Gonna take a break since the holidays are arriving. This is more of a filler chapter if anything. But hey, it would at least serve as a backdrop and starting point on what comes next.
The Azure Reaper: It actually involves Arthas and Frostmourne, but I'm not saying as to how yet until we get to see what happens. And not really, Arthas doesn't have his abilities in his previous life. But he knows how to use them if he ever got any of them back. Yep, the Burning Legion did ruin a lot of lives all throughout Warcraft. And I enjoy writing Falric in that role. Makes him a good man as he was described.
King Terenas could actually call in for Stormwind's aid. But they aren't ready militarily though they're capable of sending supplies to Lordaeron. Also enjoyed writing Morgraine and Garithos in this scene. To give the feeling it's a bigger world out there.
Iskandar Hero: Shadowmourne is something I'm considering, though I might change its appearance due to Arthas' fighting style.
Guest: There are hardly any stories of this type. So I decided to try my hand in it. Glad that you enjoyed it!
Chapter 11: Bringing the Fight
A month passed since the news of Kel'Thuzad's capture reverberated through the halls of Dalaran. The city of mages held its breath, waiting for any news that were sure to come from his detainment. Meanwhile, Kael'thas Sunstrider, Crown Prince of Quel'thalas and senior member of the Kirin Tor, returned to the city after a visit to his homeland.
The grandeur of the Violet Citadel had not lost its charm, but it the climate seemed off as Kael approached the grand archway that led to the inner sanctum. The guards recognized the prince immediately, bowing low in respect. As they opened the gates, Kael walked through, his eyes searching for any sign of Grand Magus Antonidas.
In the bustling courtyard, he spotted Archmage Modera speaking with Telestra, sounding urgent with one another. The sight of the brought him pause. He had not seen Telestra since her appointment to the Council of Six, and her presence here, and it could only mean trouble was afoot.
"Lady Modera, Telestra," Kael called out, his voice echoing against the towering spires. Both mages turned to face him, relieved yet concerned.
"Prince Kael'thas," Modera acknowledged and greeted him, her eyes scanning him for any signs of trouble. "Your timing is impeccable, as always."
Telestra offered a forced smile, her eyes lingering on the prince with a hint of suspicion. "We had not expected your return so soon," she said coolly.
Ignoring the subtle undertone, Kael pressed on. "I seek an audience with Grand Magus Antonidas," he said, his voice firm yet tinged with a hint of weariness from his journey. "Is he in the council chamber?"
The two Archmages looked at one another briefly before she turned to him. "May we know as to why, Prince Kael?"
"An urgent matter ," Kael replied. "My father and I have been discussing the plague that has ravaged Lordaeron and there is worry that it might reach Quel'thalas if we do not act at once. Despite Lady Liadrin's efforts with the Silver Hand and the insights of our own magisters, we have yet to find a means to halt its spread. I have come to see Antonidas in the hopes that he and the Kirin Tor might have a solution of their own."
Modera looked at the Elven prince closely, finding he was incere. "Antonidas is currently in the dungeons," she said, her tone measured. "He is interrogating Kel'Thuzad, who was apprehended by Prince Arthas and Lady Jaina at Andorhal."
Kael's eyes widened, in intrigue. "Kel'Thuzad?" he echoed, still remembering the former Council of Six member who had a less than pleasant reputation. "He's alive?"
"In a manner of speaking," Telestra interjected. "Barely. The scroll used to bind him has left him quite... diminished."
Kael took a moment to digest this unexpected information. "I see," he said slowly. "I had not anticipated that he would be found so soon, nor that he would be in such a state. Ever since he had left."
Modera nodded. "The situation is alarming," she agreed. "He had been the instigator of the plague and whatever he holds may as well be what we need to counter the affliction. But suffice to say...whatever that is inside of his mind are just nightmares manifested..."
Kael leaned forward. "What do you mean?"
Modera's eyes grew solemn as she spoke. "When he was brought before us, he was... changed," she began, her words measured. "His mind, his very soul, seemed to be a cesspool of darkness and decay. The madness that has gripped him is unlike anything. It was as if he had been corrupted by some ancient, malevolent force that had twisted him beyond recognition."
Kael's eyes searched hers, seeking the truth hidden within her words. "What could have done this to him?"
