Chapter 1: Down the Dark Path

IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a divergent sister-story of For the Love of a Prince. Please read chapter 1-5 of the original before you start reading this, otherwise it will not make sense (ish). If you don't want to, the basics is Jaina time traveled to the past and is trying to save her Prince from damnation. This story diverges midway through chapter 6, and starts down a very dark path. It will not be a happily ever after story, nor a 'Good Wins'. At best, it will be Jaina & Arthas making the best out of an absolutely shity situation as they can.

This is rated M, perhaps even should be E at certain parts when we really delve into the life of an unwilling minion of the Scourge.

DO NOT READ THIS STORY UNLESS YOU CAN HANDLE GRUESOME HORROR AND DEPRAVITY.

Because we all know Nerzhul is a complete and utter bastard.

Kel'Thuzad watched as Jaina Proudmoore and Prince Arthas Menethil (Arthas, but not his king), arrived in Hearthglen. He was hidden behind a set of trees, watching and waiting. He wondered how long Jaina was going to walk along the same path as before. Did she not see the folly of it? Choosing the same choices twice and expecting different results was madness. He had expected her to make drastic changes, but here she and the prince were, yet again walking into a bloodbath to be.

He paused at the sensation of magic in the air followed by a sqwaking sound. His eyes watched a raven familiar fly out of Hearthglen, surging downward first along room to gather speed, drawing so close to Kel'Thuzad...

It would be so easy, to reach out and grab the familiar as it passed, to crush the life out of it and show Jaina the consequences of her choices...

But he didn't.

He allowed the familiar to fly away, carrying whatever message Jaina had given it. He was not going to risk either of them dying by denying them reinforcements. As it was, since she hadn't teleported away, it was going to take longer than before for aid to arrive and save them.

His eyes lingered on Hearthglen, at Jaina staying to participate in the battle. "So this is the different choice you make Jaina..."

He slowly shook his head. "Foolish girl. Do you expect to follow down this path of damnation Arthas walks, and divert him at the last moment? You are more likely to damn yourself in the process and change nothing."

He pursed his lips. "I made a promise to my King, and you are making it very difficult to follow through with that..."

"You alright Jaina?" comes the voice of her prince.

"Just... need to put the theory of managing my mana into practice," she said, an embarrassed smile crossing her face.

Arthas laughed wearily. "Yeah, I'm about spent to. How much longer do you think the reinforcements will be?"

It had taken roughly half an hour for Uther to gather enough troops to be sent into the fray the first time around. It had been roughly... fifteen, maybe twenty minutes already if she counted right. Though, in hindsight, it would take a familiar longer to fly than it had taken her to just teleport...

"Hopefully no more than half an hour," she estimated.

Arthas looked grim. "If they keep coming at the pace they have been, I don't know if we can hold that long Jaina. Especially if that damn floating skeleton mage keeps coming back every other attack."

"It's called a Lich," explained Jaina, "They're probably reviving it without pause using it's Phylactery."

"A lich?" murmured Arthas, giving her a curious look, "What is a Phylactery? What else do you know of these things?"

Jaina paused briefly, realizing she shouldn't know what they are yet. She really needed to think before she said anything. "I..."

"Another attack is coming!" cried out a defender.

Arthas immediately broke off, and Jaina silently praised the timing. She didn't know how she would have been able to explain it. She made to join Arthas before a cry of an attack from another entrance sounded. She broke off and ran to the second attack, arriving as the Undead washed over the defenders. Jaina waved a hand and sent out a burst of arcane energy, sending the Scourge flying back, giving Hearthglen's defenders time to regroup.

Wave after wave of Scourge came at Hearthglen, and wave after wave was struck down. Jaina got her turn, several of them in fact, to face off against the Lich and destroy it. Each encounter burned her reserves of mana, and mana potions to restore it...

"For Lordaeran! For the King!"

Jaina turned her head sharply, pure relief crossing her face, as Knights started riding into town, Uther the Lightbringer at their heels, warhammer shinning with brilliant light. Finally! It had starting to close in on an hour, they wouldn't have lasted much longer. They were however in a better state than Jaina recalled finding Arthas in originally. Hopefully he and Uther wouldn't have their spar of words...

