Welcome back, readers of Dead Moon. New readers – I direct your attention to my profile, where you will find the story that directly precedes this one. I strongly suggest you go read Dead Moon before tackling Frozen Sun, as there are a lot of things that will not make sense.

This story will detail the further adventures of Grimmjow and Vellena, this time in Azeroth. As Dead Moon was Vellena-centric, Frozen Sun will be Grimmjow-centric. He gets a lot of face time in this story. I am also very mean to him. Bwahaha.

Once again, this story is rated M. There are scenes of violence, torture, nudity and lemons (some of it definitely not vanilla), and of course, foul language. So reader, be warned. This is definitely not for under-age eyes.

This story is also longer than Dead Moon. The chapters will be longer as well. I will try to maintain a posting schedule of at least one chapter every three days, if not sooner, but keep in mind these are a little more time-consuming.

Anyhow, that's quite enough for an author's note. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

It was the thirst that finally woke him. His eyes were sticky; he rubbed crusty sleep from them and cracked them open. Pain surged in his head as the world came into focus. He was slightly surprised that he could feel pain – after all, wasn't he dead? The last thing he clearly remembered was that huge shinigami with the ungodly powerful reiatsu join Kurosaki in watching Vellena go balls-out on Nnoitra. He'd been pretty sure that if he closed his eyes, it would be the last time; and somewhere along the way he'd finally passed out. That should have been it, right?

Wherever he was, it wasn't Las Noches. There was a distinct lack of sand, blue sky, or the colour white. He didn't think it was Soul Society either. Hell, he didn't know what happened to arrancar when they died. Did they go to Soul Society if a shinigami killed them? Did he actually have to die right there on some shinigami's zanpakutō, or did he just have to take a lethal wound for it to count? Come to think of it, did an arrancar's zanpakutō count? Did he die from Kurosaki, or from Nnoitra? Shit, this train of thought was pointless. He was dead, or he wasn't; and wherever he'd ended up, he was still Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez.

Groaning, he sat up, one hand on his forehead. Once he'd massaged away some of the pain, he began to look around. Yeah this was definitely nowhere in Las Noches, and nowhere he'd seen in Hueco Mundo, or the world of the living. Black stone surrounded him, worked into oppressive architecture, a dark and windowless room. Bluish flames that appeared to give off no heat flickered in torches set into the walls and in a large brazier by a closed door. A faint smell of death permeated the air.

He was in a room roughly the same size as his Espada bed chamber, lying (well, sitting now) in a largish bed with that air of 'standard issue' about it. A nondescript gray wool blanket covered his legs, bunched around his waist where it had slid down when he sat up. Oh, wait – there was something white, after all. His hakama and jacket were folded neatly but incorrectly on a three-legged stool, Pantera sheathed and laid atop them. Curious at the sight of his clothes not on his body, he checked himself. Yep, naked except for his fundoshi, and a bunch of weird blue bandages.

Well, if he needed bandages, then he couldn't be dead, right? But he still didn't know where he was.

"Guest awake?" an odd, gurgling voice inquired. Grimmjow's head swung towards the sound as he attempted to locate the speaker. Beside and slightly behind the brazier was a hunched figure he hadn't noticed originally. It appeared to be… a half-rotted, animate corpse… Grimmjow eyed it dubiously.

"Guest awake?" it said again, taking a few shambling steps towards him. Grimmjow caught a whiff of that dead smell coming off it. It reached out towards him "Guest awake?"

Grimmjow recoiled, then instantly regretted it when everything ached. "Fuck, I'm awake, I'm awake, don't fucking touch me!" he shouted. The grisly hand dropped.

"Guest awake. Go tell Master. Guest awake." The thing muttered, turning around and lurching to the door. Grimmjow watched it as it opened the door and shambled out of the room, closing the door behind him. What the hell?

Well, someone would probably be along soon. Maybe it was foolish, but he kind of didn't want to meet whoever 'Master' was in his underwear. He got to his feet, ignoring the pain of half-healed wounds and abused muscles, and went to his clothes. He'd just finished sliding Pantera into his sash when the door opened again.

The figure that appeared in the doorway was large and heavily armoured, in a style that seemed vaguely familiar. The hilt of a huge sword protruded from his back. Blonde hair hung limply around a masculine face, lit with glowing blue eyes. He radiated a deadly energy that was also familiar – it was very like Vellena's.

