Spectre: Next chapters deal with a lot of talking. As well as altered lives of people who were originally of the Scourge or are the victims of it.

C.o.G EMIYA: We'll see as the story goes on.

Iskandar Hero: Arthas had a lot onto his plate, but obviously he can't say all of them in one go unless he sees something familiar that needs explaining. Arthas' willpower along with his faith in the Light is what made him able to resist Ner'Zhul and momentarily wield Frostmourne against Mal'Ganis.

WeirdBlockPoints: Yeah, Arthas can't exactly tell her what happened to Papa Proudmoore, but I have an idea of a different scenario regarding those events. Garithos would stay in Lordaeron, but he won't be the the commander-in-chief of the forces there. I have someone in mind who could fill that role. Arthas helping Illidan and trying to vouch for him would be a challenge.

According to WOTLK, Uther did forgive Arthas, choosing to remember him as the hero he once was. But we'll see as to how would he react to it. Arthas and Sylvanas dynamic is still wip, but I'm taking notes.

The Man Sitting Under A Tree: That depends on the circumstances set here. But it's unlikely that he'll play a role anytime soon.

Chapter 17: Preparations

Later as the sun began to set, at the training grounds of the Lordaeron Army's barracks, Arthas looked at the lined up members of the 1st Legion, soldiers who came with him at Northrend and in his previous life, his very first undead army.

But no longer. He had called them for this meeting for a reason. To show his gratitude for coming with him in his mission as well as to make sure their hardships and their bravery do not go unrewarded, and it warmed his heart to know that these men came with him to hell and went out with them. And he could not have asked better soldiers in his life. With Falric beside him holding a large wooden box, containing medals adorned with the blue and gold ribbons of Lordaeron's colors, he walked to each soldier that survived, pinning those very medals at their tunics as a sign of his gratitude to them.

But then, there was this one particular soldier. Corporal Thassarian, one of the men who went with Falric and Baelgun in retrieving the Siege Engines and broke the undead siege at Muradin's encampment and the vanguard that held off undead scouts during the evacuation. Falric described him as 'one of the bravest soldiers' he had ever seen, faithfully serving his homeland with an exceptional skill in the blade that would have made him a candidate for the Silver Hand. Arthas knew that this recognition was long overdue.

He stood in front of the Corporal, who remained stone-faced and unmoving at the the sight of his Prince in front of him. Arthas couldn't help but admire the young man's dedication to duty. "Thassarian," he called out, and he soldier snapped to attention. Arthas pinned the medal upon his chest. "You have faced the worse of what the world has thrown to you, yet you remained steadfast and unwavering in the line of duty. Your bravery has proven to be a great example that we could aspire for."

The soldier's composure cracked as he received the honor. "Thank you, my Prince," he managed to murmur.

Arthas smiled at his composure. "Therefore, in these trying times, I am certain that the men would greatly learn from you. And I trust that you are more than capable of leading these men out of these trying times.", he patted the man's arm a few times. "Lieutenant."

Thassarian's eyes widened, touching new insignia on his shoulder. Was he serious? He couldn't hold back his visage anymore. His dream of supporting his family and giving them a better life had just come a step closer. "I-I can't," he stammered, his voice choking. "I...I will not disappoint, your Highness."

"I am certain you would. Your father would be so proud," Arthas continued with a smile. "You've earned it, son. Don't ever forget that."

Arthas stepped on a small podium while Thassarian's fellow soldiers watched him with respect and admiration. Inwardly, Arthas was relieved, knowing that he now had a much brighter future ahead of him. "Wipe your tears, Lieutenant," he instructed gently, and one of his men gave him a handkerchief. "We have much to prepare for."

Taking a deep breath. He called out to the troops before him, with Falric and Marwyn flanking him with their hands behind their backs. "Soldiers of the 1st Legion, you went to treacherous territory that many of you have not ventured. You have fought the unimaginable. Battle creatures born from our worst nightmares. Defeated terrors of the frost and decay. Gone toe-to-toe with ancient monstrosities beyond the grave. But no matter what threat you all faced, I knew that none of us are facing it alone, as those of the past have done. If only a couple months ago, you were all simply soldiers. But as I stand before all of you, you are warriors. Heroes. Protectors."

The men looked up to their leader as his words resonated with them. Many struggled to maintain disciplined expressions, but they all faltered as their Prince saw them more than just soldiers whose purpose is to only serve. "Protectors ready to answer Lordaeron's call in its darkest hour. Champions ready to risk their lives to keep this kingdom safe. All inspired by those who keep moving forward to lead the way so that those behind them, may do the same."

