Ok, this is my first warcraft fic. The basic plot is what wold have happened if Arthas had not taken up the blade. I am NOT repeat NOT taking or stealing anyone else's plot, so please dont message me for that.

This will start out from when Arthas has boken the case of Frostmourne in warcraft 3. It shall go until the destruction of the lich king in WoW: WOTLK

Yes, there shall be another Lich king . Not an OC. If anyone can guess who it is, I shall be happy to share spoilers with him/her.(please notify me if you are an alien.) This offer is first come first serve basis.

Disclamer: I do not own the Warcraft series. If i did, Arthas wont become the lich king and Frostmourne woudnt be broken. ( its a beautiful sword!)


Chapter 1

The explosion was loud but the tall frame of the man easily withstood it. For some particular reason the heavy chucks of ice seemed to avoid him. The cold wind from the chamber mocked him, sending chills down his spine. His muscles were extremely sore, apparently from the countless battles fought. One hand clasped the handle of a fine maul, made of the finest thorium available. There was no sunlight, although the light given by the weapon in front of him reflected off his chest plate. His fingers were frostbitten. Apparently not even the strongest gloves and gauntlets kept out the killing cold of Northrend.

Besides him, the limp body of a mighty dwarf lay. The shards had clearly pierced his windpipe, allowing the climate to freeze his body from the inside. A terrible death, a painful one too. Moreover, metal was an excellent conductor of heat, furthering his demise.

For some particular, his companion didn't seem to mind. Sparing his companion a glance, he reverted his gaze back to the magnificent blade in front of his figure. It was very beautiful, giving off a chilling aura. The minor protrusions from its side gleamed wickedly, further signifying its use. It was a brutal weapon, down to its very core. The color was magnificent metallic, although there were traces of blue lining the edge. The skull of ram, or what it seemed like, adorned the hilt. The eves of the skull were glowing a magnificent blue, and were constantly spewing what seemed like cold breath.

Yes. Frostmourne was worthy of its name.

A weapon capable of killing mercilessly, living, dead and the undead alike. No remorse. No pity. And no mercy.

It lay on the ground, its blade sticking on the ground, as if waiting to be picked up. For some particular reason, the warning of Muradin Bronzebeard played again in Arthas's mind. Arthas hesitated. He knew that after this, there would be no turning back. But no. He had to go on. He had to do this for his people. The lives of a few were worthless when compared to a whole nation. He was ready to give up anything. He wanted his subjects to see the light of another day. He wanted them to live on. He was ready to sacrifice anything for that. He hoped that they would understand. He didn't even mind if he perished. He was ready for that. He was walking on the land of the dead, yet was not afraid of it. Too bad most of his soldiers did not share his views.

Arthas trudged forward, the snow crunching under his heels. The snow flattened itself under his weight, and his power. It was as if the entire land was afraid of him…..and the blade. As he edged closer to the sword, he started to question his motives. But however, the sight of his homeland was enough to quash those thoughts. He cursed silently. Mal'Ganis was rallying the undead. If he fell, there was no stopping him from taking over the nations. The sight of his country turned into mindless vessels made the bile rise up in his throat. He hated himself for destroying a town. But somehow he convinced himself to move himself forward, no matter how big his guilt. The dark aura emerged from the blade made him shiver, but he took it as his punishment for his sins.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he went forward. Reaching the blade, he opened his cracked lips; he managed out a cracked whisper.

"I hope you will forgive me, Father, Sir Uther and…..Jaina."

Just then, as if on by cue, a firebolt crashed on the blade, sending it farther than Arthas. The sudden change in heat caused Arthas to go into shock for a few seconds. Regaining the ability of thought, he turned back to see the attacker. A shock of blond hair obscured his vision as he was thrown on the ground, his vision blocked and a pair of hands captured him into a hug.

"Oh God Arthas! I thought that I had lost you!"

"Jaina?" Arthas managed to stutter out in spite of himself.

