Long chapter ahead, so it's gonna take some time.


Blackplant: Totally agree on there. I'm certain that these two would vibe with one another if they met.

Zabaniya: Right on over there. It's his fears that became his greatest obstacle. And he would need help how to confront them.

The Azure Reaper: Arthas is just full of PTSD at the moment and wants help, even though he could not fully get them without having to come clean, which is why he was he couldn't tell it to anyone yet. Arthas knows too well that Jaina would risk his life, and would do everything to keep her safe if it meant pushing her away, which he regrets and pains him so much. I agree with the assumptions presented, though it's not 100% that they would happen. Certainly here, Arthas would not have Frostmourne, but that doesn't mean he would not gain Lich King abilities while the idea of him wielding Ashbringer is entertaining.


Chapter 10: On the Shores of Northrend.

In the grand, torch-lit hall of Lordaeron's Capital City, King Terenas sat upon his throne, surrounded by an array of concerned faces—regional commanders, knights, and advisors brought together by the ever-growing threat of the undead scourge.

Lord Alexandros Morgraine, a high ranking member of the Silver Hand, stepped forward to address the king. "Your majesty, the situation in the lands surrounding the port town of Southshore is grim. The undead grow bolder, and the plague they carry with them threatens to spread like wildfire." He paused, his gaze flicking to the map before them, where tiny flags marked the locations of know incursions. "We need additional forces to bolster our defenses, lest we lose the gateway to the Eastern Kingdoms."

The room grew quiet as the gravity of his words sank in, the rustling of parchment and the occasional cough the only sounds to break the silence. Terenas nodded solemnly, his own eyes weary with the weight of his decisions. "Your request is granted, Lord Morgraine," he said, his voice firm. "I will send what troops I can spare. We must ensure that the plague does not spread further."

As the room buzzed with the murmur of agreement, Lord Othmar Garithos strode in. "My liege," he began, his voice clipped and urgent, "I bring news from Blackwood. Reports have reached us of grain shipments arriving being infected. The blight has begun to claim our lands and threaten our very survival." His eyes scanned the room, finding each man's gaze and holding it for a moment.

The tension grew palpable as Garithos spoke, his words echoing the fear that lurked in every heart. The king's eyes narrowed as he considered the implications of such a discovery. "What have you done to contain the spread?" he asked, his voice measured.

Garithos's jaw clenched. "I have given orders to destroy any infected supplies immediately," he said, his tone leaving no room for debate. "The Prince's methods have proved quite effective as any one consuming them will risk giving a new member to the rotting savages."

The room remained still, the air thick with the unspoken understanding that such measures had consequences. It was then that Alexandros stepped up, his voice calm yet firm. "While the Prince's efforts in Stratholme and other afflicted areas have indeed provided us with a grim example of how to combat this scourge, General," he began, "we must also consider the potential for starvation. The destruction may be a necessary evil in the short term, but it could lead to famine and desperation in the long run."

Garithos scoffed. "I have imposed measures to conduct strict rationing of our resources, as thinned as they are. Better that we fight our enemies with half-filled bellies than let them feast upon our own."

The two men exchanged a glare. Terenas raised a hand, calling for order. "We have to balance our strategies," he bellowed. "We cannot allow the scourge to spread, but we must also ensure the survival of our people." He paused, looking to the map displayed before him.

Alexandros, his eyes never leaving the map, spoke up, his voice calm but insistent. "Your majesty, have the other Kingdoms been informed of this? Gilneas has turned inward with its King Greymane's policy of isolation, and Stromgarde is barely holding out against the relentless sieges." He took paused for a moment. "And what of Quel'thalas? Surely they must be made aware of the looming threat, lest it reach their own borders."

King Terenas nodded. "Emissaries have been dispatched to all corners of the Alliance," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of his words. "We have to least inform them in order to make sure they are aware."

Garithos, however, had no patience for such diplomacy. "The elves have made their choice," he spat, his eyes narrowing. "They turned their backs on us when we needed them most, so why not let them deal with their own fate since 'it's not our business' as they would likely say." His voice was clearly distrustful. Morgraine only sighed at his apparent disdain for the elves, though it held truth since they left the Alliance as soon as Sir Lothar was killed during the last war, except for a group of volunteers led by Alleria Windrunner.

The doors of the hall swung open, as Uther came in. His eyes searched the room until they landed on King Terenas, and he quickly made his way to the throne. "Your grace," Uther called out as he bowed before the king.

"Uther," Terenas greeted the Silver Hand's leader. "Please, tell us what has transpired in Stratholme. We await your report with bated breath."

Uther took a deep breath. "The situation was dire, my liege," he began solemnly. "Baron Rivendare and the House of Barov had indeed aligned themselves with the Cult of the Damned. Their treachery knew no bounds as they actively worked to spread the plague within the city, though their efforts to do so were mostly thwarted by Prince Arthas."

Mostly. Since a portion of the city became infected due to human error and ignorance.

The room erupted into a cacophony of gasps and murmurs of shock and anger. Terenas's hand slammed down on the armrest of his throne. "Their own people?" he roared. "What madness is this?"

Uther nodded grimly. "Indeed, it is my liege," he agreed. "But there is more. The one responsible for orchestrating the spread of the plague in the capital city has been captured."

Terenas leaned forward, his expression a mix of hope and dread. "Where is he?" he demanded. "I wish to see this monster brought to justice before the people of Lordaeron."

Uther's look became troubled. "He is...not here," he revealed. "The instigator of the plague is currently under the custody of the Kirin Tor in Dalaran."

Terenas's brows furrowed in puzzlement. "The Kirin Tor?" he repeated. "Why would they take him?"

"For interrogation," Uther explained. "They wish to uncover the full extent of the Cult's infiltration and the others who have a hand in it as well."

The king's gaze was sharp. "I understand their intent, Uther, but I would have preferred a trial held here and to hear him myself," he said, his voice tight with frustration.

Garithos stepped forward, his expression one of concern and skepticism. "Your majesty," he began, "are we certain that holding such a dangerous creature in our midst is wise? The risk of him spreading the plague again, or worse, escaping and wreaking havoc on our city is too great to ignore."

Alexandros nodded solemnly in agreement. "The general speaks sense, my liege," he said, his eyes on Uther. "We must not allow our desire for justice to cloud our judgment. The safety of the realm is paramount."

King Terenas looked from one to the other, his gaze thoughtful. "Where is Prince Arthas?" he asked, his eyes searching the room. "He was the one who discovered these traitors and spearheaded the campaigns against the undead. I would hear his thoughts on the matter."

Uther's expression grew serious. "Your highness," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "The prince is currently not in the city. He is on a mission to the north, attempting to locate and rescue Muradin Bronzebeard and his expedition, at least according to a survivor that came to him."

