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Upon the frozen throne
Sat the King alone
Condemned by his decision
Eternal, self-made prison
In the citadel of abomination
He was crowned by domination
Gripping fast the cursed blade
An epiphany was made
"Fuck this," the Lich King said and stood up, shaking the ice and snow from his shoulders. "I need a vacation."
***
The Lich King was not one being. He was rather a composite of the body and mind of Prince Arthas Menethil, human paladin turned death knight, and the spirit of Ner'zhul, an orc shaman who had been trapped inside an extremely stylish helmet by the dread eredar Kil'jaeden. But he was more than that.
Yes, he was the absolute ruler of the Scourge, a dark necromantic force hellbent on consuming and transforming all life on Azeroth to match its own entropic existence.
Yes, he was a man who had killed his own father just to watch him die. Killed his own people. Taken up the dread runeblade Frostmourne and used it to bring misery and death to Loardaeron.
Yes, he was an orc who had been tortured and destroyed bodily by the Deceiver Kil'jaeden, trapped in the Helm of Domination and given immense power to raise an undead army.
He was a very complicated and tragic figure.
But he also had a cold ass and stiff joints from sitting atop the Frozen Throne in Icecrown Citadel. And honestly, he needed to think about something other than work for a change.
Most people need to set up zeppelin rides and book passage on a ship when they want to take some time off and get away from it all.
Most people don't have a Death Gate.
***
"We should stop by the Undercity," the Lich King growled, dark resonance and echoing in his every word. "Say hi to the old gang."
"Are you sure that's a good idea, sir?" said Lady Deathwhisper, leader of the Cult of the Damned. "Sylvanas is, uh, not a fan."
"How long could she possibly hold a grudge?"
***
"Forever," the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner said, notching another arrow.
"Can we talk about this?" The Lich King said, pulling an arrow out of his chest and tossing it onto the rather impressive pile that was growing beside him. Another arrow thunked into his leg.
"I'm not interested in your words, Arthas." Sylvanas hissed his name. "More arrows!" A few banshess scurried into view and brought her more quivers, absolutely stuffed with projectiles.
"Don't you ever get tired of the endless cycle of vengeance?" The Lich King said, periodically interrupted by more arrows filling his body. He pulled them out and added them to the pile. A couple of cheerful ghouls started to take arrows from the pile and load them into more quivers.
"I never tire. Or age. Or die. Because. Of. You." Each sentence, another arrow loosed.
"Yeah, that's one hundo pee my bad."
Sylvanas lowered her bow. "You can't be serious."
"I've been thinking a lot lately. Mostly evil plans, honestly. I've got this one idea where I make the most powerful force in history try to conquer Northrend to get to me, adding their fallen to my own ranks, and eventually defeating their champions and perfecting the Scourge. It's pretty hilarious."
"The arrogance of you," Sylvanas almost spat the words. "You believe that you are invincible."
"No, that's my horse."
"More archers!"
"Okay. Get it out of your system."
"I despise you, Arthas. Why would you think we could just have a friendly chat? The unmitigated gall of you, to just march into my inner sanctum. To what end?"
"I don't expect you to forgive or forget. But I feel like we could both use some time away from it all."
"You expect me to accompany you on this fool's errand?! As if my every waking moment is not utterly consumed with thoughts of bringing you a tiny shred of the pain and misery you've inflicted upon me!"
"Yeah, you seem, like, super tense. I mean, you shot like four hundred arrows at me and even though they can't possibly damage me, you keep doing it. Do you know what the definition of insanity is?"
Sylvanas considered this for a moment.
***
"I don't know what he's playing at," Sylvanas muttered, punching a nearby wall.
"The Lich King plays his own games. I don't know what amusement he seeks in this one," said Nathanos Blightcaller.
"How is it possible that he has made me even more furious? How does this bastard continue to hold sway over my emotions?"
"Your obsession, while entirely justified, consumes you."
"I know, Nathanos. But that knowledge doesn't aid me."
"Is it possible he's sincere?"
"Sincere?!"
"Grokham's razor."
"The only sincerity in that abomination is in his malice." Sylvanas sat down roughly upon her throne.
"He makes a good point."
"Remind me again why I tolerate your presence, Blightcaller?"
"You have been tense. It's not good for you to be angry all of the time."
"Oh!? Is that a fact!? Thanks for your concern!"
"The Forsaken don't care about much, my Dark Lady. But we care about you."
Sylvanas stood up and kicked a skull across the room. She felt like she was going crazy. Like nothing made sense and she was the lone voice of reason in a world of chaos. This is madness. This is idiocy! But this is also an opportunity.
"Blightcaller, alert my guard. I will be joining Arthas on this fool excursion. And when the moment is right, I shall extract my vengeance."
"By your will, Dark Lady."
***
"There are disturbing reports out of the Plaguelands, father." Prince Anduin Wrynn said, handing his father a parchment.