His heart swelled in pride. He knew that Northrend was the first of many ordeals they'll go through from here. But in his eyes, these men are amongst who have the strongest wills. And the firmest hearts. "Do not mistake it. There will be moments of fear. Doubt. Uncertainty. But in those times, have faith. That the soul of Lordaeron lives within us, and that I am proud and honored to have you as my brothers."

In a moment's notice, one of the soldiers shouted with all his lungs. "For Lordaeron!"

The rest followed in unison not long after. "FOR LORDAERON!", they chanted it like a prayer. Arthas knew this was just the beginning.

Mal'Ganis clutched the arched wound that cut through his armor, seething in anger as body was wracked with pain from the wounds that the Prince had inflicted onto him, but Ner'zhul was unable to obtain his soul through the runeblade as he would've hoped for. It didn't make any sense, how does it seem that the Prince has managed resist the Orc shaman's hold onto him when it should have sealed his fate at that very moment? Ner'zhul himself remained quiet, likely not wanting to to explain his own failure to take the Prince's soul. But as one of its jailers, Mal'Ganis knew that he had to make sure the Lich King's purpose is carried out.

"Your grand scheme is in tatters," Mal'Ganis jerked in surprise as he recognized the voice of Tichondrius, who materialized before him. He looked up to find the glare of his superior. "You have failed," he bellowed in contempt.

"The prince," Mal'Ganis spat out, "his will is stronger than we anticipated. He sought to destroy the blade, not wield it in spite of everything he went through. So I tried to have the mage become its host if it meant for him to break."

His superior looked unfazed, but also question if such a thing was possible. "Your underestimation is costly," he pointed out calmly. "Our master's patience is not infinite, and your failure is... unacceptable."

Mal'Ganis clenched his fists in response. "He will not be allowed to stand in our way again," he declared, even though he knew that Tichondrius was already having little faith in his design. "I can make this right..."

"His turn was meant to be the catalyst for the Scourge," Tichondrius turned to explain, "but without him, our approach must evolve." His gaze drifted to the runeblade, picking it up and placing it back to its pedestal, knowing that Ner'zhul would not be as foolish as to try and take his soul. "His presence poses a risk to our plan that we can no longer tolerate, therefore he must be eliminated before he could grow any stronger."

"And who will take his place as Ner'zhul's champion?" Mal'Ganis growled, though his anger not entirely directed to his superior before him. "And without him to retrieve Kel'thuzad..."

"I have several candidates in mind, each more pliable than the last if the Prince chose to reject the path before him.", Tichondrius assured him. "And as for Kel'Thuzad, I have a plan that would ensure that he would return to our side. He will not be denied of his true purpose of the Legion."

The leader's eyes narrowed, looking down at Mal'Ganis. "From this moment forth, I shall take command of the Scourge," he declared in a tone that commanded no further argument from him. "Your... missteps have left us in a precarious position. I expect nothing but your full cooperation, or face the consequences."

Mal'Ganis clenched his teeth. "What of our troops?" he hissed. "Without the prince to slaughter the troops who came with him, we do not have the means to launch a full-scale invasion of the kingdoms."

"Do not worry of such trivialities, Mal'Ganis," Tichondrius said, raising a hand to silence any further protest. "I have foreseen the need for such contingencies. Organize of what remained of the Scourge and inform them of the new chain of command. I will be heading elsewhere to speak with a few acquaintances along with Detheroc. I have need for his expertise."

Mal'Ganis only look down in frustration and anger. "As you wish, Tichondrius.", he bellowed before he teleported away. That human prince will pay for this humiliation.

Three days since they have arrived back in Lordaeron, many of the soldiers who returned are granted leave. The warm embrace of the city's lights and the comfort of familiar cobblestone streets were a stark contrast to the treacherous climate of Northrend. Falric noticed Marwyn looking around for something, or rather someone where he playfully nudged him with his elbow. "Look at you, on the prowl for your soulmate, I suspect?", he asked with a smirk.

His subordinate rolled his eyes in response. "Falric. I've got more pressing matters than to chase after a flower girl.", he answered back.

"I wasn't talking about her until you mentioned it, Marwyn.", the Captain quipped. "Her beauty is as potent as her potions and the gardens she manage, I wager."

Marwyn's cheeks flushed a faint red, and just as he opened his mouth to protest, a familiar voice called out from a newly established flower shop. "Marwyn!"

They turned to find Faerlina, rushing towards them. Her eyes brightening when she saw Marwyn, and she threw her arms around him, the scent of fresh flowers and earth enveloping him. "You're safe," she breathed, her grip tightening. "I've been worried sick about you."

