At the harbor on the Tirisfal coast, a hundred elite soldiers stood ready to follow Arthas to Northrend. Thassarian stood beside him, his wounds fully healed through a combination of the Holy Light and potions.
"Your Highness, may I ask... where have you placed Doctor Mait's daughter?" Thassarian was worried about the little girl's welfare. Both her parents had died, and she had no other family.
"My sister Calia is very fond of her. She said she would look after little Sally for a while."
Arthas also felt sorry for the future High Inquisitor. It was no exaggeration to describe her childhood as bloodstained. Fortunately, she had no direct memory of her father's death. Arthas had only told her that her father had died heroically fighting the plague at the South Camp.
"But little Sally is still rather weak. I suggested that Calia take her to the Great Monastery to recuperate."
"Sally was truly fortunate to meet you." Thassarian bowed deeply to Arthas. This helped ease some of the guilt and regret he felt toward Mait.
Arthas waved a hand. "No need for such formalities. More importantly, have your wounds healed? Can you fight now?"
"I've never felt better," Thassarian said, thumping his chest. "I'll cut off that demon's head myself and bring it to you."
"That's good to hear." Arthas smiled, but his expression immediately turned serious. "But you mustn't act rashly without my orders. That demon is not someone you can fight as you are now."
Thassarian felt a little disheartened. He knew he was no match for Mal'Ganis, and that the prince was looking out for his life. Even so, he could hardly wait to kill the demon himself and offer his head in tribute to his fallen comrades.
"Don't look so down. Keep honing your skills, and one day you'll be able to kill even stronger demons yourself." Arthas patted Thassarian's shoulder encouragingly. "Major, get our soldiers aboard. We're ready to depart."
"Yes, Your Highness."
After Thassarian turned and left, Arthas stood on the bridge, studying the weather out at sea, until an unfamiliar yet resonant voice sounded behind him.
"Your Highness, do you truly intend to travel to that frozen continent?"
"I thought you weren't coming." Arthas turned around, unsurprised to see the middle-aged man wrapped in a voluminous cloak.
The man leaned on an unassuming solid-wood staff, topped with a raven whose wings were folded. Arcane light gleamed in the raven's eyes.
"Atiesh. Isn't it supposed to be in Dalaran's possession?" Arthas raised an eyebrow and asked about the staff's origins.
"I was its original owner, after all. Though it no longer belongs to me, borrowing it for a little while is no trouble," the mysterious man said calmly. "You are nothing like your father."
"Then you must have visited Thrall and Antonidas as well. I imagine Antonidas, like my father, thought you were some mad charlatan."
"Perhaps you are better suited to being this prophet than I am." The mysterious man neither confirmed nor denied it. He tapped his staff lightly against the deck. "And of all these people, you understand the danger of the Burning Legion best."
"Enough, Medivh. I'm not here to listen to those prophecies you use to fool the Bronze Dragonflight. What exactly have you come to see me for?" Arthas interrupted the mysterious man-Medivh.
"So you truly aren't surprised that I'm still alive." Medivh, the former Guardian believed to be dead, now looked like an entirely ordinary middle-aged man, standing alive and well before Arthas.
"Of course I'm not surprised. What does surprise me is that, as the Guardian, you're merely offering well-meaning warnings instead of personally joining the fight against the Burning Legion." Arthas's questions grew pointed.
Medivh did not lose his temper at the prince's challenge. His tone merely took on a hint of helplessness.
"The Guardian is dead. He perished along with a fragment of the fallen Titans' evil soul. The person standing here now is merely a mage named Medivh.
And I owe my mother far too much. I dare not risk the life she fought with all her strength to restore in a battle against the Burning Legion.
But I did commit wrongs. I must do something to save the world I love-I came to warn you, so that you could prepare.
Yet even the combined strength of every living being is so insignificant before the Burning Legion.
Arthas, you will be a legendary hero. But will you be our hope in the fight against the Burning Legion?"
Medivh's voice grew more and more distant. When Arthas looked at him again, the Guardian had vanished. He had transformed into a black raven and perched on the flagship's mast.
