This chapter is mostly about Arthas and Jaina.
Aclux: We'll see what we can do about the dragons. I have a few ideas in mind.
Chapter 9: Departure to the North
As Arthas moved among the survivors huddled outside the camp, the Princecouldn't help but feel a deep ache in his chest. The sight of their fearful faces and haunted eyes was a reminder of what just happened here. Despite his work to prevent a repeat of Startholme, Mal'Ganis and the Scourge still managed to strike, albeit with luck on their side, but with significantly less casualties. He knelt beside an elderly woman, her eyes vacant and her skin pale with the grip of fear. "You're safe now," he assured her, trying to sound gentle. "We'll make sure no harm comes to you."
"But what if they came back, your Highness?", she fearfully asked, only for Arthas to shook his head.
"They won't", he assured her. "You have my word. And the guard will remain until the situation is resolved completely."
Her trembling hand reached out to him Arthas's eyes met hers, and he saw the reflection of his own sorrow mirrored there. "I shall not fail you again," he whispered, more to himself than to her.
Falric approached, his own gaze taking in the scene with a heavy heart. "Prince Arthas," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "The ships are prepared to sail. We only await your orders."
Arthas stood, his eyes never leaving the woman's. "We leave at first light," he said firmly. "We cannot allow Mal'Ganis to think he's won, and to rescue Muradin and his men from terrible conditions." He glanced back at the city. "This is not the end of Stratholme's suffering, but it will be the beginning of its rebirth."
The woman looked up at him, her eyes slowly filling with hope. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice a mere breath.
Arthas nodded solemnly before turning to face Falric. "Let us pray that in Northrend, we find the means to end this curse," he said, the weight of his words heavy on the air. "So that in time, no one else has to face the same plight as we are."
As Falric strode away to carry out his orders, Arthas couldn't shake off the feeling of unease that came upon him. The mention of Northrend and the Dreadlord had stirred up memories that he would most prefer to be forgotten, but knew very well that he couldn't until he could be sure it won't happen again.
Suddenly, he gazed upon a familiar raven. Immediately, he knew he had to speak to him once more when he watched the raven fly into the night, its wings beating a silent tattoo against the dark sky, and made up his mind. He had to find out more.
Turning to Captain Marwyn, he issued his next command, "Ensure that the troops are ready to depart at dawn. We must not delay."
Marwyn nodded sharply, understanding the urgency in his prince's tone. "At once, Your Highness."
With that, Arthas set off in pursuit of the raven. The creature led him away from the camp near the docks and deeper into the forest, its path weaving through the dense foliage with an eerie grace. The moon cast long shadows on the ground, and the whispers of the trees seemed to hold secrets of their own.
Finally, the raven alighted on the ground, its eyes gleaming in the moonlight as it turned to face him. Arthas stopped, his breath misting in the cold air. "You have came here for a reason," he called out, his voice echoing through the night. "What more do you wish to say to me?"
The raven cocked its head to the side, studying him intently, before its form shifted, morphing back into that of the ancient, robed figure from their earlier encounter. The Prophet's eyes bore into Arthas, who felt tense at his presence.
The robed man took a few steps forward as he nodded solemnly at Arthas' words. "Your dedication to your people's survival does not go unnoticed," he said. "Instead of the pursuit of vengeance, you sought salvation. Not just for you, but the people as well."
Arthas felt his resolve harden. "What else do you foresee?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate with the very earth beneath them.
The Prophet's gaze grew distant, as if peering into a future that was yet to unfold. "Only that he awaits your presence up north," he murmured, Arthas did not have to guess whom he was referring to when a shiver ran down his spine. "His reach is far and wide. Perhaps attaching strings to unsuspecting persons, and has reached farther than you can imagine."
Arthas' eyes narrowed in contempt. "If he is trying to look for me," he began, his jaw clenching when he remembered Kel'thuzad's words. He chose you to be his champion long before the Scourge even began. "He won't have to look far once I disappointed him."
