Yeth! I will begin by stating that I loved your criticism, and you inspired me to write this chapter!

Again! Again Yeth is the only one who reviews! See? He gives me a review about what he likes and doesn't like, and if you read his review, you can guess who is doing evil things in this chapter! Please all you people! Please review! Tell me your thoughts, your likes and dislikes about this story, and any parts you found amusing or thoughtful! comment on my style. Tell me if you like the direction my story takes or if you feel I'm loosing some of my edge! SAY SOMETHING! Pleeasseee! I beg of you! Shietan, Azure, Rogue, and all you other wonderful beautiful people! Where have you gone? Don't leave me!

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The Return
(Of Many Things :P)
(Like what? Oh... War... Ugly dead people... More ugly dead people... Even more ugly dead people...)

Orggrimar

Thrall eyed the exaggeratedly long piece of parchment and lifted a brow dubiously. "Miss Proudmoore-"

"It's not as complicated as it looks," she insisted, pointing out several words written in bright green. "The runes inscribed on the parchment are just there to activate the innate magic in the scroll. You only have to speak these three words."

"I'm not sure this is really necessary-" Jaina frowned, eyeing the Warchief a long moment.

"It took me nine days of my time, without sleep, to make this," she said at long last. The Warchief blinked and quickly cleared all uncertainty from his face. "You saw how my ability to teleport was so helpful in the past. Besides, you have the gift of the seers- you can see distant things in visions. That will help you to picture where you desire to go with the teleportation scroll, and it will ensure that if your people are in danger you will be able to get an army there to aid them." He nodded his head at the wisdom of this.

"Thank you Miss Proudmoore. But why suddenly think of creating this now?"

"You've helped me so much by sending ships to Theramore…" The Warchief blinked, suddenly realizing that this was both a gift and a trinket to repay him for his kindness, and he felt worse for doubting the applications of the gift she had striven so hard to create.

"It was nothing, Miss-"

"Jaina," she interrupted.

"Miss Jaina?" She rolled her eyes in a half amused, half tired-looking fashion and grinned at him.

"You are terrible." She snatched the scroll from him and wrapped it up, placing it in a case and handed it to him. He grinned, showing white tusk, and took it, tucking it away. "And you are a terrible host. Here I have been at least thirty minutes, starved and exhausted, and you haven't even offered me a bit of food." Thrall laughed; a deep, friendly chuckle. He turned, flashing her grin halfway between impish and charming and lifted a hand in the way of a proper gentleman.

"Would you join me for dinner, Miss Jaina?" She gave him a shove which he reciprocated, knocking her back a few feet. The two laughing allies proceeded to a dining hall, and the Warchief had food brought to sate his starving companion. She ate ravenously for one so small, and complimented him on the meat and greens. When he set a cup of tea before her, she looked at him with some surprise before taking it to sip. He sat, eating a similar meal to hers, and contrived to make small talk, asking her about the current state of affairs of her troops in the Eastern Kingdoms. She groaned, sighing and leaning back in her chair, explaining the hectic process of exchanging the sailors aboard the many ships and keeping trade running properly. Thrall nodded sympathetically. After some time, he decided to broach a delicate subject with her, and produced a book.

"The late Admiral Proudmoore… did you know he authored several of his own books on trade and naval warfare?"

"Of course. He always liked to set his thoughts down to paper so he could review them later on." She made a lightly pained expression. "Why do you ask?"

"I have one of his first volumes on the art of naval strategy. I've been reading it, and found it ingeniously insightful. I would have never thought of half the tricks and tactics that he incorporated into the first few chapters."

The thought of Thrall being well-read had occurred to Jaina before, but she still lifted a brow lightly and smirked.

"You know…" she said slowly, poking at her salad with a fork, "you are…"

"Different then you expected?" he asked lightly, a bit disappointed by her lingering racism.

"In ways," she said after a moment. "I hear so much of old stories of toil and bloodshed, and, though I do know they do not apply…" She paused a moment and continued. "Your society is based around honor, physical accomplishment, and strife, all concepts my culture considers barbaric."