Arthas managed to look at her face. The usual clean skin was tear stained, eyes were puffy and red, as if she was crying. As she saw his emerald orbs staring back at herself, she sobered up quickly and stood up.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was on the borderline of anger

"To stop you from claiming that sword."

"Jaina. That sword is the only thing capable of destroying the undead once and for all."

"Don't be stupid Arthas. This is not the real force of the undead! Mal'Ganis is only a Captain of sorts. He only commands a part of the real force. You can't beat them here, Arthas."

Arthas looked as if she had lost her mind.

"Do you know what are you even talking about?"

"I most certainly do, Arthas! Please! Trust me! Just this once!"

"I trusted you Jaina! You broke that trust at Strathome!"

Jaina cringed. She hated where the conversation was going.

"For that Arthas, I'm sorry. But I won't allow you to take that cursed blade!"

"You're sorry? That's all you wanted to say? I trusted YOU Jaina! I thought that at least you will support my decision! But no! You left with the others, like the cowards they were!"

"THEY WERE NOT COWARDS!"

"If they are not, then why are they not here?"

"Because…..This is suicide mission, Arthas!"

Her voice cracked. She seemed next to break into tears again. Arthas calmed down a bit, for he hated to see the woman he loved cry.

"Please. Don't do this Arthas. I'm begging you! Taking that sword is suicide. It would tear me apart if you died."

Arthas's facial expression again became grim.

"The price of one life is worthless against a nation."

With that, he got up to take the blade. Once again, he was blocked by Jaina.

"Move aside."

"No."

"Please Jaina. My people are dying!"

"And more will die if you take this cursed blade! So no I'm not moving."

"Don't make me do this Jaina."

"Sorry. The only way to the blade Arthas, is through me."

"So be it."

Jaina pained to hear the immense change in Arthas's behavior. Before all of this he was playful, witty and always used to protect his people. Maybe the sight of his ravaged country land was too much for him to bear, thus leading to this condition of his.

Arthas took a battle stance and charged his maul with pure light energies. Jaina was surprised that the light still supported him at this point, but remembered that the powers of the light will continue to support a paladin as long as the paladin is sure that his path is the right one. She understood that in order to change his mind, she would have to go all out.

Summoning two large water elementals, she took up defensive positions behind them. The water elementals lacked logic, but did as their master commanded, as long as the master had power left inside of him. Once the master becomes weak, their bond breaks, allowing the elementals to go berserk. After all, they were made of pure energy.

Arthas felt amazed at the sight of the two bulky creatures in front of him. Jaina had improved incredibly from the last time he had seen her. But, so had he. Remembering that Mal'Ganis was still out there, he gave out a battle cry and charged. His heavy maul easily disposed off one of the elementals, causing Jaina to gasp in shock. Wasting no more time, she ordered the other to attack Arthas, while she resorted to shooting firebolts. However, as she only wanted to stop him or stun him, her attacks lacked power and it took Arthas little effort to subdue her.

Arthas shot her a triumphant look. Paying little heed to her falling form, he once again strode over to the blade. This time he discarded his maul, further strengthening his drive of the banishment of the undead.

"Arthas…"

He ignored her weak protests.

"Arthas please…."

He ignored her once again, for he was taking in the beauty of the blade. What he didn't know that she had silently crept up from behind him.

Seeing that her calls were falling on deaf ears, she did the only thing which she hoped would stop him.

Amassing the last of her magicks, she once again blasted the sword out of his hand. This infuriated him to no end. Swearing viciously, he turned around, all too ready to give Jaina a piece of her mind. But however. He did not expect a pair of lips coming crashing down on his own.

His eyes widened in amazement, for his brain had again temporarily shut down. He failed to remember the last time they had kissed. Somehow, he pushed that thought aside and started kissing her back. It was an amusing scene to watch. Two champions, kissing disregarding all their responsibilities while time was running out for the human race. There was so much heat and passion in the kiss that the cold winds around them failed to even bother their bodies. Their pent up frustration and anger was put into it, further enlonging their action.