Marwyn felt his cheeks grow warm under her embrace, forgetting his earlier denial. Falric coughed, pretending to look away while Marwyn fumbled to regain his composure. "I'm fine, Lady Bloomfield," he managed, patting her back awkwardly. "I've received your letters, and I thank you for your concern for me while we were at Northrend."

Falric leaned closer, whispering into Marwyn's ear. "And I say it helped your survive all that,", before turning to face the woman with a smile. "Welcome home, Captain," he mused, patting him on the back. "I dare say Lady Bloomfield has missed you."

His colleague glared at him, as it was cleared the Falric enjoyed the sight. "It's alright," she giggled, pulling away and smoothing her dress. "I'm just relieved you're safe."

Marwyn cleared his throat. "As am I, Lady Bloomfield," he said, his formality a stark contrast to her informality. "I trust the city has been treating you well in our absence?"

She eagerly nodded in reply. "They have and I recently moved in to set up my shop. After hearing what the Baron Rivendare and House of Barov have been doing, I couldn't help but wonder where I could've ended up as if I did take their offer onto their household...", she recounted. "But after we've met that night, I could never show how grateful I am for you making sure I didn't end up with their schemes, and saving many lives in Stratholme."

Their reunion was abruptly interrupted by the sound of shattering glass and a dwarf's roar. "Ya call this the strongest!? I say you're all lightweighted pansies!" Falric recognized the voice—Baelgun had stumbled into a tavern nearby and was already stirring up trouble when a chair was thrown out of a window. Falric sighed, rolling his eyes at the sight of the drunken dwarf. "Looks like Baelgun's decided to celebrate without us."

Marwyn was about to intervene "Let me handle our friend over there," Falric said, slapping Marwyn on the back. "You two lovebirds enjoy your reunion. I'll make sure he doesn't start any more trouble than he already has."

Marwyn flushed even deeper, his protests of "We're not—" dying in his throat as Falric nodded at Faerlina and went off towards the tavern. The botanist giggled, the sound light and infectious, and for a moment, Marwyn just felt he was really home.

The botanist looked down to find her hand still intertwined together, where her cheeks flaired pink, as did Marwyn. "Could you tell me what happened at your expedition, Marwyn? I heard Northrend didn't have the friendliest winds.", she asked of him, a bit nervously.

Marwyn, not sure what to do, glanced over at Falric who only nodded at him in encouragement while he went to the tavern. "I have a few, but perhaps maybe we could talk about it over a stroll? I beckon you haven't live here, Lady Bloomfield."

Faerlina beamed at that and breathed out in relief. "O-of course, Marwyn.", she then gave him a tender smile. "And please, you can call me 'Lina."

The younger captain smiled bashfully. "Alright, Lina."

Falric approached his drunken counterpart who looked he could barely walk on his own. "What's this, then?" the Captain asked, watching Baelgun wobble precariously before faceplanting into the cobblestones with a thud. "Couldn't handle a few mugs of Lordaeron's finest?"

The dwarf grunted, trying to push himself up, only to collapse again. "These... ales," he slurred, his hand flailing in the direction of the tavern. "They call this ale? It's barely stronger than what they brew at Ironforge and they easily pass out!"

Falric couldn't help but laugh as he bent down to lift the unconscious dwarf. "Come on, old friend," he said, hoisting Baelgun over his shoulder with a grunt. "Let's get you back to the Ironforge embassy before you cause any more trouble for the city watch."

"The celebration's over?" Baelgun mumbled. "It's just getting started!"

"And it'll be waiting for you when you're sober," Falric assured him. "Or at least, when you wake up."

Within the castle gardens of Lordaeron, the scent of blooming roses filled the air as the soft whispers of a gentle breeze danced among the leaves of trees. Arthas and Jaina had strolled along a cobblestone path, with the warmth of the early sun giving the both of them a sense of tranquility. In spite of what they went through, they remained as one, now that they have a bigger problem to deal with that took the for of how to deal with the impending threat of the Scourge and later the Legion.

"Jaina, have you been... well?", he asked in a genuine, concerning tone, still remembering the memory of her near-possession by Frostmourne back at Northrend.

The sorceress looked back at him, nodding. "I am, Arthas. But I have toadmit, I am worried about you." She paused, looking down at his concealed arm. "I have to return to Dalaran soon to report our findings to the Kirin Tor. They will want to know about what we found at Andorhal, Stratholme and later at Northrend. And if we're lucky, we might find any solution to combat the plague and the undead."

It was better than nothing, and he knew she had to return to Antonidas soon. "I'll have to remain here," he said, "For the meantime. There's no telling when the Scourge or any of the Dreadlords will come back."