The Prophet's gaze grew piercing as he studied the Prince. "Your awareness of this enemy...it runs deeper than the rivers of time, my prince," he whispered. "You have danced with the Lich King's shadow before, have you not?"
Arthas felt his heart stutter upon hearing his words. Could he possibly know? No, it couldn't be, he assured himself, his fears were just getting the better of him. He swallowed hard, his eyes never leaving the Prophet's. "I do not know what you mean," he said, his voice a thin veneer over the tumultuous sea of emotions that churned within him.
The Prophet's smile was small yet understanding, as if he knew all too well what Arthas kept to himself. "Your burdens are heavy, my prince," he said with understanding only put the Prince on edge. "And they may yet be your downfall if you do not learn to wield them with care."
Arthas felt his chest tighten,. "I am aware," he said, his voice gruff with unshed emotion. "My fears have already shown its costs." He paused, his eyes searching the Prophet's face. "I may even have lost the trust of those I hold dear."
The Prophet nodded, his gaze never wavering from Arthas' own. "Indeed, your fears have wrought much damage," he agreed. "But fear is not your enemy, young prince. It is what you do with that fear that will define you." He leaned heavily on his staff, the wood creaking under his weight. "You are who you choose to be, as long as you know what the path you walk."
Arthas felt the ground beneath him shift, as if the very fabric of reality was unraveling. "What are you saying?" he demanded, his voice hoarse with desperation. "What do you know about me?"
The Prophet's smile grew enigmatic. "I know what you fear, young Prince," he said, his voice a gentle caress. "But not of who you truly are." He reached out a hand, and when Arthas did not take it, the Prophet's expression grew solemn. "And of the wounds you carry."
"What are you talking about?", Arthas demanded. "What wounds do you think I have?"
The Prophet's gaze remained locked onto Arthas, a knowing look that seemed to peer into the very depths of his soul. "Old wounds never truly heal, my prince," he said softly. "They merely scar over, waiting for the slightest touch to break them open anew."
Arthas felt a twinge of discomfort at the Prophet's words, it sounded as if he knew of his plight, yet he was willing to try and help him. "I am aware of the cost of secrets," he admitted, his voice tight with the strain of keeping his true identity hidden. "The price of keeping them runs deeper than the most profound wound."
The Prophet nodded, as if he had seen others have walk this path before him. "Yet, some scars can only be mended when others lend their light to your darkness," he offered. "You know this as well, young Prince. In time, you will be made to allow others to help you heal."
Arthas took a step back, his eyes searching the Prophet's face, looking for any sign that he knew the truth. "My trust is not easily given," he said, his voice low and cautious. "But I understand your counsel."
The Prophet nodded. "I am aware of your intentions," he said, his voice a soft rumble. "But remember, young prince, some fates are intertwined beyond our knowing." He paused, his gaze seeming to peer through the veil of the present and into the murky waters of the future. "When you reach the west, you will find that the battle for this world's soul is not confined to the lands of the living."
Arthas felt the weight of the Prophet's words, the implication of his past hanging heavily in the air. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice tight with the effort of holding back his secrets.
The Prophet leaned heavily on his staff, his eyes glowing with an eerie light. "You have seen his visage," he said, his tone low and measured. "And in doing so, you have glimpsed the fate that awaits you should you stray from the path of light."
Arthas swallowed hard. "I'll do what I can ," he vowed, his voice a mix of defiance and fear.
The Prophet's expression softened, as if seeing through lies and doubt that Arthas had made around his heart. "Some destinies are written in the stars, my prince," he murmured. "And some are forged in the fires of our own making."
With a grace that seemed almost unnatural, the Prophet transformed back into the raven, its eyes gleaming with the wisdom of ages. The bird took to the air as he prince watched it fly away, the whisper of its feathers against the night sky echoing the whispers of his own tumultuous thoughts.
