Spectre: Already pre-planned the chapter before I published the last one. Just needed to make adjustments of it.


Urazz: I missed that, but don't worry, I'm also using that part.

Iskandar Hero: Yeah, would be quite funny to see all Windrunner sisters falling for humans with distinct careers, in Arthas' case, being the King of Lordaeron in this case. Jaina's pretty persistent when it came to the people she cared about like Arthas and Daelin when he decided to genocide the Horde, so when she learned about Arthas, of course she's bound to be persistent for him. She certainly has limitations mind you, since she nearly got her soul stolen by Frostmourne during the fight against Mal'Ganis since she's pretty much still an apprentice under Antonidas.

surge911: Yep, I missed that. Thanks for reminding me. Gonna use that.

WeirdBlockPoints: Nral Garithos is a certified chad, I tell ya. That would probably the case, but I'd say Sylvanas and Arthas would argue. A lot later. We'll see with Terenas and Uther.

dh1234: Bingo. But I couldn't say it would be easily heal. Given that this is from Frostmourne and by extension, Ner'zhul's form.

tirdadkamali01: Very long indeed. That's what made Arthas so great, which are his flaws and having him those just makes it more compelling as I felt that in spite of his efforts, life still has a way to make it difficult for him and he had to persevere carefully and make him wiser to navigate all through this. And yes, after reading that, I am seriously considering having Sylvanas be thrown to the mix, but not before giving her a lot of trauma.


Chapter 16: Home

Days passed, the smell of warm bread and stew filled the air of the sick bay as Jaina and Arthas sat together for breakfast but the Archmage could not shake the sight of Arthas's tainted arm from her mind. She took a sip of her tea, relaxing herself before asking, "What about your arm, Arthas?"

He paused and stared down at his right arm. The skin remained the same unnatural hue, in contrast to the healthy flesh that the rest of his body composed of. He spoke with agitation, "The runeblade's power still lingers, but I'll manage."

The Prince picked up the potted plant beside him, the leaves withered and brown when he concentrated familiar power with it. He held it up to the dim light of the sick bay, sighing. "Trying to explain this to father and Uther would be a problem by itself."

"You should keep it hidden for now," Jaina advised him, also worried on what would happen if they do know. "There are healers in Dalaran or perhaps the High Elves of Quel'thalas who might be able to help. Magic is more powerful than you know, Arthas."

It didn't seem to give him any comfort of that. "Jaina, even as the Lich King, I never encountered a case where a soul was restored to its natural state once it had been tainted by the Scourge. Whatever infected my arm...it's not something to be trifled with."

"But you're different," she hopefully insisted. "You have a chance. We can't just sit here and do nothing."

He took a deep breath. "I know you want to help, but I fear that by using it, I might only make it worse. The last thing I want is for this to spread any further."

She looked at him in pity and worry, as she continued to eat. But there's a question that she felt need to be answered. "What was it like when you first took Frostmourne, Arthas?" Jaina asked. She couldn't imagine the torment he must have felt, from being a noble prince to the Lich King's champion.

Arthas sighed heavily. "When I first took the blade," he said slowly, "I felt an adrenaline unlike anything I'd known. A hunger for vengeance against Mal'Ganis, as was my purpose for taking it. As if all my fear and anger had been condensed into one sharp, cold edge."

He took another deep breath. "And when it claimed my soul right after Mal'Ganis was slain, or at least I thought he was slain," he continued, "I felt a sense of purpose, a direction that was so powerful it drowned out everything else. I was Ner'zhul's weapon, and I reveled in the power he granted me."

Jaina studied him, with a mix of pity and fear. "And of the people you've encountered," she prompted. "What did you feel for them?"

Arthas looked at her, weary in spite of the early hours of the morning. "I felt nothing," he admitted. "No shame, no remorse, no pity. Only a cold, unyielding need to achieve what I believed was convenient. I was lost to the madness of the blade and of Ner'zhul's words."