Her gaze snapped to his face. "But are you sure you can handle it, Arthas?", Jaina earnestly asked of him. Leaving him alone in both Stratholme and Northrend was what made things really bad in his previous life. And he was still human at that time. Now that he is partially infected by Frostmourne's power in his right arm, she wasn't sure if she's going to take her chance at leaving him.

"I'll have Uther to keep me in check.", Arthas promised her, before his hand went to his neck to reveal a familiar object to her that made her heart swell. "And if I need you, I know where to find you."

Jaina reached out and took his left hand in hers, giving it a comforting squeeze as she gently placed her locket back into his tunic. "Please, just be strong for me.", she asked him. "I don't want either of us to lose our way like had before."

Arthas offered a weak smile in return. But it fell shortly. "Can you be honest with me...when you saw through my mind...what did you feel?"

Jaina looked down, feeling her eyes swelling as both of them took a seat on one of the benches. "When I saw what happened," she began, "I felt my own world fall apart from all that I knew. I was angry. Broken. Scared. The horrors you endured, the lives you took, the love and friendship you've lost...it was all so overwhelming."

She paused, looking at her hand as if it has the answer. "I want to be afraid of you, perhaps hate you," she admitted. "But then after seeing everything you've done to make sure that it won't happen again and how true you were to it, I choose to try and believe you."

Her gaze grew more intense. "You made terrible mistakes, Arthas and you regretted every one of them. You've given so much already, and I can't bear the thought of you going through that again.."

Arthas looked at her,. "And what of you, Jaina?" he asked softly. "What did you feel when you saw...me?"

She looked at him once more. "I saw the monster you had become," she whispered, her voice trembling. "But I also saw the pain and regret that you have, the man who was lost beneath to the Lich King. And in that moment, I realized that you needed help, not fear or hatred."

Her hand tightened around his. "And if you're really here to change what has happened then, then I know that this isn't something that you could do alone. Which is why I know I can't let you go that easily."

He looked down at their joined hands. "Thank you. For understanding, for not turning away.", he whispered.

"Never," she softly, but firmly said to him. "I've made a promise to you, Arthas. And I intend to keep it."

It was silent after that, only intruded by the sound the rustle of leaves and the distant cries of the city beyond the garden walls. But in that quiet moment, their bond grew stronger, fueled by a shared determination to prevent any more tragedies that befell them.

"But still...what should we do, Arthas?", Jaina asked him, not getting the full picture as to how to prevent the Legion coming over to Azeroth. "If we are to alter the future?"

Arthas nodded thoughtfully, cupping his chin and trying to make the best of what he knew. "The Burning Legion coming over has several prerequisites that are needed to make it possible," he explained to her. "And if we can manage to at least deal with any of them, then we might have a chance."

The sorceress agreed with him, but she felt she was missing a few key points. "But first, what can you tell me about the Legion? Or their leaders?", Jaina queried in curiosity. "I only heard from Antonidas during his own experiences against them during the Second War when he fought with the Sons of Lothar."

Arthas took a moment to think. "The Legion is vast, innumerable army of demons and other corrupted races whose sole purpose of the is destroy life, and its influence has been very noticeable in the First, Second and Third Wars. Even the High Elves have heard stories from them, with Archimonde being the one who slew Malorne, their patron god and the father of Cenarius, the Demigod of Ashenvale during the War of the Ancients."

Jaina took a moment to think. "I could vaguely recall reading about him back then, when we first visited Quel'thalas. Is he also the Lich King's master?"

The Prince shook his head. "No, that role goes to Kil'Jaeden the Deceiver, the co-ruler of the Burning Legion. Though unlike Archimonde who would gladly just kill you and be on his way, Kil'Jaeden is someone who would literally torture you and rip you apart piece by piece until he even manages to break your soul, like he did with the Orc Ner'zhul that turned him to the Lich King. Though comparing on who is the worse among the two is not something I'd rather engage about"

The sorceress shuddered, almost feeling the need to sympathize him until she remembered what he had done in the present. "What was his deal with this...Kil'Jaeden?"

Arthas sighed. Given that he did fuse with Ner'zhul when he put on the Helm of Domination, he had seen his memories too. None of it were pleasing. "For context, Ner'zhul was once part of the Shadowmoon clan and was deceived by Kil'Jaeden into thinking the Draenei were enemies."

"Draenei?", Jaina interrupted out of curioisity, a little sheepish in doing so.

