A/N: Ghastly, ghastly overdue! I had two mid-terms, a lab report, a term paper worth a quarter of my final grade in the class, THREE presentations to give, AND a birthday to hastily celebrate, so I've been a wee bit busy in the past few weeks. From now on, I PROMISE this tale will return to its original once-a-fortnight update schedule!

Chapter 9 – A Crack in Everything

"There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in..."

-Leonard Cohen, Anthem

Jaina staggered backwards, reeling from shock and heat exhaustion and noise, and pulled in a long, stuttering breath.

"You tricked me," she murmured, although she could barely hear herself in the growing cacophony of Kel'Thuzad unleashed, "You lied to me. You made me trustyou." She flicked a stray arrow out of the air with a sub-conscious gesture. What do I do now? Should I run? What if he dies? He can't die. Should I stay? Should I fight them? Or him? Or both? Or-

"Jaina! Get out of here!" bellowed the lich. Jaina jumped. She could barely see him, surrounded as he was with armoured figures and water vapour and fire and snow and blood, but she could feel his magic, and sense abrupt licks of emotion. Jaina rolled up her sleeves.

"No," she yelled back, "You've got some explaining to do!" Her hands were shaking with fatigue already but Jaina forced herself to focus, drawing strength from the comforting cold of the Helm, and added her own deadly blizzard to the battle. She divided her attention, sustaining the spell while conjuring another, intending to put a frostbolt through an especially large Vrykul berserker who had broken off and headed toward her.

Instead, there was a hollow hum that seemed to emanate from inside her mind, a wrenching sensation in her chest, and something not a frostbolt burst into existence in the palm of her hand. Jaina's concentration wavered and the blizzard subsided. She stared at the orb of cold she had created. What is this? But she knew what it was and how to create it and what it would do. Hadn't she always known?

Jaina let the sphere go, horrified without knowing why, and it rolled, sparkling with lethal cold until it reached the Vrykul. It exploded, splattering him over his comrades behind him and throwing a number of them down, stunned, in the mud. Jaina stared, trembling. She heard Kel'Thuzad laugh, raucous and triumphant. A length of chain arced out of the fray, coiled around one of the dazed combatants, and hauled the woman to her feet. The next second, she turned on her disoriented companions.

If you won't leave, then distract them for a moment.

No! Why?

I need to even the odds. Jaina recoiled from the telepathy, although it felt little different than the other undead she spoke with mind-to-mind.

You want them to kill me, she accused.

The Lich King isn't a passive thing, Jaina! It won't let you die so easily. See what it just did? You've bonded enough to it now, learned enough, that it values you as a vessel and it doesn't want you damaged. His voice was rushed and impatient, but honest. His words made the hair at the back of her neck stand up. It won't let me die? she thought. It can control me? She had tried to summon a frostbolt and instead ended up with an exploding sphere of ice.

What are you going to do?

Raise their dead against them, Kel'Thuzad replied irritably, as though this was the most obvious course of action, which it probably was to him.

How much time do you need?

Seconds. But I need to concentrate.

Fine. Jaina set her jaw and began to re-cast her blizzard. The cold of the Helm that she had found so relieving became suddenly agonizing, as though the armour itself had contracted, clutching her jaw and temples with inexorable force, the metal so cold it burned against her cheeks and the nape of her neck. Jaina choked out a sob; the Helm loosened and she found herself on her knees, eyes swimming with partially solidified tears. All around her was white. At first she thought she was losing consciousness, but realized there was motion and shadow to the chaos. This wasn't her blizzard; this was something much worse. Jaina yanked the cloak close around her, more worried now about what she had created than the Vrykul lost somewhere in the frigid hell.

As quickly as the storm had come up, it dissipated. Jaina blinked the frost off her lashes, gawking at the scene around her. The Vrykul were frozen, some literally, some figuratively, by the spell.

That was most impressive, my King. Kel'Thuzad's clothes were rimed in frost, already melting.

The downed Vrykul twitched and groaned, and began to rise in unison, turning empty, hungry eyes on their kin. Jaina struggled to get to her feet as well, simultaneously chilled and feverish, bone tired and frightened and betrayed. She watched as the Vrykul fought to their last, quickly overwhelmed by their own forces now in the hands of Kel'Thuzad, and remembered the awful terror of meeting a face in battle that she recognized, but that no longer knew her. She looked away, shuddering.

"Did you come here to kill me?" she asked finally, when the only sounds that remained were the creak of reanimated Vrykul armour and the distant crackle of burning Wolvar huts. Jaina and Kel'Thuzad approached each other warily.

"No, my King," he replied, "not unless I had to." They eyed each other, the distance separating them speaking volumes. He didn't trust her now any more than she trusted him.

"Why, then? Why? Did you think I would succumb, as Arthas did? Did you think you could train me to be him? To be you?" she demanded, struggling to stay standing as fatigue pulled on every muscle.

"I came to assist my King, to offer guidance and training."

"To what end!" she shouted.

"To such end that you might not be driven mad by the powers of the Lich King"

"You're lying," spat Jaina, "What do you really want?"

"What do I gain by lying to you?" hissed the lich, "What better reason do you need?"

"One that I can believe!"

"I came to teach you! I came to show you the black arts Dalaran would never let you glimpse, to coax you into wicked magic, until you might be moved to accept myself and the Cult of the Damned, rather than destroy us. I came to corrupt you as I corrupted Arthas, for certainly his path wasn't already darkening, was it?"

"How dare you," she whispered and took a step towards him. Kel'Thuzad answered the challenge, drifting forward by centimeters.

"I've watched you dream for three months. I've heard every whine and whisper, and I know you never accepted that Arthas was the Lich King. You'd like to blame someone else for the terrible things he did so you don't have to blame yourself for abandoning him."

Jaina stabbed a finger at the lich, all fury and no fear. "I didn't abandon him! He abandoned me! I loved him, but that wasn't enough!"

