Chapter is a bit dramatic, if you're gonna refer to that.

Jaina is certainly done playing nice with Arthas.


Chapter 12: Breaking the Ice.

Alone on the cliff's edge, Arthas stared out into the tumultuous sea, with the cold having been immune to him since he was so used to it.

As he sat in contemplation, he thought as he is now close in making sure his mistakes won't happen again. Bringing down Mal'Ganis, and perhaps the most important, ensuring that the weapon of his downfall, Frostmourne, would never be wielded by anyone again

Even still, would he still have the need to reveal anything once the dust had settled?. Would they look at him the same way if he did? Would Jaina recoil from the monster he was if she ever knew the truth?

His memories took him back at the Icecrown Citadel, of the icy throne room where he had belonce sat as the Lich King, his soul shackled to of his own decisions. The screams of the innocents he had slain, the betrayal of his comrades, the fall of his beloved kingdom and others—these images were forever etched into his mind.

Even still, the hope of him preventing those mistakes burned alive within, even if no one had to know what he had done.

Arthas couldn't help but remember the very day after he had rescued Muradin. This was supposed to be the day the envoy arrived, bearing the king's decree for him to return home, to leave the pursuit of vengeance. His father had called for him, concerned for his son's descent into darkness at Uther's behest, but Arthas had been blinded by his need for vengeance. In his pride and obsession in taking the Dreadlord's head, he had ordered the destruction of his own fleet, eliminating any option for retreat. The screams of the mercenaries he had used to achieve his ends still echoed in his memory—his own doing, his own betrayal.

He had sacrificed them all for his pride and his obsession with the Dreadlord's head. And now, as he stood on the precipice of a similar choice.

He had been a fool. Uther did what he could to try and help him out of his quest for vengeance. But he disregarded his mentor's teachings, and ultimately paid the price for it.

And now, in the present, he had used Muradin's predicament as an excuse to do what needs to be done. The ruse of saving the dwarf and his men was his justification to make sure that he won't be recalled by his father or Uther, who might otherwise recall him and his men if he was to do something else. It was a decision born of selfishness, he knew that. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to regret it fully. In his heart, he knew that destroying Mal'Ganis and Frostmourne was essential to make sure Lordaeron would stand against the undead onslaught.

Arthas's thoughts drifted to Jaina. The pain she felt as he had turned away from her. The choice to leave her behind was a harsh one, but it was born from his fear of what could happen if she were to discover his true intentions or of her being face to face with Mal'Ganis. He had hoped that by the time he returned from his mission, she would still be in Dalaran or assisting Uther in removing whatever influence Kel'thuzad still had.

Which made him wish that he had given Uther the list of the hidden members of the Cult of the Damned still in hiding.

He wondered if she had returned to Dalaran, to give her report to Antonidas. Perhaps she was even now, poring over ancient tomes and scrolls, seeking knowledge as she was studious. Or maybe she had been called upon to assist in the interrogation of Kel'Thuzad, which he surmised wouldn't have been as easy one. Because who knows what's inside of that man's head.

"Figured I find ya here", the familiar voice of Muradin came. "How have you been doing, lad?"

Arthas glanced over to see Muradin, his weathered face holding camaraderie. "Aye, I am," Arthas said, forcing a smile that fell shortly. "Just contemplating tomorrow's strategy."

Muradin studied him for a moment. "The deadwon't be an easy foe to break," he said, his gaze following Arthas' out to the horizon. "But we've faced worse together, lad."

"Indeed we have," Arthas replied, the echo of their battles in the past resonating in his words.

The dwarf looked at Arthas with a furrowed brow. "What's on your mind, lad?" he asked, clearly concerned.

The prince took a deep breath before speaking. "Muradin," he began, "have I ever been too selfish? Too prideful even?"

The dwarf paused, clearly taken aback by the sudden shift in conversation, contemplating the question with a thoughtful look. "What makes ya say that, lad?"

"Self-reflection...", Arthas replied. "I just wish to know the extent of what I've been doing."

Muradin chuckled. "Well, when you were but a wee lad," he began, "you always had a penchant for the most daring paths in our little adventures. You'd charge ahead without a second thought for the risks. Failure was something you didn't take lightly, and it always drove you to try harder the next time."

The dwarf paused. "But selfish? Nay, lad. Not in the way you're thinking. And if it's pride you're worried about, well, every leader's got a bit of that. It's what makes 'em stand tall when the rest are ready to fall."

The two sat in silence for a moment. Arthas took in Muradin's words, the warmth of the dwarf's friendship and belief in him acting as a balm to the cold ache within him. Forget this business! Lead your men home!

I wish I could Muradin, but not yet...

Muradin thoughtfully looked out to the sea before speaking again. "But if ya mean keeping your troubles to yourself," he said, his eyes locking onto Arthas's, "that's a different beast entirely. It's one thing to be proud of your achievements, quite another to bear your troubles alone."

Arthas's eyes searched Muradin's, seeking the truth behind his words. "Is it selfish, then, to keep my fears and my doubts from my friends?"

The dwarf's gaze grew solemn, and he placed a firm hand on Arthas's shoulder. "In a way, lad," he said, his voice gruff but gentle. "When you keep your troubles bottled up, you're not just protecting your pride; you're also denying those who cared for you. They're not just soldiers under your command, they're your friends who looked out for ya without anything to ask in return. They've earned the right to share your burdens."

Muradin's words struck a chord within Arthas. "You're right," Arthas murmured, his eyes still on the horizon. "I've been so focused that I felt that I have ignored others who deserves a chance to change theirs."

Muradin nodded, his hand giving Arthas's shoulder a firm squeeze. "We all got our demon," he said. "But we fight them best when we've got good people by our side. And I can't think of a better group than what we got here."

Arthas turned to Muradin, his expression a mix of gratitude and solemnity. "Thank you, Muradin," he sincerely said. "Your words...they mean a lot to me."

Muradin simply nodded, his hand still resting heavily on Arthas's shoulder. "You have to remember, lad," he said firmly. "No matter the secrets you hold, there will always be those who look out for ya. And whenever possible, let them help you as you would to them."

The dwarf's words resonated within him."I will," Arthas promised, his voice steadier than it had been in days.

