Work Text:
The garrison commander had fought bravely and tirelessly against the Legion invaders in Dalaran, holding them back long enough for Khadgar and the rest of the Council to transport the entire floating city to the shores of the Broken Isles. But now the battle was over, and the death knight sank down onto the bed in her rented room, weary and in need of rest.
There was a knock at the door.
She raised her head. Did anyone even know she was staying here? “Who is it?” she asked.
“Ghouls,” came the gravelly voice from outside the door.
She blinked. “Who?”
“Hired ghouls.”
Confused, she got up and answered the door, only to see a squad of undead minions waiting in the corridor. “Hired ghouls?” she repeated. Then two of them grabbed the unsuspecting knight and shoved her through a death gate.
The next thing she saw was the interior of Icecrown Citadel, the former heart of Arthas Menethil’s empire and current site of the Frozen Throne’s latest occupant, Bolvar Fordragon. She was deposited unceremoniously in front of him.
“Ah, champion,” the deep voice rumbled through the air, even though the entity that produced it could neither speak nor move. “I hope ‘Crusher’ and ‘Low Blow’ didn’t hurt you.”
“Y’know, you could have just talked to me inside my head,” she complained. “You are the new Lich King, after all.”
“Oh yes, but telepathy is so impersonal…I prefer the hands-on touch you only get with hired ghouls.”
She blinked again. “Hired ghouls?”
“Hear me, champion,” he proclaimed, ignoring the question in her words. “The Legion has returned. They hope to control us, to bend us to their will. Fools – they only walk back within reach of our blades– ”
The new Lich King continued outlining his plan to the death knight…although ‘outlining’ was a bit of a stretch, as he was going over everything in such minute and excruciating detail that the knight was starting to get fidgety.
“—I have ordered your brethren to Icecrown to prepare for the coming conflict, but I have a more important fate in mind for you. You, champion, will be the hand of our vengeance!”
The hand of vengeance twitched slightly as Bolvar told her more of his plan to have her lead the Ebon Knights as their Deathlord. //Oh man. I have to go to the bathroom,// she thought worriedly. //Why did I have all that Cheap Beer and Blackrock Coffee and Snapvine Watermelon after the battle?//
“Now champion, I know what you’re thinking, and I want to take the pressure off,” he stated, likely assuming her discomfiture was due to doubts about leading the Ebon Blade. “It doesn’t take a whiz to see that you’re looking out for number one.”
The death knight crossed her eyes at the sound of melting ice dripping water onto the floor, and again when a nearby geist poured a cup of coffee. Why was it pouring a cup of coffee? Bolvar was frozen in ice!
“Well, listen to me, and you’ll make a big splash very soon,” he told her confidently.
At that moment, the geist knocked over the coffee, spilling it, and the champion of the Ebon Blade could bear it no longer. “Oh…which way to the bathroom?” she blurted out.
“Twenty-third door on the left,” the Lich King intoned.
She dashed from the room. “Nope…nope…nope…nope…” she muttered, looking behind every door.
When she finally returned to the Frozen Throne, her pace was considerably more dignified.
“Find the bathroom all right?” Bolvar asked benevolently.
“Uhhhh…yeah.” Her eyes darted shiftily to everything except the Lich King, but finally came to rest on him once more. “Bolvar,” she stated. “I’ve decided to take you up on your offer. I will become Deathlord of the Ebon Blade, and bring the fight to the Legion!”
“Excellent…”
She could practically feel the satisfaction in Bolvar’s tone. “So, um…what does this job pay?” she asked curiously, as she prepared to claim her new weapons.
“Nothing.”
She smacked her forehead. “D’oh!”
“Unless you’re crooked,” added the Lich King.
“WOOHOO!”