The room grew quiet as Jaina digested his words. But Arthas," she reasoned softly, "the blade corrupted you. It's not your fault-"

"No," he cut her off firmly, and it was clear to Jaina that he was in pain from the inside. "It didn't just corrupt me, Jaina. I let it. I embraced the power because I was weak. I was selfish. I wanted to save my people, but I was willing to sacrifice everyone else in the process. Even then...I no longer cared for my people if their deaths would suit my purposes."

Her heart clenched but she had to push through. "But you could have tried to fight it," she insisted. "You didn't have to become the Lich King."

"But I did," Arthas said with finality. "I didn't just become the Lich King's pawn; I became his champion. I ripped out my own heart, my own humanity, to become the Lich King myself." he paused. "You saw me do it, Jaina. I could have resisted, but I didn't. I chose power over everything else."

The room was silent for a moment. She took a deep breath and placed her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. "And now...you chose to to reject that fate for the safety of countless others when it was offered again", she pointed out to him.

Arthas felt the warmth of Jaina's hand over his own, and he nodded. "Thank you," he murmured, sincerely apologizing for his earlier despair. "I'm sorry for...for all of this."

She looked at him again and figured of the world his previous life had taken. "What was it like, Arthas?" she asked softly. "The world after you became the Lich King. What happened to everyone?"

He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them again, seeing the need for her to be informed if they're going to make things right. "The world fell to chaos," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "If I have to say so myself, it basically changed the world from the one we saw now. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have Kel'thuzad to keep me informed of the events that happened there after I had him stationed at Naxxramas."

Jaina never heard that name before. "Naxxramas?", she asked in curiosity.

Arthas couldn't help but smile at her eagerness to know. "Just imagine a massive fortress-graveyard where dark magic allowed it to float into the sky.", he told her. "Something like you have told me that the Kirin Tor considered for a time in their own city but Antonidas shot down the idea."

She shuddered at the thought of something massive capable of landing the undead with ease before she shifted her attention back to the first question. "What really happened to Lordaeron after your father...?", she carefully asked

"Lordaeron fell to the Scourge within weeks.", he replied. "The Silver Hand was disbanded when Uther refused to purge Stratholme as I have ordered back then. They tried to hold out. They fought valiantly, but without their leader, their morale was shattered, including Uther."

He paused, the memory of his mentor's face contorting with pain and betrayal haunting him. "Falric and Marwyn had slaughtered much of Lordaeron's command apparatus following my father's death in the Capital City, leaving a Kingdom virtually defenseless and in total chaos. Lord and Baron Othmar Garithos took command of the survivors and what's left of Lordaeron's military...and it wasn't a good image after that."

"What do you mean, Arthas?", the sorceress leaned closer, feeling uneased to imagine the misfortunes that happened after that.

Arthas sighed heavily. "After the fall of Quel'thalas, the High Elves who survived took on a new name: the Blood Elves," he recounted. "They were led by Prince Kael'thas. Even though they fought brilliantly with honor, they faced another enemy: Garithos." He said the name with contempt. "He was a capable commander, yes. He even managed to liberate Dalaran from the Scourge's grip, allowing the Kirin Tor and other human survivors to escape there. But his racism...his hatred for non-humans was paramount. He saw the Blood Elves as nothing but potential threats, despite their willingness to fight alongside the Alliance."

His eyes darkened with remembered contempt. "He treated them poorly, eventually imprisoning them, planning to execute them. If it weren't for Kael'thas and his people's own resourcefulness, they would have met their end at the very hands they thought who would help them free Quel'thalas."

"But why?" Jaina's voice was filled with disbelief. "They had suffered so much, and that just happened?"

"Apparently they didn't know Garithos would be...him. The other Kingdoms sent aid, and they thought he was the last thing connected in what was a goverment to Lordaeron. Also because of Fear," Arthas replied with a shake of his head. "Fear and ignorance. Garithos couldn't see beyond their differences. He was blind to his prejudices that the Elves lost their faith in the Alliance not long after."

"Even in spite of the High Elves leaving the Alliance during the Second War, they did not deserve such fate...", she mumbled in sympathy for Prince Kael and the Elves. "But it didn't end there, didn't it?"

"Indeed.", Arthas took another sip of his water. "Three factions emerged from the ruins, each fighting for dominance. There were those who remained loyal to the Burning Legion, led by the Dreadlord Balnazzar."

