CHAPTER 1 - Hometown Glory

Content notes: mention of alcohol

The regular denizens of Icecrown Citadel were accustomed to Jaina's early-hours rambling. She was quiet, except for the clink of her cane on the stone floor; a warm, pale apparition among the Scourge.

Sometimes she encountered other restless individuals, veterans and refugees of Azeroth's conflicts, haunted by their own losses and brushes with death. Some of them greeted her with warmth or at least politeness. Some went about their own business. Some just watched her. But a few talked with her, too hapless and swept up in world events to be put off by her title. All of them assumed she was patrolling or inspecting her little kingdom.

Few people knew she was walking off her nightmares.

This morning, she found two of the people who knew about her nightmares in the northeastern courtyard. The northeastern courtyard had become a training and practise space, big enough for serious magic and even cavalry exercises, and protected enough from the winter wind that the living were willing to go out and use it. It was a popular location.

It was also big enough for Anu'Shukhet to spar and ruin people's egos, which was exactly what Jaina saw when she arrived. The massive Nerubian warrior stood on a Death Knight, while a weaponless tauren paladin sprinted away from her toward a faintly glowing hammer half buried in the churned up subsoil. A small group cheered encouragement.

Across the courtyard from the gathered adventurers stood four Nerubian soldiers, members of Anu'Shukhet's honour guard. Beside them, leaning against the northern wall with his arms folded, was Kel'Thuzad.

Jaina touched the psychic link that lay dormant and waiting between herself and the lich. The link existed between Jaina and all the Scourge, a tool meant to position troops, relay intelligence, and enforce compliance, but with Kel'Thuzad it also enabled silent communication.

There was an answering touch through the link, a mental nod of acknowledgement.

The paladin is quite capable, Jaina remarked. Across the yard, the tauren regained his hammer and rushed Anu'Shukhet's flank.

He is, said Kel'Thuzad with distaste. Unlike this other one…

The downed Death Knight attempted to struggle away when Anu'Shukhet's attention shifted, but didn't rise further than their elbows before they collapsed again in defeat.

A figure jogged out from the crowd and pulled the injured Death Knight over their shoulders.

They approached Kel'Thuzad and the wounded one proved to be an unfamiliar night elf; the other carrying him was Kagra Strangleheart. The orc sneered around her fangs and dropped the elf on his face in front of Kel'Thuzad.

"That was pathetic," Kagra said. "You're lucky the lichlord is feeling generous enough to fix you."

"Oh, it's not generosity," said Kel'Thuzad with undisguised glee as he rolled up his sleeves. "I need a test subject."

The elf managed to look up at Kel'Thuzad. "You are who?"

Jaina understood his confusion. Presently, Kel'Thuzad looked rather like one of his cultists - an undead human man in black and violet robes, and sinister makeup. The appearance wasn't intended to confuse or hide his identity, but it had that side effect. All of the Scourge, including the estranged Knights of the Ebon Blade, were trained to recognize function and status by appearance and Kel'Thuzad no longer looked like a lich.

"Where are your manners?" he growled.

The Death Knight quailed. "My apologies, lichlord."

Kel'Thuzad snapped something at him in Darnassian, and the elf started in surprise. Before he could reply, the lich touched two fingers to the Death Knight's throat. Tendrils of necromantic magic like oily smoke wound down Kel'Thuzad's hand, crawled into the Death Knight's mouth and down the neck of his armour.

He's so young.

Just a cub. The first notable thing he did with his life was die.

What a shame.

In the middle of the courtyard, the paladin managed to get on Anu'Shukhet's back and the on-lookers shouted tactics and warnings. Anu'Shukhet rolled. The paladin sprang clear- but failed to dodge her sickle front claw. She swung with the blunt edge but the blow was still enough to knock him flat and give her a decisive victory.

Jaina drew up beside Kel'Thuzad. The night elf's pained expression melted into something that she couldn't identify.

"My Lady," he whispered. Kel'Thuzad's dark mending allowed him to rise to his knees shakily before her. "I am Soffriel Shadowborn. I am honoured to meet you."

"Welcome to Icecrown, Soffriel."


Roxie Rocketsocks burst through the purple veil of the portal, coughing violently. It was the height of summer in Northrend and the air was cool and dry compared to the sweltering pandemonium of a burning city. Roxie blinked her tearing eyes and blew her nose into the tail of her undershirt. The portal sizzled shut behind her.

Behind them. Right. She had baggage.

The gnome kid picked herself up from where she landed and Roxie winced with second-hand embarrassment. Who jumps face-first through a portal?