Hearthglen was reinforced, and the Scourge shoved back and out of it. Immediately Uther started having the civilians ferried out of the town before approaching Arthas.

"I'm surprised you kept things together as well as you did lad," said Uther, voice warm with pride and a smile on his lips.

Oh no... not again...

Arthas turned his attention from staring out the entrances of Hearthglen to glaring at Uther. "Just say it Uther! I know I wasn't good enough! If I had a legion of knights at my command, I could have..."

"Arthas!" came Jaina's sharp voice, not willing to let things devolve as they did before, "He's praising you, not rebuking you! Take a breath and calm down."

Arthas turned his glare at Jaina, and unlike last time, she didn't shrink away from it. Arthas grumbled a bit and turned away, leaving Uther staring at him silently. He approached and put a hand on his shoulder. "Lad..."

Arthas being Arthas, he broke free of the gentle hand and stalked away. "I have defenses to man, you can plan the offensive this time."

Uther sighed softly and watched him go. "The weight of the crown is not comfortable to feel, not for the first time, and not like this."

Jaina stared at Arthas's retreating form silently, brooding to herself. It didn't... feel as sharp as it had been the first time, but Arthas needed to not turn away from Uther, not this time. She glanced at the Lightbringer, wondering what to say. A lot of what she had said before, about Arthas feeling responsible for all the deaths, were self-evident things that she had stupidly parroted out rather than say what needed to be said.

"He needs us Uther," she said softly, drawing his attention, "No matter what he thinks, says, or does, he needs our help to get him through this."

Uther rubbed his face tiredly. "I know lass, believe me, I know. If you will excuse me, I have to gather the knights and drive off the undead."

It was a little awkward, to have downtime this time around. Before, it had been such a chaotic mess that Uther and Arthas hadn't had a chance to speak until it was all over and the Scourge fully driven off. Somehow, she didn't think giving Arthas even more time to stew was a good thing. She watched Uther ride out with his knights towards the Scourge's base, and then set out after Arthas...

Who made it very difficult to approach him.

The moment he saw her coming, he merely walked away, again and again. She didn't want to cause a scene by calling him out...

Finally, he whirled on her. "What do you want Jaina?"

She frowned at him. "I'm worried about you Arthas. Uther was just..."

"Was what Jaina? Ridiculing me for barely holding things together?" he spat out.

Jaina pursed her lips. "As I said, he wasn't rebuking you, he was praising you for managing to keep Hearthglen standing against such odds."

"So I was expected to fail then?" he said bitterly.

Light, she had forgotten how stubborn and idiotic Arthas could be sometimes. "No Arthas, you need to listen, he was just..."

"I don't want to hear it Jaina," he snarled out, pointing a finger inches from her face, "I am sick and tired of people trying to tell me what I should and shouldn't do or feel! My people are dying to this madness, and all you and Uther can think to do is ridicule me! Do you even care about what is going on?"

SLAP

She hit him, slapped her hand across his face, leaving him red and stunned. "How dare you!"

"I love you deeply Arthas," she hissed, "But sometimes you are so damn infuriating! Are you truly so blinded by your stress and pain and pride? If you think for a moment that I do not care, then I question how well you ever knew me."

Arthas's face lost a bit of color. "Jaina... I..."

She whirled away and stalked off. She needed... she needed space. She couldn't be near him right now. Even with how much of a mess things turned out last time, he had never accused her of not caring. It... it hurt. He was so demanding, she recalled that, always desiring devotion and loyalty. If you weren't with him, you were against him. This situation expanded on those faults. So was this just his pain speaking?

Or... was this her fault? Had she done something to placed such doubt in him of her? Last time, she had been devoted to him up until Strathlome, had their interactions in this new timeline caused an earlier split between them? She feared it, feared it so badly. She couldn't lose him, not again...