Jaina's eyes widened at that. "Wait, another Dreadlord?", she interrupted in disbelief. "Like Mal'Ganis?"

"Yes, and they belong to a race called Nathrezim, a group of scheming, but powerful demons like Mal'Ganis is,", Arthas further explained to her. "But they pale in comparison to the likes of their leader, Tichondrius. And that's not even including lesser Dreadlords like Detheroc and Varimathras."

He took a pause before he continued his narration regarding the power vacuum in Lordaeron. "Then there were the human survivors "under the command of Garithos. They struggled to hold onto what little remained of the kingdom, but their numbers were dwindling, and their leader just had to trust the wrong people."

Jaina leaned closer in disbelief. "Three factions?" she repeated. "What was the third?"

"The third was the most unexpected," he said, inwardly suprised himself as to how Sylvanas would go the long way to make sure her revenge against him would be fulfilled. "The Banshee Queen, the one who had once been part of my own army, broke free from the Lich King's control. She saw an opportunity in the chaos, seeking to build a power base of her own against the Scourge. Her forces were formidable, and she was cunning. In the end, she emerged victorious. Balnazzar was killed, or at least I was told he was killed. And then she turned her sights on Garithos."

Jaina's hand tightened around her mug of tea. "And what of Garithos?"

"He made a fatal mistake trusting her." Arthas said in a neutral tone; he couldn't exactly feel bad for the self-proclaimed Grand Marshal for his blunders. "She had him killed not long after, and with his death, the human resistance in Lordaeron was all but crushed, except for a few pockets who vowed to continue the fight regardless."

He wasn't sure if he could even tell her about the Scarlet Crusade. But even he had limited knowledge of their activities other than their zeal to destroy the undead, even more so about its members; he honestly could care less for them when he reigned as the Lich King. Other than the Grand Crusader and one of the Silver Hand's first Five Paladins, Saidan Dathrohan. Even though Arthas admits that the man was acting out of character that does not line up as to how Saidan would act.

That was a lot to take in for Jaina, but she remembered that Arthas had another member of his family. "But what about Calia? Your sister?"

Arthas took another sip of his water. "Calia...my sister," he gazed upon the open window in deep thought. "After my father's death, she became a figurehead at best. Without the support or backing to truly rule, she was more of a symbol than a queen, and she disappeared not long after."

Jaina's eyes widened with worry. "Is she...is she still alive?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.

He nodded solemnly. "If she had perished, I would have felt it," Arthas assured her. "As the Lich King, I was aware of every soul within my grasp. Hers was never among them."

Relief washed over her, but her concern remained. "But if she's not with the Scourge, then where is she?"

"I don't know for certain," he admitted, but his tone was hopeful. "But I suspect she's in hiding, somewhere safe from the chaos that consumed Lordaeron. At least I could take solace to the fact that she is safe, away from the tragedies that happened so sudden."

Jaina looked at Arthas with a furrowed brow, her curiosity piqued. "And what of me, Arthas?" she asked. "What happened to me during all of this?"

He took a deep breath, his eyes meeting hers with a heavy gaze. Should he tell of her role? He was concerned on how she might react to this. And if he indeed told her, he did not want to give an illusion that they would eventually win against Archimonde, when the possibility of making decisions that would prove detrimental is up in the air.

But if there was one thing he knew about Jaina, she is smart enough not to make such mistakes. "After the fall of Dalaran and the destruction of Quel'Thalas, you went to west, following the advice of the Prophet," Arthas began.

"The same one that spoke to you?", she asked in curiosity. She could still remember their last conversation at Stratholme, where Arthas had promised him to head west right after he had dealt with the plague. As well as the man who may have an idea of Arthas hiding his secrets from her before they had that falling out to the docks before leaving for Northrend.

"Yes, I rejected his advice in my previous life. But you followed it wisely, where you and the survivors went there and you fought the Horde under command of the new Warchief Thrall in several occasions.", he told her.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "The Horde?"

