IV
It was the worst idea he had, going with her when she decided to undergo her specialized two month-long training session back at Stormwind Intelligence Command. And she talked him out of it many times before, but he was insistent. Sometimes, there was no arguing with him. Normally, he did stay behind so that he could keep an eye on his flight in the swamp, or if someone from the Earthen Ring needed him. But this time, he wanted to come on one of her trips. After all, he wanted to show her that he wouldn't get in her way. So, he kept himself locked in the dormitory provided, refusing to even go outside for a simple walk through the streets of Stormwind, fearful of what sort of reaction he would receive from the locals. They already left a few gifts here and there on the stoop, smashed, stinking eggs yokes coating the steel door, rotting vegetables littering the steps, and meat with flies buzzing around, their putrid smell none too pleasant––even to him.
At night, when everyone was asleep, he would come out to clean the filth from the steps through his command over water, calling upon it from the nearby fountain.
He heard a crash through the living room window and a plop and a bounce. Neltharion moved over to see what it was. There, in a mess of shattered glass and wood was a rock with a note tied around it. The Black Dragon settled himself down upon his belly on the hardwood floor, brushing away the shattered glass from the rock. Then, he picked up the rock and very gently opened the note that was folded around it. On a piece of parchment was written in rather sloppy Dwarven glyphs was one phrase: "This is for Ironforge, you fat bastard!"
Neltharion growled and crumpled the note. The parchment ignited into flames in his paw and crumpled to ashes afterwards. No one was ever going to let him hear the end of every screw up he had done, despite he doing it for the best of everyone. Well, he thought he was doing it for the best of everyone. As it turned out, not many believed that. With a creak of the wooden floor, Neltharion rose to his feet to peer fearfully out the window.
It was a gray day in Stormwind. The fog rolled in and seemed to cling tightly to the streets despite it being mid afternoon. Even the sun's warmth could not burn away the gloom. He heard the sound of bells chime from the cathedral off in the distance and he could see the great towers of Stormwind arching up, only to disappear into the clouds themselves. Though, he could not mistake the black claw-like gashes along the tops of the towers still smoldering away even after all this time. Nor could he forget the enormous crater that was Stormwind's Park.
That was his fault too.
Neltharion brought out the broom from the closet and began to sweep up the mess into a dust pan. Then, he closed the heavy curtains, pinning them shut with a clothes pin. The living room became dark, the only light came from a small, incandescent lamp on a coffee table and the Draenei hard light screen. This dorm was practically one of the few places where something like that could be found. However, it was for a specific purpose, much like the screen they had back in Theramore–to keep in contact with Command. Though, he had to admit, it reminded him of something far more sophisticated––something his father used. He looked at it for a moment and then approached it, waving his claw flatly over the purple projection lights.
There, the emblem of SI:7 appeared in gold upon the screen itself, a roaring lion's head set in the center of the Lordaeron 'L' all inside a radiating sun, with the words curved below reading "Stormwind Intelligence: Section Seven."
Section Seven was regarded as one of the highest of top clearance, cloak and dagger operations within the Alliance itself. Black-ops––these were the people Calia truly worked for. Which was why Neltharion was allowed to live in Theramore. For the most part, he was a well kept secret after Deathwing was "destroyed" as it were and SI:7 kept the lid on his existence covered up until the Twilight Hammers took hold of an SI:7 operative and managed to squeeze every intel they could gather from him as to the whereabouts of the traitor. Then, Neltharion's cover was blown and he and Calia were forced from Theramore Isle.
But they returned after the battle with Ultraxion, once more making Theramore their home. However, the damage had been done, the world knew Neltharion was back.
And the world did not rejoice a single bit. Everyone who truly did not understand what Neltharion's purpose was all wanted him dead from day one. King Varian Wrynn, though he despised Neltharion, had to come out and explain everything to his people. Still, that did not soften the blow. Which was one of the reasons why Neltharion decided to remain in Theramore and away from the Eastern Kingdoms. Aside from Garrosh's own hatred towards the Dragon Aspect, he felt more welcomed in Theramore.
