Stirrings in Lordaeron

A/N: Hey everyone, sorry for the delay, holidays and all that. Thanks as always for the comments! Hope this chapter didn't disappoint; let me know what you think if you are so inclined.


There were no drums, no battle cries, no rhythmic marching as the Scourge progressed... just the squeaking wheels of the war machines and the shuffling feet of the undead.

Arthas could see the tower ahead, squinting into the distance in hopes of catching a glimpse of the elves though knowing realistically that he wouldn't.

But she would be there; he was certain of it. You didn't exhibit that kind of passion to just flee and let your troops fight in your stead. She would stay to the last, excruciating moment.

And then he would make that moment last an eternity.

The Prince glanced around at the green hills and the lush trees with distaste, livid that the elves had lived in such peace and decadence unmolested for so long. They needed to be taken down a notch, knocked from their pedestal to face the harsh realities that would soon prevail in Azeroth. No more hiding behind their gates believing that they are impervious to the world's woes or elevating themselves to a level of greatness that no one else could even hope of achieving.

He was more than pleased to be the one that would get to do it.

“Shall we be making haste to Silvermoon then, my lord?”

Arthas peered over at the ghost hovering beside him who was trying to appear undisturbed. Looking around to ensure that none of the Cultists were watching his one-sided conversation, he stared straight ahead and replied.

“Not just yet. But I think you knew that already.”

Kel'thuzad nodded but interjected with a pragmatic comment in an attempt to hide his underlying urgency.

“The Silvermoon rangers at this point would be little threat to the vastness that is your army, my lord.”

“Ah, yes, true enough my ghostly friend. But I see no reason to not take a few minutes and bolster its ranks further when such tantalizingly fresh bodies await us just ahead. Do you not agree?” The Prince tried to hide the snicker in his voice that followed but was unable, knowing full well that the necromancer didn't believe a word of what he said. They both knew the real reason Arthas wished to stop.

“My King...” the apparition began to argue until the man raised a white eyebrow at him questioningly.

Arthas was grinning on the inside. Would the ghost defy him? Speak out against his Master's apparent penchant for revenge and the baser way that he liked to act on it? The necromancer seemed to look upon the Scourge as a way of life, like a devout follower of a religious sect and the Prince had no idea if the way he was acting was in 'accordance' with those beliefs.

But nor did he really care. He was more interested in the ghost's reaction, to see how far he dare go.

In the end, Kel'thuzad said nothing and drifted back towards the rear of the army, his presence casting chills upon the still-living that passed through him.

Sylvanas' face was grim as she and her remaining rangers got into the optimal position along the south side of the tower. Their harsh reality was apparent to all the elves – they had seen the seemingly unstoppable force that was the Scourge and knew it was steadily coming their way. They would make their final stand at Fairbreeze Village, more than likely to no avail.

But their duty was first and foremost to their people and land, and not a one of them was going to back down.

“Don't waste your ammunition on the living, he'll simply raise them again.” She spat in disgust, nocking her arrow as they waited.

When Arthas appeared at the head of the oncoming force sitting atop that horrific skeletal horse with that sickening smirk on his face, the Ranger-General couldn't suppress a shiver. She held her bowstring taut and aimed at his head, waiting for the moment to call the attack.

“Remember,” the Prince warned. “Leave that one for me.”

Indignant cries in Thalassian emanated from the spire above as simultaneous hands released their projectiles into the undead lines. Looking bored, Arthas deflected any that came his way and sent the endless stream of his minions shambling towards the base of the tower.

The cries quickly turned to screams as zombies and skeletons with only bits of flesh remaining on their bony frames flooded the building, overwhelming any who stood in their way. Nerubians skittered up the side of the structure, powerful pincers severing elven limbs with ease that sent them flailing and dismembered down into the ranks below.

There was no order or method to the Scourge's attack; it was chaos and destruction in an impenetrable wave of death. There never really had been any hope for the quel'dorei and Arthas was certain they must have known that... and yet they insisted on trying anyway. Foolish.