He nodded. "Initially, your arrival was met with hostility. The Orcs had only recently been freed from the Burning Legion's control, and the Night Elves saw both of you as invaders. But the Prophet, he saw the greater threat and convinced both sides to put aside their differences."

"How did he do that?" she wondered, her voice filled with amazement.

"With much difficulty and persuasion," Arthas replied. "But eventually, you all saw eye-to-eye and united against the Legion." His expression grew grim. "You fought alongside them, and together, you faced the demon lord Archimonde at Mount Hyjal. The fate of the world was at stake there."

"And what of the Night Elves?" she prompted, eager to hear more.

"They were led by Malfurion Stormrage and Tyrande Whisperwind," Arthas said with admiration. "Their aid was invaluable. Despite their initial reluctance, they recognized the necessity of an alliance."

"And the outcome?" she urged.

"You all managed to defeat Archimonde," Arthas answered her. "It was a turning point. With the Demon Lord dead, the Legion's power waned. The world had a chance to breathe again, to recover from the brink of destruction."

Jaina sat in silence, absorbing the information. "I can't believe it," she murmured. "All these years, and I've never known..."

He gave her a small, sad smile. "I know, but that doesn't mean you have to be confident at such matters. The Legion always had a few tricks that remain untested" Arthas said. "But even then, it's the best outcome we could ask for."

Jaina took a deep breath, preparing herself for the next question she needed to ask. "And my father, Daelin Proudmoore," she whispered to him. "What became of him and Kul'Tiras during all this?"

Arthas paused for a moment. If I told her now...would she even consider cooperating with the Horde when they need to unite against the Legion if it happened again?, he thought. He knew the truth would be too much for her to bear, so he chose his words carefully. "Your father remained a steadfast leader in his own right," explained to her. "He held Kul'Tiras together, keeping it safe from the Scourge and the Legion."

"And he's still...he's still alive?" she asked, hope lighting her features.

Arthas nodded. "Yes," he lied, well technically Daelin did survive the war. It's the aftermath that what took him away. "He's alive. And I believe he would be proud of the woman you've become."

Jaina felt a weight lift from her chest. "Thank you," she murmured. "I'm glad that he is safe."

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew that for now, it was for the best. The truth of Daelin's fate could come later, when she was ready to handle it.

And that's just some of what he knew. But for now, she seemed satisfied, though he knew he had to answer her again if she asked.


Later above deck, the brisk sea air filled Arthas's lungs as he stepped out of the cabin, the salty breeze a stark contrast to the stale air of his confinement. Falric and Muradin, who were busy with the ship's affairs, spotted him and rushed over, their faces a mix of relief and concern.

"My prince," Falric said, bowing slightly. "We feared the worst."

"I'm well enough," Arthas assured him, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "And it was thanks to all of you."

Muradin clasped his shoulder. "We're just a few days out from Lordaeron," the dwarf informed him. "It'll be good to set foot on solid ground again."

"Home," Arthas murmured, the word resonating with longing and a hint of dread. "Yes, it will be good to go home."

"And what of you, Muradin?" Falric asked, changing the subject. "Eager to return to Ironforge, I presume?"

Muradin nodded, his beard bobbing with the movement. "Aye," he said with a gruff chuckle. "Been too long since I saw the warm fires and good ale of the city."

Arthas managed a smile, the thought of returning to their homelands bringing a glimmer of hope to his eyes. "We've all earned some rest," he said, looking at his comrades. "But first, we must ensure that what I've seen does not come to pass. We must be vigilant."

The two men nodded in agreement, the gravity of the situation not lost on them. Falric spoke up. "We will be, your Highness," he said firmly. "Where is Lady Jaina, sire?"

"Lady Jaina is below deck, composing a report for the Kirin Tor regarding our recent...discoveries," Arthas informed them, keeping the details vague. He noticed Captain Marwyn nearby, scribbling furiously on a parchment. "And it seems Captain Marwyn is busy with his own correspondence," he added with a small smile, watching as the man paused to dip his quill in the inkwell.

"Writing a letter to Lady Faerlina Bloomfield.", Falric informed him. "It appears he took a liking of her after he had inadvertently saved her life from the Cult of the Damned at Stratholme when he was gathering information on Baron Rivendare."