"So it is strange to think of an orc reading?"

"Any orc but you? Yes. It wasn't so much as I'd thought you were too simple to read, as it just really hadn't occurred to me before that you would."

"Are we so different that you would expect different behavior of me then you would of a human?" Jaina lifted her eyes to his and smiled, not at all embarrassed.

"Yes, Thrall. But that's just the difference of society, not of race. If a tribe of barbarian humans moved in next door, I'd think the same of them until their intelligent chieftain made me see the error of my assuming ways." The orc allowed himself a smile

"Well-said."

"I do have a question though." He looked attentively at her. "Why are your eyes blue and the eyes of most other orc's red?"

"I have no demonic taint in my blood. In fact, my bloodline never merged with Mannoroth's."

"If you go on and have children, one will always be able to tell your decedents apart from the rest of your people." He smiled lightly.

"You have unusual eyes yourself."

"Yes. The Kiren Tor attributed that to my natural flare for magic."

"They have always been that way?" She nodded.

"Always bright cyan. Don't worry- I doubt it's similar to the red found in most orc eyes."

"I hope it's not…"

"Magic is a passion for me, Thrall. It's like a great big logic problem that I- being the small, frail being I am- can use to help those whom I would normally be incapable of saving."

"You have no lust for more?" She shook her head.

"Don't worry Thrall. I'm not ending up like Grom any time soon." The Warchief tightened up, his powerful muscles tightening with anguish and memory. At length, he sighed.

"I'll hold you to that promise," he said at last. She smiled, finishing her food and setting her utensils down. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, looking at him.

"Don't look so glum," she said at last.

"You might be unkempt, smelly, and hot, but at least you don't live in a bog infested with ogres and angry black dragons." Thrall grinned lightly at this attempt at humor, and lifted a hand to his braids and coarse black hair.

"Unkempt?" he asked with a slight edge of mock disdain. "You try riding wolf-back for three days straight and see how pretty you look, Miss Proudmoore," he said with a smirk.

"From Sen'jin?" He nodded.

"On business, as always."

"You'd rather go out and enjoy the warm water?" He laughed lightly.

"Hardly. I'd rather be out driving the centaur from their nests rather then sending others to do so. But I suppose a warm bath wouldn't be too bad." He unthreaded his two braids and proceeded to rebraid one, smiling lightly. She eyed him and shook his head.

"I envy you." He blinked, arching a black brow at her.

"How so?"

"I can't braid." Thrall flat out gaped, his lips parted and jaw lowered.

"You can't… braid?"

"Nope. I can twine rope, tie any knot you can possibly think of, and rig a sail, but I can't braid." He just stared at her incredulously for a moment and then burst out laughing, standing up and coming up to her, pulling her out of her seat. "Wha-?"

"Come here you strange, silly human!" She laughed, following him to a mirror. He positioned her in front of it and grinned, picking up her hands and putting them to her own hair. "There. Now divide it into three equal pieces." Jaina blushed, a bit embarrassed that she was getting hair-styling lessons from an orc, but she complied, dividing up some of her hair. He nodded, taking some of his own hair and dividing it. "Now weave it like this- take a piece from each side at a time and bring it between the other two," he continued, showing her a few times. She grumbled, but complied rather messily. He burst out laughing and pushed her hands away, taking her hair and smoothing it out. It was surprisingly soft for the fact that it was the color of straw, and he blinked, trying not to think of their current position as awkward. He slowly braided her hair to show her how it was done, finishing halfway down the strand, and then let go.

"There," he said to break the silence between him, "now you do the rest." She lifted a brow and tilted her head back to look up at him. Then she shook her head, evidently thinking 'Strange Orc', and proceeded to braid her hair, quickly mastering the technique. She finished and he nodded in approval, and both were strangely silent for a long moment.

"… I'm getting hair styling lessons from an orc…" Jaina reflected at last. Thrall grinned, and composed the second of his own braids.

