I start writing this a day after I updated the story to chapter 3, lets see how long it takes for me to finish chapter 4. :-) I know I said at the beginning I would mainly focus on Sylvanas but now I'm figuring I'll try to focus on them equally. Anyway on another note, I stumbled across another story here at fanfiction called Six White Roses that was rated R so I hadn't noticed it before. Anyway, it's just so good I thought anyone who reads my crummy story should go read it. It's so good it makes me cry. I haven't even finished reading it yet cry even more.

This is kind of a boring chapter, little plot development and pretty much just focuses on Arthas. Sorry :( I was going to post it originally with what I am now calling chapter 5, but what the hell.

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Arthas' curiosity to what had transpired during, what he guessed, his unconsciousness was a horrible itch in the depths of his mind. He didn't want to waste his time beating it out of the elf or even bother asking her. 'She's bound to fabricate some tale. Hell, she probably poisoned me,' he thought. All he remembered was crippling pain spreading over his body before he woke strangling that ranger. The pain still lingered in his muscles and he felt drained. He had experienced the same feeling after his first encounter with these unexplained seizures. He hoped Kel'Thuzad would know...

His musing halted as the once magnificent gates of his old kingdom came into view. Slowing his pace, Arthas took in his surroundings. He remembered his last visit here, when he had "succeeded" his father. Undead blight now covered nearly every inch of land and the city lay in ruin, a shadow of its former glory. In his mind, the crumbling remains of the once towering walls were replaced with smooth, solid bricks and the gnarled and deathly trees replaced with the beautiful foliage during the springs of his childhood. Bones of the former citizens lay piled in the dried up moat. This was the home he made, the home he had ruined. Yet, he felt neither remorse nor regret.

Gargoyles stood vigil around the walls; some concealed as part of the architecture while others swarmed high in the air in packs scouting for intruders. At the sight of their king, they emitted shrill cries alerting the sentries. The iron gates opened and the rusty drawbridge slammed down sending dust and debris flying off in random directions. A group of escorts came to guide him to his throne. He slowly trotted through the town, which surrounded the palace. More memories replayed themselves, imposing over his vision. The desolate streets bustled with citizens milling about their daily lives. Frames of scorched homes filled themselves with the textures of wooden walls and thatched roofs. He left Lordaeron on many occasions and mingled with the townsfolk frequently. Just as he approached the palace gate, he noticed a rather large anvil and forge still intact amidst a pile of debris and rubble. He recognized it as former location of the great smith's shop just outside the palace; he enjoyed visiting every chance he was given. A rather stout and jolly dwarf ran the place and was well known for his talent throughout the town. Arthas could a see a child and the smith. The young boy watched in fascination at the dwarf's craft as he withdrew a blade from the blazing forge. "Careful lad! Ya d'wanna git barned by the likes of this stoof!" he bellowed as he set the sword on an anvil and hammered away. The sword's glow faded like a dying ember with the ghosts.

He rubbed his temples as he passed into the palace walls; his head throbbing with more unexplained pains. All these visions and recollections seemed familiar yet at the same time not his own. The first building he came across was the guildhall of the Silver Hand. Crafted from marble and stone, the building remained not only standing but also a breathtaking sight. A tall set of stairs lead up to the double door entrance of the building. A once great monument stood in crumbling ruin atop of the hall, watching those who arrived and departed. The death knight shifted uncomfortably under the gaze of the replica of a paladin. The statue bore a shield that had "Light, Justice, Honor" embossed on the front. A teenage boy stood at the door of the hall with two older men. Though the figures were silent, their body motions implied some kind of argument. With a final frustrated hand gesture, one of the figures stormed off with the boy in tow. Shaking his head, the illusions disappeared.

Upon reaching the courtyard of the palace, he dismounted and approached a rather revolting sight. The courtyard fountains that once pumped crystal clear water now spurted chunks of flesh and blood so the ghouls could feed in luxury. Another wave of pain struck his head and forced him to sit down on the rim of the fountain. Several escorts approached but he angrily ordered them all away. He stared at the ground gripping his aching head when he heard voices nearly right behind him. Turning to look at the opposite end of the fountain, he found a young couple sitting, holding hands with their backs to him. Both their voices were edged with anger and heartbreak.

"Is magic more important to you than me?"

"Don't try to put a twist on this to make me feel responsible! You knew this would happen even if I weren't accepted; I'm just a guest here. Besides, this is my lifelong dream and I finally have a chance to get in into the order. I couldn't give that up that chance for any boy, not now. I know you'd trade me for a chance to become a paladin."

The boy scoffed," You're a lucky girl. The paladins said I was too young to join and rejected me on the spot; but you, you're going to be a magician at 16 years age." His voice was tinged with a bit of envy.

The girl said nothing in reply and leaned her head on the boy's shoulder. "One day, when I'm a powerful sorceress and you're a courageous paladin, I will come back to Lordaeron and be wed to a handsome prince. If he's willing to wait for me, that is..." whispered the girl hopefully.

"And why would I linger on some heartbreaking hussy when my choices are nearly infinite?" asked the boy, his words belying his uplifted tone.

The girl brought her hand up to stroke the boy's cheek and forced her lips onto his, making boy jump in surprise, but soon calmed and was entranced by the kiss. Much to his disappointment, she backed away, leaving him breathless. "I like to think this heartbreaking hussy is worth the wait," smugness thick in her words.

A burly looking man approached the couple and cleared his throat, a smirk on his face. "I'm sorry to interrupt the moment. Unfortunately it is time for us to depart. Come Jaina." The man held out his hand and waited for the girl to follow. She grabbed the man's hand and turned to look back at the boy, and Arthas could see her beautiful, tear streaked features. She continued to stare back longingly at the boy until he was out of view. The boy sat rigid and still like stone. He buried his face in his hands and began to cry. His shoulders quaking as he tried to suppress his show of weakness. Ignoring the heavy pain in his head, Arthas hurried to the throne room to get away from the haunting apparitions.

Stomping across the red carpet, he flung himself on the king's throne and screamed in confusion. His voice reverberated off the stone walls and drowned itself out.

"He simply too young to join the order Uther."

Arthas head snapped at the source of the voice but the echoes merely threw him off and seemed to be coming from everywhere. Murmurs began to fill the room.

"Allow me to train him. He has shown great promise. His skill and prowess exceed many of our current recruits at his age. I believe he is destined to be a paladin."

Brow twitching, paranoia consumed Arthas as his eyes wandered across the room deliriously trying to reveal the source of the voices only to land on random spots of the wall where the echoes bounced. "Silence!" he screamed as he slammed his gauntleted hand down on the marble armrest. The voices ceased and after minutes of listening intently, Arthas relaxed. Leaning his head back, he closed his eyes and a sigh of relief escaped him.