Arthas's eyes widened slightly at Falric's revelation about Captain Marwyn's letter. "Faerlina Bloomfield?" he murmured to himself, recalling the fate of the grand widow in his previous life. Arthas couldn't help but be taken aback by the revelation. In his own timeline, Lady Bloomfield was the Grand Widow of Naxxramas under Kel'thuzad, and a mistress of poisons, making her a formidable asset to the Scourge.

"I suppose some destinies are indeed rewritten," he mused aloud. The thought brought a small measure of comfort to his soul, a reminder that not all paths led to the same end then he turned to Falric again. "And the rest?"

"Some have their own reasons to be eager for our return," he said. "Thassarian is keen to see his mother again in the Tirisfal Glades, and Captain Valonforth longs for the comfort of his family in Strahnbrand," Falric reported.

Arthas felt a pang of guilt at the mention of their names. In his previous life, he had personally claimed these men as his own, turning them into mindless servants of the Scourge.

Perhaps among the worst deeds he had made, was forcing Thassarian to kill his own mother when he turned him into a Death Knight.

But now, he was only glad that these men finally had a different fate, away from being mass murderers in his name.

Perhaps Jaina is right. He could still change what lies before them.

Muradin, noticing the pensive look on Arthas' face, broke the silence. "What about that Dreadlord, lad?" he rumbled. "Ye seem to know a bit more than ye're lettin' on."

Arthas sighed. "It's a long story, Muradin," he said, his voice heavy with weariness. "But I promise you, we will deal with him and of Frostmourne. But for now," he turned to face his friend, "we need rest. You all deserve it."

Muradin grunted, his hand reflexively rubbing his bruised ribs. "Aye, I reckon," he said. "But I've got a bone to pick with his demonic arse. He's got a debt to pay for what he did to me."

"And you'll your chance," Arthas assured him. "But not today. Today, we rest."

The three of them stood in quiet contemplation for a moment longer before Falric broke the silence. "If you'll excuse me, my Prince," he said, his eyes flicking to Muradin and then back to Arthas. "I'll go check on our course. We wouldn't want to miss our destination, after all."

The dwarf nodded, having a little difficulty moving with his cane. "I'll join ye in a bit," he said. "Got some things to ponder over."

As Falric left, Arthas turned to Muradin. "Take care of yourself, old friend," he said, his voice filled with genuine concern. "We've been through a lot. But we could expect a lot more to come along the way."

Muradin gave him a firm nod. "Aye, I will," he said. "But that doesn't mean ya shouldn't do that too! Given your arm!"

Arthas smiled but dropped as soon as he looked on his right arm when Muradin left, extensively hidden than what he would have preferred to. He returned to his cabin, where stared at his right arm, even with the gloves, gauntlets and even bracers hiding the unnatural cold that emanated from it. It's power resurfaced unwanted memories into his mind, as much as he wanted to forget them.

He looked to find a dead rat lay motionless on the floor, a casualty of the ship's pest control. With a grim look, he focused his will upon it, channeling the dark energy that still lingered within him. The creature's tiny form began to twitch, then rise, its lifeless eyes flickering with an eerie blue glow. Arthas's chest tightened as he watched the rat become a tiny, undead minion.

He was by all means, disgusted. But he knew had to live with it for the time being. Preferably if the Scourge has been dealt with before he could try and find anything that could cure his arm and pemanently remove Ner'zhul's influence into his body.

With a swift motion, he tossed the reanimated creature into the cabin's incinerator, the metal door slamming shut with a finality that echoed through the room. The flames consumed the rat, reducing it to ashes, along with the lingering lifeforce it had.

Arthas sighed. He knew that concealing his tainted arm from Uther and the Silver Hand would be a challenge. The stigma of necromancy was something that could not be easily dismissed, even with Jaina's support. Her support and acceptance offered him a semblance of hope, but the mistrustful gazes of comrades were etched in his memory.


