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Icecrown.
The desolate, frozen terrain hid many evils buried beneath its snowcapped peaks and icy landscapes. Colossal gates segmented the canyon carved from Crystalsong Forest unto the very gates of Icecrown Citadel.
Those gates have been torn asunder. Mord’rethar, Aldur’thar, and Corp’rethar lay in shattered ruin against the combined forces of the three great factions. Unease filled both the Alliance and the Horde, and they would have come to blows had the Cenarion Accord not agreed to take the field for the good of Azeroth.
Six figures stood at the head of the vast invasion force, staring at the mighty fortress. Before the Lich King’s invasion, it would have been difficult to assemble the leaders in one place, but the fierce glare of Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and leader of the Accord, quelled the rebellious attitudes of Varian Wrynn, High-King of the Alliance and Thrall, Warchief of the Horde. Joined by Tirion Fordring, HIghlord of the Argent Crusade, Darion Mograine, Highlord of the Ebon Blade, and Khadgar, Leader of the Archmages of New Dalaran, the grim endeavor drew the fractious forces together.
Rubbing his stubbled chin, Varian regarded the citadel’s gates with a practiced eye. “Khadgar… Those gates are proof against severe cold. What are the chances they are vulnerable to heat?”
Leaning against Atiesh, the archmage shrugged, “Depending on how they were crafted? Not terribly high. If they were raised as one piece? Potentially. If they were forged? Not particularly.” Khadgar glanced at Thrall, “Brute force? Possible. We could use siege equipment or massive elementals.”
The orc grimaced, “The land is tainted. It screams for relief and cannot aid us. It is as great a victim as those raised into undeath.” He raised his face to the chill breeze, “The Air, Fire, and Water will come to our aid if needed.”
Tyrande looked contemplative, “If we had uncorrupted soil, could you ward it from encroachment?”
Thrall blinked, “I could. What did you have in mind?”
The elf whispered to the owl perched on her shoulder and sent it skyward, “My druids. A truth of civilization is Nature always wins. If you can preserve the earth, ours can grow plants strong enough to shatter even this dread keep.”
Two tall figures joined the leaders, Varian’s face lighting in surprised joy. “Broll. It’s been some time.”
The night elf nodded, “Indeed, King Varian.” He turned to Tyrande, “You summoned us, High Priestess?”
“Broll. Hamuul. Have several druids accompany Khadgar’s mages. We need enough soil to cultivate treants. Lesser Ancients if possible.”
The mighty tauren bowed low, “As you wish, Priestess.” The pair took to wing to rejoin the army and put their leader’s plan in motion.
Thrall looked on in chagrin, “Ah, the mighty Ancients.”
“The very same that keep your orcs from encroaching in our forests,” smirked Tyrande.
Khadgar smoothly inserted himself in the conversation to head off argument, “We can discuss our political differences another time. Perhaps our victory here can foster a lasting peace? Food for thought.”
ooOOoo
Exhaustion filled the great heroes of the invasion force. Hours? Days? Weeks? Time had long since lost meaning in the frozen halls of Icecrown. Plagued abominations, tortured dragons, elven vampires, and risen heroes were but a fraction of the horror that they waded through to this final battle.
“Heroes of Azeroth,” The ringing tones of Highlord Fordring seemed to fill them with renewed vigor, “We stand here on the edge of victory. Beyond this final gateway lay a foe greater than we have ever known. It is upon us, those who stand between the Damned and the free peoples of Azeroth, to see that threat ended for all time. Prepare, heroes. Our final battle is upon us.”
Crimson eyes narrowed in the shadows holding Sylvanas Windrunner. “I will have to give the sanctimonious bastard credit; he didn’t take cheap shots at my people.” She shuddered slightly in remembered pain, “We are free, and I will personally lodge an arrow in their monstrous little prince to see us stay that way.” Her hand idly reached into a hidden pocket in her armor and her fingertips danced over the pendant within. Faint currents of the arcane filled her mind with memory, much like the scent of fresh bread invokes thoughts of home. “He will pay for what he has taken from me.”
ooo
Eversong Woods
Sylvanas Windrunner, Ranger-General of Silvermoon stood vigilant as reports of an undead army began filtering in from beyond the Gates. An unexpected, yet not unwelcome, warmth radiated from her hip. Blinking in surprise, she pulled the heavily enchanted mirror and gazed fondly at the belligerent blonde glaring back from its surface, “Jaina… It is good to see your face. How goes the voyage to Kalimdor?”
“I didn’t go. I sent Rhonin and Vereesa in my place.”
Horror flooded her at her beloved’s words, “Jaina! No! You need to evacuate with the others!”
Jaina’s eyes narrowed, “So, it’s alright for you to risk your life, but I can’t do the same? Dalaran is my home now. At the risk of sounding immodest, I’m one of the most powerful mages here. They will need me for the defenses in case that bastard comes here too.” Her icy glare softened, “And what about you, my love? Could you do anything less than defend your people?”