She found a crate to sit on and watched dispassionately as the defenders patrolled the town. Uther returned half an hour later, victorious, and made for Arthas. She could see the hopeful expression on his face, but Arthas, from what Jaina could see, was in even more a foul mood than before. Right about as foul as he had been originally. She stared at them as their tone started raising into near shouting at eachother. She hung her head, sighing with a bit of depression, and stood up, walking over.

"...there and kill Mal'Ganis myself if I have to!" exclaimed Arthas heatedly.

"Easy lad, brave as you are, you can't hope to defeat a man who commands the dead all by yourself," said Uther, holding out his hands as if asking for calm.

"Then feel free to tag long Uther. I'm going, with or without you."

Jaina watched him stalk off, feeling numb. She didn't understand, she had stood by him in Hearthglen, a pillar of support, yet nothing seemed to have changed. Why? Was... was she not enough? She shook her head and walked after him, ignoring Uther softly calling for her attention. She wasn't going to leave Arthas, not now. She needed to do more than be there as silent support. She needed to take action. She found Arthas readying a horse to ride, mounting it.

She walked up and held a hand. "Are you going to help a lady up, or make me climb myself?"

Arthas stared at her wordlessly, his face stony and cold, before it melted a bit, a look of relief on his face. "Of course my lady."

He hoisted her up, and she wrapped her arms around his chest. They took off out of Hearthglen silently, nothing but the echoing of hooves and the howling of the wind in their ears.

"Thank you, for coming with me," said Arthas.

"You're my prince, Arthas, my love," she answered back, "No matter how much you piss me off, that's not going to change."

There was silence for a minute of riding before he finally answered, "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have spoken to you in such a matter, I'm just..."

"Stressed," she answered for him.

Arthas sighed, the sound almost lost in the wind rushing passed them, though his words were not. "It's not an excuse, but yes. I've never... been through anything like this, never would have wanted to. Light, as awful as it sounds, orcs torching villages was preferable to this."

Jaina went silent for a long moment, pondering the Horde, Thrall's Horde. "The orcs ran from this."

Arthas briefly glanced back before refocusing on the reins. "Ran?"

"I know you didn't get much downtime between your last mission and this one to learn of it, but the Orcs took to the seas and fled," she said, "They must have had some indication or warning of what was coming."

This would hopefully be a good lead in towards Medeivh. Perhaps she could make Arthas see reason when the Prophet showed up.

"I don't know if I should be relieved or not at that," admitted Arthas, "I don't think we could handle both the Scourge and the Horde at the same time."

"I don't think they'd be allied," said Jaina, "If anything, the Horde fleeing... it concerns me, deeply. The Horde never backed down during the Second War until they lost. That they ran before the first fight even happened... I'm worried there is more going on that just what we see."

Arthas nodded solely, but didn't reply. So on and on they road...

Except...

Jaina frowned. Where was Medivh with his warning for Arthas?

Shouldn't that have happened by now?

"Dammit," muttered Arthas, "So damn tired I can barely see straight."

Where was the prophet?

Where was he?

"I'll be useless at Stratholme if we don't at least get some sleep," said Arthas, "We'll camp here for the night."

Jaina nodded numbly, her chin brushing his neck, as it hit her. Medivh wasn't coming. Medivh knew she had come back in time, and as was now evident, was leaving things to her. What the hell had she never considered that he might do that? She was hoping to argue with her prince alongside Medivh... but that's not going to happen now. She dismounts the horse, taking Arthas's offered hand, and conjures the supplies they'd need to make a camp, since Arthas has stalked off and not bothered to grab them himself. For food, a few apples, some water, a loaf of bread...

Bread...

Jaina couldn't help instantly retching, taking and flinging the bread away.

"Jaina? came Arthas's startled and worried voice.

"Sorry, I just... after Hearthglen, the bread... I can't..."

Dammit, what was wrong with her? She had went through years of the Scourge and Demonic plots and plans and madness, this shouldn't hurt like this anymore. She should be used to it...

Arthas's arms wrap around her, pulling her up and tightly to his chest. "I know Jaina, I know. Its a simple, basic food, something that everyone, anyone, should be able to eat without fear."

His grip tightens, his own voice growing hoarse. "Its madness. This plague destroys everything, even our trust and faith in what should be normal and safe."