Muradin clapped him on the back, a hearty smile spreading across his face. "Good lad," he said. "Now, let's get some rest. We've got a long day ahead of us tomorrow, and we'll need our wits about us to tackle whatever that Dreadlord throws our way."


Mal'Ganis could feel something was off.

Firstly, the Prince was supposed to be driven vengeance after the damage inflicted at Lordaeron, where he would lure the human into their grasp by having him take up the mantle as their temporary asset of the Burning Legion. But from what he observed, the Prince did not have the vengeful aura that he should have in the name of justice, or so he thinks to himself. Which is concerning as his overall behavior was tied to him taking whatever it is necessary to destroy his foes. But the Prince was calm, focused, though it was clear he was cautious, as if he is no longer under the Dreadlord's palm in the long run.

Meaning he need to force the Prince in a position that he would be made to take whatever power that is necessary. Sure, his minions of the Scourge would probably be wiped out. But the dead are resilient and can be remade again as they are nothing more than corpses to be raised in order to serve.

"My lord," Ras Frostwhisperer approached Mal'Ganis with a stiff gait, his eyes glowing a cold blue. "Our initial assault on the dwarven encampment has failed and that they have received reinforcements from the mainland."

The Dreadlord was impassive, registering the information. "Failure is a temporary state, Ras," he said, his voice a low growl. "Their valor is commendable, but futile. ."

He paused, stroking his chin with a demonic finger. "Their valor is not lost on me," he mused. "Gather the remains of the fallen dragons. We have use for them."

Ras looked up. "You wish to turn them, my Lord?", he asked.

Mal'Ganis nodded slowly. "Indeed, Ras. They would prove useful," he affirmed. "But do not mistake our restraint for weakness. We need him alive for now."

Ras's gaze flickered with confusion. "But why not just eliminate him now?" he questioned. "He's already proven to be an obstacle to our cause."

The Dreadlord's eyes narrowed. "Because, my impatient servant," Mal'Ganis hissed, "his survival, for now, is crucial. Ner'zhul has invested much in him. Should he continue to resist, then yes, he will be eliminated. But until that moment," he paused, his voice dripping with malice, "We await his decision."

The Lich turned away, his gaze lingering on the distant horizon. "Our true enemy is time, Ras," he continued. When the time is right, when he has served his purpose," Mal'Ganis' voice grew darker still, "then and only then will we decide his fate. Until then, keep a close watch on him."

Ras bowed his head in understanding. "As you command, my lord," he murmured, before retreating to carry out his orders.


In the early morning within the command tent, Arthas, Muradin, Falric, Marwyn, and Baelgun looked over the map scanned the map carefully. The undead base lay marked with a crimson X, which by eliminating it, would break the undead siege on the dwarves and potentially establishing a perimeter that would allow them to mount future attacks if needed.

"Assuming the damage from yesterday is suffice, the Scourge is already regrouping and replenishing their numbers," Arthas spoke in caution and careful calculation. "Our chance is here with us, while their forces are still weakened from our last engagement."

Muradin nodded. "Aye," he said gruffly. "But we can't just charge in blindly. We need to be smart about this."

Baelgun leaned in closer to the map. "The Siege Engines would help" he suggested, pointing to a spot on the map. "We could position them here, just outside of their visual range, and use 'em to lay down a barrage to soften up their defenses."

Falric nodded in agreement. "Aye," he said, following his dwarf counterpart. "And we still have a few mortars left from the last battle. If we can synchronize their fire with the Engines, it would give us a significant advantage once we handle what remained."

It was convenient for the Prince. If they would be able to break the siege now, the Scourge would be weakened enough, which may allow him to pursue Mal'Ganis or Frostmourne before he would give the order to evacuate Northrend.

Marwyn's voice cut in. "The scouts have returned, Your Highness," he said, his tone urgent. "They've spotted undead stragglers scavenging the battlefield, gathering body parts from the slain."

Arthas knew what he was talking about. "They're replenishing their forces," he murmured. "The Scourge are notorious for their efficiency in such matters. They won't let good resources go to waste."

Muradin's gaze grew dark. "They're crafting abominations, no doubt," he growled.

Arthas looked up from the map, his jaw set firmly. "We attack at once," he ordered, his voice steady and commanding. "Before they'd be able to replenish their numbers further. Just remember they are resilient, so make sure they are at least immobilized to make sure they won't be able to fight anymore."

Falric, Marwyn, and Baelgun nodded in unison before exiting the tent, their boots crunching in the snow as they dispersed to prepare their respective forces. The air outside was crisp and cold, the tension palpable as the soldiers of Lordaeron and the dwarfs of Ironforge bustled about, readying themselves for the imminent battle. The three of them moved through the camp, issuing orders and checking on their troops.


Jaina awoke with a start to the distant rumble of Siege Engines and the rhythmic march of booted feet on packed snow. Her eyes darted around her campsite, nestled within the shadows of a small copse of trees, a safe distance from the bustling human and dwarven forces. The air was thick with anticipation and the scent of imminent conflict. She had hoped to avoid them, to keep her distance, but the sounds of battle called to her like a siren's song. She had to be careful though, and she needed to observe Arthas even further to gather more clues as to what was troubling him since.

Carefully, she approached the edge of the woods, peering through the dense foliage. She watched as the Prince and his comrades, Falric, Muradin, Marwyn and Baelgun, emerged from their own camp, their faces etched with determination and strategy.

Jaina felt the tingling ofenergy in the air. She had sensed something similar before, but the power was now magnified—twisted and corrupted. As Arthas and his allies marched towards the undead camp, she could see the undead forces scrambling to reinforce their defenses, their movements erratic and uncoordinated. It was as if some unseen force was wreaking havoc within their ranks.

The lines were in disarray, with skeletal soldiers stumbling over one another and mindless zombies shambling in confusion. The necromancers' spells seemed to falter, their control over the lifeless masses slipping away like snow under a spring thaw.