Before she could respond, a horrendous detonation tore through the air nearly making her drop the precious mirror, “He’s… He’s here. The Gates have fallen.”
“Be safe, my love. Sylvanas. Come back to me.”
The ranger looked with faint tears streaking down her face, looking with love at her precious mage. “You are my heart, Jaina Proudmoore. That whiny little princeling couldn’t keep us apart before, and there’s nothing he can do to keep us apart now.” She shuddered a ragged gasp as the mirror turned black, an emptiness filling her heart. Wiping her face clean, she turned her steely glare to the horizon and smirked as she remembered words spoken to an enraged Arthas when his suit was firmly rejected, “Sorry, Arthas. I have other plans, and it would be rude to keep a lady waiting.”
Moments before her soul was torn from her body, her last thoughts were of her beloved Jaina and regret.
ooo
The heroes stood defiant against the slowly approaching Lich King. “Ah, Heroes. It is good that you have decided to join me. It would have been… tiresome to collect you all individually.” His glowing eyes flickered from face to face, “The mightiest of Azeroth gathered together. You will make fine commanders.”
A soft thrum rang out followed by a whirling cloak and steel shattering upon steel as Frostmourne intercepted an arrow from the shadows. “Sylvanas… Come to bend the knee once more? Tell me… Do you like the décor?” He gestured negligently behind the assembled masses to a place directly opposite the frozen throne.
Sylvanas felt heavy as her legendary impassiveness shattered, “Jaina…”
Entombed in ice, preserved just as she was those years ago. Unbidden, a forgotten memory resurfaced in the Banshee Queen.
Arcane shields shattered at the Banshee’s cry. Cruel hoof steps followed her floating form as the last defender raised barrier after barrier. “Touching.” Arthas drew even with the banshee as he smiled cruelly at the lone mage. “I would have thought you’d welcome your lover, Jaina.”
“You’re no lover of mine, Arthas. That was all wishful thinking on your part.”
Mocking laughter rang out, “Not I. Do you not recognize your precious Sylvanas?” He gestured at the ethereal undead at his side.
“No…” The barriers fell as Jaina collapsed to her knees. “How could you?”
“It was all too easy. She should never have kept you from me. And now, you will be mine forever.” He raised his fell blade, “Whether you will it, or not.”
“Never.” Reaching deep within the wellspring of her magic and the leylines yet coursing through Dalaran, Jaina closed her eyes and encased herself in everlasting ice.
Her hands blurred as she sent a relentless volley of arrows toward Arthas, a feral cry ripping past her lips. She barely comprehended the combined battle cry of the assembled heroes. Her quiver emptied, she cast her bow aside and ripped a pair of daggers from their sheathes and entered the melee against the man who took everything from her.
Shift. Duck. Flip. Slash. Her mind narrowly focused on her objective as she pressed the attack, occasionally retaking her ethereal form to flow around her foe and other combatants. Finally facing him directly, she snarled as her crossed blades halted Frostmourne’s overhand strike. Unfortunately, in a contest of main strength, the brutish Lich King would prove the victor and drove Sylvanas to one knee. The smirk under his helm provoked Sylvanas as she levied a tightly focused Scream to resound in his head.
Disoriented briefly, he did not see the descending Ashbringer, and the dreaded Frostmourne shattered between the Holy Blade and the unyielding Banshee Queen.
Rising quickly to her feet, Sylvanas pounced inside his guard and drove her blades into the Lich King’s neck, taking him to the ground. A swift kick removed the Helm as the fallen Ranger sneered, “That was for Jaina, you prick.” She looked up at her frozen love, “As the light leaves you and the Hells take you, remember this. She was not and will never be yours.” She tore her blades free, then deftly cleaned and sheathed them. Walking past Tirion, she nodded, “He’s all yours, Highlord.”
With a nimbleness that did her heritage proud, she deftly scaled the obscene monument to Arthas’ greed. Tugging off her clawed gauntlet, her fingers traced the ice separating her from her love. Her ears twitched and an almost foreign feeling of hope lanced through her heart as the ice quietly began to crack.
ooo
Highlord Fordring cradled the cursed helm, staring into its fathomless depths, ignoring the commotion behind him. “The weight of such a burden… It must be mine, for there is no other to-“
“TIRION! You hold a grim destiny in your hands, brother… but it is not your own.”
Blinking in surprise, Tirion looked up toward the Frozen Throne and gasped under his breath when he recognized its inhabitant, “Bolvar! By all that is holy…”
Bolvar grimaced as he looked at his scorched hand, “The dragon’s flame sealed my fate. The world of the living can no longer comfort me.” His eyes locked upon Tirion as the elder paladin approached, “Place the crown upon my head, Tirion. Forevermore, I will be the jailer of the damned.”
Tirion turned to walk away when an icy voice interrupted them both. "Pathetic." Tirion spun, helm in hand, while Bolvar raised his eyes in shock. Jaina's still frosted form drifted closer as a sharp gesture ripped the cursed object from the Highlord's hands. "No attempts to study the damned thing, just a pissing contest on who can be the best martyr? Truly pathetic."