Jaina gave a bitter laugh. "Oh Arthas, you don't know how right you are," she thought of many instances over the years, "What if they sneak the plague into town drinking wells? Into healing ointments or other medical supplies? Bathing water? Into anything and everything we trust without thought. We're going to have to be endlessly vigilant on everything..."

Again.

"...for years."

Arthas leans his head down to bury into the crook of her neck, swearing softly into her skin before admitting, "You're right."

He raises his head, inches from her face. "That's why we must stop this, here and now. We must be the vanguard for my, for our people."

He leans down and catches her lips with his own, and she can't help the need she feels from herself as well. She clutches him and pushes against him passionately. Because they are approaching the point where everything went wrong before. She can't lose him again... she can't...

He pulls back, breathless for a moment. "We will stop this Jaina. I swear it to you, then..."

He cups her face. "Then once it's all over, I'll do what I was to weak, that I shamefully didn't have the courage to do at the Winter Ball. I'll take you as my Queen, and we'll have the children you spoke of back then."

Jaina can't help the choking sound that escapes her lips. She remembers, last time, the most Arthas had said was 'talking about a new beginning' or however he has phrased it. He had never, not once, admitted aloud to her that he desired her as his Queen, that he actually wanted to have children with her. Its like her heart is ripping apart and melting back together again over and over. Its everything she wants and hopes, all they have to do is get through this...

"Arthas..."

She pulls his head down, lips hungrily craving her prince, her king. They stumble into their tent, armor and clothes stripped aside, cries of passion filling the air before he spills within her and they collapse under the covers, submitting to sleep...

"Where the hell is Uther? He had all night to ride here."

Jaina places a calming hand on his shoulder. "We're not the only ones who were exhausted Arthas. Everyone needed to sleep and recover."

He huffs a bit, muttering, "I suppose."

She gives him a sly smile, trying to alleviate the foul mood that was starting to form, "Though, they probably got more rest than we did."

Arthas barks out a sharp laugh, smiling sheepishly at her-oh how beautiful it was to see that smile. "Well, you're not wrong."

"Alright my muscle ridden prince," she teased, "Camp wont pack faster, make it snappy."

He raised an amused eyebrow. "Already exercising your queenly authority?"

She laughed, the rich sound echoing through the sounding wood. "I could get used to it."

Arthas chuckled before waving a hand. "Didn't you conjure everything? Can't you just snap your fingers and...?"

"I like watching my man sweat and work," she teased again before doing so, the equipment gone in an instant.

Arthas rolled his eyes and slung his warhammer across his back. "Lets move, Uther should hopefully catch up by the time we reach Stratholme."

They mount his horse and ride off as rain starts to fall from the dark clouds above. Jaina delves into her memories as they ride, reliving this day so long ago. She cannot leave Arthas, not this time. But she knows Uther will not do as Arthas commands, he will not purge the city. Nor would she want him to. She knows that not all of Stratholme was infected. Her goals are to preserve as much of Arthas as she can, to save as many lives as possible, to not let the infection spread from the city, and to not allow Arthas and Uther's relationship to be destroyed.

She doesn't know if she can manage it all, especially with Arthas's hotheadedness. Even with her as support, he's still not even close to being at his best. SHE MUST, she absolutely must, take command of the situation. So, when it begins, when they arrive and dismount, Uther and his men catching up and approaching from behind, she ascends the hill Arthas had stood on before to deliver his condemnation of the city.

As Arthas and Uther approach one another, Jaina doesn't even give them time to speak and start cutting into one another. She cries out, pointing her finger down at the city, at some of the grain bags by the gate. "ARTHAS! The grain!"

Arthas whirls, panic on his face, and rushes up the hill, Uther on his heels. All color and life seems to seep out of her prince's face as the sickly sweet smell of infected baked bread rises to them. "Light preserve us... we're to late, they're all infected..."

"What?" exclaimed Uther sharply.

"The Scourge is insidious," Jaina says with fury, "They infected all the grain shipments from Andorhal, anyone who eats the grain will die and turn into the undead."