"Future allies of yours.", he explained to her before he continued. "So when Ner'zhul learned his errors and tried to undo them, Kil'Jaeden punished him for his defiance, breaking him and his mind until he had become the Lich King. So when the Orcs failed during the Second War, the Legion decided that the Scourge be used instead, where Kil'Jaeden offered him freedom and a new body if he do as he wished, even sending in the Dreadlords Mal'Ganis, Tichondrius, Detheroc, Varimathras and Balnazzar as his jailers to make sure he does his job. All the while unknown to them, Ner'zhul was plotting his revenge, and he wished for the Scourge to conquer the whole world to face the Legion and make it impenetrable against possible invasion."

Jaina was at a loss of words, registering the information. "I didn't know it holds so much history and intrigue behind the scenes...", she whispered, wondering how would Antonidas or the rest of the Alliance leaders would react to such an information. "So when Archimonde died, how did he took it?"

"He was not happy, to put it bluntly.", Arthas cotinued to narration. "So when Archimonde died, Ner'zhul figured he could assert his independence further, with me acting as his champion at this time. And he started to refuse Kil'Jaeden's summons. When Kil'Jaeden realize that he needed to destroy the Frozen Throne, he decided to have a demon do it for him."

Jaina leaned in. "Who is it?"

Arthas sighed. "Illidan Stormrage, Malfurion's brother. I'm sure you never heard of him, so I'll just make this quick.", he told her before continuing. "I...turned him into a demon by convincing him in taking forbidden power that allowed him to kill Tichondrius, which the primary reason was to rob the Legion one of its finest tacticians and jailers. And probably in the case for you, the Horde and the Night Elves, as well at Mount Hyjal. He later tried destroying the Frozen Throne and he failed, even though destroying it would result in dire consequences."

Either Yogg-Saron being freed from his prison, even though neither he as the Lich King and the God of Death do anything particular to each other; they simply let the other do as they wish as long as it does not cross the line, well whatever that line is. Or the Scourge rampaging all throughout Azeroth because there is no one to hold them back.

That was a lot to take in than Jaina initially thought it would go. "I think I learned well enough, Arthas.", she told him before he could say even more with a smile; she decided to pursue that matter the other day. He nodded in reply, though he notes he hasn't told her of the unfortunate fate of Prince Kael joining Illidan in destroying the Frozen Throne, and his eventual role in betraying Quel'thalas to bring Kil'Jaeden into Azeroth. "If we're going to make sure they never come, what should we do first?"

Arthas cupped his chin for a moment. "First and foremost. Lordaeron remains stable, mostly." he continued. "Since I didn't come back to murder father and destroy it from the inside, we can expect to defend from any upcoming attack from the Scourge. So that is secured for now."

Jaina felt a shiver of hope at his words, the horrors of the past threatening to fade beneath the promise of a better future. She could still remember the image of him murdering King Terenas in cold blood. So at least she takes consolation that it never happens here.

"Secondly, there's Kel'thuzad," Arthas went on. "His remains were used to taint the Sunwell following the invasion of Quel'thalas to revive him as an Archlich,capable of summoning Archimonde. But since the Kirin Tor held him, we need to convince Antonidas to execute him after and have his remains destroyed. And third we have to secure the Book of Medivh. It is powerful enough that allowed Kel'thuzad to summon Archimonde and brought about the destruction of Dalaran. Though it is not the strictest way for the Legion to come over."

Jaina understood what needs to be done. "I'll see if Master can be convinced to have it placed in a more secure location. Given its value to the Kirin Tor, convincing him might not be difficult."

Arthas paused, looking towards the horizon. "And if all else fails," he continued, "I will make the necessary preparations for an expedition to the west, as you did before under the Prophet's instructions."

It all sounded straightforward. But they have to consider a few things first.

Jaina nodded thoughtfully. "King Terenas will likely demand a public trial for Kel'Thuzad," she pointed out. "The Kirin Tor might be inclined to honor his wishes, given the severity of his crimes in spreading the plague onto Lordaeron as well as him being the founder of the Alliance."

Arthas sighed. "And at this point, we might as well try and deal with him quietly. We can't risk Kel'Thuzad escaping or turning the trial into a platform for his madness."

"And what of Quel'Thalas?" she then asked, vaguely remembering the screams of countless Elves in Arthas' memories. "Can we warn them? If the Scourge decides to invade..."

He sighed heavily, remembering a certain Ranger-General who vexed him before. "Sylvanas," he murmured. "Her pride and anger were what made the fall of Quel'Thalas so easy in my... previous life. I already sent a letter to Rhonin for his wife Vereesa warning the Elves about Dar'Khan Drathir, their traitorous Magister who let the Scourge in. And I hope it did reach them somehow that would convince them to act."