"You say that, but you don't believe it. You think maybe if you'd been better, maybe if you'd been stronger, maybe if-"

Kel'Thuzad had come within arms' reach, towering over her, and Jaina stretched up, snatched a handful of chain and yanked violently. She looped the links around her forearm and hauled until they were face to face, Kel'Thuzad bent awkwardly to accommodate the position.

"You're a traitor. You're a murderer. You're a lying, conniving, evil bastard, and you should have stayed dead when Arthas killed you. I'm going to make sure you get what's coming to you," she snarled.

"You could never have loved him enough to fill that void in him. It wasn't love he needed."

"Why are you saying this?" she demanded, exasperated.

"Because it's true. Arthas was too paranoid to listen to good advice, yours, mine or anyone else's. You are not the King I was expecting, Jaina but- Jaina, let go of me, I'm not going anywhere." Reluctantly, she released the chains. "But I'm bound to the Lich King, no matter who that is, whether I like it or not. I must serve you. I can train you and I can explain things that no one else can. Yes, I came to you with the intention of influencing your morals-"

"Oh, that's a diplomatic way of putting it."

"-but I'm no fool. Three months is ample time to realize that I can't change how you think. You proved that with every decision you've made, from sparing me, to trying to forge this ludicrous alliance with everything on the continent, to running off unprepared to rescue a bunch of undeserving half-witted weasels."

Jaina rubbed her eyes and sighed. "As lovely as this sounds, you're missing the point."

"Which is?"

"You will be tried for your crimes against Azeroth, you will be found guilty, and you will be punished."

"What crime? Seeking knowledge the simple minds in Dalaran couldn't fathom-"

"Killing hundreds of people! Poisoning Lordaeron! Corrupting Stratholme! Terrorizing Stormwind and Orgrimmar! Leading the Scourge into Dalaran and killing my mentor! What crimes? Kel'Thuzad! You don't even acknowledge what you've done! Were you ever human?"

The lich pulled back, affronted. "I was human for far too long."

Jaina shook her head and sat down, all the fury gone from her. "I thought I could understand Kazimir Frostblood. I thought maybe I could see why he did the things he did, but I can't understand you. You're a monster and you don't even know it."

Kel'Thuzad gazed down at her, crimson eyes impassive. "What will you do?"

"Lock you up, I guess. Until we find your phylactery, there's no point in executing you."

The lich folded his arms across his ribcage and clicked his long teeth together. "Well, you can try," he replied icily. Jaina sighed and looked at her feet, trying to formulate some response. Yes, I need a teacher, someone that understands necromancy, and someone who is familiar with the Lich King's power. But it can't be him! It can't be! Kel'Thuzad was Arthas' general, his advisorl! He let the Scourge into Dalaran! They killed Antonidas and that is unforgiveable!

She heard an abrupt sizzle of magic and looked up just in time to see the hem of the lich's kilt vanish through a new portal. It closed with a gulp behind him.

"I suppose I should've seen that coming," she grumbled to herself and stood up shakily. The first portal Kel'Thuzad had made, which he had tried to urge her through as the battle raged, was still glowing quietly on the sand at the edge of the lake. She tested it cautiously with her magic. It really did lead back to Icecrown Citadel. Bruised, worried, exhausted, and overcome with disappointment, Jaina trudged home through the gateway.


"My lord!" yelped a Cultist in surprise as Kel'Thuzad appeared unannounced in the midst of their camp.

"Sir, what news?"

"Your disguise! What happened?"

He had traveled here through a series of portals and teleports, in hopes that if someone might try following him, they would soon grow confused and be unable to continue. He needed time and safety to decide what should be done next.

"I was forced to abandon it," he replied. Every Cultist present was hurrying toward his position. "Jaina Proudmoore is the Lich King," he announced when they were near enough. He waited, letting them express shock and dismay, but raised a hand for silence when they began to hypothesize assassination strategies. "No. I do not believe we require that particular contingency. In my time at the Citadel, she accepted her role and became willing to learn the ways of necromancy, albeit through some unusual avenues. She is not the King we expected, but she is no less our Master," he said firmly. Some of the bolder Cultists exchanged looks of uncertainty.

"But, sir, Lady Proudmoore has ever been an enemy of the Cult, and of yourself," offered one of them hesitantly.

Kel'Thuzad nodded, drifting restlessly to the edge of the camp and staring out over the precipice on which it perched. "She has. But Lady Proudmoore of Theramore no longer exists. Our Master is a living human, and though she has terribly limiting morals, she wields the strength of the Lich King, and all the mysteries that come with that title. Now, leave me."

"Sir, what should we-"

"Leave me," he commanded. They didn't argue. Experience taught them it was best not to harry the lich with questions when he was visibly shaken. It made the Cult uncomfortable to see their immediate Master behave like this, but whatever had happened at the Citadel was neither foreseen nor imminently catastrophic, so they waited. He would come up with something. He always did.

Kel'Thuzad paced to the edge of the cliff, deep in thought. Jaina wanted to try him for crimes against Azeroth, and execute him. Why would she think he deserved that end? He had taken lives, many, many lives, but that was not so uncommon. How many deaths were on Tirion Fordring's blessed hands, or on Jaina's own? She knew how to kill, and when. Jaina had challenged Kazimir Frostblood to defend the work of the plague in Lordaeron, repulsed by the deaths of innocents. They had no choice! she accused. How was that different from the daily life of a peasant? Their choice didn't matter in the wider scope of things. And humans had such brief, hurried lives...

He shifted into the wind that swooped over the Storm Peaks, a prickly, ice-laden gale. Somewhere, kilometers away, was Icecrown Citadel, and his lost and fractured King. Perhaps I should have heeded Stavros, and let he or another of the Thuzadin go in my place. But no. Though some of them had been Dalaran trained, none of them could have known enough to pique Jaina's interest, or match wits with her in study.