"Sad."

"Don't make my dye your hair blonde." Thrall blinked and laughed again at the idea. He patted her gently on the shoulder with one of his large hands, and smiled his brutish/impish/strangely charming smile at her.

"You should be going sorceress. Your people will be missing you." She smiled, turning and nodding to him.

"Thank you for the meal."

"It was my pleasure, Miss Proudmoore. Do not worry- my ships will keep your coasts safe."

"I'm counting on it, Orc! The life of my people is in your hands!" she said with a grin, and she backed up in order to teleport.

Theramore

"Iss it ready?"

"Almosst."

"Well hurry! Elsse the humans will begin to suspect!"

"Alright… Alright… It'ss in place." The second of the two shady figures proceeded to clamp the barrel onto the dock and nodded in satisfaction. Both stumbled, looking up in amazement at the sounds of ghoulish voices wailing from some horrid abyss. Green light poured through the sky, crashing down at one location.

"They are here! The enemy is here!"

"Help me get this open!" one of the figures demanded, slipping a crow-bar into the side of the barrel. The other went to his assistance, helping to push down… and yet suddenly, a shadow fell across them. One of them glanced up, and blinked.

"L-lo-?" he cut off short and issued a bloodcurdling scream as he was hoisted into the air. There was a gruesome click as his organs were wrenched bodily from his corpse, and he fell limp beside his associate. The other cloaked being lifted his eyes to the first's murderer and swallowed hard. He would have said something dramatic and memorable if he had not been so quickly decapitated. The barrel was kicked brutally into the ocean, where it drifted to the bottom of the endless sea.

The assault on Theramore Isle had begun.

Jaina Proudmoore herself shouted orders to her troops. The cannons turned around, aiming at the necropolis that was currently being summoned into the center of her beloved city.

A portal opened, teleporting several Frost Drakes and a massive population of destroyers, ghouls, banshees, necromancers, gargoyles, and abominations into the base.

And from there, all hell broke loose.

Small, fleet ships were sent to the orcish fleet patrolling the waters between Orggrimar and Theramore, alerting the Horde ships that the island kingdom was in great need of aid. The sudden and massive summoning of ziggurats provided for the bulk of the defenses against Theramore's onrushing troops as, in the confusion, Plague Caldrons were positioned throughout the city.

Calling her people to order from the top of her tower proveduseless, so Jaina moved downwards to the ground level. The townspeople were hurried into the tower and barricaded in rooms along with whatever small possessions they had managed to carry with them. Hasty walls were thrown up around the necropolis, and soldiers stood their ground behind these fragile shields. Occasionally, one side or the other would run forward in a line and attack the other, as cannons pounded down at the Necropolis. The expenditure of gold that this expedition took the undead was horrendous, but it did not appear to be the Scourge's intention to launch a full-fledged siege against the island. Instead, their goal became somewhat apparent when a detachment of undead, led by a formidable, cloaked, and armored Death Knight, broke through the defenses and stormed Jaina's tower.

Never one to leave her people to fend for themselves, the sorceress proceeded to teleport a major section of her own army into the magical tower to defend against the enemy, and once more regained her balcony, resorting to teleporting to reach the various battalions and to order them around. At last, a necropolis was brought down, only for three more to take its place. The amount of Acolytes required for such a task must have been amazing, and she was ashamed to realize that these acolytes must have been in her city long, long before this invasion too place.

A snarling brought her from her task and her brooding, and she spun around in order to blast apart several ghouls that were running towards her.

She had not expected to see the Death Knight enter her room, accompanied by a large grouping of liches and banshees.

Jaina was not the leader of her people for nothing. She fought with everything in her. Her water elemental pounded down on the knight, her Blizzard blowing apart his lesser minions. The banshees had no luck with cursing or possessing her, and were taken down as quickly as the ghouls. She teleported, moving around the chamber as the minions came after her, using every trick to rip the various undead to shreds.

