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
The Prince couldn't help but feel a deep ache in his chest upon seeing the surviving people of Stratholme. 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, offering any sort of comfort or reassurances that he could. "You're safe now," he assured her, gently. "We'll make sure no harm comes to you."
"But what if they came back, your Highness?", she fearfully asked, only for Arthas to shake his head.
"They won't", he assured her. "You have my word. And the guard will remain until the situation is resolved completely."
Falric approached Arthas from behind, bowing slightly to him. "Prince Arthas," he greeted. "The ships are prepared to sail. We only await your orders."
Arthas stood up, nodding. "We leave at first light," he said firmly. "We can't allow Mal'Ganis to think he's won, and to rescue Muradin and his men from terrible conditions." He looked back at the city with a sigh. "This is not the end of Stratholme's suffering, but it will be the beginning of its rebirth."
The woman looked up at him with hope. "Thank you, my Prince.", she gasped.
Arthas gave her a solemn nod before turning to Falric. "Let us hope that in Northrend, we find the means to end this curse," he lamented. "So that in time, no one else has to face the same plight as we are."
As Falric left away to carry out his orders, Arthas couldn't help but feel uneased. Mal'Ganis and Northrend 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 looked up to find a familiar raven. Immediately, he knew he had to speak to him once more.
Turning to Marwyn, he issued his next command, "Make sure that the troops are ready to depart at dawn. We need to hurry."
Marwyn nodded sharply at the Prince's tone. "At once, Your Highness."
With that, Arthas went to track the raven, leading him deeper into the forest until it had landed on the ground as he faced the Prince. . "You have came here for a reason," he called out. "What more do you wish to say to me?"
The raven cocked its head to the side before its form shifted, morphing back into that of the mysterious, robed figure from their earlier encounter. He man took a few steps forward as he nodded solemnly at Arthas' words. "Your dedication to their 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 sighed. "What else do you foresee?" he lowly asked.
The Prophet's look 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. "His reach is far and wide. Perhaps attaching strings to unsuspecting victims, and has reached farther than you can imagine."
The Prince frowned. "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."
"Your awareness of this enemy...it runs deeper than the rivers of time, my prince," the man whispered. "You have fallen 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. "I do not know what you mean," he replied.
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."
"I am aware," Arthas insisted. "My fears have already shown its costs." He paused for a moment, then looked back at him. "I may even have lost the trust of those I hold dear."
"Indeed, your fears have caused much damage," he agreed. "But fear is not your enemy, young prince. It is what you do with that fear that will define you. You are who you choose to be, as long as you are aware of the path you walk."
Arthas felt the ground beneath him shift. "What are you saying?" he demanded with desperation. "What do you know about me?"
The Prophet's smile grew enigmatic. "I know what you fear, young Prince," he professed. "But not of who you truly are." He reached out a hand. "And of the wounds you carry."
"What are you talking about?", Arthas demanded. "What wounds do you think I have?"
Arthas could feel as if the man was looking directly at 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 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 tightly. "The price of keeping them runs deeper than the most profound wound."
The man nodded 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 cautiously pointed out. "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. "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 swallowed hard. "I'll do what I can ," he vowed, though he felt uneased..
"Some destinies are written in the stars, my prince," the Prophet bellowed. "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, looking for any clue to the tumultuous thoughts that lay beneath his stoic facade. "What was it that he spoke of, Arthas?" she asked, her 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 heavily just as the sun began to rise. "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. "What did the he mean by 'old wounds' and 'destinies'?" she asked, with uegency. "You heard him, you can't keep doing this forever."
Arthas didn't turn around as if he could will away the truth. "It was nothing, Jaina," he replied wearily 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. Jaina's hand fell away from his arm, and she watched him for a moment. Finally, she spoke up again 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. "You wouldn't understand," he uttered tensely. "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 softly said to try and reach out to him. "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 mocked. "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, now looking more haunted than before. "You can't help me," he painfully professed. "No one can."
"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.
"Is it about your father? Uther? Or even me?" she pressed, her voice trembling with her concern. "Or is it something else, something that happened...after?"
The prince took a deep breath, looking at her briefly before looking away again. "Jaina," he began tightly. "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. "You have enough to worry about," he assured her, but she didn't buy it. "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, looking cold and distant. "You have your obligations, Jaina," he pointed out. "I have my own..."
Jaina's eyes widened in shock. "Arthas," she protested 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 firmly. "You have your place in this war, Jaina," he told her. "But it is not at my side."
"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "Why are you keeping me away?"
Arthas took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Jaina," he began, his voice strained. "I..."
"Is it because of the Dreadlord?" she asked as her voice was 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 and his eyes darkened. "Tell Uther," he firmly told her, "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 painfully said amidst his regrets. "It's..."
The silence between them stretched taut as a bowstring. The Archmage looked at the Prince, looking for any crack in the cold mask he had donned. But his facade was unyielding as if he conjured wall of ice that she couldn't break throigh. "Jaina," he nervously began, "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 in disbelief and of hurt. "How can I trust you when you won't even confide in me or to anyone?" She kept looking at him, trying to make sense of his attitude. "What happened to you, Arthas? What did you see to make you act like this?"
He squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. "It's nothing you need to know," he uttered. "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 regretfully said. "You must remain here from the time being."
The mage felt as if she had been slapped, the wind knocked out of her. "What?" she gasped in sorrow and disbelief. "...why?"
The guards exchanged a quick look, but said nothing more. Jaina's eyes filled with tears, a mix of anger and hurt boiling within her.
Arthas did not turn back to face her as he walked away. Jaina stood there for a long moment, her cheeks having been stained by her tears. Finally, with a sob, she 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 guil as he buried his face in his hands.
"I've made a terrible mistake," he uttered. "By pushing you away, I've only hurt your more."
He knew that Jaina had noticed the way he distanced away from her, his refusal to talk in her, but he had hoped that his calm 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 she looked at him, finding for the truth he kept hidden.
"I have been a fool," he said to himself. "I've lost everything once. I can't bear to lose you too." The words were torn from him, afear that had driven him to keep his darkest secrets buried deep within.
As dawn broke, Arthas remained in his cabin. 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 would 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 regretfully uttered. "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 uttered amidst the conflict within him. "Because if I did..."
He had made his choice to keep her safe, to not make her afraid of what he knew. 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 felt suffocating for 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 too kuch. Yet, as he thought of her standing there with 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. "I have to do it..." he whispered the words that were like a feeble defense against the accusations of his own heart. "To make sure you're safe from whatever that awaited me." But the echo 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 when they were younger. 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.
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.
She looked upon the shimmering waters of the harbor as the sun began to rise. 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 her decision made, she approached the docks and scanned 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 and 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, unsure of what to do. "Your silence is all I need," she continued.
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. "But what you're doing is quite the risk."
Jaina nodded. "I know," she said. "But I need to know, for all our sakes." She watched him nod and slip away to return 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 hurting him from the inside. 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. She had always believed in him, had always seen the good in him, even when others hadn't. 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!
Edited: March 20, 2025