She had given him no choice, dragging him through the portal, engaging the Vrykul without assessing their numbers. And she had been tired already from summoning the Scourge. What had she done when she returned to the Citadel? Did she remember to eat? Sleep? Kel'Thuzad cursed softly. He'd had no choice! Either he forced her through the portal and let himself be killed, or he revealed himself. Either way, Jaina lost the guidance of Kazimir Frostblood, and Kel'Thuzad was forever cast out from his King's trust.

There was a nudge against the hem of his kilt and Kel'Thuzad looked down. Walking daintily on the snow crust was a large black and white cat. The lich broke off his train of thought with an invisible expression of joy and scooped up the animal with both hands.

"Why hello cat," he purred, carefully scratching it's chest with one fingertip. "You're a brave lady to be out in this weather. Or hungry. Are you hungry?" He turned to look back at the camp, but he doubted the Cult would forget to feed his pet. With the cat rumbling happily in the crook of his arm, Kel'Thuzad wondered what Jaina would think of him now.

He'd been human still when he found the cat, trotting confidently through the empty streets of Caer Darrow above the Scholomance, big plume tail held haughtily above her back. She had paused to look at him, one moment of fearless curiosity contained in big blue eyes.

Most people said animals didn't like the undead, or their necromantic creators. Kel'Thuzad had never found this to be true with himself. Dogs might raise their heads and sniff; horses might cock an ear in his direction, but he had never received the fear or aggression others reported. The cat had acted as cats usually did: ambivalent. But he had crouched down and held out his hand, and after a moment, she deigned to butt her head under his palm. It had taken another minute to get her purring and by then Kel'Thuzad was late for a meeting. He saw the cat several times after that encounter and always paused to pet her, until one day when he had no immediate obligations and picked her up. He had noticed that she wore a collar with a single tag, and out of curiosity, he examined it.

"Mister Bigglesworth," he read and held the cat out at arms length for a moment. She struggled, unamused. He set her down and watched her twine around his ankles, rubbing black and white fur all over his ornate robes. "I can't even begin to guess at the logic that lead to your name." But it amused him immensely, guessing at the cat's past, and the most anyone in the Cult of the Damned did was raise a confused eyebrow when Kel'Thuzad finally brought her into the school.

When his headquarters moved to Naxxramas, Mister Bigglesworth came with him and kept the necropolis surprisingly low on vermin. He never bothered to change her name, personally assuming that cats paid little heed to what people chose to call them.

Now, he crooned his thoughts to the aging feline. "Jaina doesn't want my help, but she needs it. She is too politically sensitive and too morally fixed to see what is best for her rule right now." Mister Bigglesworth yawned. "You don't care so long as someone feeds you. Jaina would feed you, even though she seems to be more of a dog person." He grumbled and stared into the buffeting wind again, pondering. "Wait..." The lich hurried back into camp.

"I have a plan," he announced. He waited until the Cult had gathered. "Lady King Jaina must be trained, and she must be protected until she is willing to put her powers to full use. Jaina trusted me, but I lost that. She will be cautious and slow to build trust with anyone new. However, I will send most of you to her side immediately, to support her in whatever way she requires. And, as she has set aside her aversion to the undead, half of you will go with my blessing."

The atmosphere instantly electrified. None of the Cultists spoke but Kel'Thuzad could see them each sit up and focus intently in anticipation. He gestured to five individuals.

"You," he beckoned them forward, "you five will accompany me elsewhere. The rest of you have one hour to prepare and present yourselves to me at nightfall." The majority of the group bowed and nodded and scrambled off.

His chosen five remained. All of them were Thuzadin, including Stavros. They were utterly loyal to him. Still, he knew they were wondering why he had not chosen them to immediately receive the gift of undeath.

"You are my most deserving disciples," he told them, and laid his hands on the shoulders of the two closest. "And my most capable students. I need spies, living spies. You will accompany me to the enemy's gates, and we will cripple our King's detractors."

"The Vrykul, my lord?" asked one woman, darkly eager.

"Yes. They believe Jaina is an imposter and have declared war on the Scourge."

"They killed my sister, sir," said the woman vehemently. There was some resemblence between this woman and the first corpse Kel'Thuzad had dug out of the snow at the wrecked Cult encampment over a month ago.

"You will be revenged," he assured her. "And our King will be protected."


The portal deposited Jaina on the glacier in front of the Citadel. Since the front door was fortified and Jaina was not in the mood to pick her way through obstacles, she circled around to the eastern entrance. Her journey took her past Tirion Fordring's tent and she paused for a moment as she approached it. The paladin had wanted to know Kel'Thuzad's whereabouts but now that Jaina had found him, she hesitated in telling Tirion. She was embarrassed that Kel'Thuzad had so completely fooled her, and she knew the paladin would feel similarly. He'd had Kel'Thuzad in his custody as well, and released him.

"Welcome back, Lady," Talsen warbled when Jaina trudged through the entrance. The ghoul turned his rheumy eyes upward at her from his habitual crouch, then glanced behind her and she knew he was looking for Kazimir Frostblood. Talsen was accompanied by the Taunka ambassador, Earthsinger, who looked Jaina up and down, eyes settling on the scorch-marks and tears on her clothes.

Jaina sat down on a piece of broken masonry and pried off her thick fur-lined boots.

"What happened?" asked the Tauren woman, eyes wide. "Are you hurt?"

"Put these near the fire to thaw," Jaina instructed Talsen, pushing her wet, muddy boots with one toe. The ghoul nodded. He gathered them up and loped off diligently. Jaina looked up at Earthsinger, patiently waiting for a response.

"No, I'm not hurt," she said, "I'm just tired."

