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Chapter 8: Return I

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It was over, their expedition was going home, they had accomplished their assignment, more so...and Mal'Ganis was dead. Arthas could finally put his mind at ease, with the dreadlord dead and to everybody around him it was great to get as far away from the cold Northrend as possible.

Arthas felt...changed, after all he had been through in Northrend. When he came here he felt young, strong...brash and reckless; the past days nearly costing him - his life, his men and nearly his sanity. It felt like ages, since he had arrived to help Uther defend a town from a group of orcs, to battling undead in a dark wasteland. He wasn't the same man anymore nor would he want to be again, it was time to act like a true Prince not like a brash, headless kid.

"M'Lord?" asked Marwyn, tapping on his door.

"Yes?"

"Someone wants to see you in the mess hall, it's Muradin," replied Marwyn.

"Thank you, tell him I'll be right up."

"Of course," replied Marwyn, as he left.

Arthas at the moment putting on some regular white linen pants and a gray shirt, along with some leather boots; with the latter dip into the frozen water, his usual attire and armor was soaking wet and freezing cold, so he had to make due with what he had. Soon heading towards the mess hall, finding an old dwarf sitting near the window, in the empty mess hall and looking over patched up with cloth and bandages everywhere.

"Take a seat boy," said Muradin, eyeing the sea go by.

"Glad to see you back on your feet," replied Arthas, taking a seat opposite of him. "What did you want to talk about?"

"This..." said Muradin, giving him a nasty jab to chest. "...that's for trying to kill me..." Muradin then rolled out two mugs, full of dwarven ale from under his seat. "...and this is for saving me and my boys from that frozen-land..."

"It...wasn't much..." replied Arthas rubbing his chest, as he started drinking ale with his old mentor, albeit much less than Muradin, as dwarven ale was too strong for humans.

"It was...but there's also something else, you..." said Muradin, pointing at Arthas. "...I saw you out there boy, you've grown yet your still brash...and I didn't teach you to be brash..."

"Tutoring again?" asked Arthas, in a half-amused tone.

"Thank that elven-girl for that. She knocked some sense into that thick skull of yours," replied Muradin, drinking some more. "I'm suprised you listened."

"Well...I couldn't ignore her..." replied Arthas.

"...ahha...yet what I told ye, went in from one ear and out the other..." laughed Muradin. "...don't lie boy, you like her."

"...I...well..." staggered Arthas, at the sudden question, hiding his face.

"Ahaahaa!" laughed Muradin at the response. "You do have a thing for the elven lass!"

"I...am not sure," replied Arthas, seeming confused, Muradin slapping him hard on the arm for that. "Ow!"

"Boy...don't make the same mistake twice," replied Muradin, looking serious, despite having drinked almost his entire ale. "I saw you, after the mage lassie broke up with you - you were a bloody mess and it took you almost two weeks to get over it. Don't do it again or you'll regret it again..."

"But-"

"No buts! Go!" urged on Muradin, to Arthas.

"Alright Muradin," said Arthas, as he got up.

"Wait!"

"What?"

"You gonna finish that?" asked Muradin, pointing at his half-full mug.

"No. Go ahead, old friend," replied Arthas, as headed back to his cabin. Many thoughts going through his mind on the way, until he saw her in his cabin, looking through the window. Dressed in a simple white robe, as her own leather attire had been in the frozen water as well. Then she looked at him suprised.

"I-"

"I-" interupted Sylvanas, putting them in an akward silence, as neither spoke up.

"No," said Arthas sternly then, as he shut the door behind him. He would get burned, hurt or maimed likely, yet damned be this time he wouldn't listen to his head on purpouse.

Sylvanas eyeing as Arthas walked over to her...and kissed her, no warning or saying, just did. By far Sylvanas was suprised, but not angry or protesting - the endless fighting...cold...death and she longed for the warmth. She hated to admit it - but some part of her liked him. Nor was she ignorant of where this would lead, as her feet left the floorboard and she was carried to the bed. It would be an unforgetable time.

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Arthas awoke with a gasp, as he had been dreaming, more like seeing a very horrible nightmare in fact - of wielding that shattered Frostmourne...slaughtering his own men, murdering his father, Uther...and Sylvanas, all killed by him. The same elf who was peacefully sleeping next to him, her golden hair hiding her calmed and peaceful face. She seemed so different from the iron-nerves and focused ranger, she was in Northrend. Now she looked so vunerable...beautiful...peaceful. He didn't care about the consequences of having layed with Sylvanas, she was beautiful after all - was it a crime to be amored with a beauty? Was it bad to love somebody from afar, from another kingdom even?

Arthas shook those thoughts out of his head, as he grabbed his trousers from the floor and put them on. Setting Sylvanas' robe folded onto the bed, as he eyed out the window - it was night-time, yet it didn't feel as cold, when they first came to Northrend.

Sylvanas stirred in the bed, yet continued to be asleep. Arthas was still counting how many times she had saved his life, too many times - he needed a change badly, looks like the Light had provided him one. He needed a lot to fix at home - Uther being one, whom he had called a traitor, for refusing to slaughter civilians, he needed to mend that and his father was likely worried sick.

Yet his pondering was interupted by a black crow, who flew inside his cabin...transforming into a familiar robed man, he had seen before.

"You..." whispered Arthas, realizing the figure being the Prophet, or unknowingly to him, Medivh. "Still comed to warn me?"

"No..." replied Medivh calmly, keeping his voice low as well, due to a sleeping elven nearby.

"What? Why?"

"Your more stronger than you appear... young prince..." he spoke in his cryptic tone, walking upto him. "...I guess fate isn't set in stone..."

"What do you mean?" asked Arthas confused.

"...it doesn't matter anymore," he replied, approaching the window. "...just remember this - thou the flame has passed, you must be on your guard. For the shadow that threatens this world, may yet return one day...and the threat of the north is far from over..."

As Medivh had spoken his last words, he turned back into a crow and flew out, away from the sailing ships. Arthas left with the terrible message - there are still dangers out there, and he had to return to Northrend one day, he hated to believe it, but now he was willing to consider it atleast...he just hoped, he wouldn't have to go anytime soon in the near future, as Sylvanas awoke from the commotion.

"Arthas?" asked Sylvanas, rubbing her eyes.

"Sorry, if I awoke you," said Arthas, going over to her on the bed. "You seem upset?"

"No...just...thinking," replied Sylvanas, as she recalled, what they had done. She wasn't ashamed or regretful, happy yet also worried. "You know, that we-"

"Don't!" said Arthas, knowing what she wanted to say, not this time. "We can. I left someone go once, and I was hurt. I don't want to do that again...if...you don't mind..."

"No..." said Sylvanas smiling, as they kissed. "...how would we keep in touch?"

"You know how to write?" asked Arthas, causing her to laugh.

"...yes..." replied Sylvanas, chuckling a little.

"Then no worries," said Arthas, as he kissed her forehead and pulled her closer; it would be a long trip home, maybe even a pleasant one.

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A/N: (I disgust myself, xD); points for trolling-Medivh as well...guess some green-skins will be suprised in Kalimdor...

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