"Oh no! This- this isn't Dalaran! Where are we?" she demanded immediately in her squeaky, irritating gnome voice. Roxie had known her for all of ten minutes and that voice was already sawing on her last nerve.

"Gimme a sec, will ya?" Roxie turned in a quick circle, studied the horizons and zeroed in on a hulking silhouette to the east. She pointed. "That's Icecrown Citadel. Dalaran's southeast of here."

The gnome didn't move. She stared eastward and gulped. "Icecrown Citadel? Gosh, it's uh, it's… really big. I think. Is it far away? Are we far? Why are we out here? Why aren't we in Dalaran?"

Roxie raised one eyebrow, then stopped and held up her hands.

"Okay cupcake- here's what happened. The red-haired dude meant to make a portal that would let us out in Dalaran. But he was distracted by the fires and the screaming and all the Horde soldiers, so he did a hack job of casting the spell."

The gnome blinked. "Are you sure-"

"Yes. Portal spells require you to know exactly where you're going. Exactly as in mathematically exactly, not as in 'there's three trees on the left and a house with a birdbath'. If you're distracted, sometimes ya miss."

The gnome was quiet for a second. "How do you know all that?"

"Because I'm a mail carrier. It's my job to get from one place to another as fast as possible without getting eaten, drowned, poisoned, kidnapped, crushed, impaled, electrocuted, strangled, shot, mind-controlled-"

"Oh, okay. So do you know how to get to Dalaran from here?"

"Were you listening just now?"

"Right! Yeah. Sorry."

They had been walking for about seven seconds when the gnome piped up again.

"It's much warmer here than I thought it would be."

"It's summer."

"But we're walking on snow?"

"This is a glacier."

"Wow, I've never been this far north before! It's actually really pretty. Everything is sparkly! How far is it to Dalaran?"

"Get yourself a map at the Citadel."

"… we're going there?"

"Unless you can fly, yes. We're going to the Citadel to scrounge up a ride."

Roxie hated to ask favours. She already owed Jaina Proudmoore for that time with the dragon and it rankled. A good goblin collected debts, she didn't owe them. The Lady Lich King probably didn't think of it as a debt, but Roxie did. Her ass had been thoroughly saved that night and all Roxie did was turn around and ride the fastest gryphon she could find away from Menethil Harbour.

And here she was, absolutely flat broke, about to ask nicely for passage to Dalaran. At least she had mail to deliver while at the Citadel. She wasn't completely useless.

The gnome fidgeted and bit her lip.

"Look, the Scourge aren't gonna sacrifice you or whatever you're thinking."

The gnome's cheeks flushed bright pink to match her hair. "That's not it. I'm not scared! It's just…" She swallowed. "What's she like?"

"Who?"

"Lady Proudmoore."

Roxie shrugged one shoulder. "She tips well."

On all of Roxie's previous visits, a ghoul or a rambling skeleton or sometimes a Death Knight met her upon arrival.

This time when the doors to the Citadel opened, the Lady Lich King herself greeted them.

She walked with a cane now, thanks to her last encounter with Deathwing, but everything about her still screamed 'run' to Roxie's well-honed sense of self-preservation. Bone white hair swept back in silver pins; piercing blue eyes that glowed with a subtle, omnipresent power; mouth a thin, serious line framed by white scars; posture that demanded everybody take a knee; all this enveloped in a black fur cloak that rolled off her shoulders like storm clouds.

Roxie gave her a proper bow.

The gnome forgot her manners, or maybe never had any to begin with, because she gasped loudly at Jaina rather than greeting her.

"Oh my god!" blurted the gnome. "You're so pretty with white hair! Do you remember me? It hasn't been that long- just a couple of years!- but it feels like it's been so long and I…" She faltered. "I, uh…"

Roxie stared incredulously at the gnome.

"Oh! Of course I remember you," said Jaina softly. "Kinndy Sparkshine."

The gnome actually bounced up and down. "By the Light! You do remember!"

And Kinndy rushed forward, probably in an attempt to hug Jaina because Roxie was beginning to gather that this was the sort of thing Kinndy did. Instead she almost ran into Kel'Thuzad who appeared out of seemingly nowhere between her and Jaina. Kinndy probably didn't recognize who he was but he radiated ill-will with such force that the gnome back-pedalled and cowered behind Roxie.

"She means no harm," Jaina said. "Several years ago I invited her to be my apprentice. Alas, we lost touch."

"Your apprentice?" said Kel'Thuzad, now appraising the gnome with the sort of curiosity Roxie had witnessed in sabercats discovering a fawn.