"But your robes are all messed up! Look at you. You were just upstairs, weren't you? Here, give me your hand." Jaina paused, eying the Tauren woman uncertainly. "Look, I'm not good at this diplomacy stuff, so I'm sorry if I'm offending your person, or whatever. But you look like hell, so let me take a look."

Jaina relaxed and put her hand in Earthsinger's. "You're a healer, then?" she asked. Earthsinger shook her head, russet hair bouncing. Jaina had never seen a Tauren with curls before and wondered if they were natural.

"Naw, I'm all about the elements, Lady King," smiled Earthsinger, "but all shamans can heal a bit. Now you're all beat up and worn out, and if you don't want to tell me what happened, that's your business, but at least eat something and go to sleep, will you?"

Jaina wanted to smile at the woman's concern, but she was simply too exhausted. "Thank you," she said quietly. "I'll do that."

"You'll be okay?"

Jaina sighed. "Sure. Eventually." Earthsinger clearly didn't like that answer, but she departed.

Jaina padded across the stone floor in stocking feet, ignoring the obsequious attention the undead soldiers paid her. She went to her chambers, ushered Dreilide through the door ahead of her when the animal galloped up the hall, and closed it behind them. Tomorrow I will figure this out, she thought, and fell into bed.

She dreamed, of course. She dreamed of Arthas in his paladin armour, regal blue and gold, but the metal was scuffed and filthy, and he moved as though it all weighed too much for him. Jaina tried to go to him and found that, for the first time, she was not a participant in the dream. She could only watch.

The prince claimed Frostmourne, and the sword claimed him. Jaina watched his hair turn white and the life drain out of his flesh. She frowned, but she didn't weep. This was history, and unchangeable. Through a series of disjointed images, some too focused to identify and some too distant, she watched Arthas fall into darkness, until the dream swam in black and red and she wasn't sure if she was seeing the movements of muscles, or of armies. It was chaotic and brutal and swift, and then it was over, and Jaina was looking at herself, kneeling beside the fallen prince.

It was afternoon when he had died, and evening when Jaina arrived. There was still light on the horizon and the glacier curved from east to west, pale colour reflecting the setting sun back into the sky. Jaina watched herself clutch the trim of the cloak in her trembling fingers, aware now as she hadn't been then that every person present was staring at her. Her body language screamed anguish, when it should have sung victory. And she knew she couldn't reach out to embrace him, because what would they think of that? She was respected, even loved, by those around her and though she wanted so desperately to hold him, and cry for his pitiful end and his weakness and his stupidity and his guilt and his paranoia, she couldn't.

So she reached for his memory, for a shred of his soul, staring at that cold, dead face, and tried to pull everything he had been to herself, mentally, though there was nothing left.

Except the Lich King.

Jaina saw herself snap rigid, saw her own back arch and her teeth bared in a scream of horror and loss and fear. She saw the others present converge on her terrified form, saw glances traded between them. They were worried, even sympathetic, and none of them guessed what had happened.

"I did this to myself,"she whispered, and realized she was awake, staring at the black ceiling above her. "I did this." Yes, she remembered now. Uther Lightbringer's spirit, speaking to her in the Halls of Reflection, cautioning her that there must always be a Lich King, but also trying to soothe her, or encourage her, by telling her that a tiny glimmer of Arthas' soul still lived, trapped and bound by Frostmourne. It was that which she had reached for when she knelt over him at the Frozen Throne, but Arthas was dead and whatever remained of his soul was free, finally.

Jaina sat up in bed, pulling the blankets around her shoulders. "I did this to myself," she repeated, the enormity of her realization hovering just out of reach. "Tirion said they thought whoever put on the Helm next would become the Lich King, but I pulled it out and into myself. Didn't I?" Movement caught her attention and she jerked around to find Dreilide approaching the bed. The plague hound whined and cocked his head.

"Antonidas always told me not to meddle with magic I didn't understand," she said to the hound, "and I did, without even realizing it." Jaina reached out and stroked Dreilide's head. "What's done is done, right?" She pushed back the covers and swung her legs out, wincing as her bare toes touched the cold stone floor. "We have a lot to tell Tirion."

The weather was calm and still, but although it was mid-morning, the day was still dark. Jaina had been tracking the hours of daylight and as the calendar closed in on the solstice, the north spent more and more time in a state of perpetual twilight. It didn't seem to bother Dreilide, who ranged within shouting distance as they approached Tirion's lone tent.

The paladin was standing beside the door flap, reading a missive on thick blond parchment. A broken seal made of red wax dangled from the message. Tirion looked up.

"Jaina," he said warmly.

"I found Kel'Thuzad," she replied abruptly, without greeting. Tirion straightened up and his eyes hardened.

"Where."

"He disguised himself as Kazimir Frostblood," she said. "I had no idea."

Tirion sighed heavily. "Neither did I. Where is he now?"

"I don't know. The Vrykul attacked the Frenzyheart Wolvar yesterday. I went to help, to defend them, and took Kazimir with me. It was an ambush and we were alone." She looked at the snow. "He made a portal and told me to flee. I refused. He dropped the disguise and- and we fought the Vrykul together. I told him I would arrest him and that he would stand trial, and he disappeared. I don't know where he might have gone."

Tirion said nothing, then held out the note. Jaina took it, recognizing the symbol pressed into the wax, and scanned the clumsy script. Varok Saurfang had been debriefed on Jaina's behaviour and decree that Fordring, Mograine and Hellscream should stay out of her business. Her eyebrows rose as she read on and she found herself chuckling.

"Highlord Saurfang concurs with your opinion," said Tirion drily as she finished and handed the message back. "I value his words." The paladin shook his head. "And I value yours. In truth, we have no idea how this power works. No one got close enough to Arthas to thoroughly research it and if they had, I doubt they could have told us what to expect upon his death."

"Actually, I think I figured that part out," said Jaina carefully, and proceeded to relate her dream. When she finished, Tirion was sitting on the scarred stump he used to chop firewood, chin in one hand, contemplating the snow.

