Arthas was dead. Arthas Menethil, Prince of Lordaeron… was dead. Truth be told, Jaina was still having a hard time wrapping her head around that fact. Worse still, she’d made a damn fool of herself, weeping into Rognak’s chest like some simpering maiden. What cause did she have to cry, really? The boy she’d loved had been lost to her for quite a long time, after all.
It was actually rather nice of the Lord of the Forest, to allow her to take what was left of Arthas’ body for burning. That Cenarius had declared in no uncertain terms that Arthas would have to be cremated made sense to Jaina. In the end, what Arthas had become was… monstrous. Even with that Runeblade of his broken and destroyed, there was no denying that he’d been corrupted.
Not to mention, these were not the lands of his forefathers. This was not Lordaeron, and to bury him here would be to dole out disrespect to all parties involved. Of course, if they WERE back in Lordaeron, would it have been right to bury Arthas in the tombs of his ancestors, of the long line of House Menethil, or would his part in his father’s death have disqualified him from such a thing?
Jaina honestly couldn’t have said one way or another, and luckily she didn’t have to. Cenarius’ instructions were quite clear. Arthas would be burned… a pyre, to make sure that through the cleansing fire, nothing remained.
As they arrive back at camp, Jaina’s lips thin out. Shandris is quick to take Tyrande away before anyone can really notice her, while Thrall has done Jaina the service of carrying Arthas’ remains for her. Given that one pair is carrying a body and the other is not, the people who are most observant in the camp focus on Jaina and Thrall over Shandris and Tyrande.
Duke Lionheart and Chieftain Bloodhoof are the ones to approach of course, both wearing matching frowns on very dissimilar faces. But the aged Paladin’s face rapidly morphs into shock when he sees the features of the corpse that Thrall is carrying.
“Lady Proudmoore…”
Letting out an explosive breath, Jaina nods.
“It’s him, Sir Lionheart. The Traitor Prince is dead.”
Stepping forward, Jaina clears her throat and then applies a small arcane cantrip for good measure, raising the volume of her voice so more of the camp hears her.
“Prepare a pyre! The Lord of the Forest has decreed that the remains be burned!”
There’s a moment’s pause… and then her people begin moving to carry out her will. As they do so, word quickly travels fast through the human side of the camp. Jaina watches as the news reaches more and more ears. She won’t lie… she’s nervous how they’ll respond in the end. And admittedly a little surprised when the response turns out to be largely positive.
Though she supposed she really shouldn’t have been. Her people had come with her across the sea to escape the Prince’s Madness, after all. When Arthas had returned from Northrend changed, when he had slain his own father and brought nothing but pain and undeath back to Lordaeron… they had fled. Jaina and everyone she could gather had fled as Arthas besieged Dalaran and her teacher Antonidas had bid her to run.
For him to have followed them here to this place… Jaina can see in the eyes of many that the thought terrified them. And indeed, some of them had wondered from the moment they first started to encounter the Scourge even here on this new land. After all, Kalimdor was supposed to be their escape. It was supposed to be their new home, but it had all the same problems as the old home, along with several more to boot.
But now… now Arthas was dead. And they were all so… happy.
As the pyre is prepared, Jaina watches Thrall step forward and carefully set Arthas’ remains atop the gathered wood. When he steps back, she bows her head in gratitude towards him.
“Thank you for your help, Warchief.”
Thrall grunts, rolling his shoulders in that way that orcs tended to do sometimes.
“Of course, Lady Proudmoore.”
He, at least, is solemn as he bows his head to her and then pulls away. But then… he’d seen her embarrassing moment with Rognak, hadn’t he? When Jaina had shed tears over the man that Thrall had only ever known as a monstrous Death Knight. But that wasn’t all Arthas Menethil had been. Once upon a time, he’d been a Prince. Once upon a time, he’d been a man with a good, strong heart.
Rognak’s words echo in Jaina’s head. To remember Arthas as he was, rather than what he became. Unfortunately, staring now at his stark-white hair and his charred armor, it was hard to do so. Instead, she finds herself picturing the faces of all those that Arthas killed. A shuddering breath leaves her lips, even as she lifts a hand… and lights the pyre. A burst of fire magic is more than enough to make the gathered wood pile catch aflame, and as it begins to lick at Arthas’ remains, she stands before it.