What seemed like hours to them, they finally broke apart. Thankfully, Arthas had shoved all thoughts of Frostmourne to the back of his head while he concentrated on the maiden in front of him. Her blue orbs met his emerald ones. Managing a smile, she mentioned him to sit down. Ignoring the fatigue in his entire body, he somehow managed to obey her.

"So. Are you going to tell me why you don't want me from taking up that blade?"

"That is not an ordinary cursed blade, Arthas. That is the weapon of the Lich King." She took a dramatic pause in between the statements in order to create tension. She succeeded wonderfully.

"And where did you learn that exactly? I doubt that they teach this in Dalaran." The sarcasm in his voice was evident.

Giving out a long sigh. She spoke again.

"You are right. They don't teach this kind of stuff in Dalaran. Someone told me."

"Who?"

"That would be me." A voice had interrupted their conversation.

A man suddenly materialized in front of the duo. Arthas reached for his hammer but saw that it was still lying some feet away. As he attempted to retrieve it, his progress was impeded, once again by a pair of hands. Turning back, he saw Jaina beckoning him to sit down.

"Please try to listen to him Arthas. At least this time."

Arthas waited a moment before answering.

"Alright. Just this time."

He turned back to the newcomer. He was dressed the same way as he was dressed before. His shoulder plates had raven feathers on them while he wore a tunic and a long brown overcoat. His staff was impressive, along with the impeccable carving of a raven for its head. The stranger had shadowed his face with a hood, apparently for safety.

"We meet again, Prince Arthas."

"Who are you? And what do you want?"

"I am afraid that I cannot answer your earlier question, my lord. And I also want nothing from you. Just pay heed to my current warnings, and we can then both go our separate ways."

"Before you begin, are you the one who told Jaina about the blade?"

"Yes. It was I who told the princess about the blade of Ner'zhul. This blade was forged by the arch demon Kil'dajean himself, for The Lich King to use. It is a mighty weapon, used to steal souls. If you would have gone ahead with your plan, the blade would have corrupted you. Then you would have turned into the very creature you vowed to hunt down, paladin."

"This is preposterous!"

"No, it's not. The blade was originally part of the Frozen Throne. In other words, the prison of the Lich King. The power emitting from the weapon is very much beyond you current power, prince. If Miss Jaina had been a second late, we would have lost you forever."

Arthas turned to Jaina and mouthed a faint thank you to her. She returned a faint smile.

"After you left, He came for another warning. Thank God that I actually listened to you this time. I told Sir Uther about this, and he turned it down as 'madness'. But however, he did send the notice of withdrawal of the mission. But I think we both know how that turned out. So the only way remained was to come here myself. Thankfully he also tagged along."

Arthas turned back to the man. "What do we do now? The undead are advancing, and we lack an army strong enough to drive them back."

"Retreat. All of this was the Lick King's planning. Everything till now was planned. The plague. The orc rebellions. The sacking of Andorhal. The culling of Strathome. The challenge to come to the north. And this final siege. He wanted you to take the sword. By that you would have swayed to his side and the undead would have certainly gotten stronger. Make haste and listen to me now, Prince Arthas. Take your people and flee to the west. Once there, I will tell what your future beholds."

"Wait! How do we retreat? We don't have any methods of crossing the vast frigid seas!"

Jaina interrupted him again.

"It's taken care of, Arthas. I came with enough ships to bring the entire expedition back to safety."

With that, they rose to leave. As Arthas went forward to pay his last respects to Muradin, the prophet walked with him.

"Hurry, my lord. For the sands of time have run out. Hurry to the lands of the west. That is all."

With that, he morphed into a raven and flew away. Jaina waited for him at the entrance of the chamber.

"Where is your maul?"

"I don't want it." His tone was flat, as if completely determined.

"And why is that?"

"I don't want to use the weapon which I used to wound you."

Jaina was dumb struck. The response was completely unexpected.

Seeing her shocked expression, Arthas gave her a small smile.

"Let's go."


That's it. The first chap. Drop me line about it will ya? Criticism is welcomed along with praise.

So review!