"You didn't know what you were doing," he said, "I'm sorry, Jaina."

"For what?"

"I never knew how much you still cared for him."

"Neither did I," she replied quietly. "And even if I had, I wouldn't have known what harm it could do."

Tirion pulled thoughtfully on his beard. "I received another letter this morning," he said and dug in a pocket. This one was on clean white paper, folded in such a way that the letter was it's own envelope. Jaina opened it.

"Oh," she said in surprise, "well, I'm happy to know the Wolvar are safe, then."

"Wyrmrest Temple may never be the same," added Tirion, eyes sparkling, "And they've taken note of your compassion."

"The messenger I sent to the Temple told me that the Dragonflights voted. I only lost their allegiance by one, and not because I was the Lich King, but because I was a mage."

Tirion snorted. "The Nexus war is too fresh in their minds, Malygos' madness too current. They distrust magic more than they dislike undeath even, but that will change with time. You helped King Wrynn defeat Onyxia, and she was an enemy to them all, even to her own Dragonflight if their ambassador is to be believed."

"I would be glad of their friendship," she said, and pushed her hands deep into the pockets of her padded coat. "I don't think the Vrykul are going to be deterred by their losses yesterday. They sincerely wish me dead. What they did to the Frenzyheart... What if I hadn't intervened in time? It wouldn't have been an ambush; it would have been a massacre."

"They probably planned it that way. Another bloody taunt."

"I can think of only one way to solve this, Tirion, and I don't like it. I don't want to make my first memorable act as Lich King an act of war." He looked up, surprised.

"It won't be. Your first memorable act was talking the Nerubians out of murdering everyone in the Citadel. It was an act of diplomacy and reason, Jaina, which is exactly what I would expect from the Lady of Theramore."

She blinked. "I suppose you're right. I'm just... worried about acting in any martial capacity." She abruptly recalled the ice sphere that had formed instead of a frostbolt, and the ferocious white-out that had swarmed around her instead of a controlled, localized blizzard.

"Are the Scourge truly under your command?" asked Tirion carefully.

"All but Kel'Thuzad," she replied, "I looked for him this morning, through the eyes of the Scourge. I couldn't find him. He must be alone."

Tirion shook his head. "No. Now that we're aware that he's alive, he's probably holed up with whatever remaining minions he has. He's with the Cult of the Damned, the living ones, because he knows you can spy on him among the undead. We need to find him before he acts. What did he say to you, when he revealed his identity?"

"He said he came to teach me," murmured Jaina, "And he said he didn't want to kill me, but I think it was an option. He talked about Arthas and he..." Jaina bit her lip. "He said he watched my dreams."

"To my knowledge, Kel'Thuzad was never capable of telepathy, but I don't know much about him and I don't know what sort of magic he learned in the Scourge."

"I think it's because he's bound to the Lich King," said Jaina quietly. "He knows my thoughts and m-my dreams because I, uh, broadcast them. No, I'm the telepathic one. I don't know how to stop it, and I'm afraid it could be a hazard if he decided to oppose me."

"He hasn't?"

"Opposed me? No. Never. I assumed it was because he needed to keep his cover intact, but honestly, I don't know Kel'Thuzad well enough to predict what he might do."

"Well, we need to find him before he does anything. Who might know him well enough to find him?"

"Cultists? Arthas? Someone in Dalaran?" Jaina shrugged. "I don't remember him being especially close to anyone, when we were both still there. I mean, I was a teenager when I was there, I didn't really know any of the adult's affairs well, but some friendships were obvious. Kel'Thuzad was polite and social with everyone, but no one specifically."

"I can organize a group to hunt him."

"Yes, of course," said Jaina, "he's a criminal." She turned to the south, peering into the ice fog that veiled the horizon. "I'm going to Dalaran. I wasn't old enough to know his political allegiances, or where his lands were, but they're bound to have it in the archives." She looked back at Tirion. "I may have been too harsh in my judgement when I exiled you from the Citadel. You're welcome in my home any time, Highlord." Tirion returned her smile, and thanked her.

Jaina entered Dalaran as openly and as peacefully as she could: by flying. They knew she was coming long before the skeletal gryphon she was riding touched down on the circular landing platform built at the city's southwestern limits. She dismounted and handed the creature's reins to the Windmaster's apprentice that scurried over. She paused for a moment to adjust her cloak, trying to look as non-threatening as possible while giving those gathered a chance to gawk. When she was growing up in the city, gawking at important travellers was practically the official sport of apprentices and she guessed her visit now would give the young mages days worth of gossip material. Comfortable finally, she began to make her way towards the city's interior.

The magical city gave her a case of poignant nostalgia. She passed shops she remembered, people whose names she hadn't uttered in years, and mundane places that evoked sudden memories. She craned her head around to stare up at the towers. Everything was different, then. Dalaran was surrounded by mountains, attached to the ground, and we were at war with no one. Well, no one that I knew at least.

She arrived at the Violet Citadel and ascended the stairs alone.

Rhonin Redhair, magocrat of Dalaran, was waiting for her. Very little happened in Dalaran without it's ruler knowing, and Jaina had earned quite an audience on the landing platform. She had not, however, expected his wife to be there with him, and she hesitated on the top step when she saw Vereesa Windrunner.

"Jaina!" said Rhonin and Jaina got over her hesitation. They shook hands warmly. Jaina curtsied to Vereesa, who nodded stiffly to her.

"It is good to see you, Rhonin," she replied, "I wish I could stay longer, but my visit is sadly urgent."

"You've got most of the mages either climbing the towers for good sniping positions, or arguing over who will get the first audience with you," he chuckled, "Certainly you can stay for a late lunch, at least."

