Warcraft 1. Peace is for the Weak

**A/N:**___**Okay, so this is my first story, so I apologize if it seems kind of amateurish. But whatever, enjoy…PLEASE.  
>Disclaimer: I do not own WarcraftWorld of Warcraft…if I did, Illidan would have told Maiev he loves her a LONG time ago…we all know he does!**_

Archeron sat silently in her seat in the large circular room as the King spoke with the ambassadors and emissaries. She sighed and pushed a stray white hair out of her face. The peace meeting had been going on for hours and it showed no signs of ending. Why had she even been summoned? Archeron glared at the wall in front of her as she remembered: she was the Horde's ambassador to King Wyrnn, advising the King of Stormwind and the Alliance on prospects of peace.

Archeron crossed her legs, somewhat uncomfortably in her heavy armor, and sighed. She did _**NOT**_ want to be here, she did _**NOT**_ want to be in this room, she did _**NOT**_ want to be in this castle, and certainly _**NOT**_ in this city, in the slightest. She watched the king pace back and forth, listening to the other ambassadors. Archeron's vision soon became out of focus as she thought, tuning out the loud voices around her.

_ "Thrall is a fool if he expects Varian to vouch for peace…Varian is a fool if he expects to win this useless war without much loss…I'm surrounded by bloody___**fools**_!"_

"Archeron, if a peace negotiation with the…'Warchief' were to be proposed, where would it be held?" Varian asked, rousing her from her bitter thoughts. Archeron sighed and answered, "A neutral area agreed upon by all leaders involved. Somewhere with a separate or non-biased faction such as Dalaran, Shattrath, or Moonglade…_should_ the need arise. She felt the tips of her mouth rise the slightest bit when she saw the makings of a scowl appear on Varian's face. The answer must have destroyed any attempts of assassination the King had for her Warchief. Silence issued as Varian paced, most likely concocting new plans for Thrall, or so Archeron believed. Bored as she was, Archeron decided to play a little game with the ruler of the Alliance.

"If the idea of peace appalls you so, then why have we been here for five hours?" Archeron inquired blankly. Varian was pulled from his thoughts by her rather unexpected question. His eyes narrowed slightly as he said, "I do not recall saying that I do not want peace." Noticing how the King had rather plainly refused to utter the phrase 'peace with the Horde'", she dismissed this statement with a wave of her hand.

"No, it was implied." Archeron fixed her glowing blue gaze on the King. "Thrall is intent on ending this war," she continued, "He, however, wishes for to end peacefully. Though I can assure you that he can, and will, do it with force if need be…and if that happens, all blood spilled will be on your head.

Varian stood roughly, fuming with anger. "How DARE you insult me in my own home?" This time, she didn't bother to hide her smirk.

"Insult you? I was merely stating a fact, your 'Majesty'", Archeron mocked, her voice dripping with dry sarcasm, the icy glow in her eyes seemingly growing brighter and more intense with each passing moment. However, she was quickly tiring of her game and turned to leave. Though she could not resist giving a few parting words as she turned her back on Varian.

"And it's a fact you would be a fool to ignore…" Archeron laughed inwardly as she felt Varian Wyrnn's glaring eyes boring into her back. She slowly walked through the halls of the castle, stopping by the armory to retrieve her sword. The death knight stood outside of the large building, quietly inspecting the runes etched into the blade. On it, she could almost see the dark, still warm, blood staining its surface.

Archeron inhaled deeply and stared emotionlessly at the ignorant fool peering at her with worry and suspicion plain on their faces as they paced the castle. She thought of the simplicity of their lives bitterly. Easy, comfortable, simple,_ peaceful_. Yet she found it amusing that they did not know the harsh and cruel reality that lie just beyond the walls of their beloved city. They did not know anything of what Azeroth was actually like. These humans were resigned to watch as life quickly passed, and they withered with time. Archeron knew that none of them would do anything remarkable and they left their fate in the hands of 'heroes'.

Perhaps, though, it was better that they did not know…

"…_Well, as they say, 'Ignorance is bliss,'"_ she thought bitterly.

Archeron walked slowly-for she was deep in thought-through the city aimlessly. Her thoughts had shifted from the pitiful humans around her, to the meeting. However, there was not much to reflect on other than one thing that kept coming to mind…

"Peace is for the weak…"

A/N: _**Alright, so that was chapter 1. Hope you liked it **_


	2. Flight and Wisdom

_**A/N: **__**Okie, here's chapter two. Just by the way, most of the random characters in this story are PROBABLY going to mine…but maybe not. Archeron is mine, and I will be introducing a lot more in chapters 4 and 5  
>(1)Okay, I know this seems really random and pointless at first, but I promise, it DOES have a point!<br>Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft/World of Warcraft…only 3 cats, this computer, and my bookcase of manga **_

Archeron reached the stables after roughly an hour of wandering aimlessly around the loathsome city. Her friend, companion, and mount, Erestrasz, a Netherwing Drake, had loudly objected to being separated from Archeron, but had agreed to stay in the stables after Archeron had persuaded (*cough*threatened*cough**cough*) him to stay. Erestrasz was loyal to a fault, kind hearted, but a very fierce and efficient warrior when the need struck.

Archeron lead Erestrasz silently through the bustle of Stormwind.

"How were your negotiations?" he asked suddenly. Sometimes, she wished he could not speak. She groaned and the young drake almost laughed.

Once outside of the city gates, Erestrasz lowered himself and Archeron climbed into the light saddle perched upon his scaly back. She held onto the large spike on his back just in front of the saddle and roughly-though it could barley be felt by the drake-patted his flank, indicating that she was ready. In no time the pair was flying towards the forsaken stronghold of Undercity, under-just as the name indicated-the ruined city of Lordaeron.

They passed over the various territories of the Eastern Kingdoms in utter silence. Erestrasz found the silence quite unnerving, and after nearly two hours of the strenuous quiet, he spoke. "You never answered my question…" Archeron sighed deeply, not wanting to so soon relive the discussion with Varian. After he poked and prodded enough, she finally, albeit grudgingly, agreed to tell him.  
>Archeron had not left out even a single speck of dust as she retold the happenings of the meeting. Erestrasz listened intently as she recounted its long hours, not missing any of what she said. When she had finished Erestrasz slowed his pace, thinking of what Archeron had just said.<p>

There was a long pause until he looked over his shoulder and through his transparent wing at the rider on his back, amusement clear in his narrow eyes."Are you certain that was wise?" Archeron threw her head back and laughed. It was cold and hallow, though it no longer had the cruel and merciless edge that it used to.

"Of course not," she replied. For a drake of not even 50 years, Erestrasz was wise far beyond his years. Sometimes this annoyed Archeron to no end, however, other times it provided sufficient amusement.

The rest of the flight was in silence, though it was not stressful and tense as it previously was. Though however wise-for his age-he was, Erestrasz did not have the stamina of a dragon, and was worn by the time they reached the Silverpine Forest. Though the drake kept insisting that he was not tired, the pair stopped at the Sepulcher to rest, for it was clear that Erestrasz would drop out of the sky if he attempted to go any further, much less the Undercity.  
>_<p>

**(1)**Erestrasz sat cross-legged in his blood elf form next to Archeron, who was clearly deep in thought. She was staring vacantly into through the mountains, not actually looking them, but past them, her snow white hair being pulled lightly back by the slight wind. The drake(in elf form) scanned the area below them, but soon tired of simply looking at the feral worgen snarling back at him. Erestrasz looked towards the south-peering past the Sepulcher, the trees, and beasts-at Shadowfang Keep. With his heightened senses, he could see and hear the happenings of the Keep and of its neighboring village, Pyrewood. He could see a child crying, being held by two worgen men, as another approached the girl slowly…and with liquid speed, bit her neck. The girl cried in pain, shock-and most noticeably-fear…her eyes wild with fear as she screamed with all the intensity her tiny, young lungs could muster, hoping someone would come to save her…but no one would. Then, he could see her changing. The girl's teeth grew longer and much sharper, her limbs seemed to grow-even if the smallest bit-and whitish-grey fur began sprouting from her slightly elongated arms and legs.

At this point, Erestrasz could no longer bear watching the girl's torturous transformation. He slowly turned his head, eyes down cast, to look at his friend. Archeron was still staring intently past the mountains. For some reason unknown to him, the girl reminded him of her. She was no older than five winters old, but this…curse, was already being forced upon her. Archeron may have been much older when her own curse had been placed upon her, but it was there none the less. She had witnessed the destruction of her beloved homeland at the rotting and soulless hands of the Scourge, and not soon after, had her own soul severed from her cold unliving body.

Archeron suddenly stirred and turned, only to be staring into sad, pitying green eyes. She narrowed her own glowing blue orbs and turned away, not wanting to know what Erestrasz was thinking, though she had a fair idea already.  
>_<p>

The two companions set off not an hour after they had come to the Sepulcher, and flew to the Undercity's zeppelin towers. Erestrasz scaled the large towers on foot with Archeron, having decided against staying in his natural form in fear of being refused on the zeppelin heading for Kalimdor, for he knew he would not be able to fly the length of the Great Sea. The goblins controlling the Orgrimmar bound zeppelin eyed the duo suspiciously, but thought better of saying anything.

The first day of the journey across the sea was quiet, boring, and uneventful. Archeron sat in her small cabin writing her lengthy report of the peace 'discussion' for Thrall. Erestrasz, however, took to the skies and explored the area around the zeppelin…though there was not much to see save for the hundreds of miles of dark blue water.

On the second day, the death knight was tiredly continuing her report, when the ship suddenly lurched to the right… 

A/N:_** The cliffhanger is kinda stupid, I know, but hey, I'm the writer and I can do whatever I want no matter how dumb it may be ;p**_


	3. Doomweaver

**A/N: So here is chapter 3 I tried to make this as bloody as I could without making it sound really stupid, and I think I did a good job. And remember, this is mainly from a death knight's point of view, so it's going to be very dark and kind of twisted…not far from my own personality actually…anyway, read on my beautiful readers.**

Archeron snarled audibly as the ink spilled over the parchment, ruining the words scribbled onto its fine surface.

"_Two full days…wasted…_**WHAT**_ are those infernal, little monstrosities _**DOING**_? I will be sure that the little creatures suffer as they are slowly torn limb from limb and have the flesh ripped from their bodies by mindless ghouls..!"_

She angrily slammed down the quill she was holding and looked to her left, grinning wickedly when she found what she sought, her runeblade, Doomweaver. Archeron stalked over to it, and slowly slid it out of its sheath, her grin widening as the cold metal gleamed cruelly in the dim light.

She stormed onto the deck and was met with the unlikely sight of two dozen humans and dwarves on the ship and another dozen in the skies around the zeppelin, all baring the golden lion's head insignia of the Alliance, though the trim was red, not blue…but this mattered little to Archeron, a target is a target after all. Erestrasz was angrily snapping at the gryphons and their riders while small green men scrambled frantically around. She snarled again and prowled quietly, despite her heavy plate armor, behind the nearest attacker. He had cornered a cowering goblin and was about to bring his sword down on it, when the rather annoyed knight grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down, brutally impaling the pathetic human on Doomweaver. His eyes saw only a large blade poking through the bones of his chest, and said bones protruding slightly, until he quickly passed into a cold and unrelenting darkness.

Archeron slowly pulled her sword from its victim, twisting the blade occasionally simply for the satisfaction of hearing and feeling the bones crack and move unnaturally beneath the man's swiftly paling skin. She tossed the body aside with a spray of blood gushing from the gaping wound in the creature's chest, coating her in the stinking blood of the human. Archeron made quick work of the next few.  
>_<p>

"Surround her, kill her!" a dwarf yelled. In a matter of seconds, several humans and dwarves alike had completely surrounded her. Archeron saw the slight hesitations in their movements and smirked coldly. Before anything still moving on the ship had even a chance to blink, she casted her unholy spell-Death and Decay. Archeron watched with cruel satisfaction as her attackers withered, rotted, and writhed in agony around her.

Once the spell had finished its small swath of destruction, she returned to the raging battle. She stopped next to a fallen dwarf feebly attempting to reach for his mace. Looking down on this pathetic scene with contempt, Archeron mercilessly drove her bloodstained blade into the creature's sternum, giving Doomweaver and her armor a new layer of fresh crimson.

Erestrasz's eyes were alight with triumph as the last gryphon's neck was easily crushed between his powerful jaws, feeling the flying beast's blood falling from his snarling mouth.

He turned his blood splattered head in time to see Archeron throw a cowering Alliance soldier off of the edge of the zeppelin, sending him plummeting into the violent waves miles below.

Erestrasz landed next to the clearly angry ambassador, watching as she casually tore a tabard off of one of the corpses and unceremoniously stuffed it into her leather bag, which she had not bothered to remove.

The air was so thick and moist with the blood around them, that Erestrasz nearly choked on the very air he breathed.

The battle had lasted no more than seven minutes, but clearing away its evidence took much longer. Archeron had dashed back to her room very nearly right after their last attacker fell, no doubt to rewrite and finish her ridiculously long report. The drake, however, stayed behind to clean the gore that she had been ever so eager to cause and just as eager to neglect. Goblins were scrambling around attempting to stabilize the out of control ship…though there was not much difference between Erestrasz's vision of "out of control" and the goblin's version of "stable".

Clearing away the gore of the recent battle had taken almost the full three more days of travel the zeppelin had until it reached Orgrimmar. Archeron was still hastily scrawling the last few lines of the report when they had gratefully reached the zeppelin landing outside of the Horde's capital city.

"Erestrasz!" Archeron called. He turned and gave her a weary, questioning look. She offered no explanation as she roughly placed the parchment on his back and continued writing, occasionally dipping the quill into the ink canister she forced into his hand. Erestrasz sighed and waited patiently until he could no longer feel the light movement of the sharp quill point on his back, moving only when he knew she was finished.

"Done?" he asked, somewhat sarcastically. This was not lost on the Death Knight and she shot him a sideways glare. They began walking at a brisk pace towards the city.

"To Orgrimmar…" Archeron muttered.

**A/N:**_**I tried to add a little bit of comedy in the last part-when Archeron is writing on Erestrasz's back-since it feels to serious, but I'm not sure if it turned out exactly like I would have hoped lol. I noticed I've been keeping Erestrasz in his blood elf form more often than not…eh, that will probably change later.**_

_**I would love to thank White Phantom for the comment and everyone else; it made my day when I checked my reviews when I got home from school.**_


	4. Aquantences, Friends, and Familyjoy

A/N: We meet more peoplz, yay! Just for the record, Akechi (paladin), Seripha (rogue-but is actually my mage…my rogue name is Maiiev. That would be somewhat contradictory lol), Akenaa (druid), and Corana (hunter) are all my character. Tsubaki is my friend's and she wanted me to put her in this.

(1)Ikari means anger, rage, hatred, or wrath in Japanese  
>(2) Edro means 'open' in elven (from Lord of the Rings 3<p>

As the pair walked through their capital of Orgrimmar, respectful bows, salutes, and other gestures were given. Archeron-who was clutching a rather large piece of parchment in her hand-strode into Grommash Hold with Erestrasz trailing close behind.

"Warchief," Archeron said respectfully as she entered Thrall's chamber. The Warchief turned from the draenei he was speaking with. Thrall look slightly startled when he took in his champions very…_red_ appearance.

"I do hope that the zeppelin's operators are still intact," he said slowly, more to himself than to Archeron.

She rolled her eyes the smallest bit and quietly replied, "Unfortunately…"

The draenei quickly came up to Archeron and Erestrasz with a worried expression on her face, "What happened?" she inquired, eying her "friend's" dyed red hair. The draenei's name was Tsubaki. She was Archeron's Alliance counterpart, also meaning Tsubaki is King Varian Wyrnn's champion and ambassador to Thrall…though she seemed to take her duty far more seriously than Archeron.

Sensing Archeron's foul mood steadily growing worse, Erestrasz answered as she opened her mouth to speak. "We were attacked," Thrall stood immediately and Tsubaki gasped.

"By whom?" the Warchief asked forcefully. Archeron pulled the red and gold tabard from her satchel. She held it up for Tsubaki to clearly see.

"Does _this_ mean anything to you?" Archeron questioned the draenei when she saw Tsubaki's jaw clench tightly upon seeing the tattered scrap of cloth. She walked up to the death knight and gently pried the tabard from her hand.

"Yes…this is the symbol for a vigilante group known as '_**Blood of the Alliance**_'. They attack mainly Horde ships and zeppelins bearing supplies and soldiers. I have tried to warn Varian that they would soon cause trouble for us, but he refused to listen and turned a blind eye to their actions." Archeron's eye twitched slightly when she heard this.