He flipped through the old newspapers of nearly two years ago, stored upon microfilm. With a swish of his claw, he read upon the news that captured Deathwing's rampage through the city. Bodies found burnt, dead, ashes, blacken bones, and other victims suffered severe burns, blindness, deafness. Worse yet, there was a sickness that came afterwards, a very strange sickness never truly recorded upon Azeroth until the Cataclysm. Stories told about many people in Stormwind suddenly bleeding from the anus as their bodies rejected their intestinal lining. Then, of course, they died afterwards, in horrid agony. Hair falling out of people's scalps, strange burns that looked to have been caused by Deathwing's raging heat, but did not seem like actual heat burns. One woman was found with strange patterned burns on her body created from the heat and the floral pattern on her dress. Where there was white, her skin was not burned as badly, but where there was darker colors, there were the burn patches. Worse yet, there were some reoccurring cases.
Of course, Stormwind kept some of these scenes from leaking out to the populace on just how bad it was for the Cataclysm on their side. Whether or not the Elves or other races had seen similar incidents with regards to Deathwing's attack had yet to surface––that is until the Ironforge incident.
Neltharion remembered quite well the Ironforge incident, what happened. He hoped beyond hope that the dwarves were safe beneath their mountain when he flew by, his wings covered in the pyroclastic debris from Blackrock Mountain. Unfortunately, they were not and as he carried the cloud over their lands, aside from the usual damage caused by pyroclastic surges, that same sickness took the Dwarves. There were hairless dwarves now, the hair follicles that grew their beards had been damaged beyond healing.
So, Neltharion made a secret promise never to go blasting out of volcanoes ever again. Though, little did he know that was only part of the cause.
Since the Ironforge incident, many feared to even be around him. It was understood, he was a little over 800 feet in length, nearly 90 thousand tons in weight in his true size. Just walking around toppled buildings due to his extreme density. No, that wasn't it. It was the fear of the sickness that kept some of these people away from him. Fear of Deathwing, fear of what he was, just plain fear. But Neltharion could never understand just what this sickness was. Calia never got sick when she was around him. Nor did Jaina, nor did anyone in Theramore. It was only when his wings were ignited with fire and smoke did people get this sickness.
Neltharion swept his claw, moving to the next image. He pulled up a film that showed Deathwing's rampage. And he watched as the film played, seeing a fiery creature with massive wings, shrouded in black smoke fly overhead. Lightning streaked through the billowing smoke, caused by the static of the tiny rock fragments in the pyroclastic loud itself. As the lightning struck the ground, the film flickered with static white streaks. Then, as the fiery cloud finally flew over the tracker, the film ended in static snow.
He kept viewing those files, over and over ever since he got here. He had never seen them until he got here. The hard light link through SI:7 was rather limited in Theramore, at least to him. Calia did not want him to see this. Though, one could never hide a secret from he who was the Master of Secrets. Neltharion lowered his head and his tears stung his eyes as he replayed the footage.
He could not go out side. He would not show his face to them.
The dragon wiped his eyes as he replayed it over and over. He never saw it from their level, never heard their cries while locked in his mind with Deathwing taking the reigns. His heart sank, ached, trembled. He froze the image and laid his head down, puddles forming below his cheeks as he wept.
Calia did not want him to see this. She knew what it would do to him if he saw it. But these images were the only thing that kept him busy while she was away at SI:7 Command. Then, the screen flashed as he heard a chime from the speakers. He looked up to see a call coming in with SI:7's emblem flashing. Neltharion wiped his eyes and tapped the screen.
"Yes?" he asked as a shadowy man's face appeared on the golden screen before him.
"Earth-Warder," began the man. "I am the Director of Section 7, your wife's boss––"
He had a peculiar accent. Neltharion almost identified it as rustic, fluid, and very long and slow, with flat sounding long 'i' and non existent 'r'. His accent almost made him sound like a Darkspear Troll, but not quite. However, though he spoke slowly, Neltharion could hear that this man was by no means slow in mind. However, he knew specifically what ethnic group this human was from. There were not many of his background around anymore.
"Director Nicolas Xavier," he said. "Konmen lé-zafè?"
"Çé bon, mèsi," Nicolas replied. "I never knew a foreigner who could speak my language."
"I learned a lot of languages in my life time," said Neltharion. He wiped his eyes again. "But that particular one, I have not heard in many years. Why are you calling me?"