The Prince approached the entryway with the door barely hanging on its hinges as the wailing began to die down. Nudging an arm aside with the toe of his boot he entered in time to see the remaining survivor, a blond elf, leap down from above into a fray of Cultists.

Snarling, Sylvanas shot one of them at point blank range, the missile sending the unfortunate man sprawled onto his back with the arrow still quivering in his eye socket. She drew her long sword and began slicing into nearby foes with no regard whatsoever for her own wellbeing. All the others were dead, she would likely share their fate soon and she threw everything she had into taking down as many of the fiends as possible.

Arthas watched amusedly for a few moment, marveling at her speed and skill with a blade, uncaring that acolytes were being cut down where they stood. This one had accepted death... oh how he loved robbing them of that.

With a twitch of the death knight's hand, Sylvanas' cry died on her lips as her airways were closed shut and an invisible hand tightened around her throat. Instinctively dropping her weapon, her hands flew to her neck where she tried fruitlessly to pry the non-existent choke hold away.

The Prince approached casually as the female elf struggled, his head cocked to the left in a thoughtful manner.

“Hello again, Sylvanas.” He greeted, smirking as her eyes bulged and she stumbled to her knees.

“Ah good, I see you've come to your senses and decided to yield,” and he released her abruptly from the strangulating spell.

Sucking in the precious air, the elf found a reserve of strength deep within her limbs and lunged for her fallen weapon, scooping it up and bringing it around to strike at Arthas in one liquid movement.

Only the clang of metal sounded though as Frostmourne appeared in Arthas' hand to easily block the swing and he gazed down at her distraught expression pityingly.

“Submitting would be so much easier for you. You think death is the extent of what I can do? The end to my power? You will... suffer for your indiscretions, Ranger-General.”

Exhausted, Sylvanas couldn't help but let herself be yanked upward by her wrist where her sword was pried away from her fingers and Arthas proceeded to drag her up the stairs.

“Wait here.” He growled to the remaining Cultists, sheathing Frostmourne and twisting the female quel'dorei's arm harshly behind her back and prodding her forward.

“No,” she choked out, not knowing what the madman had in store for her. As a last attempt, Sylvanas pulled hard away and let her weight try to carry her over the side of the staircase, the delicate railing having been stripped away by the destructive horde.

But the Prince had a firm hold and grasped onto her blond hair to send her flying around and crashing face-first into the wall.

“Fine,” he breathed, pressing his body into hers. “Here will do.”

Sylvanas prepared herself for the slice of his blade or the sting of magic but instead heard the metal of his heavy belt coming undone. Her eyes widened, but she couldn't move. Her arms were wrenched behind her, straining in her shoulder sockets and held in place by one of his massive hands, his towering form nudging her firmly against the stairwell wall.

“What are you doing?!” She snarled, completely taken by surprise at the man's actions. She began to wriggle in his grasp when she heard the metal hit the floor and he lewdly pressed the sizable bulge in the front of his trousers into her backside.

“What indeed?” He hissed, twisting her arm further to stop her struggles. With his free hand he tugged at her waistband and slid the elf's leather pants off, the material settling around her ankles.

“You're disgusting!” Sylvanas cried ardently, an edge of hysteria entering her voice. When the cold metal of his armored hand began probing between her legs she threw everything she had into getting away, not caring that her arm was on fire.

Arthas looked over the Ranger-General's body, tan and smooth but so very slender as elves tended to be. She was certainly a far cry from the voluptuous maidens he preferred but he could assuredly appreciate her toned muscles and soft skin... at least while she still had them. “Ahh, quel'dorei. Haughty as ever.” He snickered, grabbing her slim hip and grinding his pelvis into hers.