The dwarven ambassador present with them nodded. "Aye, 'tis true," he rumbled. "Muradin and the Explorer's Guild have ventured to those unknown lands. We have had no word from them since then."

The room grew tense. "Arthas has displayed dedication and careful thought on how to address issues that we do not normally face.", the Paladin continued. "I can assure you, your Highness, that the Prince will return with his men safe. I have also requested Lady Jaina Proudmoore to accompany him in his mission."

Terenas nodded gravely. "Very well," he said. "Proceed with caution, Uther. I trust in your judgment and that of the prince. Keep me informed of your progress. And I sincerely hope that nothing happens with Lady Proudmore. Lest we have a new dispute with Lord Admiral Daelin and Kul'Tiras."

The paladin bowed before the king. "As you command," he said before turning to leave.

As the doors closed behind Uther, Garithos could not help but voice his skepticism. "Your majesty, while I admire Prince Arthas' decisiveness, I find his sudden interest in the fate of a dwarven expedition curious," he said, eyeing the king with suspicion. "Surely there are more pressing matters for him to attend to here in Lordaeron."

King Terenas' gaze never wavered from the map before him. "The prince is a man of honor and compassion," he replied unyieldingly. "If he believes that lives can be saved, he will do so without hesitation. And if there is a chance to find the source of the blight in those lands, we will allow him to pursue it."


As the ship cut through the dark waters, Arthas approached the ship's navigator, eager for an update. "How long until we make landfall in Northrend?" he inquired.

The navigator, a dwarf named Kragg, glanced up from the chart he was holding. "If the winds hold, we'll reach the coast within a day and a half, Your Highness," he replied. "There are several settlements along the way where we can replenish supplies."

Arthas sighed. "That wouldn't be the case unfortunately," he stated. Of course, how did Mal'Ganis manage to bring in a a large amount of troops with what he had? "The Scourge has likely claimed those lands. We can't count on finding any help there."

Kragg's eyes widened in surprise. "The undead?" he murmured in disbelief. "If the settlements are overrun, what then?" he asked, his concern palpable.

"We'll make do with what we have," Arthas said firmly. "Keep me informed of our progress. Any changes in the weather or signs of trouble, no matter how small, I need to know immediately."

Kragg nodded. "Aye, Your Highness," he obliged. "I'll keep a sharp lookout."

Leaning over the ship's railing, Arthas's gaze was drawn to the horizon where the darkened sky met the churning waves of the sea. The briny scent of the ocean filled his nostrils, taking him back to a time when he had first set foot on the frozen shores of Northrend. In his mind's eye, he saw the fiery destruction of his own fleet, an desperate act to ensure that he and his men would not retreat from his obsession to kill the Dreadlord then and there.

He could vaguely recalled the moment he lost his mind when his soul was claimed by Frostmourne. The voices of his comrades, whom they could not escape him due to burning his ships and their cries for mercy and deliverance haunting him still. It was there that he had claimed the runeblade, and with it, the mantle of the Lich King's champion. The price of power was etched into his very bones, a cost he had paid in the lifeblood of his men and the sanctity of his own soul and turning them into his mindless servants.

And now, as he journeyed back to that cursed land, he could not help but wonder if he was fated to repeat the same grim cycle. But he wasn't going there in his anger nor vengeance. But from his want to change the fate that he ushered himself in his obsession to kill Mal'Ganis.

But then...he felt his fears are the one that is binding him this time. His fear of repeating everything and becoming the monster he so hated. His fear of what if Jaina or the others would know of his previous life.

"But fear is not your enemy, young prince. It is what you do with that fear that will define you.", the words from the Prophet echoed in his mind. He was right, but how could he do it without compromising too much?

Falric, who had been quietly observing the prince's contemplation from afar, took a step closer, his eyes filled with concern. "Your Highness," he said gently. "Are you alright?"

Arthas turned to face him, his gaze distant and haunted. "Yes," he said finally, his voice a low rumble. "There is much I need to confide in you, Falric."

The knight nodded solemnly. "I am here to serve, Your Highness," he replied, his expression unwavering. "What is it that troubles you?"

The Prince took a deep breath. "What is it that you fear?"

Falric's was surpised to hear that but complied. "Your Highness," he began, "My greatest fear is to watch our home crumble before my eyes. To see the lands and its people that we swore to protect fall before our very eyes."

"About your greatest fears back then. Personal ones", Arthas corrected himself. "During the days you first served the Kingdom back in the Second War."

Falric's gaze snapped back to Arthas. "When I was first conscripted to fight, Your Highness," he began. "I was no more than a teenager with a hammer and a heart full of fear despite my father wanting me to be a farmer. I had heard the horrors that the orcs had brought upon our lands during the Second War, the destruction of Stormwind during the First and the chaos that ensued. The thought of facing such monsters on the battlefield was terrifying."

He paused. "But fear is not something that can be conquered by hiding from it," he continued. "When the call came to serve Lordaeron, I knew that I had to stand and face my fears. I didn't see myself as a soldier back then. Yet, I knew that if I didn't, the same horrors might be repeated. So, I took up arms," Falric paused, his eyes now meeting Arthas's with a firm resolve. "I went to the frontlines. And it was there that I found my purpose and my call to the service of our Kingdom."

"But was there a moment that you felt like everything was hopeless or all was lost?", he asked

Falric's gaze grew distant. "The moment that truly tested my fear was during the Siege of Blackrock Spire," he began. "When we heard of Sir Lothar's death, it felt as though the very world had collapsed around us. He was not just our leader, but a symbol of hope and strength. He was the strongest warrior we knew, and if he could fall..." Falric's words trailed off, leaving the unspoken weight of his thoughts hanging in the air.

Arthas looked at him quite closely. "But you didn't give up."

The knight nodded. "No, we did not," Falric said firmly. "That was then when I truly faced my fears. When the gravity of what Sir Lothar had fought for became clear, I knew that I had to honor his sacrifice, as did many others." He paused,. "We pushed on, through the fires of Blackrock Spire. And though we were outnumbered and outmatched, we fought on until we emerged victorious, I realized that fear had not conquered me. It had made me stronger. It had forged me into the man I am today."

Falric studied Arthas with a knowing look, the silence between them growing heavier by the second. "Your Highness," he finally spoke up, "why do you ask of my fears?"

Arthas took a moment to gather his thoughts, his eyes still fixated on the horizon. "Because," he replied, his voice tight, "I too have fears that I am not sure how to conquer."

The knight was taken aback by the Prince's candid admission. Falric had always known the Prince since he was a boy, becoming an epitome of what it meant to be a paladin of the Light. "But you've faced so much already," Falric said, his voice filled with genuine astonishment. "You're one of the bravest souls I've ever had the honor of serving alongside."

The prince turned to meet his gaze, where the Captain could see how haunted his eyes are. "I fear that the very thing that made me strong is the same that could lead us to ruin," Arthas confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "My fears are... different. They are not of battles or enemies, but of the choices I am yet to make."

