Chapter Thirty-Eight: Northrend

"Arthas actually notified me that he would be coming in person. There are still so many matters to attend to back in Stormwind. And yet, that guy just ran off to Northrend all by himself?"

Varian shook his head. He was far too busy; he barely had time to spend with his wife and child. But he had promised Arthas he would help him with a few things, and since this was primarily an alliance-building effort, it was not inappropriate for him to attend as a representative.

Jaina leaned against her staff on the bridge, facing the briny sea breeze, lost in thought.

"Jaina?"

"Ah!? I am sorry, Varian, I was a bit distracted." Jaina replied apologetically.

"I bet you're thinking of someone, aren't you?" Varian said teasingly. He was always looking for an opportunity to poke fun at Arthas. "He really is irresponsible, running off on his own and leaving us to handle his messy affairs."

"I don't know, but to be honest, I have many doubts about Arthas's actions this time." Surprisingly, Jaina did not refute him, but quietly voiced her thoughts. "You should know that Northrend is not a pleasant place."

"The girl is right, Varian. That place is colder than Dun Morogh, and it's crawling with fierce beasts, not to mention a flock of drakes I've never seen before." Muradin leaned against the railing and stepped aside; despite having been to sea so many times, he still wasn't used to the feeling of being on a ship.

"Sigh... those are secondary concerns, Muradin." Jaina sighed. "In the archives of Dalaran, everything about Northrend can basically be summarized in a few words."

"For instance?" Varian was intrigued. As a king, his adventuring experience was far less than that of Muradin or Jaina.

"Danger, cold, and strangeness. I've heard mages have even sighted dragons there. Not even the most elite mages of the Kirin Tor are willing to spend a single day in that frozen wasteland."

Muradin nodded. "Jaina is right. I went there once with a few old mates—we nearly vanished into that ice and snow for good."

"Could you tell me what you saw? You know, I was crowned king in my teens, so I've had almost no experience with adventuring, mostly just hunting in the outskirts of Lordaeron and Stormwind." Varian hoped their stories would bring some amusement to this tedious journey.

"Of course! That's what adventure stories are for, though this girl Jaina has likely only read about them in books and has never stood on the snowfields of the far north herself."

Jaina nodded. While she was knowledgeable, she had indeed never been there in person.

"Let's start from our landing, then—we had just stepped ashore and hadn't even found a place to set up camp when we were attacked by naga..."

...

"Your Highness, look over there." Saathrel handed the telescope to Arthas. "I've never seen architecture like that—is that what we're looking for?"

"Those are ancient elven ruins, kid!" Brann spoke up first, his tone blunt and casual. His custom-made telescope was far better than the standard Lordaeron issue. "Legend has it that in ancient times, the rulers of this continent were elves. Even now, we can catch a glimpse of the glory of their ancient empire."

"Elves? Are they the Quel'dorei of Quel'Thalas?" Before becoming a soldier, Saathrel had been nothing more than a farm boy, and he knew nothing of these secrets.

...

"Strictly speaking, the original owners of these ruins were the ancestors of the current High Elves." Arthas took the telescope and looked. Along the coastline lay a vast expanse of marble structures covered in seaweed and starfish, with many seabirds and penguins perched upon the white "rocks."

Brann swept his telescope around, muttering, "Large-scale elven ruins like this are rare in the Eastern Kingdoms—Arthas, how about we..."

"Don't even think about it."

Arthas immediately dispelled Brann's delusions. "Look closely at the beach. Aside from the penguins and gulls, what else do you see?"

"Ha, what else could there be? Don't tell me it's sea snakes—by Ironforge, there are cursed naga in these parts too?! Do they spawn everywhere like trolls? How has this freezing weather not frozen them to death?!"

Brann spat on the ground. Naga, those dangerous, intelligent deep-sea creatures, often came ashore. To land-dwellers, the naga—physically robust and adept at using magic—were nothing short of a disaster.

At the same time, naga were one of the things Brann hated most. They were persistent, extremely persistent, and they caused the risk factor of any exploration to skyrocket.