Jaina watched from afar as the Ras strode through the chaotic undead camp. He barked out an order to a cowering necromancer, who stuttered his response. The necromancer's eyes were wild with fear as he reported their dwindling control over the Scourge forces. Ras's cold gaze narrowed, and he spoke with a chilling calm that sent a shiver down Jaina's spine. "Hold your positions," he instructed. "Mal'Ganis has other plans for these lands. The dragon's remains will serve us well."

The mention of dragons piqued Jaina's interest, but she had to be quiet with this. The necromancer nodded, his fear replaced with a glimmer of hope, and scurried away to relay the message to the rest of the undead horde. As they moved to bolster their defenses, Jaina took a moment to ponder. What could the Dreadlord want with dragon remains?

Curious, she followed the Lich at a safe distance. She approached a yawning cavern that lay shrouded in a pall of unnatural frost. Jaina took a deep breath, steeling herself, and stepped into the frigid darkness. The cavern's walls were slick with ice, and the air was thick with the stench of decay and dark magic. In the cavern's depths, she beheld a ghastly sight: the desecrated remains of a blue dragon, its scales now a dull gray and its eyes vacant sockets.

Necromancers swarmed around the dragon's carcass, their incantations echoing off the icy walls as they channeled their vile power into it. Jaina watched in both fascination and horror as the creature began to stir, the necrotic energy pulsing through its veins, turning the blood to slush. The dragon's eyes flickered to life, now a cold, unfeeling blue. Rasstood at the head of the ritual, his skeletal form seemingly invigorated by the dark sorcery.

Ras brought up his hand imbued with energy upon the dragon's forehead, the runes upon it blazing with a frosty light. The creature let out a bone-chilling roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the cavern. The necromancers stepped back, allowing the newborn Frost Wyrm to rise, its wings unfurling with a sound like cracking ice. The beast's breath was a gust of freezing wind that sent shivers down Jaina's spine, despite her mage's robes.

The sight was terrifying and awe-inspiring in equal measure.

Ras gazed upon the reanimated Frost Wyrm with a twisted sense of satisfaction. It's monstrous form towered over the necromancers, the very essence of cold malice radiating from its lifeless eyes. He knew that this creature, once a symbol of power and pride for the dragonflights, would now serve as a weapon of terror for the Scourge. "Ah, what beauty," he mused, stroking the dragon's decayed muzzle. "The humans will tremble before its might."

One of the necromancers stepped forward. "What is our plan, my lord?" he inquired. "When do we deploy this...this abomination?"

The Lich's icy gaze fell upon him. "Patience," Ras hissed. "Mal'Ganis has foreseen this. He knows that the Prince thirsts for victory if it meant saving those dwarves. And so, we shall grant it to him," his eyes gleaming with malice. "A victory that will serve only to tighten the noose around their necks."

The necromancers exchanged glances, understanding dawning on their faces. They had been holding back, preserving their strength for a grander scheme. The creature was not meant for a frontal assault, not yet. "When the humans believe they have triumphed," Ras continued, "they will realize their error much sooner than expected."

The necromancer nodded, his eyes gleaming with fascination at the prospect of such a cunning plan. "And what of Mal'Ganis?" he pressed. "Where is our master?"

Ras's smile grew colder. "He awaits our results," he replied. "He will come in due time."

The ground trembled beneath their feet as the distant booms of the Alliance's bombardment grew closer. Ras's skeletal features twitched with anticipation. "The humans have arrived," he murmured. "Have him prepared, now." he ordered his necromancers. The undead spellcasters redoubled their efforts, their incantations weaving around the creature like a sinister web.

Jaina, knew that she had to act swiftly. She couldn't face this alone, and her mana was dangerously low after her covert reconnaissance. She retreated from the cavern. The cold wind stung her face as she emerged into the light, the chaos of battle unfolding before her.

Her gaze searched for Falric, needing to warn him as soon as possible. She spotted his distinctive blue tabard amidst the chaos of the clashing forces, banners of Lordaeron snapping in the breeze.

Ignoring the artillery and meteor-like projectiles raining down on the undead base, Jaina sprinted through the tumultuous battlefield with unmatched agility, her eyes focused on Falric's unmistakable blue tabard. Each step brought her closer to the human and dwarf lines, her breath coming in quick gasps as she dodged the deadly rain of mortar and artillery fire from the Siege Engines. It was chaotic, but it was needed.

Finally, she reached the edge of the fray and took a deep breath, gathering her waning magical reserves. With a flick of her wrist, she cast her invisibility spell. Falric was nearby, barking orders and rallying his troops. She approached him, her hand reaching out to grab his armor.

"Falric!" she whispered urgently, her voice barely audible over the din of battle. "I need to talk to you. Now!"

The captain's eyes widened in surprise, but he recognized the urgency in her tone. He nodded, and together they retreated to a small, secluded area behind the lines. "Lady Jaina?", he whispered. "What is it?"

Jaina's voice was a harsh whisper that cut through the din of the ongoing battle. "Falric, you have to tell Arthas and the others to pull back," she urged, her eyes filled with the gravity of her discovery. Falric's gaze snapped to hers, his surprise quickly morphing into concern.

"What do you mean?" he demanded in an equally concerned tone.

"They wanted them to come," Jaina replied, her words coming out in a rush. "They've... they've found a way to corrupt the very essence of the dragons. They have what they call a Frost Wyrm. It's being held back, biding its time until you and the others are lured into their trap."

Falric's eyes grew wide with shock. "A dragon?" he repeated, incredulous. "But how is that possible?"

"Necromancy and whatever twisted experiments," Jaina said, her expression grim. "I saw it myself. They had twisted the soul of a fallen blue dragon into a weapon of the Scourge. They intend to use it as a last resort, when we believe we are close to victory."

The knight's response was swift. "We have to inform the Prince," he said, his voice urgent. "If they've anticipated our arrival, then we're walking into a slaughter."

Jaina nodded with Falric's assessment. But as they turned to leave and warn Arthas, the ground suddenly trembled once more, and the cacophony of battle grew eerily silent. The bombardment from the Siege Engines and mortars had ceased, leaving the frozen landscape eerily quiet. Falric's heart sank as he realized the gravity of the situation. "It's too late," he murmured, his eyes on the horizon where the human and dwarven forces had begun their advance.