In the Capital City, Arthas had opted to separate from Falric, Muradin Jaina and the rest, to visit the refugees from various parts of Lordaeron before returning to his father. Be it, Southshore, Heartglen and Stratholme, who managed to evacuate safely behind the capital's walls. It was almost surreal for him to return here without any motive in mind.

He walked to find Lord Goodwin, the same person who had replaced Rivendare as Stratholme's leader when the latter's association of the Cult of the Damned was uncovered. And the one who inadvertently spread the plague in the city by accident. Arthas no longer had any anger or grudge to the elder statesman, as he had acted in the best interest of the people. He saw the apologetic look of the man's face as the Prince approached him, bowing in respect.

The statesman looked up as Arthas approached, still feeling the guilt of what happened to the city. "Your Highness," he began, his voice trembling slightly as he rose to his feet, "I offer my most sincere apologies for what happened at Stratholme. I wish I have been vigilant of my surroundings and of my post."

Arthas regarded the man with a blend of compassion and determination. "Lord Goodwin, there is no need for apologies," he assured. "We are all shaped by the choices we make, and we can only work to make sure such mistakes aren't repeated." He paused looking at the refugees, many of whom are huddled, in contemplation and uncertainty of their future. "How are they faring?"

Feeling relief and gratitude, Goodwin took a deep breath. "They are in good health, thanks to the tireless efforts of the Kirin Tor and the healers," he replied. "We have established a rigorous system of checks to ensure that the plague does not spread. They are being cared for as best as we can manage."

Arthas nodded in approval. "That is a comfort to hear," he said, his eyes reflecting his concern for the people he had failed in his previous life. He looked over to find a blond haired girl, a young teenager, sat in a tuck position with a bloody dagger on one hand, and looking as if she had gone through so much.

In the corner of the room, she looked hollow and haunted. Arthas felt an overwhelming sense of pity and empathy at the sight of her; such sights were very uncommon when he rampaged all throughout Lordaeron. He approached Lord Goodwin, his gaze never leaving the girl.

"What is her story?" Arthas asked of him, where Goodwin's face grew sadder as he recounted the girl's tragic tale.

"Her family, like many others, was caught in the chaos of the outbreak near Southshore. As the infection spread through her village, she watched her loved ones fall one by one to the curse. The horror didn't end there, for when they rose again as mindless undead, she was left with no choice but to end their suffering."

Arthas felt his heart crack as he listened to the man's words, the girl's plight resonating with his own haunted past. He knew the pain of being consumed by the need to protect those you love, and the guilt that follow right after. "Has anyone tried to help her?" Arthas inquired.

The elder statesman sighed. "Aye, we've sent priests and counselors, but she won't let anyone near," he replied. "She thinks we're all like the monsters she had to slay. The poor girl is lost in her own grief and fear."

Moved by her suffering, he knew he had to reach out to her, to show that not all hope was lost, and that there were still those who understood what she went through. With careful steps, he approached the girl.

The girl's wide, tear-stained eyes darted up to meet the Prince's, filled with a mix of fear and defiance. She clutched the dagger tightly. His heart ached at the sight of her, so young and already scarred by the horrors of war. He knelt down slowly, keeping his movements deliberate and non-threatening.

He knelt down before the traumatized girl, carefully and soothingly minding the way he moved. She looked upon his gazed, filled with a warmth she hadn't seen in ages. He reached out and gently pried the blood-soaked dagger from her trembling grasp. "It's okay," he promised her. "You don't have to be afraid."

She stared at him, whatever hope she had clashing against the pain, rage and grief she had with her. Arthas offered a small, understanding smile. He paused, studying her closely. "What's your name, little one?"

The girl kept looking for any hint of malice, but finding only kindness. "S-Sally...", she told answered him. Her eyes widened in recognition as she whispered, "You're... you're Prince Arthas." He nodded solemnly in return.

"You're very perceptive, Sally," he gently remarked. His voice was filled with genuine remorse. "I...I wish I could have been there..."

Sally stared at him, tears streaming down her dirty cheeks. "Then why weren't you?" she asked with accusation. "Why did you leave us?"