Falric studied Arthas for a moment thoughtfully. "Fear is a powerful force, Your Highness," he said, his voice measured and wise. "But it is not an insurmountable one. To conquer fear, one must face it directly, understand it, and then decide to act despite it."

Arthas nodded slowly, his gaze still on the horizon. "But how do you do that, Falric?" he asked, sounding burdened. "How do you face the fear that haunts you, that whispers in the dark corners of your mind?"

The knight took a deep breath, his eyes reflecting the understanding that only comes from experience. "You have to first recognize that fear is not a weakness," he explained. "It is a natural response to danger, a warning from your very soul that something is amiss."

He stepped closer, placing a firm hand on Arthas's shoulder. "But fear becomes a prison only when you let it dictate your actions. When you face your fears, you do not turn.." his voice grew softer. "It is then where you confront it directly."

The Prince's eyes searched Falric's, finding the unwavering belief the knight had in him. "But what if the fear is too great?" Arthas asked, his voice cracking slightly. "What if it turned out it is too strong?"

Falric's gaze never left him. "Then you do not face it alone," he said firmly. "You have friends, comrades, and loved ones who stand with you. They are more than enough to help you."

For a moment, Arthas felt the weight of his fears lessen, bolstered by the unwavering support of his most trusted ally. He took a deep breath, his eyes hardening with resolve. "Falric," he spoke again. "I need to ask you something, and I want you to be completely honest with me. Have I been...unfair to the others? By keeping things from them, especially you?"

Falric's expression grew pensive as he considered the prince's question, clearing his throat. "Your Highness," Falric began, his tone measured. "You have been...cautious, certainly. And perhaps in doing so, you have kept some information from us that might have been useful."

"But," he continued, "you have also done everything in your power to protect our people and guide us through these dark times. Your tactics and foresight have saved countless lives. I may not always understand your decisions, but I trust that they are made with the purest of intentions. And in the end, isn't that what truly matters?"

The Prince thought for a moment that this was the same man whom he turned into the Scourge's second Death Knight, and how it pained him to remember that day.

Arthas felt a pang of guilt as he looked into Falric's eyes, seeing the unwavering loyalty and trust that the knight had in him. He knew that he had been holding back, keeping his comrades in the dark about the true extent of his fears and the memories that plagued him. "Why haven't you pressed me on this? Why haven't you demanded to know what it is that's been weighing on me so?"

"Because, my prince," he replied, his voice filled with the gravity of his words, "it is not my place as a soldier to demand the secrets of the man I serve. It is my duty to stand by your side, to offer counsel when it is requested."

The knight took a step back, his hand falling away. "I knew you had your reasons for being so...guarded," he continued. "And I trust that when the time is right, you will share what you need to share."

Falric searched Arthas's face, noticing the pained expression that briefly flickered across his features. "Your Highness," he ventured carefully, "does this have something to do with Lady Proudmoore?" He had noticed the tension between them, particularly at the docks before their departure from Lordaeron. The way Arthas had distanced himself from her, as if he was afraid to get too close.

Arthas's eyes grew dark with regret as he nodded. "Yes, Falric," he admitted, his voice raw with emotion. "It does." He paused, collecting his thoughts before continuing. "I have been a fool. I've pushed her away when she only wanted to help." He looked down at his hands, clenching them into fists. "I've hurt her, and I don't know how to make it right."

Falric's gaze grew serious as he spoke up. "Your Highness," he said, his voice measured. "Lady Proudmoore has confided in me, as well. And her concerns are not to be taken lightly." Arthas's head snapped up, his eyes meeting Falric's. "Back at Andorhal," the knight continued, "she spoke to me of your...distance. She is worried about you, Arthas. She feels as though you are hiding something, something that could threaten us all."

The prince's eyes searched Falric's, looking for accusation or judgment, but finding only concern. "What did she say?" Arthas asked, his voice tight.

Falric took a moment before responding, his words chosen with care. "She spoke of your mood swings, your secretive behavior, and how you've been pushing her away," he recounted. "She greatly cared for your well being, but she feels like you're erecting walls she cannot breach."

Arthas's expression grew pained. "I only did it to keep her safe," he murmured, his eyes filled with regret. "The less she knows, the better."

Falric nodded solemnly. "I understand your intentions," he said. "But secrets have a way of festering and growing in the dark. They can become the very darkness we sought to avoid."

The two men stood in silence. Finally, Falric spoke again, his tone gentle but firm. "Your Highness, I've served with you and your father for years. I've seen you face unspeakable horrors and emerge unbroken. But even the strongest of us need the light of others to find our way through the dark."

Arthas looked up at Falric, looking tormented. "Could she ever forgive me?" he whispered, the question hanging heavily between them. Falric's gaze was steady as he considered the prince's plight.

"I cannot speak for Lady Proudmoore, sire," Falric replied. "But I know this much: a healed scar is preferable to an untreated wound. If you hold your secrets too tightly, they will fester and destroy you from within." He paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in.

The prince nodded slowly, understanding the gravity of Falric's advice. "But what if the truth only brings her pain?" Arthas asked, his voice a mix of hope and despair. "What if by telling her, I only cause her more suffering?"

Falric looked into Arthas' eyes, his own filled with a mix of understanding and solemnity. "If your secrets cause her pain," he said, "then it is your duty, not just as her prince, but as her friend, to help her heal from the truth."

Arthas felt a surge of emotion, his chest tightening at the thought of causing Jaina any more pain than he already had. But Falric's words resonated with him, echoing the whispers of his own conscience that had been urging him to come clean. "Falric," he said, his voice thick with gratitude, "thank you. For listening, and for understanding."

The knight nodded, his expression unwavering. "It is my duty, Your Highness," he said. "Say the word, and I shall respond accordingly."

Arthas took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his decision settling upon his shoulders. "I will consider your words," he said, his gaze shifting back to the distant horizon. "And when the time is right, I will do what must be done."

The Captain nodded, watching as Arthas retreated to his cabin. "I hope he could get through this...", he uttered for the Prince.

Falric found Marwyn perched on the stern's edge, his gaze lost in the churning sea. The knight approached, his boots thudding against the wooden planks, the rhythmic sway of the ship beneath them a gentle reminder of their journey. "Marwyn," Falric called out to his fellow captain. "What keeps you up at such an hour?"

Marwyn looked up from his contemplative stare. He held up a letter, his eyes reflecting the soft light. "A message from Lady Bloomfield," he replied..

"The botanist and flower shop owner at Stratholme?", Falric asked.

Marwyn nodded, the letter crinkling in his hand as he folded it back into his tunic. "Yes," he said, his eyes returning to the horizon. "Lady Bloomfield sent this before we set sail. She expresses her gratitude for my intervention that night."