"And why, exactly, have you not spoken of this before..?" she asked quietly, her annoyance growing. At this point, Thrall stepped in, in a vain attempt to calm his champion.

"They were nearly exterminated, though it seems you caught a small group of them," Archeron let out an exasperated sigh and handed the report over to her leader. She stalked out of the hold without another word, leaving Erestrasz behind to finish her job. Right as her left foot exited Grommash Hold, Archeron heard a mocking voice.

"And so the valiant hero returns." Archeron sighed again and stepped completely out of the building. She turned to see her oldest and 'closest' friend, Koltira Deathweaver, leaning on the outer wall of the building. Archeron and Koltira had been close friends before the fall of Quel'thalas, had died with her, was raised in undeath with her, and still fought beside her…though Archeron would be lying if she said a day did not go by when she hadn't wanted to strangle him.

"Shut up," Archeron growled, having been long tired of his condescending antics. Koltira rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, but he wore a smirk plain on his ashen colored face. He pushed himself lazily off of the wall and walked with Archeron. She did not see the point in this considering they simply walked through the city in utter silence.

Koltira had left his fellow death knight to travel on her own when they reached the gates leading out of the city. Archeron strode swiftly towards the Southfury River on Orgrimmar's western border.

Archeron expertly shed her plating, leather, and linens, setting them into a neat pile near the water's edge. She quietly stepped into the warm water with a feeling of relief washing over her as the tension left her body, along with most of the caked on blood. Archeron ran her fingers through her hair, soaking each white strand with water. She spent another half hour-at least-simply standing in the relaxing, warm water.

Archeron pulled on her leather tunic and pants, and simply carried her other armor. After a few minutes of walking through the barren landscape of Durotar, she came across a rather…unusual sight. A Netherwing drake, a blood elf death knight, and a tauren –who was stroking a wild boar- gathered around talking. The tauren stood, shooing the boar from her lap, and bowed respectfully to Archeron.

"It's not often that so many of us are gathered in one place…why are all you here?" Archeron asked suspiciously. Koltira laughed as if she was a child asking a seemingly obvious question. She narrowed her eyes at Koltira, and then looked over her shoulder at Erestrasz. Knowing what his rider was silently asking him to do, he quietly crept beside the chuckling death knight. Without making any noise at all, the drake swept his long tail forward, catching Koltira on the middle of his back and sent him flying.

Archeron, Erestrasz, and the tauren woman-Akenaa-all began to laugh as Koltira hit the ground face first. He coughed, trying to clear his throat of all of the dust, and turned to glare menacingly at his companions. Swift as a viper, Koltira threw a small rock at Archeron's head, startling her. However, his turn to laugh was short lived. His eyes widened slightly as Archeron stared at him, her expression perfectly calm.

"(1) Ikari,"she muttered slowly, almost inaudibly, "(2) Edro…" Koltira began backing away as he saw a rune-circle appear in front of Archeron. He quickened his pace as a ghoul shakily emerged from the circle.

Before Koltira had a chance to turn and run, the ghoul leaped into the air. The rotting piece of flesh and bone had not gotten even half way to him when it suddenly fell to the ground, sliced cleanly in two. Archeron and the others stared in shock.

"Don't move," a voice commanded from behind her. She felt a dagger pressed against her back, and another at her throat. Archeron attempted to move her hand-even if to get the slightest motion-to cast on of her unholy spells, but the daggers did not relent. Instead, the twin blades simply pressed harder, creating a small cut on her neck.

"_This can only be…"_

"Seripha!" another voice shouted. Archeron heard a loud _**thunk**_ behind her. She turned only to have her fears confirmed…it was indeed Seripha, her youngest sister. Archeron turned again to face the direction of her "savior"…

"_Please…please, no…" _she thought.

"Akechi, that was just cruel! Why would you do that to your poor sister," Seripha commented dramatically, once again confirming Archeron's fears…Akechi, the middle sibling of the Shadowsun sisters.

Akechi strode towards Seripha, seemingly oblivious to her older sister's presence. She picked up and dusted off her discarded shield, clearly what had struck Seripha. Akechi glared at the youngest, and then slowly turned. When she had gotten completely around, she stared in surprise at Archeron. In response, the older elf lifted one perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

What happened next was not at all as shocking as most would have thought…

"ARCHERON!" Akechi yelled at a pitch that would have easily shattered ten layers of glass. She tackled her sister to the ground, practically strangling her. "My dearest, amazing, beloved sister! You have no idea how much I have missed you! I can't believe you're back," she rambled on, her words becoming faster and harder to decipher, "I'm so happy you're back! You weren't supposed to be here so soon, why are you back? What happened, I-"

"Shut up!" Seripha and Koltira yelled in unison. Akechi immediately ceased talking and seemed to regain most of her composure as she lifted herself from the dry ground. Archeron stood stiffly, still tense from her reunion with Akechi.

"Alright, so why are the two of you here?" Koltira asked warily. Even in life, he had always been somewhat-for lack of a better term-afraid of the two younger siblings…though he never voiced his misgivings.

The two of them looked at the death knight as if he was simpleton.

"It should be obvious." Akechi stated blankly. Koltira glared at Akechi and she returned it. Akenaa, who could almost see sparks forming, decided to step in.

"Perhaps the two of you should elaborate," she interjected. Seripha sighed and easily dodged as an arrow flew past her head. Akenaa turned in time to cast a spell and thorns shot from the dusty ground and caught it, not two inches from her nose.

"Gah! I missed," something yelled. The voice was faint so it was clear that its owner was some distance away. Even as this thought was processed among the haphazard group, a large furry figure came into view. Walking along with said figure, which seemed to resemble a tauren, was a large spiked boar and-possibly-a warp stalker.

Archeron rolled her eyes. She had greatly wished to leave Orgrimmar in peace…without being disturbed by anyone. Her wish was now completely and thoroughly obliterated. Akenaa was fuming when she recognized the newcomer.

"Corana Bloodhoof! What is the meaning of this?" a vein could almost be seen throbbing as she spoke. "You should be in Thunder Bluff with your brother, should you not?" A collective sigh escaped from the onlookers as the two tauren women bickered back-and-forth.

"And should you not, Akenaa Runetotem, be in Moonglade with your father?" Corana asked evenly. They all knew that Corana was correct. Akenaa had recently been made an Arch Druid, the youngest ever, of the Cenarion Circle and had many new duties to perform. Akenaa glared at the blank faced marksman, a look that was quiet unnerving on the usually friendly druid. Corana laughed and Akenaa seemed to loosen her tense muscles.

"Cairne sent me. I am to accompany Akechi and Seripha on their assignment," she explained, answering Akenaa's pervious question.

"So that's why the two of you are here?" Koltira inquired suddenly. The three Shadowsun's looked at him and softly shook their heads in unison.

A/N: This chapter was supposed to be funny and a lot less serious. And when I said "died with her", you will find out more details later...but yeah, they both died at Silvermoon. And also, Archeron and Koltira were just playing around, so Koltira is NOT afraid of the ghoul…only her sisters.


	5. Did you Know?

A/N: Wow, this took longer than I had anticipated. Oh well, it's done now and that is all that counts We see Lor'themar in this one, and just by the way-he is less serious than he will be when we see him in future chapters…it was hard getting out of my chapter 4 mindset. And I am sorry this took so long, I have been writing/typing none stop since I first put this story up and I have had a harder time keeping up with my homework because of it…but somehow my grades are better than ever…weird. Anyways, read, enjoy, and review…I LIVE ON REVIEWS!

Archeron and Erestrasz had left Orgrimmar several weeks ago and had arrived in their home of Silvermoon a handful of days after their departure. All seemed to be well with the death knight, though she seemed to be far more tense than usual. There was clearly something bothering her if looked for. That something was a visit to the Regent Lord of Quel'thalas. Lor'themar had required Archeron to come to his dwellings at the Sunfury Spire. The reason for this was completely and utterly lost on Archeron, though Erestrasz suspected Lor'themar simply found amusement in pestering an old friend about her perpetual state of undead and newly acquired position as ambassador to the Alliance.

Archeron used all of the skills she had been taught as a ranger to avoid her enemy, Lor'themar, and remain unseen. However, no matter how tirelessly she attempted to evade him, the Regent Lord always seems to hunt the two of them down like wild game.

The odd pair was standing in a small herb shop near the gate of the city, currently employing Archeron's newest avoidance strategy: hiding in plain sight. She needed herbs to replenish her stock of inks, and she believed that she would not be suspected of going out so obviously. Unfortunately, Archeron seemed to forget that her hunter was Sylvanas Windrunner's second in command before she was slain and raised into the Scourge.

Just as Erestrasz (in elf form) was purchasing the strange assortment of flora Archeron needed, when the hunter's arrow stayed true to its aim and struck the prey dead in the chest.

"Archeron Shadowsun, champion of the Horde, and Erestrasz of the Netherwing dragonflight, you have been formally summoned to the Sunfury Spire by request of the Regent Lord Theron."

The drake sighed Archeron turned stiffly to face a smirking Halduron Brightwing. After staring emotionlessly at the clearly satisfied ranger, she turned and gently grabbed the bag of herbs and strode over to the still smirking ranger-general, pulling out a thorny flower.

"Did you know, Halduron," Archeron whispered, almost inaudibly, "that Blindweed can do…_far_ more than…" Halduron, not wanting to hear the rest of her menacing statement, tuned out her hollow voice.

Erestrasz stared questioningly at Halduron. He had witnessed the elf grow pale as Archeron walked past, though he was utterly confused. Very nearly nothing could so visibly frighten the general, though he had a feeling that his companion had caused this sudden change in said general.

As Halduron lead the two guests into the spire, he occasionally spared a glance back only to see Archeron absently twirling a small stem of Blindweed between her surprisingly unarmored fingers. He forced himself to look ahead-as not to run into a pillar or guard-and keep his head held high.

"And what brings the mighty Archeron to our humble city of Quel'thalas?" Lor'themar asked sarcastically when they entered. Archeron rolled her eyes and replied bluntly, "I took residence in Silvermoon soon after my release from the Lich King's grasp." Lor'themar let an exasperated sigh escape him, knowing the knight had had not much cared for his occasional joke, even in life.

The four stood in the large room in a stagnate silence. Halduron coughed-as any man would in an awkward situation-and attempted to speak, though he simply opened his mouth then closed it again, seemingly at a loss for words, though the reason for this lack of speech was unknown.

"So, has our noble ambassador brought tidings of peace?" Lor'themar sneered. Archeron growled and narrowed her eyes at the Regent Lord, this being a 'touchy' subject for her.

"Thrall is a fool," Lor'themar lifted an eyebrow and she continued, blatantly ignoring him, "if he expects Varian to vouch for_ peace_, and Varian is a fool if he expects to win this senseless war without much casualties…they are all bloody fools." Archeron let out a sigh she did not even know she was holding in and went on after a short pause. "And if he believes prolonging the war is by any means an even remotely good idea, it shows that he is willing to sacrifice his own loyal soldiers for his own revenge…in that way, King Varian Wyrnn is in no way different from the Lich King he so hastily sends his troops to destroy-along with the Horde."

Feeling the tension growing in the air growing-almost becoming tangible-Erestrasz sought someway to relieve the building stress. He thought the answer was quite simple, though most would not have known unless spending every waking hour with the surly woman.

Erestrasz came up behind Archeron and placed a hand on her shoulder, somewhat expecting to find an armor spike there. It was a simple gesture, but a needed one all the same. Speaking of her former master brought the unwanted memories of her gruesome service under the Lich King. However, feeling the warmth of her friend seep through the leather and into her cold skin was reassuring and she was reminded that those dark days were over…and would never come again.

"Well, there are things that must be done and cannot be neglected, no matter how much I may wish, and I mustn't be disturbed. I suppose the two of you should run along and leave me to my duties," Lor'themar said, shooing away Halduron, Archeron, and Erestrasz away.

As Halduron lead the two through the busy city of Silvermoon, Archeron felt visibly out of place. Most of the city's residence and visitors skirted around the group, though more specifically, the death knight. She knew that as a death knight, her presence was a painful and clear reminder of the Scourge invasion that had destroyed the city, slaughtered nearly all of the elves, and destroyed the sacred Sunwell. Archeron had learned to ignore the disdainful behavior and had grown to accept it; after all, would she not mirror their actions had she been one of them..? it shamed her to admit-even to herself-that yes, she would.

"Well, I do believe that my presence is no longer needed," Halduron sighed, after reaching the grand gates of the city. Archeron cocked a snow white eyebrow as she looked at him blankly.

_"Your presence was not needed to begin with…" _she thought to herself. Erestrasz quickly-yet shallowly-thanked him and paced after Archeron as she stalked away. He saw no point as to why they were walking towards their residence rather than going by flight-it was, after all, much faster.

The two walked in silence for hours, until reaching the small house nestled near the mountains west of the Farstrider Retreat. Erestrasz changed into his winged and natural form with a blinding flash of light, and wordlessly curled into a tight, protective ball and hastily pasted into a deep slumber. He twitched slightly as Archeron gingerly ran her hand over his smooth crystal blue head. She retreated into the building-which had served as her home even before the invasion-and scaled the small stair case. She shed her dark plating and crawled into the comfortable bed, passing just as quickly as Erestrasz into a deep, yet highly disturbed, state of dream…

A/N: thank you for reading this chapter. It was not as good as it could have been in my opinion, but my brain is fried from none stop homework, tests, and writing .and I did not have much of an idea of what was going to happen in this one so that was definitely a problem. Next one should be up soon; I'm going to have SOOOOO much fun with it, especially with adding in Rendus :D! I love all of my reviewers and to answer Rendus's question: Yes, I am indeed accepting OCs. If anyone wants me to add one in, feel free to ask! Love you all, and I hope you eagerly await the next chapter…that wasn't a request…you WILL eagerly await the chapter *glares and pulls out a knife* Love you all


	6. Dreams of Frost and Shadow

**A/N:**** Yay, chapter 6! I had SO much fun writing this, you have no idea! Maybe a little too much fun…eh, whatever. So this chapter is mainly a dream. It turns back to reality in the last paragraph or so, which is why almost all of it is in italics. We get introduced to my epic reviewer, Rendus's character (he is supposed to be a death knight, but this is back in time). **

**(1) Don't know what his original last name was, so I improvised…again  
>(2) From shock <strong>

** Disclaimer: I do not own Rendus (Rendus, I am sorry but I did not ask what his last name was when he was alive, so I just improvised) he belongs solely to my reader, Rendus. And I do not own Warcraft/World of Warcraft-if I did, Arthas would still be alive.**

_Archeron sat on the high wall overlooking the beautiful and tranquil kingdom of Quel'thalas. The slight wind rustled the leaves of the golden trees that rested just outside the gates of Silvermoon. The days as of late had been uneventful and somewhat tedious; she had been training fledgling rangers and their incompetence astounded her. Archeron's deep auburn hair was lightly tugged back as she scanned the landscape, though there was nothing of particular interest._

_There was the faintest rustle beside her, and Archeron notched an arrow into her enchanted bow faster than should have been possible, and nimbly turned all in one fluid motion, only to find the head of her arrow to pointed directly at the face of her good friend, Rendus Flamewing, standing on the top of the wall._

"_Whatever I did to earn such distain from a childhood friend, I humbly seek your forgiveness," he said, his voice dripping with unbridled sarcasm, looking past the arrow at its holder. Archeron sighed and lowered the bow, Thori'seillar. Rendus lowered himself and crossed his legs, sweeping his dark glowing blue eyes over the area, attempting-and failing-to see what Archeron was so desperately searching for._

_"It feels…off," she stated, as if answering his unvoiced question, "like the calm before a storm." Rendus looked upon his beloved kingdom with a blank stare. Everything seemed as it should be, and, what many wished, would always be._

_ "She is right. Something is going to happen," Koltira (1)Sunshadow said worriedly, "or already has…well, it's simply a feeling." Though he said these words, Koltira still had a weary gleam in the blue depths of his eyes. Everything was peaceful, and Rendus would have believed the two were merely toying with him, if not for the shrill screech that pierced the fair land._

_ Koltira whipped his head to the south, his onyx hair flying in his face as if attempting to obscure his vision. Rendus nearly skewered himself on a railing while hastily leaping from the ledge and sprinting towards the southern-and main-entrance to the city. Acheron grabbed Thori'seillar and the blade lying next to her, A'nor. She and Koltira raced after Rendus as he neared the entrance._

_ There, in the shadow of the great gate, stood Sylvanas Windrunner, though it was merely a shade. Her body was transparent and there was nothing in her eyes…only cold and merciless nothingness. Archeron was paralyzed…her eyes frozen on the man standing next to her and the rotting masses that surrounded them._