Arthas was taken back. This was such questions that tormented him into trying to achieve justice and vengeance against the likes of Mal'Ganis. He took a deep breath. "Sally, I wish with all my heart that I could have been everywhere to make sure that no one will have to go through the pain you had," he regretted. "It was something that no single person could hope to stand against it alone." He reached out and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, feeling the tremble of her tiny frame beneath his touch. "Which is why I couldn't bring myself to stop until I could see that everyone is safe."

"Do you have anyone else, Sally?" Arthas asked softly, looking for any semblance of comfort she could find in this world torn apart by the Scourge. "Anyone you could stay with, a family member or a friend?"

Her eyes searched his, the depth of his question resonating in the silence between them. "There's... there's only Renault," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. "My friend. He... he's all I have left now."

'Renault?', Arthas thought with familiarity of the name. The only other person that he knew of that name is the son of Alexandros Morgraine, Highlord of the Silver Hand. "Is his name, Renault Morgraine by any chance?", he asked.

Sally nodded slowly. "Yes, that's him," she said, her voice barely audible over the clamor of the camp. "But I don't know where he is, and I have nowhere to go. I'm all alone, and it's all because of me." Her voice broke as she spoke, feeling the guilt of surviving but not her own family because of her.

"Sally, you are not to blame for what happened," he said, his voice firm and comforting. "The undead and the plague are a terrible force, one that none of us could have foreseen or stopped single-handedly." He took a deep breath, and solemnly looked at her. "But you are strong. Stronger than you know. And you are not alone."

She looked out to him for any of the truth in his words. "But I am," she insiste. "I had to... I had to kill them. My own family. I couldn't save them."

"There are always people looking out for you, Sally," Arthas assured her as he tried to ease the burden of her grief. "Even when it feels like there's no one left, there is still hope, still a light in the darkness."

Her eyes searched his, desperate for any sincerity in his words. "Would you look out for me too?" she asked tentatively, the question hanging in the air like a prayer.

Arthas's gaze softened as he took her trembling hand in his. "I will," he promised sincerely. "And not just me, but the people of Lordaeron."

Sally's eyes widened at the sincerity of his pledge. "You... you really mean it?" she whispered, the first spark of hope lighting her desolate expression.

"You have my word," Arthas said solemnly, offering his hand to her. "As long as I live, I will do everything in my power to ensure that no one else suffers as you have."

She took his hand and stood up where he smiled at her; it was returned by a weary one from her. Arthas turned to Lord Goodwin. "See that she gets the care she needs," he instructed. "I'm entrusting her to you."

The elderly man obliged with no question. "Of course, Your Highness," he assured.

Arthas then took a piece of parchment and a quill from his pocket where he quickly scribbled a letter. "When you find Renault," he said, handing the letter to Goodwin, "have him read this. It's for his father, Highlord Morgraine. It's important that he knows she's alive and in our care."

Goodwin took the letter and nodded. "I will ensure it reaches him," he promised.

"Thank you," the Prince said, his eyes never leaving Sally's. That is all I ask from you."

With that, Arthas rose to his feet and made his way out of the tent, leaving Sally in good hands. It was time to return to the others and meet with his father.


The procession through the bustling streets of Capital City was filled with cheers and chants of relief as the people caught sight of their heroes returning from Northrend. Arthas walked alongside Jaina and the others as the city's residents threw flowers and waved banners, and they were estatic to see their Prince and his comrades return home from an evidently succesful expedition.

Which isn't really the case, but his purpose as it was known in public was to rescue Muradin. So, it could be considered a success nonetheless.

Even amidst the celebrations, Arthas was uncertain. He clenched his right hand and feeling the cold despite multiple layers of gloves and gauntlets beneath his short blue shoulder cape concealed the marks he had from Northrend, constantly tormenting him of the fate he narrowly avoided there.

Jaina glanced at him, nudging him by left hand. "Are you alright, Arthas?", she worriedly asked of him, noticing his silence.

He only looked at the path ahead of him "It feels... strange," he admitted, feeling he had missed something. "To return to these lands without the having to be...something else is something I never thought possible."

Jaina offered him a warm smile, squeezing his uncovered left hand gently. "And you're right, Arthas," she assured him. "This time, you're coming back as everyone knew of you." Her eyes searched his, her belief in him unwavering.

