(2024-04-21) The Lich King Falls; The Lich King Rises

Details

Author:	inkie
Summary:	The battle against the Lich King at the pinnacle of Icecrown Citadel.
Rating:	T for Teen

Arc: Season 13

Chain: Icecrown Citadel

At long last, the brutal waves of battle against hordes of Scourge — including their own new-fallen comrades — and the Lich King’s mighty lieutenants have broken. Tirion Fordring and the remaining champions of the Ashen Verdict ascend the spike of ice driven through the heart of Icecrown Citadel, and find themselves standing on a windswept, icy platform under a storm-streaked Icecrown sky. They face the monolith of the Frozen Throne — and atop it, the Lich King.

Before the throne, suspended by barbed chains from a fang of ice, hangs a blackened figure, burned beyond all recognition.

Tirion Fordring rallies his gathered champions. “Long have I waited for this day, heroes. Let us battle for the fate of Azeroth! For the light of dawn!”

He turns to face the Frozen Throne.

The Lich King rises from his seat and mocks, “So the Light’s vaunted justice has finally arrived. Shall I lay down Frostmourne and throw myself at your mercy, Fordring?”

The Highlord, grim in his resolve, answers, “We’ll grant you a swift death, Arthas. More than can be said for the thousands you’ve tortured and slain.”

Arthas descends from the throne a ponderous step at a time, sneering. “You’ll learn of that first hand. When my work is complete, you will beg for mercy — and I will deny you. Your anguished cries will be a testament to my unbridled power.”

“So be it!” cries Fordring, and raises Ashbringer. “Champions! Attack!”

As the mustered forces charge forward, however, the Lich King extends Frostmourne toward Tirion Fordring, and the Highlord is suddenly shackled in a block of ice.

“I’ll keep you alive to witness the end, Fordring!” the Lich King taunts. “I would not want the Light’s greatest champion to miss seeing this wretched world remade in my image.”

And then the battle begins.

The champions of the Ashen Verdict close in — and the Lich King fends them off easily. He tears through their ranks with disease and frost, and calls swarms of ghouls and shambling horrors to his side.

At length, though, after rank after rank of ghouls is cut down and the champions that still stand battle grimly on, Arthas summons a battering storm of wind and frost to drive them back, and begins to channel shadowy bolts at some of their number. Those who are touched by the shadow cry out, some of them collapsing beneath an excruciating weight of pain and despair. The Lich King draws forth shadowy images of the suffering souls, and these simulacra turn on their comrades.

Still, the champions fight.

The Lich King summons val’kyr to his side, and the winged creatures snatch up fighters and bear them to the edge of the platform to cast them from the spire. In other places, the edges of the platform crumble and collapse, sending soldiers plummeting.

The champions still standing do not yield.

And then, just as it seems the Lich King might falter, just as he staggers back a step… he simply lifts Frostmourne, and strikes every last one of the champions dead.

The wind howls over the new silence of death. The Lich King stands triumphantly over scores of strewn corpses.

“No questions remain unanswered. No doubts linger,” he proclaims to the broken, unhearing dead. “You are Azeroth’s greatest champions. You overcame every challenge I laid before you. My mightiest servants have fallen before your relentless onslaught, your unbridled fury. Is it truly righteousness that drives you? I wonder…”

He turns to the icebound Highlord. “You trained them well, Fordring. You delivered the greatest fighting force this world has ever known right into my hands — exactly as I intended! You shall be rewarded for your unwitting sacrifice.

“Watch now as I raise them from the dead to become masters of the Scourge. They will shroud this world in chaos and destruction. Azeroth’s fall will come at their hands — and you will be the first to die. I delight in the irony.”

As he turns away, intent on raising the Light’s former champions as his own, Tirion cries a prayer from within his prison. “Light! Grant me one final blessing! Give me the strength… to shatter these bonds!”

In a searing flash, the ice falls away, and Highlord Fordring leaps forward, bringing the Ashbringer down.

Frostmourne drops from the Lich King’s hand. A whirlwind of eerie blue light envelops him, lifts him from his feet and holds him bound.

“Impossible!” bellows the Lich King.

A disembodied voice echoes in the wind above the icy spire: “Free… at last. It is over, my son. This is the moment of reckoning.” A moment later, a spirit shimmers into being before the trapped Lich King. It turns away from him to command, “Rise up, champions of the Light!”

Radiance streams into the scattered corpses around him.

The fallen champions draw themselves to their feet, stagger upright, look around disbelievingly or wonderingly – and then surge forward once more.

Even in his bonds the Lich King struggles, battering at his attackers with frost and disease, but they will not falter now.

“Now I stand,” he cries at last in despairing disbelief, “the lion before the lambs… and they do not fear! They… cannot… fear.”

And he falls.

The Helm of Domination rolls away, leaving the pallid face of the former Prince Arthas Menethil bare. Frostmourne lies broken beside him.