She could not have been expected to realize that the sole purpose behind sending so many minions to her slaughtering spells was to wear her down. As soon as the last lich fell, the knight moved forward. She set up a wall of wind, making sure to limit it so that it would only be powerful enough to stop the Death Knight from coming through. She sorely underestimated her opponent, and a hand closed on her windpipe, lifting her into the air.

She fought…

Oh, she fought…

By the time she had exhausted herself and her manna supply, the figure was smoking with ash and burnt flesh, but it still refused to release her. After a moment, the knight began to siphon her magic as if it were a demon, and she cried out as her magical capabilities dropped to rock bottom. It then plucked her staff from her fingers with effortless ease, dropping it on the ground.

As if kidnapping the ruler of Theramore were some menial task, the figure wrapped one arm around Jaina and held tightly onto her while the other hand produced a teleportation scroll. A mad, hellish, unworldly voice issued forward, hissing over the words of the scroll one by one, and Jaina screamed out for her men.

She was surprised when, halfway through the reading of the scroll, she suddenly heard the bellow of a Tauran and the roar of an orc. The sound of a massive, barbaric battle cry echoed throughout the tower, and the tower air thickened, as the building was suddenly occupied by a much larger quantity then had previously been in residence.

Thrall… The Light praise the Warchief… That teleportation document had come in handy after all. The orcs poured through the tower, occupying every crevice as they drove out the undead that had invaded it, buying the human population more time. As if Providence itself were looking out for the young Sorcerer, the Warchief himself appeared, donned in his magnificent black armor with his wolf at his side, several Blademasters and other commanders around him.

"THRALL!" The Warchief's head turned immediately at the informal cry, and he stared wide-eyed into the room occupied by Jaina Proudmoore. The cold, armored figure that held her strove to cover her mouth, but a minor wall of wind temporarily distracted his hand. "THRALL!" she screamed, struggling desperately, pleadingly.The orccharged forward, a gout of lightning shooting forward from his hands in attempt to destroy the teleportation scroll. He was a nanosecond to late. The armored figure read off the last word, and they vanished with a burst of light. The Warchief swore, freezingin place and falling into a brief moment of uncertain horror. His green countenance contorted in anger and grief at his failure, and his eyes dwelt upon the spot where his ally and friend had so recently been. The moment of weakness left him quickly, however, and he spun, darting back towards his men. Without a spell caster powerful enough to summon a portal or a long distance teleport, the 'figure that had kidnapped The Lady Jaina Proudmoore' had but one base to teleport to- the necropolis in the center of Theramore Island. While Ner'zhul himself was powerful in the arts of magic, he failed in the one aspect Jaina so excelled in- the art of controlled teleportation.

Jaina screamed as she appeared besides the three Necropolises, fighting against the iron grip that held her. She immolated herself, called down lightning bolts and summoned her water elemental, but the undead being shook off every blow as if it were nothing. Now, more than at any other time, Jaina Proudmoore felt as helpless as a child. Her water elemental was disposed of in seconds by ghouls, and the grip around her body left her tired and aching from her vain struggles. Worse, she could not teleport as she was.

Miss Proudmoore calmed eventually, realizing that squirming would get her nowhere, and looked around at the lines of undead warriors that battled against the defenders of Theramore. For every human or orc slain, five undead fell, and so Jaina was left perplexed as to what the object of this attack truly was. There were far, far too many defenders, and the undead were horridly outnumbered.

But then… Perhaps the object was not Theramore Island at all… Perhaps the object was… her…

That seemed the more likely reason the undead were here, but then why was it that she had not been slain already? Abruptly, the grip that the armored figure had on her shifted. The hand moved her… and, amazingly, set her down on her feet. The hand released her for a moment, and transferred into a firm hold on her arm, though the being did not squeeze her limb too tightly. As she whipped her head around to stare at the armored figure, its other hand moved to her chin, holding her face gently.