"That can't be..."

Jaina whirls and pokes a finger sharply into his collarbone, making him take a startled step back. "You weren't there Uther! At the start of the battle for Hearthglen. You didn't see more than half the villagers keel over and die only to rise again as Zombies in a matter of minutes when the Scourge started spilling into town."

Uther's jaw grinds, a grimace crossing his face. "Alright lass, I believe you, calm down. We need to figure a way to..."

"This city must be purged."

Oh light damn it Arthas!

"Arthas?!" exclaimed Uther, "How can you even consider that? There's got to be some other way!"

Jaina butts in before Arthas can damn everything between him and Uther. "Not in the time we have left, Uther. Getting a sample to Antonidas is easy enough, but having him discover a cure before this turns into a bloodbath? It's not going to happen."

Uther looks at her, incredulous. "I don't believe what I'm hearing. Arthas considering this is horrific enough, but you Proudmoore? You would honestly consider purging this city?"

"Watch your tone with her, Uther," snaps Arthas.

Jaina holds up a hand, placing it against Arthas's chest. "I can fight my own battles, Arthas."

"We don't have time for an argument," he hisses, "We have to purge the infection before it destroys all of Lordaeran!"

"And I agree, but we're going to do this MY way," snarled Jaina, poking a finger against Arthas's armored chest, "Not go in there without a plan other than indiscriminately killing everyone."

"And do you," demanded Arthas sharply, "Have a plan, Jaina? The Plague kills and turns too quickly for something long and drawn out. We don't know when they ate the infected grain. We could have minutes for all we know."

"Do you trust me?" she demanded back.

Remembering ALL the times he demanded that of her without offering it in return.

He searched her eyes for a long moment before nodding. "Always."

Oh blessed light...

It felt so good to actually hear it...

"I do have a plan," she said, swallowing, "Its a betrayal, of so much I swore to do and swore against doing, but it will allow us to save as many people as we can."

There were hints of concern in his eyes. "Jaina... I can do this on my own, you don't have to..."

"I am not some weak trifle maiden," she growled out in warning yet again, "I will do what must be done, Arthas. I have a plan to identify and segregate the infected from those who are clean."

"And what if they lie and refuse to come out? Anyone who might by chance not be infected would fall anyway," he counters.

She smiles bitterly. "That's easy Arthas. I'm going to... I'm going to lie myself."

He stares at her blankly for a moment before grim understanding crosses his face, his eyes close in pain. "And they'd have no reason to disbelieve us."

She turns her gaze to Uther, sighting the pain, the loss, this disbelief, the hardship on his old face. "Don't do this, surely a quarantine..."

She shook her head, he hasn't faced years of Scourge like she has, 'quarantine', especially for a city of this size, will not work. "Uther... this isn't some normal, natural plague. It is a calculated, militarized, magical plague. The undead, the infected, are controlled by cold and calculating individuals who will use all of their malice to spread this disease to all of Lordaeran. Normal quarantine will never stop this."

Especially when Mal'Ganis stepped into the fray,. They couldn't quarantine the entire city, handle the infected, handle the demon, and handle an actual Scourge assault at the same time, they had after all discovered the ruins of a Scourge base nestled INSIDE of Stratholme after it had been burned. Fighting against all of that? Some infected would definitely escape, if not outright overwhelm them if they were trying to protect the city of continually turning victims as the same time. The population of Stratholme severely outnumbered the gathered forces outside of its gates. The entire crisis was a lose-lose situation no matter what was done.

She had been so naive, so horrified originally by what Arthas had proposed. She had still thought the Plague of Undeath could be fought. She remembered Crusader Bridenbrad in Icecrown. Remembered how the Heroes of Azeroth had tried to save him, how they had gone to the Keeper of the Grove Remulos, Alexestraza the Life-Binder, even the Naaru A'dal. NOTHING had worked. The only way that had saved Bridenbrad had been the Naaru strip his soul out of his body, and that hadn't even been breaking even. The body had still died. There was no cure.

Still, she can't make Uther partake in this, wouldn't even if she could find a way. She will allow him some hope.