Telestra stepped closer, her voice a low whisper. "We believe it was his obsession with the dark arts, his unbridled interest in necromancy," she said, her expression one of contempt. "He sought to harness the very essence of death itself, and in doing so, he has become a living embodiment of the plague that he unleashed upon your people."
Kael frowned. Sure Kel'thuzad had questionable interests as one of their own at the Kirin Tor, but he didn't anticipate he would go this far. "And what of the Grand Magus?" he asked. "How did he fare when he tried to probe Kel'Thuzad's thoughts?"
Modera's gaze was unwavering. "Antonidas is strong, both in body and spirit," she assured him. "But even he was unprepared from what was in that man's mind. He emerged from the mental link shaken, but he was still determined to know who serves him or who were his co-conspirators."
Kael's thoughts were focused on imagining the troubling scenario. "What kind of power could do this to a man?"
"The kind of power that corrupts even the purest of hearts," Antonidas's voice was a harsh whisper as he emerged from the dungeons, his eyes haunted by what he had seen. His words trailing off as he took in the sight of Kael standing before him. The grand magus looked as if he had aged a decade in the brief time since they had last spoken, his face etched with lines of exhaustion and his eyes sunken with the weight of the horrors he had witnessed.
Telestra stepped closer, her hand reaching out to him in concern. "Master Antonidas, what on earth did you see in his mind?" she asked, her eyes filled with worry.
The archmage's gaze fell to the ground as he took a moment to collect himself. "Evil personified," he murmured, his voice heavy with the burden of his discovery. "And everything it could corrupt."
Kael helped up the Grand Magus, looking at him straight to the eye. "Would you be able to elaborate as to what it was?", he calmly asked of him.
Antonidas took a deep breath as he opened his mouth to speak.
Twenty minutes ago...
Antonidas's eyes searched the depths of Kel'Thuzad's soul as he once again delved into the necromancer's mind. The mental landscape was a desolate, frozen wasteland. The former Kirin Tor's thoughts were like shadows flitting through the ruins of his sanity. The Grand Magus saw Kel'Thuzad wandering through a blizzard, the harsh winds of the frozen north biting at his skin as he spoke to an unseen presence.
The mysterious whispers grew louder as the former Kirin Tor asked for directions, urging him step. He took up the slope was a battle against the relentless gale that sought to push him back to the bottom. The air grew colder, the frostbite of doubt and corruption nipping at his heels as he ascended. The peak of the glacial ridge loomed above, a beacon of darkness that promised the secrets he so desperately sought.
The world around him grew dimmer as the whispers grew stronger, their seductive embrace promising power beyond to whatever he could see. With every painstaking breath, Kel'Thuzad drew closer, a place where the very fabric of his being had been. The ascent was arduous, a trek through the very essence of his soul, but the promises made to him kept him pressing forward.
Antonidas peered in, eyes widened in both awe and in disbelief as in spite of the treacherous conditions, the former Kirin Tor moved forward without any care of his well being. Finally, he arrived at the zenith of his madness, where a colossal block of ice, loomed before him.
Within this frozen prison, a set of armor lay dormant—a terrifying amalgamation of shadow and gleaming silver that seemed to pulse with a malevolent aura. The helm, crowned with horns and adorned with spectral eyes the color of the coldest winter, regarded Kel'Thuzad with a chilling gaze.
The Grand Magus felt the very fabric of reality tremble as the necromancer knelt, his broken soul offering obeisance to the monstrous specter that lay within the icy embrace. The armor's eyes flared with power, the spectral blue light piercing the darkness as the creature acknowledged its servant's presence as he bowed before him in reference.
As Antonidas watched, horrified, the malevolent spirit within the ice began to stir. A swirl of shadow and malice coalesced around Kel'Thuzad, his body convulsing as the blue spectral energy poured into him. The man's eyes widened, the pupils dilating to swallow the irises, becoming twin pools of shadowy abyss. His skin grew paler, almost translucent, as the veins beneath began to pulse with a sickly blue light that seemed to pulse in time with the heartbeat of the monstrous entity before him.
The very air grew colder, as if the spirit of winter itself had invaded the chamber, bringing with it the promise of an eternal frost that would consume all in its path. The whispers grew into a cacophony of voices, a chrous of pain and despair that seemed to resonate with every beat of the Archmage's racing heart
The spectral eyes within the helm narrowed, focusing on the trembling form of Kel'Thuzad as he offered up his very soul to the monstrous will that had claimed him. The air grew thick with the scent of decay and the metallic tang of fresh blood as the spirit reached out, its hand of pure, dark energy coalescing into a grip that closed around the man's heart, crushing it with an audible snap.