"It is about your wife, sir," said Nicolas as he leaned in, the light of the screen shining upon his face. Neltharion could see a man nearing his golden years, lines running across his face, his pale green eyes obscured by his thick glasses. "I need you to come down and perhaps sign some paperwork. Since you are considered next of kin––her only living next of kin––"
"Wait," Neltharion said in a start, his heart suddenly freezing when he heard the Director's words. "Has something happened to Calia?"
"Forgive me, Lord Neltharion, I did not mean to presume such," he said smoothly. "Your wife is fine, sir. Agent Hastings is currently undergoing surgery however. Because of the procedure, my insurance policy requires the benefactor to come down and be present, and some paperwork signed just in case something does happen. Normally it does not, but protocol is protocol and policy is policy. You are her next of kin––and legal procedures require you to be on stand by just in case power of attorney need to be bestowed upon you, or any sort of settlements paid in an event of an accident during the procedure. It is of course, required, sir."
"Next of kin––"
"Your marriage to her makes you as such," said the Director. "Given the sensitivity of Agent Hasting's past, no other blood relative can be found. So, this is why I need you to come down to the office, if you would, please."
"Of course," said Neltharion. "But, what surgery is she––"
"Despite the fact we provide you with this terminal, this is still not quite a secure channel," said Nicolas. "I much rather tell you in person, if you will."
"There is a small problem, I can't leave the dorm," began Neltharion. "I've had a few––pranksters throw rocks in my window." He paused to hear another window shatter and another plop on the floor. "And they're still doing it."
"Well, you are quite the popular celebrity."
"I think first they want my autograph, and then they want my hide," said Neltharion.
"My dear Earth-Warder, I would never reckon that a bunch of tiny rocks would ever damage your magnificence," said the Director with a little subtle hint of sarcasm.
"Oh, funny," said Neltharion, with a snort of black smoke from his nostrils. "But it isn't whether or not they'll damage me with those rocks, it's more about the humiliation. You see, I have a bit of a low self-esteem problem and I kinda hate myself––a lot. And whenever people start throwing rocks and garbage at me, it just makes me want to crawl under a big rock and die. So, in a way, yes, they do hurt me, maybe not physically, but they do hurt me, a lot!" He lowered his head to the table the screen floated above. "I think the emotional trauma is a hundred times worse than the physical trauma."
He leaned away, dropping a claw to the floor. He looked worn, his eyes puffy, baggy and he failed to conceal to the fact he had been crying. Then he looked away.
"Calia does need me, though," he said.
"I figured that would be enough to get you out of the house for a while."
"I'll be there," Neltharion said as he wiped his eyes again.
"If you run into a few obstacles, sir, do not worry about removing them."
"Alright," said Neltharion. "But only because of Calia. I don't want anything happening to her."
"I am certain that your loving presence will help Agent Hastings get through the surgery," said Nicolas. "I will see you when you arrive. I shall have the guards let you pass once you approach the gate."
"Thank you," said Neltharion, dipping his head in gratitude. "Bonswa."
"Bonswa," said the Director as the screen went dark.
Neltharion took in a deep breath, gathering what last bit of courage he had within himself to leave the dorm. Then, he heard another plop as something came through the already broken window and another sound of glass breaking as the object hit the floor. The Black Dragon turned and saw an orange light as fire ignited, spreading almost like liquid over the wood. Neltharion's eyes lit up as the fire rose, feeling the heat rise in the room.
"Ah––crap."
"Hrim ek, Drakk!" shouted a masculine voice from the outside. Neltharion knew what that meant in Dwarven as well.
The Black Dragon approached the flames and inhaled deeply, sucking up the fire into his mouth. Then, he swallowed hard, letting loose an earth trembling belch. Neltharion turned back to now the dark, smoking, black spot on the floor. His nose detecting the sour smell of dwarfish ale, obviously used for the fuel for the bottle bomb thrown through the window. Neltharion stuck his head out the window, seeing two young dwarves run down the paved street as fast as their short legs would carry them.
"You damn kids!" he called, leaning his neck out the window. "Just wait till I get ahold of your parents! And stay off my lawn." Neltharion pulled his head out, catching just exactly what he said. "Wow, I sound really old."