Jaina knew that they had to act quickly. "We can't let them walk into this," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with urgency. Falric followed suit, the two of them sprinting through the snow-covered ground, their boots leaving a trail of disturbed powder in their wake.

As theg approach, they could see Arthas, Muradin, Marwyn, and Baelgun had begun their march along with their men.

"Your Highness!" Falric called out, his voice carrying over the field. Arthas looked up, his eyes widening at the sight of Jaina.

"Jaina?" Arthas exclaimed, his voice filled with astonishment and of urgency at the sight of her. He did not want her to be in Northrend as he had told her back at Lordaeron. "How did you get here?"

"That doesn't matter, Arthas!" Jaina called out, her breath coming in white clouds in the frosty air. The prince and his comrades halted, their eyes questioning as they turned to face her. "Mal'Ganis has lured you here," she continued, her voice carrying the weight of her words. "He's luring you into a trap."

Arthas's eyes searched hers, a flicker of doubt and concern crossing his face. "How do you know this?" he demanded.

"I overheard the necromancers," Jaina panted, her eyes flicking to the horizon, where the Scourge forces were beginning to converge. "They've been preparing for you, waiting for the right moment to unleash-"

The sudden tremor was followed by a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very air around them. From the mouth of the cavern emerged a monstrosity that Jaina had only heard whispered about in her darkest nightmares: a creature of twisted bone and decay, the very essence of cold malice given form. The creature's wings unfurled with a sound like crackling ice, blotting out the sky as it took to the air. Jaina's words of warning hung unspoken in the air, her eyes wide with fear as the creature's gaze swept over the battlefield, seeking prey.

The Frost Wyrm dove, unleashing a frozen maelstrom that engulfed a knot of Alliance soldiers, their cries for mercy cut off as they were encased in a prison of solid ice. The ground cracked and shuddered beneath its weight as it landed. Arthas's eyes narrowed, his gaze fixed on the creature as he assessed the situation with the cold calculation of a seasoned warrior.

"Fall back!" he bellowed, his command echoing through the chaos. "Reform into groups and spread out! Do not engage the creature directly!" His men scurried to comply, their discipline holding firm despite their terror. Falric's voice joined his, his own orders sharp and precise as he rallied his knights.

Arthas gritted his teeth Frost Wyrm continued its rampage, his mind racing back to his darkest days as the Lich King's champion. The beast was a grim reminder of the power he had once wielded and the horrors he had unleashed upon the world. He knew firsthand the sheer might of such a creature and even created one himself through Saphiron. And right now, he wasn't sure as to how to defeat it with what they have.

Marwyn's eyes never left the monstrous creature, his expression a mix of horror and fascination. He swallowed hard and found his voice, turning to Arthas. "How do we bring it down?" he asked urgently.

Arthas's gaze remained fixed on the Frost Wyrm, his mind racing with strategies and tactics. "Muradin," he called out, "Your riflemen, do they have any incendiary powder?"

Muradin nodded grimly. "Aye, we do," he replied. "But most of it's back at the Siege Engines."

"We'll be needing that," Arthas said decisively. "It could be enough to at least damage the creature's frame, slow it down." He wasn't sure if it would work. But any option would do for now

Falric nodded in agreement. "We must buy ourselves some time," he said, his eyes scanning the battlefield for an opening.

Turning to Jaina, Arthas's eyes searched hers for a brief moment. "Can you distract it?" he asked, his voice low and urgent. "Keep it away from the others while we retrieve the incendiary rounds?"

Jaina nodded firmly, staff at the ready. "I'll do what I can," she said, her voice steady despite the fear that clawed at her insides.

The prince nodded, his eyes flickering with gratitude. "Good," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "Falric, take a squad and head back to the Siege Engines. Bring as much as you can carry," he ordered. "We'll hold them off here."

Falric didn't waste another second. He gathered a group of knights and riflemen and set off at a sprint, their boots digging into the icy ground as they retreated from the creature's path. Muradin and Marwyn remained, their eyes never leaving the Frost Wyrm.

"I'll keep it occupied," Jaina shouted over the din of battle, her eyes flashing with determination. "But be quick!"

She felt a hand placed on her shoulder, finding Arthas' cautious but determined gaze. "You won't be doing it alone.", he stated.

Jaina nodded, her eyes flickering with a mix of relief and concern. "Thank you," she called out to Arthas, her voice carrying over the din of battle. "But we have to be careful."

Arthas nodded gravely, his gaze never leaving the Frost Wyrm as it rampaged through the Alliance lines. "We will," he assured her. "Now, let's move!"

Together, the two sprinted towards the creature. As they approached, Jaina's fingertips began to crackle with fiery energy. She sent a barrage of fireballs at the creature, each one hitting its mark with precision. The Frost Wyrm roared in fury, its eyes glowing with a malevolent blue light as it turned to face the new threat.

Arthas, his war hammer held high, invoked the Holy Light. The energy surged around him, burning away the shadows and freezing mist that clung to the creature. With every swing of his weapon, he released bolts of searing light that struck the Frost Wyrm. The creature recoiled from the unexpected onslaught, its icy armor crackling and breaking under the hammer's relentless blows.

The Frost Wyrm, feeling the searing heat of Jaina's flames and the hammering might of Arthas's holy blows, bellowed with fury. Its monstrous eyes narrowed, focusing on the two humans. The creature reared back its head, its maw opening to unleash a deadly blast of energy.

The sorceress saw it. Without missing a beat, she raised her staff high and began to chant an incantation. The air around her grew hot, and a fiery aura enveloped her as she drew upon theessence of the fire elementals. The beam of frost grew closer, a stark contrast to the inferno she had conjured.

As the icy projectile was about to collide with the duo, Jaina released a torrent of flames that met its frosty counterpart head-on. The clash was explosive, the two opposing forces of nature colliding in a spectacle of light and sound that dwarfed even the tumult of the ongoing battle. For a moment, it seemed as if the very fabric of the air was being torn apart by the sheer power of the elemental conflict. The dwarven riflemen, and the knights of Lordaeron watched in awe as the two energies danced in a fiery ballet, swirling and twisting around one another, neither giving ground.