Antonidas's stomach churned as he watched Kel'Thuzad, his fellow seeker of knowledge, willingly submit to the monstrous spirit. The former Archmage's body spasmed as the dark essence seeped into him, his very being rewritten by the power that had claimed him. Yet amidst the chaos, Kel'Thuzad found a twisted peace, his shattered soul a vessel for the malevolence that had once whispered in his ear. The armor of the creature grew more defined, the spectral eyes burning with a cold, calculated hunger as it regarded its new servant.
The necromancer's voice, now a hollow echo of what it once was, spoke up, "Tell me, my lord," he rasped, "who is it that I serve?"
The helmet's eyes spectral eyes looked down at his new servant. Instinctively, Antonidas went closer to know, in spite of the excessive caution. But he remained calm, reminding himself this was only a memory.
Only for the spectral, blue eyes to shift from Kel'Thuzad. To Antonidas himself.
The icy grip of the spirit's gaze latched onto Antonidas's soul, the Grand Magus felt as if he was drowning in an ocean of malevolence. His body convulsed, his heart hammering against his ribs as if it too sought to escape the horror that had taken hold of him. His eyes bulged, his vision blurring as the spectral tendrils of the spirit's power coiled around him, tightening like the noose of a hangman's knot. The cold of Kel'Thuzad's corrupted soul seeped into his very bones, threatening to freeze the very marrow. The air grew thick with the scent of decay, the chill of the grave reaching out to claim him.
With a monumental effort, Antonidas will surged. He screamed silently, his mind reeling back from the brink of madness. The tendrils retreated, his vision cleared, and he found himself standing in the dank, torchlit dungeon once more. His breath came in ragged gasps, his hands trembling as he clutched his chest, feeling the thunderous beat of his heart, the very essence of his life, still within him. He stumbled backward, his legs threatening to give way beneath him as the mental connection was severed. Antonidas's knees buckled, and he collapsed to the cold stone floor, clutching his chest.
All the while the Necromancer was still unconscious on his chair. But a twisted smile crept to his lips at the Grand Magus, who could only turn back and exited the dungeon to compose himself.
Modera and Telestra stared at the Grand Magus, their eyes wide with horror as they digested the harrowing tale he had just recounted. The dungeon air grew colder, as if the very chill of the glacial spire had seeped into the chamber.
"This... this is beyond anything we have ever encountered," Modera whispered, her hand shaking as it rested on her chest.
"What you've described is not merely a corruption," Telestra murmured, her voice tight with fear. "But for that being to live in the memory and mind..."
"I did not think it would have been possible...". Kael's expression was grim as he processed the implications. "But how?"
Antonidas rubbed his temples. "The moment he gave up his soul...his mind and body were in a way became intertwined..."
"If Kel'Thuzad's mind was indeed connected to this... entity, then our very probing of his thoughts could have given it insight into us," Kael said, his voice a low rumble. "We have to proceed with caution. The Kirin Tor's greatest weapon is its knowledge and to allow such darkness to taint it would be catastrophic."
Antonidas's nodded, looking weary. "It is as you say, Prince Kael," he agreed, his voice still unsteady. "The mind of Kel'Thuzad is a labyrinth of corruption. Any further attempt to delve into it would be akin to walking into the jaws of the beast itself."
The three mages stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their discovery hanging heavy over them.
"We still haven't found any source of this plague," Kael'Thas stated, his gaze intense as he looked at Antonidas. "If Kel'Thuzad is indeed the architect, then there is be something in his recent past that can lead us to the cure or the means to halt it."
Modera's expression was one of concern and hesitation. "But Kael, the risk is too great. To delve into his memories so deeply, we might invite that malevolent force into our own minds."
Telestra nodded in agreement. "His experience was harrowing enough. If we go deeper, we could all fall prey to its influence."
"I understand your fears, Modera, Telestra," Antonidas's voice was steady, "But if there is any chance that Kel'Thuzad's memories hold the key to halting this scourge, we must take it." His eyes searched the faces of his comrades, seeking their agreement. "But not now. I would have to reconsider our options."
Modera looked at him, her eyes filled with concern. "Antonidas, are you certain you can withstand it? Your health is already..."