"I'm sure some pieces of the infected grain must still be in the bags, take them," said Jaina grimly, forming a portal, honing in on her Master's presence, "There is no more time to argue, every second we waste allows the Scourge to potentially claim more and more lives. You have until they start to turn to find a cure and come back."

Uther stared at her for a long moment before nodding sharply, turning, and sprinting for the grain bags, grabbing a few after feeling the bottoms for grain, and coming back to the portal. He walked through without further time wasted, a number of his knights following after, refusing to partake in what was about to happen. The gathered soldiers at the base of the hill look up with grim expectation, waiting for orders.

Jaina takes in a deep breath and lets it out, gazing down at the men. "Light forgive us all for what we must do. There is no glory in this, only grim necessity. We will be the ones to bear scars on our souls in order to preserve the rest of Lordaeran, and perhaps even the entire world, for surely the Scourge would not be so content as to simply stay here."

She begins barking orders, "We need a quarantine area set up outside the city as quickly as possible! Preferably with a height advantage for us and only one exit for anyone infected who turns. It needs to be BIG, we don't know how much of the city actually is infected or not. Perhaps build additional smaller ones if necessary. Anyone who is not doing this MUST rush through the city and serve as a crier, calling for a gathering. ALL of this city must know that we have come to address the Plague. GO!"

The men split off instantly. Surviving peasants from Hearthglen going to work building fences and blockades in a large area with the support of some footmen to do heavy lifting. The rest spill into the city, rushing to pass word, knowing that time is off the essence. Jaina turns her grim face and sees its mirror in Arthas. His face is stony and cold, but his eyes are full of pain and grief. He gives one sharp nod, its time. So holds her hand out to him, he takes it, and they stride to Stratholme.

She feels it the moment she steps into the city. The cold, calculating, monstrous presence of a dreadlord not bothering to mask the dark energy its presence gave off. Mal'Ganis most likely, she knows Arthas fought the demon in Stratholme. Yet... there are no cries of 'Undead' or 'Scourge'. The presence feels almost... curious. Like its waiting to see what they do before it acts. Its sad to know its likely going to find some kind of sick amusement out of what is about to happen, but if that buys them time, then so be it.

There is already a huge crowd formed in the city square, hundreds of people, more spilling into the streets beyond, some of the young and adventurous even climbing onto lower rooftops. Jaina lets go of her prince's hand as they move to the forefront of the crowd, and Jaina stretches out her senses. She is relived to know that she was right. Even the ones at the front of the crowd are mixed, some giving off the sickly sensation of infected to her senses, but some still pure. It also grieves her, how many were needlessly killed here originally.

One of them, a young woman, takes a desperate step forward. "Prince Arthas, may the light be praised! Many of the people in the city have begun to fall seriously ill, can you help us?"

"That is what we are hear to speak of," said Arthas, his voice tense, an undercurrent of shakiness to it that most wouldn't detect, "How many would you say have gathered? Our words must reach as many as possible."

The woman glances back at the huge crowd. "A good portion of the city, word can be passed back if need be, and I can see more and more stranglers coming."

Arthas takes in a breath and lets it out. "Very well, I... suppose we will begin. Jaina?"

Jaina frowns briefly. Something is... off. While the survivors of the culling of Stratholme were few... it had been reported that the infected had started turning minutes after Arthas had started the purge. There should be a few by now, at least... dammit, she didn't have time to analyze this, but she was missing something.

"People of Stratholme!" calls out Jaina, "By now you've begun to realize that something is wrong, an abnormal amount of people suddenly becoming ill at once. It is not a coincidence, it is an attack, a magic plague created by a sick and twisted cult!"

There is a loud murmuring growing, alarm showing.

"The Crown Prince and I have discovered that this plague is being used to murder the people of Lordaran, its already wiped out several smaller villages, and Hearthglen was nearly destroyed by it yesterday, we are working to combat this and it is why we have come before you now," explained Jaina, raising hands in placation, "Please, do not panic from what I am about to say, we must be orderly in order to handle this crisis."

The crowd tenses.