His motions were interrupted by her incessant squirming though. Annoyed, he pushed her head against the wall and bent to whisper in her ear. “There is no escape, my dear Sylvanas. All the others here are dead, and soon those in Silvermoon will be too. They'll be the Lich King's eternal servants until I see fit to release them from his service. There is no hope for the living and you should do well to learn that soon... Make this easier on yourself and submit else once I'm done with you I might be inclined to give you to my Cultists. Oh, they'd just love to get their hands on a ripe, little elf-bitch like yourself.”

Sylvanas emitted a strangled sob, desperately wanting to believe that there was some hope. The coolness of his face burned her cheek, reminded her that she hadn't been strong enough – if only she'd been stronger...

“There's a good girl...” he cooed tauntingly, freeing his cock from his breeches, urging her thighs apart with his knee and positioning himself at the elf's pink entrance.

The Ranger-General screeched and tried to buck her body to throw him away as the head started to push it's way inside, the soft walls unaccommodating to the Prince's larger, human size.

Arthas let out a sigh as he felt the heat of her pussy touch just the tip of his cock, beckoning him to thrust inside. He placed one foot on the next step in the stairwell and began nudging, coaxing the muscles to spread for him, a little at a time.

He made himself start slow, savoring each of the female elf's pitiful whimpers and flinches as he began to violate her most intimate place. Slowly, he began to pump just the head of his prick in and out, steadily increasing the friction and keeping the pace within his control. His breathing picked up speed and a fine sweat broke out on his forehead as he struggled to maintain his concentration, the warmth of her cunt threatening to consume his icy shaft.

The Prince would make it last as long as it took to have the elf crying and begging for her torture to end. He loved seeing them broken, pleading for him to silence their misery. He was their savior and tormentor both in those moments, and nothing was more heady.

Sylvanas cringed and yelped as he suddenly pushed his cock all the way inside, the force shoving her body roughly against the stone wall. She grit her teeth together as his member stretched her apart, pressing into every crevice of her delicate heat.

Covering her body with his, Arthas grunted obscenely into the elf's pointed ear, moaning loudly as he began his rhythmic thrusting, just to show how very much he was enjoying himself.

Fucking an elf... a fitting tribute of what was to come.

“I understand now.” Sylvanas tried to make her voice sound strong despite her current distress. “You're nothing more than a common vagabond.”

Arthas chuckled, sounding genuinely amused though never stopping his movements. “Mmm, what were you expecting, dear? For me to be a polite and courteous villain?” He dug his hips in deep in a particularly uncomfortable thrust.

She gasped, trying to hold her body as still as possible as to reduce the amount of contact they made before she spoke. “No, someone that had actually earned his power.”

Unbidden, the Prince's temper flared. He wrenched her arm nearly out of its socket and rolled his pelvis to grind his cock into her pussy harshly before snapping, “Hold your tongue.”

Sylvanas cried out from the pain but persisted, knowing she had little other choice at this point. “This Lich King... did he grant you this power out of pity or did he just think you'd be easy to control?”

The Prince tried to make his voice sound light in an attempt to appear as though the elf wasn't getting under his skin. Yanking down on her hair, “You must enjoy pain, Ranger-General. Do you wish me to elongate your ordeal beyond what I'd already planned?”

She snorted, gathering courage. “Do whatever you want to me; my death will mean nothing. My only regret will be that I fell to such a witless, undeserving fool.”

By this time, the man's motions had stopped and he stood there breathing steadily with his shaft still buried inside the elf's slender body. Sylvanas was quiet, fear amounting as the moment dragged on. What was he thinking? Had her words actually affected him?

Abruptly, he withdrew his member, the vacancy in the ranger's womanhood sudden and chilling. The Prince released the elf's arms to turn her around and Sylvanas seized the opportunity to lunge at his face, nails extended like daggers aiming for those cold, blue eyes. She screamed like an animal, rage etched on her face, desperate to dig her claws into the pale flesh but was stopped short as her head was bashed back into the stone, knocking her nearly into unconsciousness.

