Hello again! :) It seems we are slowly coming to the end of this little fic... some of you are probably happy to hear that, yes? :) Still reviews are revies, whether good or bad :)
Anyway, this took a little bit too long to write, I know, there's so much going on right now and so little time... though this chapter is a bit short and the next one will probably be the last, please have patience and ofc review!
Enjoy!
The Beginning of the End
Placing one foot infront of the other and only half aware of his surrounding, Arthas let his thoughts wander off. Unsettling darkness and intense cold, distinctive for these parts of Icecrown Citadel, did not bother him in the slightest. He got so used to it, he couldn't even remember what it feels like to be warm. Not that he would care much about such trivialities anyway.
His mind skimmed again through the events that had just taken place – Jaina's attempt to collect information about the Lich King, her dialog with Uther's spirit, her duel with Arthas within the Shadow Throne and a daring escape following the defeat of Falric and Marwyn.
Information they have collected here will indeed be needed if there is to be future for Azeroth - the knowledge itself, however, is not going to be enough. There is one more thing that needs to be arranged and it falls to him to ensure it is done when the time comes.
Arthas stopped in his tracks. Excited gurgling carried to him, bringing him back from the inner world of plans and speculations. Arthas knew that sound and he also vividly remembered himself explicitly forbidding its owner ever to come to these parts of the Citadel again. He let out an irritated sigh. After all it was only a matter of time before curiosity got the best of that damned Forsaken.
Stepping silently along the ice-covered walls, though being stealthy wasn't his intention at all, the Lich King continued through the corridor illuminated dimly by only about half a dozen torches burning with cold blue flames casting ghostly shadows over the uninvitingly rotting ground and slipped through a half-opened gate into the lower parts of Citadel dungeons. There were holding cells here, mostly unoccupied - their former inhabitants either fed to the ghouls or draged away for spare parts.
He came to a halt infront of a far-off enforced metal door and leaned onto a wall, listening carefully. The voice, getting louder as Arthas made his way toward its source, now sounded as clear as if its owner stood right next to him. False note of his song scratched at Arthas' nerves up to a point where the only thing he wished for was to kill something just to shut it out. Preferably the Forsaken himself.
Finally the gurgling had stopped and he heard a thump and a clang accompanied by a hurried scuffling.
The cell door opened and something tall and skinny happily danced through on its bony legs, a torch of cold blue flames held high, midnight-blue robes, glitering with silver, falling loosely over its body, giving the creature the appearance of an overgrown scarecrow.
"You seem in such a good mood, Christoff. I almost feel bad for having to spoil it for you." Arthas' voice was velvety and soft and that was precisely the reason why everyone feared it. "Almost."
A gasp, a flash of metal in the dim light and the torch fell to the ground with a clung. Christoff the Forsaken's head rolled over the cold stone floor to join the many variously-shaped skulls already decorating this smelly darkened place, eyes bulging, mouth still opened in surprise with which the final death finally managed to catch up with him. The rest of his body staggered and slid with a rustle of cloth to the floor.
The Lich King cleaned Frostmourne's blade of any lingering pieces of rotting flesh and other bodily fluids still left within the Forsaken's body and sheathed it, his face contorted with disgust as he stepped over the lifeless body, sparing but a fleeting look for it, brighly blue glowing eyes narrowed at a cracking sound of glass under his feet.
„I did warn you about the consequences of anyone's disobeying my orders." and he entered the holding cell, ignoring the green liquid seeping into Christoff's robes and running along the many rifts of the stone floor, bubbling and sizzling sickeningly in the process.
For a moment, the cell seemed vacant, but as he looked into the darkest corner, which spread over almost half the perimeter without any source of light, Arthas finally spotted what he was looking for. There, huddled against the opposite wall lay a figure, dark and somehow oddly shaped, cracks lining its skin burning with orange flames. It looked oddly out of place in this world of ice, snow and stone.
The figure stirred when he approached and there was a clang of chains binding it to its hiding place. Arthas' glowing blue eyes met with a firey gaze.
"Came to overlook you minion's handiwork, have you, Arthas?" the voice was cracked and tired, though still very familiar.
"Save your breath, paladin, you are going to need it." the Lich King only said, looking around as if searching for something, then his eyes once again found their burning counterparts. "I came here, because I have a proposal for you."
The man's eyes narrowed as he considered his enemy with apparent and entirely understandable suspicion. "Excuse me if I do not believe you."
"You do not need to believe me to listen to what I have to offer." Arthas snapped, some of his previous irritation slowly creeping back. The time was running short.
The cell rang with humorless laughter. "I am a prisoner here, am I not?" the paladin said in a voice tinted with amusement. "And you are the Lich King, the General od the Damned himsefl! Why would you offer anything to a lowly creature like me?"
There was a swish of metal and a clang of chains being cut and falling to the ground. Arthas sheathed Frostmourne as quickly as he had drawn it and for a moment there was grave silence filled with only a soft sounds of scrambling.
The Lich King watched as his prisoner rose up to his full hight, caressing his neck and wrists in bewilderment, untill he finally made a few tentative steps as if he didn't believe he would be able to walk and loomed out into the dim blue cone of light coming in through the opened door behind the Lich King's back. He easily matched Arthas in height, though unlike the former human prince, his body was burned and charred like coal, skin chapped and burning with red and orange flames along well-build muscles on his chest, arms and shoulders still covered with random pieces of armour melted into his body by the scorching heat that had claimed his life. His legs and waist, however, still retained the impression of a human clad in plate armour.
