Chapter One: Following Orders

The camp of Prince Arthas Menethil was filled with a doubtful air. When they had been summoned to war in a distant land to face a terrible demon, there had been enthusiasm. Yet when they reached Northrend, they found it a frozen and inhospitable land. One was never warm, even when sitting by a fire in full winter clothing. When they had encountered Prince Muradin and his men, the mood had improved. Surely this was the true reason they had been called to action.

They had rallied, saved Muradin's forces. Together they had pressed forward to obliterate two undead armies. And following that, the bastions which had been guarding them. A Lich had been slain by Prince Arthas. Many gargoyles were blasted down by riflemen. Footmen hacked and slashed alongside Knights until victory was there. It had taken weeks, but they were just about ready to go home.

"Sorry but Mal'ganis is in another castle." muttered a soldier, prompting bitter chuckles from the other men.

Now it seemed their stay in this frozen land would be long indeed. The Prince himself spent many hours searching the wastes. He seemed beset by darkness and distant. He did not walk amidst them as he once did, and there were rumors that he had become disturbed. He spent hours staring out from cliff tops staring into the heart of darkness with a fridged bearing. No one save Falric or Muradin could get through to him.

Captain Falric was a medium-sized, grim-faced man with a blonde mustache. He was a veteran of the second war and had more faith in the Prince than anyone. Yet even he looked unsteady as they stood in the frozen north. They were waiting for the Prince to return from light knew where. Once again, he was gone.

So it was that when a zeppelin touched down, there was much excitement. It bore the crest of the Royal House. A man bearing the crest of an emissary of Lordaeron approached Falric. "I apologize emissary, but the Prince is away on an errand." said the Captain. "What brings you to this desolate place?"

"By royal edict, you men are to return to Lordaeron at once." stated the emissary. "Lord Uther has convinced the King to recall this expedition."

"We're just to pack up and leave?" asked Falric, feeling obligated to keep the hope out of his voice.

"That is correct," said the emissary, "my scouts report that the route to the shore is held by the undead. You'll need to find an alternate route back to your ships."

Then he turned around and departed. Falric remained silent for a long time, and then looked at the trees. The desolate forests which were thick and full of wolves. "To hell with the undead!" he snapped "We'll cut out way through the woods men!"

Good cheer had engulfed the men of Lordaeron for the first time in many days. They were going home.

Falric waited alone by the fire as his men got to work. They packed up weapons and supplies for transport. Others hewed their ways through the thick and skeletal trees. For his part, he awaited the arrival of his Prince, meaning to give him the news. Prince Arthas had taken Stratholme hard. He thirsted for vengeance upon the Demon responsible. Falric knew he would not be pleased.

The Prince, a tall blonde man wielding a hammer, came marching out of the wilderness. He was accompanied by a blonde dwarf wearing skull armor. The Prince approached and halted before him, his gaze looking at the places where the guards were. Muradin stood a ways behind, hammer and axe slung over his shoulder. Arthas looked to Falric in reserved confusion. 'Captain, why are the guards not at their posts?'

'Well milord,' said Falric, 'Lord Uther has convinced the King to recall this expedition.'

It was terrifying how Arthas' face turned to one of absolute rage, filled with malice. Falric took a step back, scarcely recognizing his Prince. At that moment, Arthas looked more like a brutal warchief in human skin. Not the boy who Falric had befriended one cold day in Lordaeron City. However it passed, and Arthas turned around, making his way back to Muradin. "Uther had my troops recalled! Damn it!" He kicked out a fire. "If my warriors abandon me I'll never defeat Mal'ganis!" His tone became low, but not low enough for Falric to not overhear him. "The ships must be burned before they reach the shore."

Muradin looked concerned. "Isn't that a bit much lad?"

"Burned down to their frames!" Arthas snarled. "No one goes home until our job here is done!"

Falric turned and began walking back to camp, saying nothing. He reflected that he would not reveal the Prince's plan or do anything to stop it. Prince Arthas Menethil was too important to leave stranded in Northrend. There would be new ships in a month or so. For his part, Falric hoped that he did not succeed, and vowed he would take the secret with him to his grave. He owed him that much.\

They kept their party small. Only the dwarves who had accompanied them to see the Prince's outburst were in the know. Evidently, the Prince did not desire the results of his actions to become widespread.

No sooner had they made their way back into the wilderness and Arthas, and Muradin beset by a vast horde of undead. Their weapons were out, and they rushed into battle. They struck down the creatures by the dozens with their hammers. Muradin shot one dead with his rifle, while Arthas used the light to scorch many to dust. The dwarves who accompanied them fired their mortars. But in the end, when they halted the Prince, and his friend had done most of the damage.

"We'll need more men if we're to fight our way through the undead." realized Arthas.

"I've found a few mercenary posts here and there," said Muradin, "perhaps we could hire a few of them."

The mercenary post was a compromise of sorts. A sturdy, unadorned building. A place where local warlords could purchase forces. Arthas and Muradin approached it, followed by two pairs of dwarves. The dwarves carried two great chests; they entered and found within a group of warriors.

'What ye be wanting pink skin?' asked the troll, tone hostile.

'I need warriors, Zul'amon.' stated Arthas. 'I mean to destroy the undead guarding the way to my ships without involving my own forces. Do you have them?'

A slight unpleasant smile came to Zul'amon's face. 'I be having plenty o warriors for that purpose. But do you have the gold to pay?'

Arthas motioned to the dwarves, both trusted men of Muradin. They moved forward and opened the chest to reveal a vast sum of gold. The trolls took a step forward, a bit of awe on his face. Then he spoke. 'Alrighty then, I'll be seeing who I can whip up.'

'Good,' said Arthas, 'be swift. Time is against us.'