The sorceress pieced out a certain memory. "So, I'm guessing your 'condolence letter' to Rhonin has another agenda isn't it?", she recalled, remembering Arthas sending the letter when ther were in Andorhal, which he nodded in confirmation.

They shared a knowing glance. "Convincing her will not be easy given that I am but an outsider and shouldn't be involved with the inner workings of their Kingdom," Arthas admitted. "But I will do what I can. I'm considering leading an expeditionary force to assist the Elves if the worst should come to pass."

If preventing the repeat of Stratholme (mostly) and the incident at Northrend was overwhelming enough, how much could they handle next?

"We have to be careful," Jaina warned. "Or others will know what we're trying to do."

"I know," Arthas replied with a solemn nod. "We need all the help we can get, but without revealing too much. Can we ask your father, Lord Admiral Daelin, for assistance?"

"What do you need from him?" she asked, curious.

"If the need arises, we'll be needing his fleet to help evacuate refugees in short notice," he answered her. "Your father has always been committed to the Alliance's cause. I believe he could help us."

"I can ask him," she assured him. "But him asking questions will be the tricky part."

They sat in silence, lost in their thoughts."There's one more person we could seek help from," she suggested tentatively. "Lord Tirion Fordring."

Arthas's expression grew troubled. "I am not sure he would want to help me," he said, recalling the bitter memories of his trial and exile. "Given I was one of the judges that exiled him for that incident with the Orc Eitrigg. Not to mention where he could be since he's living like a nomad nowadays."

"Stormwind?"

"Still recovering, but resillient. And as for Varian, I know he's going through a tumultuous time with his wife's passing and the political unrest. But with the House of Nobles controlling the government, it's difficult to say what capacity Stormwind is truly in to offer aid."

"Stromgarde?"

"Unless we could warn King Thoras of his light-forsaken manchild that he called his Crown Prince who murdered him for the throne, there's no telling. And we have to remember that father and King Thoras had an earlier disagreement that resulted in Stromgarde seceding from the Alliance."

"Gilneas?"

"Trying to talk to King Greymane is the equivalent of talking to a brick wall. Literally."

"Ironforge and the Gnomeregan?"

"Preoccupied with the Troggs coming out and genocidal maniacs using weapons of mass destruction"

The two of them looked at each other, now feeling a bit stuck. But then, as if to lighten the mood, Arthas cracked a nervous chuckle. "So, Jaina, care to guess what we've signed up for?"

The sorceress couldn't help but smile at his attempt to light up the mood. "I'd say we're in for a rough time," she replied with a wry smile, but she was equally determined as him.

"Understatement of the century," Arthas quipped, his own smile a bit more genuine.

The next day, Arthas stood before the Silver Hand training grounds, finding Uther in a moment of discussion with Saidan Dathrohan and Alexandros Morgraine. As he watched his mentor, Arthas still felt the guilt within him after reliving the memory of personally slaying Uther to take his father's urn. But given that he also made Uther to help him slaughter infected citizens at Stratholme with Jaina, Arthas felt it was eating him from the inside of his decision to convince his mentor into slaughtering civilians against his better conscience, infected or not.

Given that or forcing Uther to purge an entire city, Arthas could say the alternative was a safer. And less bloody course. And he did not have the time to speak with Uther when they left for Northrend. But somehow, Arthas knew that Uther had been suspecting him of his behaviour, but he still tried what he could to help him, while not telling him of his previous life. And even sending Jaina to come with him at Northrend to make sure he was okay.

As the two Paladins took their leave, Arthas approached Uther, who saw him approach and couldn't help but be relieved to see him well. "Arthas, I've heard that your mission to rescue Muradin has beeen quite a successs", the veteran Paladin spoke with admiration, but also with a hint of caution. "I suppose congratulations are in order?"

Arthas waved his left hand onto him. "Can it for the moment, Uther. Mal'Ganis and the Scourge are still out there.", he told him in a jovial tone to mask his uncertainties. "But still...it's good to see you here back home."

Uther looked at hir right arm, which remained concealed under the Prince's right shoulder cape. "Your arm, Arthas," he said, concern etched on his face. "Is there something wrong?"

Arthas quickly covered his discomfort with a reassuring smile. "It's nothing, Uther," he lied. "Just a small wound from the fight against Mal'Ganis. It will heal with time." He didn't dare reveal the true nature of his affliction, not yet. "Tell me," he began, "What of the Cult of the Damned? Have they been fully dealt with since Kel'Thuzad's capture?"