Falric's eyebrows furrowed in curiosity. "Intervention?" he prompted, noticing the unspoken tension in the captain's words.

Marwyn sighed, leaning back against the railing. "It was a few nights ago when you were with Prince Arthas and Lady Proudmoore, I stumbled upon two envoys from the House of Barov. They had offered her a position in their household," he explained, his voice filled with the memory of the encounter. "I knew the baron's intentions were not pure, so I stepped in to make sure she does not fall to their clutches."

"Aye, I remember hearing that the Cult of the Damned were recruiting or perhaps trafficking people. And the House of Barov being in league with it", Falric recounted. "But think of it this way, I'd say that it's a blessing in disguise because who knows what they could have done with her?"

Marwyn nodded in agreement. "Aye, it's a fate I'd not wish upon any innocent soul," he murmured. He paused, then cleared his throat awkwardly. "Lady Bloomfield also mentioned that she would like to know me a little more," he said, his cheeks coloring slightly. "Once I am off duty, of course."

Falric couldn't help but smirk at the captain's sudden change of tone. "Really?" He leaned against the railing next to Marwyn. "It seems our stoic captain has a soft spot, especially when they come in the form of a flower girl."

Marwyn shot Falric a glare, his gruffness not quite hiding the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It's not like that," he protested. "I merely did what I need to do to make sure she is safe."

"She must have seen something in you to request such gallantry," Falric teased, his voice filled with playful sarcasm. "Perhaps she's taken quite a liking to her saviour and protector of petals."

Marwyn rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. "You jest, Falric," he said, his voice rumbling with good-natured amusement. "But I admit, she is... unique. Her spirit is as resilient as the plants she tends to."

Falric clapped Marwyn on the shoulder, his grin widening. "Well, if she's as lovely as her flowers, I can't say I blame her"

Marwyn only chuckled. "I suppose she is..."


The next morning, Navigator Kraag's call echoed through the ship. "Land ho!" he bellowed. Arthas, who had barely slept a wink, bolted upright from his chair, his heart racing.

Making his way to the upper deck, he found Kraag, his eye still pressed to the telescope, his hand steady despite the rocking of the ship. "Northrend," the navigator confirmed, a hint of awe in his voice as he lowered the instrument. "We've made good time, Your Highness."

Arthas took the telescope and peered through it, his eyes widening at the familiar terrain. It was a place of his darkest memories, a place where he had once sought power and had found only despair. But now, this was his chance to end the madness before it could even begin

"Prepare the ships for disembarkment," he ordered. "We will need to sort our supplies and make camp before we set out to rescue Muradin and his men."

And to destroy that wretched runeblade before its madness could reach anyone else.

The crew scurried to obey,. Falric approached, his eyes studying the prince's tense profile. "Is everything well, Your Highness?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Arthas handed the telescope back to Kraag and turned to face Falric. "As well as can be," he said, his eyes distant. "We have much to do before we can rest."

Falric complied with his orders and moved to bark orders with the others.


On board the Impeccable, the sailor that Jaina had bribed the day before with a handful of coins, which was more than a month's pay for the average sailor, made his way to the storage room. As he approached the dimly lit chamber, his eyes searched for any sign of her. But she was not there. He frowned in confusion, checking his pocket watch, the gold chain jingling against the metal. It was almost time for her to rise, wasn't it? The sailor had been instructed to wake her when they arrived at Northrend's shores, so she could disembark without being seen. But it seemed she had beaten him to it.

He shrugged it off, assuming that she had already felt the ship's change in movement and had gone ahead to see the land for herself. So he went about his duties like it was another day.

On the shoreline of Northrend, Jaina had indeed risen early. Her invisibility spell cast, she watched from a safe distance as Arthas, Falric, and Marwyn conferred. The prince's gaze was focused and determined as he barked out orders, his voice carrying the weight of a man who had seen too much and had too much at stake.

Jaina's grip onto her staff was tightening. She had to find a way to get through to him, to make him realize that he could trust her with whatever it was that was tormenting him, but she had to keep quiet. And to be unseen to make this work.

"Your Highness," Marwyn began, his voice a gruff rumble. "Where should we start our search for Muradin and his men?"

Arthas took a moment to consider. "We start over there," he said, pointing at a pathway before them. "The path we took is not too far from here. But we must tread carefully; the beasts of this land are as cold and unforgiving as the land itself. They will not be hospitable to strangers."

Marwyn nodded solemnly. "Understood," he said. "We shall be prepared for whatever awaits us."

Falric stepped forward. "The encampment where he could be found could serve as a temporary shelter," he suggested. "If it's still there, it would be a strategic place to rest and reinforce before we delve deeper into the unknown."

Marwyn nodded thoughtfully. "Aye," he agreed, his gaze drifting to Arthas. "The encampment you speak of is where we should make our first stand." He paused, then spoke with a heavy heart. "But remember, Your Highness, this is the very land that demon said that you two would be fighting," he reminded him, his voice tinged with the memory of the demon's malicious laughter.

Arthas's body stiffened at the mention of the demon's name, his eyes narrowing into a cold glare. Internally, he knew that Mal'Ganis had orchestrated this, that he had led him here purposefully. But he couldn't let that distract him from his primary goal: saving Muradin and destroying Frostmourne. "We will deal with Mal'Ganis when we are ready," he said through gritted teeth. "First, we must find Muradin and ensure he is safe."

Falric nodded in understanding, his eyes reflecting the same determination. "As you wish, sire," he said. "We shall follow your lead."

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the cold wind of Northrend whipping around them as they contemplated the dangers ahead. Arthas knew that he couldn't tell them everything, not yet. Turning to Marwyn, Arthas's expression grew grim. "Gather the men," he ordered. "We march towards the encampment. We will rest there and plan our next move."

Marwyn saluted sharply. "As you command, Your Highness," he said, and with that, he strode off to rally the troops.

Cautiously, the expeditionary force proceeded with Arthas leading the men from the front, his eyes scanning the barren landscape for any signs of danger. Falric and Marwyn flanked him, their eyes equally vigilant. Behind them, the men marched in tight formation with their supplies in tow. Jaina remained hidden, her heart racing as she watched the men she cared about from the safety of her invisibility spell. She knew that her presence could compromise the mission, but she couldn't shake off the need to to keep an eye on him

As the group progressed through the icy terrain, Jaina's eyes, sharper than any hawk's, spotted a group of shadowy figures lurking amidst the rocks ahead, revealing themselves to be Ice Trolls, their malicious intent clear as they positioned themselves to unleash a barrage of boulders upon the unsuspecting humans. Panic surged through her, but she knew she had to act swiftly. Concentrating, she whispered an incantation, her fingertips crackling with arcane energy. The air around her grew thick with anticipation as she channeled her power.