"I am aware of my limits. If we can find even a shred of insight that points us towards a cure or a means to combat this plague, then it is worth the risk." He took a deep, shaky breath and left to take a rest. Kael, Modera and Telestra only look uncertain, unsure what to make of this.
Mal'Ganis' eyes narrowed at the fading image of Arthas and his allies, his mind racing with the possibilities. He knew that the prince's determination was a double-edged sword, one that could be used to either further the Legion's cause or bring about their downfall. As the shadows around him grew denser, he felt the presence of his fellow Dreadlord, his superior no less.
Tichondrius materialized beside him, his serene form a stark contrast to the disgusting sight of the Scourge below them. "You seem pleased with this turn of events," he observed, his tone devoid of any warmth.
"Indeed," Mal'Ganis replied, "The prince chose to follow my presence here in this land. A little nudge would sway him to the right direction. And we won't have to worry about the rest."
Tichondrius' expression remained stoic, his gaze unwavering. "Do not underestimate the resilience of these mortals, Mal'Ganis. The damage of their city of Stratholme is but a drop in the sea of their potential."
"Their suffering will be our catalyst," Mal'Ganis countered, his confidence unshaken. "Their rage will fuel the fires of the Scourge, making them ripe for the Scourge's control."
The tension between the two Dreadlords grew palpable, their opposing strategies and views clear as day. "But what of their ability to rebuild?" Tichondrius pressed. "Their numbers are vast, and their capacity for recovery is not to be discounted. This is not the victory we need to ensure our dominance."
Mal'Ganis' grin grew colder. "Patience, Tichondrius. The prince's journey to Northrend will serve a greater purpose than merely securing his place. Their fates are sealed and once the Prince is constricted by the Lich King when the time is right, the final blow shall be struck."
Tichondrius did not say anything further other than a subtle nod that also told him to make sure he plays his part before he disappeared from his fellow Dreadlord's view. Despite this, he couldn't help but feel something is amiss despite the promising leads.
Falric surveyed the abandoned dwarven outpost from a distance, where his eyes scanned the undead forces that surrounded the siege engines. He turned to Baelgun, looking determined yet cautious at the same time..
"We're outmatched," Baelgun murmured, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the enemy numbers. "But we've got the element of surprise on our side, and that counts for something."
Falric nodde. "We'll need to be swift and precise," he said. "As much as possible, we need to take out the necromancers first. They're the ones giving life to these monstrosities."
"Aye," Baelgun agreed. "And I've got just the plan to do that. My riflemen can pick 'em off from afar, while your footmen create a distraction."
Falric considered the proposal for a moment before nodding. "Very well," he said. "We'll split into two groups. My men will draw the attention of the ghouls and the Abomination, while your riflemen target the necromancers. Once they're down, we move in for the engines."
Baelgun cracked a rare smile, his teeth flashing in the dim light. "Sounds like a good ol' fashioned dwarven raid!" he exclaimed. "Let's get to it, lads!"
Baelgun raised his hand high, and with a fierce battle cry, he brought it down sharply, signaling his mortar teams to unleash their fury. The thunderous boom echoed through the frigid air as the mortars belched forth a volley of explosive shells that arced gracefully towards the undead encampment. The glow of the fuses pierced the pre-dawn gloom, painting the sky with a macabre display of light and shadow.
Falric's heart raced as he watched the fiery projectiles rain down upon the unsuspecting ghouls and spiders, their skeletal forms momentarily silhouetted against the explosive bursts before being torn apart in a shower of frosty gore and splintered bone. The chaos was immediate and overwhelming, as the ground trembled with the impact of the explosions and the undead forces stumbled back in shock and disarray.
Taking advantage of the confusion, Falric raised his own hand and shouted the charge, the crisp order cutting through the din of battle. His footmen responded with a roar, their booted feet thudding against the frozen ground as they sprinted towards the Siege Engines. The knights' shields glinted in the flickering firelight, and their swords were raised high. Falric could see the fear in the eyes of some of the younger soldiers, but it was tempered with a fierce determination that mirrored his own.
"For the King and country! Charge!" Falric bellowed, his war cry echoing across the battlefield. His men took up the chant and charged with him. The undead, though thrown into disarray by the mortar fire, began to recover and turn their attention towards the incoming threat.
The ground beneath the living warriors trembled once more as the lifeless forms of the slain dwarves began to stir. The two Necromancers, hidden among the ruins of the outpost, had worked their dark magic, reanimating the slain dwarves into a twisted parody of their former selves. Falric watched as the once proud warriors of the Bronzebeard clan turned on their living brethren as they mindlessly serve the undea.