Uther took a moment to ponder. "No, not entirely," he admitted. "Since his apprehension and detainment under the Kirin Tor, they have gone into hiding. But with Rivendare and Lord Barov under our custody, we might be able to make them talk in no time. We are preparing to pursue them as soon as we could, and reports say they've taken in refuge at Strahnbrand. But we have to verify its authenticity."

It was good news. For now at least. "You're going to need me for the interrogation, Uther.", Arthas stated as he and Uther walked along the Silver Hand's training grounds.

"I agree, but you have already seen enough action in a long while, lad.", Uther replied in concern, thinking that the mission at Northrend had taken a toll on the Prince already. "I think it is only fitting that you rest while we go and ensure those cultists will stand before the people of Lordaeron and do what needs to be done."

The elder Paladin turns to leave, but Arthas called out for him. "Uther!", he stopped to look at him.

There was one thing that he needed to be straight with Uther. Perhaps not right now, but he really wished to say it to him should something happen that would render any further possibilities to be destroyed.

I dearly hope there is a special place in hell waiting for you, Arthas.

We may never know, Uther. I intend to live forever.

Arthas took a deep breath, it was already weighing into his heart because on how wrong he was to him, and he wanted to at least mend the bond between them even if he hasn't known the truth yet, as he had told Jaina. "Uther, I've disappointed you. I have not been very appreciative of your training. . . I have been arrogant, selfish and prideful. I apologize . . . I've just been so ...pressured of all that has happened, that I fear that I could not hope to be the Paladin you've trained me to be."

Uther's eyes softened as he took in Arthas's earnest apology, this was a new look as Arthas hadn't been the one to own up to his mistakes. He paused for a moment before turning to face the prince fully, his hand coming to rest on the young man's shoulder. "Arthas, you have went through trials that would have broke anyone else and came out victorious. You've done everything you could under your power to do what is right. For all the temptations and the frustrations you have went through, you have emerged a different person than the one I have trained for all these years." He looked at Arthas, where he saw the Prince's self doubts and genuine reflection. "You have grown stronger and wiser. And I could only tell how much you have made me proud."

Arthas swallowed hard, he did not expect this conversation from the man he gleefully slain. "But what of my...mistakes?" he asked. "What of the time I...I failed you?"

He simply wasn't referring to his shortcomings as a Paladin, but of his own decisions as a Death Knight.

Uther's gaze never wavered. "We all make mistakes, Arthas," he professed. "What defines us is not our past, but what we choose to do with it. You have faced your fears and your demons, and come out the other side. You have the makings of a great king."

The prince looked up at Uther. "Do you truly believe that, Uther?"

"With every fiber of my being," Uther assured him. "You have proven your worth not just as a Paladin, but as a leader and a protector of this realm. Your father would be proud of the man you've become."

Just hearing those words made his heart constrict. Forcefully, Arthas nodded, trying his best to keep a normal expression to him. "Thank you, Uther," he managed to say, but he felt the words to be inadequate.

The paladin offered him a warm smile. "You are welcome, Arthas. Now," he said, his tone shifting to one of gentle reprimand. "We have much work to do. But I say as your superior, that you need to rest, lad."

"You're right," Arthas replied, his voice stronger now. "I won't let my past define me. I will be the king that Lordaeron needs, in the best of my abilities."

Uther's smile grew. "That is the Arthas I know," he said, his voice filled with pride. "Now, come. Perhaps you could tell me what had happened back at Northrend."

Meanwhile in the snowy mountains of Alterac, the Blackrock Clan's outposts stand on guard of the Demon Gate that they used to communicate with their masters beyond. Red Dragons flew above them as Fel energy had corrupted these creatures into serving them. Meanwhile, Blackrock Warchief Jubei'thos, his unmistakable red skin being the result of being infused with Fel energy and otherwise known as Wrathjaw, is in a middle of a discussion with his subordinates, the Warlocks Mazrigos and Throk'Feroth, all three speaking for the 'impure' traitors of a 'new' Horde led by the Son of Durotan.

Wrathjaw's eyes burned with a fiery hatred that matched the very essence of the corrupted dragons that patrolled the skies above. "That Frostwolf upstart, Thrall," he spat out the name like a curse, "dares to claim the title of Warchief, one that has not been used since the days of Blackhand and Doomhammer." His fists clenched tightly around the handle of his broadblade, as if he was ready to strike down anyone near him in his anger.

Mazrigos, who looked at the new Horde with contempt, nodded in agreement. "He leads the Horde astray," he professed to his comrades. "Following a so-called Oracle, seeking a path westward that leads only to ruin and despair."

