A/N: So here is chapter 3, it took a lot longer than expected, but to be fair I didn't expect to move across the country. Now with law school starting I doubt I'll be able to find the time to have a weekly update schedule, but I think a larger update every two weeks might be possible. Though school is my first priority, and after that I would like to add a second chapter to the first story I put up on . Either way feel free to let me know what you all think, hopefully POV is a little less confusing, or at least a little less jarring. Finally I would like to thank those of you who recently reviewed, because you helped me regain the motivation to finish writing this chapter.

Enjoy.

Chapter 3

Tirion

Fordring was a man of habit. His long military career had ensured that, before he spent years living as a farmer during his exile. He woke up with the sun, and every dawn he liked to walk through the secured sections of the plague lands. He would do his part consecrating the land, reclaiming it from the unholy corruption of the scourge. It was because of this that he found himself so irritable this morning. The heavy snows outside of the lights hope chapel ensured that all members of the Argent Dawn were confined inside for most of the day. Only covered stagecoach carts would travel every few days to the nearest town for supplies. Luckily for Tirion, today was one of those days, and no one objected when he volunteered to drive the stagecoach. Most could see he was getting an early onset of cabin fever. Tirion bundled up with furs over his armor, despite the weather he knew better than to leave the safety of hallowed ground without protection. To do so would be an open invitation to be a ghoul's dinner.

As Tirion felt the warmth of the Lights hallowed ground fade, he saw what seemed to be a wall of snow extending across the horizon, with only a small opening where the road passes through it. There was clearly something off about this, and in response Tirion drew his maul and prepared himself for combat. As his horse pulled up to the snow wall, a pair of halberds cross before it blocking his path, and two large half decayed soldiers shake off the snow that had settled across them. The guard on the left was a young corpse. Barely a man when, by the look of his wounds, he was eaten alive by ghouls. On his right was the remnants of an older man, what skin still clung to his body was scarred, and Tirion couldn't see the wound that slew him. It's possible he was turned by the plague. They made no other aggressive move, as one would expect from the mindless servants of the scourge. Members of the Forsaken? It didn't make sense to Tirion why servants of the Dark Lady would be here in the plague lands while there was a war effort in Quel'Thalas, but he was always the kind to try the diplomatic approach first.

"Hail strangers, what seems to be the problem?" Tirion called out.

"Identification," came the rasped reply of the gaunt guard to Tirions left.

"I wasn't aware that there was a checkpoint here, I don't have any papers, perhaps there is a toll I can pay?" Tirion said.

"What is your name, and purpose of travel?" said the young corpse.

"Hold on, I think I recognize this man," said the old guard. "Is that you Commander Fordring?"

"Aye, though no one's called me commander in a long time. It seems you have me at a disadvantage, if we met in the past I don't recall it," replied Tirion.

"Not surprising, I served under you in the Second War. You saved my life during the Battle of Blackrock Mountain-"

XXX

Tirion could not endure this siege much longer. If not for the men underneath him, and the undeniable threat posed by the monstrous horde, he would have deserted long ago. Sadly Tirion knew better than to believe his own lies, in this war even the craven fought. It was not a war for honor or King. It was a war for survival, everyone had witnessed the extermination brought by the brutish war machine. Yet that did little to comfort him now, now all he had was his determination to be strong for the men who had to die under his orders.

There was no peace here, not even for a moment. Constantly Tirion was barraged by the thunderclap sounds of siege spells being cast, and the rumbling of the earth when they reached their target on Blackrock Mountain. Mages in squads ranging in number from four to sometimes as many as ten would gather to cast cataclysmic streams of flame. The bombardment had been ongoing for half a month now. The once finely crafted outcroppings and towers of the former Dark Iron capital melted away more and more each day such that most now resembled the natural features of the mountain.

Still each night Tirion got little in the way of rest, for as the sun began to set the orc raids began. Not every night, that would allow the forces of the alliance to be ready. The attacks came seemingly at random but always from the sky. On the backs of red dragons, two or three orcs apiece, always with firebombs to drop. Their targets were buildings, siege weapons, and more often than not the tents of sleeping soldiers.

In the shadow of the Blackrock, on blasted and corrupted soil, the cold hand of death rested on every man's shoulder. At least that was what Tirion would say when asked why his hands shook while leading the daily devotionals of the light. It was why every night he prayed tomorrow would be the last spent among the charred corpses of sleeping men, and the unceasing beats of thunder.

XXX

-really killed a dragon by throwing a hammer at it? I don't even think that's possible," replied the young corpse.

"Easy to say when you met your end crying at a ravenous pack of toddlers, huh boy," came the retort of the veteran's corpse.

"It's hard to judge a man by his death, while ignoring his life. I'm sure this one has seen his fair share of fights, we all have." Interjected Tirion as he blinked the past from his eyes. "Regardless soldier, if you're at liberty to discuss it, I would like to know. So, I might be allowed past this checkpoint. Why are you two stationed here?" The old corpse turns again and meets Tirion's eyes, they are rotting with some patches the color of yellow bile and others milk white.