"Ah," said the newcomer, his voice carrying that same tortured-metal tone he'd come to associate with Vellena, "Knight Nightwind's mysterious companion has finally risen. Welcome back to the land of the living." The large man said the last word with an ironic, sarcastic inflection. Grimmjow held his face frozen at hearing 'Knight Nightwind'. 'Nightnightwind'? Seriously? Did he just say that? He was so going to laugh at Vellena when he caught up with her again. She had to be around here somewhere. The guy was speaking again, though. "I am Highlord Darion Mograine. Who might you be, stranger?"

"Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez, Sexto Espa… uh… this ain't Hueco Mundo, is it?" he finished lamely.

Glowing blue eyes stared impassively at him. "No. This is Acherus, the Ebon Hold. I have never heard of Hueco Mundo, until Knight Nightwind spoke of it. No one here has. You're in Azeroth, a few hundred feet above what's left of the Scarlet Enclave."

Well damn. Wasn't that where Vellena was from? How the hell did he get here? …No wonder the armour looked so familiar – the guy was probably a Death Knight. The head honcho, by the sounds of it. "Well I guess my rank doesn't matter here, but I was the, uh… the sixth, back home."

"I see. Sixth Jaegerjaquez, I will be asking you more questions later. But first… Ghoul!" the Highlord barked, turning his head down to look beside him. Grimmjow saw the ambulatory corpse from before.

"Master?" it gurgled, sounding almost cheerful.

"Ghoul, fetch Knight Nightwind. Be quick about it."

"Yes, Master!" it turned and dashed off, hands swinging at its side as it ran.

"Please be seated, Sixth Jaegerjaquez. You have not fully recovered from your wounds." Mograine said.

He didn't really want to sit on the bed – this guy seemed so… formal. And while he wasn't normally one to kowtow to authority, well, he was injured and alone in another world, and he only knew one other person here. Granted, she seemed to be on decent terms with the boss. He sat on the stool, stolidly ignoring the aching of his abused body.

"I apologize for your lack of medical attention. Acherus is not exactly known for its healthful atmosphere. Fortunately, it seems that some techniques that help keep us undead together work on you, or you would be a lot worse off right now." Grated Mograine.

"It's no problem." Replied Grimmjow. "I made it this far, I'll heal." He was pretty sure of that. "I could, uh, use some water though, if you have some."

Mograine stiffened briefly, giving him an unreadable look. "Of course. How foolish of me not to inquire as to your needs. You are our guest, after all." He sounded slightly annoyed at his own lapse in hospitality. Grimmjow didn't mind though, he got the feeling that this guy didn't do a lot of entertaining.

Grimmjow perked as he felt the approach of a familiar presence.

"Ah, here is Knight Nightwind now." Grimmjow squelched a smirk as the huge man turned to the corridor. "Come in, Knight. Your guest has awoken. Ghoul! Fetch water, and don't spill any!"

The arrancar had to fight to keep the smirk from breaking out as he heard the muffled reply of the ghoul – "Master? Yes Master!" Did these guys realize how unintentionally funny they were? Then he smiled, a real smile, as he caught sight of Vellena. She wasn't in her armour, or the arrancar uniform he'd seen her in last – instead she was wearing something that resembled the padded clothes she usually wore under her armour. She had her twin swords strapped to her belt – her favourite weapons. He thought they sucked, but hey, it wasn't him who had to use them.

"Grimmjow," she said, her voice at once hesitant yet relieved. He'd spent enough time with her to read beneath her emotionless mask – she was nervous.

"Hey, Vellena. Glad to see you're alive." He said. The nervousness lessened. Did she think he was mad or something?

"I can see you two have things you need to talk about. I will speak with you and with Sixth Jaegerjaquez later." Mograine stated, turning from the room. The door slid shut behind him. Nevertheless, Grimmjow still heard him bellow "Not to me, you idiot ghoul, to the guest!!"

He couldn't help it, he laughed, only to laugh harder at Vellena's bewildered and concerned expression. He finally had to stop when it became too painful.

"Are you alright?" the night elf asked him, brow furrowed.

"Yeah," he gasped. "Yeah, I'm fine. Does that guy realize how fucking funny he is?" Vellena gave him a look like he'd sprouted another head. "Between the ghoul and this 'nightnightwind' shit, I could hardly keep a straight face!"

Vellena gave him a flat look at 'nightnightwind'. "I wish he'd just call me Knight Vellena like everyone else does. Or even just Knight, or Vellena. You probably shouldn't laugh at him – especially not to his face. That's Highlord Darion Mograine. He leads the Ebon Blades. He's my superior, and the leader of every free Death Knight in Azeroth."