The Prophet's departure left Arthas feeling both relieved and troubled. The knowledge that someone might know his darkest secret was unsettling, but the Prophet did not say anything explicit of it, yet he still made an effort to guide him. I should prepare for an expedition to Kalimdor..., Arthas thought. But then until the Scourge is dealt with, and other factors secured, there might not even be a need to do so.
Breathing out heavily. He spoke aloud, "I know that you're here, Jaina", he called out. "There's no reason for you to hide"
Her invisibilty had been dispelled and emerged from her hiding spot as she approached him. She studied him, her eyes searching his for any clue to the tumultuous thoughts that lay beneath his stoic facade. "What was it that he spoke of, Arthas?" she asked, her voice tentative, but it was something that she was immediately worried about. "I heard mention of old wounds and destinies. What could that mean?"
Arthas turned to face her, appearing calm and uncaring for what was said to him. "He speaks in riddles, Jaina," he simply said. "The ravings of a madman, or perhaps a prophet who sees too much and understands too little."
Jaina frowned. She knew that the Prophet was no madman, his words had been too precise, too knowing in spite of what Antonidas and King Terenas thought of him. "But what about it?" she pressed, unable to shake off the feeling that there was more to this conversation than Arthas was letting on.
The Prince sighed, his gaze drifting to the horizon where the first light of dawn was beginning to break. "He spoke of the the north as if he were a mere obstacle to be overcome," Arthas said. "Yet it was clear he knew little of what he was speaking off."
"Is there something you're not telling me?" Jaina's voice was gentle but firm, her eyes never leaving his. "Something that you fear?"
The Prince didn't say anything, instead making his way to the harbor where the fleet to Northrend was being prepared. There was something wrong with him the moment the Prophet spoke of his fears. The same expression she had seen back at Heartglen.
Jaina followed Arthas closely, her eyes never leaving his back as the first light of dawn began to pierce the veil of night. The tension between them was palpable, a silent dance of unspoken words and unasked questions. "What did the he mean by 'old wounds' and 'destinies'?" she asked, her voice echoing with a hint of urgency. "You heard him, you can't keep doing this forever."
Arthas didn't turn around, his eyes fixed on the distant horizon as if he could will away the truth. "It was nothing, Jaina," he replied, his tone weary as he continued to walk to the docks. "Merely the musings of a man who has seen too much and has grown too fond of speaking in riddles."
The mage's frown deepened, and she quickened her pace to walk alongside him. "You know as well as I do that his words are not to be dismissed so easily," she insisted, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. "What is it that you fear?"
Arthas did not say anything in reply and continued walking. Jaina was convinced that it had to do with him from what he felt and what was hurting him from the inside. The silence grew heavier with each step, the crunch of leaves and the distant sounds of the camp preparing to break the only noises to interrupt the tension between them. Jaina's hand fell away from his arm, and she watched him for a moment, her eyes searching his profile for any clue as to what was truly troubling him. Finally, she spoke up again, her voice tight with worry. "Arthas," she implored. "You know you can tell me what was troubling you. But I have to know why you couldn't."
He stopped then, his shoulders tense and his back to her. The silence stretched taut, the air thick with the unspoken words that hung between them. "You wouldn't understand," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that seemed to carry the weight of his burden. "What I've seen...what I've become."
Jaina stepped closer, her hand reaching out tentatively to rest on his shoulder. "I've seen enough from what we've been through ," she said, her voice a soft counterpoint to his anguish. "And I will if you're willing to tell me."
Arthas let out a bitter laugh, his head shaking slightly. "You think you know me, Jaina," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "You don't. You don't know what happened to me, and what I've done."
Her grip tightened on his shoulder, her voice firm. "I know you're hurting, Arthas. And that's enough for me."
He turned to face her then, his eyes haunted by shadows she had never seen before. "You can't help me," he said, his voice heavy with pain. "No one can."
Her eyes searched his, the unspoken question clear. "Is it about Mal'Ganis?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Is it...is it because of what happened at Stratholme?"
The mention of the city brought a fresh wave of agony to Arthas's face, and he took a step back, his eyes flitting away from hers. "It's more than that," he said, his voice strained.