_ "Well, what do we have here? Three little elves that wandered too far from safety?" the man mockingly questioned. He was clad in heavy gray plating which was lined with dark fur. His hair was snow white and his eyes glowing with cold, icy blue magic…a death knight. However, there was something familiar that Archeron could not place about him. _

_She ignored the nagging feeling and slowly turned to Rendus, "Go and sound the alarms. Make sure that the defenses are in place." He nodded and turned, sprinting towards the gate. Thori'seillar sang as an arrow was launched at all undead that attempted to hinder his retreat. Koltira looked at his companion and gave her a pained glance before mirroring Rendus, seeing in her expression that she would have killed him herself if he hadn't._

_Archeron faced the man and his slavering undead army. Thoughts had not yet formulated as to why these monstrosities were in her land, only why had she not __**known **__these monstrosities were in her land. The death knight-who was clearly their leader-arrogantly smirked and looked at her with cold and humorless eyes._

"_Do you truly not recognize an old friend?" he asked. He put a gloved hand over his heart, as if feigning pain. "It saddens me deeply Archeron," he said, still wearing that blasted smirk, "that you would not recognize the boy you so feverishly looked after during his stay in the beautiful Quel'thalas."_

_Archeron's eyes widened in sudden realization. "Arthas," she thought. She clenched her fist around her bow and turned, slowly walking away from Arthas. The undead that came near her quickly backed away, as if sensing the urge to kill surrounding her. As she neared the city, Archeron's clear, strong voiced resonated through the whole of Quel'thalas._

"_We will not fall…" was all that was said as she disappeared into the high-standing walls of Silvermoon._

"_Well, this is turning out to be quite a mess," Rendus commented as he, Koltira, and Archeron sat behind a fallen piece of a Silvermoon wall. The siege on the capital had been raging for days. The high elves had blocked all secret passages leading in and out of the city, knowing that their beloved former ranger-general, the Banshee Sylvanas, would undoubtedly tell her master of them._

"_We are running out of time," Koltira said, "to attack. The longer this lasts more of our soldiers fall. They are after the Sunwell, we know this much, but how long until the undead break through, slaughter us all, and claim it?" He was right. The longer the elves stayed under siege, more would die, and the likelier they were of failure._

_Archeron sighed and leaned her head back. For now, there was nothing they could do except wait. The hours seemed to drag on into eternity and the only sound that could be heard was the pounding against the walls, gates, and other defenses of Silvermoon._

"_Do not let them reach the Sunwell! Kill all that break through!" Archeron yelled over the screeches of battle around her. The undead Scourge had broken through mere minutes before, but it had quickly escalated to a full scale blood bath. It was impossible to tell which side had suffered more, the living corpses that threatened them, or the elves._

_Archeron hissed as her last arrow felled one of the massive abominations that Rendus fought. She discarded Thori'seillar and drew A'nor, its blade gleaming with light. Within moments, many of the undead faced their final death, though her true opponent, Arthas, had yet to enter the fight and was nowhere to be seen on the battlefield._

_Archeron surveyed the field. Many of her friends lay dead or dying on the dyed red ground, while others were fighting their former comrades as a part of the massive army of mindless, diseased flesh. It was not until dispatching numerous more undead ghouls, did Archeron spot the one she was frantically searching for; the only one who's death would end the battle._

_Even through the dark blood that covered her eyes, Archeron spied her fellow rangers dead at his armored feet. Ar'ylen's severed head lay no more than two feet from his stained body; crimson blood gushed from his severed neck, simply adding to the small lake that was formally the grassy floor. Lyndis had been mercilessly impaled, tufts of white bone protruding from the still gushing, fatal wound. Ar'wyn was lying in a pool of her own gore, having her stomach torn asunder with near surgical-and near impossible-precision. Thor'emar had been brutally mutilated almost beyond any possible recognition, with his ribs poking through his paling skin and his gaping chest missing a heart. Thor'emar's missing organ was currently in the hand of the Arthas Menethil. The Lich King's faithful servant found Archeron's eyes and smirked, crushing her friend's dead heart and, in one swift stroke, obliterating all of her lasting hope of a victorious ending to the horrid slaughter._

"_We will never bend to your wretched will. We will never kneel to you. And we will __**never**__ yield!" Archeron yelled. She charged the unholy knight, knowing full-well that she would inevitably fall. A'nor flashed as Arthas parried the obvious attack, never so much as flinching._

_The battle raged endlessly, though all Archeron could do was helplessly parry and block as she slowly succumbed to her opponent's immense power. She looked away for only a mere second and saw Koltira slumped on the ground, a sword lodged in his should holding him down, and watched as another descended slowly upon his exposed chest._

_Archeron tore away from the sight of Koltira's ultimate demise with a yelp of shock and pain that sounded across the courtyard. She fell, (2)trembling on her knees with thick blood pooling from multiple wound on her legs, staining her armor red._

"_You will never kneel to me?" Arthas said softly, "But you already have, foolish elf."_

_Archeron gritted his teeth and never flinched as she stared her murderer dead in the eye, even while the blade came nearer and nearer…_

_However, the cursed sword never pierced her racing heart. Archeron fell on her side with a __**thud**__ and watched helplessly as Rendus took her place. Her eyes widened as he turned his head towards Archeron. The warrior struggled for words as he began to choke on his own blood._

"_Please…r-run…" he gasped out. Arthas pulled his sword from the now dead Rendus Flamewing and scowled._

"_Nooooo!"_

"Nooooo!" Archeron bolted up-right, her breath fast and shallow, and she had broken out into a cold sweat. The death knight looked around, relief washing over her like a tidal wave as she took in the familiar scenery…

**A/N: ****Alright, that was chapter 6. Hope all of you enjoyed, and REVIEWED! If you read this, REVIEW IT! Or I will track you down and…never mind. Love all of you and again, enjoy.**


	7. Shores of a Frozen Wasteland

**A/N: ****I am really sorry this chapter took so long! Real life took over and I did not have very much time to write, so I apologize. Well, it's up now and that's all that counts I guess. Enjoy chapter 7 **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Warcraft/World of Warcraft, if I did Lor'themar would be SO much more awesome. I also do not own Rendus, he belongs to my epic reader Rendus.**

Archeron bolted up-right, her breath fast and shallow, and had broken out into a cold sweat. The death knight looked around, relief washing over her like a tidal wave as she took in the familiar scenery…save for the elf sitting in an intricately carved chair placed beside her bed.

"No matter how often we witness it…we have not the sense to attempt to change it. Does this signify that we are fools not to…or we are clever enough not to believe such foolishness?" Koltira asked quietly, as if thinking aloud. Archeron knew that he spoke of their shared and irrepressible memories. They made her feel as if she was frozen in time, counting the days since Arthas had robbed her of her humanity.

The two death knights remained in their suspended silence for only a few minutes until Archeron let her suspicion and curiosity overcome her. "Why are you here?" her hollow voice resonated through the quiet halls of the house. Koltira stared at her blankly, as if trying to piece together the words she had spoken. He turned his head, his snowy hair flipping slightly in the process, and seemed to develop a keen interest in the wall in front of him.

"_We_ have been summoned by the Warchief Thrall," Koltira said slowly. The piercing gaze he was currently forcing the wall to endure grew more intense when he said this. Archeron knew that the emphasis he put on 'We' indicated the word meant 'The Heroes of the Horde'…

Archeron stepped into the blazing sunlight, blinking as it glinted off her armor. She and Koltira wasted no time getting her into it and rushing outside, not wishing to keep their leader waiting. Koltira lifted an eyebrow as he watched Archeron climb upon Erestrasz's back. Archeron, in turn, lifted one of her own delicate brows at him.

"What?" she said, her annoyance as clear as the scorching sun. Koltira raised his plate-clad hands in mock surrender as he mounted his dark skeletal steed, Bloodmist. The two raced to Silvermoon by air and earth, charging towards the unsuspecting elven capital. Erestrasz's wings beat mercilessly upon the ground, so by the time they reached their destination, Koltira's flawless white hair was completely and utterly…_flawed_. As the trio paced through Silvermoon, the plainly frustrated death knight was fighting an all out war attempting to regain control over his tangled mess of hair.

The three strode into Sunfury Spire, blatantly ignoring the Regent Lord's overflow of questions and demands consisting of, "What are you doing here?" "Why will you not answer me?" and "Speak, you fools!", as they scaled the lengthy spiral stair case. Once they had gathered around the pulsing translocation orb, Archeron rested her hand upon its glowing surface and the three were whisked away by the orbs magic to the forsaken stronghold of Undercity, leaving Lor'themar to stare in annoyance as his mountain of questions went unanswered.

"Ya mon, dat be a great idea! Jus' storm da-" The troll's sarcastic tirade was cut off as the carved wooden doors to Thrall's great hall in Grommash Hold suddenly thundered open as the Horde's champion-and Koltira-dutifully walked in. A drawn out, uncomfortable silence ensued as Archeron passed the awkwardly shifting occupants and stepped in front of Thrall and bowed.

Suddenly, the female troll who was speaking before she was oh so rudely cut off, burst into a mad cackle and staggered toward the somewhat confused new comer. As her laughter began to diminish, the troll, Ar'ellia, attempted to speak.

"Ha-ha, Ah be glad ya heah, mon! All uh dese tick headed buffoons' jus' don' see why dis be a terrible idea! Ya gotta help meh, mon!" It was exceedingly difficult to not only decipher what the troll had said, but to take it seriously with all of the laughing. Archeron and Koltira hid their bewilderment well-leaving it beneath their sardonic masks-but it was there none the less.

"I am afraid that I am not familiar with the subject at hand…" Archeron said slowly, looking at the individuals gathered in the grand hall as if seeking help. As if answering her silent, if not grudging, plea for assistance, a figure strode from the corner. The figure was clad in a shadowy cloak. It seemed to give its wearer no form, only making it a slight shade gliding upon the smooth floor.

"I do believe I can help to resolve your predicament," a voice said from behind a large hood. The person's(?) voice was flat and lacked inflection, so it was impossible to tell if it belonged to a male or female behind the dark cloak. However, the monotonous sound was unmistakable: it belonged to the long dead elven mage, Tsugri. Archeron eyed her possible savior with unbridled suspicion; she had known Tsugri in life and had learned to be wary of her, for she was far too mischievous-especially for an elf-to be trustworthy. All that could be seen of the forsaken mage's face was the slight grin that was hinted on her decayed face, which did nothing to ease Archeron's suspicion.

"We are discussing the assault on the shores of Northrend," Tsugri offered as she retreated back to her corner.

"Dey be tinkin' dat we should jus' go an' storm deh beaches, full force! Dat be suicide, mon! Ya know what da Lich King be doin' up deah, ya? Why don' ya jus' slap some sense inta dese…" Ar'ellia trailed off as she caught a fierce stare from Thrall and Vol'jin, rather clearly commanding her not to finish that statement. Seripha snickered softly, only to be silenced by a sharp jab in the ribs by her paladin sister. Archeron turned calmly towards Koltira, though her calm demeanor was betrayed by the annoyance and pure ire that danced in her frozen eyes.

"And would you care to elaborate on why, exactly, I was not informed of this _earlier_…" the death knight's voice was smooth, but if you knew what to look for, you could hear the bloody murder she was currently preaching…and they all knew what to look for, seeing as though everyone in the room had heard it multiple times.

"I apologize," Thrall finally interjected as Archeron reached for Doomweaver. "I had not informed him about the topic of our meeting. I ask you, my champion, to stay your hand…this was to be a _civil _meeting." See as this was clearly an order from her Warchief, Archeron removed her armor hand from the blade's hilt.

Archeron sighed and paced towards a bare wall, leaning a spike-plated shoulder onto the hard surface. "I take it we have not made progress, considering Ar'ellia's blatant disregard of your opinions," she stated, scanning the room and quietly observing its occupants: Seripha-Thrall's spy, Akechi, Ar'ellia-Vol'jin's close friend and powerful shaman, the shadow that was Tsugri-Sylvanas's emissary, Koltira-friend and rival, Thrall-her Warchief, and finally Vol'jin-their leader's closest friend and Darkspear leader.

"We not be wantin' a frontal assault, Ar'ellia. Da Forsaken warriors will land on de shores an' will meet wit a death knight we have at de Vengeance Landing. Ten' we be clearin' de area of de Scourge and movin' up into de Dragonblight. It not be suicide, it be a good strategy, mon," Vol'jin explained. Ar'ellia scoffed and muttered a few unintelligible words, looking somewhat defeated.

Thrall nodded to both trolls and faced the small crowd of haphazard heroes. "Now that the matter appears to finally be closed," Thrall sighed, "Each of you will be escorting the forsaken ships to the Howling Fjord. Archeron, Koltira, the both of you will lead the expeditions into each of Northrend's regions." The shaman glanced at the death knights and before either could argue he added, "You knights are the only ones who have been to that decollate wasteland…we have no choice."

Archeron and Koltira had not even the faintest desire to see the barren, snowy plains of Northrend again, other than to see them flooded with the frozen blood of the Lich King. With this thought in both of their busy minds, the dark figures slowly nodded in compliance.

"_I swore that I would never yield,"_ Archeron thought bitterly, _"and I haven't…"_

Archeron stared expressionlessly over the frozen water. Nearly a month had passed since their departure from Kalimdor, and she knew they were close to their destination. Akechi stepped behind her sister, her breath ragged gasps.

"You cannot even see the sun…this howling wind cuts to the bone and you're not even shaking," The shivering paladin stated. "Is something wrong, Archeron?" The one in question merely stood and strode to the edge of the swift forsaken royal ship, watching as Erestrasz flew through the skies with unbound ease. Within moments, Archeron spied the frozen shores of the Howling Fjord.

As the immense ship was docked with expert precision, Archeron stepped off the boat and came face to face with an achingly familiar form.

There stood the death knight Rendus Doomsayer, clad in dark armor and gripping his duel swords, Soulreaver and Deathseeker. His ice blue hair was gently being pulled back by the frozen wind as he looked over his old friend with calculating eyes. Rendus's voice rang hollow and clear as he said, "Welcome back to Northrend, Archeron…welcome back to hell…"

A/N:** And so ends chapter 7. I am not sure when 8 will be up, but I am hoping it will be soon. Until then...hmm, I guess just wait patiently…or not.**


	8. Old Friends, a Lich, and a cat?

**A/N:**** AHHHHHHHHH! I am so unbelievably sorry for not updating for such a long time! I was having a major block and when I finally figured out what I wanted to do, I got grounded. But the chapter is finished now and that is all that matters. In this one, they are raiding and I skipped most of the boss fights because I was not sure how to explain them in writing.  
>1) Nathron means "Webmaster" in Tolkien's elvish. I have no idea why I chose that to be Akechi's weapon's name, but whatever works.<strong>

Archeron stood stock still on the peak of one of many frozen behemoths over-looking the forsaken military base of Venomspite. The undead warriors below burned and cleared away the remnants of a recent Scourge assault on the small base. Archeron herself was covered in the dark ichor that spewed from the wounds of the Lich King's mindless soldiers. Her snowy hair was stained and plastered to her face, which was splotched with the dark, nearly black, substance. Erestrasz had fared no better than his rider and was futilely attempting to wash the foul taste from his mouth.

"Arthas seems to be focusing his forces on this settlement…but why?" the death knight commander Rendus Doomsayer absently stated. Archeron snorted and turned her messy head towards her companion. He was surveying the damage caused by the most recent of the Scourge attacks. His hawk like features, usually fixed in a perpetual look of dissatisfaction, was now locked in shear annoyance. The Scourge attacks were becoming increasingly frequent and the forsaken scouts had brought back grim news of a town the foul beings controlled and were amassing their forces.

However, this was not the worst of the news the two commanders had received. The scouts had reported also sighting Naxxramas, the great dread citadel that was dwarfed only by the mighty Archerus, but only just. The great structure posed a great threat to the Horde's expeditions into the Dragonblight, and if left unchecked could very well destroy it completely. Venomspite would not be able to withstand a full frontal assault from the mighty citadel, so the problem would have to be remedied quickly.

"L-lady Archeron!" a shrill, distant voice called. The one in question peered over the edge of the frosty mountain and saw only a slight speck. Archeron sighed and mounted Erestrasz, who had finally given up on his quest to rid his mouth of the nauseating liquid, and prepared to dive towards the ground. The pair turned as a slightly annoyed Rendus casually cleared his throat. Archeron raised an eyebrow as her companion glared at her.

"Yes?" she asked flatly. Rendus's eyes narrowed further at the question.

"Are you simply going to leave me atop this wretched hill?" he interrogated. Archeron let out a hollow laugh.