"Yes." She clasped both hands on the head of her cane and smiled at Kinndy. "What brings you to Icecrown?"

"We're on our way to Dalaran, Lady King. Might we beg of you a flying mount?"

"It's an emergency," Kinndy added breathlessly.

"Of course," said Lady Proudmoore and gestured them in the direction of the eyrie. "What's the emergency?"

Roxie suddenly felt chilled and it had nothing to do with the environment.

"I knew it!" Kinndy made a high-pitched noise and balled her hands into fists. "I knew you wouldn't knowingly abandon us! Oh, I was right! You didn't know!"

"Ma'am, Theramore is under attack by the Horde," Roxie supplied. "Has been for a couple days now. Rhonin Redhair sent us here to save us- well, he meant to send us to Dalaran but, y'know, portals."

Brief surprise showed on Jaina's face, quickly supplanted by bitter recognition. "Garrosh Hellscream." She spoke his name in the tone that diplomatic folks used instead of openly swearing. "What does he think he's doing? Here-" She swept one hand in a distracted pattern and a portal unfolded into existence. "This will see you to Krasus' Landing. I will catch up with your later, Kinndy. It seems I have business in Kalimdor."

Jaina turned in a swirl of black fur and hastened away.

Kinndy stared after her. "Hey Roxie?"

"Yeah, cupcake?"

"Did- did we just… start a war?"

"Come on. Get in the portal."


The frostwyrm's name was Caligion and he remembered almost nothing from his former life as an esteemed member of the Black Dragonflight. The current world feared him twice over as part of the Scourge and a scion of Deathwing, and he took unrepentant pleasure in scaring the hell out of people. Jaina optioned to ride him to Theramore.

They burst through the portal far enough out over the ocean that everyone in the city would have a chance to see them coming. Jaina wanted Garrosh Hellscream to dread her approach.

She saw the smoke first, rising in a black smudge over the green marshland. Then the ships, spread out on the water in a widening fan as they fled the harbour. Some were Horde, flying red sails, but they were heading away from the burning city. Was the invasion over?

Jaina urged Caligion lower, his tattered wings sweeping just above the masts of the ships. Those aboard saw them. When she looked down, no one welcomed her. The Horde soldiers on the decks snarled up at her; the Alliance turned away or simply stared.

Something was wrong. Arcane energy prickled in the air, raised the hair on the back of her neck, and stung her exposed skin. She couldn't see the stone fortress- or any of Theramore's taller buildings- through the smoke.

The rampant magic was too much for battle cast-off; something big had happened here. Jaina swallowed. Still she couldn't see Theramore.

Closer, she urged Caligion.

Energy crackled around her, finding her fingertips, her hair, the hem of her sleeves. Her cloak billowed and twitched on the currents.

Caligion's wingbeats sent the smoke eddying away in puffs and Jaina began to catch glimpses of the land: bedrock and masonry scorched black, no timber, nothing green left. Some shattered foundations remained, the buildings they once supported now blasted flat. Jaina couldn't get her bearings. What she thought were cobblestones were the pulverized remnants of homes and shops.

Land.

The magic was visible now, in erratic purple arcs that sizzled across glassy sand. The air stank of smoke and lightning. For a moment, the vista reminded her of the crater gouged into the flank of the Alterac mountains by the destruction of old Dalaran, a brutal and unnatural tectonic event.

Caligion's chilly claws steamed where he set his feet. Jaina remained astride his neck as he gently fanned his wings. The smoke around them began to dissipate and Jaina saw the truth that she already knew.

Theramore was gone.

The destruction was so complete that she couldn't sense corpses or even parts of corpses.

Jaina turned in her seat and estimated the number of ships. There weren't nearly enough to account for Theramore's whole population and Jaina clutched at the idea that Rhonin had opened other portals for Theramore's citizens. Surely, if one or more of the Kirin Tor were involved they would have staged an evacuation.

Jaina cautiously dismounted. She could feel the heat in the earth through the soles of her boots. Slowly, she walked the perimeter of a smoldering hole where her former home had stood. Caligion followed silently behind her. The only landmark she recognized was the burning remnant of a single dock.

She walked along it as far as she could, doused the flames, and stood staring out at the empty ocean.

It was true Theramore and Orgrimmar had never existed in perfect neutrality. Jaina and the refugees that accompanied her had been unwelcome on Kalimdor from the start; the orcs had murdered her father, the former lord of Theramore, and harassed their outposts. Even after she and Warchief Thrall worked out a thin truce, there had still been skirmishes and squabbles and tension between the cities.

When Jaina set out for Northrend, she intended to keep everyone safe by facing down a great evil before it could lay waste to Kalimdor. And Hellscream had fought beside her against that evil!