With a sudden, deafening roar, bolts of lightning shot forth from the air. The trolls, caught off guard, were bombarded by the searing arcs of electricity, their cries of shock and pain echoing through the valleys. The ground beneath them trembled as the lightning struck, and in moments, their plan was foiled, their bodies smoldering amidst the frozen landscape.

The men, startled by the sudden display of elemental fury, exchanged nervous glances, their eyes searching the skies for the source of the thunderous boom. Arthas's gaze snapped towards the horizon, his brow furrowed in concern. "We must hurry," he called out "The weather seems to be turning for the worse." Falric and Marwyn nodded, urging the men to quicken their pace, the unease in their voices barely concealed. They had encountered few natural phenomena in their journey thus far that could account for the sudden storm, and the timing was eerily convenient for an ambush.

Jaina, still shrouded in her invisibility, let out a silent sigh of relief as the men marched on, their eyes on the path ahead.

Falric cast a sideways glance at Arthas. "Your Highness, are you sure about this?" he asked, his voice low so that only Arthas could hear. "The men are already on edge. Perhaps we should find shelter and wait out the storm?"

The Prince's eyes remained focused on the path aheadn. "We don't have the luxury of time, Falric," he replied. "We have to move now." Falric nodded, though his gaze lingered on the prince.

As they approached the dwarven encampment, Arthas felt a sudden chill run down his spine, a sense of déjà vu washing over him. The camp looked deserted, the structures weather-beaten and the fires long extinguished. Falric and Marwyn exchanged wary glances, their hands hovering over the hilts of their weapons as they prepared for the worst. Arthas raised his hand, signaling the men to be on high alert.

"Quietly now," he murmured to his comrades, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of life. They moved as one, their booted feet making only the faintest crunch in the snow as they approached the abandoned camp. Suddenly, a shout rang out, and a human soldier, one of their own, was yanked into the air by an unseen net, his arms and legs flailing wildly. The prince's heart skipped a beat, and he knew that it wasn't an ambush from the Scourge but something entirely different.

Muradin and his stout dwarven riflemen emerged from their hiding spots, their rifles drawn and eyes narrowed in suspicion. The burly dwarf looked Arthas up and down, his bearded face a mask of wariness.

"Bloody hell!", Muradin exclaimed in disbelief. "You're not undead! You're all alive!"

Arthas felt a combined relief, joy and sadness upon seeing the man who taught him what he knew in fighting. "Is that you, Muradin?", he called out. "We're here to help!"

Muradin came closer to Arthas and embraced the young man. "Damn, boy. I never imagined that you'd be the one to come to our rescue!"

Arthas's heart clenched as he felt the warmth of Muradin's embrace: this was the same man that he left to die when he claimed the cursed runblade after all. He pushed the guilt aside, focusing on the present. "We are indeed," he replied, his voice steady despite the turmoil within. "Northrend is fraught with danger, and it's not just the undead we must fear," he said, his eyes scanning the horizon warily.

Muradin stepped back, clapping him on the shoulder. "Aye," he said, his voice gruff with relief. "The dea are just the tip of the iceberg in this godforsaken land. We've had our share of run-ins with the beasts that lurk 'round here."

Jaina watched from her concealed position, her eyes misting over at the sight of the two old friends reuniting. She could see the pain etched into Arthas's face, the struggle between his past and his newfound resolve. She knew that he had used the dwarf's predicament as a means to an end. But even so, he made it a priority that Muradin and his men are safe.

Muradin bellowed out orders to his dwarven riflemen, who emerged from their hidden positions around the encampment, their expressions a mix of surprise and suspicion. They eyed the human force warily, not knowing what to make of the unannounced arrival. Arthas stepped forward, his hand extended in peace. "Muradin," he said warmly. "It's been too long." The dwarf's face split into a wide grin as he took in the sight of his old friend, the human prince who had come to his aid. "You're not just a figment of me imagination, then!" he said, his gruffness belying his delight. He turned to the dwarf beside him, a robust figure with a thick red beard that matched his hair.

"This here is Baelgun Flamebeard, me second in command," Muradin announced. Baelgun offered a firm handshake to Falric, his grip as solid as the rocky landscape around them.

"The pleasure is ours," Falric said, his voice echoing the sentiment. While Arthas remained stonefaced where a few memories came back to him.

I remember you evil Prince...you're the one that killed poor Muradin!

Get over it already.

He shook his head. "But we don't have much time for pleasantries," Arthas added, his eyes darkening with urgency. "Tell me, how dire is the situation at your outpost?"

Baelgun's expression grew grim. "The undead," he spat the word with contempt, "are relentless. They come in waves from the north. We've been holding out, but our numbers are dwindling, and our supplies are low." He paused, his eyes flickering over to Arthas. "We need reinforcements if we're to break this siege and push them back."

The prince nodded gravely. "We will not leave you to face this alone," he vowed. "We will march to your aid and drive them out so you could all go home."

Muradin's eyes searched Arthas'. "What brings you to this frozen hellhole, lad?" he asked bluntly.

Arthas's gaze hardened, and for a moment. "A chance to set things right," he said, his voice tinged with both resolve and regret. "To prevent the fate that befell our lands."

Baelgun looked at Arthas with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. "You're just in time, laddie," he said gruffly. "Our siege engines would be just the thing to smash through the boneyards they've built around our outpost."

Falric, who had been quietly listening to the exchange, raised an eyebrow. "Siege engines?" he repeated. "Where are they?"

Muradin's expression grew grim. "We had to leave 'em behind when we were overrun," he admitted. "They're back at our original position, but they're surrounded by the enemy now."

Arthas nodded solemnly, understanding the gravity of the situation. "Then we'll have to retrieve retrieve them," he said, his voice firm. "They could be useful in breaking the siege."

Muradin nodded solemnly at Arthas's proposal, a glint of admiration in his gaze. "Aye, lad, that we will," he said, slapping his palm against Arthas's armored shoulder. "Those damned bone-heads don't know a thing about dwarven engineering. They'd be more likely to take their own heads off than to figure out how to operate them." He let out a hearty laugh, his boisterousness cutting through the tension.

Arthas nodded solemnly, his gaze meeting Muradin's. Of course, but we need to recover" he said, his voice firm with the authority of a leader who understood the value of strategic patience. "And I suspect your supplies have been stretched thin, given your prolonged struggle here."

Muradin's expression softened with gratitude. "Aye, we've been rationing like we're in the middle of a dragon's hoard drought," he said, his eyes lighting up slightly. "Your concern does not go unnoticed, Arthas. Your Highness's wisdom is appreciated."

Arthas returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're all in this together," he said, his tone reassuring. "We'll take what we can from here and set out at first light. Falric, see to the men's needs. Make sure they're fed and their wounds tended to. Marwyn, coordinate with Muradin and Baelgun. We need to understand the layout of the enemy's defenses around the siege engines."