"That's enough, Brann. You said you wouldn't cause me any trouble. If we really get tangled up with those naga, it will be more than we can handle." Arthas did not want to provoke these dangerous amphibians; what he was doing this time was dangerous enough as it was.

"Fine, but you have to let me mark this on my map. Once I'm done helping you with your business, I'm coming back here to see what treasures are waiting for me." Brann sat atop his ram mount, sketching on a map.

"At that time, you are free to do as you please."

Unable to withstand Brann's repeated pleas—and nearly breaking when the poor old dwarf threatened to hug him and cry—Arthas reluctantly agreed to let Brann come along, but set a rule: absolutely, positively, do not go looking for trouble on his own.

Brann was not like his brother Muradin. When Muradin encountered dangerous, unidentifiable things, he was mostly cautious and observant. But Brann lived up to the name of an archaeologist; what he was best at was, "Oh! Maybe I should press this button?"

The spirit of courting death burned brightly in the heart of this third Bronzebeard brother. What was most incomprehensible was that, in a sense, this guy was the one with the most lives among the three.

After all, having stepped on so many "mines" and aggroed so many "monsters," he was still running around full of life. As far as Arthas knew, there were only two such people in all of Azeroth.

And the other one, the one who says "May the Blue Dragon guide you," was still a bit behind Brann.

"Your Highness, we are about to enter the snowfield. Scouts report signs of undead activity in the depths of the plains." Saathrel reported the situation to his superior.

Arthas nodded. "Pass the order down: find a place to camp. Go and scout the situation of the undead positions, but do not venture too deep."

"Speaking of camping, that's my specialty. How about I help you pick an excellent spot?" Brann was eager to show off his expertise.

"No, Brann, thank you for your kindness, but the scouts from Wintergarde Keep have been exploring these snowfields for years. They know where we can find safe shelter."

Arthas politely declined Brann's offer—he didn't want Brann choosing the location for his troops; if he did, they might just end up building their camp directly on top of a nerubian nest.

...

Some things you just have to believe; this world is truly a strange place.

After spending an hour setting up a temporary camp, Arthas sat in his tent, carefully reviewing the maps drawn by the scouts. He already had a rough plan in mind; once the location of Mal'Ganis was confirmed, he could begin his move.

...

Brann Bronzebeard quietly crept up to Arthas's tent. There was actually something he had wanted to say for a long time but hadn't found the opportunity, lest the prince's subordinates think he was trying to manipulate Arthas.

The dwarf explorer tiptoed into the tent, but before he could speak, he heard Arthas say, "Brann, if you wanted to find me, you didn't need to be so sneaky."

"I just didn't want to make a big scene," Brann said, awkwardly scratching the back of his head—how could this paladin's senses be sharper than an elven ranger's?

"Is there something specific you wanted to see me about?" Arthas pulled up a chair for Brann, then leaned back over the sand table and maps.

"You're here in Northrend to hunt down a vile demon, right? I was thinking I might have some information that could be useful to you."

Arthas's movements stalled. He looked up at Brann. "What information?"

"Actually, I didn't find it myself. When Muradin was in Northrend last time, they also encountered trolls and the undead. By chance, they captured a troll priest who spoke Dwarven." Brann explained. "From that troll, they got some information—about a powerful weapon."

Arthas raised an eyebrow: "By chance?" He didn't quite believe it was just by chance.

"The troll said that in an ancient cave somewhere in this land, a powerful artifact is buried. Perhaps this is the key to defeating the demon?" Brann chuckled dryly. "Your warhammer is broken, isn't it? I thought maybe if you had a proper weapon, you could defeat that Nathre-whatever."

"Nathrezim," Arthas corrected him. After listening to Brann's description, he joked, "I think you're only telling me this so you can get a look at an ancient artifact, aren't you?"

Brann paused. Caught red-handed by Arthas, he decided not to beat around the bush anymore. "You could say that, but I'm making sense, aren't I? I'll take you to that place, and maybe we'll find the winning edge."

Arthas shook his head with a faint smile. "It's a trap, Brann. It was set by that Nathrezim and his cohorts."

"Huh?"