She wondered if Uther would attack his former pupil. But he was bound by an oath to serve his
prince, even if he had been relieved of command. She saw the tendons on his neck stand out like cords,
could almost hear him gritting his teeth. But he did not attack his liege.
Loyalty, however, did not still his tongue. “You’ve just crossed a terrible threshold, Arthas.”
Arthas looked at him a moment longer, then shrugged. He turned to Jaina, his eyes searching hers,
and for a moment—just a moment—he looked like himself, earnest, young, a little scared.
“Jaina?”
The single word was so much more. It was both question and plea. Even as she stared at him,
frozen like the bird before the snake, he reached out a gauntleted hand to her. She stared at it for a
moment, thinking of all the times that hand had clasped hers warmly, had caressed her, had been lain
on the wounded and glowed with healing light.
She could not take that hand.
“I’m sorry, Arthas. I can’t watch you do this.”
There was no mask on his face now, no merciful coldness to shutter his pain away from her.
Shocked disbelief radiated from him. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. Gulping, her eyes
with tears, Jaina turned away to Uther regarding her with compassion and approval. He held out
his hand to help her mount and she was grateful for his steadiness and composure. Jaina was shaking,
badly, and clung to her horse as Uther mounted and, holding her horse’s reins, led them both away
from the greatest horror they had yet encountered in this whole dreadful ordeal.
“Jaina?” Arthas’s voice followed her.
She closed her eyes, tears slipping from beneath closed lids. “I’m sorry,” she whispered again. “I’m so sorry.”
“Jaina?…Jaina!”
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