Her wrists were pinned above her head and Arthas' cock was rammed back inside without warning, frantically pumping, hate burning in those liquid orbs. He squeezed hard on her small breasts with his free hand as he fucked her, brow furrowed in anger.

“What's wrong...” Sylvanas tried to drawl though it was becoming increasingly difficult; something wet was trickling down her neck and the pounding between her legs was relentless. “...your Master must not have much faith in your abilities if he merely has you command reign over mindless beasts.”

Arthas exhaled and slapped the elf hard across the face, the blood in his veins rushing now with both anger and lust. “Shut up.” He ordered.

The blow looked to have taken hardly any effort on the Prince's part but the ranger saw stars and her pink lip was split open, slowly oozing blood.

With each subsequent thrust, Arthas pushed his shaft in as deep as it would go, the glorious heat enveloping him, the tight muscles unwillingly drawing his prick far inside. His loins ached, begging for release but the amounting emotions that were running rampant through his head distracted him from his goal.

His own thoughts intermingled with voices that were firmly planted in his mind, a twisting, perversive snake that wound its way into the innermost secrets of the Prince's brain.

'No, no, no... she will suffer... it can't be this way... they will all suffer... I'll show them all... together we shall... Make them pay, make them see the error of underestimating us. Oh yes...'

“Oh yes...” Arthas groaned, losing himself in his own contemplations, impaling the elf again and again, fervently seeking completion now and no longer caring about his captive's presence. The need to rule was overwhelming, the need for power and control vital, the URGE was deafening...

Sylvanas saw the Prince withdraw into himself, eyes glassy as he became an unthinking, piston-ing machine. Her body ached in protest, begging her to leave it alone and let him finish. But she couldn't sit idly by... inaction would decide her fate for her.

She thrashed and screamed, gnashing her teeth in hopes of grabbing hold of flesh as he loomed over her. Her neck was feeling sticky and spots dotted her eyes; she tired and stilled before long and hung there helplessly.

“Arthas...” she whispered ruefully. The man cast his blank stare beneath a sweat-ridden brow down onto the pretty blond elf.

“You mustn't have been able to ever live up to your father's expectations if you needed to come back and kill him to spare him from seeing what a failure you'd become.”

The fog cleared and the cerulean gaze became murderous.

“Shut up, bitch!” He snarled, slapping her three times in quick succession.

Sylvanas was nearly certain that her jaw had been crushed and more so that several teeth had come loose. The ranger looked up at the Prince with one un-swollen eye, fury burning in those frosty depths, lips curled upwards in the most hateful of sneers.

The burning was unbearable; perspiration poured, his skin ran cold, his member wept with need... oh the need was great, insatiable, just within reach... but unattainable.

“NO!” He roared, unable to climax and only seeing red.

Unsure of whether or not she could actually speak at this point, Sylvanas opened her mouth to continue her taunting when Arthas' gloved hand shot up and gripped her around her slight throat. It was cold and tight and the pressure grew; soon she couldn't breathe.

“I hate you,” the Prince seethed and though the words seemed directed at the poor elf in his grasp they somehow transcended her. “I hate you all, everything... all of this filth! I'll watch it fall to the ground, be trampled upon and burned... every last scrap of it. I ASKED for this power, I DESERVE it more than any other and there is nothing that can stand in my way.”

The ranger opened her mouth to draw in air but of course was unable. But after hearing the man rant on madly, somehow through the pain she managed to turn her mouth upward into a superior and malicious smirk, a hideous, spite-filled, bloody grin that marred her lovely features more than the wounds he'd inflicted.

Arthas yelled wordlessly and released the quel'dorei's hands to reach behind him for she no longer had the strength with which to use them anyway. Beneath his cloak, strapped to his side, the Prince drew a small ornate dagger that he kept on his person always.

'Oh yes... oh yes... make them suffer...'

Sylvanas' macabre smile suddenly morphed into a look of surprise as the man slid the blade of the dagger beneath her ribs, slicing through tissue and organ with ease. He moaned as the sharp edge cut its way through the elf's lungs simultaneously as his cock re-invaded her bruised hole. He jerked against her, soundlessly, filling her even as the vital organs filled with blood.