"It can't hurt," she admitted and her mind immediately jumped to all the foods she hadn't been able to get at Icecrown Citadel. Light, I hope they have oranges. And grapes. And anything that isn't preserved in brine.

"Now, what brings you back to Dalaran, my Lady?" asked Rhonin, sweeping her toward a richly decorated tea room. Jaina took a seat across from the couple.

"I've found, and then lost, Kel'Thuzad," she said. Both Rhonin and Vereesa's expressions hardened instantly.

"That poisonous coward always was good at slithering out of uncomfortable situations," growled Rhonin.

"Yes," said Jaina, "I never knew him well enough to predict what he might do or where he might go. I was hoping I might be allowed to access whatever information Dalaran has on his history. I also hoped you might have some insight that I don't."

"Can't you just call him back to you?" said Vereesa, her delicate voice filled with ice. Jaina set down the tea cup she had just picked up.

"No," she replied, "I can't."

The two women stared at each other for a heartbeat, until Vereesa turned her gaze aside, her lip curling in derision. Jaina picked up her tea and took a sip.

"I can see through the eyes of the Scourge, but Tirion Fordring thinks Kel'Thuzad is probably hiding with the remaining living members of the Cult of the Damned. I can't enter his consciousness as I can the other Scourge, so I can't find him that way. When our paths crossed," she said carefully, "he did not seem to have any intention of harming me, or sabotaging me, but he is clever and a very good liar. I want to find him before he finds me again, or anyone else."

"Well, I doubt he'd be stupid enough to use any of his old familiar locations. Unless he assumes that's what we'd think. Hmm. Contact Darion Mograine; his forces in the Eastern Plaguelands can keep an eye on Stratholme and the Scholomance just in case he does choose to return to those places."

"What about somewhere in Northrend? Where might he go?"

Rhonin spread his hands, at a loss. "Naxxramas is in pieces. He was sighted near Warsong Hold last year, doing Light knows what, but there was an, er, confrontation and he never returned."

"Highlord Saurfang?" hazarded Jaina. Rhonin nodded. A young Draenei, a girl of perhaps thirteen, entered and served them each metal plates of cheese and fruit and roasted chicken. She wore an apprentice's robe and stared unabashedly at Jaina the entire time.

"He was never seen anywhere else, by any of the spies?"

"The Cathedral of Darkness, upon occasion," said Rhonin, "but its right next door to the Citadel. You would know if he were there, I assume."

Jaina nodded, more because she was sure Kel'Thuzad would put distance between them than because she would be able to sense him if he didn't. "If he's with the Cult, they'll need space. And supplies, some pretty specific supplies. They could get those from the ruins of Naxxramas, I suppose, or from the Scholomance. I'll inquire with Highlord Mograine about the Plaguelands. Have you heard anything about scavengers or looters near Naxxramas?"

Rhonin shook his head. "No one wants to go near it. The ground's poisoned, the air is foul. There was a green dragon and a bunch of druids working to make sure nothing that leaked out of it got into the river to the east. It'd be death for the living, and you can keep tabs on the undead."

Jaina nibbled thoughtfully on a strawberry, only half of her mind working on the problem. The other half was celebrating the taste of fruit.

"What about the properties he owned?"

"He sold them all. Took the gold. The druids decontaminating Naxxramas found some of it. Adventurers that penetrated the Scholomance found treasuries. Still, he was a wealthy man. But he doesn't own land anymore."

"Where was it? I don't think he cares who owns the land. If he's familiar with the area, he might use it anyway." Jaina ate another strawberry, while Rhonin called the Draenei apprentice back, then sent her away with Jaina's request. A short time later, the girl returned with a single sheaf of paper.

"That's all?" said Jaina, dismayed.

"Yes, ma'am," whispered the girl. Jaina gave her a thin smile, then opened the file. She read through it in the time it took her to eat a blood orange and set it aside.

"His properties were all urban. It would be impossible for him or the Cult to hide in a populated area." Jaina sighed, then sat up. "What about- what about before?"

"I'm not sure what you're asking."

"Before Kel'Thuzad died, before he joined the Kirin Tor. Where's he from? Where would he feel comfortable? There's absolutely nothing in the file about his origins. Why is that?" Rhonin shrugged helplessly, but Vereesa sat up slowly. Jaina turned to her. Carefully, the high elf put down her fork and folded her napkin in her lap.

"My sister might know."

"Lady Sylvanas?" said Jaina quietly.

"Yes."

None of them expanded on the statement. To Jaina's knowledge, Sylvanas and Vereesa had not seen each other since Sylvanas' death and resurrection.

"Thank you," said Jaina. She wanted to ask Vereesa if she would like Jaina to convey a message to her sister when she spoke to Sylvanas, but the flinty look in the elf's eyes silenced her. They finished the meal, making pleasantly bland conversation and Jaina bid the couple farewell.

Sylvanas had not yet returned to the Undercity and, as Jaina understood, she was currently in the town of Venomspite. She sent a gargoyle ahead of herself, bearing a message of introduction. It was more a way of preparing the town and the Banshee Queen for Jaina's arrival than anything. She had no idea how Sylvanas would react to her, having lost her life to the previous Lich King, but Sylvanas was intelligent and as Jaina's skeletal gryphon banked around the flank of the mountain sheltering Venomspite, she hoped the Banshee Queen would remember her as an ally.

The Forsaken inhabitants of the town were another story entirely. The moment she landed, all movement in the town seemed to cease. Every eye was on her and there was no pity in them, only vitriol. Jaina put her hood back, but otherwise stood perfectly still beside her gryphon. She looked around in apparent interest, noting the muzzles of guns and the glint of arrowheads openly aimed at her person. Jaina coughed for effect, then took several deep breaths, exhaling plumes of frozen breath. Don't shoot me. Look, I'm alive. I'm not damned as Arthas was.