"The fall won't kill you…if you are lucky," was all she said as Erestrasz dived for the settlement below. The minuscule speck turned out to be a demonic imp. Archeron let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that her current "job" as the leader of the small-yet ridiculously powerful- expedition team had just been made worlds more difficult. The imp was enslaved to the orcish warlock Myobi; someone that the death knight had desperately hoped would not be assigned to Northrend.

"L-lady Archeron," the imp stammered while bowing low, "the M-master wishes to speak w-with y-y-you…" the pitiful demon would have been sweating profusely if only it had the capability. The imp's previous encounter with Archeron had left him somewhat…_uneasy _while in the knight's presence. Archeron glared at the puny creature with contempt clear in her eyes.

"And so Bizfip, where is your master?" she asked, not bothering to hide the venom dripping from her metallic voice. Archeron and the warlock had an uncomfortable history and her being here seemed like revenge for some heinous deed the death knight had done some time in her past, though Archeron knew that she had committed no sin dire enough to require ramifications of this level. The imp, Bizfip, pointed a madly shaking claw at the great hall near the center of the military base. Archeron sighed and straightened as she paced towards the grand building.

The unwitting Archeron was welcomed by the slightly amusing, slightly aggravating sight of a certain paladin baring her sword at a certain warlock who was alert and appeared to be silently repeating the same incantation, but cutting it slightly short as not to let it loose without proper motivation first. Archeron's initial bewilderment at the scene was feverishly replaced by a sudden compulsion to hack both offenders to small pieces and feed them to the Frost Wyrms that occasionally patrolled near the base.

The exasperated knight drew her runeblade Doomweaver with feline-like grace and stalked over to the would-be combatants. Archeron roughly rested the cold, glinting metal on her sister's blade and listened as the two sizzled, indicating that the conflicting powers that imbued the weapons were having their own small scale war. The younger Shadowsun grudgingly lowered her sword (1) Nathron, though her dagger-like stare was still pinned on the warlock returning her glare. Archeron turned to the female orc that had finally ceased the redundant incantation.

"Myobi, may I so _kindly _inquire as to what is going on here?" she asked evenly. Myobi shifted her piercing green eyes towards Archeron. She forced a smile as she called her "faithful" demon servant.

"We had a disagreement," was all the warlock offered as she turned from a scoffing Akechi.

All of the room's current inhabitance stared in shock at High Executer Worth as he concluded his explanation of their assignment. The "Northern Expedition" ,as the group had been dubbed, was to raid, and destroy the dread citadel of Naxxramas.

Most of the group was dumbfounded, however a select few consisting of Archeron, Koltira, and Rendus-Archeron and Erestrasz were still not sure on how he escaped the massive mountain-were expertly hiding the relative joy they felt for having the opportunity to slaughter many of their former tormenters. The raid party would consist of Archeron, Koltira, Rendus, Akechi, Seripha, Ar'ellia, Tsugri, Myobi, Corana and Akenaa who had arrived hours prior, and the faithful drake Erestrasz. The group was to set out, once prepared, for the mighty Scourge fortress of Naxxramas…

The eleven companions watched as nine winged creatures flew into the blood red sunset. The group watched as the darkened sun casually dipped behind the ominous mountains of Northrend. Archeron stiffly turned and strode silently into Naxxramas's deathly entrance. The other's followed at a brisk pace. They passed the macabre interior of the necropolis in concentrated quiet, until the group reached the main room of the citadel.

Archeron surveyed the four pathways with chilling intensity. Glaring down each of the halls, calculating the best route…well, that is what her companions believed. The haphazard group glanced around warily. Akenaa and Ar'ellia seemed to be nauseous from the unholy and foul energies that plagued the necropolis, though the death knights were sickeningly eager to have the chance to be even in the vicinity of the building. Archeron turned briskly back to the small rag-tag group, seemingly having made her decision.

"We are going to split up," she stated simply. The others blinked unresponsively at her. As the concept slowly registered, many of the raid team stared back in slight horror.

"D-dat be suicide, mon!" Ar'ellia nearly shouted. The glares and growls from many of the surrounding humanoids quickly silenced her. Many of the companions had misgivings about their leaders seemingly rash decision, they, however, kept their mouths shut.

"Corana, Koltira, and Myobi, you three will handle the Arachnid breeding grounds," said people (?) nodded in approval as Archeron motioned towards a small corridor, "Seripha, Tsugri, the Construct Quarter," the rogue grinned and drew her twin bladed. The rest of the group awaited with mild eagerness to hear their roles as Archeron contemplated the others.

"Rendus, Akechi, and I will take the Death Knight training area. Akenaa, Ar'ellia, and Erestrasz, you will handle the Plague Quarter," she finished. Erestrasz was uneasy leaving his long time friend (and master) without his aid, and the shaman and druid looked as though they would leave the land of the living any moment; the Scourge plague magics being the perfect contradiction to their nature and elemental mastery. Though, however many arguments the three could concoct, their pride and steeled resolve dictated that they follow their leader.

Archeron silently drew Doomweaver from its sheath and stalked towards the old training rooms. Rendus followed with complete certainty in where he was placing his feet, while the paladin stumbled along behind the death knights. The young Shadowsun shakily turned her head only to see her friends disappearing into their chosen sections. Her discomfort growing, Akechi slowly pulled Nathron from its holy scabbard.

The trio walked on without finding so much as one soulless fledgling knight. Rendus was growing increasingly frustrated and nearly took off his own head with Soulreaver and Deathseeker in his evident aggravation.

"How long must we _walk_ until we find our battle?" he all but yelled at Archeron. She offered no answer and this only furthered his frustration. As Rendus was readying a retort, Archeron turned and in one fluid motion, launched Doomweaver not three inches from his throat. Rendus didn't so much as blink as the blade flew near his head and stopped with a bone-cutting, wrenching noise near him. Akechi stared passively as a cult fanatic fell at her feet, a sword with a sickening aura protruding from his throat. Rendus appeared to be the only traveler who had not sensed their stalker's presence.

"You'll get your fight…" Archeron stated while glaring daggers into his very core. Rendus simply gave his old friend a blank stare as he walked past. Once he was in the lead, the death knight could not help but to grin madly at the prospect of facing off with the spineless weaklings that the Knights of the Ebon Blade had been replaced by.

Koltira shivered as Myobi erupted into a mad cackle. It was clear that she was much enjoying her time cursing, incinerating, and all but slaughtering the rabid spiders that ambushed them. The death knight had always known that the warlock was slightly off center, but her sheer happiness of the arachnid-massacre that the group was currently causing quite clearly shown that Myobi was to some extent insane.

Byfrost slid back into its sheath easily as Koltira surveyed the battlefield. The gargantuan spider corpses oozed unnatural blood and a few still twitched, only to be set ablaze by the grinning warlock moments later. The trio hastily departed the site and continued their trek through the winding maze.

The small group lightly stepped into a large, open space-obviously meant to house a creature of unusual proportions-and cautiously scanned the dimly lit room.

"I hear little hearts beating. Yesss... beating faster now. Soon the beating will stop," came a deep, raspy voice from the darkest crevice of the circular room. All three heads whipped towards the chilling noise as a massive nerubian shambled from the darkened nook, slightly shaking the ground.

"Anub'Rekhan…you dare show your hideous face to me?" Koltira sneered. The nerubian in question let out a strange sound-which the group took to be laughter-and simply stepped closer, unnervingly close his harasser's smirking face.

"There is no way out," he said. Corana heard a large gate crashing to the ground behind her as she notched an arrow into her bow, Shikigami-her faithful boar-poised to strike at her side…

Seripha stood leaning against a wall, watching as her mage companion scrambled about while launching powerful spells at a behemoth-apparently name "Patchwerk"-and occasionally shot a menacing glare at the rogue skulking in the corner. Seripha chuckled quietly as the large abomination playfully stumbled after the fuming forsaken.

"Patchwerk want to play!" the creature yelled, though it seemed more like a strange mismatch of words to the two he wanted to "play" with. Seripha sighed tiring of watching the hopeless mage throw around her spells. The assassin stealthily crept around to the behemoth's exposed back and leapt onto its thick neck. She laughed heartily as she spun the twin daggers in her hands and carefully slid from Patchwerk's blob of a back, ripping the very threads that quite literally held the beast together.

As the abomination slowly came apart and fell to pieces, it looked around in innocent confusion.

"What happened to…Patch..?" were Patchwerk's last words as he finally fell to the ground, his unstitched pieces strewn across the ooze covered tiles. "So, where do we go now?" the unaffected rogue asked. Tsugri looked at her with a small amount of annoyance, contempt, and amusement clear on her face. She looked back where they came, and forward. The mage looked back to the rogue only to find her missing.

"Well?" a familiar voice questioned from somewhere very near Tsugri. She sighed and shrugged her boney shoulders.

"How am I supposed to know?"

Erestrasz sighed as he walked over the still smiling corpse of Heigan the Unclean. The dragon-mage, druid, and shaman had fought their way deep into the Plague Quarter, defeated two of its key operators, obliterated most of Naxxramas's forces, and cleansed some of the most heavily plagued areas of the citadel.

"When will we be out of this infernal maze?" the Arch-druid Akenaa asked absently. Ar'ellia looked at the tauren and back towards the large opening into the ornate hall leading out of the room. The trio paced along through the winding corridor, fighting off any mindless, slavering undead that dared to attack.

The short minutes seemed an eternity to even the immortal drake that walked cautiously through the unforgiving, plague infested labyrinth. The trek was devastating to their nerves. Turning every corner, investigating every room, with every small step they took, each of them feared some new horror that might await them. The monstrosities of Naxxramas were dwarfed only by the terrifying fear that their friends had been slain and strung up to display the terrible power of the Lich King's faithful servants. An irrational fear, but it existed none the less.

"How much longer must we walk through these rotting halls?" Akenaa inquired. Though it was a rhetorical question, Ar'ellia stared back at the crestfallen Netherwing, slightly hoping for an answer. Both the druid and shaman had keenly observed the drake's dejected behavior with interest.

"Ah kno yah be missin' Archeron, buh honesly, dis be sad mon! She be your mastah an' friend an' everythin', Ah, kno, buh yah need to learn how to let her be mon…she ain't a kid, yah kno." The troll scolded. . Erestrasz closed his eyes and resisted the urge to hit the unwitting shaman with a blast of pure arcane energy. He knew that Ar'ellia meant well, but she did not know how deep the Erestrasz's affection for the bitter death knight was. Archeron had found him when he was merely a newborn whelp, and he had grown into a staggeringly powerful dragon-mage under her harsh, watchful eye. The malevolent elf was ironically the closet thing the young drake had to a mother.

As Erestrasz mused over Ar'ellia's ignorance, he was taken utterly off-guard when a group of slavering corpses surrounded the trio.

"Well, this should be entertaining," Erestrasz remarked, grinning slightly. Though he was a kind and caring being, the Netherwing _had _been brought up by a death knight, so it was impossible for him to admit that he had not fallen slightly in love with the thrill of battle.

Archeron, Rendus, and Akechi walked apathetically past the fallen initiates. The resistance was minuscule at best, and the group had easily dispatched the weakling death knights that had attempted to hinder their advance.

Rendus was prickling with anticipation, for there was only one that he honestly cared to fight in the entire citadel: his old teacher, Razuvious. He had been trained by the death knight instructor, and now very much wished to test his strength against his trainer. Rendus's usually calm, cold, and calculating demeanor was almost completely lost in his battle lust, and this had not gone unnoticed to the others as they shied away from the knight.

"Well, well, what do we have here," someone sneered. Rendus was snapped out of his thoughts by the rasping voice of Razuvious. The old student grinned wickedly and slowly stepped into the training ring. Archeron and Akechi's eyes widened as he drew his duel swords, preparing for a gruesome battle.

"What are you doing you fool?" Archeron questioned angrily, glaring at her "friend" through narrowed eyes. Rendus simply grunted in response. Akechi and her elder sister prepared to leap to their companion's aid, just as a familiar ice barrier enclosed the arena.

"Do not interfere," Rendus commanded simply, "Go on without me…I must savor the time I have with my old teacher." Archeron kept her glare fixed directly on the focused death knight. With an annoyed snort, she turned her back on him and paced away, her dark figure disappearing into the dimly lit, macabre doorway. Both Akechi and Rendus were to some extent surprised at how easily she had given up on him, though Rendus quickly recovered his determination to best his old teacher. With no other idea being formulated within her head, Akechi ran after Archeron, her armor clanking on the cold tiles of the citadel floor.

With all distractions put aside, the two combatants circled each other. "Show me what I taught you, _child_," was all the invitation that Rendus needed to begin their battle…

"Foolishly you have sought your own demise. Brazenly you have disregarded powers beyond your understanding. You have fought hard to invade the realm of the harvester. Now there is only one way out — to walk the lonely path of the damned," Archeron rolled her unnatural blue eyes as she impatiently listened to Gothik the Harvester's miniature tirade. She drew the only recently sheathed Doomweaver, expertly flipping the sword in her plated hand to a throwing position.

"Will you just _shut up_!" she yelled, as Doomweaver was hurled into the Harvester's neck, severing his hooded head from his body. Archeron walked at a brisk pace, with Akechi trailing, towards the next room, kicking Gothik's decapitated head against the wall-with enough force to causing multiple places of the skull to crack-out of pure frustration.

The two Shadowsun's walked into silence as Archeron fumed.

"_That fool! What was he thinking fighting the instructor on his own? Ugh, he had been gone long enough to make me believe he's dead…che, it doesn't matter, his death would be well deserved," _she thought to herself. Though the irritable knight would never admit to such an atrocious thing, she was slightly worried about Rendus. Archeron hated to admit- even to herself-that she cared for most of the group that had accompanied her on the mission. Though of course, she would not hesitate to kill them herself if they got in her way or hindered her assignment

So distracted by her slightly murderous thoughts, Archeron was forced back by her sister just before walking into an obvious trap laid by Kel'thuzad's honor guard, the Four Horsemen. The nearest, Baron Rivendare, clicked his tongue loudly in disapproval.

"Honestly, one would believe that a knight trained by the Master himself would be far more observant," he chided mockingly. Both the death knight and paladin tensed at the brash insult.

"Rivendare, you know this one is not to be taken lightly. She likely more powerful than you could ever hope to be. She was, after all trained by the Lich King," Lady Blaumeux stated. The horsemen began arguing amongst themselves to the pair's shock and amusement. The two blood elves simply stared at the scene playing out: four highly skilled knights-one of which was not a death knight-bickering about how to deal with a certain enemy in front of that certain enemy.

"Well, it appears that the lich's very own guard cannot even agree on such a simple matter," a familiar voice chuckled darkly. All eyes turned to the doorway to see Rendus Doomsayer stride in, pretending that not a hair was out of place. However, his icy hair was matted down with drying blood and there was a rather large gash in his breastplate, looking as if a outrageously sharp blade had cut cleanly through the armor, slicing the leather and linens, creating a deep laceration in his ashen skin, blood still flowing freely.

The horsemen looked upon Rendus with pure malice and contempt, as if believing that their piercing glares would strike him down as he strode confidently to his companions. Archeron turned her back on Rendus with a contemptuous growl.

"Were you planning on leaving us to be killed in this horrendous necropolis?" she asked about as jokingly as an animated corpse could. Rendus laughed coldly at the comment.

"I much doubt that the two of you could not handle these fools," he politely stated to his female companions. Said females grinned and shrugged, drawing their own weapons.

The group stood impatiently, waiting for their leader's small party to return. Each of the groups had arrived at the entrance of the necropolis long enough ago for their worry about their friends' safety to be well warranted. Erestrasz paced back and forth, clearly on edge and seemed ready to snap at any given moment. The drake was ready to leave to the land of the living when his keen senses found Archeron. Breathing out a sight of extraordinary relief, Erestrasz shifted uncomfortably, waiting for his eyes to be able to assure the rest of him that his master was relatively unharmed.

As Archeron, Rendus, and Akechi leisurely sauntered from the ominous corridor, they received worried looks-no doubt because of Rendus's gaping wound. Akechi walked to stand with Seripha, the injured death knight strode towards the two healers who had horrified expressions, likely wondering how it was even remotely possible for him to still be "alive". Archeron was met with relieved and annoyed looks to which she simply returned a blank stare.

Corana coughed loudly, drawing the attention to her rather than the newcomers. "Well, where do you suppose we go now?" the hunter asked quietly. The group turned their collective curious gazes towards Archeron, who was staring at them with same void expression. As they looked at their leader expectantly, she simply grunted in comprehension that there had been a question directed towards her.

"Yes?" she asked, her voice sounding monotonous as ever. Tsugri was rolling her dead eyes under the 'X' strap covering them.