The words of several spells passed through her mind, but they became frayed and distorted as the figure knelt on one knee, and the shadowing that had disguised its undead face vanished. Beneath the darkness of the being's helm suddenly blazed two, ice-blue eyes in a face colored pale gray with cold and half-undeath. Lady Proudmoore's cyan eyes flew open wide, her lips parting, her mind and eyes held captive by the fierce mental prowess of the man she had once loved. Despite every ounce of sense and anguish, Jaina Proudmoore could not look away. She held there, locked in this duel with a mind vastly superior to her own. Ner'zhul knew the inner workings of one's conscious, and he knew, through first hand experience, how to bend a will to his own. A plated thumb brushed slightly, almost tenderly over her soft chin, and she shivered with an icy, piercing cold that froze her all the way to her very soul.

So Jaina Proudmoore did not notice as several liches gathered around then, beginning a chant to summon a portal. The Plague had already infested the city, and the Scourge's purpose was done. Slowly, Arthas stood once more, his gaze still locked with the sorceress's. He stood two feet taller than her, and she only came up to his chest, but her head tilted back so that their gazes never broke. His armored hand left her shoulder and unlatched Frostmourne from his back. The sadistic wraith blade whistled lightly as it cut through the air and came to rest at the Lich King's side and tilted inward, almost protectively, around the Lady Jaina Proudmoore.

Half in fighting defiance of Ner'zhul, and half drawn on by what of this Lich King was once Arthas, Jaina slowly lifted her hands. Tears formed on her cheek as her fingertips slowly pushed through Ner'zhul's helmet to touch his icy skin. Surrounded by his cold entity, she barely felt the salty tears freezing against her cheeks. He allowed her to cup his cheeks, her breathing irregular with sorrow and loss… A face so familiar, yet so contorted with mindless darkness… Hair that had once been blonde, now icy silver… The edges of fading warmth showing pink around the eyes… He had loved her once. Once, long before all this, before that dreaded sword or that murderous plague. He had loved her… and… and she had returned that love…

Arthas craned over slowly, his lips twisting in what could have been interpreted as anything from satisfaction, to love, to madness. His face neared hers, sapping thewarmth from the air around her and from her face. His cold blue eyes filled her vision, remorseless and yet so horrifyingly familiar. Had he always had a darkness inside of him? Or could it be that he was still the same Arthas…? The same Arthas whom had picked her up and laughed with her… His frozen, white lips neared hers, his nose and cheek almost touching hers they were so close.

A seed of doubt wedged its way painfully into her mind. Her father had been the same. He had picked her up and twirled her around, laughed with her and read her stories… But there was that coldness… that unforgiving coldness in his eyes as he had laid dying…

Jaina… he had mouthed, and with spite and hatred.

"Jaina…" the lips of the Lich King murmured. A wolf howl sounded in the distance as the liches approached the end of their chant. Jaina drew backwards an inch, and the eyes redoubled their mental strength. Slowly, the face drew near her again. "…Jaina…" the ethereal voice called softly.

"JAINA!" The cry startled her, and she jerked backwards, striving to find the source of her name and yet trapped by the merciless blue eyes. "JAINA! JAINA, LOOK AWAY!" came the gruff, pleading cry. That voice… She knew that voice… She spun around, her eyes moving to the wolf that charged through the line of ghouls, sending undead parts scattering. A massive hammer swung through the air, much like the favored weapon of the Silver Hand, and slammed hard into one of the liches that were completing the spell.

"Thrall!" She gasped out, watched Frostmourne lift between her and the oncoming Doomhammer. The magnificent weapons clashed together, sparks bursting from the contact, and Thrall shifted his grip to swing again. She reached out, still sluggish from the effects of the Lich King's powerful mind, but a hand wrapped around her waist and hoisted her backwards, pressing her robes against freezing cold metal. The orc leapt from his mouth to engage in melee combat, and fought for her tooth and nail. She was beyond pleading for him, and beyond the ability to fight; both broken and cold inside.