"Lady Proudmoore," Sylvanas greeted her, stalking out of a shadowy doorway to her immediate right. Jaina wondered briefly how long the Dark Ranger had been watching her. The woman was cloaked in blues and grays, her glowing crimson eyes the only vibrance in her appearance. Undeath made Sylvanas immune to cold, and she wore an intricate, revealing costume that left her abdomen and throat bare. Even Forsaken, she was beautiful. Jaina wondered if the outfit was meant as a distraction, a vanity, or a taunt. No warrior would willingly show the most vulnerable areas of their body, no matter their skill in battle. I suppose it doesn't matter if she catches a stray arrow, thought Jaina with a stab of pity and decided the outfit was in defiance of Sylvanas' undead state.

"I received your letter," Sylvanas continued, holding up the note in one slender hand. Her eyes never left Jaina's face. "I must wonder why you didn't take the opportunity to destroy the monster when you had the chance."

Jaina realized she was not going to be invited in for tea.

"There's no point in destroying Kel'Thuzad before we find his phylactery. He'll just resurrect himself again," replied Jaina, "I would gain nothing by doing so."

"I see," murmured Sylvanas, "But you might gain something if only you could control the creature."

"Yes. I would gain a prisoner."

Sylvanas raised one pale eyebrow. "A prisoner," she repeated and ambled closer, "Not a teacher? Not a subordinate?"

"Right now, he is neither," said Jaina, straightening up. She didn't have a hope of matching Sylvanas' elven height. "I assume he's with the Cult. What he's planning is a mystery. You worked beside him once, against your will. What do you know of him?"

Her bluntness stopped the Banshee Queen in front of her, staring down with unreadable red eyes. "Nothing," she whispered. "He did as he was told. Whatever ideas he had were made to serve the Lich King. There was nothing else."

"I believe you," said Jaina, "but those ideas have to come from some knowledge, some experience. I would read into them, and I'm only human. You have an elven lifetime of wisdom. You must have learned things even if you couldn't act on what you discovered."

Sylvanas turned away from her, arms folded under her breasts. She contemplated the steeple of the apothecary workshop beside them. "I've treated you unfairly," she said at last, "What Arthas did to us is not so different. What you are now is not your fault." Jaina shifted her weight from foot to foot awkwardly. "In Arthas' presence, Kel'Thuzad had no personality. He was completely obedient and impersonal. I only saw his individuality when we were alone." She examined her lacquered fingernails. "He is vicious, Jaina. He's willfully cruel, and clever enough to know what people fear most and use it against them. But he isn't devoid of compassion and that's what makes him more awful. Sometimes he is kind. He was kind to me. He was protective and empathetic. I hated him."

Jaina chewed her lip thoughtfully. "That's how he treated me."

"He chooses favourites, Jaina. Everyone else is expendable." Jaina remembered Kazimir's comment about peasants- petty, stupid, weak. She was intimately aware of a particular demographic that thought this way.

"He must have been part of a noble family. Its how they treat servants," she pondered, "But if there were ever records of his lineage in Dalaran, they're gone now."

Sylvanas looked away, frowning. "There wouldn't be records." Jaina waited for her to elaborate.

"Why?" she asked when the answer was not forth-coming.

"His name," said Sylvanas, tight-lipped. "He's never changed his name. Liches traditionally take a new one that reflects their new life, but he didn't."

"Perhaps it meant his new life and his old life weren't so different?" said Jaina, baffled.

"How many humans of prominence do you know without family names?" asked Sylvanas. Jaina blinked.

"None that come to mind."

"Exactly."

"I don't understand."

"If a human is a bastard child, he takes the name of his mother. If he is an orphan, he takes the name of his town. But in kal'dorei tradition, an orphan child has no family name and in high Darnassian, Kel'Thuzad means 'son of autumn ice'. It's the sort of name that one might give a foundling, a lost child or the survivor of some tragedy discovered at first snowfall." Jaina's eyes widened as she listened, and Sylvanas began to pace. "What's more, his personal retinue, the Thuzadin, translates to 'children of autumn'. You are a friend of the Night Elves, but did they ever teach you to conjugate grammatical gender in Darnassian? No. I thought not. The kal'dorei are protective of their native tongue; they'll teach a dialect to outsiders, but not high Darnassian. Only someone raised as a native speaker would know to change the masculine zad to the gender inclusive zadin." The Banshee Queen stopped pacing.

"You want to find the lich, Jaina Proudmoore? Stop thinking like a mage of Dalaran, and start thinking like a feral Night Elf. It's likely he's been familiar with the wilderness, with ice and snow, his whole life for I can think of only one place remote enough for a kal'dorei family to raise a human child and teach him magic: Winterspring."

"But- but humanity didn't even know about the Night Elves until the Third War," stammered Jaina, "How could they end up with a human child on Kalimdor?"

Sylvanas shook her head. "I'm only guessing," she said, "Perhaps not Winterspring; perhaps Northrend, perhaps some island. Perhaps a shipwreck. Perhaps a raid. What I know is: he thinks he is better than other people, other humans, and I won't pretend elves don't think they are superior to the younger races. Whatever he became, I think he started with the kal'dorei."

"All this from a name?" said Jaina, incredulously.

Sylvanas cracked a tiny smile. "Words are powerful things, Lady King. As a diplomat, I know you understand this."


Jaina's first stop upon returning to the Citadel that evening was the bathroom. She was chilled to the bone from riding the skeletal gryphon through sub-zero air, and entered the room at a determined shuffle. She had located a large metal vat in the sub-basement of the Citadel and had it dragged to the storeroom down the hall from her personal chamber. It took less than a minute to fill it with snow and then melt it to steaming hot water with carefully applied fire magic. Jaina undressed with shaking hands and lowered herself into the vat with a whimper of pleasure. She didn't know what the tub had been previously used for and she didn't want to know. It was her tub now.

