Ghouls tore each other limb from limb. Abominations swung their hooks and blades at each other, carving chunks of flesh until their bodies fell apart. Blackened bile and green ooze stained the once pristine snow that covered the landscape.
Was this supposed to intimidate Arthas? The mangle of undead that the Lich King had scrounged up did not even number high enough to be considered a battalion. Arthas did not even bother entering the fighting. It would not have excited him, instead just annoyed him. A few kills and he would be forced to clean his armor over nothing.
Only a few miles north of the fighting was the familiar mouth of a cavern, where an empty pedestal stood, no doubt crusted over in ice from years of inattention. Frostmourne was no longer there.
Arthas had decided to move his forces closer to Icecrown, trying to illicit a serious response from the bastard. If one squinted hard enough, a spike or two jutted out of the cloud cover. The only obvious clue to the looming Citadel hiding within. While he had been Lich King, Arthas had not bothered to hide his Citadel from onlookers. Storms were always present, but they only accentuated his center of power. They never hid it. These clouds might hide the physical presence of the current ruler, but in turn also revealed his cowardice.
This paltry battle finished quicker than Arthas wanted and soon he stood amongst his forces, watching them lazily as they tore apart the enemy forces and gorged themselves.
Everything was going his way, yet still deep inside there was disquiet in his mind. Why was he feeling this way? Nothing should be troubling him. He was on a set path toward recovering his glorious power and getting everything deserved. He deserved to crush and dominate. He deserved to be king and God of death.
Didn't he?
"Master!"
Another source of disturbance to cause Arthas more irritation. Kiefer rushed toward him, wading through body parts and blood. Despite their arguments, the weaselly necromance seemed the only confidant that Arthas could rely on. A disappointing thought that weighed on Arthas's mind.
"What is it, Kiefer?" He muttered.
"I've just come to congratulate you on your progress?"
"There's no challenge to it," Arthas grunted, kicking aside a dismembered arm.
Kiefer's grin falted slightly. "I mean, is that not a good thing?"
Bolvar Fordragon was no fool. He had to be planning something. All of this was nothing but a distraction.
As enjoyable as the violence was to Arthas, when the last body falls to him, a type of fog seemed to cloud his mind. He felt less alert and lethargic. Even the smallest of tasks required a lot of effort for him. The only cure it seemed was to distract himself by killing things.
Kiefer reached out to clasp Arthas's forearm, his face full of concern.
"Master, are you alright?"
Arthas almost confided in the necromancer. While Kiefer seemed trustworthy, this was no something he could tell him. He and the other few necromaners he had were not bound to him like they would have been if he was the Lich King still. They were only with him because of his perceived strength. If they had any doubts, they might leave him out of perceived weakness. These feelings were definitely something that counted as a weakness. Kiefer would doubt Arthas's competence, and spread word of this problem.
No, he would not tell Kiefer. He would keep these strange feelings a secret deep inside, like he preferred.
"I am fine. Salvage whatever undead you can. Bolster our ranks. The fool Bolvar is just helping us, not hindering us.
Casually, Arthas stepped through the black blood and spilled organs. Some ghouls were scavenging for a meal but they scattered when he drew near. The cultists were now rushing forward to take stock of what they could use. Some of the undead Arthas had encountered were older and might not be usable. None of them looked fresh. Arthas suspected Bolvar was holding his newest troops in reserve.
Their war camp was getting bigger and bigger. Hordes of undead wandered around, ready to pounce on anything that moves. The wicker creatures that Adalger had provided were less restless, most standing completely still. Arthas walked past several and they only watched him silently. They had fought a few times and Arthas did not question their usefulness. While wood was flammable, so was flesh. Wood lasted longer and it seemed to be able to cut just as sharply as iron.
Arthas headed toward his tent, his mind darkening with every step. He reached up to brush past the opening, but stopped when he heard the voice.
"You can't chew through those. All you're going to do is hurt your teeth!"
The response was just a low growl, and then there was a grinding sound. Arthas entered the tent.
In one corner of the room sat a cage of harsh metal.
Chompers gnawed at the cage bars, making little growling noise in the process. Her little teeth, pale yellow and sharp, grinded against the dark metal. Ethan leaned back the metal bars. Next to him, Stub busied himself by licking the inside of his thighs. Arthas had stuck the three of them in a cage, telling them to not annoy him and they might live. An undead or cultist would come by to check on them and feed them every few hours.
"Fine. But don't complain later when you break a tooth."
"Gnolls have stronger strength in their teeth and jaws than humans do," Arthas said.
The young man jumped at the sudden voice. All three looked at Arthas in alarm. Chompers stopped her chewing and immediately started yapping out insults to Arthas.
"Stupid spithead let us out! I'll rip off your stupid large head, stupid!" She snapped childishly.
Once again, Arthas thought of weakness. This was one of those things that might bite him in the ass later. For some reason, he hadn't killed the two kids. Why, he had no idea. The boy showed use previously, but that doesn't mean he would again. As for the gnoll, he had even less use for her. He might could use her as ghoul bait. They were just a source of mild amusement. Something told him he should let them live.
Arthas smirked at Ethan. "You think you can redeem me, yet you can't even teach this little furball to watch her language. She'd be an excellent sailor with that mouth."