The door opened, and the ghoul shambled in, holding a waterskin. Grimmjow recognized it – such things had been common when he'd been alive. The ghoul held it out to him, and he took it gratefully, undoing the stopper and drinking deeply as the creature exited the room. Vellena watched as he drained the skin and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Fuck, I can't believe how thirsty I was!" he exclaimed. "Lived in a desert for a couple hundred years, and I've never felt so thirsty."

"You lost a lot of blood." Vellena said.

"Yeah, about that. What the hell happened? How did we end up here?" Last he remembered, she was still waiting for Szayel to find a way to return her home. And he'd kind of suspected that Szayel wasn't trying very hard. Not to mention, last he saw her, she was attacking Nnoitra in a berserker rage, and he had the creeping suspicion that she wasn't in anyone's good books anymore.

Vellena told him. Apparently, she'd killed Nnoitra, who had previously disabled her with some device of Szayel's, and nearly killed her, before she hid and he stalked off to find Grimmjow. His face stiffened as he remembered Nnoitra's cowardly strike, the Quinto's attempt on his life. He was kind of sorry he hadn't had a chance to at least kick the fucker in the balls before Vellena killed him.

She'd apparently gone nutso in the attack (he vaguely remembered telling Kurosaki to disarm her before passing out), and tried to go after Neliel, but Zaraki Kenpachi had stopped her. He was a little surprised to hear that the bloodthirsty Captain of the 11th had restrained himself enough to disarm her. At least the kid had listened to him and gotten that crazy shinigami to do it. Damnit! Now he'd never get a chance to kick Berry's ass! Oh well, from what he remembered of hearing Vellena talk about Azeroth, there were lots of interesting fights to get into here.

After that she had apparently used a modified garganta to bring him here. Where she had been greeted by her comrades in arms, and they'd apparently death-coiled his ass a few times until they were pretty sure he wasn't going to bite it, and left him here to recuperate, with a ghoul on watch for when he finally woke up. He'd been out, it seemed, for a little bit less than a full day. The death coils had done him some good, he knew, but he was no where near 100% yet.

"So that's it, huh?" Grimmjow asked when she'd finished the tale.

"Yeah." She replied. "You're not upset, are you?"

He thought about it for a moment. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that he wasn't going to get a chance to destroy the shinigami kid, and even that was relatively minor. He knew he would have been in deep shit if he'd stayed in Las Noches – provided he'd lived long enough to face the consequences of his actions. He'd disobeyed Aizen, stuffed Ulquiorra in a Caja Negación, and practically freed Orihime himself, all to get a shot at a rumble with the kid (and then failing, oh didn't that sting). There was no way he would have gotten off with just losing an arm this time. It would have likely been Rudobōn and a formal execution. After some kind of public humiliation, no doubt; probably involving his reiatsu being sealed in some dramatic fashion and being paraded around as an example before finally being granted an ignoble death. Tōsen would have had a fucking field day.

Nope, he wasn't upset. He'd been upset when he thought Nnoitra had killed her, but he wasn't upset to discover both himself and her alive, even if she'd taken him from his world. "No, not at all." He replied.

Her relief at his words was palpable. She'd honestly thought he would be angry. He wondered, for the second time he could think of, just what she was to him, and what he was to her. He had admitted to himself, when he thought he was dying and she was gone, that he'd gotten attached. It seemed she returned the feelings. It was an alien notion to the arrancar, who had spent much of his life-after-death in a fever pitch of rage, hate, violence and hunger. Alien, but not exactly unwelcome. There was an unfamiliar… calmness… inside of him when he thought of her.

He rose from the stool, ruthlessly ignoring his body's protest. Vellena took three steps towards him, and then they were in each other's arms. Their lips met; hers cold as always. He couldn't speak the relief he felt that they were both still alive, but he could communicate it another way, and he did, as he closed his eyes and kissed her.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Knight Vellena, but Highlord Mograine has requested your presence. Both of you." A slightly amused voice said from the door. It was a woman's voice, with that grating quality he was starting to suspect was a characteristic of Death Knights.

Standing in the doorway was another night elf. She was a few inches taller than Vellena (was his elf short? Yikes!), with paler, pinkish skin and purplish-white hair, also in full plate. These guys sure liked their plate armour.

"Ah, Commander Siouxsie—," Vellena said, pulling from Grimmjow. The other Death Knight smiled.

"There'll be time for that later, Vellena. The Highlord awaits you both."