Type: Action/Adventure/Romance
Rating: PG-13 or whatever.
Disclaimer: World and characters belong to Blizzard Ent. Title from Blind Guardian's "A Dark Passage".
Special thanks to Mori for the idea of making Gandling the bad guy.
Warning: May contain yaoi, but as a secondary event.
Dark times for the dark...
Four years ago it all seemed so simple. Cleanse all humanity from my kingdom, shatter the Forsaken rebellion, save Ner'zhul. But it was there, back at Icecrown, where it all began and it all ended. I outran Illidan to the top of the glacier and freed Ner'zhul as he wished. I merged with him, our sould binding, thus I am the new Lich King.
Still only I know that it is not true. Ner'zhul wanted to die, to finally find salvation in death, and the destruction of the Frozen Throne granted his wish. When I put the enchanted helmet on, it was not his soul that entered my body, but my own. Since then I am once again the old Arthar, not the undead king, but the paladin prince.
But what way is there for me in this blighted land? The path leading back vanished, and I can go only forth. I must play my role and I shall. This is the price I pay to redeem me for my sisn... the pain I feel each time I roam across Lordaeron. I must not let anyone know. No matter how much I suffer...
So I must hold tears. Undead do not cry.
The wind blew warmer as they neared the shores of Lordaeron. Arthas walked grimly, his face down, since he set foot on the blighted ground. He sighed inwardly. The very view of the land pained him, and there were many enemies lurking about. The Plaguelands were far from safe.
This is how a king feelins in his own kingdom, he thought bitterly.
'My king,' a necromancer approached, 'a new message from Lord Barov has arrived.'
Arthas reached out with his hand. Instantly a piece of old, rolled parchment was placed in it. The death knight broke the dark seal of Scholomance and trailed the words of the undead tongue slowly. He sighed heavily and rolled the parchment back.
He threw it at the messenger. 'The Barovs were forced to escape from Caer Darrow.' he announced in a tired voice. 'Gandling realized they're spies.'
The air suddenly became heavy and thick.
'What shall we do then, my king?'
There was a loud clash of irom as Arthas shrugged. 'Meet them at Stratholme. Kel'Thuzad should be there as well.'
Their first stop was far from their landing sie, at the small crossroads town of Corin's Crossing. The buildings were devastated enough for anyone reasonable not to enter them. But Arthas insisted that he sleeps upstairs in the inn. Alone.
He sat heavily on the dustied bed. A few cockroaches fled from underneath it as it creeked. The king buried his face in his arms and rubbed his eyes.
His power wanes. Soon the mindless undead will run free, awaiting someone to gain control over them. But what about those that had their free will? Anub'arak? Kel'Thuzad? The Barovs? Rivendare? Will they still remain by his side?
Gandling wa first to break free and raise a rebellion. He took over Scholomance. He will surely try and turn the Cult of the Damned against its king...
Will that include Kel'Thuzad?
He shook his head and collapsed on the bed. He gave a damn about sheets, about taking off his armour. He wanted to fall asleep and get his mind off the lich.
Kel'Thuzad...
The way towards the once great city of Stratholme was long but safe. Amidst the spooky Plaguewood (which, ironically, hadn't had a single tree) stood the walls of white stone. Arthas remembered that few years ago, driven by fury and vengeance, he burnt this city to the ground. The still burning result stood now before him.
Damn you, Mal'Ganis...!
He shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought. Hide emotions, he reminded himself, they cannot know. He galloped forward, leaving his troops a bit behind, making it easier for him to keep the mask on.
The Plaguewood was sinisterly silent. Usually the undead were all over it, but he saw no one. Much to his horror, he noticed that one of the plague cauldrons overlooked by the Cult was turned over, the boiling substance now spread on the blight, painting it poisonous green. Arthas gulped audiably.
Is it Gandling's doing? Has he already rallied the Cult to Scholomance?
