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≶The Call of the Lich King: Seven Days of Torment≶
≶Day Two≶
Northrend was silent this day, allowing the sun to finally warm the ground with what little warmth the land allowed it. And this day, as the glare of the sun reflected off the snow, Arthas still did nothing. The winter air was still cold, though a little warmer due to the heat from the sun, but still, the warming air did not give Arthas the energy needed to do…anything. This day, Arthas did not want to do anything.
Northrend found that quite boring.
Arthas sat against the rock wall, lost in his own thoughts. With the sword gone, all he had now was his own thoughts. Whether they were there to haunt him or to comfort him, he could not know. Though at this point in time, he did not seem to care.
Northrend was barren and empty, devoid of life. No hint of civilization existed anywhere, except for the now destroyed Alliance settlement that he set up when he arrived at this forsaken place. Now, it was abandoned, with its survivors and stragglers now wandering around, trying to find the right place to die.
Arthas thought of meeting up with them, to guide them and lead them from Northrend. But the thought slowly faded as Arthas thoughts wore on, taking whatever course Arthas allowed them to. If he met with the survivors, what would he say to them? What could he say to them? There was nothing he could say to them. There were no apologies he could give to them.
He wished he could, though. He wished he could just say he was sorry. Sorry for bringing them here, sorry for using them as a means to an end, and sorry that he had let them die, alone and away from their loved ones, for his pride. Left to die in a harsh and foreign land. He wished he could walk up to his men and apologize wholeheartedly to them all.
But he wouldn't do that. Because he wasn't sorry.
Arthas had needed his men. Lordaeron was being ravaged by, not only the Orcish Horde, but also by the plague of Undeath. And Mal'Ganis, a dreadlord for the Undead Scourge, was the cause behind it all.
What else was he supposed to do?
Was he just supposed to roll over in the mud and let his kingdom be ravaged by these monsters? Just let his people be slaughtered by these heartless demons?
No.
His name is Arthas Menethil, Knight of the Silver Hand, son of King Terenas Menethil II, and Crown Prince of Lordaeron. It was his solemn duty to protect the people of Lordaeron from tyranny and oppression. Even from themselves, and by any and all necessary means.
So, when Stratholme was infected with the plague, Arthas didn't hesitate to burn it to the ground and purge all who dwelled there.
But why had Uther opposed him? He was the one who taught Arthas all these tenants. Had taught him how to be a paladin and how to rule his future kingdom.
Why did he betray him? Why did Uther ignore what he taught Arthas? Why did Uther wish to save the people of Stratholme? He could see that the people were beyond saving, couldn't he?
The biting wind of Northrend softly blew through Arthas' blond hair, stealing away a little color.
The cold reminded Arthas of only one fact. A fact that Arthas resented and one that he did not wish to think about. But it intruded on his mind nonetheless.
The cold of Northrend reminded Arthas that he was still alone.
So Arthas ignored the cold. He ignored the hunger in his belly. He ignored the frostbite in his limbs. He ignored the pain that was named loss from his mind. The loss of friends, the loss of comrades in arms, the loss of his kingdom, the loss of his pride; all these things meant nothing to him now. He had questions and he wanted them answered.
But who would answer him? Who would dare talk to hapless wretch such as him? Who would want to talk to someone who betrayed his men, his kingdom and his own friends? Was there anybody on Azeroth who would want to talk to him, listen to his questions…and heal his loneliness?
There was one person who would talk to him.
Arthas blinked.
Would that person still wish to talk to him, after everything he had done? Arthas had tossed that person aside for his foolish pride and his duty as a paladin. Would that person still wished to talk to him.
Arthas blinked.
He leaned forward slowly, placing his hands on the ground in front of him.
Using what little strength was left in his legs, he pushed himself up.
The wind blew through Arthas' hair, stealing more color from it as Arthas stood still, gazing at nothing.
Arthas turned and began to trudge through the snow.
It was a long shot, but Arthas needed to try.
He was tired of having so many unanswered questions and this person was the only one who could answer them.
Not Uther.
Not Jaina.
Only the person whose voice came from the demon sword.
Arthas thought for a moment.
Could Ner'zhul still be considered a person? Could the mighty Lich King be classified a person?
Arthas made sure to ask that question when he found Frostmourne, through which, he knew, the Lich King could talk to him. Mal'Ganis had told him himself that this was so.
Arthas didn't care.
He needed someone to talk to.
So Arthas trudged on and began his search of Northrend for the demon sword, Frostmourne.