Someone has to bear witness, after all… and she can already hear the sounds of revelry beginning to crop up behind her. Her people will not want to spend any time mourning the man Arthas once was. So it will have to be Jaina.
Duke Lionheart comes to stand beside her, the old Paladin staring at the flames as they lick up and down the length of Arthas’ body. For a moment, he’s quiet. But eventually, he clears his throat and speaks, his tone rough.
“My Lady… if I might ask, how did he die?”
Jaina swallows thickly at that, considering how best to answer for a long heartbeat. Finally, she forces herself to get the words out and be done with it.
“A… a concerted effort. We caught him largely alone in the woods and were able to ambush him before he could flee.”
Duke Lionheart hums.
“The orcs and the elves assisted in putting him down?”
A flicker of a smile appears on Jaina’s face.
“Aye. Warchief Thrall and Chieftain Rognak were instrumental in holding him at bay and keeping him from escaping. And… it was the High Priestess Tyrande who delivered the killing blow.”
She hears the aged paladin’s sharp intake of surprise and knows she’s caught him off-guard. But then to be fair, he hasn’t gotten much chance to see Tyrande in action just yet. Neither had Jaina before tonight. The Priestess of Elune was… more of a force to be reckoned with than she could ever have imagined.
“… I see. My Lady, permission to spread this news to the rest of the camp? If our people knew the part that our allies played in defeating the Traitor Prince…”
Duke Lionheart trails off, causing a ghost of a smile to appear on Jaina’s face as she stares at Arthas’ burning body. Yes… he was right, wasn’t he? This victory was a shared one. And while they’d bled most of the people Jaina imagined were going to desert by this point, it was still worth talking about. Knowing that the orcs and elves played a pivotal role in Arthas’ death would go a long way to helping the refugees under her command accept that they were not just allies by convenience but could be something more than that.
Letting out an explosive breath, Jaina nods her head.
“Do it.”
“As you wish, my Lady.”
With that, Duke Lionheart leaves her side. She’s all alone there in front of Arthas’ pyre. It will be good, that in death he can provide a unifying force for their people. Even if what little she’d overheard him say to Illidan made it clear that he was working against the demons for some reason… it mattered little in the end. It was still Arthas and his army of the dead that had destroyed Lordaeron. It was still he who had chased them all from their homes.
… Though, he hadn’t technically chased Jaina from her home. Kul Tiras still stood strong, the island nation across the sea. Jaina hadn’t dared lead her people there, out of fear that what befell Lordaeron was doomed to befall Kul Tiras as well. And also… a part of her had worried that Arthas might follow her to Kul Tiras, if she did not flee further afield. By coming to Kalimdor as the Prophet had bid, Jaina had hoped that she would kill two birds with one stone, both putting herself out of Arthas’ reach and leaving the Death Knight less reason to attack Kul Tiras in pursuit of her.
Obviously, that hadn’t quite worked out how she’d wanted it to. But then… from the impression Jaina got, Arthas hadn’t been on Kalimdor for her at all. He hadn’t even spared a thought for her until she’d shown up before him and forced him to confront his past. His Master, whoever that was, had him completely under his control.
Still, it did raise the question. Should Jaina return to Kul Tiras now? Would it be safer to take her people back across the sea and put them and herself under her father’s aegis once more?
The thought is a tempting one… for all of five minutes. Jaina loves her father, truly she does… but Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was a proud man, pardon the pun. He was also a vengeful man, and her brother’s death at the old Horde’s hands had never been quite settled in the Lord Admiral’s mind. Daelin had been one of those who pushed for complete genocide of the orcs following the Second War, rather than internment.
If he found out that there was a new Horde on Kalimdor, Jaina didn’t know what he would do. But she knew it wouldn’t be good, that was for sure.
… No, this was her home now, for better or for worse. She certainly couldn’t abandon their allies to the demons either, not when the Legion’s threat promised to consume all of Azeroth if it was left unchecked. And even after they defeated the demons, even after they dealt with the Defiler, Jaina wanted to make a new life for herself her. For her AND her people.