The two men saluted and moved off to carry out their orders. Arthas turned back to Muradin, his expression growing serious once more. "We'll need to move swiftly and strike hard," he said, his eyes narrowing. "Their forces are unrelenting, but we cannot let them think they have the upper hand."

Muradin nodded, his own eyes gleaming with determination. "We'll show 'em what dwarf steel is made of," he said, patting the hilt of his axe.


The campfires crackled and popped as the humans and dwarves sat huddled together, sharing their meager supplies and swapping tales of valor and hardship. The warm light cast flickering shadows on their weary faces, briefly chasing away the gloom of the surrounding wilderness. Jaina, hidden in the shadows of a nearby hill, watched the camaraderie unfold with a pang of both longing and admiration. She had not eaten since leaving the ship, her haste to follow Arthas leaving no room for provisions. The smell of roasting meat wafted over to her, and she felt her stomach rumble, a stark reminder of her own needs amidst the chaos.

The conversations grew quieter as the night deepened, the men's voices a soothing lullaby to those who had not found rest in days. Arthas sat with Muradin, the two leaders poring over a makeshift map. Falric and Marwyn moved among the soldiers, their words of encouragement and firm instructions were given to the men

With the camp having descended into a tense but necessary quietude, Jaina waited until the flickering campfires had dimmed, casting long shadows across the snowy ground. The weary soldiers and their dwarven comrades had finallydecided to sleep. Arthas, though still visibly tense, had allowed himself to rest, his armor gleaming faintly in the moonlight as he lay on his makeshift bedroll. Jaina's own fatigue was a constant companion, but her concern for Arthas and the ever-present hunger gnawing at her stomach propelled her into action.

Stealthily, she slipped from her hiding spot, her feet barely disturbing the snow as she approached the fire pit. Her eyes scanned the area, ensuring she remained unnoticed. A roasted drumstick sat on a wooden platter, the last piece of meat untouched, surrounded by a few lonely pieces of bread. She reached out tentatively, her hand hovering over the food as if the simple act of taking it would shatter the precarious peace that held sway over the camp.

Jaina took a deep breath when she felt her stomach growl, steeling herself for the task ahead. With a swift and silent motion, she snatched the food, tucking them into the folds of her cloak. Even in spite of how wrong it was, but Jaina would be fooling herself if she hadn't taken a few things from the Kirin Tor if it meant helping her in her studies.

Her eyes remained on Arthas as she retreated, seeing he was still asleep. She slipped back into her hiding spot, her footsteps muffled by the thick snow.

Once a safe distance away, she found a secluded nook behind a large, snow-laden tree, the low-hanging branches creating a small shelter from the elements. Jaina unwrapped her cloak, revealing the stolen food. She took a moment to warm her hands over the warm bread, feeling the comfort of heat.

"Tsk, I forgot to bring some water with me...", she mumbled to herself.

A jug of water was suddenly offered to her. "Water, my lady?"

Jaina took it without question. "Thank you.", she replied before she began to drink.

Jaina's eyes shot open, the surprise in them as clear as the night sky above. She hastily spat out the mouthful of water, her cheeks reddening with embarrassment as she took in the figure standing before her. It was Captain Falric, his expression a mix of amusement and mild curiosity. Her hand was trembling slightly as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "Falric!" she exclaimed in a whisper that seemed too loud in the stillness of the night. "What are you doing here?"

The man chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I could ask you the same, Lady Proudmoore," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I thought the Prince had asked you to remain in Lordaeron."

Her eyes darted back to Arthas, who remained oblivious to the conversation. "It's just...," she began, her voice trailing off as she struggled to find a suitable excuse for her disobedience.

Falric held up a hand, his smile widening. "No need to explain," he said, his tone reassuring. "I know you're not one to disobey without good reason. And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you looked like you were ready to jump out of your skin with worry over our prince."

Jaina's gaze snapped back to him, her eyes narrowing. "You noticed," she murmured, a hint of accusation in her voice.

"It's hard not to," he said, his voice gentle. "But don't you worry, your secret's safe with me. I won't be telling him about your little stroll. Or the food you snatched."

Her cheeks flushed deeper, and she felt a surge of gratitude. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere.

Falric's curiosity piqued, he leaned against the tree beside her, his eyes studying her intently. "How did you manage to follow us all the way here?" he asked, his tone a blend of amusement and concern.

Jaina took a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs and steeling her resolve. "I know, but I couldn't stay behind," she confessed, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Uther... he sent me. To make sure Arthas doesn't do anything reckless."

Falric nodded slowly, understanding dawned in his eyes. "So you're here under Uther's orders," he murmured, his gaze still on Arthas. "And you couldn't teleport here without knowing where we were heading?"

Jaina nodded, feeling a weight lifted off her chest as she admitted her secret. "Exactly," she replied, her voice a tad shakier than she would have liked. "The teleportation spells of Kirin Tor are precise, but they require prior knowledge of the destination. I had to stow away on the ship to follow you."

Falric's eyes searched hers, his expression thoughtful. "And you couldn't simply teleport back to the ship when we disembarked?"

"No," she said with a sigh. "The spells I used to track you here were...complex. They don't work in reverse without a predefined return point. And I didn't know where we would land." She took a bite of the bread, feeling the warmth spread through her. "Besides, once I saw what was happening, I knew I couldn't leave Arthas alone. Not again."

The captain studied her for a moment, his expression a mix of admiration and wariness. "You're quite resourceful, aren't you?" he said finally. "But tell me, Lady Jaina, why are you so adamant about keeping an eye on him?"

Jaina hesitated, her gaze drifting back to the sleeping Arthas. "He's...different," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Different, you say?" Falric's voice grew softer as he leaned closer to Jaina, his eyes never leaving Arthas's form. "He's spoken to me as well, you know. Back on the ship."

Jaina's eyes widened with curiosity. "Really? What did he say?"

Falric sighed, his gaze thoughtful. "He spoke of his fears," he revealed, his tone measured and careful. "Of the path he's set upon and the choices he's made. But he didn't elaborate, Jaina. Only that he's afraid of losing control...of becoming something he can't come back from."

The mage's heart ached as she listened, feeling the weight of Arthas's burden pressing down on her own shoulders. "He's never been one to shy away from his responsibilities," she murmured. "But he's never been so...so haunted."

"Aye," Falric agreed, his eyes darkening. "There's a storm in him, one I've never seen before. I fear it's one he's trying to weather alone."

Jaina nodded, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "And I fear the cost of that secrecy," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "The Arthas I know would not keep something from me, especially not something so profound."

The Captain further added. "And he has spoken of you as well."

Falric's words hung heavy in the air, and Jaina felt a stab of pain in her chest. "He talked to you about me?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Falric nodded solemnly. "Back at the docks," he said, his gaze never leaving Arthas's form. "He was torn up about it, Jaina. He said that pushing you away was the last thing he wanted to do."