Jaina's eyes searched Arthas's face, the unspoken question burning in her gaze. "Is it about your father? Uther? Or even me?" she asked, her voice trembling with the weight of her concern. "Or is it something else, something that happened...after?"
The prince took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes flicking to hers briefly before looking away again. "Jaina," he began, his voice tight with emotion. "I will always be grateful for your help. But this is something that you can't do anything about."
Her hand slipped from his shoulder, and she took a step back, her eyes reflecting the hurt she felt at his evasion. "Everyone was becoming worried about you. Me, Uther, Falric, Marwyn...," she insisted, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her heart. "You can't keep it all to yourself."
Arthas's expression grew more closed off, his jaw clenching. "You have enough to worry about," he said, his voice firm. "Your place is with Uther and the others in Lordaeron. Or perhaps you should return to the Kirin Tor and aid in the interrogation of Kel'Thuzad. There is much to be learned from him."
Her eyes narrowed, the hurt in her voice replaced by a hint of anger. "You're asking me to leave you," she accused, her hand dropping to her side.
He turned to face her fully, his eyes cold and distant. "You have your obligations, Jaina," he said, his tone brooking no argument. "I have my own..."
Jaina's eyes widened in surprise. "Arthas," she protested, her voice filled with concern and confusion. "Uther has asked me to accompany you to the north. I'm not letting you do this alone."
He turned to her, his gaze steely. "You have your place in this war, Jaina," he said, his voice devoid of its usual warmth. "But it is not at my side."
"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her hand rising to her chest. "Why are you keeping me away?"
Arthas took a moment to gather his thoughts, his eyes searching hers for understanding that she could not yet grasp. "Jaina," he began, his voice strained. "I..."
Her eyes searched his, the unspoken words hanging in the air between them. "Is it because of the Dreadlord?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly. "You fear for my safety? Or do you think I'm a burden because your pride was at stake?"
The Prince's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening. "Tell Uther," he said, his voice low and firm, "that as his future king, I am ordering him to rescind this request. Our concerns lay elsewhere."
Jaina stepped back, the impact of his words like a physical blow. "You don't trust me," she whispered, the accusation cutting through the early morning air like a knife. "You don't trust me to handle whatever lies ahead."
Arthas took a step closer, his hand reaching out to her, but she stepped away, out of his reach. "It's not about trust, Jaina," he said, his voice raw with pain. "It's..."
The silence between them stretched taut as a bowstring, the unspoken words hanging in the air like the scent of a storm before it breaks. Jaina's eyes searched Arthas's, looking for any crack in the cold mask he had donned. But his gaze was unyielding, a wall of ice that she could not penetrate. "Jaina," he began, his voice strained, "For what is worth...you have to trust-." He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to her, but she flinched away as if burned by his touch.
"Trust you?" she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. "How can I trust you when you won't even confide in me or to anyone?" Her eyes searched his, looking for the warmth that had once been so familiar. "What happened to you, Arthas? What did you see to make you act like this?"
The mention of Stratholme sent a tremor through the Prince's body, his hand dropping to his side as if the mere memory of the city had robbed him of his strength. "It's nothing you need to know," he said, his voice a low rumble. "And I'm sorry."
Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away from her, leaving Jaina staring after him in shock. As she took a step to follow, two of Arthas's Royal Guards stepped into her path, their expressions apologetic yet firm. "The prince has ordered us not to allow you entry," one of them said, his voice heavy with regret. "You must remain here from the time being at the meantime."
Jaina felt as if she had been slapped, the wind knocked out of her. "What?" she gasped, her hand rising to her chest. "...why?"
The guards exchanged a quick look, but said nothing more, their silence speaking volumes. Jaina's eyes filled with tears, a mix of anger and hurt boiling within her.
Arthas did not turn back to face her, his footsteps fading into the distance as he walked away from her. Jaina stood there for a long moment, the early morning light casting a cold glow on her tear-stained cheeks. Finally, she took a deep, shuddering breath and turned back.