"To the Necromancers!" Falric bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. "Take them down, and their control over the dead will wane!" His knights understood and charged ahead, their swords slicing through the air with renewed vigor. But it was easier said than done as the newly raised dwarf-corpses surged forth to protect their dark masters.
Jaina looked out of the battle that unfolded. She had felt the tremors of the mortar strikes and the echoes of battle cries. But she knew they needed support somehow.
Silently drawing her power, she summoned two towering water elementals from the moat surrounding the outpost. The elementals surged forth, their forms rippling like liquid steel as they crashed into the fray. The sight of these sudden and unexplained allies sent a wave of hope through the beleaguered defenders, and even the undead hesitated for a moment, their unliving eyes widening in shock.
The Abomination, a hulking monstrosity of rotting flesh and bone, had been laying waste to Falric's knights and Baelgun's riflemen. But with the arrival of the water elementals,. The two spectral guardians barreled into the creature, holding the creature in place as it struggled. Falric and Baelgun, seeing the opportunity, rallied their troops and charged ahead. Falric's sword flashed in the dim light as he hacked through the Abomination's thick, diseased limbs. Baelgun, with a grin of reckless abandon, leaped onto the creature's back, driving his two axes into the creature's skull.
"Now what the bloody hell was that?", Baelgun bellowed, pointing his axe at the two elementals. Jaina found herself being looked at Falric from the distance, who nodded at her in thanks.
"Friends from afar," Falric replied to Baelgun, his voice tinged with relief and gratitude. "Their aid was most welcome." He turned his gaze to Jaina, who nodded imperceptibly from her hidden vantage point.
With the necromancers dealt with and their control over the undead dissipating, the remaining ghouls and dwarf-corpses faltered in their attack. The combined forces of the living pressed forward, their spirits buoyed by the sudden turn of events. Falric signaled to his knights, and they reformed their ranks around the water elementals.
"Good work, lads!" Baelgun boomed, slapping Falric on the back. "But we ain't out of the storm yet. We've got to get those engines up and running before whatever freak that leads them and his army catch wind of what's happening here."
With renewed urgency, the dwarf and the paladin coordinated their troops. Baelgun's riflemen and surviving footmen scurried to man the siege engines, their hands moving swiftly over the levers and gears, bringing the mighty machines back to life. Falric's knights, their swords still wet with the gore of the undead, took up positions around the engines, ready to fend off any stragglers.
As the last of the enemy forces were dispatched, Falric turned to Baelgun. "We must inform Arthas and Muradin of our success," he said urgently. "Our victory here is but the first step in our counterattack. We need to bring these engines to them."
Baelgun nodded, his eyes alight with understanding. "Aye," he agreed, his voice gruff with excitement. "We'll show those blighted bastards what they ran into!"
It was a chaotic sight. The walls shook with the thunderous impact of the Scourge's Meat Wagons, the air thick with the acrid smell of burning wood and the screams of the dying. "Hold the line!" Arthas roared, his hammer cleaving through the icy air as he struck down a shambling abomination that had breached their defenses. Muradim, determined to push them back, threw his mace at an incoming Gargoyle and charged with his axe with the precision of a blacksmith hammering an anvil, crushing skulls and splintering bone with each blow.
Marwyn, with a telescope in his hand, shouted orders to his dwarven riflemen. "Aim for the ghouls!" he bellowed to them, then turned to the mortar teams. "Mortars! Concentrate fire on those Meat Wagons" His words were punctuated by the whistle of incoming projectiles, which slammed into the undead ranks with the force of a thousand hammers. The Meat Wagons exploded, scattering bits of gore from its load, but few appeared to replace them almost immediately.
"Falric and Baelgun must be on their way with those engines," Arthas grunted, his eyes never leaving the battle before him. "We must hold out until they return!"
Muradin, his axe slick with gore, nodded firmly. "We're on it, lad!" he roared. The dwarven riflemen responded with a resounding cheer, their shots becoming more rapid and precise as they took down the flying Gargoyles one by one, but several were swooped up and devoured. The mortar crews, under Marwyn's watchful eye, adjusted their aims with each volley.
