Champion of the Light - Chapter 1: A Moment of Weakness

Arthas Menethil, crown prince of Lordaeran, and Paladin of the Silver Hand stood on a hill overlooking the entrance to the city of Strathlome. He stood in heavy plate armor, a blue cape upon his back, his mighty warhamer in his hands. He rubbed his eyes, feeling exhaustion prying at his every limb, his every bone, his every thought. Yesterday, the fight for Hearthglen had been a disastrous battle against legions of the undead. So many of people had fallen, only to be raised as undead slaves. Each time, each soul tortured and enslaved sent a tendril of agony spiking through his body. If not for Uther's arrival, they all would have died. Every last man. Every last woman. And... every last child...

"My people...," he choked, "I... I'm failing them..."

"Arthas?" asked a tender voice behind him, "Are you alright?"

He glanced behind him, sighting Jaina Proudmoure, a beautiful archmage cloaked in a flowing blue robe, cotton pants, and a short cotton top. "I... I'm fine."

Jaina could not hide the concern in her eyes, but chose not to press. "Uther should be here soon."

Arthas nodded absent minded and waited until Uther finally arrived, far to late in his opinion. The old and wise paladin was in similar armor to Arthas, though his cloak was light-blue, almost gray. His face bearded, caring wisdom and solemn strength.

"Glad you could make it Uther," said Arthas thinly.

Uther the Lightbringer approached, his eyes narrowed. "Watch your tone with me, boy. You may be the prince, but I'm still your superior as a paladin."

Arthas resisted the urge to turn and shout at him furiously and desperately. The undead were on the move, they had no time to bicker about politics and tone!

He forced down his frustration and spoke, his gaze sweeping once again over the entrance of Strathlome, "As if I could forget. Listen, Uther, there's something about the plague you should know..."

He paused, to his horror, sighting empty grain crates from Andorhal at the gates of Strathlome. "It's too late. These people have all been infected. They may look fine now, but it's a matter of time before they turn into the undead."

Uther's eyes went wide. "What?"

Arthas closed his eyes, feeling an unbelievable agony come over his mind, as if some dark force was pushing him to speak, "The entire city must... must..."

In another time, in another place, perhaps Arthas might have given the order to purge the city. Perhaps he might have even disbanded the Order of the Silver Hand had Uther refused to heed him. Perhaps he might have walked down a dark path that led to the damnation of his very soul. But here and now, everything hit him at once. The last few agonizing sleepless days and nights, the constant death of his people, their enslavement to the damned, the putrid undead warriors themselves, and the dark presence in his mind putting pressure upon his thoughts. A moment of weakness. It came upon him, it hit him, it crippled his iron resolve and will.

Arthas fell to a knee, gave a cry of rage, and slammed a fist into the ground. "DAMMIT!"

Uther started forward, a concerned look on his face. "Lad! Take it easy!"

It all came out, his voice choked. "T-they're a-all going to die Uther... t-they're going to be t-turned into mindless undead slaves!"

He couldn't help himself. He wept for his people, cried for their suffering, kneeling there, hands barely able to keep himself from collapsing in exhaustion. "I failed them Uther... I... I've failed my people..."

Uther walked forward and put a hand on his shoulder, he spoke softly. "No lad, no you haven't. Jaina has filled me in on whats been happening. You've tried your hardest these last few days, and like you said to me yesterday in Hearthglen..."

Uther gave him a wry smile. "You didn't have a legion of knights riding at your back. You've done an admirable job with what you had lad. I've never been more proud of you than I am right now."

Arthas's face softened for a moment. "Uther..."

Uther gave him a stern look. "Though, you ought to have paced yourself better. Jaina tells me you haven't even slept since you first set out. Once you realized just how bad it was, you should have sent for me. The full might of the Silver Hand and the army of Lordaeran should have been involved the moment you made your discovery at Andorhal. You can't do everything yourself lad, let us help you."

Arthas closed his eyes, he knew Uther was right, but, he he had just felt so driven these last few days. He took a deep breath and let it out, struggling to control himself. Finally, he crushed his pride, crushed his arrogance, crushed his dark thoughts, and focused on the one true thing that mattered: His people. "What do we do Uther? What can we do to save them? I... I need your advice."

Uther smile softly and offered a hand. "Its not over yet. Strathlome still stands, we can quarantine the sick, give peace to the undead, and save those who might not have eaten the plagued grain."

Arthas closed his eyes, took another breath, and recovered. He forced back down his bitterness and despair, fully taking back over his mind and shoving out the dark thoughts that had been clouding him as of late. There was something, an almost inhuman scream of rage, that sounded faintly in his mind, as if it were furious over being rebuked and banished. Arthas opened his eyes, a renewed vigor in them, and took Uther's hand, letting the paladin help him up.

Arthas walked alongside Uther back to their forces. "We wont have much time. The plague turns them quickly. If I had to suspect, the bulk of the infected will be turning within the hour."

Uther nodded and began to shout orders. "All men form up and make ready to enter the city! I need criers to run through as quickly as possible and warn of the plagued grain, warn everyone that you can!"

Knights began to move, several rushing desperately into the city to warn and hopefully save those that they could. Footmen and riflemen checked their equipment, and within five minutes, they set into the city...

The Prophet Mediev watched the scene from a nearby tree in the form of a crow. What he saw happening within the prince... something had just happened. He recognized it for what it was instantly, the thought ripping through his mind. If he was in a human form, he might have allowed himself a smile.

It was a moment of shattered destiny, of fate being defied, unwinding and changing on a whim, not of strength, but of weakness. But perhaps, being weak, even if for a moment, has its advantages. The young prince chose not to sacrifice his people, and instead, had broken for a moment and allowed an old friend in to help him.

The implications of this moment were something not even Mediev knew. Everything had just changed...

Author's Note:

A fanfiction concept.

What if Arthas did not purge Strathlome? What if his resolve cracked for a brief moment, and he couldn't go through with the purge? What would have happened had his staid his hand and not crossed the line that directly led into the depths of damnation? With Uther and Jaina at his side, what will happen in the infected city? And how will it then expand to effect the rest of the Warcraft universe from then on? Will Arthas still succumb to his dark fated destiny, or will he avert his fate and become a true Champion of the Light?

Let me know if ya'll are interested in the concept. Can't promise how often I'd update this, considering full time job + 2 other fanfics I'm slowly working on, but, I wanted to get the fanfiction concept out there before I forgot about and lost it.