Jaina remembered the harshness of Arthas's voice, the coldness in his eyes that had so uncharacteristically replaced the warmth she had always known. "Why?" she breathed, her voice trembling. "Why is he keeping this from me?"

Falric sighed heavily, his eyes finally meeting hers. "He said he wishes for you to be safe," he revealed. "That's what he said but he does regret that had."

Jaina's frustration grew, her eyes flashing with determination as she faced Falric. "Safe?" she echoed, her voice filled with disbelief. "Is that what he thinks of me? That I'm some sort of damsel in distress?" She clenched her fists. "I am a Kirin Tor Archmage, Falric! The apprentice of Antonidas himself! I've faced a lot that would make men quake in their boots!"

The captain held her gaze, understanding. "I know, Lady Jaina," he said, his voice gentle. "But he's not just any man. Perhaps he fears for you because he cares."

Her eyes searched Falric's, looking for any trace of doubt or deceit, but she found only honesty and compassion. "Cares?" she spat out, the bitterness evident. "He's been pushing me away, treating me as if I'm made of glass. I can handle myself, Falric! I've known him since we were kids! Why does he think I can't handle this!?"

Falric's gaze grew solemn as he spoke. "Because, Lady Jaina," he said, "whatever he's facing, it's something he doesn't want you to have to bear. And perhaps, in his own twisted way, he's trying to protect you."

The mage's eyes narrowed as she digested Falric's words. "Protect me?" she scoffed, her voice laced with anger. "From what? The truth? I've seen horrors, Falric! I even had to take part in putting down civilians out of their misery at Stratholme! I've felt the pain of loss, the agony of watching those I care for suffer, especially him!"

Jaina took a deep, shuddering breath, the cold air piercing her lungs as she fought to regain her composure. Falric watched her with a knowing look, his eyes filled with empathy. "I'm sorry, Falric," she said, her voice still tinged with frustration. "I know you're just trying to help, but I can't sit idly by while Arthas...while he's in pain."

Falric nodded solemnly, his eyes never leaving hers. "I understand," he said, his voice a comforting rumble. "He's shouldering a heavy burden. We all have our battles to fight, and his are just...different." He paused for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. "Give him time," he urged, his expression earnest. "Once he's finished with his mission here, perhaps he'll find the strength to share his burden with you."

Jaina considered his words carefully. Perhaps he would feel comfortable that he would be able to once his business here was done. "What's the plan for tomorrow, Falric?" Jaina asked, her voice a tad calmer.

The captain looked at her with a serious gaze. "Tomorrow, we fortify the encampment," he said, his eyes shifting to the sleeping form of Muradin and Marwyn. "The Prince, Muradin, and Marwyn will see to the defenses. We've got to be prepared for whatever the Dreadlord throws our way next."

"And what about you and Baelgun?" Jaina inquired, her eyes reflecting the flames of the distant bonfire.

Falric's expression grew grim. "We're going back for the siege engines, but we've only talked about that amongst ourselves but not yet to Prince Arthas and Muradin" he said. "The dwarves left them behind when they retreated. We need those to stand a chance against the undead."

"But after that?" she pressed, her voice filled with hope. "Do you go home then?"

Falric sighed, his eyes searching the horizon as if seeking an answer there. "I wish I could say for sure," he admitted, his gaze returning to hers. "But there's something about the Prince's demeanor that tells me he has another agenda in mind. Something that keeps him here, in this place of suffering. Perhaps not someone, but something."

Jaina felt a cold knot form in her stomach. "What could it be?" she whispered, her eyes filled with dread.

Falric leaned against the tree, his gaze never leaving Arthas. "I can't say for certain," he murmured.

Jaina took a moment to think thoughts racing with the memories in Alterac and Andorhal, and the more recent events in Heartglen and Stratholme. Arthas had indeed shown a level of restraint and strategic thinking that she had never seen in him before. His acts had saved many, and she admired his growth as a leader. Qualities that he didn't show that he was growing. This newfound calmness was something she found utterly perplexing.

"Falric," she began, her voice tentative, "his...his behavior, it's so unlike him. Back when we were kids, Arthas was always the one to charge ahead without thinking. And now, he's...so calculated. So cautious." She paused, looking into the distance as if she had her answer somehwere. "It's almost as if he's lived through all of this before and knows what not to do."

Wait..was she even speaking logically or out of her own paranoia?

Falric nodded solemnly, his gaze following hers to the horizon. "Yes, it's strange, isn't it?" he murmured. "But those very traits have kept us all alive. His decisions, as difficult as they have been, have saved many lives."

Jaina's eyes searched Falric's. "It's almost as if his decisions are tied to something else," she mused. "To those places we've been to... Andorhal, Heartglen, Stratholme, even here in Northrend. It's as if he's...seen it all before." She paused, her voice dropping to a whisper. "And yet, it doesn't align with the Arthas I know. The one who would pursue Mal'Ganis with vengeance and justice in his heart."

Falric nodded thoughtfully. "Aye," he said, his eyes reflecting the flickering flames. "The Prince I knew was a man of passion, driven by his emotions. But now, he's...changed. More cautious, as if he's carrying it all in his shoulders." He took a deep breath. "But perhaps, Lady Jaina, it's because he has seen too much of it. Perhaps he's learned from his past mistakes, and that's what guides him now."

Jaina looked back at Falric, her eyes filled with a mix of confusion and concern. "Falric," she began, her voice shaking slightly, "I know it's not my place to say this, but I can't help but think that Arthas might have known about Muradin's plight in Northrend all along and that he had made up his claims of a dwarven survivor coming to him. Maybe it wasn't just an excuse to come here and rescue him. Maybe it was..." she trailed off, swallowing hard and her voice shaking slightly as she pieced together the puzzle in her mind.

"I think...I think Arthas's true reason for coming to Northrend isn't just to rescue Muradin or fight Mal'Ganis." She paused, gathering her thoughts. "I know he's been acting strange, but it's more than just his fear of losing control. It's as if...as if he's drawn to this place for some other purpose. Something he can't tell us, something that's deeply personal."

Falric's eyes grew wide with surprise. "What are you saying, Jaina?" he asked, leaning in closer to hear her better.

Jaina took a deep breath, her gaze never leaving Arthas. "I think his rescue of the dwarves was genuine, don't get me wrong," she clarified. "But I also believe that he had another motive for coming here, something that's been haunting him from within. And I don't think it's simply Mal'Ganis too."

The captain's expression grew thoughtful. "What could that be?" he asked, his voice filled with curiosity and concern.

"I'm not entirely sure," Jaina admitted, her eyes searching the flames of the bonfire. "But I suspect it's something tied to him and the secrets he kept, something that he feels compelled to face here. And I fear that if we don't understand what it is, we might lose him to it."