Jaina crouched, overcome with heartbreak.

For the first time, she wanted to throw the might of the Scourge at someone in retribution. She wanted to wring out Hellscream's strength with the cruellest magic within her, wanted to find every willing hand that had done violence to this city and damn them to undead servitude. She wanted justice, she wanted vengeance, she wanted blood.

Yet if she attacked Orgrimmar, she would be making a declaration of war. It would draw in the allies of Orgrimmar and the enemies of Icecrown until Jaina was crushed, and thousands of others would be swept up in the violence and dead alongside. And the terrible power of the Lich King would end up in the hands of someone else.

No, she couldn't attack Hellscream.

Kinndy's words echoed in her mind. I knew you wouldn't knowingly abandon us! Had Theramore's citizens hoped she would come to their defense? How many of them died waiting for her?

She drew in a shuddering breath. There was nothing she could do now.

Rhonin was present during the battle. The Kirin Tor could have easily sent word to her. She would have responded instantly to such summons. Why had they not called on her for assistance?

Jaina sat on the charred dock, legs dangling over the water, and knew why.

The Kirin Tor would not ally themselves with her magic, regardless of the cost. Regardless of her former station as Theramore's leader, or the fact her own brother now governed the city.

Is Tandred alive?

Panic shot through her.

Going to Orgrimmar would gain her nothing but animosity; going to Dalaran to demand answers she already had would only serve to antagonize the Kirin Tor. But she needed to know if Tandred survived and perhaps Rhonin would know.

She called Caligion to her and summoned another portal.


"I'm so stupid," whispered Kinndy. She was face down on the tavern table, one hand around an untouched mug of cider, the other buried in her hair. "I should've just kept my stupid mouth shut."

Roxie, playing cards with a dwarf to her left, didn't say anything.

"It's okay, you can tell me I'm a dumb kid or whatever you're thinking."

"You're a dumb kid."

"And?"

"And…" Roxie grimaced at her hand. "Get smarter." She put down a card and the dwarf claimed their bounty: a pile of muskox jerky.

"Wow. Thanks for the tip," came Kinndy's muffled response.

"No problem." Roxie turned to look at her. Since they arrived in Dalaran, all Kinndy did was follow Roxie around. If she knew anyone in the city, she was avoiding them.

The gnome raised her head halfway, eyes glassy with tears. "Do you think I blew it?"

"'It' being…?"

"I thought maybe Lady Proudmoore would honour the offer of apprenticeship."

Roxie dealt another hand to the dwarf. "So, you're worthy of that offer? You're that good?"

Kinndy studied her mug. "I was. I guess. But she never- she didn't bring me north from Theramore. So I thought…"

"Thought maybe she was off fighting a war? And got sucked into a role she didn't want, that almost killed her, where nobody liked her? You're right. I can't see any reason why she wouldn't want to bring a squishy little confection like you into it."

Kinndy groaned. "I am so dumb."

"You are so dumb."

"Can you, like, not?"

"I didn't make you tag along with me, cupcake. How does this mage apprenticeship thing work anyway?"

"If you show promise in regular classes, someone might choose to mentor you personally. That's how you really get ahead."

"Where's your classes at?"

"Here. At the Violet Citadel. I went back and forth between Theramore and Dalaran."

Roxie lost another six strips of jerky to the dwarf. "Why didn't you go to Icecrown on your own? Dalaran's basically next door."

The gnome sighed. "I was scared."

"She already chose you to be her apprentice. What's to be scared of?"

"Are you kidding me? Everything! The Scourge, maybe? Or- or- wild animals- the weather- magnataurs- yikes!- dragons- the Horde- and… I thought she was undead. I thought I would have to be." Kinndy shuddered.

"That's ridiculous."

"So you're not afraid of anything, huh? You just go through life being super cool and fearless?"

"Are you kiddin'? I'm afraid of plenty. Fear is healthy. Fear's how you stay alive."

"If you were me- or, no, if you were Lady Jaina's potential apprentice- what would you be afraid of?"

Roxie gave up on the card game when she lost again and turned around to face Kinndy.

"The winter. Dark all day, snowing all night, so cold it'll freeze the surface of your eyes. If you can't fly, you'll be trapped in the Citadel for months." Roxie shook herself.

"I'd hate to be tied to one place. Tied to one path. But most of all, I'd hate to be hated. There's a lot of things to dislike about being a mail carrier but people generally love you. People like being connected and the post lets them do that. Not everyone is a mage who can jump around the planet through portals. Sometimes I bring bad news to people but they still thank me for it. The Scourge? People hate the Scourge."

