Disclaimer: I don't own the WarCraft universe or Blizzard.

≶The Call of the Lich King: Seven Days of Torment≶

≶Epilogue≶

Icy Northrend was saddened to see the mighty Arthas leave its shores. The country had come to love the human for he had brought a strange tale to its frozen lands. Northrend had set up the stage and saw one of the most terrifyingly beautiful tales ever performed in the history of Azeroth: the tale of the noble hero's fall from grace. Sure, Northrend had heard of many tales from its sister shores of Lordaeron and Kalimdor, but they all felt so drab and dull when told by something else. Most of the time, they were all stories of the hero's rise or the hero defeating the villain and saving the land from treachery. Northrend always thought they were such boring tales with the ending so predictable.

But this human, this Arthas…he was something completely different.

Never before had a being of this world fallen so far and so quickly to the forces of corruption. One being did before but now that human was trying to undo what he did in the form of a pitiful raven. How tedious. But Northrend knew that Arthas would never regret his actions. He had power now and he would never relinquish it.

Still, Northrend was saddened to see its favorite human leave its shores. But it knew that Arthas would return. You never left Northrend. Not completely. A part of you always stayed behind. Forever.

But, Northrend felt a strange hum of…excitement it thought it felt like. Now Arthas would take his power and return home to Lordaeron. Northrend knew its sister country had always wished for a change of some sort, something Northrend never really understood. Lordaeron was always in the midst of some chaos, was it not? The Horde and the Alliance were always battling each other on its battlegrounds. And now a third party, the so-called Scourge, had come to join the fray. What more could a country want?

Northrend could not understand any of it. Maybe they were so different from one another that they could not possible understand each other. Northrend barely conversed with Kalimdor anymore, now that it had fallen asleep. Fallen asleep from what? Boredom? Northrend did not understand its two neighbors. Still, Northrend envied Lordaeron. Now Arthas was going there and now tremendous things were going to happen there. Northrend ached to see these things with all its cold, frozen body.

But why not?

Northrend could take a peek, could it not?

Just a peek.

So, a frozen wind arose from the peak of tainted Icecrown and blew south. And on those winds Northrend was carried. These winds belonged to Northrend and allowed it to see. It could see the world because the frozen winds that came from its land would spread out across Azeroth.

Across the winds, Northrend was carried until finally, the wind crew warmer. Heat filled the wind and Northrend felt…odd. It felt so alien to it that Northrend almost felt like he had stepped onto Outland, that strange cousin of Azeroth's. But Northrend knew that the winds had carried him to Lordaeron. Now, all it had to do was find Arthas.

It was not hard. Arthas shown like a beacon to the world's eyes. He was destined for great things and because of it, he shown with the brilliance of a thousand suns. Quickly, the winds blew Northrend towards the light and peculiar noises filled its ears.

Bells. The sound of bells ringing throughout the courtyard of stone. The sound of many humans cheering not from pain or despair, but from joy and happiness conjoined with the bells. The sound of falling petals was so soft that Northrend barely heard it at all. All this noise was deafening to its ears, which were only used to the cold, silent wastelands of the icy plains. Sure, there would be the distant cry of a bear or a seal, but nothing else. Nothing this loud had ever been heard by Northrend before.

Then it saw him. On the winds of Northrend, Arthas was spotted striding proudly down the stone road, the petals of flowers floating down towards the ground. Northrend was once again filled with awe and wonder. Such pride was emanating from Arthas that Northrend could almost taste it. Such power. Northrend was glad to see that Arthas had not become lazy.

The strong survived while the weak died.

The humans cheering for him? They were weak. They only cheered him because they were too pathetic to fend for themselves. Best let the strong man fight for them. They almost made Northrend retch. Arthas almost look like he would as well, Northrend thought. As Arthas gazed upwards at the people and the flowers, Northrend was filled with a sense of loathing that radiated from his being.

It was good. Arthas was not stupid. He knew very well that they were weak.

