took all the strength she had, but instead of taking that step back, she took a step forward. Her voice felt as raspy and foul as that of the val'kyr, but she managed to speak, unable to tell if the words sounded at all brave or merely pathetic but needing to say them, for herself. "...I bow to no king, vrykul."

The Lich King barely seemed to notice her existence, much less care about her words. No, after that brief moment in which their eyes had met, his frostfire gaze was turned entirely upon the val'kyr maiden who floated nearby. His voice seemed to echo upon itself a hundred times over, not only overcoming the wind but drowning it out; "Honor guard stay where you are. Vardmadra. I'd wondered where you disappeared to. How is Iskalder?" The accusation in that voice and in his gaze were unmistakeable.

As the king of the damned approached the kneeling battle maiden with steps that each seemed to shake the world to its very foundations, Sarinissa managed to recover enough of her composure to step forward as well, so that the two of them looked on side-by-side. Instinctively, Alindrianna's hand sought that of the other, not certain if she sought to take comfort or offer it.

The answer to that question barely mattered, because when their gloved hands met, each squeezed with a pressure that would've been excruciatingly painful under any other circumstance. Now, though, it served to remind both that they were yet alive, and that neither of them faced this moment alone...

"My... my lord," stammered the val'kyr as the towering form of the Lich King reached her. One of his massive hands-the one that did not hold Frostmourne-shot out, grasping her chest.

"I see through your disguise, Lady Nightswood. YOU THINK THAT YOU CAN FOOL ME?!" The force of his words seemed to make even the once-fierce wind whimper and flee in terror, and there was a flash of unholy light from the pair of them; a moment later, the translucent form of a banshee fled through the air, her keening wale seeming insignificant in comparison to the force of the armored king's words.

As Vardmadra crumpled to the ground, her face uncertain, he turned back to the combattants. This time, both paladin and Blood Knight resisted the urge to flinch back before him, but only barely. Without the support of the other, Alindrianna knew in her heart that this time she would've truly fled from him. But those frostfire eyes moved past them, to the thane.

"You may continue your combat, overthane." The words were spoken simply, as though it were not at all strange, and it was not hard to imagine the confusion beneath the helm...

"But, my lord..." began the vyrkul; this time, there was nothing remotely close to the desire to laugh, Alindrianna reflected bitterly.

"But nothing! Finish them! DO NOT FAIL ME, BALARGARDE!" Again the wind was cowed, and the air itself stood still in the wake of the Lich King's shout.

There were no more words-none but the Lich King had the ability to speak further, and so the clash resumed... Despite the frigid gaze that watched their battle, both of the paladins seemed renewed; it was far, far easier to throw themselves into the battle than it was to face the terrifying form that lorded over the rooftop. It felt more like a cage than even before.

All too soon, they had won, and reality returned. This time, both stepped back as the black-armored form of their enemy stepped forward, surveying his fallen champion. Then, his eyes lifted again, and he let out a haunting laugh.

"You have bested one of my finest, but your efforts are for naught." The fury of before was gone; now, if anything, there was a trace of amusement in that voice. "The frozen heart of Icecrown awaits..." And then, as suddenly as he had come, he was gone.

Neither paladin nor Blood Knight could speak as they left the field of battle upon their mounts, but the air between them was heavy. Perhaps the Lich King was gone for the moment, but the fear that his coming had brought would not so quickly be vanquished. And, his final words echoed still; if they were to ever have any hope of victory, then there was no escape from the prospect of returning to face him.

They would have to make that choice-to face Death itself, upon its very throne. She knew not how Sarinissa addressed her fear, but as for her own part... for the first time in years, once she had returned to her tent upon the Argent Tournament grounds, the Blood Knight drowned her cares and sorrows and fears, seeking to wash them away with all too much wine.