He took in a deep breath and he opened the door, pushing his huge bulk through and out upon the stoop. Neltharion turned to close the door, locking it up with a brass key and then sliding it under the welcome mat. Then, he started down towards the street. The Black Dragon paused, looking around cautiously for anyone hiding behind a bush, or a street light, or even behind the dorm, ready to start pelting him with rotten vegetables. He slammed his tail upon the concrete, sending a tremor through the ground, cracking the concrete. Neltharion closed his eyes, feeling the echoing vibrations return to him. White blips appeared through the fluctuations, five of them, heading towards him. He felt the air itself shift around him as his keen ears picked up the soft whistling sound of several objects flying towards him. Neltharion rose to his hind legs and held up both forepaws. Upon his command, two large, tan, angular rocks jutted out on either side of him, providing a protective shield. Neltharion looked, hearing the sound of small metallic pelts against the stone. He turned, looking around the rock, to find slugs sticking out and the surface laced with a hairline cracks.
"Great, now, I'm missing the vegetables."
More whistling sounds followed and Neltharion ducked behind the rocks, hearing another pelt of the slugs.
"Hey, I think that's illegal!" Neltharion called. "I'm telling the guards!"
"Ahz rük!"
Neltharion peeped out from behind the rock, seeing the dwarves charge for him, guns blazing. With a kick of his foot, he sent the rock to his right sliding into the three dwarves flanking him. They toppled over like bowling pins, hitting the hard pavement. He sent the second rock to the other two dwarves running for him and then darted off, galloping down the street. Neltharion passed pedestrians walking along in the street, leaving them rather dumbfounded as to who it was that just swiftly passed them.
He kept sweeping his head from side to side, his loose locks from his braids flapping in the wind. Though, the one thing Neltharion should be watching was what was in front. With his mind preoccupied with watching out for ambushing dwarves, he did not see the newly bleached white stone of Stormwind gates suddenly speeding straight for him. The gates, still in disrepair from when Deathwing landed on top of them and burned his claws into their towers, and here Deathwing was again, returning to leave another mark upon their sides. The Earth-Warder slammed right into the stone, his thick head plowing a dragon-shaped hole into the side. With a moan, he slowly pulled himself out. The limestone bricks toppling upon his crown. Neltharion leaned his back against the wall, feeling the falling stone only adding insult to injury. He looked to his left and then to his right just as three Stormwind Guards dressed in their finest armor came walking towards him, assault rifles cocked. They stared him down, their eyes narrowing in disgust upon him. One of the black-stained, small, melted stone from the top of the tower rumbled and rolled off, plummeting into Neltharion's lap. The dragon growled as the stone fell upon him.
"I have no idea what it is you have with the gate, Deathwing," began one of the guards. "But this is the last time you try to destroy it."
"I––well––I––I––" words failed the Aspect as he wagged his head. His black claw pointed up at the destroyed top. "I––sorry––um––"
Though, before he could even explain why he made a hole into the gate's tower, his attention was called away as his ears picked up the sound of a low, creak, a moan that sounded like an enormous, old joint trying to bend. Neltharion looked up towards the gray fog hanging lowly around the white stone to see the top of the tower begin to lean towards him and the guards. The guards backed away as the tower leaned more towards them. Neltharion rose to his feet, his eyes darting up and down the tower as it slowly began its fall. He took his two legs, his heart leaping into his throat. Then, before the tower could completely topple over, the Black Dragon held up his paws and the stone froze in mid fall. Almost like a feather, the heavy stone lowered into his paws as the guards scampered out from underneath it. Neltharion held the tower gently, bracing the weight upon his shoulders. Then with a gentle push, he guided the tower's top back up, commanding the stone itself to return to its position. As the top settled back to rest, Neltharion relaxed and turned back towards the guards. The one who spoke to him walked up to him, still with that cold expression. There was no gratitude in his brown eyes.
"You know, Deathwing," he began. "I had a little apartment that looked over the Park. Then, you came, and I lost my home and my wife, and my daughter and son. And then my King said that we had to be nice to you because you're good now."
He spat near the dragon's toes and turned to walk away. His companions followed, not even looking back at Neltharion. The dragon sighed.