Kinndy tapped her fingers on the tabletop. "But I wouldn't be Scourge. I'm alive. I'm not undead."

"Doesn't stop 'em from hating Lady Proudmoore," said Roxie and swiped the cider away from Kinndy's indecisive fingers. "You'd be the Lady King's apprentice an' that makes you Scourge."

There was a muted commotion near the front door- several people entering, followed by a number of people moving to peer out the tavern windows. Roxie, ever-vigilant, climbed up on the bench and squinted.

She reached down and tapped Kinndy's shoulder. "Hey cupcake. Looks like you might not have to go too far to talk to the Lady King."

Roxie had a single glimpse but that was all she needed. (Sometimes a corner-of-the-eye glimpse was all the warning you got before disaster.)

"What?"

Roxie pointed toward the door. "She's here. Just walked by the tavern."

"Are you sure? I thought she was going to Theramore..."

Roxie jumped down. "Come on."

"But why would she-" Kinndy squeaked when Roxie grabbed her elbow and hauled her bodily out of the tavern.

The street outside was dotted with people paused in the middle of what they had been doing, some talking in whispers, some of them putting hands on their weapons.

"She's headed for the Violet Citadel," Kinndy hissed, and shook free of Roxie's grip. Being small, it was easy for the gnome and the goblin to thread through the loose crowd. They were across the street from Jaina when she reached the stairs that climbed to the doors of the Violet Citadel.

"Okay, stop here."

"But-"

"What's wrong with you? Don't throw yourself into the middle of this."

The guards at the bottom of the stairway hesitantly crossed their pikes in front of Jaina. Roxie and Kinndy were too far away to hear what passed between them but when Jaina spoke, the guards let her pass.

"They're afraid of her," murmured Kinndy. Her shoulders sank and she slumped down to sit on the curb, head in her hands. "I don't think I can do this. Lady Jaina was an inspiration to me. She was so smart and kind and- and a beacon of light and hope! And now…" She looked up. "...people are afraid of her."

"Weren't people afraid of her before? Mage like that? They shoulda been."

"Well, I wasn't." Even Kinndy's pigtails drooped. "Let's go back to the tavern. I'm going to get so drunk."

Roxie doubted the gnome had ever been drunk in her life and clicked her tongue in irritation. She remembered the moment when she realized how much she cared about being a postal worker, the moment when her restlessness and her courage and her way with people crystallized into a paid occupation.

"Lemme ask you a question, before you go waste your gold on something with a little umbrella in it."

"'Kay."

"You wanna be something other than a mage? Like a priest or an engineer or a sausage maker or something?"

"No? Why?"

"Cuz that woman-" Roxie leaned over and pointed emphatically toward the Violet Citadel, "-is the greatest living sorceress in the world and she didn't look like she was gonna say 'no' if you went after that apprenticeship."


There were only two members of Dalaran's ruling Council of Six in the Violet Citadel and both of them were visibly surprised by Jaina's unannounced visit. Ansirem Runeweaver looked like he wanted to throw her off the side of the floating city but Modera greeted her.

"Lady Proudmoore."

"Lady Modera." She glanced between Modera and Runeweaver. "Rhonin hasn't returned yet?"

Modera's expression fell. "He gave his life to save as many as he could in Theramore's final moments, Lady Proudmoore."

"Oh Light…" Jaina had not known Rhonin well, but he had been a level-headed leader. And now he was dead in aid of Theramore. "I'm so sorry to hear. I didn't know…"

Modera exchanged a look with Runeweaver. "What brings the Lich King to Dalaran?" Her voice was carefully neutral.

"I only wish to know- is my brother alive? Did Tandred escape?"

Modera nodded. "Vereesa reported that Rhonin saw him off shortly before the… end. He is unharmed and aboard a ship bound for Stormwind."

Jaina let out a long breath. "Thank you, Lady Modera. Do you know what happened?"

"Hellscream procured a Mana Bomb." Her eyebrows furrowed. "Rhonin did not know that the attack would turn into what it did, Jaina. He thought he had the situation in hand."

The heat of anger and hurt ebbed away, leaving Jaina cold and shaky. "A Mana Bomb. This is… How will Dalaran respond to this? Hellscream killed one of the Council."

Modera shifted, uncomfortable, and her attention again flicked to Runeweaver.

"Ban the Horde from our city," Runeweaver spat. "They no longer deserve our hospitality!"

"We can't make such a judgement in anger. This was the action of one man and his closest adherents. We'll put it to a vote," said Modera.

"Why give them that dignity? The don't deserve it after this atrocity!"