"More disturbing than roving bands of the undead, diseased and corrupted wildlife, and ziggurats of terrible necrotic power?" King Varian Wrynn said with a deep sigh. There was always something going wrong in his kingdom. "Perhaps the Scarlet Crusade is rising in the west, this time."
"It's definitely something different than we're used to."
"How so?"
"The undead are not attacking anyone."
"What do you mean?"
"They're just sort of standing around."
"Standing around?"
"According to the reports, they're just sort of hanging out."
"Are they defending themselves?"
"It doesn't seem like it, father. Apparently the human members of the Cult of the Damned have set up a tetherball near Caer Darrow."
"A tether," King Wrynn repeated, tasting each word, "ball?"
"There's a pole with a chain affixed to the top. And at the end of the chain is a ball. You hit it back and forth, and if manage to wrap the chain around the pole, you win."
Varian considered his son's words. "Is it wrong that I'm longing for the days when our biggest problem was the Defias Brotherhood?"
***
"We mighta hab a trubble, Warchief. A it Sylvanas. She lef di Undacity. Wid di Lich King."
"That is troubling, Vol'jin. If he has managed to re-establish his influence over her, we may lose our foothold in the Eastern Kingdoms." Thrall squeezed the Doomhammer reflexively. "I wonder if this has anything to do with the reports from the Plaguelands."
"Mi spies dem seh dem did spot dem inna Booty Bay."
"Hmm. Perhaps we need to take a boat trip to Stranglethorn Vale, my friend."
***
"This is nice," The Lich King said, leaning back in his chair. Sylvanas sat across from him, glaring intensely, as if hoping looks could indeed kill.
"Nice, is it?" Sylvanas hissed.
"We've got the sun, we've got drinks with fruit in them. This is the life. So to speak."
"I hate the sun. I hate fruit." Sylvanas stabbed a dagger into the table, causing the very few stray onlookers (who hadn't immediately run for cover at the sight of the two imposing undead) to run for cover. "And I hate you."
"No reason to let that get in the way of a good time."
Sylvanas felt her teeth begin to grind. "I can think of several."
"You know what's fun about being the Lich King? My drinks are always cool. I just radiate cold. You could even say, I'm the coolest guy on Azeroth."
A goblin waiter came up to the table, the pad in his hand rattling with his shiver. "Yo, can I get you, uh, guys anything else?"
Sylvanas plucked the dagger out of the table and plunged it into the goblin's chest. He keeled backwards.
"That wasn't very nice, Sylvanas. Keep doing that and the Bloodsail Buccaneers will love you," The Lich King said and casually waved his hand to resurrect the waiter.
The waiter stood, blinked his eyes a few times (which incidentally, now glowed blue), looked down at the dagger buried in his chest, and scurried away.
"You don't care, do you?" Sylvanas seethed, extracting another dagger from one of her many hidden sheaths. "You just condemned that poor goblin to an eternal existence of death and decay."
"Bit of a hypocritical thing to say, given that you were the one who killed him," The Lich King said, taking a long sip of his extremely iced tea.
"You seem very thirsty, Arthas. I wonder if you'd enjoy a tall glass of this." Sylvanas reached into her satchel and extracted a small glass bottle full of suspicious green liquid.
"I like the logo. Skulls are very much my aesthetic."
"Yes, that's the purpose of that logo. Can I top you up?" she said with exaggerated diction and an evil smile.
"Sure thing. Vacations are all about trying new things." The Lich King watched in fascination as Sylvanas poured the green ooze into his definitively iced tea. It started to smoke and boil and the resulting mixture had a fascinating chartreuse glow.
"Bottoms up," Sylvanas said, smiling with her mouth alone.
***
The ghost of Lady Illucia Barov watched the fledgling necromancers of the Scholomance trying to play tetherball with vague disinterest. She wasn't able to play herself, due to her spectral form.
"I don't like it," Lord Alexei Barov, death knight of the Scourge, muttered to his intangible wife. "Idle hands are the Deceiver's plaything."
"It seems there are no commands coming from the top," Lady Illucia said. "I sent word to Naxxramas and even Kel'Thuzad has no idea what is happening. And he's Kel'Thuzad, the King's most trusted advisor."
"There are dark rumours that the King is up to something with the Banshee Queen."
"Well, this is Scholomance. Everything is dark. Makes sense the rumours would be as well. Unparalleled fashion sense, though." Lady Illucia pointed to her outfit, which was on point, despite its spectral nature.
"I'm going to go play tetherball," intoned the death knight sadly.
***
"How you feeling?" Sylvanas was resting her chin on her steepled hands and staring expectantly.
"This drink is spicy," the Lich King said with a slight cough. "It kind of tastes like death, but not in a good way."
"Fascinating. Anything happening in your stomach area?"
"Now that you mention it, I kind of feel like I might need to take an impromptu Death Gate to the Frozen Throne, if you catch my meaning."