Ethan pried the gnoll from the cage bars. "She's just hungry. She didn't mean any of it!"
"Yes I did," Chompers piped up. She then stuck her tongue at Arthas. Ethan grabbed her and covered her mouth up with one hand.
"If you behave, I'll let the both of you out to eat as much as you want."
The little gnoll bit Ethan's hand and perked up. "Gimme food!"
With that, Arthas unlocked the cage. Chompers hopped out as soon as he opened the door. Ethan lunged forward and grabbed her before she could attack Arthas's leg. Stub immediately ran out and started to zoom around the tent to get rid of pent-up energy. The hyena attempted to jump onto Arthas but the man shoved him away.
A hooded cultist came in from Arthas's unspoken command, carrying food to the one table in the tent. Chompers snatched a loaf of bread and shoved it into her mouth, making all sorts of muffled contented noises.
"You haven't told us why are you are in Northrend," Ethan said curiously.
"Hmm. It's not like you'll tell anyone. I'm here to get back what is mine. The Scourge. The Helm of Domination. Northrend itself."
The young man nibbled on some bread and cheese. Chompers devoured whatever she could shove into her small maw.
"Why?"
"Why what?" Arthas replied with confusion.
Ethan gave the man a hard look. "I mean, why are you doing that?"
Arthas stared at him. "Because? Because they belong to me!"
Ethan tilted his head. "That doesn't seem like a good reason to me. Why do you even want to be Lich King."
"I was the Lich King! I deserve it!" Arthas snapped.
"You were forced to be Lich King from what I've heard and read about it," Ethan said with a shrug.
Arthas balked, then fury reared its ugly head.
"You are just a stupid child, you know nothing about it!"
Chompers watched both of him with wide eyes, confused and frightened.
Ethan didn't respond to Arthas's anger. "I can't know anything if you don't explain it to me. Why?"
Arthas slammed his hands on the table in front of Ethan. Now the boy flinched.
"I don't need to explain myself. To anyone!"
With that, Arthas left the tent. He looked out over Dragonblight, where the bones of dragons blanketed the landscape. He could see everything. From Wyrmrest Temple, standing alone on the plains of ice and rock. Dalaran could barely be seen peaking above the mountains that hid Crystalsong forest. Hidden behind storming clouds, Icecrown Citadel lurked like a spider, hidden in its nest.
"I don't know why. Nothing makes sense. I just...need to do it," Arthas mumbled, heard only by the wind and snow. The storm clouds over Icecrown could not compare to the dark clouds in Arthas's own mind.
He turned back to return. He needed to do this. Bolvar had usurped his position. The living hated him. Jaina left him. Kel'thuzad had abandoned him to his fate. There was nothing else for him to do. What was he, if not the Lich King?
Arthas brushed the tent flap aside and saw the two kids had returned to the cage. Neither noticed him. Ethan wrapped Chompers up in his own cloak, showing off the eagle tabard of House Menethil again. Arthas's chest tightened.
"Do you want to hear this song my mother sang to me?"
"Oooh, yes please!" Chompers chirped.
"It's the only memory I really have of her. I can barely even remember her face. My father, I remember a bit more," Ethan said, looking up away from Arthas. The man knew the boy's mind was in the past, dredging up memories from the furthest reaches of his mind.
Lu, la lu, my dearest child,
Lu, la lu, lu la lay,
Lordaeron says, "Go to sleep."
Azeroth says, "Dream you deep."
Lu, la lu, la lu, la lay,
Safe in my arms you'll stay.
Arthas recoiled backwards. Long had it been since he last heard that song. Like Ethan, this memory was faded and old. Arthas sat in front of a mirror, small and vulnerable with sea green eyes and hair of gold. Behind him, his mother sang the song while she brushed his hair. He could even smell her favorite perfume, a mix of gardenia blooms and orange citrus.
This was something that should have been forgotten. Claws of regret and grief dug into Arthas like some feral beast had attacked him. No! This wasn't possible. Now he knew he should kill Ethan. His only purpose in live seemed to be to torment Arthas on his past. A tabard of blue and white. A song from his childhood.
As if fleeing an enemy, Arthas rushed out of the camp. He kept running. These memories kept up with him. He remembered his mother and his sister. He remembered Uther and the long hours of training and meditation. A young Arthas pretending to be a guard alongside Falric and Marwyn. The memories of his father stood out most of all. The burdens he placed on Arthas. All the lectures. Arthas had to be a perfect prince. Every day he was forced to learn different languages, the rule of law, etiquette, politics, history and everything in between. He would go to bed bruised from fighting lessons. He had to be a perfect paladin.
He could never get anything wrong. Even sitting at dinner came with a lecture on how his posture was. Nothing could just be okay. No, it had to be perfect. If he failed, his kingdom would collapse. People would starve and suffer. History would mark Arthas as the most useless king in history. He had to be perfect.
Without looking where he was going, Arthas fell face first through a shallow layer of ice down into a crevasse between some rocks and the earth. He tumbled down, banging his head against hard permafrost.
Arthas forced himself to sit up, wincing. Snow clung to him in wet clumps. Above him the crack he'd formed showed the sky. For the first time in a while, Arthas felt the cold. He felt the sting of the pain from falling. Arthas curled up into a ball right there, hidden from the world in this small sanctum. And he wept.