Disclaimer: I don't own the WarCraft universe or Blizzard.

≶The Call of the Lich King: Seven Days of Torment≶

≶Day Six≶

The winds of Northrend slowly began to pick up, slowly filling the wasteland with its bitter cold. Northrend's cold heart was beginning to race as it watched with growing anticipation and excitement the duel between the two Arthas'. Mighty Northrend itself did not know whether the Death Knight was real or not, but it knew that the things in this world could not be made from nothing. Snow became water; water became ice; ice became snow. It surmised that the Death Knight was created by that bane on its crown, the Lich King, from something within Arthas himself. Something that Arthas did not know or yet realize was there.

Northrend's thoughts ceased for the moment; Arthas was waking up now.

Weakly, Arthas painfully opened his eyes to the dull light of day. The wind was blowing softly but cruelly against his face. He tried to get up, but his muscles, deprived of water and nutrition, forced him back down to the ice. He groaned silently. It was then that he realized that he was being watched.

He lifted his head up to see Arthas the Death Knight staring back at him with his cruel, blue eyes. The Death Knight was cold. Arthas couldn't tell if the Death Knight felt cold (he was not him, after all), but when he looked upon…himself, he saw that everything about was the epitome of cold. From his pale white features to his pure white hair and to his frost ridden armor. Only his eyes that looked towards the future blazed with a blue fire that looked all too familiar on the cursed sword.

Feeling strength return to him, Arthas the Paladin lifted himself up so he could sit. The black snow returned to his vision, blinding him momentarily and his head felt like someone was nailing a blade into it, but he forced himself forward. He rubbed his temples, dulling the pain only for a moment.

When the black snow left and the pain subsided he looked up at…himself.

"What happened to the bear?" Arthas asked, looking for the corpse.

"Ate it," The Death Knight responded.

"How did it taste?" Arthas asked, unconsciously licking his lips.

"Fine," The Death Knight responded. "A bit cold."

"How long was I out?" Arthas asked, rubbing his head.

"About a day," The Death Knight told him.

Arthas didn't respond. He only gazed at Frostmourne, which was still being held in his hand.

"You could have taken it," Arthas spoke.

"I'm sorry?" The Death Knight asked.

"The sword," Arthas explained. "You could have taken it while I was out. You could have killed me."

"Why would I kill myself?" The Death Knight asked.

"You aren't me," Arthas said coldly.

"Yet," The Death Knight responded. "Still, I could have taken the sword while you slept. I could have killed you, gone back to Lordaeron as you and claimed the land for the Scourge. But I didn't, did I?"

"No," Arthas said. "Why not?"

"Because the only reason a person would want to kill them is because they want to change something," The Death Knight told him. "And right now, you don't want to change anything about yourself. Yet."

"What do you know about me?" Arthas asked. "Nothing! You are not me! You know nothing of what I want!"

"I know that you still wish things were different," The Death Knight told him. "I know that you wish things had turned out differently. Between you and Jaina, between you and Uther, Stratholme, Muradin. You wish all of these things were different. That's why I wouldn't kill you. You wish for these things but you lack the courage to want to change them. That's why I won't kill myself. Because I wish for these things, but I don't want these things."

Arthas wanted to argue against the Death Knight. He wanted to tell the Death Knight that it wasn't true, but the words refused to come out of his mouth. His mouth urged himself to say something, but he knew nothing he said would change anything.

The black snow began to fill his vision and the pain in his head began to throb.

"You sure are an interesting thing, aren't you princey?" The Death Knight said.

"How so?" Arthas asked, barely above a whisper. His head began to swim.

"You are so proud and mighty," The Death Knight replied. "A true son of Lordaeron, but when the time comes, you can be so cowardly."

Arthas began to blink rapidly, pushing away the dizziness.

"You are so blinded by your duty that you cannot see the simple truth of the matter," The Death Knight continued. "You cannot yet see what you have become. When you come close to realizing it, you hide behind your responsibility, cowering away from it. That's why you could never be a strong king."

"And you could?" Arthas groaned, collapsing on his hands and knees.

"I already am, good prince," The Death Knight responded, ignoring himself. "I am not afraid to admit what I did in the name of Lordaeron. You cannot even bring yourself to talk about Stratholme. What are you so afraid of? Do you regret your decision? A good king must never regret anything that he has done. But you. You continually hide behind your morals and duty, and are so blinded by them that you cannot see that you have left them far behind. The minute you set off on your path of vengeance against Mal'Ganis, you abandoned your kingdom's principles and forged your own. But when faced with the bitter cold of Northrend and left to your own thoughts, you abandoned the principles you created and attempted to crawl back to your kingdom's."

"And what's wrong with that?" Arthas asked wearily, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain. And against he words he knew were true.

"It's cowardly and pitiful," The Death Knight replied. "A king must be strong. He must never look back. He must do what is not only in his country's best interest but his own. You knew what had to be done at Stratholme. And you knew that you had to kill every person in that city. Commendable. You knew that the only way to defeat the dreadlord Mal'Ganis was to seize the power and might of Frostmourne, damning your soul to the Lich King forever. Praiseworthy actions."

Arthas heaved on whatever was left in his stomach onto the ice. There wasn't much.

The eyes of Frostmourne began to glow and the winds of Northrend blew a little stronger.

"Now the only you need to do is return home," The Death Knight continued. "But you can't now. You've changed too much. And Lordaeron is sickening to your eyes. It's pathetic, weak. And now you have the strength to fix it. To change it to your image and truly bring it to greatness. But you won't because you are still trying to cling to those pathetic morals that failed you. You would never raise a hand against your kingdom, though you didn't seem to have any problems razing Stratholme to the ground. You can almost taste the hypocrisy. You, good prince, are continually denying what you know already to be true. There is no going back to the way things were. Not anymore."

Tears came unbidden to Arthas' eyes. It was true. His entire being was now filled with hypocrisy and deceit. He was such a fool. Why didn't he see it before? Why couldn't he see it before? Was he still hoping that he still had some humanity left when he knew there was none? Was he always hoping to return to the way things were? To the joys and cares of the past? His tears fell to the ground, frozen before they hit the ground. Was it too late for him?

No.

It couldn't be too late. He knew that there is always hope for men, even the most decrepit ones. And he could prove it too.

He got up to his feet and ran through the snow and ice, against the pain that emanated throughout his entire body. Against the strengthening applause of Northrend that ripped through his body, he continued to run. He ran in search of his men, who he hoped were still alive.

Arthas watched the Paladin run towards who knows where. Sighing, he got up and followed him, walking almost lazily but with purpose.

"Damn idiot," Arthas mumbled as he trudged through the snow. "Making me chase him through this place."

The Paladin ran across the snowy desert and the Death Knight followed.

The Paladin was searching for proof that he was not completely lost.

The Death Knight was just following his own footsteps.

Northrend watched all of this, cheering all the while. Who the continent was cheering for didn't matter. Just that it was cheering.

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For those who read The Gunslinger by Stephen King will see the reference. Just seemed to fit.

Two more chapters and I'll be done. I'll finish it this weekend.

I hope.

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