"You're welcome," Neltharion said, his lip curling in disgust. Though, it was not in disgust over what the guard didn't say, it was what he did say. Neltharion was once more disgusted with himself.
Dragging his feet through the spring grounds, he kept his mind on what the guard said, why the dwarves were attacking him, and each time he came to a conclusion, it was this––he hated himself because every bit of their suffering was his fault. The sickness, the guard's home and dead wife and children, and every other bad thing that he was told about, he had something to do with it. At least there was one person he could count on, and she needed him.
Why was Calia going through surgery? This was supposed to be a training session.
Neltharion finally came to the base at the end of the overgrown gravel road where Stormwind Intelligence Command was located. Before him was an enormous chain link fence and a guard tower. A top the fence, lining its length were silvery barbed wire. Tall sodium lamps topped each fence post and black wires carrying power between them. Neltharion smelled the air, noticing the faint dry scent of ozone. The fence was electrified. The Night Elf guard above was not dressed in the usual Stormwind attire, shiny, silvery armor and blue tabard. Nor did he have the usual long, scraggly hair of a Night Elf. His blue hair was cut rather short and neat, and he was dressed in something else. The guard was dressed in olive, drab green with gray and green patterned chaps along his legs and bracers upon his arms. Another guard approached him, also dressed in a similar uniform, holding tight to his magazine-fed rifle. A scope was mounted upon the top. The uniform had armor on it, black and olive drab green covering his chest and shoulders, and his shins, and the dragon could smell the bland scent of titanium coming from the armor. It was light, but tough. A black hunting knife was strapped to the harness that held the armor, the handle pointing down to make it easier for the guard to unsheathe it. Even the lion of Stormwind emblazoned upon a patch on his right shoulder was subdued in colors of black and olive. Neltharion had to admit, the armor looked more maneuverable and a bit more comfortable than the full suit of armor worn by the Stormwind Guards. And the olive green uniform helped to camouflage the guard, rather than the silver and blue that would make a Stormwind Guard stick out like a sore thumb against the forest backdrop. This guard was dressed a bit more like most of the soldiers around Theramore, who wizened to the notion that camouflage was better than painting bright blue bull's eyes upon their chest.
"Sir," he began, using the most formal and courteous tone Neltharion had ever heard so close to Stormwind. "Just a moment, I'll radio for your escort."
He brought out a bulky receiver in that same olive green color as his uniform and pressed down upon a button upon the radio inside of his guard house. Neltharion sat and waited for a reply. Then, within a few moments, he heard the sound of shuffling feet on wet gravel behind the gate. The gate's crank creaked as it opened up, and the door of the gate slid open to the side as guardsmen pulled up on levers to disconnect the power to the gate itself. Several soldiers also dressed in that same olive color, wearing similar armor, motioned for Neltharion to follow. As the Dragon Aspect came in, he looked to the side to see a jeep roll by, similar to the ones he saw the last time he was in Stormwind after he had killed his son Ultraxion. Jeeps, trucks, and the usual horse drawn wagons were bringing back many of the refugees from Stormwind. Covered canvas trucks were parked under camouflaged tarps designed to make it look like ivy vines growing up around a grassy mound. As the jeep drove on by, flags denoting a high ranking officer riding inside, the soldiers escorting Neltharion saluted as they continued their walk towards the compound. When the jeep was finally out of sight of the soldiers, they dropped their arms.
This was SI:7?
He recalled once that Stormwind Intelligence was once held inside a quaint looking cottage. Apparently, in the recent years, they've done some remodeling. Stormwind's flag flew proudly from a steel pole near the compound, despite the gray gloom that still lingered through the freshly budding leaves of the forest surrounding it. However, the gray sky only made the color of the green stand out even more boldly.
"This can't be the SI:7 Command," said Neltharion.
"It is, actually, sir," said one of the soldiers, a Worgen, still with his human shape. Neltharion could smell that the human was in fact a Worgen. Worgens always had that stinky, wet dog smell, even in their human forms, being a lycanthrope. They could never hide it. The Worgen in human form turned to the Aspect. "This serves as also the training base for both cadets and top level operatives."
"Though, we were thinking about building an academy up in the Alterac Mountains," said another soldier, just a normal human, turning to give Neltharion a sharp, disapproving eye. "However, the Cataclysm made that a bit difficult."