Far from that horrible place, an undead contorted in pain. He held one hand against his waist, holding in his internals and with it the power that kept his dead bones moving. He worked slowly, carefully, wedging the crowbar under the lid of the barrel. He lifted himself into the air and placed all his weight on the crowbar, and sighed in relief as the lid came off. The teleportation scroll he clutched in one hand was forgotten as his golden eyes shut in pain. Five… Three….

The undead around Thrall screamed as their final efforts finally procured the portal. The ghouls burst almost instantaneously, crumbling into distorted heaps, and the liches slowly began to implode. Arthas himself stepped backwards into the portal as his armor contorted and warped. Unbeknowst to anyone but herself, Jaina let a small trinket drop to the ground, and then she was gone through the violet portal, and the unstable doorway to another world closed behind her. Thrall fell inches short, roaring in disbelief and frustration as he once more failed to save the sorcerer… All around him, undead bodies burst and crumbled, collapsing into the gory pieces that comprised their remains. The undead Forsaken that had striven against all odds to open the barrel had, in doing so, released Sylvanis's antitoxin directly next to the necropolis. Though the effort destroyed him, it completed its purpose. The undead invasion on Theramore ended on one front, and the undead- newly risen and imported from Northrend- backed off from whence they had came, slinking back into the ocean and swamps. The antitoxin itself, however, though it quickly lost its poisonous quality, at last reached the undead Cauldrons that pumped forth the Plague. It tainted them- slowly but surely- and by the time any one in Theramore had the stomach to eat, the Plague had been cleared of their food, water, and air.

The Cauldrons, now all pumping forth the Plague-defeating antitoxin, served one final purpose. The corpses that remained buried in or around Theramore, continued to be reanimated. These undead, however, were quickly discovered and slaughtered, as they showed none of the Scourge combat readiness. In fact, most of them seemed a bit dazed to find themselves awake again. These new undead were Forsaken, with no guidance due to the death of the antitoxin operators, were almost entirely annihilated.

Thrall was silent a moment, standing still and clutching the Doomhammer with a strength that turned his knuckles white. The hammer was held rigid, almost as if ready to strike... But there was no more work for it to do... It drooped, and its weilder cursed horribly, sinking to his knees and closing his eyes tightly. Such a sign of weakness was unusual in an orc warrior, but no one noticed him in the chaos of the island. He was allowed a moment to mentally attack himself for his failure to protect the little human and to repay her for the death of her father. Guilt and pain built up in his breast, and he opened his eyes, still not fully comprehending the fact that it was over. He had lost, he had failed, and he had let Jaina Proudmoore die. As the full reality slowly sank in, he simply stared in mute shock and disappointment at where his ally had vanished just seconds before. That was it?

That was it… He hadn't gotten there fast enough… And so…A glint caught his eyes, and he blinked, reaching forward and feeling through the blight. His hand touched something metallic, and he plucked it from the ground, drawing it to himself for examination. It was a pendant, inscribed with a ship and a dolphin.

Jaina's. His mind insisted, and it seized upon that truth and ran with it. Like all shaman, he had a deep tie to the spiritual. This object was precious to Jaina, else she would not have had it with her. That meant that, with proper meditation, he could theoretically pinpoint her, granted that she was not already dead. As Arthas had been known to have romantic ties with Jaina Proudmoore in the past, and as he had not killed her outright, it was evident he had something special planned for the fiery young sorcerer, though Thrall could not imagine what. That meant there was time… Time enough to find her.

Of course, he had to assemble an army, concoct an invasion, and some how escort this entire army to wherever Athras happened to be while keeping a force large enough to protect Theramore at the Isle and…

He had to try… Thrall had failed Jaina enough times already. Her eyes came to him, pleading for salvation from the monster she had been unable to defeat…

Out of all the dead buried in the swamps, laid to rest in the ocean, or found within the stable earth of the island itself, only a scarce few were enclosed entirely in a rock tomb, incapable of reaching the surface. These particular beings just so happened to be lucky enough to receive the reanimating antitoxin, and so, when they awoke, they were the only Forsaken to survive the slaughter of the undead above. It was hours later before one of them finally forced his way out of his tomb. By this time, the news that Jaina Proudmoore had been kidnapped by the undead was running around like wildfire. Tauran druids knelt, helping to heal the wounded humans. High Elf priests mended the cuts and festering gores of wounded orcs. The island was a beautiful utopia of chaotic harmony, as green skin and pink secured its borders buildings.