By now, Arthas’ remains have been reduced to ash. It’s taken quite a lot of her mana to keep the magical fire burning at high enough temperatures, but she’s managed to melt the Traitor Prince’s wicked-looking armor as well. Feeling a strange sense of… liberation coming over her, Jaina turns away from the pyre and back to the camp behind her.
What she bears witness to… it only further sets her mind at ease. Everywhere she looks, she sees signs of cooperation amidst the revelry. For the first time, Jaina can’t see a single one of her people sitting off to the side and glaring at their allies as though they were their enemies. The news of Arthas’ death had spread like wildfire through the camp, leaving the refugees from Lordaeron in a jubilant mood.
When it was explained to them what Arthas had been and what he had done, the orcs and the elves had also taken to celebrating the victory over the monstrous Death Knight. And then, with her blessing, Duke Lionheart had gone among their people and began telling them how Arthas had died. That it was the orcs who held him at bay. That it was an elf who dealt the killing blow.
Even now, Jaina can see a bewildered Thrall retelling the details of the battle to a group composed of all three factions. Interested warriors, sentinels, and soldiers surround the Orc Warchief, listening intently to him describe the events that had transpired in the woods just a short while ago.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the camp, humans and orcs get along rather merrily for the first time in… ever. Until now, they’d fought alongside one another begrudgingly enough, but the camps had been relatively split. Indeed, the orcs and the elves had been closer to one another than Jaina’s people had been to either, but even they had been somewhat apart. Now though? For the first time, Jaina sees the camp mixing in a way it’s never done before.
Forget fighting alongside each other… now they were celebrating alongside one another. After what they’d found upon arriving in the Moonglade, they’d needed this victory, hadn’t they? They’d needed a win. And Arthas Menethil’s death was categorically a win.
Jaina lets out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding in and allows her lips to pull up into a smile at long last. The scene of cooperation and camaraderie taking place before her is a thing of beauty and truth be told, it makes it all worth it. More than that though, it gives her hope that they really can build something new here on Kalimdor. Not just for themselves, but for all of the people of this new land. Humans, Night Elves, Orcs, Tauren, and Trolls… maybe there’s something here. Something truly special.
Of course, at the same time, her personal life was a complete mess, wasn’t it? She suspected she might be developing feelings for Rognak. And no, not just because she’d… err, inadvertently spied on the orc druid while he was having sex with Shandris Feathermoon. It was just too easy to compare Rognak with Arthas and see the ways in which the orc stood head over shoulders above the human man. And not just physically either.
But Jaina didn’t imagine she had much of a chance with him. Even if Shandris hadn’t ratted her out already for her peeping, there was the small issue of Jaina deciding to cry into the orc’s chest like some overly emotional damsel in distress. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to ever recover from that. Or how the hell she was supposed to compete with someone like Shandris Feathermoon in the first place. The Night Elf Sentinel was much more Rognak’s… type, wasn’t she? While Jaina was just… well, Jaina.
She-
“Hey.”
Jaina startles, torn from her thoughts by the sound of someone calling out to her. She supposes it was inevitable. People had initially given her a wide berth because she was tending to Arthas’ funeral pyre and nobody wanted to be drawn into THAT, but now that she’d turned away, it only made sense that someone or likely multiple someones would want to pester her for details about the battle, especially with Thrall already so preoccupied with HIS crowd.
… Which is why Jaina is caught completely off-guard when she turns around and sees who ACTUALLY called out to her. Stepping out of the shadows, Shandris has a half-smirk on her face as she grabs Jaina by the wrist and pulls her away from the pyre behind her and out of the view of most of the camp. Jaina’s breath hitches and she almost calls upon her magic as the Night Elf Sentinel pushes her up against a tree trunk. But… she doesn’t sense hostility from the other woman, much to her surprise.
Standing just a tad taller than her, the Night Elf tilts her head to the side consideringly for a long moment… before nodding.
“I think it’s time you and I had a talk about what I caught you doing, Jaina Proudmoore.”
Well… shit.