"I am––sorry about that," said Neltharion.
"Yeah, we've heard it before," said the human soldier. "That's all you're good for, lots of apologies, aren't you––sir?"
"That's enough," said the Worgen. "We're just here to escort him, not condemn him." He looked back at Neltharion. "Sorry, Lord Neltharion."
"No, it's called for," said Neltharion. "He's right. No amount of apologies can fix what I have done."
The human soldier said nothing, but Neltharion picked up on his surface thoughts. He could feel the pulse of hostility brush against his own mind like a frosty wind. The Dragon Aspect sighed, his breath rolling over his vocal cords, giving off a deep growl. The human gripped his gun tighter when he heard it, read to turn and aim right between the dragon's eyes.
Neltharion paused, when he sensed the hostile thoughts from the human and he stopped in his steps.
"Are you coming?" the Worgen asked.
"Uh––yes," said Neltharion. "Yes."
They approached a building built of the smoothest of white marble and decorated in black slate. The soldier reached out to the heavy glass and bronze door, and opened it. The other guard took hold of the other door and opened it as well, allowing Neltharion to pass through into the immaculate marble lobby. Well, he thought it was the lobby. Neltharion walked upon black slate into what appeared to be an enormous chamber covered in ice and snow. Standing there in the middle of the floor of the chamber was a block of ice and a sword. Upon the sword's hilt was a ram's skull and horns, the eye sockets glowed a cold blue. Neltharion could see strange runes carved with blue energy within the part of the jagged exposed blade above the ice. He knew very well what that sword was.
"Frostmourne," he said. "Wait––"
The Earth-Warder turned around, expecting to see the guards who led him into this room to be behind him. They were no where to be found.
"What's going on?"
"What's going on is you sleeping on the job, Nel," said a familiar voice as Neltharion picked up the sound of heavy, armored boots clacking towards him.
He turned again to the voice and found his brother in law Arthas walking up behind him. Neltharion rumbled a sigh, slumping his shoulders and bowing his head heavily.
"Hello, Art," he said.
"Hello, Nel," said Arthas. He passed the dragon and as he did so, he gave Neltharion a hearty, but playful punch to the dragon's shoulder. He pulled his pale white hair back from his face and leaned against the block of ice holding Frostmourne. "I'm here to help you get out."
"Get out?" Neltharion asked. "Out of where?"
"Your brother Nozdormu is holding us against our will––you and me," he said. "Since I'm tied to you, I'm stuck here too."
"I've been meaning to ask that, why are you still here? Why did you appear to me that day when I was beaten by Ultraxion, why have you been appearing since then?"
"Maybe the Light feels I need to earn my place at my father's side, brother," said Arthas with a shrug. "Since you've stated that point yourself, even in my death, I wasn't sorry for what I've done. So, perhaps helping you will help me grow closer to the Light again after I chose to abandon it so long ago for undeath." He let his arm drop from the ice. "Or, maybe the Light has a sense of humor and wanted to lump two of Azeroth's former villains together and see what sort of shenanigans we'd come up with."
"Like a bad sitcom show," said Neltharion. "The Adventures of Arthas and Deathwing, coming soon to a magic ball near you."
"Tell me about it."
Neltharion spread his wings, wiggling the digits in a stretch, rumbling again. His breath puffed from his nostrils in a mist of steam. Then, he closed them and began to walk towards the former Lich King. He gave his long, braided beard a shake, the little trinkets and feathers jingling. Then, he looked around at the chamber of Icecrown, hearing the crack of an icicle as it plummeted and shattered upon the cold floor.
"My brother," the Earth-Warder said. "He said I have to allow something to happen, something bad, but in the end, it'll turn out best for everyone."
"I can't pretend to know what the Time Lord sees," said Arthas. "You Aspects have some crazy powers. Nozdormu...I'd say he has one of the weirdest. But, I know this, I think my sister is really getting angry that you're not quite home yet."
"I didn't give her a date in which I'd return," said Neltharion. "And when I left, I knew she had to go off on another one of her trips too. I haven't checked if she's back in Theramore." He sighed. "And while I'm stuck in this––place––wherever it is, I can't contact her."