"Where do we go," the mage repeated the youngest Bloodhoof's question. Archeron merely blinked. After an unnecessary prolix pause, the death knight walked slowly up the entrance ramp and placed her hand on a pulsing blue orb. Koltira and Rendus-who was now fully recovered thanks to Akenaa's masterful healing-strode knowingly towards the strange orb with their fellow death knight and left the others to look fixedly where they were only moments before. Erestrasz, followed by the younger Shadowsun sisters, then the forsaken mage, Arch Druid, expert hunter, shaman, and a certifiably insane warlock, trailed reluctantly behind the death knights.

The group arrived in a frozen chamber guarding a door that undoubtedly led to Kel'thuzad's chambers. The newcomers looked upon the corpse of a gargantuan frost wyrm that had clearly been dispatched by the death knights. Said knights were nowhere to be found, so Erestrasz-the designated leader-assumed they had gone ahead. His theory proved to be right when he heard a shrill voice resonate through the frozen hall.

"Agghhhh! Do... not... rejoice! Your victory is a hollow one, for I shall return with powers beyond your imagining!" with his heightened sense of hearing, the screech was enough to send Erestrasz reeling.

What came next surprised the expedition to no end and would likely force them to question their beliefs for the rest of their lives. Archeron, in all of her cruel, sardonic, twisted glory, flanked by two also cruel and sardonic death knights, walked calmly into the icy hall holding a small siamese cat in her folded arms. The onlookers were completely and utterly dumbfounded. As they stared mouths agape, Archeron glared dangerously at her newly acquired audience.

"What?"

**A/N: ****I know the ending is random, but I just had to put Mr. Bigglesworth in it (Kel'thuzad's cat). The cat will show up on occasion just because I feel like it and I hope all of you like him. The next chapter is going to take place at Wyrmrest Temple and I suggest you pay close attention to what they say because there is something that will show up much later.  
>In case there is any confusion: 1) Corana is Cairne Bloodhoof's daughter-I know he does not actually have one, but I felt like making the characters more important. 2)Kel'thuzad seriously has a cat named Mr. Bigglesworth…look it up.<br>So, at least four people have put this story on their alerts and only two have reviewed…I would like to thank Rendus, White Phantom, and the other reviewers for their support and comments, and for the ones that have read but not reviewed: Please review and make me happy  
>This chapter did not turn out quite the way I would have hoped because it was so rushed, but the next will be better.<br>I hope you eagerly await the next chapter (Which will be mostly dialogue by the way).  
><strong> 


	9. The Wyrmrest Accord

**A/N: ****in this chapter, they are at Wyrmrest if you could not infer that from the title of it. I would not expect to have the other chapters to come out this quickly, this one was just **_**interesting **_**to write.**

Archeron sighed audibly as she and her drake neared the gargantuan Wyrmrest Temple, meeting place of the great dragon aspects and their respective flights. As the current champion and ambassador of the Horde, it was one of her many duties to secure at least a neutral standing with the ancient leviathans of Azeroth.

Erestrasz landed with practiced precision at the foot of the looming structure, shaking the piercing frost from his tired body. Archeron looked upon the building with apparent wariness despite her own exalted reputation with the Accord. As the ambassador stepped through the great arch that lead to the main room of Temple, the guards greeted her with immense respect.

"It is good to see you among us again, Lady Archeron," one of the Red Dragonkin guards said, bowing low as she passed. Archeron nodded, indicating that she acknowledged the greeting. Demestrasz, caretaker of the Temple, turned to see the elven knight and dragon-mage (in elven form). He too, greeted the pair with high regard while bowing.

"Lady Archeron, Lord Erestrasz," he said, addressing even Erestrasz, with an honorific despite the drake being centuries younger-a hatchling in comparison-than the caretaker, "would either of you like to indulge in refreshments? Your journey must have been tiresome, so I implore you to rest and relax." Again Archeron sighed, growing somewhat impatient.

"You are far too kind Demestrasz. There is no need to address humble emissaries with such hospitality. I would much enjoy taking your offer, but I must not be late," the tense death knight stated flatly, though with as much courtesy as possible. Demestrasz laughed heartily, clearly taking Archeron's not-so-subtle hint and doing away with the formality.

"The Queen is expecting you, and Erestrasz. She ordered me to let the two of you rest before taking part in the discussions," the red dragon managed a lopsided, weary, grin, "but you can see how well that turned out." Archeron shook her head in exasperation. With an intense flash of azure light, a slightly transparent drake replaced the elven mage. Climbing onto her faithful mounts back, Archeron bid Demestrasz farewell.

The dragon queen Alexstrasza looked upon the dismounting death knight, clad in midnight black armor, in mild shock. She had known that Demestrasz would almost certainly fail the nearly impossible task she had appointed him, though the magnificent Red had dared to hope that he would succeed. The wyrms present did not so much flinch as the young drake transformed into his elven form with a brilliant flare of light. Archeron bowed respectfully to the flight ambassadors, the Life-binder's prime consort Korialstrasz, and to the Life-binder herself. The shocked silence continued as the newest addition to the assembly of ambassadors took her place near the right hand of the Dragon-queen, next to Lord Itharius of the Green Dragonflight. Erestrasz stayed near the Majordomo of the Council, feeling quite out of place with the prominent and elder dragons.

"Come, young one," Alexstrasza beckoned him. Erestrasz was stunned beyond words as he slowly walked-seemingly against his will-to stand with his master; Korialstrasz nodded, acknowledging the pairs presence and possibly to break the beginnings of a very awkward silence.

"I welcome the knight-champion of the Horde, Archeron, with her companion and the Netherwing emissary, Erestrasz," the dragon-queen announced. The present Lords and Ladies- Itharius of the Green Dragonflight, Kalecgos of the Blue Flight, Nalice of the malevolent and baleful Black Dragonflight, and Chronormu the Temporal Investigator of the Bronze Flight-bowed respectfully-mockingly in the case of a certain black-to their mortal and hatchling counterparts. Erestrasz bowed in return, though his rider merely dipped her head.

"I trust that you have all been apprised of my calling to the Temple," when the ambassadors confirmed their knowledge the death knight continued, "We-the Horde offensive-humbly beseech the Wyrmrest Accord for its aid in our battle against the ravenous hordes of Scourge undead controlled by the Lich King Arthas."

Archeron's brazen call for aid had clearly startled the wyrms. A tenuous silence ensued as the great leviathans recovered their composure; the only sound to be heard was the beating of snow and ice upon the exposed walls of the ancient structure. A harsh, rasping cackle disturbed the quiescence of the circular room.

The unliving knight whipped her silver-haired head in the direction of the unnecessary noise, boring daggers into the indifferent transgressor Nalice.

"Why should the greatest beings of this world waste time lending aid to the weakling, mortal races that infect Azeroth?" the black dragon inquired with blatant distain. Archeron straightened, as though not to show weakness. She had been anticipating such 'reluctance' from the corrupted dragonflight. However, before Archeron could justify the Horde's dire need for support, Erestrasz interjected.

"The Lich King is using your own kind to battle the dragons themselves. The threat is on your very doorstep, in the sacred Shrines. How can you simply stand by and let these atrocities go unseen?" the force and conviction the resonated in the young drakes voice was staggering, though Nalice seemed unmoved. "The very bones of your former comrades fight for your destruction as well as that of the mortal races; you must fight to preserve your dignity as protectors of this world as much as for your own survival." Erestrasz explained their predicament with ease and certainty, though his unorthodox outburst had left him with a slight flush creeping up his face and Korialstrasz with a smirk plastered on his commonly apathetic face. Nalice simply scoffed and turned her head from the strong willed hatchling.

Alexstrasza let out an exasperated sigh, knowing that their negotiations were going no were soon. The Dragon-queen looked at the currently quarreling Horde knight and black dragon. She could have intervened, though the great wyrm understood that no matter how great her power, neither combatant would back away from the other's challenge.

Snow and hail battered the age worn walls of the Wyrmrest Temple. Large ice shards scraped against the exterior of Archeron's current dwellings. The fruitless negotiations were forced to a halt by the Life-binder herself as a monstrous blizzard set in and the Black Flight ambassador and the death knight nearly came to blows.

Archeron was positive that the blacks would refuse to lend aid no matter how dire the circumstance simply to salvage their infamous, misguided pride. Itharius and Kalecgos had merely replied that they would sleep on the idea, while the Temporal Investigator had blatantly refused, stating that the time watchers had more dire issues to contend with. The present Reds had been stoic bystanders to the rather disastrous attempt at a negotiation, neither saying nor doing anything whilst the other wyrms looked on with mild amusement. Archeron sighted as she listened intently to the wild pounding of snow and ice shards against the weathered, yet solid Temple. All seemed well inside its protective walls, as nothing was ever amiss in the Life-binder's presence. The plush bed that adorned the center of her nightly room was comfortable and conformed perfectly to her strained body as Archeron lay upon its fine surface.

In a sudden rush of searing pain, Archeron's unbeating heart seemed to lurch in her chest. With a gasp of unbridled shock, she shot from the bed and staggered a few steps before falling against the frozen wall with a grunt. Archeron's necromancy animated eyes were wide with terror as she clawed at the exposed ashen skin near her heart. Cold fingers ran over the glowing white scar that was placed in the center of her chest, the fatal wound she had received from the former Lich King's faithful servant, Arthas. The scorching pain had not subsided in the least as the death knight gasped for unneeded air, willing the excruciating sensation away as she clutched the jagged entry wound. Archeron doubled over, her stomach and chest heaving as her body attempted to fight the Lich King's iron will. Black blood escaped her body, flowing past her dried lips as the agonizing pain intensified. She coughed and choked on the ichor as it forced its way from her body, staining her mouth, throat, and the ground it spilled onto.

"I will never be yours again," Archeron panted with staggering creed, seemingly to herself. The searing cold subsided and the blood ceased stinging her coarse throat. The startled knight sat with her back against the wall trying to steady her heavily shaking breath.

"Why must you force this upon yourself? Why must you endure what you do not wish too?" a voice questioned from the shadows of the dimly lit room. Archeron's eyes narrowed as she called out the intruder.

"Show yourself, Dragon-queen." Alexstrasza stepped slowly from the dark crevice. She strode over to the calming knight, looking down at her with pity. Archeron's eyes narrowed further, adding to the deathly stare but deterring the Life-binder none.

"Why do you choose to suffer an endless torment? There are ways of ending your pain…some more permanent than others," she stated quietly as if fearing that she would cross a forbidden boundary-which she unknowingly had. Archeron glared with the same dangerous gaze, looking away only when the fire in the great wyrm's eyes intensified beyond rationality.

"I suffer because I must," she said forcefully. The conviction in her voice was enough to make Alexstrasza cringe.

"You know there are ways. Why not use them to break free of this dark torment?" the Life-binder said with rival force. She was the protector of life; she loved all living things and could not bring herself to understand why the former life-blessed elf would not accept her aid.

"I can give you back what once was lost," Alexstrasza finally said, leaving all riddles and questions behind. Archeron's eyes flared recklessly and the space around her seemed to darken considerably. Standing and wiping the black blood from her pale skin, Archeron paced towards the large entryway leading from her room.

She stopped just at the entrance and said with hallow, metallic conviction, "I need no soul…" and with that, she walked away into the darkness of Wyrmrest Temple, leaving the Dragon-queen to stare sadly at her retreating form.

Erestrasz stared blankly into the dark, snowy night from the second level of the great Temple. He had been quietly observing the activity of the other dragons with keen interest.

"_No different from what I had imagined," _he mused to himself. Nothing was different from the picture he had drawn himself in his mind of the benevolent dragons and wyrms of the great Flights. Erestrasz could not remember having seen dragons of any kind-other than Alexstrasza and Korialstrasz-, having been rescued by his death knight friend and master from the orcish Dragonmaw Clan right after he had hatched. In the eyes of the great dragons that resided in Wyrmrest, Erestrasz was merely a hatchling. He had been brought to the Temple as a newborn whelp-before he could even see-and the only memories he had of that time was opening his eyes to the cold gaze of a death knight, the warmth of the Life-binder, and the loyalty of the queen's prime consort, the other was being named by the three.

It deeply saddened the young drake that the Flights took no heed to his and Archeron's warning. He knew that the Green and Blue flights could afford nothing, the Bronze were searching for their lost leader in the twisting reaches of time itself, the Blacks cared too little for the mortal races, and the Reds could spare none for the inevitable war with Malygos.

Erestrasz turned, hearing heavy and careless footsteps, to see Alexstrasza approaching him. He was taken aback by her worried and dejected state. The Dragon-queen slowly, if not cautiously, advanced on the young dragon. Erestrasz looked at Alexstrasza with evident worry, seeing as she was not in her usual serene state of being.

"Why does Archeron deny what she is meant to be?" she asked softly, almost to herself. Erestrasz straightened a bit, trying to hide the slight annoyance he felt. He would have accused her of being a complete fool had she not been his queen. The drake sighed and turned away, allowing his deep azure hair flow in the strong winds of the dying blizzard. Alexstrasza peered at him with masked suspicion and paced towards the edge of the Temple to stand with the hatchling Netherwing.

"She feels it is her duty to atone for her failure," He stated simply. Alexstrasza stared into the frost-laden night, her knowing gaze sweeping over the desolate landscape of the Dragonblight. Though she knew her answer from the halfhearted explanation, the Dragon-queen motioned for him to elaborate.

Erestrasz bit back an exasperated sigh. "Her failure to protect Quel'thalas-her home and people, failing to destroy Arthas when his back was turned-this she blamed on 'petty honor', she blames herself for…this," he looked over the frozen wastes towards the Wrath Gate and Icecrown. "Archeron is too proud, and she knows that nothing can truly return what she lost so long ago."

Alexstrasza's eyes were closed in quiet contemplation as she thought about Erestrasz's words.

"There is nothing for her in death, she knows this far too well, but now, there is nothing for her anywhere. War and pain are all that Archeron now knows." Alexstrasza cringed inwardly; it was almost as if she had been slapped. For the Aspect of Life, it was unthinkable that any being could live for nothing except the constant struggle of war and death.

The Life-binder abruptly turned to face the young dragon with a dim fire lighting her crimson orbs; Erestrasz merely looked at her with anguish clear in his radiant blue eyes.

"You are of the noble Netherwing Flight, bearing a name of the life giving Reds. Erestrasz, I entrust my task to you, and you alone." And with that, the Dragon-queen turned and retreated into the Temple, leaving behind her a very baffled drake.

Erestrasz stared into the shadows of Wyrmrest, watching as the faint outline of Alexstrasza's horns finally disappeared into the tranquil darkness of the temple. His brows furrowed in confusion. What task? Why him? What was he supposed to do?

"_Wyrms and their riddles…"_

Archeron silently strapped on her pitch black armor, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in her chest. The Lich King's sudden attempt at regaining control was enough to put her on complete alert, her hand flashing to Doomweaver's hilt at even the slightest rustle of movement from behind the door. Archeron's mind, muscles, and nerves were so tense that her unpleasant conversation with the Aspect of Life was at the back of her mind.

"We are leaving?" Erestrasz inquired, barley getting out the first letter before a sharpened blade was at his throat. Archeron sighed heavily, sheathing Doomweaver and returning to the adjustment of her armor.

"Yes," she replied matter-of-factly.

"Will we not wait for a reply from the Flights?" he asked worriedly. He knew that the Horde and Alliance forces would likely be slaughtered at the Wrath Gate without the aid of the great flights. Archeron merely nodded and this only furthered Erestrasz's monumental confusion. He was still quite perplexed about Alexstrasza's riddle, though it seemed quite obvious to the great dragon what she to be wanted done.

"We are leaving, that is all that matters," Archeron said. The drake groaned inwardly as the two walked from the temple. After his blinding transformation, Archeron climbed upon his back and the pair were speeding towards Agmar's Hammer.

Erestrasz peered through his transparent wing at the death knight perched on his bare back. She was tense and alert, staring icily ahead, her gaze far colder than the snow that fell.

"You will fall…" she muttered under her breath, soft enough so even with his heightened senses, Erestrasz was unsure if he had heard it himself.

"Arthas,"

**A/N:**** I suggest you remember these conversations, they will show up later-much later- on. So, I wanted Archeron to seem more vulnerable-for lack of a better term. She seems to be too steeled in my opinion, so the next chapter will be pretty dark as I make her less invincible. The next chapter might make her seem to weak (I highly doubt that) so I do have a plan to fix that.**

**I hope you all eagerly await the next chapter**

**-Sethyl**


	10. Deadly Revelations

**A/N:**** I am so happy that this is finally up! I wanted to make this chapter better than the last two have been, so I rewrote it four times-not including this one-and scrapped each of them when they were completed since they were not good enough. I am, however, satisfied with this one, so I hope you guys enjoy it!**

Archeron sat cross-legged in the shadowy corner of her small room in Agmar's Hammer. The knight had taken to re-etching the dark runes on her armor and blade. While she silently engraved her plating, the military base just outside was a flurry of activity. Grunts, shamans, warlocks, and every Horde soldier in the garrison were scrambling to prepare for when they left for the Kor'kron Vanguard.