The sticky, crimson fluid gushed out and covered his arm but he was too far gone to care. He was peaking as her eyes became vacant, the last of vibrant life leaving her body as he rammed into it repeatedly.

Warmth flooded his member, the spiraling aches in his groin tensing at once. He shouted a strangled cry, pulsating and shooting his cum in a torrent that coated her walls and began to leak from her entrance. He stilled and rode the wave of pleasure; the Prince came so hard and so violently that it left him panting and weak in the knees.

He basked in that feeling, delightful tingles running through him, heart still racing and a muddled sense of awareness dulling his perception.

Finally, he seemed to awaken, looking down upon the elf and himself with disgust. Withdrawing his softening prick, extracting the dagger and removing his hand from around Sylvanas' neck, Arthas allowed the body to slump lifelessly onto the stairs.

He gazed downward, unsure of what had transpired, bitter and angry. What had happened? Had he lost control from her pitiful last resort to rile his temper? In those closing moments he had wanted nothing more than to watch the light leave her eyes, feel the final trace of spark fleeting despite knowing that he had wanted to keep her alive much longer, perhaps even have forced her to watch the razing of Silvermoon before allowing her the temporary peace of death.

But the rush! It had been magnificent, assuming command of life and death itself as though he were the Maker, the Master humming in his ear, a driving chorus on his shoulder.

Arthas wiped his brow with the back of his gauntlet but only succeeded in matting his hair and smearing his forehead with blood. It was done however, and his work was not yet complete.

-

Oh blessed blackness. Coveted silence...

Sylvanas faded, drifted, sank deeper and deeper as her consciousness slipped away. Nothingness pooled around her, floating, simplistic emptiness...

To have peace at last, and then to have it so abruptly stolen.

A shattering din pierced the silence. It emanated from all around her, permeated her very being and drowned out all that had become calm in her existence. Something was wrenched far within her, pulled free leaving a hollow feeling somewhere behind.

It was excruciating and oh so loud... that wailing just wouldn't stop... the most mournful and broken of sounds, bubbling up from inside her incorporeal throat.

-

Sylvanas was 'awoken', the desperate keening on her lips that had dug her up from the grave. She opened her eyes and nothing was as it should: her own body lay on the floor in a bloody heap, Arthas stood there smugly with his arms across his chest; she never stopped wailing.

At last the Prince's eyebrow rose in annoyance and he growled, “Silence,” followed by a quick jerk of his hand.

Of its own accord, the noise in the creature's mouth died. Rage contorted the banshee's ghostly features as she glanced around her furiously. This wasn't right! She was dead! But somehow, looking down through an insubstantial arm, her spirit had risen to the beckoning of the death knight prince.

She wanted to kill him, oh so badly... maim and batter that demented face that was marked with her own blood, shriek until his brain matter oozed from his ears. But she couldn't lift a finger against him, his very will controlled her movements.

But not her thoughts. Oh no, her thoughts were still her own.

“Come,” Arthas extended his hand flippantly, brushing past the former Ranger-General in a vexing, royal manner. “You simply must meet the others.”

Standing at attention and falling into deep bows the moment their Master descended the staircase, the Cultists hid their disappoint at seeing the hovering banshee floating dutifully behind. They had of course heard the uncharacteristic upset occurring above and did well to not evoke the Prince's ire. Though simpering and cowardly, it would have been impossible to ignore the exceptionally cold expression on the man's face, or the blood splattering his ordinarily flawless visage, or the subtle spasming over his eye and below his mouth.

Without so much as a glance at his subjects, Arthas strode outside where he was met up with the ever-patient Kel'thuzad.

Unbeknownst to the others, speaking to the apparition though looking as though he were simply making an immediate order, the Prince barked, “We have no more time for pointless delays. We move to Silvermoon.”