He was entirely bald and the black skin covering his head cracked even more as he frowned and opened his mouth to speak. "Why?" was the only word coming out of his burned lips.
"What is what you should ask, Bolvar Fordragon." Arthas stood his ground, his gaze locked with the paladin's. "You can no longer call yourself my prisoner. You are free to go." he motioned towards the opened door. "None of my Scourge will stop you, though there is little doubt they would all fail even if they tried." he stepped aside and waited for a moment, watching Fordragon carefully before choosing to continue when the paladin didn't seem to want to leave. "However you know as well as I do that this world is no longer a place for you. You have nowhere to go, hence I would give you a chance to make your mark for the last time and save Azeroth. Every paladin's dream, is it not?"
Bolvar Fordragon did not move. His gaze traveled along the lines of Arthas' face as if he was looking for something that would tell him what the hell was this supposed to be. A trap? But why? His logic couldn't comprehend the dialogue they were now having. He could see no reason for the Lich King they all knew to come down here. None at all. Unless...
"What do you have to say then?" he asked and the small almost-smile of relief that flickered over the former prince's face surprised him almost as much as his setting him free.
This could be quite interesting at the very least.
o*O*o
It has begun. The Argent Crusade finally found a way into his most sacred fortress. In this very moment, the Champions of the Argent Tournament were gathering within the Halls of Reflection, preparing to strike where they thought they had the best chance of defeating the Lich King once and for all. Let them come. Let them prove themselves worthy of the title – Champions.
Arthas was prepared for them. Sitting on the Frozen Throne, he was watching the unconscious body of former Highlord Bolvar Fordragon -whom his minions had retrieved from the dragon flames, cleansing the plagued ground around the Wrathgate- chained to a pair of slopes on each side of the Throne. He was no longer alive, yet he was neither dead. A perfect experiment. Let us see what effect is the sight going to have on the mighty Tirion Fordring.
And an effect it indeed had. Only few minutes passed before he heard heavy footsteps closing in on his position and a group of would-be Champions of the Argent Crusade appeared on top of the narrow walkway, coiling like a serpent around the Galcier. Tirion in the lead.
Silent and determined, they marched towards the Frozen Throne, heavily armoured so that only few of their faces could be visible under the shining plate or colorful cloth. There was resolution, confidence and perhaps a bit of fear in those eyes that zeroed in on their opponent. It will do them good in the following battle. No warrior is without fear and those who say otherwise do not deserve to be called such.
Fordring stopped at the foot of the steps underneath the Frozen Throne, his green eyes found Arthas', glowing brightly blue, but when he opened his mouth a new image cought his attention. Charred body, chained by the hands and legs to a pair of ice spikes reaching to the sky on each side of the Lich King. Arthas watched as a mixture of comprehension, shock and anger cut across the man's old wrinkled face and suddenly he felt a sneaking sensation of admiration for the paladin's sheer willpower allowing him to calm the stream of emotions. There was only one other he considered able to acomplish such task – Uther the Lightbringer. Arthas shivered imperceptibly as he recalled the memory of his former mentor and did his best to push it as far into the back of his mind as it would go.
"So... the Light's vaunted justice has finally arrived." his deep, husky voice echoed through the hall and he stood up, slowly descending the steps. "Shall I lay down Frostmourne and throw myself to your mercy, Fordring?"
The mocking sound of his own name brought Tirion back from his reverie. He looked again into the cold face of the one he once called brother. Paladin.
"We will grant you a swift death, Arthas." he said firmly and without hesitation. "More, than can be said for the thousands you have tortured and slain." Tirion's eyes darted to the body of Bolvar Fordragon and then back again.
There was no joy in the laughter coming out of the Lich King's lips, once again hidded beneath his saronite crown. It was coarse and chilled to the bone, for Arthas had let the part of him that was the Lich King once again take control, while he waited and prayed for success. "You will learn of that first hand. When my work is complete, you will beg for mercy... and I will deny you. Your anguished cries will be the testament of my unbridled power." he would probably laugh at the ridiculousness of his own would-be selfish boasts. Truly, he would like to believe Nerz'hul to know better than this, however not to look a gift horse into the mouth, it was essencial to provoke Fordring into action.
And the paladin did not fail Arthas' expectations.
"So be it!" he spat and pointed the tip of the Ashbringer at the Lich King's chest. "Champions, attack!" and he charged forth.
However Arthas was well aware of the strength and power of this paladin. He wanted to test the abilities of his champions before heaving his burden onto their backs. Swiftly, he raised Frostmourne above his head and swung it around, freezing Tirion Fordring in a block of ice before he could so much as hold up the Ashbringer.
"I will keep you alive to witness the end, Fordring. I would not want the Light's greatest champion to miss seeing this wretched world remade in my image." the velvety danger in his voice was now evident as he lifted his runeblade, hoping that it would not come to such drastic measures and crossed Fordring's icy shell to face his favoured Champions.
Seeing their paladin master trapped within the ice, they hesitated for a fraction of a second before engaging the Lich King in a fierce, righteous battle not only for their survival, but for what they believed was the survival of all of Azeroth.
This is one hell of an epic fight! Ofc it looks kinda different in-game, but writing it word from word would be dull, so be ready for some nice bit of fighting and trick or two the Lich King deffinitely CANNOT pull out, 'cause if he could, it would be very very bad :)
See you soon =3