Archeron was to lead the soldiers of the Horde and the Alliance along with Dranosh Saurfang and Bolvar Fordragon, albeit grudgingly. She had no love for the Alliance just as they had none for her, though she knew that disobeying orders from Thrall and a direct _request_ from Varian Wyrnn was more than foolhardy.

Tuning out the incessant noise just outside, Archeron continued inspecting the various runes on her chest plate. As she analyzed the piece of armor for imperfections, her thoughts involuntarily strayed to the battle ahead.

She would fight. She would kill Arthas-her former master, tormentor, murderer, and teacher. Or she would be killed once again by him and his cursed blade Frostmourne.

Archeron released a hefty sigh. Placing her breast plate aside, Archeron reached for Doomweaver. She idly studied the blade, hardly giving any legitimate attention to what she was actually looking at. With her thoughts currently plastered on the subject of Angrathar, she was staring past the walls of her dwellings rather than attempting to accomplish her task.

Soundlessly, the knight placed the runeblade on the fur covered ground next to her, replacing the heavy sword with her dark musings while absently watching shadows and frost amass on the metal of Doomweaver.

So ensnared by her twisted thoughts, Archeron barely registered the soft rapping at the closed wooden door.

"Come in," she commanded absently. Archeron would not have known who had intruded upon her silent contemplations of the inevitably dismal future had it not been for the unnatural sickly sweet stench of death that entered the small room as the door swung open.

Archeron's frozen eyes shifted to Koltira Deathweaver who was staring blankly in return. The stillness of their deadlock was undisturbed by the dying chaos just outside the closed door. Archeron was the one to shatter the strained quiet into hundreds of minuscule shards.

"What are you doing here?" she inquired, quirking a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at the one in question. Koltira grunted, as if believing it would dull her curiosity.

"Should I not be asking you the same?" he shot back, knowing that Archeron should already be on her merry way to the Wrathgate. She merely turned her head, indicating that she was not going to answer what was in her opinion, an obvious question.

Silence threatened to once again creep in as Koltira continued staring at his old friend. He let out a small breath and slowly crossed the room in a few long strides, only to be met with a threatening glare from Archeron. Blatantly disregarding her deathly look, Koltira stood directly above the surly elf, somehow looking slightly larger without his armor.

With surprising grace, Archeron was quickly on her feet from her place on the ground.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated, though with more force than previously stated.

"Rendus and I are to accompany you to the Gate," Koltira said without the slightest hesitation. Archeron's pale glowing eyes narrowed.

"You will _not_," she snarled promptly, authority ringing in her voice. Archeron vainly attempted to force her way past Koltira's broad frame, but the other death knight held firm. His apathetic eyes betrayed the monumental anger and resentment he felt. The source of these abnormal emotions was Archeron's dire-though unknowing-need to repent for deeds that she was far from at fault for, and that she believed it was her duty to kill Arthas for his destruction of their homeland. It angered him to no end that she was unwittingly playing the role of the martyr. Koltira had an uncanny feeling that she would eventually fall, unable to bear the weight of what she had taken upon herself. His resentment was spared for the 'friends' that were unintentionally fueling these thoughts in Archeron's already tortured mind.

"Who are you to refuse us?" Neither of them was quite sure why he had asked this, each of them knowing the answer. Archeron's icy gaze bore into Koltira, her own anger rising. She had abandoned trying to move past the rather infuriated knight and simply looked up at him with malice dancing in her eyes.

"Why I deny your _aid _is none of your concern," Archeron said slowly, though her voice resonated with vexation.

As quickly as flashing lightning, Koltira's hand was at her throat, pinning her to the wall behind. He applied enough force to cut off the supply of oxygen to the lungs of any living creature. However, Archeron was far from living and met his angered gaze with cool stare. Koltira met her glare head on, his own deathly eyes pointing daggers directly at her. Slowly, as if he was uncertain, he leaned nearer to her, bringing his face near her sensitive elvish ears.

"You will die without us. You need us…_all _of us," he whispered cryptically. Archeron merely scowled at Koltira, believing this to be another of his mind games. As the two exchanged looks of annoyance, contemplation, and slight aversion, a deafening silence managed to weave itself in-between the menacing elves.

Thus far, Archeron had yet to see the point of Koltira's grievous transgression. She had known ever since her grim reunion with the hellish, frozen hills of Northrend that she would likely meet her end by the cruel, glinting metal of Frostmourne held firmly in the Lich King's unrelenting grasp.

Koltira was justly as confused as she. He had not even the slightest inkling as to why he had suddenly lashed out as harshly as he had. He registered his anger and knew _why _he had done this, he simply did not understand why he had done _this_.

As though not to show how flustered he was, Koltira kept his hand pressed firmly on Archeron's stiffened neck. Letting his eyes and mind wander, Koltira's gaze came to rest on the jagged wound just above the hem of Archeron's pale linen shirt. The grotesque injury was not the superficial scratch or laceration of a skirmish, but a true fatal strike created by an artisan executioner.

The terrible old sword wound was set above Archeron's glacial heart. It was specked with the blackened blood of the dead, its stitches having been recently reopened and sewed together by a trembling hand. The gash was from a time long past, though far from forgotten in the minds' of the death knight. A time remembered by the simple words breathing, laughing, and _living_.

An undesirable torrent of emotion surged through Koltira as he stared at the old 'scar'. Releasing his steel grip from Archeron's throat, he turned away on unsteady legs and ragged breath.

Archeron stood without flinching as Koltira steadily regained his misplaced composure.

"You will go no matter how I try to dissuade you?" Koltira questioned. Archeron only nodded, watching intently as her companion let out a strained snicker.

"Always to foolhardy for your own good," he muttered as he shuffled out of the small quarters.

Archeron released a hefty sigh as she sat on the firm bed, resting her weary head in her hands. As she sat, no thoughts seemed capable of forming in her mind.

Raising her head, Archeron eyes fixated on her battle scared armor. A slight smirk tugged at her lips as she stalked over towards the saronite plating.

Roughly sheathing Doomweaver, Archeron gazed over the dead hills of the Dragonblight to where Angrathar was patiently awaiting her arrival. The pre-dawn darkness fading into a faint light that gave the mountains eerie silhouettes. Climbing onto Erestrasz's bare back, Archeron looked every bit the self-sacrificing hero, save the resentful spark in her ice shard eyes.

Erestrasz's powerful wings took them into the chilled air, gliding gracefully towards the Kor'kron Vanguard. Archeron's pair of escorts-as the two wished themselves to be called-had their necromancy animated mounts traveling at a break-neck sprint attempting to keep a pace with the mighty drake. Erestrasz however, allowed his maw to part in a colossal yawn, still shaking the fatigue from his body.

Even the icebound skeletons of the great Azerothian wyrms that littered the snow covered expanses of the Dragon dying grounds seemed to prickle with anticipation as the dark rider flew past. Bones and carcasses were all that greeted Archeron as she neared the Wrath Gate.

Grunts scrambled to attention as Archeron and Erestrasz made their long awaited appearance at the Horde's makeshift encampment. Saluting soldiers lined the broad, winding path leading towards the planning area overlooking the soon to be corpse infested stage hosting the theatre of battle.

"Well, well. You certainly took your time," Dranosh Saurfang stated flatly without raising his head from the battle plans placed in front of him. Rendus managed to stifle a snicker and Koltira sported a sardonic smirk.

Archeron brazenly disregarded her forced companions and invited herself to the join the Kor'kron leader. She carefully scrutinized their plans with an intent scowl and a raised eyebrow.

"_This _is our strategy?" Archeron interrogated the Kor'kron Warlord. "I direct assault…this is a suicide mission."

Saurfang the Younger studied her through narrowed eyes. He knew that their plan was far from desirable; it was however, the only battle strategy the brilliant military leaders of the assault on the Wrath Grate could formulate that could possibly have hope of defeating the undefeatable.

Archeron shook her weary head, her disdain evident, though only Koltira seemed to notice and his smirk only deepened. Archeron glared over her shoulder as she took the parchment in her iron fist and stalked towards her awaiting mount.

The knight was rather amused at the baffled expressions of the siege leaders standing with Saurfang. They had clearly believed that her reaction would be exceedingly violent and far less passive.

Gliding the small distance between the allied bases, Archeron and Erestrasz found themselves at the Alliance fort of Fordragon Hold-a cluster of hastily made buildings and mistrustful, narrowed eyes.

"Archeron, it is a pleasure to see you again. I wish it was, however, under less dire circumstances," the Highlord greeted her, sincerity ringing in his optimistic voice. Archeron gave a curt bow, leaving the drake to feel very much out of place.

Archeron read over the plans once more as Bolvar prepared his soldiers for battle. With an irritated glance, she surveyed their soon-to-be battlefield with grim contemplation.

"Milady, we are moving out," a war seasoned footman informed her. Archeron nodded in acknowledgement, still making her assessment of the hordes of undead wandering aimlessly in front of the Gate.

"Erestrasz," she called, though her voice was barely a whisper. The drake hurried over to his master, letting his wings stretch along the short way.

Erestrasz gave a sharp nod at Archeron's orders. He launched himself into the frozen air, darting towards the great Wyrmrest Temple-a mere speck in the distance. The soldiers looked on in awe as the great beast disappeared into the cloudy expanse of sky.

Archeron and Bolvar strode boldly from the Alliance camp as the battle for the Wrath Gate began to commence.

"Highlord Bolvar!" a dwarf shouted from the crowd of soldiers.

"For Lordaeron!" a paladin hollered from the confluence of soldiers.

"For the Alliance!" came another raised voice. The statement made Archeron's brow twitch slightly, though her annoyance was expertly masked as the pair walked along the winding path lined with sober footmen.

The two commanders charged up the slight hill leading to Angrathar, the only obstacle baring their path into Icecrown. The hordes of ravenous undead fought with mindless intensity, killing anything in their infected path. A geist shifted its hideous single eyed gaze from the corpse it was devouring to stare blankly at the vengeful paladin and death knight cutting a path towards the gate it was charged with protecting. Bolvar slammed his lion crest shield into the creature mercilessly, cutting it down with practiced precision.

"Back you mindless wretches!" the Highlord bellowed as masses of Scourge advanced. As the undead pressed forward, a dark shout came from behind the looming gate.

"Khosta Dew-da goe Gra!"

The gate's massive 'teeth' parted to reveal monstrous Vrykul, steadfast and prepared for the ensuing slaughter. The leading giant let out a terrible cry as his brothers began to charge into the fray.

"Fight on!" Archeron yelled, her hollow voice resonating throughout the blood soaked battle front.

The Alliance soldiers furthered their assault on Angrathar, meeting the bloodthirsty Vrykul in the middle of the field. Archeron's long, elvish ears pricked up, sensing the powerful voice of Dranosh Saurfang.

"Rise up sons of the Horde!" he howled, "Blood and glory await us!" the Horde's harsh battle horn pierced through the sound of clashing blades and pained cries, causing the opponents to gawk at the mighty newcomers.  
>Lok'tar Orgar! For the Horde" Saurfang roared, commanding his brothers and sisters in arms to take up the battle cry of the Horde. The choir of rough voices swelled with pride, knowing that today would be a victory for their beloved Horde.<p>

"I was wondering if you'd show up," Bolvar commented slyly as Dranosh rushed to his and Archeron's side.

The Kor'kron Warlord offered a wide grin to the other leaders, "I couldn't let the Alliance have all the fun today!" he explained, dispatching three angered Vrykul.

Archeron, Bolvar, and Dranosh walked at a brisk pace towards the gate, hardly avoiding the ravaged corpses of the Scourge. Taking in a deep, assuring breath, Bolvar called out to the traitor king the resided just behind the massive wall.

"Arthas! The blood of your father, of your people, demands justice!" he shouted.

"Come forth coward, and answer for your crimes!" Archeron added, knowing that it would draw her teacher out if Bolvar hadn't succeeded. The ominous doors of Angrathar opened once more, revealing a dark figure clad in fur lined plating, a helm of death placed upon his head.

The Lich King's armor clanked on the ground as he came from his shadowy place from the gate.

"You speak of justice…of cowardice," Arthas's unnerving gaze was fixed on Archeron, a twisted smile barely seen behind the Helm of Domination. "I will show you the _justice _of the grave and the true meaning…of fear." His metallic, scathing voice ringed across the dark path, striking fear into the Horde and Alliance soldiers alike.

An army of reanimated corpses arose from the plagued ground surrounding the gate-a simple display of Arthas's monumental power.

"Enough talk!" Saurfang yelled, baring his axe at the Lich King, "Let it be finished!"

Archeron's eyes widened as Dranosh charged at Arthas. She attempted to reach for him as he shot forward, though she was too late stop the foolish young orc…

**A/N: ****I decided to leave it at a cliffhanger, though I am not sure why considering you all know what happens next. Well, I have stayed up for three straight days because I love you guys and for my own sanity since this idea had been floating around in my mind for some time now.  
>Thank you for the review White Phantom; I read over that chapter and you were right, I did you it too much. Thank you for pointing that out!<br>LotC will not be updated for a little while because I am going to write a 'short' story about the elves (our main elves) before the Scourge attack on Silvermoon and I am rewriting chapter eight because it sucked…  
>Read and Review please. I love constructive criticism and love notes ;)<strong>


	11. Fall of a Hero

**A/N: ****Wow…um, ok then, been a while since I updated. However, I do have a good reason that will likely not happen again for about four more years: I got sick. I was sick for about four weeks, so I could not even touch a computer without my raging headache getting worse. After that, I was out for another week because the headache did not appear to want to leave (Doctor said it was a cold…yeah, **_**right**_**). Then I had exams, so I have had pretty busy month and a half…I blame the teachers and my mother –love you mum 3**

The stunned forces of the Horde and the Alliance looked on in dismay as the axe of Varok Saurfang shattered under the immense dark power of Frostmourne and its wielder. The bystanders watched in unbridled horror as Arthas' sadistic smirk widened beneath his helm as Frostmourne hungrily consumed the defiant soul of Dranosh Saurfang.

The Lich King's eyes were forever focused on his former champion as he forced the orc's body to relinquish the life it harbored. Archeron suppressed a violent shudder, keeping her frozen, yet fiery gaze on the crazed king leeching the Horde hero's soul.

"You will pay…for _all _the lives you've stolen, traitor!" Bolvar finally said, his scathing voice resonating throughout the quitted and bloody stage of battle. Archeron tightened her grip on Doomweaver's hilt, knuckles becoming an even more unnatural white in the process.

"Boldly stated," Arthas sneered, "but there is nothing you can-" His dark speech was cut short as a bomb was set off near their theatre, sickly green smog rising from the area of impact.

"What?" the Lich King exclaimed, his terrible anger evident in his booming, hollow voice.

A mad, rasping cackle erupted in answer from the cliff overlooking Angrathar. "Did you think we had forgotten? Did you think we had forgiven?" Archeron, unlike the hundreds of soldiers, did not need to look frantically at the perpetrator to identify him-it was the Grand Apothecary Putress who was clearly smirking behind his crow mask. "Behold now the terrible vengeance of the forsaken!" more bombs were released from the great forsaken catapults t hat were wheeled towards the edge of the cliff.

"Sylvanas…" Arthas growled her name, as if even saying it was torture enough. As the New Plague was unleashed upon the fear-struck Alliance and Horde, the Scourge merely looked on in confusion as they all fell.

"Death to the Scourge! And death to the living!" Putress bellowed, watching with twisted satisfaction as his terrible creation wreaked havoc upon both the living and the mindless dead.

Bolvar frantically turned his back on Arthas, shouting desperately for the soldiers to fall back as he saw the gruesome effects of Putress' expertly crafted Plague. The warriors hastily accepted Bolvar's order and turned their backs on their tortured comrades, hurriedly leaving them behind. The horrid gas slowly rotted the flesh from the very bones of the living, letting its victims suffer through pure agony before they finally succumbed to the darkness. This New Plague snuffed out all of the life left in its path, leaving nothing but oblivion in its wake; even the undead Scourge and soul-less death knights could not cope with the gaseous death that surrounded them.

Archeron's eyes widened in dismay as she stared at the terrible happenings around her. Was this to be the end of her vengeful quest? Was she and her reclusive prey to be killed by some sickening Forsaken creation?

Never.