Throk'Feroth spoke up next. "But not all clans have been so foolish," he said. "They are yet to see the mettle of their new Warchief. And should he fail, overtaking him would not be a problem."

Wrathjaw grunted his approval. "Indeed. While they chase shadows and false promises, we will prepare to strike at the very heart of their new world. The true Horde will rise again, and it will serve the Burning Legion without question."

Even in spite of their failure during the last war, the Blackrock Clan remained resolute in their mission in bringing the Legion to Azeroth. Despite many saying that the Legion lost their favor to them, Wrathjaw was determined to serve his masters unquestioningly. But without Gul'dan to properly communicate with them, they cannot say for sure.

All of a sudden, a pair of swirling shadows materialized before the three Orcs, with Wrathjaw drawing his broadblade while Throk'Feroth and Mazrigos channeled Fel energy into their hands. One of them was Tichondrius, looking regal as he is menacing. While the other was more obese and had smaller eyes, almost as if he was meant to be mocked, though his power was quite notable for the Warlocks as to tread lightly with him.

"At ease, Warchief.", Tichondrius spoke didplomatically. "We have come to seek an audience with you."

Wrathjaw's eyes narrowed suspiciously at the sudden intrusion of Tichondrius. "What is the meaning of this?" he bellowed, his hand instinctively reaching for his weapon. "Speak your piece or I will cut off your tongue!"

The Dreadlord remained unfazed by the orc's hostility. "We come as an envoy of the Burning Legion," his hand gesturing to himself and to Detheroc. "Our masters require the service of the Blackrock Clan once more."

Mazrigos and Throk'Feroth exchangedglances, while Wrathjaw looked interested. "And why should we believe you?" he demanded, pointing his blade at the two.

Tichondrius' smiled. "The Legion has not forgotten your expertise in the last war," he said with honeyed deceit. "Your loyalty, though tested, is not forgotten. An now we stand on the precipice of victory. But we need your strength, and your skill, to ensure that the path to Azeroth remains open for our invasion."

Wrathjaw's chest swelled with pride at the mention of the Legion's favor. "What is it you would have us do?" he asked, his anger momentarily forgotten.

Detheroc leaned in, his eyes burning into Wrathjaw's soul. "We require the Blackrock Clan to bolster our forces," he explained. "And should it lead to success, the Legion will forgive your failures from years before."

The orc warlocks exchanged glances, both of hope and doubt. "What guarantees do we have that you speak the truth?" Mazrigos ventured.

"Kel'Thuzad," Tichondrius spoke the name with a hint of reverence, "is the key to summoning our Legion into Azeroth. If he is freed from the Alliance's clutches, he can serve as our conduit. And in return for your loyalty," he paused, his eyes gleaming with dark promises, "the Burning Legion shall grant you vengeance upon those who led you to the internment camps. The humans who dared to crush you in the Second War."

Wrathjaw's eyes lit up with a fiery passion at the mention of his clan's long-standing enemies. "You promise us revenge?" he growled, though he sounded eager.

"More than that," Tichondrius assured him, his smile widening. "The power to destroy them all, and to claim a place of honor in the new order that will rise from the ashes of their world. As well as the heads of those who turned away from the creed you believe in."

The two Warlocks exchanged eager looks, this seemed to good. But they could feel the amount of Fel energy that the two had with them, and it is to no doubt that these were demons who had served the Legion. "What do you think, Warchief?", Mazrigos queried to his leader.

Wrathjaw took a moment to think. "If what you say is true, then as the true servants of the Legion, it shall have our blade once more.", he declared. "We have waited long enough, and our Warlocks had predicted that their return is inevitable."

Throk'Feroth nodded his agreement. "Then we shall stand with you, Dreadlord," he said, bowing his head in a show of respect.

Tichondrius's gaze fell upon Wrathjaw, finding the conversation to be convenient while Detheroc looked skeptical as to how easy Tichondrius managed to win them over; he had planned on taking their minds as their own as a backup plan. But then again, these are the same witless Orcs who failed them before. "Good," The Dreadlord bellowed. "Then let us begin."

The three orcs nodded in unison and moved to inform the rest of their comrades. As they turned to leave, Tichondrius could not help but muse to himself. "How easily the weak cling to the promise of power," he thought. They are capable pawns to be disposed off later, but they still have their uses nonetheless. And they would be instrumental of their next plan.

The Prince was no longer the focus of their grand design; after all, a pawn can always be exchanged to another. And there are plenty of pawns that could be used to further the Legion's return.

That's it for now. Took a long time in Arthas explaining the Legion to Jaina as well as their plans. Next chapter might be the part where things would slowly take the turn for the worst. Rate and review!