The new Forsaken was intelligent enough to understand a battle had just recently taken place, and it hid in the shadows, trying to understand the nature of the beings running frantically about. After some time, the scene calmed down, and the undead was entreated to an orc warrior, mounted on a wolf, charge down the street to meet with a Blademaster. The mounted orc gave orders hastily in Common, the language that the Chief was most fluent in despite his racial background- "Have a Wyvern sent to the Night Elves immediately! With luck, we will be able to reach Jaina before-" His quick eyes noticed the figure moving, and the blue orbs opened wide in horror and amazement as the undead stepped from the shadows, brandishing an ornate scimitar.

"Where is she?" he hissed out through decayed lips. Thrall didn't answer, mute with astonishment, so the undead repeated his demand: "Where is my daughter, beast!"

"She's being held captive by the lord of the Scourge, Arthas. I do not know her exact location, but, with a few hours of meditation, I should be able to use my Shamanistic gift to determine her whereabouts. If you desire that she be found, I suggest you lower that scimitar, as I am the only one currently here who can claim to know the Lady Proudmoore in person and to have the gift of Shamanism."

"Elegant words for an orc," he snarled without faltering. "I shall never owe you a debt!" With that, the previously dead Admiral Daelin Proudmoore hacked his scimitar at the orc.

Sadly (Or perhaps amusingly), the undead's skill and grace had been much diminished after several years below the cold earth, and the Warchief turned the blade aside easily and grabbed him by the collar, knocking him out easily with a powerful cuff to the head. Then, Thrall grimaced, dropping the decaying corpse with disgust, and wiped his hand off on the fur of his wolf.

"Send word to Sylvanis as well," he said darkly to the orc he had previously been speaking to. "I want to know exactly what happened here."

Northrend

Jaina tore out of the Lich King's arms as the portal closed, but there was little place to go. She was surrounded by mountains and undead buildings. Wildly, she plunged toward the mountains, darting away, her vigor restored. All she could think about was to get away from those terrible eyes and that horrible, dominating mind. She found herself a crevice and crawled inside it, drawing her knees up to her chin and shuddering violently. The light pouring into her crevice vanished after many long moments, and she suppressed a scream. The cloaked, armored figure entered her small sanctuary, violating its safety. Swiftly, Arthas moved toward her, crouching to peer into her hidden alcove. She looked away from him

"Jaina…" the soft, ethereal voice murmured, but she refused to look at him. Cold, metal knuckles brushed against her chin and cheek and she quivered, clutching herself tighter. The fingertips moved from her face to her hair, pushing a freezing, red rose gently into her blond locks. "…Jaina…" Frozen tears touched her cheeks again, and she shivered as a plated hand reached up, gently cupping the far side of her face. Another hand moved into her hood, gently stroking her blonde hair. She shivered, holding out for a long, long time under the slow and gently caresses that froze her inside and out.

But afterthat long time, he came closer, pushing her hair tenderly behind her ear. She quivered, breathing raggedly as he traced over her cheek and gently brushed over her eyelashes. A body neared hers- cold, and metallic, and scenting only of ice and wind. Breath barely warm enough to make fog sent light waves of vapor over her. She shuddered, starting to shiver violently as the edge of his cloak slid into place half around her, blocking out the light of the outside world and the brilliant gold rays of the sun. "…Jaina…" the ethereal voice called softy, sending light vapor over her cheek. She whimpered and he smiled that horrible, dark smile again, chuckling softly. "I'm here…" he murmured sweetly. She let her head turn at last, and he guided it gently, slowly, till her eyes were almost fixed on him. He was so near her, his blue eyes gazing down at her… Blue with wicked, yellow-cyan depths…