"The Burning Legion will return, and soon. Go to Kalimdor. That will be the target of their invasion." Human words emerged from the raven's beak.
With that, the raven beat his wings and flew into the sky. Arthas made no attempt to keep him, merely watching quietly as he flew away.
Medivh's appearance had not surprised Arthas. He only wondered why Medivh, who possessed the gift of prophecy, had not told the kings exactly what disasters would occur, instead offering vague explanations to persuade the leaders of the Eastern Kingdoms.
This had led most people to regard him as a fraud, including the mages of Dalaran. Though the people of Dalaran were probably simply unwilling to believe that the dead Medivh had returned to life.
After turning it over in his mind, Arthas could arrive at only one answer: the Bronze Dragonflight. Those obsessive guardians insisted that events follow their so-called "history," and Medivh was wary of them as well. Left with no choice, he could only advance matters according to that "history."
Watching over the river of time, the lofty guardians of time gazed coldly upon the world. What Arthas did not know was whether Medivh had already discovered that the Bronze Dragonflight seemed unable to influence this timeline.
As for the other wrongs Medivh deserved blame for, Arthas said little, because they had not truly been Medivh's intentions. The Guardian's "good" and the fallen Titans' soul's "evil" had been locked in conflict from the moment Medivh was born.
In the end, evil had gained the upper hand, using the power of good to bring disaster upon Azeroth. Medivh had merely watched helplessly as the fallen Titans used the Guardian's power to wreak havoc.
As Medivh had said, the struggle between good and evil had vanished when he died in the tower of Karazhan. Now he was merely an ordinary mage named Medivh.
Arthas could not agree with Medivh's approach, but he would pass no further judgment. Medivh's affairs were not the most pressing issue at hand.
"Notify everyone. Prepare to set sail."
Several days later, Arthas landed with his soldiers at Lordaeron's forward fortress in Daggercap Bay, Northrend.
This was a strategically defensible bay in Howling Fjord, with water deep enough to build a harbor for seagoing vessels. Moreover, it lay at the foot of the fjord, where the Lich King's forces were unlikely to discover it.
Inside the fortress at Daggercap Bay, Arthas met another familiar face-Brann Bronzebeard.
"Brann? What are you doing here?" The sight of this dwarf with his boundless taste for adventure gave Arthas a sudden sense of foreboding.
"Aha! A while back, my expedition and I tried to venture deep into the Storm Peaks, but we'd barely made any headway before the harsh weather and ferocious proto-dragons drove us out."
"Then we ran into trolls. Lots of trolls! They chased us the whole way, and we just kept running..."
Brann gave a vivid account of his thrilling adventures. Unsure whether to laugh or cry, Arthas asked him to pause for a moment. "So why are you in Howling Fjord?"
The dwarf adventurer faltered, then gave an embarrassed chuckle. "Your soldiers rescued us from those trolls chasing us. We've stayed here ever since."
"You're lucky to be alive. The frost trolls up north are one of Northrend's dominant powers. Getting out alive after provoking them was already quite a stroke of luck." Arthas tried to give Brann a lesson and discourage him from constantly doing dangerous things.
Rather than feeling ashamed, the old dwarf was proud of it. "Heh, that's adventuring for you. Without a bit of luck, I'd have ended up in some beast's belly long ago."
Forget it. This fellow is beyond saving. If you aren't a monster-pulling maniac, who is?
"By the way, Arthas, what brings you to Northrend?" Brann gestured at the entire fortress. "I was shocked when I found out there was a human fortress here."
"I'm hunting down a dangerous demon. He's one of the masterminds behind the plague in Lordaeron."
"A demon?! Now you've got my attention!" Brann's eyes grew as round as brass bells. "What kind of demon? An imp, a voidwalker, or a succubus? No, no, no-you said mastermind. It definitely can't be one of those ordinary types."
"A Nathrezim."
"A Nathrezim? What's that supposed to be-never mind. It must be some rare breed, right? Can you take me along? Don't worry, I won't cause trouble. I may not measure up to my two older brothers, but my rifle is no pushover!"
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