Falric studied her. "But why keep it a secret?" he asked, his voice tinged with confusion.

"I do not know." she said, her voice barely above a whisper, "But it is something we have to consider."

Falric nodded slowly. "It's possible," he conceded, his voice filled with a mix of understanding and concern. "But until he confides in us, or until his mission is complete, we cannot be certain."

Jaina nodded back, her eyes never leaving Arthas's distant form. "I know," she murmured. "I need to know what's happening, Falric. And if he won't come to me, then I'll have to find a way to get him to tell me."

The captain's expression grew contemplative. "What are you planning to do?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and wariness.

The mage took a deep breath. "For now, I'll keep my distance," she said, her voice firm. "I don't want to push him too hard, not when he's already on the edge. But when the time is right, I'll make him tell me the truth."

Falric nodded, understanding her determination. "And when that time comes," he said, his voice low and serious, "you know you can count on me to support you, Lady Jaina."

The archmage offered him a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Falric," she said, her voice filled with emotion. "But until then, I think it's best that I keep a low profile. If he sees me too much, he might suspect something."

Falric nodded, his expression a mix of respect and admiration. "I'll keep an eye on him," he promised. "And when the moment is ripe, I'll make sure to give you the opportunity you need."

He turned to leave, his heavy boots crunching in the snow as he disappeared into the night. Jaina watched him go, feeling a mix of relief and dread. With a sigh, she turned back to the food she snatched and water that Falric had brought her, feeling the warmth of the meal spread through her chilled body.

Finishing her meal, Jaina wrapped herself tightly in her cloak and leaned back against the tree. The cold was biting, but she found some comfort in the quiet of the night. Her eyes drifted back to Arthas, who was still asleep. I'll make you tell me what they were, Arthas.., she thought to herself before she felt drowsy. One way or another...


The dawn of the new day brought with it a harsh, biting cold that seemed to seep into the very bones of the camp. Inside the tent, the light from a single candle cast flickering shadows on the faces of the five individuals huddled around the map that Baelgun had unfurled with a flourish, tracing the path of the siege engines with his stubby finger. "Aye, this be where we left 'em!" he exclaimed. "A fine set of lassies they are, too! Just waitin' for us to come back and show 'em a good time!"

Arthas's gaze was focused and intense as he studied the map. His mind raced with strategies and contingency plans. "Very well," he said, his voice firm. "Falric, I need you to take a group of our most trusted men and retrieve those engines with Baelgun. We cannot allow Mal'Ganis to gain any more ground."

Falric nodded, his own expression grim. "Understood, my Prince," he said, his eyes flicking to Arthas for a brief moment before he turned to gather his equipment.

Muradin leaned in closer to the map, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the layout of the abandoned dwarf positions. "The engines are likely fortified," he said, his voice a low rumble. "We'll have to be careful. We don't know what kind of traps those blasted undead have set up."

As Falric left the tent to prepare his team, Arthas turned to Muradin, his eyes gleaming with determination. "Muradin," he said, his voice low and urgent. "You said during supper the night before that you've heard a floating robed skeleton in command of the undead forces here. Did he mention anything about Mal'Ganis?"

The dwarf nodded, his own gaze grim. "Aye," he said, his voice gruff. "It called itself a Lich, and it was definitely in communication with someone named Mal'Ganis. It's gotta be him."

Arthas nodded, his mind racing. "Which means," he said, tapping the map with a finger, "that means wer can bolster our defenses before he returns. We must be ready for whatever he throws at us."

Muradin's jaw clenched. "Aye," he said, his eyes flashing with anger. "We'll hold 'em off. You can count on us."

Arthas placed a hand on the dwarf's shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "Thank you, my friend," he said, his voice filled with gratitude. "We will not fail here."

As Marwyn exited the tent, leaving a trail of frosty air in his wake, Arthas took a moment to gather his thoughts before addressing Muradin. He had to tread carefully; he could not reveal his true intentions or the extent of his knowledge. "Muradin," he began, his voice a low rumble, "I must admit, I'm curious as to why you and your people are here in Northrend. It's not exactly a holiday spot for dwarves, is it?"

Muradin turned to the Prince. "We're here on a quest, lad," he replied gruffly, his beard bristling. "We've heard whispers of a powerful artifact, a blade called Frostmourne, hidden deep in a vault within these icy lands. But it's been lost to time."

Arthas felt his heart skip a beat at the mention of the cursed runeblade. He had hoped that Frostmourne would have stayed buried with the Lich King, forgotten by all. But it seemed persistent. "Frostmourne, you say?" he echoed, feigning ignorance. "How did you come across such information?"

The dwarf king leaned back, his expression thoughtful. "We found some ancient tomes in the caverns in this land," he explained. "The pages spoke of a vault that holds artifacts lost to time. Clues that were...out of place, as if they were meant to be found."

Arthas cupped his chin in deep thought. Mal'Ganis and the Dreadlords had always been masters of manipulation; it was possible that they had planted those clues themselves. He had to be careful not to reveal his own connection to the blade. "And what makes you think this Frostmourne is in this vault?" he asked, his tone curious yet nonchalant.

"The whispers of old spirits we ran across," Muradin replied, his gaze intense. "They speak of a weapon that can vanquish any foe, a blade that can freeze the very soul of the living and raise the dead to serve. Might turn the tide in our favor against those boneheads."

The Prince felt a cold sweat break out on his brow. He knew all too well the power of Frostmourne, and the price it demanded from its wielder.

"Indeed, the whispers of such a weapon are intriguing," Arthas calmly remarked, despite the inner turmoil. "But for now, we must focus on our immediate concerns." He gestured to the map. "We need to prepare the base for any upcoming attack from them."

Muradin nodded, his expression turning from contemplative to one of determination. "Aye," he agreed, his deep voice resonating in the tent. "We'll need to fortify our positions and prepare our troops."

"Marwyn and I will organize the men," Arthas stated. "We'll bolster the defenses and set up traps around the outskirts. We cannot underestimate them."

Muradin grunted in agreement. "And I'll see to the supplies and the morale of the dwarves," he said, before he turned to leave the tent. "We've got work to do, and not much time to do it in."

Arthas watched the dwarf leave the tent. Silently, he prayed to the Light, if it still accepts him, to guide him in these trying times.


Yep, therapist Falric or something like that. Both Jaina and Arthas needed someone to talk to and Falric apparently is the only man who had been with them since they start investigating the plague who could somewhat help them.

Jaina having her outburst and her figuring out Arthas is something that I felt I need to include to give her a bit of agenncy and to show how smart she is. And she is practically done screwing around and would make Arthas talk.

I was also going to include a segment during the throne room where Terenas ask as to where was future corpse doll and Grand Crusader Saidan Dathrohan is, with Alexandros and Renault (who was initially going to be present here) noting he had not returned yet. But the timeline doesn't add up, so I removed that.

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