In the grand throne room of Lordaeron, anticipation is at its highest procession reached its climax. King Terenas beamed at the sight of his Crown Prince, standing up from his throne.. "My son," he whispered, "I feared the worst. Thank the Light you've returned to us." He drew back to look at Arthas, before shifting to the dwarf standing stoically beside him. "I see that your mission has been a success."

Arthas nodded solemnly to look at Terenas. "Indeed, it was, Father," he replied in earnest. "And I bring good news for King Magni. His brother, Muradin, is safe along with his men stranded at Northrend." He gestured towards the dwarf, who offered a respectful bow to the king. Muradin's eyes shone with pride as he confirmed the Prince's words. "The expedition is no longer in peril, but the strategic position there is still very questionable at best."

Turning to Jaina, Terenas offered her a warm smile of relief and gratitude. "Lady Proudmoore," he said, his voice carrying across the hall. "I am deeply grateful for accompanying my son in these trying times." He remarked. "I'm sure Lord Admiral Daelin will be relieved to hear that his daughter has returned unscathed. And," he added, "that Lord Uther was wise in having you go with him."

Jaina returned the smile, though she remained concerned for Arthas. "I appreciate the sentiment, Your Highness. But it was a very difficult journey if I say so myself."

"Indeed, Father. It was a skirmish with the undead," he said, his gaze shifting away from her. "Those who sought to spread the plague on our homeland."

King Terenas studied his son's face, the pride in his eyes tinged with a hint of concern. "I trust you handled it with the honor and valor of the Light," he said, his voice firm. "But it appears there is much more than a rescue mission, is it not?"

"Indeed, Father," Arthas replied, his tone measured. "We encountered heavy resistance, but we were able to overcome them and secure the safety of our comrades, thanks to their assistance and bravery." He gestured to his companions and the men with him while he made sure to keep his right arm hidden within the folds of his cape.

Muradin stepped forward, his voice gruff but steady. "Aye, that we did. The boy's got more mettle than the whole darned lot of 'em. Didn't flinch once, even when the dead started climbing outta their graves like it was a festival day." His bearded face broke into a proud smile as he clapped Arthas on the back.

King Terenas could sense there was more to the tale, but something in his son's eyes told him that now was not the time for the full truth. He stepped down from his throne, feeling his responsibilities forgetten as he approached his son. The distance between them closed, and for a long moment, they simply stared into each other. Arthas felt his own guilt coming back, threatening to spill over. But suddenly, Terenas opened his arms and enveloped Arthas in a warm embrace. "Welcome home, my son," he whispered. "I've missed you dearly."

Home.

The word resonated in Arthas's heart. It almost felt foreign even. A home that did not require the suffering of others nor it demands power. But in the embrace of a family. He felt the warmth of a father's love that he had so cruelly stolen in his previous life. He returned the hug with all the strength he had, fighting back the tears that burned in his eyes. "I've missed you too, Father," he managed to say amidst the turmoil that dwell within. "And I am...glad to be home."

Jaina watched the heartwarming scene unfold before her, feeling with the joy and pain she knew Arthas felt as she held her chest. She wished with all her being that she could share in the warmth of this reunion. But she knew that this moment was for them—father and son—to heal wounds that had never been dealt. And so she remained silent, her eyes dripping a few tears of happiness for the man she loved. This was it.

He was finally home.


Spectre: While writing this, I'm on the fence on wether or not Arthas should tell Jaina of her role in Kalimdor. But given that she had already seen Archimonde in his memories, he would want to give her a semblance of hope that things would be different. And writing the last part made me tear up a little from personal experience. There will be a small plotpoint between Sally Whitemane and Arthas. And no, no romantic undertones with them. If anything...I'll reveal it in later chapters. Judging by her age at this point, she's fourteen or fifteen at best.

And if you could imagine Arthas and his right arm, imagine DMC4 Nero where his demonic power is onto his right arm. Just as Arthas' Death Knight powers in his right arm. And don't worry, Arthas will tell Jaina what else he knew in time when the situation demands it. Leave a review!