Arthas was dead. Arthas Menethil, Prince of Lordaeron… was dead. Truth be told, Jaina was still having a hard time wrapping her head around that fact. Worse still, she’d made a damn fool of herself, weeping into Rognak’s chest like some simpering maiden. What cause did she have to cry, really? The boy she’d loved had been lost to her for quite a long time, after all.
It was actually rather nice of the Lord of the Forest, to allow her to take what was left of Arthas’ body for burning. That Cenarius had declared in no uncertain terms that Arthas would have to be cremated made sense to Jaina. In the end, what Arthas had become was… monstrous. Even with that Runeblade of his broken and destroyed, there was no denying that he’d been corrupted.
Not to mention, these were not the lands of his forefathers. This was not Lordaeron, and to bury him here would be to dole out disrespect to all parties involved. Of course, if they WERE back in Lordaeron, would it have been right to bury Arthas in the tombs of his ancestors, of the long line of House Menethil, or would his part in his father’s death have disqualified him from such a thing?
Jaina honestly couldn’t have said one way or another, and luckily she didn’t have to. Cenarius’ instructions were quite clear. Arthas would be burned… a pyre, to make sure that through the cleansing fire, nothing remained.
As they arrive back at camp, Jaina’s lips thin out. Shandris is quick to take Tyrande away before anyone can really notice her, while Thrall has done Jaina the service of carrying Arthas’ remains for her. Given that one pair is carrying a body and the other is not, the people who are most observant in the camp focus on Jaina and Thrall over Shandris and Tyrande.
Duke Lionheart and Chieftain Bloodhoof are the ones to approach of course, both wearing matching frowns on very dissimilar faces. But the aged Paladin’s face rapidly morphs into shock when he sees the features of the corpse that Thrall is carrying.
“Lady Proudmoore…”
Letting out an explosive breath, Jaina nods.
“It’s him, Sir Lionheart. The Traitor Prince is dead.”
Stepping forward, Jaina clears her throat and then applies a small arcane cantrip for good measure, raising the volume of her voice so more of the camp hears her.
“Prepare a pyre! The Lord of the Forest has decreed that the remains be burned!”
There’s a moment’s pause… and then her people begin moving to carry out her will. As they do so, word quickly travels fast through the human side of the camp. Jaina watches as the news reaches more and more ears. She won’t lie… she’s nervous how they’ll respond in the end. And admittedly a little surprised when the response turns out to be largely positive.
Though she supposed she really shouldn’t have been. Her people had come with her across the sea to escape the Prince’s Madness, after all. When Arthas had returned from Northrend changed, when he had slain his own father and brought nothing but pain and undeath back to Lordaeron… they had fled. Jaina and everyone she could gather had fled as Arthas besieged Dalaran and her teacher Antonidas had bid her to run.
For him to have followed them here to this place… Jaina can see in the eyes of many that the thought terrified them. And indeed, some of them had wondered from the moment they first started to encounter the Scourge even here on this new land. After all, Kalimdor was supposed to be their escape. It was supposed to be their new home, but it had all the same problems as the old home, along with several more to boot.
But now… now Arthas was dead. And they were all so… happy.
As the pyre is prepared, Jaina watches Thrall step forward and carefully set Arthas’ remains atop the gathered wood. When he steps back, she bows her head in gratitude towards him.
“Thank you for your help, Warchief.”
Thrall grunts, rolling his shoulders in that way that orcs tended to do sometimes.
“Of course, Lady Proudmoore.”
He, at least, is solemn as he bows his head to her and then pulls away. But then… he’d seen her embarrassing moment with Rognak, hadn’t he? When Jaina had shed tears over the man that Thrall had only ever known as a monstrous Death Knight. But that wasn’t all Arthas Menethil had been. Once upon a time, he’d been a Prince. Once upon a time, he’d been a man with a good, strong heart.
Rognak’s words echo in Jaina’s head. To remember Arthas as he was, rather than what he became. Unfortunately, staring now at his stark-white hair and his charred armor, it was hard to do so. Instead, she finds herself picturing the faces of all those that Arthas killed. A shuddering breath leaves her lips, even as she lifts a hand… and lights the pyre. A burst of fire magic is more than enough to make the gathered wood pile catch aflame, and as it begins to lick at Arthas’ remains, she stands before it.