The distant rumble of approaching engines grew louder, sending a jolt of hope through Arthas's weary body. The ground trembled beneath their feet as four massive Siege Engines emerged from the mist, their metal frames groaning with the weight of their destructive power. Falric and Baelgun rode at the forefront, followed by the men who they follow them closely from behind.
"They got the engines!" Muradin bellowed, his deep voice resonating through the din of battle. "Just a little more, lads!"
Marwyn's eyes lit up with excitement and he turned to Arthas, his expression a mix of pride and hope. "We've done it, sire. We've brought the fight to them!"
Arthas could not help but feel a surge of relief wash over him. "Yes, we have," he said, his eyes never leaving the reinforcements. "But the battle is far from over."
The Siege Engines charged forward, their wheels crushing the remnants of the undead that Falric and Baelgun's forces had not yet dispatched. The engines' payloads rained down upon the enemy lines, sending explosive death to those who dared stand against them. The Scourge, caught off guard, staggered and broke rank, their numbers momentarily scattered.
"Now is our chance!" Falric shouted, his voice carrying over the roar of battle. "Take the fight to them! For Lordaeron!"
The combined forces of the Alliance surged forth, their spirits buoyed by the arrival of the heavy artillery. The dwarven riflemen picked off any stragglers with deadly accuracy, while the knights and footmen regrouped around the engines, using their protective bulk as a shield against the undead's relentless attacks.
"Hold your positions! Give'em hell on my mark!" Muradin's voice boomed across the battlefield, his command echoed by the dwarven engineers manning the machines.
Marwyn, his eyes narrowed in focus, barked out the coordinates to the engineers. "Target the retreating necromancers! Do not let them escape to raise more of their foul minions!" His words were met with a series of nods and the cranking of gears and a barrage of gunpowder and scorching projectiles decimated them. The dwarven riflemen took cover, their eyes flicking between their allies and the retreating undead, ready to provide cover fire should the need arise.
As the last of the undead staggered away from the battlefield, Arthas and Muradin signaled for the retreat. Once within the relative safety of the fortifications, the leaders gathered the survivors around the crackling bonfire. Falric's knights and Baelgun's riflemen leaned heavily on their weapons, clearly exhausted.
"Well done, all of you," Arthas began, his voice weary yet filled with pride. "Their ranks have been broken, and we wouldn't have to worry for another attack." He looked around, meeting the gazes of his comrades.
Muradin stepped forward. "Aye, we've sent their bones flying and their spirits running," he said with a gruff chuckle. "But we're not done yet." He clapped a hand on Falric's shoulder. "We'll be bringing the fight to them on their turf!"
The dwarf's words were met with a round of weary cheers, as they thought that this would be over soon. Muradin then studied Arthas for a brief moment before speaking to him,. "The Dreadlord will not sit idly by, that much is certain," he said gruffly. "But we've bought ourselves some time."
Arthas nodded, his eyes shadowed with unspoken thoughts. "We have for now," he murmured. "When this is all over, I need your help with something personal."
The dwarf was intrigued yet he agreed with it. "Name it, lad," he said without hesitation. "You've earned that much and more."
The prince took a deep breath. "Find Frostmourne," Arthas said, his voice sounding with a mix of dread and determination. "After we've secured the land and driven back the Scourge, I need you to help me locate the blade."
Muradin's eyes widened in surprise, but he said nothing. "I'll do as you ask," he agreed, his voice low and solemn. "But what's your aim with it?"
Arthas's jaw clenched, his eyes distant. "It's... complicated," he admitted. "But I assure you, it's for the best. I just need to set something right, once and for all."
Muradin clapped him on the shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Then I'll have the honor in making sure you do lad," he said. "You have my word."
The two stood in silence, the crackling fire casting flickering shadows across their faces as they contemplated the battles ahead, each man bearing the weight of his own secret fears and burdens.
Unknown to them, Falric had overheard of their conversation amidst the celebrations, unsure what to make of it...
Jaina, her eyes reflecting the flickering light of the bonfire, watched as Arthas moved among the soldiers, his words of encouragement and his genuine care for their well-being resonating through the camp from the distance. It was a stark contrast to the brooding figure she had become accustomed to seeing, and it brought a small smile to her lips. She had noticed a subtle shift in him since their arrival in Northrend, a hint of the prince she had known before he began to act strangely.
She was curious on what they're talking about since she couldn't hear them. But for now, she would have to remain hidden, her own fears and uncertainties simmering below the surface as she pondered their next move.