Jaina felt the crushing pressure of the creature's attack pushing against her own. But then, a sudden surge of warmth and power flooded her, and she realized that Arthas had stepped forward, his hand clasping hers. His eyes, normally filled with a fiery determination, were now suffused with the soft glow of the Light as it helped empower her attack. With a roar of defiance, she channeled the last of her strength into the spell, and the two streams of power met in a clash of elemental fury. The blue beam shuddered and then shattered into a million shimmering ice crystals, dissipating into the air like a fleeting breath of winter. The Frost Wyrm reeled back, momentarily stunned by the display of unyielding will and power.

The creature, took to the skies once more, seeking to escape the flaming embrace that had nearly claimed it. But Falric's timely arrival brought forth a new wave of hope. The dwarven riflemen, under Muradin's command, had managed to salvage two of their siege engines from the wreckage. With a fierce determination etched into their faces, they loaded and aimed them at the retreating behemoth.

The riflemen took a collective breath and pulled their triggers. A volley of flaming arcs shot through the sky, the fiery projectiles arcing to the sky. The first few shots fell short, but with each subsequent shot, the distance narrowed. The Frost Wyrm bellowed in pain as the first round of incendiary fire struck its body, the icy scales crackling and melting away like shards of glass under the intense heat. The creature's movements grew erratic, its once majestic flight now a desperate struggle to stay aloft.

The Frost Wyrm's roars grew more frantic as the incendiary roundsrained down upon it, the once-beautiful creature now a monstrous visage of pain and dwarven riflemen loaded another round of fiery ammo and took aim. This time, their shots found their mark. The final volley struck the Frost Wyrm with the force of a meteor, blowing off one of its wings and sending it plummeting towards the ground with a thunderous impact. The creature's cry of agony pierced the air, a sound that would haunt the nightmares of the soldiers for the rest of their lives.

Arthas and Jaina watched as the beast fell. The creature was still alive. The prince took a step forward, his war hammer glowing with the power of the Holy Light. He leaped over the shattered ice and debris. The creature attempted to rise, its tail whipping wildly. As it righted itself, it opened its maw, preparing to unleash another blast of freezing energy. But Arthas was quicker, charging at the Frost Wyrm with a speed that belied his heavy armor. He swung his hammer in a powerful arc, aiming at the skull, abruptly stopping it's attack.

"Jaina!" Arthas shouted, pointing at the exposed blue core of the Frost Wyrm. It was a pulsing, crystalline center of its power. She nodded, and with a deep breath, Jaina focused her energies, her eyes burning with the intensity of the fire she was about to unleash. The core pulsed with each agonized breath the creature took, taunting them with its unyielding resilience.

Jaina took aim, her staff glowing a fiery orange. She could feel the power building, coalescing into a single, focused point at the tip of her weapon. The Frost Wyrm, though grievously injured, still managed to fix its gaze upon her. Arthas stepped aside, granting her a clear shot, his own weapon held at the ready.

The moment stretched into an eternity as Jaina channeled her power. Then she released the spell. A bolt of pure, searing flame shot forth from her staff, a crimson streak that pierced the heart of the Frost Wyrm's core. The creature's eyes widened in agony as the bolt struck true, the core exploding in a burst of light that momentarily blinded all who bore witness. The explosion sent a shockwave through the surrounding ice, shattering it into a million shards that glinted in the sunlight, reflecting the fiery demise of the creature.

The Frost Wyrm let out one final, desperate roar before it went still, its body convulsing once and then falling silent. The air grew cold again, the warmth of the battle dissipating as quickly as it had come. The creature lay before them, defeated.

The aftermath of the battle was a stark reminder of the price paid for victory. The survivors of the Alliance forces gathered around the lifeless form of the Frost Wyrm, feeling disheartened of the comrades they lost. The air grew still, the only sounds being the distant clanging of weapons and the pained gasps of the injured. Arthas' gaze swept over the carnage before settling on Jaina, whose face was a mask of determination and exhaustion.

He had told her stay back at Stratholme. For her own safety and his own desire for her not to see him.

And yet, she persisted and went with him anyway.

Arthas could see the unyielding resolve in Jaina's eyes as she stared back at him, the warmth of her concern stark against the icy backdrop of the battlefield. She had always been one to press for answers, and he knew that now was not the time to push her aside.


Back at the camp...

The air around them stiffened as Jaina and Arthas stared at one another tensely. The Prince could only find the determined and frustrated look at the Archmage was giving him. He swallowed hard, seeing that she wouldn't be deterred this time. But he was adamant at not involving her in any way and wanted her away from Mal'Ganis at all costs.

The men, excluding Falric, looked confused as their Prince did not appear to appreciate the Archmage's presence despite her assistance from earlier. As did Muradin and the dwarves, not sure what to make out with this.

"You shouldn't be here, Jaina...", Arthas said through gritted teeth as he looked at the Archmage's unyielding spirit. "This isn't where you're supposed to go."

Jaina glared at his attempt to push her away again. "I'm here to make sure you didn't do anything reckless, Arthas.", the Sorceress retorted, trying her best to see through his fears and her doubts.

Arthas stepped around Jaina, his boots crunching in the snow as he made his way back to the tent. "I'll have a ship to bring you back to Lordaeron.", he simply stated "Uther or Antonidas need you back home more than I do."

"You know very well that I could easily teleport back here, Arthas", Jaina retorted in frustration.

"This isn't your fight, Jaina," Arthas said firmly, his jaw set as he walked past her, his eyes reflecting a mix of pain and determination. "I have to stop Mal'Ganis and the Scourge, and that is all that matters."

Jaina stepped closer to him, her eyes flashing with a fierce resolve that matched his own. "I'm not letting you do this on your own, Arthas!"

Arthas stopped in his tracks, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and pain. He whirled around to face her. "You don't get it, Jaina," he growled, the words cutting through the cold air like a knife.

"Get what, Arthas?" she shot back, her voice filled with frustration and a hint of hurt. "What you were hiding? What troubled you? You never trusted me to know what they even are!"

He looked back at her, feeling the inner turmoil within building up as he tried to speak. "That's not it, Jaina-"

It was there, she finally had enough. "THEN WHAT WAS IT THEN?!", Jaina finally shouted at him.