"She might be home," said Arthas. "But––there's something else. I noticed you woke up, like something waking you up before––before your brother knocked you out again. What woke you up?"
Neltharion shook his head. The scene, meeting the Direct or SI:7, coming into their base to sign some sort of document, none of that was real.
"Neltharion, you were dreaming about something that happened three months ago," said Arthas. "You went to Stormwind because Calia needed––surgery."
"The blood manipulation I did to her in the Bastion of Twilight," said Neltharion, his head dipped again. He felt his heart clinch up tightly in his chest. "I should have realized I didn't have the control to use that power like Deathwing did. I could have killed her."
"That's all in the past, now what was it that you sensed?"
Neltharion wagged his head.
"You're not in Stormwind anymore," said Arthas.
"I remember waking up," said Neltharion. "There was this strange tremor I felt, even inside the Caverns of Time." He began to walk towards the ice block where the sword was in and reached out to touch it. He let the cold block help him focus, feeling its slick surface against the black pads of his paws. Then, the Black Dragon rose up and took hold of the great rune sword and slowly pulled it free. Then, he leaned back upon his haunches and laid the blade upon his other claw to look at it. "May I?"
"I don't see why not," said Arthas. "It's not the real Frostmourne."
The Black Aspect smiled and said: "Only a figment of my imagination." He turned the tip downward to the floor. "But the sound it makes when it comes in contact with a surface."
"Sound?"
Neltharion moved away from the ice block and then scraped the tip of Frostmourne across the floor, listening to the sound of the metal ring as it drew a line in the surface.
"It sounded like this," said Neltharion. "The tremor that I felt. It had a sound."
Then, he scrapped the sword again. The dragon looked back behind to his tail and lifted the tip up. He scraped the elementium blade of his tail against the hard floor, listening to it making a similar ringing sound.
"This sound is particular," said Neltharion. "Arthas, did you know that arcane energies create an interesting ring in the rock?"
"I didn't know that," said Arthas.
"Though I don't remember much of my life prior to madness the Old Gods inflicted upon me," he began. "I do recall one thing. I could always find where my brother Malygos was just by listening to the sound of arcane energies affecting the rock. Though he sees the leylines all around Azeroth and he can control them, I can hear them, so long as they are flowing through the rock."
"And all leylines do," said Arthas.
"Hearing the leylines allowed me to alter the land without harming them," said Neltharion. "Malygos and I often worked together because we were the only ones who could sense them." He closed his eyes. "Arcane energies often make a metallic ring in the rock when someone is drawing energy from them to perform a very powerful spell. I heard the ringing and it woke me up."
"Someone was performing a powerful spell?"
"I can only hear the ringing of what arcane energies does to the rock wen its exposed to the radiation," said Neltharion. "I don't know what spells are being used that would create such a disturbing sound."
"That is an interesting ability," said Arthas. "So, this disturbance, you don't know what it is?"
"No," said Neltharion.
"Would Malygos?"
"Well, he would, but he's dead and his spirit doesn't have his Aspect powers now," said Neltharion. "Even if I told him what I heard, he couldn't tell me what it was without sensing it. But his successor Kalecgos might."
"That sounds like a plan!"
Neltharion's eyes lit up in shock when he heard that familiar, cheery voice. He turned to see a High Elf dressed in deep, sapphire robes, walking out from behind the ice block. The High Elf had long blue hair tied up in a fluffy topknot and bound in crystal wraps. Neltharion held his breath when he saw his brother Malygos standing before him. All Malygos could do was wave emphatically. The Black Dragon leaned back upon his haunches, lowering the sword and held out his forelegs for his brother. Malygos embraced Neltharion as the dragon wrapped his forelegs tightly around his brother's shoulder.
"Oh, I've missed you too, little brother, I've missed you too!" Malygos said. He chuckled as he felt Neltharion's hot breath upon his cheeks as his brother nuzzled him with his snout. Malygos reached up to scratch Neltharion behind his beard. "I have missed you."
"I've missed you, Malygos," said Neltharion. "I'm sorry I don't visit often."
"I'm not sore about that," said Malygos. "I suppose fixing all the mess you've done is going to take a long time. There are times where I wish I could fix what I've done. Yet, Alexstrasza was so adamant in my death. I––I don't know why."