Someone has to bear witness, after all… and she can already hear the sounds of revelry beginning to crop up behind her. Her people will not want to spend any time mourning the man Arthas once was. So it will have to be Jaina.
Duke Lionheart comes to stand beside her, the old Paladin staring at the flames as they lick up and down the length of Arthas’ body. For a moment, he’s quiet. But eventually, he clears his throat and speaks, his tone rough.
“My Lady… if I might ask, how did he die?”
Jaina swallows thickly at that, considering how best to answer for a long heartbeat. Finally, she forces herself to get the words out and be done with it.
“A… a concerted effort. We caught him largely alone in the woods and were able to ambush him before he could flee.”
Duke Lionheart hums.
“The orcs and the elves assisted in putting him down?”
A flicker of a smile appears on Jaina’s face.
“Aye. Warchief Thrall and Chieftain Rognak were instrumental in holding him at bay and keeping him from escaping. And… it was the High Priestess Tyrande who delivered the killing blow.”
She hears the aged paladin’s sharp intake of surprise and knows she’s caught him off-guard. But then to be fair, he hasn’t gotten much chance to see Tyrande in action just yet. Neither had Jaina before tonight. The Priestess of Elune was… more of a force to be reckoned with than she could ever have imagined.
“… I see. My Lady, permission to spread this news to the rest of the camp? If our people knew the part that our allies played in defeating the Traitor Prince…”
Duke Lionheart trails off, causing a ghost of a smile to appear on Jaina’s face as she stares at Arthas’ burning body. Yes… he was right, wasn’t he? This victory was a shared one. And while they’d bled most of the people Jaina imagined were going to desert by this point, it was still worth talking about. Knowing that the orcs and elves played a pivotal role in Arthas’ death would go a long way to helping the refugees under her command accept that they were not just allies by convenience but could be something more than that.
Letting out an explosive breath, Jaina nods her head.
“Do it.”
“As you wish, my Lady.”
With that, Duke Lionheart leaves her side. She’s all alone there in front of Arthas’ pyre. It will be good, that in death he can provide a unifying force for their people. Even if what little she’d overheard him say to Illidan made it clear that he was working against the demons for some reason… it mattered little in the end. It was still Arthas and his army of the dead that had destroyed Lordaeron. It was still he who had chased them all from their homes.
… Though, he hadn’t technically chased Jaina from her home. Kul Tiras still stood strong, the island nation across the sea. Jaina hadn’t dared lead her people there, out of fear that what befell Lordaeron was doomed to befall Kul Tiras as well. And also… a part of her had worried that Arthas might follow her to Kul Tiras, if she did not flee further afield. By coming to Kalimdor as the Prophet had bid, Jaina had hoped that she would kill two birds with one stone, both putting herself out of Arthas’ reach and leaving the Death Knight less reason to attack Kul Tiras in pursuit of her.
Obviously, that hadn’t quite worked out how she’d wanted it to. But then… from the impression Jaina got, Arthas hadn’t been on Kalimdor for her at all. He hadn’t even spared a thought for her until she’d shown up before him and forced him to confront his past. His Master, whoever that was, had him completely under his control.
Still, it did raise the question. Should Jaina return to Kul Tiras now? Would it be safer to take her people back across the sea and put them and herself under her father’s aegis once more?
The thought is a tempting one… for all of five minutes. Jaina loves her father, truly she does… but Lord Admiral Daelin Proudmoore was a proud man, pardon the pun. He was also a vengeful man, and her brother’s death at the old Horde’s hands had never been quite settled in the Lord Admiral’s mind. Daelin had been one of those who pushed for complete genocide of the orcs following the Second War, rather than internment.
If he found out that there was a new Horde on Kalimdor, Jaina didn’t know what he would do. But she knew it wouldn’t be good, that was for sure.
… No, this was her home now, for better or for worse. She certainly couldn’t abandon their allies to the demons either, not when the Legion’s threat promised to consume all of Azeroth if it was left unchecked. And even after they defeated the demons, even after they dealt with the Defiler, Jaina wanted to make a new life for herself her. For her AND her people.