"Anyone who has eaten grain recently shipped from Andorhal is infected."

She watches the horrified look crossing so many of the gathered people's faces.

"But," says Jaina, before she lies through her teeth, lies in a way that will forever scar her soul, "We have a cure. Anyone who has eaten the infected grain needs to gather themselves to be organized and treated outside of Stratholme. The illness kills quickly, anywhere from hours to a day depending on the constitution of the infection. Anyone who is to sick to move must be carried. Please, you must hurry and spread word if we are to save as many as possible!"

She takes in a deep breath and lets it out. "Anyone infected, please move outside of the city, anyone who isn't needs to spread word..."

Her face darkens with righteous fury. "...And burn ANY grain or bread you find. Do not handle it with bare hands, wear gloves. Go quickly!"

Its an organized chaos as the crowd rushes this way and that way. Infected civilians willingly turning themselves in, sobbing with relief, thanking them for... for saving them... its like a knife to her gut over and over again... she cannot cry... she must not cry... she cannot show weakness... she cannot give any hint of the horrific deception that is going on... Arthas doesn't look much better than her, there are tremors in his hands. Perhaps it would have been easier on their hearts and souls to just commit mass slaughter, its what warriors like Arthas can do and handle, this cruel manipulation is far heavier, far worse than them. Even if it saves some lives.

The only true problem would be if Mal'Ganis struck now and started converting the city, but... he's still watching. She can still feel him, feel... feel his eyes boring right onto her from wherever he is hiding. Jaina turns her back on the gaze and strides out, ushering people along and into the hastily made quarantine zone. Its a large depression between four hills, wooden walls constructed between thee of them, only allowing one entrance on the fourth, guards are already stationed on the walls, riflemen checking their ammunition, grimness coating them. The infected people allow themselves to be herded in like sheep to the slaughter.

The stages of infection that she can see vary, some look pale, others have difficulty standing, very few have become more immobile, looking like death washed over them. Those will turn within half an hour. They don't have much time. Ten minutes later, hundreds of people have been squeezed together, mothers and fathers holding pale and sickly children on their shoulders or tight to their chests. They look to the hill Arthas and Jaina are standing on, so much trust and hope in their eyes...

It hurts...

It hurts so much...

Light... light please...

The trail of infected trickles to a close, and Jaina stares at them, at the people who will die and be forgotten... no... no, she refuses that. For this to be some nameless slaughter. She snaps her fingers and conjures rolls and rolls of parchment. She takes them down to the entrance and calls out, "I wish to preform a census while the cure is readied. Please, come forward one by one and give your names so that we may call you one by one for treatment when it is ready."

She hands off parchments to footmen, to knights, priests and other magi that joined them at the battle for Hearthglen, even to Arthas, and they record names one by one. It is one of the most agonizing things she has ever done in her life. It takes everything she has not to burst out crying. She can softly hear some of the footmen weeping, but their helmets help mask the sound, and block the sight of it. The ones to sick to move have others tell their names. All the while, Jaina considers the number of infected here... its far less than the population of the city. Just how many innocent had been slaughtered by Arthas and his men, by the turning infected, the Scourge and Mal'Ganis's assault force, by the fires and smoke inhalation, by the spreading Plague as the unaware or the hiding continued to eat the grain? The answer she suppose is self evident considering what happened originally...

She swallows back the thought and continues recording names. It continues for another twenty minutes... then, as they are wrapping the census up, as if right on schedule...

The loud sound of someone heaving is heard, following by pained screaming. People suddenly scramble back away from the center, from a woman on her knees heaving blood.

"Light preserve us!"

"Where is the cure? She needs a cure!"

"What are you waiting for?"

Footmen and knights line up at the entrance and wait as Jaina and Arthas move to the top of the nearest hill to watch. The woman dies, falling over into her own bloody puke. She lays still for a few moments before she begins to twist, an unholy glow crossing her eyes, a guttural grown escaping her lips. She lungs at the nearest person and bites into their neck, ripping and tearing, causing an alarmed scream to ripple through the crowd...