Arthas pushed away the doors to the castle as easily as he had killed that footman. Northrend followed behind him, being pulled along by the winds. He entered a circular hall with a mighty throne near the center. On this mighty throne sat a strange withered…creature. It was not a man, as Northrend knew. It was by far the weakest, most pathetic creature Northrend had ever laid eyes upon. It could barely stand under the weight of its own crown.

This must be the weak King Terenas that Arthas spoke of not so long ago. Arthas' father.

Arthas drew his sword and knelt to the ground, mighty Frostmourne held in his hands with the blade sticking into the ground. His hood covered his face in shadow and darkness.

"Ah, my son!" Terenas cried as he got up wearily from the throne, nearly falling as he held himself up. Pitiful creature. Nothing that weak was meant to survive.

Terenas almost began to praise his son on a safe return. To praise his mighty son's strength and faith, both of which he would say brought him back home safely. He almost began to show the full extent of his love.

But love was a weakness.

And weaknesses could not be tolerated.

"You no longer need to sacrifice for your people," Arthas whispered softly. His voice began to rise in volume. "You no longer need to bear the weight of your crown. I've taken care of everything."

Arthas looked up and smiled.

Frostmourne also grinned manically with its blue light.

He got onto his feet.

He pulled back his hood, revealing his hair as white as the snow that had snatched the color away.

Holding the sword tightly in his hand, Arthas strode forward.

Arthas towered over the weak man who would be king.

He grabbed the man's shoulder and brought him down lower.

He raised his sword.

"What is this!?" Terenas cried, in his weak and pathetic voice. "What are you doing, my son?!"

And in the coldest, most death-ridden voice imaginable, Arthas answered his dear father's last question.

"Succeeding you," Arthas said. "Father…"

He added the last word as an afterthought.

Arthas plunged the sword forward. The tip of the blade first touched the old man's wrinkled neck than continued to push its way forward. Cutting through like a knife cutting snow, the sword spilled the old kings frail blood, spilling some of it onto the stone floor. The blade burst out of the back of the old king's neck, spilling the rest onto the throne of Lordaeron, staining it forever with the weakness that was human. The blood of a weak king. A lesser son of greater sires. Frostmourne didn't care. It all tasted the same for the demonic blade.

As the dead king's head lolled backwards, the blade was retracted back. As it slid out, other drops of the weak blood splashed onto the ancient crown of Lordaeron. The crown slipped from the old man's head and fell to the ground. Weakened by the weakness of others, the crown broke and rolled pathetically around on the floor, until it stopped.

Northrend admired the beauty. It admired the sheer magnificence of Arthas' act of betrayal. It was nothing personal. His father was merely weak and had to be replaced. Northrend was glad to see that Arthas had carried that lesson with him always. Like it knew, you never really left Northrend.

"This kingdom shall fall," Arthas said, smiling. "And from the ashes shall arise a new order that will shake the very foundations of the world."

Northrend cried out in joy. Brave words! Wonderful words! It would have wept had it not known that tears were weak. Now, Arthas would change this world forever. Now, Arthas would be strong.

Northrend heard Lordaeron's cry of sorrow and sadness and still did not understand. What's to be sad about? This is a joyous occasion! The mighty king will now lead the land to victory! Why was Lordaeron so sad?

So Northrend decided to leave. It had overstayed its welcome. And the cries of the country were deafening as it sounded along side those annoying, ringing bells.

Northrend left those behind, eagerly waiting for Arthas' return.

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Now, we're finally done.

Found out two weeks after the results were supposed to be posted, I found out that I didn't win. It was weird. No posting on the Blizzard homepage, no email, nothing. It makes sense that it would be on the contest page but I thought I would get a notification of some sorts.

I enjoyed most of this work, even though it did eat away a lot from important things. Like stress-free life.

No one really reads this story so whatever. If you've made it all the way here, congrats. If we ever meet in person, I'll high-five you. If you're a girl, I'll maybe give you my number. Maybe.

See ya.

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