"As chance would have, commander, I find myself manning a siege once more." His black frostbitten fingers point back into the blizzard, "down the way you've come is a bishopric that has declared independence from the Kingdom of Lordaeron. We are to let no living thing in, and only loyal oath sworn citizens of the Kingdom out." Have the Dark Lady's delusions of grandeur reached impossible new heights, or perhaps is that old soldiers mind not as intact as his whole skull would imply thought Tirion?

"Last I had heard the Kingdom of Lordaeron was no more, its king murdered, its cities sacked, and its people scattered to the winds. What has changed?" said Tirion.

"Aye you heard right, all this and more was done by the hand of Ner'zhul the Lich King, but Ner'zhul is the Lich King no more. Prince Arthas has taken the Frozen Throne, and never again shall the scourge threaten the Kingdom. They are one and the same now." The soldier's corpse beamed with pride as he said this, he did not recognize the horror and surprise on the face of Fordring. This information changed his priorities completely, say what you would of Arthas, and Tirion had plenty to say on this matter, but the threat he posed to the fragile world of Azeroth could not be underestimated. It was with his talent for military command that the kingdoms of Lordaeron and Quel'thas were decimated. As far as anyone was concerned there was no record of an army under the command of Arthas being defeated.

"Aye the Prince is even scheduled to survey the fortifications today," said the young man's corpse.

"Well, either way. You must let me through this checkpoint as I said before," replied Tirion. The Young corpse angled his weapon back towards Tirion upon hearing him.

"Only loyal citizens of the Kingdom may pass this checkpoint," said the young corpse.

"You would doubt my loyalty, after all my service and sacrifice for the good of the kingdom," said Tirion, glaring down at the boy from upon his mount.

"He will do no such thing Commander Fordring. This one is green," interjects the old veteran. A twisted approximation of a dirty look is shot at the young corpse who doesn't have the decency to look chided, "he doesn't understand what you've done for the good of the Kingdom. Go on through." The two guards step back and wave him through the small gap in the wall of snow. As he passes through the wall Tirion takes note of it's construction. The side of it facing towards the chapel was stone masonry, reinforced from behind by earthen hills built as ramps leading to the ramparts. It seemed that the further from the gap in the wall the more completed the construction was, though still covered in snow.

Once he was beyond eyesight of the construction, he stopped, and unburdened his mount from hauling the cart. He needed to travel as far as possible as quickly as he could, and so he rode hard for alliance territory.

He heard the clacking of jaws before he saw them.

The Lich King

To say that I was pleased with the progress towards the final unification of Northrend would be an understatement. Targets that could not be taken easy, were besieged. What could be feasibly assaulted was, I was not overly concerned with casualties after all, any of my pawns that died could be reanimated, and any casualties the defenders took would join my forces in the aftermath of the subjugation.

The situation in Zul'drak requires my direct attention, and it feels good to take to the field once more. In ways I had not imagined. The stretching, and tightness of my muscles as I fight sear pleasantly through my being. The fleeting warmth of the lifeblood of combatants as Frostmourne strikes them down is euphoric. It reminds me of sunlight on my skin, and there among the warriors of the troll tribe I chase that feeling like an addict. Yet, I was the ultimate arbiter of my actions, not even the ravenous hunger of my rune blade could compel me to act. I chose to provide them the gift of death, and that was profound in a way each of them would soon understand. My indomitable being will subsume their own. In the back of my mind I questioned the ethics of the slavery of the soul I brought these brutes, yet it was not so different than the fealty sworn to a king or chief in life, but by now I would think I am beyond good and evil. How can I apply the ethics taught to a man, when I am now a god?

These are little thoughts. My war machine grows with each day, my wrath much like an avalanche is reaching a critical mass. Soon to be unleashed upon the unwary peasants living in the shadow of my mountain.

Once Wyrmrest Accord is claimed, I will raise a dragon flight all my own. Frost wyrms and necropolis will darken the skies of the Eastern Kingdoms.

Once I sit upon my rightful throne I will usher in the beginning of an Eternal Kingdom.

I drive my blade through the chest of an empowered champion of one of the troll's savage gods, and with that their ranks break, and the battle ends as quickly as it began. Another decisive victory, matched by the defeat I feel across a far ocean. A scowl brushes across my face as the farthest tendrils of my consciousness recoil. With a thought I am looking through the eyes of a death knight standing guard at the door of the Scholomance's study.

My voice suffuses and supplants that the original inhabitant of this corpse when I say, "Kel'Thuzad."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit, my king" came the reply from behind a bookcase filled with books bound in various leathers.

"My attempts to return the Forsaken to the fold have been just that, attempts. What could possibly have granted them the ability to resist my commands now that I am restored?" I ask.