The death knight was on her knees, coughing and sputtering, attempting to rise to her rebellious feet, and she did so, though with a great and tiring effort. Clutching her armored chest, Archeron trudged forward through the writhing gas. With her gaze hazy at best, she could barely make out the terrible form of the Lich King on his own defiant knees, choking on the very air around him.

Doomweaver faithfully in hand, Archeron wearily made her way closer, though her tired and weakening legs buckled ever so close to her master –the irony of the situation was not lost on elf, and she was far from pleased with it.

_"No,"_ she thought frantically, her mind racing, _"This will be your end…"_ With this final fleeting thought, Archeron passed into blessed, yet cursed darkness.

_  
>Bolvar retreated farther back as the whispering cloud crept in from all sides. He looked around frenziedly for some means of escape, though he found none. Lord Fordargon's despairing thoughts conflicted with what he so desperately wished to believe…they would all die, and there was nothing that could stop it.<p>

_  
>Arthas coughed violently as the plague entered his body and wreaked havoc on him. He could see in his peripheral vision that his everlasting <em>favorite<em> knight was approaching him on unwilling legs. He could hear her shaking breath and even with the fearsome prospect of imminent death, the Lich King could not help but let a twisted smile play at his lips. She would come back to him always.

He watched with grim pleasure as his former champion fell to her knees before him. It pleased him to no end that she was now at his mercy…pity that he none left. Forgetting the matter of his wayward knight for a moment, Arthas continued to choke on the smog.

"_I will not be undone by a puny forsaken and his poison!"_ the Lich King screamed out in his mind. Letting out a terrible bellow, Arthas forced himself to his armor clad feet.

He looked upon the unconscious form of Archeron lying in the dust of the battle and a wicked thought passed through his wildly insane mind…

_  
>Erestrasz beat his wings with immense haste, fear taking root in his immortal heart. Archeron had forced him away from the battle, ordering him to bring the dragons of Wyrmrest to the inevitably bloody scenes. Both knew that the assault on the Wrathgate would be unsuccessful and there was only one chance of it not being a complete failure –the Red Dragon's Flame.<p>

Death was an inexorable fate that was sure to leave deep scars on each side of the battle. The Horde and the Alliance could recover from those losses, but the Scourge would surely gain far more than was lost with so much death.

However, Archeron knew this well and sent her faithful companion to Wyrmrest with the slim hope that Alexstrasza would be gracious enough to allow the battle field to be purged by the flame of life. This slim hope hadn't been for naught. Erestrasz now flew with five of the Temple's Red guardians to Angrathar.

Erestrasz, along with the dragons, looked on in utter horror as the pure snow gave way to a scene of true abomination. Men, and other varying species, raced from the gate as some type of gas seemed to follow.

The Reds frantically spread their flame, destroying the catapults, the gas, and burning the hordes of bodies that littered the plane. Wherever the flame touched, flowers, grass, and other flora sprang from the corrupted earth, purifying the blighted ground. Although his hopes had been realized, Erestrasz was far from at ease; it was as if he could feel something missing. The Netherwing found a perch near the sight and his eyes scanned the area for any sign of his master or friends.

He found none.

The young drake nearly went into a panic as the older dragons circled him, screeching something about bringing the Queen. He paid them no heed as his mind began to furiously race, wondering what could have possibly happened to have decimated the vast armies of the Horde, Alliance, and Scourge.

Erestrasz flew, surveying the path again and again until even his powerful wings began to tire. At this point, there were not enough coherent thoughts in his mind to allow him to think properly. Landing ungracefully in the Horde's base, Erestrasz swiftly transformed –though it was perhaps not the best of ideas considering it sent the already terrified soldiers into an uproar- and renewed his search once more.

"Erestrasz…" he heard his name said faintly, so quiet that even with his heightened senses, he doubted that it was truly said. However, he followed the resonating vibrations from the voice, suddenly finding himself in a makeshift hospital. Erestrasz stared in utter shock at the scene before him –many of the wounded and unconscious were soldiers he knew, people he had explored, adventured, and laughed with. Many of them were dead.

Koltira looked up from Rendus' unconscious body to find an awestruck dragon-mage standing by the hastily made tents. He limped away from his comrade to the drake with great effort - his own wounds causing him great frustration.

"Erestrasz," the death knight repeated. The Netherwing likely would have collapsed from the shock had his name not been called again. He snapped out of his trance to find a tired Koltira staring at him with pained eyes.

"What happened…" Erestrasz quietly breathed. Koltira looked away, closing his frosty orbs and running his slightly trembling fingers through his blood stained hair. He waved his hand as he turned, signaling for the drake to follow –though Erestrasz ended up supporting him rather than trailing after the knight. Koltira slowly lead him away from the medical tents and towards the edge of the Vanguard. The death knight gazed down on the old battle field with an unreadable expression.

Sensing his distress, Erestrasz let his previous question dissolve in favor of another.

"Where is Archeron?" it was so simple, but it held immense meaning for him, Koltira, and so many others.

Erestrasz's light eyes widened in alarm and fear when Koltira merely stared back at him with sad eyes that seemed to look through him rather than at him, "I wish I knew."

_  
>Archeron's fatigued body protested loudly as she began to regain her lost awareness. Even as her eyes began to flutter open, her hazy vision refused to clear, as if her mind was not allowing her to see whatever predicament she had found herself in.<p>

"Master, it awakens," a rasping voice that sounded quite reminiscent of a death knight said gleefully. There was no response to the creature's comment, though Archeron had begun it see where she was and what was bound to happen.

She was lying in a royal hall of some kind; her plating had been removed, leaving the knight in the darkened leather under armor. Archeron spotted the discarded Doomweaver at the foot of a great throne that was glazed with thick, whispering ice.

"Stand," a hollow, menacing voice commanded. Fear –stark, raw, and absolute- shot through Archeron's body as she unknowingly complied with the demand. Slowly, she rose to her weary feet, leaving her back turned to the unearthly evil sitting upon the throne.

"Turn," Arthas sneered, thoroughly enjoying watching his former slave's trembling form. Archeron had once been so great and powerful, striking fear into the hearts of the living, but he had now reduced her to this –a shivering mass of that same fear.

However, Archeron refused to turn to face her tormentor, instead choosing to tune out his incessant murmuring inside her mind. She knew that this try Arthas' patients and that she would likely regret it, the death knight could hardly resist grating on the Lich King's thin nerves.

"I gave you a command…I expect you to follow," he boomed. Archeron's eye twitched the slightest bit as she lazily turned to face her capture. Despite her deepening fear, she stared steadily into the graves that were the Lich King's eyes. The Helm of Domination was resting near his arm while Frostmourne took residence near his leg –just within reach. Arthas returned her gaze with a slight smirk.

"On your knees," Archeron's jaw clenched and her fists tightened at her sides. This was something she would never abide by. However, Arthas knew this well; he made the slightest gesture with his hand and the death knight that informed him of Archeron's awakening and another stalked from the shadows and roughly grasped her shoulders. She merely stood completely ridged as the two death knights rather feebly attempted forced her to her knees.

Nearly a full minute past with his minions failing to bring her down until Archeron simply wreathed them in different variations of plague –not even lifting a finger to do so. Neither Arthas nor his prisoner flinched as the human knights' strangled cries died away. Archeron hadn't even bothered to pay them any attention as they died in agony.

Arthas let out a cruel laugh as she continued to stare at him with stony eyes.

"You no longer have fear. Has it been replaced with courage? Bravery? Heroism? Likely not," he said, seeming to be repeating the speech he gave when she was first turned verbatim, "No, but anger yes. Why not let it out? Simply let go and release all of you pain, hate, and anger onto this disgusting world. Give in…and watch it burn."

Now, Archeron laughed. It was the first genuine laugh that had past her pale, cold lips since her dark rebirth. "You truly are a fool," was all she bothered to say.

Her stark comment had left a scowl placed distinctly on Arthas' sharp features. "And are you not as well?" he inquired.

Archeron smiled grimly as she agreed, "Of course. However, you are the fool that does not realize that everything must burn, while I am the one that merely waits for the flames to engulf the decaying masses."

The Lich King appeared to contemplate her words, though he seemed to disregard the thought quickly. He had no reason to concern himself with the remarks of a rebellious slave after all.

"I am merely the one that wishes for it burn faster…and heed these words- you are _mine_, not your own. And have faith, for I will teach you the truth behind them."

**A/N: ****So we will not be seeing a lot/any of Archeron for a little while, but I am bringing in my other OCs. Since school is now out, updates should be coming along a lot quicker now since I have nothing to do.**

**An remember: Reviews=love…give me love!**


	12. Friends, Family, and the Light

**A/N:**** This chapter caused the death of many pieces of notebook paper…**

Rendus' eyes fluttered slowly open, vision hazy from lack of use. However, he could still make out that it was night by the shadows filling the darkened room, pierced only by the candles and lamps placed around it. As he gradually came to his dulled senses, Rendus found that his chest was bare, save for the bandages that covered most of it; he also began to notice the slight throbbing in his right shoulder and lower abdomen. Both regions were stiff and hardly movable, but he decided that it would be best to survey whatever damage had been done. Bringing his weary hands to his sides, the death knight attempted to push himself into a sitting position, only to be forced back down by a firm, sword-calloused hand. Knowing that it was pointless to struggle in his condition, Rendus merely groaned audibly and lay back down.

That was when the pain came.

Searing heat ran through his body, seemingly burning him from the inside, almost like fire. However, this was no simple flame that coursed through his body –it was holy, purging light. A small cry of shock escaped Rendus' dried lips as it continued on its treacherous path through already aching figure.

"Calm down, it won't kill you," a strained voice informed him, though it did nothing to ease the pain. Through the blur of holy energies, Rendus could scarcely place the voice with a name. Akechi Shadowsun was the paladin responsible for his current torment, and she was likely enjoying it thoroughly.

When his vision finally cleared completely, his initial thoughts were both correct and very wrong. Akechi was indeed the one 'healing' him –if that was what you could call it- though she appeared far from amused. She looked tired and the stress and tension was etched firmly into her face. Despite the slight worry tugging at the back of his mind, Rendus easily paid it no heed and asked the question that was burning at the _front _of his mind, "What are you doing?" His voice was hoarse and strained his vocal chords.

This earned him a half-hearted glare from the paladin as she quietly retorted, "Healing you, you dimwitted excuse for an elf." Rendus rolled his frosty eyes ever so slightly just before another wave of cursed light assaulted him. Neither the death knight nor the paladin quite understood why the light would still heal someone who was dead and deprived of a soul, though they chose not to question it.

The paralyzing agony slowly subsided, leaving the knight in a state of mild shock. When all that was left was a dull ache, Rendus found that the stiffness and discomfort had fled from his shoulder and abdomen.

Seeing as her work was nearly complete, Akechi let out an exhausted, if not relieved, sigh. She, Akenaa, and Ar'ellia had been healing those wounded in the battle since its end nearly two nights ago. Every shaman, druid, paladin, and priest trained in the art of healing was being pushed to their limits to get the remaining army on its feet again. While the healers were working tirelessly, cloth-makers were busy fashioning bandages with whatever type of cloth they could find, be it runed, netherweave, or frostweave.

Akechi slowly, as if asking permission, removed the bandages from her patient's torso, inspecting what was left of the wounds. While she did this, Rendus merely laid back and let his breathing steady, waiting for her to finish scowling at his injuries. He watched as light began to dance at Akechi's fingertips, waiting to be directed; she began to move nearer to his shoulder until Rendus promptly grabbed her hand and forced it away.

"Leave it," he said. "A couple of new scars will do me no harm." Akechi nodded and stood stiffly, as if she had been sitting in the same position for some time; most of her hefty armor had been removed, though it was likely still uncomfortable. "Wait," Rendus commanded, "what happened?"

"We lost, mon," a troll explained, "An' we lost hard." The troll proved to be Ar'ellia who was walking towards the pair, having finished with her current patient. Even the shaman who seemed to have an eternal supply of energy seemed worn and exhausted from her never-ending work. "C'mon palleh'-gurl, we got work teh do," Ar'ellia said as she pulled Akechi away. She spared Rendus one last glance to be sure he was alright before complying with the shaman.

The death knight rested his head on the thin pillow that protected his weary head from the frozen ground, attempting to recall what had happened at Angrathar.

_Rendus staggered back from the pair of massive Vrykul, barely managing to stay on his legs with the deep gash in his stomach. Placing his hand over the broken armor and torn skin, he willed his powers over frost and ice to freeze over the terrible wound, effectively causing the bleeding to cease. Now he had another scar from the battle alongside the minor laceration caused by a warrior's terrible aim. While he dodged and parried the Vrykul's attack, Rendus slowly began to recover some of his strength, once again drawing on the cold of the frozen wasteland to aid him._

_Quickly dispatching his assailants, Rendus began to rejoin the battle, hacking his way through the hordes of half-giants that beset the combined Horde and Alliance forces._

_The battle seemed to be over just as soon as it began. Rendus watched as Archeron stood before the Wrathgate with Dranosh and Bolvar, attempting to draw out the Lich King. Their words seemed to anger Arthas enough to draw him from his mighty citadel, his typical human pride forcing him to show himself to defend said pride._

_Rendus could feel the hate and anger coursing through him as the one still whispering in his head finally appeared before his eyes, though as a terrible enemy rather than as his cruel master. The onslaught of emotions caused the pain from Rendus' wounds to return, though they were hardly noticed._

_The knight suddenly found himself scrambling to his feet, confusion replacing most of the remaining emotions. Looking around, Rendus found his answers –a plague bomb had been released near him and he heard rather than saw multiple soldiers screaming in unrepressed agony. Most were still reeling when the next plague bomb fell, then another, and another._

_Desperately, Rendus scanned the through the fleeing crowd for any of his companions. As he tried to move, he could feel his focus on the frost and ice currently keeping his wounds closed snap, allowing the thin ice to shatter and the shards embed themselves inside his skin._

_Falling to his knees as the terrible pain suddenly came charging back seven-fold, Rendus began to become incredibly dizzy and began lose focus. He absently registered that someone had slung him over their shoulder, careful to avoid placing him on a spike on their pauldrons. Although he was quickly losing consciousness, Rendus noticed the unmistakable snow white hair of the struggling Koltira._

_Angling his head downwards, Rendus was a small piece of Koltira's leg plate missing with dark –almost black- blood slowly pouring through it. 'Fool,' he thought weakly before finally slipping into darkness._

Rendus stared up at the tent roof, though he was hardly looking at it. Thoughts of the battle filled his mind, though they were mixed in with his ever so slight worries for his companions -much to his chagrin. Another thought crossed his mind, one that was far more disturbing than the minuscule worry he felt for the pitiful creatures he dared to consider 'friends' –he had allowed that bumbling fool Koltira help him.

Deciding he would rather think nothing more on the subject, Rendus attempted to drag his weary body from the makeshift bed. It required great effort to manage getting back on his feet, and even then he was still shaky and unstable. Rendus stood, trying to steady himself, until taking a few slow steps towards the tent's entrance. Finding that walking was far easier than he thought, he quickened his pace and was soon in the snow, squinting his eyes because of the sun's terrible rays.

"Welcome back," a familiar voice said dryly, almost sounding annoyed by the fact that Rendus was finally awake.

Rendus turned briskly to face Koltira Deathweaver, though soon regretting it and found it rather difficult to stand with his head spinning as terribly as it was. Koltira stared blankly at his friend as he tried to regain his balance, composure, and dignity, finding it highly amusing that he could grate Rendus' nerves so easily.

Once he saw the other knight was steady, Koltira clapped him hard on the back, successfully causing him to fall unexpectedly forward. Rendus managed to catch himself on an unlucky Tsugri that was rushing by.

"Get off me, you moronic oaf!" forsaken mage screeched, readying a massive fire spell. Rendus quickly backed away from the surly woman, keeping his eyes on the blue, almost white, flames that danced around her boney fingers. He didn't have to see her eyes behind the X-shaped straps that they hid behind to know just how angry and frustrated she was –it was practically palpable.

Tsugri strode away muttering to herself, leaving the wyvern master in utter shock as she simply climbed onto one of his coveted wyverns and flew into the distance. **(1)**

Rendus was fully prepared to think of every way imaginable to torture his fellow death knight as he turned back to face him, his irritation growing rapidly as he stared at Koltira's impassive face. However, something was tugging impatiently at the back of his rather preoccupied mind. Rendus allowed his curiosity to get the better of him and asked the question that burned in his mind.

"Where is Archeron? One would think that she would be here to berate me about my 'less than adequate performance' at the Wrathgate," he inquired, though his pride was not completely decimated as he noticed Koltira favoring his left leg.

