Disclaimer: I don't own the WarCraft universe or Blizzard.
≶The Call of the Lich King: Seven Days of Torment≶
≶Day One≶
The wind blew across the plains of Northrend, a deafening cheer for the fallen prince. Snow blowing indifferently was not uncommon this far north. The snow was just living out its small life as a nomad, going wherever the wind took it. It did not care that it froze the blood caked on the ground. It did not care that it chilled every soul to the bone. It did not care that it obscured the light from the eyes of hapless fools who wandered. It did not care that it blinded them from what is in front of them.
Eventually, though, the wind must die. Even mighty Northrend must pause for a breath. And when the wind died, the snow fell on the blond head of the Prince, as he sat under the small cover of a boulder.
The prince now half-laid across the ice, arm propped up on a knee, head down, staring at nothing. His armor was beginning to grow small icicles the longer he sat there, but he did not appear to care. He may have believed that he did not deserve any better.
Arthas didn't feel the cold.
Arthas was not alone. No, he was never alone now. Frostmourne stood defiantly before him, having been driven into the ground by the very hand that now hung limp on its owner's knee. The skull's eyes that were etched into the hilt blazed with its demonic blue fire. It didn't burn as brightly as before, but it still burned.
The cheering wind blew through Arthas' hair as he stared down at the ground.
My, my, a voice called inside his head. Is the mighty Prince of Lordaeron sulking?
Arthas didn't answer.
Why do you sulk, mighty prince? The voice continued. You finally completed the very thing that you set out to. You brought vengeance to Mal'Ganis after so long. So, if this should be a joyous occasion, why do you sulk?
Arthas didn't answer. The voice cackled inside his head.
Do not tell me you are ashamed of it! The voice crowed. Are you filled with regret? Do you wish you could undo what you've already done? That is why you humans are so foolish! You wish for so many things when you should actively seek them out! You spend so many times hoping for things to change that they never do! But you, good prince! You knew what needed to be done! You had dreams and you made those dreams a reality! You wished to defend your homeland from the Orcish Horde and the Undead Scourge and you did! With your own two hands, you made that dream and that hope a reality!
Arthas tried to shut out the annoying voice.
But you did one thing wrong, good prince! The voice surmised. You did these things for the sake of others! You realized this dream for the sake of the weak and those too pitiful to defend them! They gladly had you do all the dirty work! They gladly let you clean up the rabble that threatened them! Such a thankless job to protect those deplorable wretches! But tell me what happened when you tried to do your job at Stratholme?
Arthas shivered. With rage, possibly.
Tell me good prince. What did those wretches who happily let you clean up after them do when you did your job? What did they do? The voice asked hurriedly.
"…shut up," Arthas muttered.
Will you not say it? Will you not tell me exactly what those pathetic worms did to you after you did what was necessary? Especially since the evidence was right in front of their eyes, The voice pestered on without rest.
"Shut up," Arthas told the voice.
Are you actually trying to forget what they did? Are you still reeling with shock? Why? Do you not realize what it means? It means that they are weaker than you! You took the initiative when all others hesitated and that proved that you are stronger than them! So why aren't you proud of what you've done? The voice became slightly louder.
"Shut up," Arthas told him louder.
You will still not say it? The voice continued unabated. You will not say how you knew that the Scourge was infecting the grain shipments? How you knew that that was how the Undead Plague was spreading throughout all of Lordaeron? And how, when you arrived at Stratholme, you saw the crates already opened and distributed to the people?
"Shut up!" Arthas growled.
You realized that you needed to not only quarantine the city, but also contain it, The voice seemed to ignore his cries. And what did containing it mean, good prince? What did it mean! Take pride in your actions, Prince Arthas, for if you live in regret, you will never have absolute power! And that is what you've always wanted! Power! Not to be a good king! Not to be a pawn for those hapless paladins! Not even the lovely Jaina Proudmoore -!
"I SAID SHUT UP!" Arthas' roar echoed throughout Northrend and silenced it for a brief, stunning moment.
Arthas leapt forward and grabbed the sword angrily. With all the force he could muster, he threw the terrible sword into the distance, where it disappeared behind the veil of white snow. He watched it as it vanished into the white distance. He watched until he could no longer see the gloating eyes on the accursed sword. He watched nothing as the wind blew his hair over his face, his hands loose beside his waist.
Arthas felt something well up within him. It was a realization. It was a certain epiphany that can only be found when you lose something. When you lose something you never thought you could miss. He realized now the chilling truth.
Arthas was now completely alone.
Arthas now felt…the cold chill of Northrend's icy cheer.