The Highlord staggered in shock, “Lady Proudmoore? You live?” He took in her appearance and paled. Her once golden hair was a bluish white, her eyes glowed like ethereal sapphires, and her skin was nearly white as the fallen snow. The clothing she wore in life, utterly impractical for the frozen environment, proved no hindrance.
A bitter smile crossed the mage’s face, “After a fashion.” Sylvanas's red eyes seemed to glow as her former lover sneered at the assembled 'heroes.' "Nobody is putting this fucking thing on until we know exactly what it does. Now go home. This isn't for sad old men who couldn't tell their precious princeling 'no.'"
Tirion began to object, “I cannot allow that.”
The undead mage slammed her staff into the chilled stone, “I said go!” The staff flared as the assembled heroes were mass teleported from the pinnacle of Icecrown. Jaina privately savored the look of shocked horror on Tirion’s face as he was forcibly relocated. She leaned heavily on her staff and smiled faintly at the amused Sylvanas.
“Impressive.”
The pair turned to see two living figures remaining before the Frozen Throne. “You… have me at a disadvantage.” Jaina’s eyes scoured the two for detail, but the elven woman was a cipher to her, and the elder mage was unknown, despite his clear allegiance to Dalaran.
Sylvanas took it upon herself to provide introductions, her sultry voice tinged with respect, “Lady Jaina Proudmoore, may I introduce the infamous Khadgar, leader of the Archmages of New Dalaran, and Lady Tyrande Whisperwind, High Priestess of Elune and leader of the Cenarion Accord.”
Khadgar sketched a courtly bow and Tyrande inclined her head. Jaina blinked, “Those are… new to me. New Dalaran?”
The Archmage took the opportunity to continue, “The Council of Six was reformed after Dalaran fell. I… must confess, I did not expect to see you here. Your legend quite eclipses my own if I can be a touch immodest. Your defense of Dalaran allowed a great many of our citizens to evacuate and prevented Kel’thuzad and Arthas from breaching the Vault.” He scratched his chin, “Granted, they sought out another source of magic to summon the Burning Legion to Azeroth, but the delay saved untold lives.”
“New Dalaran, Archmage,” The impatient Proudmoore nudged.
“Ah! Just so. Forgive the woolgathering. I’m not as young as I used to be. Not as old either, but I digress.” He hurried at their slight scowl and Tyrande’s sigh, “New Dalaran was founded by the survivors of Lordaeron, Dalaran, and Quel’thalas by Rhonin and Vereesa Windrunner. Technically, the head of state is a council. Vereesa for the High Elves, myself for the Archmages, and…” He hesitated, “Calia Menethil for Lordaeron.”
Jaina blinked, “Calia made it? Good.”
Khadgar relaxed a touch, “Ah. Yes. Quite.”
“Archmage, if I were irrational enough to tar everyone tainted by association with…” She gestured at the corpse staring blankly at the sky, “Him, I would have few people to talk to. Speaking of…” She shoved the crystal of her staff into his side and channeled fire magic through it. The black flames surprised her, but she did not let it show as she rendered her killer to ash and dust. She turned back toward Tyrande, “And the Cenarion Accord?”
The elven priestess’s rich voice sent a light shiver down her spine, and a sidelong glance saw a knowing smirk on Sylvanas’s face, “We are a neutral faction, separate from the squabbling between the Alliance and Horde. We guard Azeroth and often must steer them like petulant children from their petty conflicts. The Night Elves, my people, the Tauren, Draenei, and the city of New Dalaran, are all members of the Cenarion Accord.”
Sylvanas scowled lightly at the explanation, “Just so.” At Jaina’s tilted head, she continued with a sigh, “The Forsaken, formed of the free Undead, are members of the Horde. We were spat upon and shunned by the Alliance and had no means of contact with the Accord.” A bitter smile crossed her face, “Vereesa still refuses to see me.”
Jaina sighed, “That girl…” She arched an eyebrow at Sylvanas’ amusement, “For all that she is unknown centuries older than I am, she’s still such a child.”
“If I may be so bold,” Khadgar began. “You seem… different than I would expect.”
Sylvanas drawled, “Well, she has been locked in ice for some time. I’d imagine that would change things.” The undead elf was positively beside herself and almost came undone by the familiar smirk that graced the mage’s face.
“A chilling prospect, indeed.” Her smirk bloomed into a grin at Sylvanas’ snort of amusement, “If that damnable sword had not been partly stuck in the ice, adding an odd variable in the magical matrix, I would have emerged the same as I was. Alive, that is.” She tapped her chin as she stared at the shattered blade, “It’s not… necromantic, at least not as we know it. It should be gathered for study along with the helm. I may be able to piece together its origins and do something about all… this.” She gestured vaguely around herself and at Icecrown.
The ranger nudged the mage with a laugh, “Story first, research later, my love.”
Jaina looked up, “Still?”
“Always.”