What happened to you, Arthas?
In the cramped confines of his cabin, Arthas slammed the door shut behind him. He sank down onto the hard wooden bench that served as his bed, his armored shoulders slumping with the weight of his guilt. The candle on the nearby table cast flickering shadows across his face, emphasizing the pain etched into his features as he buried his face in his hands.
"I've made a terrible mistake," he murmured to the empty space, with the tears he refused to shed. "By pushing you away, I've only hurt your more." The words hung in the air, echoing off the walls like the clanging of a funeral bell.
He knew that Jaina had noticed his distance, his reluctance to confide in her, but he had hoped that his stoic mask would be enough. That she would not press further. But she had, with a tenacity that only served to highlight the depth of her care for him, that she always had. And the love they had with one another. And now, he had hurt her, perhaps irrevocably.
"Jaina..." He breathed her name, feeling the warmth of her touch slipping away from him. He had felt it in the way she had flinched from his outstretched hand, the way her eyes had searched his, looking for the truth he kept hidden.
"I have been a fool," he said, his voice barely audible. "I've lost everything once. I can't bear to lose you too." The words were torn from him, a silent confession of the fear that had driven him to keep his darkest secrets buried deep within.
As dawn broke over, Arthas remained in his cabin, lost in a tumult of self-loathing. He knew that keeping Jaina at arm's length was for her own protection. Because any confrontation with her and Mal'Ganis would mean death to one of them, which certainly be the sorceress. But the cost of his secrecy was a gnawing ache already. He had pushed away the one person who had ever truly understood him, the one person who had never judged him for his past mistakes.
But if she knows now, then she'd be among them. Those who hated him. Feared him. And fought him.
"What am I doing?" he murmured to the empty room, his voice heavy with regret. "I'm losing her. I'm losing all of them." He pounded his fist against the wooden bench, the pain in his knuckles a pale reflection of the pain in his heart.
In his mind's eye, he saw her standing before him, hurt and confused. He heard the tremor in her voice as she spoke of trust and understanding. And he knew that he was turning away her, that the very thing he feared most—being alone—was happening because of his own actions.
"I can't tell her," he whispered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Because if I did..."
He had made his choice to keep her safe, to not burden her with the knowledge of his fate. Yet, as he sat there, he couldn't help but wonder if that choice was a mistake. If, by trying to save her and his comrades, he had only succeeded in damning them both."
The silence grew heavy, to the point it was suffocating him. The future he had made and ushered was a nightmare made real, and he feared that no matter what path he chose, it would only lead to more pain and heartache. But one thing was clear: he could not go on like this.
To bring her into the path that led to that nightmare, to risk her life for his own salvation, was a price too high to pay. Yet, as he thought of her standing there, the pain in her eyes as he ordered her to stay behind, he knew he had inflicted a different kind of pain upon her—the pain of rejection and confusion.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles white with the effort of restraint. "I have to do it..." he whispered, the words a feeble defense against the accusations of his own heart. "To make sure you're safe from whatever that awaited me." But the echo of his voice only served to amplify the doubt. Was he truly protecting her, or was he just too afraid to face his own demons alongside her?
With trembling hands, Arthas reached up to the chain that hung around his neck, his fingers finding the cold metal locket that rested there. He had not taken it off since she had given it to him, because that's just how much value it had for him. And even used it on occasion to visit her to Dalaran in secret. All it had were memories of two children being unaware of the world around them, and eventually, the bond that evolved from close friendship into something more prevalent and intimate.
It only caused his heart to crack even further.
He took a deep, shuddering breath, his eyes filling with unshed tears. The locket had been a part of him through every transformation—from the proud paladin to the tormented death knight, and then the Lich King. It was one of the two remnants of humanity he kept as the monster he grew to despise, a silent reminder of the love he had once known and lost.
It was something that he could not risk losing again.
Suddenly, the door to his cabin opened, causing him to focus all attention to the newcomer. Falric had checked up on him, bowing before Arthas. "Your Highness, the fleet is prepared and the supplies are sufficient. How we may proceed?"