The feeling, was mutual, and he shouted back. "I DON'T WANT TO BE A MONSTER AGAIN!"

The words hung in the air, the weight of his anguish palpable in the sudden silence that enveloped the camp. Jaina's eyes widened in shock at his outburst, her hand reaching out to him in a gesture of comfort that was as much for herself as it was for him. Falric and the others watched, stunned by the raw emotion on the Prince's face—an emotion they had never seen from him before.

"Arthas," she whispered, her voice trembling with concern. "How could you..."

Arthas felt a cold shiver run down his spine as he realized what he had just admitted to Jaina. He had never intended to reveal his fears so openly, but the words had spilled from his lips like a dam breaking under the weight of his guilt. He turned away from her, unable to face the horror that he knew would be reflected in her eyes. "I never wanted you to see me like this," he murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I..." He took a deep, ragged breath, his fists clenching at his sides.

Jaina stepped closer, her hand reaching out tentatively to touch his armored shoulder. "Arthas," she said softly, her voice filled with a mix of shock and sadness. "Tell me what's going on. I can help you, I swear it."

But the prince was already shaking his head. "You can't," he said, the finality in his tone cutting like a dagger. "This is something I have to do myself. For your own sake, for everyone's sake, I can't have you here beside me."

Jaina felt the warmth of his armor under her hand and knew that he was right. There was something dark and dangerous in Northrend that she didn't fully understand, and she feared for him. But she also knew that she couldn't just leave him to his fate. "Arthas," she begged, her voice breaking. "I can't just leave you here."

Arthas took a step away from Jaina. The torment of his past life was a festering wound that had just been exposed to the harsh light of day, and he could not bear to look into her eyes and see the betrayal that would surely be reflected there. "I can't let you come with me, Jaina," he said, his voice strained with emotion. "What I have to deal with, it's not something that you should ever have to see."

Jaina's eyes searched his, filled with confusion and pain. "What are you talking about?" she pleaded, her voice trembling. "You can't just shut me out like this!"

The prince's gaze fell to the ground. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his shoulders heaving beneath his armor. "You won't see me the same way we had as kids."

"That's not true, Arthas," Jaina insisted, reaching out to grasp his hand. "I've seen the best and the worst of you. And I still believe in you. In the personI know you are."

With a heavy heart, Arthas pulled his hand away from hers, his eyes avoiding hers. "Jaina," he said, his voice a whisper of torment. "Seeing you hurt because of me is the last thing I wanted to do. And if you knew what I truly am, what I've become...you'd hate me as much as I hate myself." He took another step back, the snow crunching under his boots as he tried to maintain his composure.

Her eyes filled with unshed tears, Jaina's voice was steady despite the tremor that ran through her. "You don't get to decide that for me, Arthas," she replied firmly. "Whatever it is that you're hiding, I can handle it."

He shook his head, his expression one of deep anguish. "No, you can't," he said, his voice cracking. "You can't handle what I've done. No one can." He turned and strode away from her, his armor clanking with every step that took him closer to the privacy of his tent.

Jaina simply stood there, biting her lip in utter frustration and of anger at how much he had cut her off all this time. She would normally regret doing this, but she'd rather have all her regrets sink to the bottom of the ocean if she would not do this now.

Arthas left her the first time at Heartglen when she tried to know what was troubling him, where he was even close to confessing as to what he was about to say.

He left her a second time at Stratholme when it was clear whatever truth he had hidden was hurting him and how he was adamant in pushing her away.

And now, here in Northrend, he was about to about to do the same for her.

Never again, she told within her inner mind. And she won't let him turn his back on her once more.

The sudden crack of Jaina's staff striking Arthas at the back of his head echoed through the camp, the sound jolting everyone from their silent contemplation. The Prince's armor clattered as he hit the ground, the snow beneath him cushioning the fall slightly. His men, including Muradin, immediately tensed, ready to jump to his aid, but Falric's raised his hand, signalling all of them to stop at their tracks.

The camp stood still in shock as Jaina dropped her staff and threw herself onto Arthas, pinning him to the ground with surprising strength fueled by her tumultuous emotions. Her right fist rained down on his face, each hit landing with precision and fury. "How could you tell me that I couldn't understand, Arthas?!" she shouted at him, her anger and hurt mixing into a torrent of fury. "After everything that we've been through!?"

The Prince lay beneath her, his eyes closed, not offering any resistance. He took the blows stoically, the armor absorbing much of the impact, but the pain was not what he was feeling at the moment. The emotional torment was what he allowed to happen, as he knew that she had to let out all her pent-up frustrations and fears. "Jaina," he whispered, his voice hoarse and filled with pain. "You don't want to know."

"I have to know!" she screamed back, her fist continuing their assault. "I can't keep watching you like this!"

Tears streamed down Jaina's face as she punched him, her knuckles growing raw. Arthas's silence was deafening, his eyes revealing a deep abyss of guilt and regret. Marwyn and Muradin watched, their expressions a mix of shock and concern, but they knew better than to interfere.

Falric in the meantime, knew this was their chance. A chance to heal the rift or let it widen further. Which is why he allowed this to happen.

Jaina's fists continued to pound against Arthas's unyielding armor, each hit resonating with the depth of her pain and frustration. "You've had us all worried sick, Arthas!" she cried out, her voice hoarse with emotion. "Do you have any idea what you're putting us through?" Her blows grew more desperate, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "You can't just keep all of this to yourself! Why won't you let us help you?"

The Prince remained still beneath her, his eyes squeezed shut as the impact of her words hit him harder than her fists ever could. His jaw was clenched tightly, a silent testament to the internal struggle he was enduring. "Jaina," he murmured, his voice strained, "If you knew the truth..."

"I don't care what the truth is!" she interrupted, her voice thick with anger and anguish. "All I know is that you're suffering, and you won't let anyone in!"

Her words hung in the tense silence that had fallen over the camp. Arthas felt a tear slip down his cheek, the coldness of the snow mingling with the heat of his guilt. He knew he had pushed her too far, that he had hurt her with his secrets and his refusal to confide in her. And yet, he could not bring himself to reveal the dark truth that lurked within him, the knowledge that would forever change the way she saw him.