"We'll put it to a vote."

Jaina nodded to her. "Thank you both." I have my own decisions to make now.

She bowed and left them, hardly registering Runeweaver's caustic murmuring or the looks she got from the two guards at the bottom of the stairs.

Jaina straightened her back and struck off for Krasus' Landing where Caligion waited for her. She moved with grace and purpose but she felt the cost of every step and wished for her cane. All the strength of fury and fear had left her.

Suddenly there was someone by her side, reaching out to take Jaina's hand.

"Hi!" said Kinndy brightly and Jaina smiled despite her aching bones.

"What a pleasure to see you again, Kinndy."

"Is it? I mean, I wasn't sure but, well, you were b-busy. Can I ask what happened?"

Jaina looked away. "Theramore is… gone. Obliterated. Rhonin is dead; Tandred survived thanks to his quick thinking."

She looked down at Kinndy before the gnome could pull herself together and saw tears in her eyes.

"Rhonin's quick thinking saved you too and I'm glad."

Kinndy took a deep, shaky breath. "Lady Jaina, this might not be a good time but… would you still be willing to take me on as your apprentice?"

Jaina stopped. They were at the narrow path that led onto Krasus' Landing, blocking traffic in two directions. Jaina pulled Kinndy aside, to a bench along the wall.

"Oh, what a question," she sighed. "Kinndy, I would love to be your teacher. I truly would. But you need to think about what you're asking."

Kinndy nodded fervently, wide-eyed. "I have thought about it!"

Jaina clasped her hands together on her knees. "Kinndy, if you choose to be my apprentice the Kirin Tor will likely turn their back on you. If you change your mind I don't know that you would be allowed back to Dalaran to continue your studies. Talk to your advisors and, if you can, speak with someone on the Council. Talk to your parents. I don't want you to end up trapped in Icecrown and miserable, and I don't want you to end up half trained with nowhere to go and no one to teach you."

Kinndy looked down at her hands and frowned. "Okay. I will, I promise. Thank you for thinking of my future, Lady Jaina."

"One more thing, Kinndy."

"Sure!"

"Icecrown is not Dalaran. It is not Theramore." Jaina stopped, suddenly overwhelmed with fatigue and sadness. "It's cold, dark, and full of the undead. Your friends and family will not be there. I'm sure that you would make new friends because you're you, but you would be alone at first." She watched Kinndy's face fall and continued. "My friends…" Jaina gestured helplessly. "...are Death Knights, giant insects, necromancers, and wayward adventurers."

'Friends' was stretching it. At some point, all of these people had either deceived her or attempted to kill her. Some of them had done both.

"King Anduin is still your friend though, right? He's a priest of the Light."

"Yes, but he doesn't live in Icecrown."

"And the adventurers- and other people!- come to the Citadel too, right?"

"Yes."

"And they're from all over Azeroth! People from the Alliance and the Horde, just like Dalaran. Some of them just happen to be, you know, undead."

Jaina wished she could see the world again the way that Kinndy saw it. There was a gulf between the person she had been in Theramore and the person she was now; she could see it plainly but Kinndy couldn't. Not yet.

"And you're their…" Kinndy paused. "You're their King. Or their Queen? Their Lady?"

"Lady King is my preferred title." Jaina felt bowed by the weight of her cloak.

"Isn't that just a clunky way of saying Queen?"

"It's a contraction of 'Lady Proudmoore' and 'Lich King'. According to… experts… 'Lich King' is the specific epithet defining this power. Apparently the warlocks of the Burning Legion assumed the recipient of the power would be male and wrote the title into the magic itself."

Kinndy sat back. "That's dumb. And unnecessarily confusing. But anyway- my point is, you're still a leader that people trust. And I still trust you. And I will think about it but I've also kind of already made up my mind."

Jaina sighed and ran a hand over her hair, tucking in a stray lock. It wasn't trust that her people showed her- it was involuntary obedience. "Talk to your parents. Have an audience with someone on the Council. Really think about it, Kinndy. Listen to what the Council has to say. And if you still want to come to Icecrown, then… I'll send someone to escort you properly."

"I will, Lady Proudmoore."

Caligion lay down to let Jaina climb aboard his neck. She didn't have the energy to vault up and she didn't look back when they took off for the Citadel.

When they landed in Icecrown, Jaina retrieved her cane and went out to the courtyard where Anu'Shukhet had been sparring only hours before, too furious to rest. Her strength was all but gone and though she wanted to walk until she was too tired to be angry, her body wouldn't let her.