He moved forth, but slowly, waiting for his troops to catch up. There was something lurking about, he knew it. His warriors also did, for they remained as silent as they could.
Their king went on. Strathole was so close now, and soon they would be safe...
He heard clash of iron. The sounds of a battle that came from the direction of the city. As they neared the bridge of white stone all became clear. To Arthas' horror, humans in red and golden plate armours were fighting against three familiar figures.
The Scarlet Crusade. They must have somehow cleared the Plaguewood of all his undead and now they stopped the travellers, which they vastly outnumbered.
The Barovs!
Yelling a loud order in the harsh undead language, he drew his mighty runeblade and rushed forward. When his troops joined in, the Crusaders were all taken aback. Within a few minuted it all was over, the stone bridge as crimson as the armours on it.
'King Arthas!' lady Illucia Barov called relieved as her daugher bent over her wounded father. 'You made it just in time!'
'I can clearly see that, my lady.' the death knight replied in what he hoped to be a flat tone. 'What has happened here?'
'Well, apparently...' Illucia began, but never finished. A loud call from the Stratholme walls echoed across the wood.
'Well met, your honour!'
Arthas gazed up, fury shining in his poisonously green eyes. On the stone walls, amongst Scarlet guards, he saw one different man. In addition to his crimson and gold armour, he wore a long cape with a woven symbol of the Light and a discrete, ruby circlet on his forehead. His long hair, moustache and short bears were of light brown colour. The man was grinning nastily.
Arthas gulped inwardly.
'I do believe we had not met before, your majesty.' the man called. 'I know you well, but allow me to introduce myself. My name, sire, is Dathrohan.'
Dathrohan...
'The Grand Crusader...' the king hissed.
'Indeed it is me, good king. As you see, I have decided to do some changes in this city.'
Arthas spat. And that was his only reply.
'Not very talktative, are we, your honour?' Dathrohan teased, a gleam of insanity in his eyes. 'Let us not be rude, sire. I have prepared a gift for your arrival.'
As he waved his gloved hand, a few of his men threw something over the wall. For a second it was just a blurred image that cleared as the thing hit the groung. From that point it became a body of a black-clad man. With his heart beating fast, Arthas approached it.
His eyes widened with horror and his lips began to tremble. He recognised the death knight charged with overseeing Startholme, the one that always his his face under a black veil. A strong warrior and trusted leutainant.
Baron Rivendare.
Arthas thanked the Light that Dathrohan cannot see his tears from the distance.
But someone else did. At his side, Alexiei Barov finally got to his feet and noticed the silvery streams on his king's ashen face. And instantly knew something is wrong.
For undead do not cry.
'How dare you!' Arthas bellowed. His voice was not shaking. There was only fury in it.
'There is more, your majesty.' Dathrohan laughed coldly. 'I have the lich.'
The king suddenly felt a huge piece of ice i his stomach.
'We can bargain.' the Grand Crusader offered. 'I will let him go... if you bring me the head of Varimathras within seven days.'
'Varimathras?' Arthas could not shake off the amazement. 'And seven days!'
'Not an hour longer. Good day to you, sire.'
He withdrew from the walls.
Seven days...
How am I supposed to assault the Undercity and slay a dreadlord with my power waning? I won't be able to rally enough troops. They simply won't heed my call. And the Nerubians will never reach us in time...
So this is going to be my end. End of the Scourge. Rivendare was first.
Next Kel'Thuzad...
No... I beg you, Holy Light, anyone but him...
But... if I...
I must call for help! There is someone who might understand...
'My king...'
'A-Alexiei...' Arthas held his breath, not turning around. 'How are your wounds?' he added, trying to hide what he wished to remain hidden.
'I will be fine, my king. But you...'
There was silence.
Barov decided to risk it.
'You were crying, my king.' he announced.
Arthas nodded slowly. He knows.
The other death knight approached his ruler and, after a brief moment of hesitations, placed a hand on his shoulder. Surprised by this bold act, the undead king blinked slowly.