The prince's body remained still, his breathing shallow, as the Archmage continued her verbal and physical onslaught. "I've watched you suffer in silence, watched you push everyone away!" she wailed. "But I can't do it anymore!"

Arthas's chest heaved with each word she spoke, each one a dagger to his soul. He knew he had hurt her, and it was a pain he could never undo.

But Jaina was beyond words of apology. Her fists pummeled his face, leaving his cheeks bruised and his nose bleeding.

Jaina's fist slowed its assault, her strength waning as she stared down at Arthas, his bruised and bloodied face a mirror of her own heartache. "Is it too much to ask for you to trust me?" she sobbed, her eyes searching his. "To let us help you with whatever it is that's causing you so much pain?"

The Prince's eyes finally opened, the pain and regret in them so deep it was like staring into the abyss. He didn't move to push her away, allowing her to continue her desperate pleas. "It's not that I don't trust you, Jaina," he said, his voice a barely audible whisper. "It's that I don't trust myself."

Her grip on his shoulders tightened, the cold metal of his armor digging into her skin. "Then why, Arthas?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and despair.

Arthas took a deep, ragged breath, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "You wouldn't," he said, the words ripping from his chest like a dagger. "No one would."

As Jaina's fists grew weaker, her sobs grew louder, her rage morphing into despair. "You once made me promise, Arthas" she managed through her tears, her voice hoarse from the screams. "I promised I would never turn my back on you, no matter what. Did I ever break that promise?" Each question was a knife to his heart, twisting deeper with every syllable.

Arthas felt the weight of Jaina's words crash down on him like a mountain of ice. Her promise to never leave his side was a beacon of light in the dark abyss of his soul, but also selfish for him to make her promise that to him. Yet, here he was, pushing her away for fear of what she might find if she truly knew the extent of his corruption. The thought of losing her, of watching the disgust and revulsion replace the love in her eyes, was more than he could bear. He knew he was being selfish. But the fear of the truth, the fear of losing her, was a rift that he could not bring himself to cross.

In that moment, his thoughts were a storm.

He recognized the cowardice in his actions, the way he had hidden behind, afraid to face the reality of his past. He had become a coward. A liar.

The fear of becoming the monster that had destroyed so much again and the fear of losing her had driven him to push her away.

He had hoped that by keeping her in the dark, he could protect her from the taint of his own soul.

But as he looked into her eyes, filled with anger and pain, he realized that he had only hurt her more.

His pursuit of power and domination as the Lich King had left a scar on her world, one that she had suffered from. The weight of his guilt and self-loathing was like a millstone around his neck, dragging him down into the depths of his own despair.

Finally, the dam of his resolve cracked, and Arthas spoke, his voice weak and strained. "Jaina..." He paused, his eyes finally meeting hers, filled with a torrent of pain and regret. "If I could, I would have you stay in Lordaeron, if it meant that you wouldn't be hurt by it."

Jaina's sobs slowly subsided, her fists unclenching as she stared down at the prince who had won her heart before. Her eyes searched his bruised and bloodied face, finding a man haunted by a fate that seemed to chase him like a relentless specter. Her breaths grew steady as she knelt beside him, her hand reaching out to gently wipe away the blood trickling from his nose.

"You're not my King, Arthas. I'm not following that command," she said, her voice shaky but determined. "Even if you were."

Arthas' eyes widened. Those were the same words that Uther told him when he ordered him to purge Startholme. And now, Jaina is using them.

"Why?", he weakly asked, almost pleading as if why did she think he was worth her attention and time. "How could you say that?"

Her eyes searched his, a fiery resolve burning in their depths. "Because I'm not leaving you.", she declared in a whisper. "Not this time."

In that moment, Arthas did not feel like a Paladin of Justice or the Lich King who ruled through fear. He is, but a man whose shackles in the heart were broken.

Her unwavering determination to stand by him, even in the face of his own self-loathing and fear, was a stark contrast to the memory of her standing at the gates of Stratholme, her eyes filled with a mix of horror and sorrow as she watched him succumb to the madness that consumed him. The pain of her past abandonment washed over him, a cruel reminder of the man he had become and the chasm he had created between them. Yet, here she was, her hand tenderly brushing the cold snow from his cheek, her gaze unyielding.

In that moment, he was torn between the guilt of the past and the warmth of the present. The memory of her desperation as she pleaded for his sanity in the icy halls of Icecrown Citadel was as vivid as the sting of the cold metal beneath her touch. Her unyielding belief in the goodness that still dwelled within him, was allowed a part of him to try and fight within the prison he had locked himself to.

"Yet, some scars can only be mended when others lend their light to your darkness. In time, you will be made to allow others to help you heal.", the words of the Prophet in their previous conversation at Stratholme came back to him like a ghost.

"I know this as much: a healed scar is preferable to an untreated wound.", Falric's words came back to him as well when they spoke back at the ship. "If she is hurt, then help her heal from it."

He couldn't take it anymore.

His heart pounded as he took in Jaina's fiery resolve. Her words resonated deep within his soul. The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning—his fears had not only isolated him from those he cared for but had also allowed the very darkness he feared to fester. With a trembling hand, he reached up and took hers, feeling the warmth of her skin against his cold, armored gauntlet. He took a deep, shuddering breath, the weight of his secrets almost too much to bear.

He knew he can't do this alone anymore.

He had to face the truth and share the burden of his past with those who had the power to either shatter him or lift him from his despair. Looking into the pools of blue fire that were Jaina's eyes, he saw the love and friendship that had survived the ravages of his corruption. Her unyielding belief in him was a beacon in the dark, and it was time for him to step into the light.

Arthas closed his eyes. "Alright then...", he whispered to her.

Jaina's eyes widened slightly, unsure of what she had just heard. "What?", she asked.

Arthas took a moment to compose himself. His eyes searched Jaina's, finding the warmth and understanding that he had feared was lost to him forever. He nodded weakly, the admission of his folly a heavy burden lifted from his soul. "You're right, Jaina," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "I've been a fool to push you away, when I do need people to help me."

The mage looked at him in shock, her hand still on his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin beneath his armor.