The Nerubian was still there. She lay on her belly in the sun, claws folded, hind wings sprawled out, basking and watching the paladin from earlier clash with a draenei Death Knight.

"Your appear troubled."

Anu'Shukhet rarely spoke with anyone. Most assumed she either couldn't speak or didn't understand Common.

Jaina leaned heavily on her cane. "The Warchief of the Horde destroyed the city I used to call home before I came to Icecrown."

Anu'Shukhet shifted a foreleg so that Jaina could lean against her and slide down gently to sit on the ground beside her. "He killed a man I respected, tens of the city's defenders, and innocent civilians. He's made an entire population homeless!"

Anu'Shukhet made a low purring sound. It vibrated her chitin armour and trembled against Jaina's elbow where it touched her foreleg.

"I am so angry! And I can't do anything with that anger except bury it because if I don't, it will kill me and hundreds of others! One of Dalaran's Council wants to revoke the city's neutrality and expel the Horde, and I almost agree with him." She drew her hands roughly through her hair, pulling out the pins. "Almost."

"Bury your anger for your diplomatic reasons, yes," Anu'Shukhet said. "But do not let it die. Anger is your respect for those lost. Anger says you valued their lives."

Jaina mullled over her words for a moment.

Anu'Shukhet continued. "My people believe in vengeance for a wrong done to us. A life claimed for another lost. Sometimes many lives. But sometimes we must wait, for an opportunity, for our targets to grow complacent. Bide your time and when the chance comes, rise to repay the loss."

"That chance may never come," said Jaina.

"Then grieve for them and remember them. Sometimes vengeance, however bloody, cannot assuage the loss of something truly precious."

She swallowed hard. "No... it can't."

Across the courtyard, the paladin squared off against the dark-haired draenei woman. Their contest seemed amicable. After each round, they helped each other up, compared weapon techniques, and traded insults.

"If Hellscream's aggression infects the entire Horde, those two will meet someday on the battlefield." Jaina nodded to the sparring partners. Her tone was more bitter than she intended, but it was the truth.

Kinndy was somewhat correct- Icecrown was neutral ground. Horde and Alliance found opportunities to meet, make acquaintances, sometimes even friends. The Knights of the Ebon Blade came from every species beholden to the two factions and they worked together.

Anu'Shukhet turned her head to watch them for a moment.

"You and I met as enemies. It was our choice to form a truce, and a friendship, despite the voices of those with great influence."

"You're annoyingly positive today."

"The sun is warm and I have bested all of my challengers today. But, my friend, when your former allies had forsaken you, you found new allies." Anu'Shukhet clicked her mandibles in thought. "If their leaders push them in a direction they do not wish to go, they too will find new allies." Her deep purr became a subsonic vibration. Jaina felt it in her bones, her teeth. "And if they do, that is your chance to rise, my friend."


Kel'Thuzad settled in the chair and searched the top of the desk for his glasses. He had never needed glasses before, not even as his original, fallible human body aged into its sixth and seventh decade.

However, after Deathwing so rudely incinerated him, Kel'Thuzad resurrected himself in an excellent, magic-wrought body only to find objects near his face were blurry. It was a minor nuisance at first. He was more concerned that some aspect of the spellwork that composed his body had been cast awry. It was a tiny error considering the overall scope of the magic required to reorganize a physical vessel and then bind his soul into it, but squinting at his books and notes quickly became bothersome.

Jaina procured the glasses for him. While she recovered from Deathwing's assault, too weak to do more than wrap herself in blankets and read, she had worked out the exact curvature of the lenses necessary to correct his vision based on the mistake she found in the spellwork. A few weeks later, the postal goblin appeared with a parcel addressed to Kel'Thuzad.

He found the spectacles, adjusted them on the bridge of his nose, and leaned over the sprawl of texts, grimoires, notes, and sketches occupying his desk.

Half of it was comparative anatomy; necromancy derived its basics from medicine and biology. One had to understand a form in order to emulate it or animate it with magic. Of course, once one was well-versed in the basics, one could start applying their knowledge in new and creative directions. (Or, as the Kirin Tor put it 'breaking the rules' and 'sinning against nature'.)

As if nature obeys its own rules.

His current physical form was a product of such research and innovation.

Jaina had given him free access to the Helm of Domination for study. No one, save long-dead warlocks of the Burning Legion, fully understood the artifact or how it contained and bestowed the powers of the Lich King. And, more importantly to him, the Helm was Kel'Thuzad's phylactery, the physical object that contained his soul. It was both the source of his immortality and his eternal servitude.

On the one hand, the Helm proved nigh indestructible so his immortality was well guaranteed.