"Thought I find you here...", she turned around to find Falric approaching her where he took a seat on a log in the opposite of her. "Did you manage to get something to eat at least?"
"Had to teleport back to the ships to see what I could find, and also have to mind getting clean water since I don't think taking any from Water Elementals are any hygienic or even edible at that matter", she said in reply, sounding deadpanned.
Falric chuckled, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Aye, a month at sea does make one crave the comforts of solid ground," he said, tearing a piece of jerky with his teeth. "But your aidhas been a boon to us, Jaina. Without it, retrieving those engines would have been a far more daunting task." He paused, his gaze drifting over to the prince.
Falric looked at Jaina, noticing the sadness in her eyes as she watched Arthas from afar. "How is he?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Does he...seem alright?"
Falric took a moment to chew and swallow before answering. "The prince has been...different, now," he admitted. "More focused, perhaps. He's been spending much time with the men, discussing tactics and strategy with Muradin and fraternitizing even. It's good to see him so engaged, even if only for this moment."
Jaina nodded thoughtfully, her gaze lingering on Arthas. "He's always been a born leader," she murmured. "But it feels like there's something more, doesn't it?"
Falric met her gaze, understanding the unspoken concern behind her words. "Aye," he said gravely. "But at least it appeared that he is trying to resolve it, with varying results depending on the perspective."
The mage sighed, leaning back on the log. "I wish I could talk to him," she said, her voice filled with longing. "The way we used to."
Falric nodded, his expression sympathetic. "Give him time, Lady Jaina," he said gently. "Perhaps when we've seen the last of this Scourge, he'll find the peace he seeks."
"What have you learned today, Falric?" Jaina asked, her eyes still on Arthas as he moved through the camp, checking on the injured and speaking with his men. Falric's expression grew serious as he shared what he had overheard.
"The Prince and Muradin spoke of an artifact named Frostmourne," he said, his tone low so as not to be overheard. "He seems to hold a great interest in it, enough to ask Muradin to help him locate it once our work here is done."
Jaina carefully registered that information within her thoughts. "Frostmourne," she murmured, turning to Falric with a look of dawning realization. "Could it be... could it be the reason he's really here? Besides saving Muradin or fighting Mal'Ganis?"
Falric's expression grew thoughtful. "It's possible," he admitted, his eyes flicking back to Arthas before returning to Jaina. "But whatever it is, it' holds value to him that I could not easily decipher..."
Falric's gaze grew introspective as he spoke further of Arthas' behavior. "When he spoke of Frostmourne, his eyes... they had this strange light in them," he said, his voice hushed. "It was almost as if he was...relieved that he had finally found what he was looking for."
Jaina's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Relieved?" she echoed, her voice filled with doubt. "What kind of artifact could make him feel that way?"
The knight shrugged his shoulders, his expression troubled. "I don't know," he admitted. "But I've never seen him react so strongly to anything before. It's as if... it's personal."
Jaina's heart skipped a beat, her thoughts racing. "Could it be something that can help us against the Scourge?" she suggested hopefully, but mellowed out. "Or something else..."
Falric nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Arthas. "I do not know," he said, his voice measured. "But I fear there's more to it than that."
"Please, Falric," Jaina urged, her voice a soft plea. "Keep an eye on him. If he needs anything, or if he seems troubled, let me know." She knew that Falric was Arthas' most trusted confidant and would understand her concern without her having to voice it aloud.
The knight nodded solemnly. "You have my word, Lady Jaina," he said, his eyes flickering with understanding. "If there's anything amiss, I will not hesitate to bring it to your attention."
With that, Falric took his leave, disappearing into the camp to rejoin his comrades. Jaina watched him go, her heart heavy with the burden of her own fears. The name "Frostmourne" had stirred something deep within her, something that translates into something so dangerous and detrimental to the Prince or to anyone else.
The whole Antonidas interrogating Kel'thuzad might not be everyone's taste. But given how Ner'zhul could physically or mentally affect anyone connected to him, I figured having Antonidas look at him gives him a bit more agency as a malevolent force of nature, which could answer why people like Kel'thuzad were seduced by him and his power. Also, I don't think the Kirin Tor or Antonidas ever knew Ner'zhul being the Lich King at this point (though he did know of him back of the Second War, but as an Orc), so he remained unnamed there.
And so Jaina gets another clue as to why Arthas seemed interested in Frostmourne, but she needed more info. Rate and review!