By now, Arthas’ remains have been reduced to ash. It’s taken quite a lot of her mana to keep the magical fire burning at high enough temperatures, but she’s managed to melt the Traitor Prince’s wicked-looking armor as well. Feeling a strange sense of… liberation coming over her, Jaina turns away from the pyre and back to the camp behind her.
What she bears witness to… it only further sets her mind at ease. Everywhere she looks, she sees signs of cooperation amidst the revelry. For the first time, Jaina can’t see a single one of her people sitting off to the side and glaring at their allies as though they were their enemies. The news of Arthas’ death had spread like wildfire through the camp, leaving the refugees from Lordaeron in a jubilant mood.
When it was explained to them what Arthas had been and what he had done, the orcs and the elves had also taken to celebrating the victory over the monstrous Death Knight. And then, with her blessing, Duke Lionheart had gone among their people and began telling them how Arthas had died. That it was the orcs who held him at bay. That it was an elf who dealt the killing blow.
Even now, Jaina can see a bewildered Thrall retelling the details of the battle to a group composed of all three factions. Interested warriors, sentinels, and soldiers surround the Orc Warchief, listening intently to him describe the events that had transpired in the woods just a short while ago.
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the camp, humans and orcs get along rather merrily for the first time in… ever. Until now, they’d fought alongside one another begrudgingly enough, but the camps had been relatively split. Indeed, the orcs and the elves had been closer to one another than Jaina’s people had been to either, but even they had been somewhat apart. Now though? For the first time, Jaina sees the camp mixing in a way it’s never done before.
Forget fighting alongside each other… now they were celebrating alongside one another. After what they’d found upon arriving in the Moonglade, they’d needed this victory, hadn’t they? They’d needed a win. And Arthas Menethil’s death was categorically a win.
Jaina lets out a breath she hadn’t even known she was holding in and allows her lips to pull up into a smile at long last. The scene of cooperation and camaraderie taking place before her is a thing of beauty and truth be told, it makes it all worth it. More than that though, it gives her hope that they really can build something new here on Kalimdor. Not just for themselves, but for all of the people of this new land. Humans, Night Elves, Orcs, Tauren, and Trolls… maybe there’s something here. Something truly special.
Of course, at the same time, her personal life was a complete mess, wasn’t it? She suspected she might be developing feelings for Rognak. And no, not just because she’d… err, inadvertently spied on the orc druid while he was having sex with Shandris Feathermoon. It was just too easy to compare Rognak with Arthas and see the ways in which the orc stood head over shoulders above the human man. And not just physically either.
But Jaina didn’t imagine she had much of a chance with him. Even if Shandris hadn’t ratted her out already for her peeping, there was the small issue of Jaina deciding to cry into the orc’s chest like some overly emotional damsel in distress. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to ever recover from that. Or how the hell she was supposed to compete with someone like Shandris Feathermoon in the first place. The Night Elf Sentinel was much more Rognak’s… type, wasn’t she? While Jaina was just… well, Jaina.
She-
“Hey.”
Jaina startles, torn from her thoughts by the sound of someone calling out to her. She supposes it was inevitable. People had initially given her a wide berth because she was tending to Arthas’ funeral pyre and nobody wanted to be drawn into THAT, but now that she’d turned away, it only made sense that someone or likely multiple someones would want to pester her for details about the battle, especially with Thrall already so preoccupied with HIS crowd.
… Which is why Jaina is caught completely off-guard when she turns around and sees who ACTUALLY called out to her. Stepping out of the shadows, Shandris has a half-smirk on her face as she grabs Jaina by the wrist and pulls her away from the pyre behind her and out of the view of most of the camp. Jaina’s breath hitches and she almost calls upon her magic as the Night Elf Sentinel pushes her up against a tree trunk. But… she doesn’t sense hostility from the other woman, much to her surprise.
Standing just a tad taller than her, the Night Elf tilts her head to the side consideringly for a long moment… before nodding.
“I think it’s time you and I had a talk about what I caught you doing, Jaina Proudmoore.”
Well… shit.