On the other, his servitude was equally guaranteed.

So far he had learned enough from the Helm to alter the pattern of spells that governed his resurrection. He no longer needed a cadre of disciples to bring him back from the hazy limbo of lich-death; that change alone was a victory (and sure to perturb many). And this new form itself was a small victory, a cosmetic change, but the fact he could change it was something. Minus the need for spectacles. He would have to fix that before he died again.

Fantastic as it was to confirm he could change his form, Kel'Thuzad wasn't sure he liked appearing human. It made interacting with human-sized people and objects easier, but now it was difficult to intimidate them by sheer appearance. Still, this body was the most well-known shape to him- Kel'Thuzad had reanimated many, many humans- and therefore the simplest to weave into the Helm.

He turned back to his research.

The other half of the material on the desk was a mix of orcish and demonic: scrolls, journals, and dictionaries. A lot of what he had collected were secondhand accounts and other people's research. A good amount of that was probably worthless. His first task was weeding out the worthless from the useful.

Hours later, Kel'Thuzad got up and began shelving some of the items in the 'worthless' pile. He didn't discard such things. There was information to be had even among incorrect accounts of unusual magic; information about the observer if not the incantation or ritual described. One never knew when such information might prove useful.

A knock at the door interrupted his concentration.

It was near the witching hour so whoever knocked was either undead or suffering from insomnia. Anyone who knew this laboratory was routinely Kel'Thuzad's domain likely wouldn't knock; either they were a comrade (Jaina, Nerubian couriers, a selection of the Scourge and Scourge-adjacent, the postal goblin) or they were looking for a fight (assorted adventurers).

Curious, Kel'Thuzad opened the door.

It was the night elf Death Knight, Soffriel Shadowborn.

Kel'Thuzad did not invite him in and returned to shelving information. "Soffriel," he said. "Interesting name. Quel'dorei, not kaldorei."

"Yes, my lord," said the elf. Kel'Thuzad heard his armour shift and turned to see Soffriel kneeling.

"Is this the name your parents gave you," asked the lich in Darnassian, "or a name you gave yourself?"

Soffriel looked up. "My parents," he replied quietly in the same language.

"Why are you kneeling in my doorway, Soffriel?"

"My lord, I wish to be your student in necromantic magic." There were no native words for the concept of 'necromancy' in Darnassian; Soffriel spoke the word in accented Common.

Hardly the first to ask.

"What recommends you for such study?" Kel'Thuzad set the papers aside and approached the Death Knight. Soffriel lowered his eyes.

"I- I have a background in magic. I am a good student. I am… not a very good Death Knight."

"Yes. How you survived your training is a complete mystery to me."

"I do not remember, my lord." Soffriel remained kneeling, head bowed, hands in shaking fists upon his thighs.

"What kind of background in magic do you have?"

"I was a druid."

"Ah." Kel'Thuzad said nothing more for several seconds and waited. Soffriel looked up and accidentally met the lich's gaze. He immediately turned his head but Kel'Thuzad reached down and caught his chin. "Look at me."

"Yes, my lord."

"Why does a disciple of nature wish to learn something so unnatural?"

Soffriel closed his eyes for a moment. Were the elf not undead, Kel'Thuzad thought that he might be weeping. "I was a healer," he whispered. "I soothed and mended my companions. I did not fight. I am not useful to the Scourge as a fighter but… what you did- I did not know that- that a necromancer can be a healer to the undead! I could be useful that way."

"And where are your companions now?"

"S-scattered. Dead. But one is upstairs. She aided Lady Proudmoore after Deathwing. Our King will know her, my lord."

Kel'Thuzad let go of the elf's chin. Soffriel resumed staring at his fists.

"So you were a druid, and now you're a Death Knight, and yesterday you decided that you want to be a necromancer." Kel'Thuzad turned away. "Soffriel, I have no use for a capricious student."

"I was not made a Death Knight by choice!" Soffriel's voice broke. "It is not something that anyone can undo. But I am free to choose this path, if you will teach me."

Kel'Thuzad paused. Soffriel's plea- it was certainly a plea, not a request- landed too close to the lich's immortal damnation. I am not free to choose.

Kel'Thuzad pushed the thought aside. Soffriel presented an interesting perspective. Jaina had shown some willingness to let others learn necromantic theory- for defensive purposes only, of course- but balked at every prospective student so far. What Soffriel was asking for was something more than theory, but framed in an unexpected manner.

"If you follow this path, Soffriel Shadowborn, you will be an abomination to your kind."

The elf looked up and this time there was no emotion in his expression. "I already am."

Kel'Thuzad smiled.