'I do grieve after Rivendare's loss, my king.' Barov said silently. 'And am no less worried about Kel'Thuzad.' he paused. 'But you have enough warriors.'
Arthas shook his head and removed the mail-clad hand. 'No, Alexiei, not anymore.' he whispered. 'You saw me crying, so you know. I have little power over undead now. That's why Gandling broke free.'
'There must be a way to save Kel'Thuzad, my king...'
'There just may be...'
Barov gazed silently as his master stood up and turned to him. The poisonously green eyes were tired and lost the insane shine they once had.
And, as he noticed, around the green there was a thin ting of blue.
Eyes reflect the soul, he thought.
'I will try to get help.' Arthas announced. 'I don't know if I'll get any, but we have nothing to lose.'
barov slowly nodded.
'Now tell me, Alexiei... you know that now you are free. Where do you choose to go?'
He can't go back to Scholomance, that's for sure...
Barov closed his eyes and knelt, his hands holding his sword. The runeblade stood vertically to the floor, the evening sun playing games on its carved edges. The death knight lowered his head ad his face was no longer visible among the thick white hair.
Arthas held his breath.
'I have chosen years ago, when my gates stood open before Kel'Thuzad. Once again I, Alexiei Barov, pledge myself to you, king Arthas. You have my allegiance and my sword. I swear to fight and protect you as long as I have the strenght to attack.' he looked up. 'I am yours.'
Arthas only smiled.
The sun rose up lazily above the white tower of Theramore Island. In the bright morning light the building shone with splendour and a certain magic touch. After all, it belonged to the most powerful human archamge alive.
Who, currently, was in a very bad mood.
'I told you not to disturb me, Trevosh!' she bellowed. 'Especially with something so ridiculous!'
The mage before her swallowed. 'But, my lady...'
'Letter brought by a vulture, pu-lease!' Jaina went on, ignoring him. 'Of all the idiotic things to say...'
Trevosh gathered what was left of his courage and reached out with his hand. It held a scroll of old, somewhat stinking parchment. The seal on it was dark green.
Jaina grabbed the letter furiously and surveyed the wax seal. The symbol on it was a skull with a sword right behind it. She frowned and broke it, unrolling the parchment.
The handwriting was messy, letters written in a hurry, yet terrifyingly familiar.
"Dearest Jaina, I know I surprised you, but I beg you, read this letter before you destroy it. It is I, Jaina. Arthas Menethil. Four years ago, when merging with Ner'zhul back it Icecrown Glacier, I reclaimed my soul. I am human, Jaina. The paladin again. I lived as the undead king because there was no other way.
But now everything crumbles. As a human I no longer have power over the mindless undead. It wanes daily. And the effects are already visible. Darkmaster Gandling took over Caer Darrow and Scholomance, turning the Cult of the Damned against me. I lost one stronghold then.
And, to my horror, the Scarlet Crusade took over Stratholme. Yes, I realize that it is I who burnt it down, but still... Dathrohan, the Grand Crusader, slew Rivendare, one of my best death knights. The bastard dared to throw his body to my feet! And he still keeps Kel'Thuzad imprisoned. He will kill him if I do not bring him the head of Varimathras within seven days. That is, at the moment when this is being written.
This is where I ask you for help, Jaina. I have only oseveral warriors left now, and soon they too will forsake me. Only the Barov family will remain by my side. You must aid me, Jaina. I do not wish to slay Varimathras, but Kel'Thuzad is the last person I want dead.
I know you have no reason to believe in any of this. I have only one proof that I do not lie. I am crying, Jaina. I cried when I saw Rivendare. Undead do not cry.
Your old friend,
Arthas Menethil."
Jaina reread the letter a few times, disbelieving. There were stains on the parchment.
Tears.
She looked out of the window, her eyes fogged, dreamy.
Arthas...
Arthas.
End of ch. I.