Koltira's blank expression quickly darkened. The other knight narrowed his eyes, seeing that he had clearly crossed a line he had not known was there. Rendus' eyes narrowed only further when he would not offer an answer to what seemed to be a simple question.

"Koltira," he said suspiciously, "what happened?" Rendus knew that she could not have suffered a second death; Archeron was far too clever to allow herself to be killed. Rendus wracked his brain, attempting to remember any small detail of the battle before losing consciousness. All he managed to find was that she was standing with Bolvar at the mouth of the gate when Putress unleashed his plague.

Rendus knew that because of this, there was hardly any doubt as to what happened, though he hoped –for the first time since his death- for Koltira to say she was merely resting in one of the many medical tents that cluttered the Vanguard.

"Arthas…" Koltira muttered. The death knight could clearly see the mortified expression on Rendus' face in his peripheral vision, having turned away before answering. He knew that Rendus would likely blame him for Archeron's newfound captivity, though they both knew that there was hardly anything that Koltira could have done to stop the Lich King from taking what he wanted, and what he wanted was her –to torture and break her, and become his again.

Rendus regained his composure and scoffed. "Likely it is her own fault; therefore, it is hardly a problem of mine."

Through narrowed eyes, Koltira glared poison daggers into Rendus. He found it quite difficult believe that the other knight could be indifferent on the matter, Archeron was, no matter how much he denied it, their friend.

"So you would abandon her to Arthas?" Koltira inquired steadily, though there was the hint of a threat lacing the sentence. Rendus merely turned away, giving a shrug.

"As I said, hardly a problem of mine," he repeated. "You can play the martyr and attempt to rescue her, though I am sure that will not turn out for the better. Many of us have other, more dire matters to concern ourselves with rather than focusing on Archeron. Besides, it is obscenely obvious that you think of her as far more than a comrade in arms."

Koltira hid his irritation at the last statement behind a masterfully crafted mask. "Should I not think of her as more than simply another soldier? The three of us grew up in Silvermoon together, along with Akechi and Seripha. We played, trained, fought, and spilled blood together before the Invasion. Yes, she is more than a friend –she is my sister, in life and in death. Archeron is the only family either of us has left; the only one who knows what we suffered. I will _not_ leave her behind," he said, conviction and pure stubbornness rang throughout his words.

Rendus smirked, there was hardly a chance he would have actually left Archeron in the cruel and unyielding claws of the Lich King. He did, however, find a twisted, almost childish glee in toying with Koltira. Smirk still plastered on his face, Rendus turned again, facing the other death knight. **(2)**

"You are right, of course. We should inform Tirion of this, though he likely already knows." Rendus reveled in the utter confusion he knew Koltira was hiding. As he said this, he began walking towards the tent he had been tortured by the cursed light in. "Wait," Rendus commanded, stopping abruptly. He turned towards Koltira with a plain expression pained on his face. "Where is the dragon?" he asked, as if it was of some importance.

Koltira simply stared back at Rendus incredulously. "At Wyrmrest attempting to enlist the aid of the Dragonflights," he stated as if it was fairly obvious. Rendus nodded and continued towards one of the seemingly cloned tents that he _believed _to be the correct one.

Walking into the large enclosure, Rendus found it to indeed be the correct one. His armor and twin blades had been neatly placed beside where he lay only minutes prior. He also found Akechi asleep in the empty makeshift bed next to his, her own armor set at her feet.

Rendus sighed and knelt beside the exhausted paladin, pulling the discarded blanket over her shoulders. As he turned away, he saw Koltira standing near the entrance, a wicked grin clear on his pale face. Rendus shot back a heated glare as he strapped on his midnight armor as silently as he could.

Sheathing his blades, Soulreaver and Deathseeker, Rendus strode back into the harsh light of the sun.

"Time to save Tirion's _Crusader_," Koltira said. The two death knights untethered their steeds and began at a slow trot out of the Vanguard, sheets of snow delaying their advance. The pair traveled under the warm blanket of silence through the frozen wastes of the Dragonblight, neither feeling the need to talk to the other.

The knights reached the Crystal Vice leading into the Crystalsong Forest when Rendus decided to ask exactly where the pair was going –to him, they seemed to be wandering aimlessly around the barren wasteland.

"The Argent Vanguard," Koltira offered plainly. By the blank expression displayed clearly on Rendus' face, it was obvious he wanted the other to elaborate. "The Argent Crusade began an assault on Icecrown roughly three days prior to our attack on the Wrathgate. They were relatively successful, going as far to set a small garrison near a minor opening into Scourgeholme."

Rendus nodded in understanding, though he hardly gave him any attention while he watched as the unrelenting snow gave way to the golden grass and trees of Crystalsong- even the frigid air seemed to be left behind in the Dragonblight.

Though death knights could not be killed by the hungering cold of Northrend, they still felt it if the biting chill was intense enough. Both Rendus and Koltira released a contented sigh as the forest seemed to ease their troubles the slightest bit, the soothing whispers of the crystal trees' magic.

However, Rendus and Koltira, like all other death knights, knew the secrets of the forest and knew not to linger to long, for the trees had no love for the dead. Both were on edge as they kept their frosty eyes on the flickering shadows that appeared to seep from the bark of the magic-infused flora.

Not soon enough, the death knights reached the edge of Crystalsong, putting their strained nerves at ease. Compared to the beautiful, yet sinister grass and trees of Crystalsong Forest, the gelid snow and ice of Icecrown was familiar and eerily comforting.

The two traveled along the narrow, winding path into their former home, slowing their pace so neither would be pressed for balance along the exiguous pathway. As they advanced further, the knights came across one of Tirion's Crusaders. The young blood elf nodded respectfully, if not warily, at the pair.

Soon, a watchtower sporting the Argent Banner came into view. Neither gave it much heed, though they both noticed that it seemed to be abandoned.

Continuing along the horse trodden path, Rendus and Koltira could not help but feel a small amount of relief when they came upon the defiant visage of the Argent Vanguard. The Crusaders acknowledged their presence, but did not hinder their advance through the encampment.

Making their way towards the uppermost tier of the base, the death knights could already hear the arguing of Tirion Fordring and Darion Mograine. Rendus spared a questioning glance to Koltira, though even he had not been informed of the Highlord's presence in Icecrown as well.

Upon reaching the feuding leaders, Rendus and Koltira thought it wise not to interfere with the two, lest Darion's wrath be brought upon them. As the bickering came to an apparent stalemate, Koltira made their being known. Tirion appeared somewhat startled by their 'sudden' entrance, though he quickly and confidently composed himself, just as any true commander should.

"Koltira, Rendus, we have been expecting you," the old man stated. It irked Koltira that the aged paladin seemed to know who was coming when, though he merely inclined his head slightly in a show of respect. Darion, however, was far less gracious –he simply stared impassively at his death knights, knowing full well why the haphazard pair was there.

"Then you know why it is we have come," this was more of an averment rather than a question from Koltira, who appeared to be refusing to let Rendus speak, likely believing he would say something foolish.

"Indeed. Though I think it best if we secure our meager foothold in Icecrown before storming the Citadel," the venerable paladin said, regarding the knights with a somewhat humorous gleam in his eyes- as humorous as the situation would allow. Koltira and Rendus both nodded in grudging agreement, beginning their quest to reclaim their lost friend.

**A/N: ****(1) She is going to Orgrimmar for the Battle of the Undercity  
>(2) They are just very close, like siblings. There will not be a huge, obnoxious love triangle of the main characters…though there might be something with Rendus and Akechi ;p (mainly for irony of paladin+death knight)<br>the next time we see these two, we learn why the Argent Dawn calls Archeron 'the Crusader'. Next chapter will be the Battle for the Undercity with Seripha and Tsugri as the main characters for it.  
>I am finally getting off my butt and doing the story about the main elves, but it will be after the invasion of Silvermoon, so it will be set half-way through the undead campaign in Warcraft 3, all of the undead campaign of Warcraft 3-The Frozen Throne, and through Light's Hope Chapel.<strong>


	13. Siege on the Citadel

**A/N: ****Well, you guys already know how I am with procrastination. However, I am actually working on the Retaking the Undercity chapter, but I have written it three different times, and I just hate how it has been turning out. This is just a chapter I did in one night because I know I need to post **_**something. **_**The raid on Icecrown is going to be multi-chaptered, because I learned my lesson from writing Naxx in one chapter…never doing that again.**

Koltira stood with Tirion inside of the menacing, and all too familiar, Icecrown Citadel. The siege had just managed to break through the once thought impenetrable gates to the Lich King's grand home, and soldiers from the Argent Crusade and the Ebon Blade were already spilling in like piranhas who got their first whiff of blood in weeks.

Many of the soldiers were restless to begin the full on assault of the mighty fortress from the inside, but others were busy making preparations for the inevitable wounded and dead. A vast majority of the Argent priests were scrambling around, making sure that the warriors were well fed, well rested, and uninjured. The Death Knights, however, were huddled together around their Highlord, no doubt discussing their own plans to exact their terrible vengeance against Arthas.

Rendus approached his comrade and Tirion with his usual look of dissatisfaction plain on his features. "When will we begin?" the question was so brief, yet it held so much meaning for everyone currently occupying the make shift base camp at the front of the great Citadel.

The Highlord of the Argent Crusade fixed the death knight with a hard stare, as if debating whether or not to grace the question with an answer. He knew that his and Darion's men were anxious to begin the main assault, but he also knew that it would take time. That time was needed to plan everything perfectly, minimizing the number casualties and making sure they were fully prepared for the unspeakable horrors they would face further inside.

"Soon. It should be soon," Was all Tirion offered to Rendus. The knight simply inclined his head, a small show of respect for the old man. He was not quite satisfied with Tirion's reply, but it did do a bit to sate his own restlessness.

Suddenly, a new, yet painfully familiar voice cut through the desperate and wary whispers echoing through the entrance hall. " 'ey mon! We was wonderin' where ya two had run off to!" the voice was so distinct and clear as it rang through area. All too soon, a figure appeared along with the voice, making both death knights suddenly question if their ultimate revenge and finding their lost companion was even worth it if they had to deal with this.

Ar'ellia sauntered through the forcibly opened gate to the Citadel, either willfully ignorant of the seriousness of the mood, or simply attempting to alleviate some of the stress the soldiers were feeling. Akechi was directly behind the troll shaman, though the young elf was likely just as embarrassed about her outburst as anyone else in her unfortunate position would be.

"We be worried about ya two fools!" Ar'ellia continued, glaring at both Rendus and Koltira. "Neither of us knew where ya two buffoons had gone an' we got to tinkin' dat ya might have gotten yourselves eaten' by some ugly Scourge monstah!"

The faces of both knights would have been a deep shade of crimson, if only they had the capacity. However, they did share the same feeling of discomfort at the troll's blatant disregard for the situation. Tirion seemed to be torn between being amused, shocked, or angry, while the bystanders were at a complete loss for words.

"An' besides that-" she was cut off as Akechi finally decided to end Ar'ellia little tirade herself.

"Will you calm down and be quite!" the paladin exclaimed. She appeared to be willing to let the young shaman run into a pack of the vile Scourge and simply watch and laugh as the foolhardy troll met her fate. Ar'ellia however, merely shrugged and looked around, as if assessing the forces of the Crusade and Ebon Blade.

Tirion seemed to settle on ignoring the shaman and strode to Akechi. "You are a welcomed sight indeed, young one. I can guess the reason you are here," he stated. The old man knew quite well that she was there for her elder sister, praying to the Light that she was still alive.

Akechi nodded and walked over to her death knight companions, leaving Ar'ellia to discuss the arrival of the Horde with Tirion.

Everything seemed to darken considerably as two more joined the ever growing army of Crusaders and death knights. The cause of the sudden state of darkness in the Light's Hammer camp was the orcish warlock that made her way into the Hall, a look of displeasure on her sharp features. The darkness seemed to swirl around her, as if it was attracted to her by some spell.

With her came Tsugri, the surly undead mage. The dark leather straps that covered her eyes made it difficult to tell what she was thinking, and many wondered if she could actually see. Although, the scowl she wore as she appeared to look at Myobi indicated she knew what was going on, even with her eyes covered.

The writhing shadows seemed to crawl off the icy, death riddled walls, and disappeared at the warlock's feet, letting light stream into the room once again.

"The point of that was?" Tsugri inquired, her raspy voice echoing through the silent room. Myobi looked down at the hunched mage, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"The Lich King has eyes everywhere," she said, as if it would clarify things. Her rather vague answer left many of the crusaders uneasy and wary, while the Death knights merely continued with their own plans, having already known of Arthas' ever watching eyes.

"Don't worry, they cannot see or hear now," another voice came from the deep shadows of the room. Most did not recognize the eternally joking voice, but a select few could, and they were torn between being grateful that the remarkable assassin was with them and being annoyed that she was here. Very few people had the patients required to deal with Seripha, for she was simply too unpredictable to handle.

The rogue joined the main group, clearly eager to begin her hunt. Koltira looked at her, a question already formed in his mind.

"The other three will be joining us shortly?" Seripha nodded, already knowing when they would arrive, ready to slay their way to the Frozen Throne.

Corana and Akenaa went into the preparation area in relative silence, knowing that the dire situation did not call for any of their constant back and forth banter. The tauren women, along with Erestrasz who had been waiting for them outside of the Citadel, unintentionally stumbled into a battlefield.

Masses of the undead Scourge bombarded the Knights and Crusaders constantly, unrelenting in their mindless quest for destruction. The mixed forces of the two Highlords fought with every ounce of strength they could muster just to keep the horde of ravenous skeletons from overwhelming them, but could not press forward as their assailants kept coming back. The struggling forces could not hold out for much longer, with every new group of undead, more of their soldiers lay dead or wounded on the warmth-leeching floor of Icecrown Citadel.

The three new arrivals quickly jumped into the fray, assisting their new comrades in any way they could. Corona sent her great, spiked boar crashing into the horde of undead, trashing about and scattering their bones. Akenaa let her thorns tear at the brittle frames of the skeletons, while the dragon-mage let them feel the power of his arcane spells.

It took much energy and many arrows before they were able to fend off the last wave of the Scourge. Akenaa was sitting in a dark corner, meditating as she regained her energy from the battle. The youngest of the Bloodhoof siblings was feeding her immense boar and Seripha was pestering her about where she had acquired 'the giant pig'.

Erestrasz was surveying the damage of the attack, while Koltira and Rendus were discussing the advancement plans with Tirion. Akechi tended to a wound Ar'ellia had somehow gotten in the middle of the confusion.

"Oi! Watch where ya be pullin' that ting from!" the troll exclaimed. Akechi was attempting to pull a rather large piece of bone fragment from her shoulder, but said troll was not eager to cooperate. The paladin growled audibly in frustration at Ar'ellia's continued protests, having half a mind just to leave it in and push her surly patient into a collection of the mindless Scourge brutes.

"Ahhh! Are ya tryin' to bloody kill meh?! That hurt, ya cruel little palleh!" Ar'ellia went on after Akechi had managed to remove the bone. Akechi resisted the urge to plunge it back into ungrateful shaman's shoulder once more, and called a priest to her side to take over the healing of the obnoxious troll. The priest looked none too pleased about this, but he did as he was told.

The paladin strode over to the small group consisting of Rendus, Koltira, and Highlord Fordring. The older man must have seen the near plea in the young elf's eyes and gave her a short nod, indicating that they would begin the siege on the main part of the Citadel in a matter of minutes.

Tirion beckoned for the others to join him – Erestrasz, Akenaa, Myobi, Seripha, Tsugri, the now healed Ar'ellia, and Corana. Once they had all gathered around, he began to explain what he needed them all to do.

"We need a small group, not a large force - something compact, but strong. That group will go and dispatch Arthas' lieutenants while our other forces do battle with the lesser Scourge." He paused, making sure that the ten heroes were paying close attention. "You will need to destroy them as quickly as you can. I deeply regret placing such a responsibility on any of you, but it must be done." The look of true remorse was pained across his aged features, displaying how much he truly did not like this necessary strategy.

There was a collective nod of heads as they began to disperse and stand with each other. The plan was relayed to every soldier in the make shift base and they all agreed to stay out of their way, knowing full well that this group consisted of only the strongest that each of the forces present had to offer.

The ten stepped forward into the grand hall, decorated with the skulls of the vast Scourge army's victims and the cold, yet searing flames that burned throughout the frozen fortress.

"**This is the beginning and the end, mortals. None of you may enter the master's sanctum!"** a hollow, bellowing voice resonated through the Citadel, inviting the haphazard group to come out and play.

And play, they shall…

**A/N: ****Alright so, I am working on Akechi and Archeron's back stories and the former should be up in a matter of days. Another thing taking up a lot of my time is an original story I am working on, which will not be ready for some time still.**


End file.