Neltharion rumbled, burying his face in his brother's deep blue hair.
"Jealous of us, Mal," he whispered. "Jealous I spent most of my time with you and only paid attention to her when she needed me to smile and nod for every decision." He backed away, but still holding onto his older brother. "That's what I felt I was like for her––her 'yes' man. I think that's why I was her right hand, because I said yes to everything."
"Bitter," said Malygos. "Very bitter. Don't fault her for it. She––always had a fascination with you. I think she hated it even more when you ran off with that Calia girl two years ago." He gave his brother a small kiss to his cheek and then let go. "To business."
Neltharion cleared his throat and looked back towards Arthas.
"So, uh, tell me, when did you two––" the Earth-Warder said as he pointed between Malygos and Arthas.
"Malygos forgave me right after he kicked me in the balls several times for turning his dead Prime Consort into a dracolich," said Arthas with a small chuckle.
"I figured I cannot hurt Arthas anymore than what's been done," said Malygos.
"And so, now I'm haunted by two ghosts," said Neltharion.
"Well, from time to time, I give the young Kalecgos a lesson or two about being the new Spell-Weaver," said Malygos. "Which is why I've came down here. Arthas had been trying to drag you out of whatever past event you were reliving here. It's Nozdormu's little attempt to keep you busy for whatever crazy plan he has."
"He said something has to happen," said Neltharion. "And if I try to stop it before it happens, or do something before it happens, I'll lose everything I've been trying to work for in bringing both factions together."
"And this is where I am at a loss," said Arthas. "Why are you doing that, Nel?"
"Something terrible is about to happen," said Neltharion. "I can feel it. I can't describe it, but I can feel it."
Arthas sighed: "Well, one Aspect is being rather vague. Magic Aspect, translate?"
Malygos crossed his arms and wagged his head, his ponytail draping over his shoulder just as he stopped in thought. He lifted a pale hand to his chin and scratched his pointed nose with a long finger.
"I am at a loss," said Malygos. "It's only a premonition. But if Nozdormu predicts that a horrible event is about to happen, and his only method in stopping it is to have the only Aspect that involves himself with the lives of mortals to gain allies for the fight, then far be it for me to question his motives." He lowered his hands to his sides. "But this magical flux you heard through the rock, that concerns me. Something terrible has happened and I'm afraid that young Kalecgos hasn't had enough time in getting acquainted with his new powers to figure it out. He will need you. When our Titans made us, granted our powers, both Aspects of Earth and Magic felt drawn together. It is like our very make up was meant to coexist as one. Matter and energy, you and I are two halves of a whole, Neltharion. Now, you and Kalecgos are two halves of a whole." He took in a deep breath. "Something has recently happened. Something that Kalecgos is trying to hide from me, almost like he was ashamed of it. He's flown south towards Theramore in search of that Kirin Tor human––Jaina Proudmoore?"
"Jaina?" Neltharion said. "Why would he––"
"Jaina was one of the top mages of the Kirin Tor before she took refugees of Lordaeron to create Theramore," said Arthas. "She's an archmage and she is readily available without having to go through Kirin Tor red tape in order to speak to her." He looked to Malygos. "If the Aspect of Magic needed help from one of the best mages we mortals have to offer, outside of Rhonin Redhair, Jaina would be the next best thing."
"Something has happened that Kalecogs has refused to speak to me on," said Malygos. "And he has gone to Jaina for help. I do want to know what it is. But I do know that maybe you can assist with whatever trouble he is in. You two need to spend some time together and get to know each other a bit better."
Neltharion rumbled in disagreement, wagging his head.
"He––still sees me as Deathwing."
"Then show him how much you are not!" said Malygos. "Don't argue with your elder brother, Neltharion." He reached out to place a hand upon his brother's shoulder. "Help him and he will help you."
"Right," said Neltharion. He turned away though, his thoughts again looking back on where he was before. He relived going to Stormwind and finding out about what really happened to the dwarves after he blasted out of Blackrock Mountain, and his heart sank each time he thought about it.
"Don't think on that," said Arthas. "What's done is done."
"I can't excuse it––"
"No, but what happened isn't what's important," said Arthas. "Getting you out of here is."
"Time for you to wake up, brother," said Malygos.