The Prince took a deep, shaky breath, the words feeling like shards of ice leaving his mouth. "I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have kept it from you. I was afraid... afraid of what you'd think of me, of what everyone would think. But I see now, that I can't bear it alone."

He spoke again. "I'm sorry, Jaina," Arthas began, his voice cracking. "You're right, you do deserve to know the truth. But it's something...that isn't easily shared," he paused, swallowing hard. "It's not something I can share with you now. Not here. Not when we're so close to ending this." He looked into her eyes, searching for a spark of understanding. "But once Mal'Ganis and the rest are dealt with," he promised, "I will tell you everything."

The archmage was taken aback by the sudden shift in Arthas's demeanor. She had seen him stoic, determined, and even cold, but never had she seen him so...vulnerable. Her hand hovered over his face, unsure of what to do. "You do?" she asked, her voice shaky.

She studied Arthas's bruised and bloodied face, his eyes brimming with a sincerity that she hadn't seen in what felt like an eternity. Her hand, still hovering over his cheek, trembled slightly as she contemplated his promise. The doubt that had been festering in her heart was now at war with the hope that he was finally willing to confide in her.

The prince nodded, his expression a mix of pain and relief. "I am," he assured her, his voice a raspy whisper. "I can't keep it from you any longer." He took a shuddering breath, his eyes never leaving hers. "If it would only hurt you more, then I don''t want to do it anymore."

Jaina's hand reached out, her fingertips brushing against his skin as if to confirm he was real, that this moment was not a figment of her desperate imagination.

Arthas took her hand in his, his grip firm but gentle, feeling the warmth of her skin against his gauntlet. "Jaina," he said with a solemnity that seemed to silence the very wind around them. He paused, his eyes searching hers for any signs of doubt or fear. "But if there's one person in this world I trust to understand, it would be you. And now, I need your help. More than ever"

Jaina's eyes searched his, the hurt and anger slowly giving way to a quiet acceptance. She knew Arthas too well to doubt his sincerity in this moment.

With a heavy heart, Jaina nodded. "Alright, Arthas," she said, her voice filled with a mix of pain and hope. "If you believe that telling me will help, then I'll be here to listen, through and through." Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of doubt. "But you have to promise something in return."

His response was immediate. "Anything."

Her ocean blue eyes met his green ones with such warmth. "You'll never push me away again," she said firmly with finality. "That's all I ask from you."

Arthas's grip on her hand tightened slightly as he met her gaze, the depth of his regret and pain reflected in his eyes. "I promise," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "I'll never turn you away again, Jaina."

Jaina's touch was tender, her thumbs tracing the contours of his cheekbones, feeling the warmth of his skin. Arthas closed his eyes, leaning into her embrace, his body momentarily forgetting the pain of his bruised flesh. "I promise," he murmured to her again, "I'll never turn you away again."

Their foreheads pressed together, the cold air of the night seemingly forgotten, as the warmth of their bond surged between them. Jaina felt the tremor of his sigh against her skin, a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand regrets and fears. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "For trusting me."

Falric, who had been standing a few paces away, watching the scene unfold with a heavy heart, now allowed himself a small smile. The sight of the two finally beginning to heal the rift that had grown between them filled him with a sense of pride and hope. He knew the journey ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty, but if Arthas could find solace in Jaina's presence, perhaps there was a chance after all.

The two guards, their faces a picture of shock at the sight of their prince on the ground, cautiously approached Arthas and Jaina. One spoke in a hushed tone, "Your Highness, shall we...?"

Arthas lifted a hand, cutting the guard off. "It's alright," he assured them. "It was just... a misunderstanding." The guards exchanged glances, unsure of what to make of the situation, but they knew better than to question the prince's orders.

Jaina offered her hand to help him up, and after a moment of hesitation, Arthas took it, allowing her to pull him to his feet. His knees wobbled slightly, a side effect of the beating and his own inner turmoil. She searched his face, the bruises and blood stark against the stark moonlight, her heart aching at the sight of his pain.

"Come on," she suggested gently, her voice carrying the weight of their newfound understanding. "I'll make sure you're alright."

He nodded, leaning on her slightly for support. They walked in silence, each step echoing the gravity of their conversation. As they reached the tent, Arthas paused, his hand on the flap, looking back at her. "Thank you, Jaina," he murmured, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and hope.

The archmage offered a small smile, but she felt the relief brought to her. "You're welcome, Arthas," she replied, her voice a balm to his weary soul.

Muradin stared at the retreating figures of Arthas and Jaina, his expression a comical mix of astonishment and bewilderment. He turned to Falric, his voice a gruff whisper, "Did you see that, lad? Did I just see the mighty Arthas get his arse handed to him by a lass half his size?" Falric couldn't help but chuckle.

"Aye, Muradin," Falric replied, his eyes twinkling with mirth. "It seems our Prince has more layers than an onion, doesn't it?"

The dwarf grunted in amusement. "I've seen him take on creatures bigger than him and the undead, but never knew he was so... fragile," he said, his words teasing yet filled with affection.

Falric clapped Muradin on the shoulder, his smile growing wider. "But it's not fragility," he said, his tone light despite the gravity of the situation. "It's the strength of his heart, making room for those he cares for. Besides, everyone needs to be knocked down a peg or two, especially if it's by someone they hold dear."

Muradin raised an eyebrow, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "You knew this would happen," he accused, his voice gruff yet laced with a hint of amusement. "Why did you let the wee lass kick his ass?"

Falric's smile grew a tad wider, his eyes gleaming with a knowing glint. "Sometimes, the best way to heal a wound is to let it bleed," he replied, his gaze flickering to the prince and archmage. "Their bond is strong. This was a step in the right direction, if a painful one."

The captain further added. "I had a feeling that some things needed to be said, and better they be said in private," he said with a knowing look. "And it seems our Prince found his voice again."

The dwarf chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a sly one, Falric," he said, a note of admiration in his voice. "But I suppose that's why you're the Prince's right hand."


Literally the first time I wrote a drama scenario in years, maybe a bit too far given how extreme Jaina reacted. But someone's gotta beat some sense out of Arthas (literally) if he's trying to pull off that stunt again.