A half hour spent soaking up to her eyes in luscious hot water returned Jaina to a functional state. She contemplated her future actions as she worked soap through her wet hair. If Sylvanas' suppositions about Kel'Thuzad's origins were correct, Jaina would be seeking him among some of the most perilous terrain on Azeroth. What did an immortal lich care about steep slopes, high altitudes or avalanches? Jaina ducked her head under the water. But, wherever he hid, the location would have to be accessible to his living Cultists as well, if not entirely safe. They would need shelter, food, and heat.

What I need, thought Jaina, imagining the fog-clad heights of the Storm Peaks, is the ability to fly. Memories of her gryphon-travel throughout the day made her shudder involuntarily. She had never minded flying before; it was exciting and the view was always incredible. Or it had been along the temperate west coast of the Eastern Kingdoms, and in the warm, dry air above Kalimdor. In Northrend, flying was inviting death by frostbite and exposure in a very short amount of time.

Unless you're undead... she thought and submerged herself, combing the soap out of her hair with her fingers. She came up and stepped out of the tub, reaching for a ragged towel. The only way I'm going to find Kel'Thuzad or his Cult in the mountains is from the sky. The only way I'm going to survive doing that is if I'm not the one actually flying. I need to find and control one of the frostwyrms. The prospect was more than a little daunting. Up until this moment, Jaina had avoided contacting the enormous bone dragons that circled mindlessly, kilometers above the ground. It was one thing to give orders to an undead human, or Orc, or dwarf, or even elf. They were beings Jaina could fathom, creatures with life-spans and limited powers.

Dragons were something completely different. A living one was an awesome thing, a soul so old it had seen the birth of species, the movement of continents. An undead one, rendered mute and stupid, made animal rather than sentient, was an abomination of such magnitude it seemed evil just to contemplate commanding it.

But I need to fly, Jaina argued to herself.

There was a tentative knock on the bathroom door. "Lady King?" said Earthsinger's muffled voice. Jaina hastily bound her hair back in a ponytail.

"One moment," she replied and threw on breeches and a long-sleeved tunic. She opened the door. Steam billowed out into the hallway.

"You have... guests," said the Tauren.

"What guests?" asked Jaina, pulling on two pairs of socks, balancing on one foot then the other.

"People," said Earthsinger, looking apprehensive, "Some living, some undead."

"Together?" she said and raised her head, suspicious.

"Yes."

Jaina narrowed her eyes, whirled the cloak over her shoulders and thrust her feet back into the furred boots Talsen had left outside the door.

"The Cult of the Damned," she guessed. Earthsinger relaxed noticeably.

"They just... appeared," Earthsinger affirmed. "They didn't threaten me. They just told me to tell you that they've come to offer you their loyalty."

"I'll bet they have," Jaina muttered and hurried towards the entrance, trying to wring out her ponytail as she walked so it didn't drip cold water down her neck.

Gathered just inside the main doors of the Citadel, every one dressed alike in black and purple robes, were twenty solemn-faced people. Jaina was accustomed to the lesser forms of reanimated Scourge and after working on Talsen's arm and jaw, she had come to recognize them without sight just by the type of spells enacted on them.

Twelve of the Cult members were undead. The spells that replaced their nerves, that animated their flesh, and served their senses were so unlike anything she knew that Jaina paused and stared, just for a moment. To normal eyes, it was almost impossible to tell they weren't alive. To a mage's sight, they were scrawled with webs of magic, runes and sigils pulsing with power and complexity, the weaves inscribed on their very bones.

"Master," whispered a tall, black-haired woman, tawny eyes wide with rapture as she gazed at Jaina. She fell to her knees with a fluid grace that belied her undead state. The rest of the Cult followed her example and Jaina stood awkwardly for a moment, frozen by a mix of caution and self-consciousness. Then she stepped forward.

"Rise," she said, and they did as one. "Explain your presence."

"Master Kel'Thuzad told us to assist and protect you, my Lady," said a stout red-haired man.

"Even if that means you wish us imprisoned," said the black-haired woman and lowered her eyes sadly.

"We are yours to command," added an older man with shots of grey at his temples.

Jaina kept her expression serene.

"Where is Kel'Thuzad?"

The Cultists exchanged sideways glances that would have seemed more appropriate on guilty apprentices than adults.

"Master Kel'Thuzad has gone to Ymirheim," said the black-haired woman. "In retaliation against the Vrykul for their attack on your citizens." It took Jaina a second to realize the woman was referring to the Wolvar. What did he tell them? How trust-worthy can the Cult be? They're loyal to Kel'Thuzad, and to the twisted ideals Frostmourne pulled out of Arthas. Sooner or later, they're going to betray me, like Darion Mograine's Death Knights, and Kazimir Frostblood.

"That was profoundly foolish of him," said Jaina sharply. She clasped her hands loosely behind her back and began to pace slowly, watching the Cultists reactions. The black-haired woman made a little sigh and her shoulders slumped.

"Yes, Lady King, we thought so as well, but Master Kel'Thuzad will brook no argument. He took only five with him for support. If we don't hurry and join them, they'll be killed."

"How unfortunate," said Jaina quietly and raised her hands, already aglow with spellpower. The Cultists reacted with admirable swiftness, but what Jaina had meant to cast became a massive, thirty foot tall bank of solid ice, encasing all twenty Cult of the Damned members before they could counter her.

Jaina was only shocked for a moment. Then she hurriedly drilled eight tiny holes in the miniature glacier so her living captives wouldn't suffocate. They could worry hypothermia themselves. She turned and beckoned to the scattered ghouls and skeletons.

"Cut them apart from each other and lock them in a defensible room. Keep it cold. Talsen," she called, spotting the ghoul as he entered the foyer, "fetch Tirion. He'll want to ask them some questions."

Talsen glanced from her to the wall of prisoners. "What about you, Lady King?"

"I'm going to Ymirheim."