"I do, Arthas. I really, truly do. The alchemists did say that something like might happen when I asked them to make it."
"It's poison isn't it."
"Poison you? Me? What possible reason could I have to wish harm upon you?" Sylvanas was clearly enjoying herself, something she had only the faintest memory of doing. "It is poison, yes. But it's so much more than poison. It's poison infused with fel magic, honed and refined, over and over by the greatest plague doctors Azeroth has ever known. It's a poison that causes flesh abominations to explode at a sip, demons to melt into sticky puddles, and would register to even C'thun. It is liquid vengeance and inevitable doom, Arthas."
"Sylvanas! Explain yourself!" This was not The Lich King, but rather Warchief Thrall, who was approaching from the docks, accompanied by Cairne Bloodhoof and Vol'Jin of the Darkspear.
"Did you call them in as reinforcements, Sylvanas?" This was The Lich King, who covered his mouth to hold back a toxic belch. "I'm just trying to have a good time, man."
"I do not answer to you, Thrall." Sylvanas said defiantly, ignoring The Lich King.
"Perhaps not," the Warchief said, "But this is, as the colloquialism goes, a dick move."
"The ancestors look upon you with shame," said Carine Bloodhoof, who presumably thought that was a sick burn.
"Wa unu a du wid da man ya?" said Vol'Jin.
The Lich King was starting to turn green, though his eyes still glowed blue. But he still had his wits about him, "I'm sorry, are all trolls Jamaican?"
"Dis King mek jokes," Vol'Jin said.
"What are you doing consorting with The Lich King?" Thrall asked grimly, his steely blue eyes narrowing.
Sylvanas erupted with laughter. "Consorting? As if I'm some cheap whore. Or a San'layn. I am here to kill Arthas and claim the vengeance I am owed. Nothing more."
The Lich King shrugged at the Horde leaders. "Women, am I right?"
"No," Thrall said, his voice solemn. "You are very not right."
"This guy's a buzzkill. Hey Thrall, this is Ner'Zhul talking right now. Orcs used to be cool." The Lich King held his throat slightly as if choking.
"Surely you can't just poison him to death? Well, more death," said Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron, who was feeling slightly hurt he hadn't been included in the conversation or even narration.
Sylvanas smiled evilly. "My alchemists have dedicated their entire unlives to finding a poison that can take down this bastard."
"I know. Like half the Forsaken zone quests are about it," said The Lich King, wobbling a little. He always started breaking the fourth wall when he wasn't feeling well.
"What do we do now?" Thrall said. "I feel we must consult the spirits."
"Yuh always do dat. Mek wi hit him wid weapons!"
"I agree with our troll friend," said Sylvanas, and lashed out with her dagger, slicing the neck of The Lich King.
"Wow, I'm starting to think you don't like me." The Lich King dropped Frostmourne and slumped to his knees, coughing and clutching at his neck wound.
"I was hoping that would silence you, but I see it's going take more than that." Sylvanas bent down to pick up Frostmourne.
"Dat look like a bad idea, mon."
"Sylvanas," Thrall looked at her with pleading in his cobalt eyes.
"Sorry, Warchief. I hate him more than I like you." She closed her hand around the hilt and brought the dread runeblade to The Lich King's throat. "Any last words?"
"I-" The Lich King started to say before Sylvanas struck off his head with one swipe.
"Wasn't interested," said Sylvanas, picking up the Helm of Domination and dumping out the head.
"Guess you're not invincible after all, Arthas."
"Isn't that his horse?" said Thrall.
"Without their master's command, the Scourge will run rampant," Cairne Bloodhoof said gravely.
"Mi hear dem jus a chill."
"One of us must take up the burden. There must always be a Lich King," Regent Lord Lor'themar Theron
"That sounds like something that someone who really wanted to be the Lich King would say," said Thrall, his eyes really looking very blue indeed.
"You hold a grim destiny in your hands, sister. But it is not your own," said the undead goblin waiter, with Sylvanas' dagger still sticking out of his chest.
"What?" Sylvanas held the Helm in one hand and unsheathed another dagger, looking at the goblin meaningfully.
"Nevermind," the goblin said, backing away slowly.
"Well, I can't wear it. On account of my large horns," said Cairne.
"An mi kyaan wear it either, mon. Mi teeth too big."
"No one is going to wear it. Fuck that!" Sylvanas placed the Helm of Domination on the table next to the Lich King's iced tea and raised Frostmourne above her head. She brought the dread blade down with a powerful swing, cleaving the helmet in two and shattering the blue jewel in the center.
There was a rumble in the sky.
"Dat no gud. Mi a go a yaad."
The skies turned grey and the air itself began to shatter. The horizon over Booty Bay looked like a fractured mirror.
Thrall looked up grimly with blue in his eyes, "And that's why you always consult the spirits."
The End