Cyan… Just like Varimathras's eyes… Just like her own… What did that mean? Her eyes moved to his, locking in place once more. Arthas smiled more, knowing he had finally ensnared her, and comfortable that he had all the time in the world. More tears slowly formed at the corners of her eyes as he gently, seemingly absently twined her hair with two fingers. She shivered, slowly lifting a hand to his face and touching his cold, rugged cheek. She felt slowly over the face she knew so well, marking how it had changed. He did not twitch as her fingers slowly traced around his eye, and she had the feeling he would not blink unwillingly, even if she were to prod said optical receptor. That though trailed away like so many others, though it made a tearful smile touch her lips and eyes.

His face neared hers once more, their faces almost brushing, his blue, yellow, and cyan eyes filling her vision.

"A… Arthas…" she whispered. He touched her lips gently, and she quieted her protests. Then her eyes widened as his head tilted, his lips slowly meeting hers at last. She shivered at the sheer volume of the cold that suddenly filled her, her eyes fluttering shut. He moved forward, surrounding her small body with his and pressing the back of her hair gently, keeping herfrom breakingthe kiss. Tears flitted from her closed eyes as she held the face of one whom she had once loved. She knew that strong chin… that noble arch of the nose… the long, silky hair… She knew his face as well as she knew her father's… As well as Antonidas's… As well as… the face of one orc she knew so well… Thrall… Her eyes opened again, staring in some horror at the man she kissed with such subconscious love. Thrall. He'd tried to save her… He'd called her name... Look away Jaina… Look away…

Close your eyes… So you do not have to see…

Her eyes shut again as her tears ceased. She relaxed, slowly lulled by the gentle, rhythmic caress against her back and hair. Her defenses dissolved against the probing, overwhelming will of the lich king… And, deep within her own mind, a tiny memory, a tiny part of herself, hid itself in order to save its own existence. For several hours, she breathed in only the cold aura of the Death Knight as he cradled her, and her instincts broke down one by one. Her fear melted into calm apathy. Her shivers ceased attempting to warm her body. Her mind sank down into endless, mindless sludge.

At last, after those several, long hours, he lifted his head, pulling out of the kiss. Jaina breathed in sharply, as if the clean, unpolluted air of the mountain range hurt her. She quickly relaxed as his gauntleted hand leaned her cheek against his breast plate. His fingertips stirred her hair for a moment, and, with his thumb, he lightly scratched a line into her cheek. She did not respond. Arthas allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. Swiftly, he scooped her body up into his arms, and he stood and left the mountain, carrying her back to the undead capital of Northrend. She was limp and apathetic in his arms, her eyes gazing out unseeing and uninterested at the white landscape. The tiny, surviving piece of her conscious, buried itself deep, terrified and quiet within her own mind.

Oh dear. Aren't I a terrible author to do this to you? Well! That leaves some questions.

1) Who killed the undead at the docks? It seemed a bit powerful and... gore-loving to be a mindless undead. Plus, one of the undead murmured out some name begging with the letter "L"

2) What on earth is Arthas going to do with Jain? Who's going to save her? And

3) What the heck are we gonna do with her wacko dad! The man is a complete LOON!

Don't you love how I snuck that quote: "Close your eyes… So you do not have to see…" again? Normally we only get to see that quote when hanging around Ketala. And it looks like Sylvanis's plans didn't work so good. Someone knew about her plot and tried to stop her from executing it! Now she's gonna get in trouble for knowing the undead would attack Theramore!

Now see that nice Review button? Just click it and type! Type away my little typists! Or just say Hi and let me know how you're doing :P Please? Pretty Please? Pretty Please with sugar on top:Gets on knees and begs:

I love you all! Thank you to all you people who read this fic, even if you don't review, and I hope you like it! Please let me know what you think!

YARG!