Thus the Prince made his way onwards, accompanied now by those who he should have been fighting. The trolls and ogres who walked alongside him were by all rights the natural enemies of his people. That he should now be forced to lower himself to using them, beasts instead of his own soldiers was a humiliation he would not forget.

'Damn Uther for forcing me to do this.' he hissed.

The shores of Northrend had been cleared of the undead. Vast hosts of twisted and deformed living corpses now lay in a second death by the freezing waters. Their ziggurats and graveyards were in ruins. Their Necromancers smashed by clubs or slain by axes hurl with deadly proficiency. It had been one last gamble, one last desperate race to reach the ships by the long path. And he'd had to do so before his men could get there first. They had passed through a gauntlet of spirit towers. Muradin's men had nearly been killed, and many ogres and trolls had fallen. Even so, the undead had suffered countless casualties. And here stood the Prince, looking down from a cliffside upon the ships of his soldiers far below.

This was it. If he gave the order, there was no going back. He would have to continue his war with Mal'ganis. Against his Fathers orders, against Jaina's wishes, to the very bitter end. And chances were that it would be a dark and terrible end indeed. Arthas looked to Muradin, who stood unsteady, doubtful eyed. They held each other's gaze for a moment, and then Muradin looked away. Arthas had rescued him. But if he burned these ships, he would likewise be condemning Muradin. At the very least, he would have an extended stay in Northrend. In this freezing weather, many men could die before a rescue could arrive. And that was assuming they were victorious.

They had already done significant damage to the undead. Yet Mal'ganis still eluded Arthas; the Dreadlord was not yet dead. Until he was destroyed, the threat to Lordaeron would never be over. So Arthas repeated in his mind over and over again. 'It needs to be done. Mal'ganis must be destroyed.'

"Is it worth it, lad?" asked Muradin, the voice of his doubt. "Is vengeance worth all this?"

Arthas did not answer, and then he caught sight of the glinting of armor in the trees. He looked down there and saw the advance party, hacking its way through the woods. If he was going to do it, it had to be now. Stirred by the need for action, he turned to the trolls and ogres. They had fought bravely for gold. They had aided him in destroying their mutual enemy in the undead and prepared to speak. Yet something stopped him. He would need an explanation for this to his men. If he did not provide one, there would be mutiny.

The ogres and trolls would not be missed. Blame them for it, and it would be true in a way. Yet that would be treachery of a new sort, and Arthas found himself hesitant to take that final step. His men were getting closer; it was now or never.

"You may disperse," he said. "you have performed your duties and aided me in ridding your land of the scourge."

The Ice Troll, named Zul'amon, looked at Arthas with suspicious eyes. "You mean not ta burn da ships?"

"Take your payment and go." said Arthas "Our contract is fulfilled."

So it was that the ogres and trolls departed that place, without further words. They began smaller and smaller in the distance. Until they disappeared around the cliffs. Arthas watched them go, face grim as he remained silent. That was the end of it. Mal'ganis would get away with what he had done. Despair threatened to engulf Arthas. The butcher of his homeland would go unpunished.

"I'm so tired." he said at last.

Perhaps Muradin detected some measure of this despair, for he spoke. "For what its worth lad, I think you made the right decision."

The men emerged from the forest and reached the boats. "Ah! We've done it, lads! Let's board the ships and go home!"

Despite himself, Arthas smiled.

Arthas and Muradin made their way down to the shore, and the men turned to see them approaching in shock. They were covered in blood, and the grime of battle and they looked very tired. Falric moved forward, looking concerned. "Prince Arthas, where have you been?"

"Muradin and cleared the path to the shore of the undead,' said Arthas, "we shouldn't have any trouble bringing back our equipment with us. Stay where you are!" He snapped to the soldiers. 'I want this retreat to be orderly. No one is to be left behind, and nothing is to be left for Mal'ganis to use. That which we cannot take with us is to be destroyed."

"Yes," said Falric, "of course, milord."

It took some more hours for the evacuation to be successful. Arthas had the spirit towers on the ridgeline shelled to nothing. That allowed passage too and from the shore. On and on came the lines of equipment that was stored on the boats. Muradin had used most of his stores, while those they had brought with them had been depleted.

As it went on, whispers filled Arthas' mind, demanding that he go back and destroy Mal'ganis. Avenge his people, avenge his losses. Yet now that he had stopped heeding them, he saw that his pursuit of vengeance had been destroying him. It was amazing how lucid he was now that it was over.

Now that it was over.

Arthas remained behind until the last boat was being sent to the shore. Finally, when all had been done, Falric and he set fire to the shelters, they had established there. The fires burned high into the night, and they made their way down to the shore and got into the last ship.

Falric pushed them off, and they began to row towards the ships. As Arthas sat within it, looking at the bleak and wasted landscape, he was leaving behind him. Nothing had truly been solved. The undead were still a threat in Lordaeron, Mal'ganis still breathed. The land Arthas had loved had been twisted and cursed.

Now all that remained was ensuring things didn't get any worse.

It could have been his imagination. But he thought he heard or perhaps felt, a cry of unfathomable rage from Northrend. A grim smile of satisfaction came to his mouth. In the end, nothing was solved. Yet something he had done had frustrated a dark powers designs.

Authors Note:

This fanfic idea is one that I've had for quite a while. For those of you who don't know, there is an alternate ending to the mission dissension. If you let the timer run down to zero without destroying the ships, you get an alternate ending. One where Arthas' men reach the ships and go home.

I wrote this some months ago, but couldn't find a way to continue it.

Tell me if you think I should continue this, though my primary focus is on the mercyverse right now. I can't guarantee I'll even continue this beyond this chapter.d the first chapter.