Fandom Imagines and Preferences III

Arthas 'The Lich King' Menethil- Snowglobe (a)

World of Warcraft One Shot

You tucked the small package under your arm that had been delivered by a young, petrified looking courier, shaking at the knees who had taken your signature and ran for the hills back to safety as soon as your quill left the page.

Clambering up the icy steps towards the frozen throne you peered down at the armies of undead soldiers that manoeuvred their way through Icecrown citadel, all sorts of constructed and reanimated beings that filled the ranks of the army of the undead.

Christmas was the main thing you missed from being a human, along with your family. Being undead and under the Lich King's service did have some benefits, your job was cushy, you no longer had to worry about bills or arbitrary things like eating or drinking, but there were just some human comforts that could not be replaced and holes that could not be filled. One was the festive joy that was Christmas, the laughing children, drunk veterans shambling through the streets and the large tree that took centre place in Stormwind keep just could not be replaced.

Reaching the top of the stairs you were greeted by two monstrous saronite doors, guarded by a pair of undead abominations, not the smartest of beings, pieced together from the scraps of once living beings and reanimated at the mad will of the Lich King. They must have stood 15 feet tall, hulking over anything you had seen before joining the ever-growing soldiers of the undead. A chasm in both of their chests put their organs on display, the abomination on the left had his intestines dragging along the floor as flies swirled around them. Luckily you had lost your sense of smell when you had died. You weren't quite sure if most of their physical form was just for show.

A shadow was cast over you as you stepped in front of them, they turned to each other, a series of unintelligible grunts and nods filled the air before they swung the door open.

A bitter cold hit you as you stepped onto the circular platform that housed the throne, peering over the edge would have allowed you to view the whole of Northrend if it wasn't for the dancing snow and thick, dense clouds. Shards of snow attacked you as you walked towards yet another set of stairs, at the top sat Arthas, whose head perked up as you reached the top of the staircase. You had never seen him before and hearing just his name sent shivers down your spine. His spiky, black armour collected frost, especially on the skulls of his enemies that adorned the shoulders of his enchanted gear and his deep, blue eyes shone through his tall helmet, his breath created a small cloud Infront of him. Frostmourne rested at his side, the wails of the dead screamed through its centre as souls of the dead flew around its razor-sharp edges. Your soul too was trapped in there.

"What do you want?"

"I have something for you my liege, a package left by a human courier."

He extended his hand and you placed the small parcel, wrapped in brown paper into his icy gauntlet. He took one of his sharp talon like fingers and ripped into the parcel, a small box appeared which quickly ended up on the floor. In place of the box in Arthas's hand was now a snow globe, Stormwind cathedral sat inside, being covered in a barrage of delicate snow. A small tag on the side read "To Arthas, my regards, Tirion."

A deep and slow chuckle escaped from the helmet, Arthas gripped the orb as the glass started to freeze over and crack. His grip tightened and the glass shattered, sending shards of glass over the plateau and a replica of Stormwind cathedral onto the floor, which quickly came to an end under the heavy boot of Arthas.

"Write a letter to Tirion Fordring, just send it to King Varian of Stormwind, it will find its way, tell him my soldiers are on the way and if he dares taunt me again I will raze his cities to the ground."

~*~

Written by Aaron.