Arthas took a deep breath. This was a pivotal chance to make things right. "We depart immediately, Falric", he firmly told him. "We have no time to waste."
Jaina's steps echoed on the wooden planks of the dock. She felt as if she had been cast aside, no longer needed by the man she had known for all her life. The Arthas who, while having impulsive tendencies and anger issues, was kind-hearted, caring, noble and fearless warrior was replaced by someone cold, haunted, perhaps even broken, a sight that became familiar since they first spoke at Heartglen.
As she passed the ships being loaded with supplies and soldiers, her heart felt heavier with each step. Her mind reeled with the images of the Dreadlord, the malicious energy that had suffused the air during their encounter, and the fear that had gripped the Prince's soul. Why was he pushing her away? Was it truly for her own safety, or was there something deeper, something that he didn't trust her to handle? Her eyes searched the horizon, blurring with tears as she whispered to herself, "What happened to you, Arthas? What made you so afraid?"
Her thoughts swirled in a tumult of anger, confusion, and pain. He had always been the strong one, the beacon of hope. But now, she feared for him. He was walking into a trap set up by the Dreadlord and his cohorts, and she had no idea how to save him from himself.
Her eyes fell upon the shimmering waters of the harbor, reflecting the light of the rising sun. It was a stark contrast to the darkness that had settled over her heart. She knew that she couldn't let Arthas face this alone, not with the shadow that hung over him. Jaina's jaw set with determination. Despite his orders, she would find a way to be there for him, to help him fight his inner demons alongside the external ones.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and straightened her posture. Arthas may have his secrets, but she had her own resolve.
She wasn't going to let him go because of his fears.
It only served her drive to know what really tormented him.
She knew she couldn't just stand by and let him act recklessly. With a quiet determination, she approached the docks, her eyes scanning the fleet of ships that would soon set sail for Northrend.
Selecting one that seemed less guarded than the rest, she slipped away from prying eyes. The air grew colder as she approached the ship, the scent of the sea and the creak of the wooden boards beneath her feet the only sounds to break the silence.
With a whisper of arcane power, she cast the teleportation spell, her body shimmering before disappearing and reappearing within the room's cramped confines. The sudden displacement of air alerted the sailor inside, who jumped in surprise before spotting her. His eyes grew wide with recognition and fear, his hand reaching for the dagger at his side.
Jaina raised her own hand, not to attack but to reassure. "Please," she whispered urgently, covering his mouth. "I'm here under Lord Uther's orders." The sailor paused, his hand hovering over his weapon, unsure of what to do. "Your silence is all I need," she continued, her voice barely a murmur.
The sailor looked at her for a long moment, his eyes darting between hers and the pouch of coins she held out to him. He pocketed the pouch and nodded. "You have it," he promised, his voice a gruff whisper. "But what you're doing is quite the risk."
Jaina nodded solemnly. "I know," she said. "But I need to know, for all our sakes." She watched him nod and slip away, the sound of his footsteps retreating as he returned to his duties. As she was left there, she recalled how she often found herself above the decks of her father's ships back at Kul'Tiras, but never inside in the more tighter spaces.
Alone in the storage room, Jaina felt what she had been doing is insane. She knew Arthas was hiding something, something that was consuming him from within. And she was going to find out what it was, even if it meant following him into the jaws of the frozen hell that awaited them in Northrend.
As the ship lurched into motion, she sat on a crate and leaned against another, her heart pounding in her chest. She had always believed in him, had always seen the good in him, even when others had not. But now, she was beginning to wonder if whatever that haunted him had taken a piece of his soul that she would never get back. And she would make sure that she would take it back.
Medivh doesn't really know that Arthas was brought back, but he could tell what Arthas was thinking and guessed what his troubles were. Was about to include a segment between him and Falric prior to the departure, but I figured I might save that. Along with Terenas speaking with Alexandros Morgraine, Garithos and Uther. Rate and review!