Jaina points a finger and releases a bolt of lightning, killing the zombie instantly. The zombie's victim shoves the smoking corpse off of him, clutching at his bleeding neck, looking terrified out of his mind.

"What is this madness?"

"What happened to her?"

"Light above... what is going on?"

Jaina takes a deep breath and lets it out, her voice steeling as she calls out, "The Plague that afflicts you is called the Plague of Undeath. Its purpose is to infect, kill, and corrupt all life in Lordaeran, turning everyone into undead slaves with no free will."

The horrified masses stare up at her.

"We don't need an explanation, just cure us!"

"There is no cure," sounded out Jaina, "I'm... I'm sorry. We had to separate you all so you wouldn't be forced to kill those who weren't infected."

There is silence for a stunned moment before someone cries out, "They're going to kill us!"

"No!"

"They lied to us!"

"Please!"

"You can't murder us!"

"There's children in here!"

"People of Lordaeran," booms out Arthas, taking a step forward, moving to support Jaina, "Lord Uther the Lightbringer has been sent to Dalaran to try and discover a cure, however, there is no guarantee that he will succeed with the Archmagi. Therefore we must take action to preserve the rest of Lordaeran. The Plague kills in hours, and Stratholme would spill out into the rest of Lordaeron like an unstoppable tide. It is our duty to stop this, not just us, but you as well. I... I ask you to be brave, to make the ultimate sacrifice in the name of Lordaeron and the light."

He took in a breath and let it out. "This plague will kill you, turn you into undead slaves used to purge all life from Lordaeran. There IS no other way. I'm sorry. We will hold on as long as possible to wait for Uther, but..."

Another infected heaves blood and falls to the ground. A rifleman puts a bullet through their head as the corpse rises and eyes those still living.

Sobs and wails break out through the crowd, all the while, Jaina can feel Mal'Ganis watching, pure sadistic delight emanating through the air. The sick bastard is getting off watching this...

"But it is unlikely he will return in time," he finishes, "Those who wish to hold on for as long as possible are free to do so. Those... those who wish an early release, to not suffer this undeath for even a moment, come forward."

No one moves, then another heaves blood and is shot when they rise from the ground and lunge at the living.

Then steadily, some start to come forward. Jaina initially fears that they might stampede, but no... the people... the people are so brave... so strong. The riflemen and mages are the ones who do the execut... the releasing. A shot through the head, or a bolt of lightning into their brains and they are down quick and painlessly. The dead are carried out into a forming burn pile that is monitored and guarded by a number of soldiers. It is sickeningly clean and orderly and despite this it gives her a small, pained hope that perhaps they can manage this crisis...

"We're going to make a memorial here," says Jaina softly, "With the census."

Arthas nods grimly, grief etched all over him. "We will."

Then she feels Mal'Ganis's dark magic in the air, and everything goes to hell when a number of the more sickly start glowing and turning instantly, like some kind of sick twisted conversion ability. Jaina's eyes widen in shock as it hits her. That was what she was missing from earlier. The Plague was a creation of the Lich King, who was when one truly thought about it, a demonic creation himself, formed and empowered by Kil'Jaeden, the armor created by the Nathrezim. They could influence the plague, once Arthas had started the original purge, Mal'Ganis would have seen his intent and played upon it. That fucking demonic BASTARD! The Culling of Stratholme had truly been a setup, start to finish, to separate and isolate the prince from her and Uther, to prey upon an emotionally, mentally compromised and exhausted Arthas.

The crowd starts screaming as to many zombies to put down in an orderly fashion start to tear into the living, and Jaina knows this is going to spiral out of control. There is still a battle to be fought against Mal'Ganis and his forces, this cannot be allowed to break out into a battle that weakens their forces. So she raises a hand, the beginnings of a pyroblast spell readied, before she looks down at a footmen at the base of the hill, the one clutching all the census papers.

"The... the census is complete, correct?" asked Jaina, tears streaming down her face as she formed the massive fireball over the rising bloodbath.

"Y-yes...," stammers the footman, moving to shield the papers.

"Then let us never forget what happened here this day."

She drops the pryoblast.