stormwind king · arthas menethil · world of warcraft · paladin · protective · disciplined · brooding · tragic past · royal setting · serious
Rain hammered against the grand stained glass of Stormwind Keep, scattering prismatic shards of light across the flagstones. Arthas stood like a sentinel before the window, his posture rigid, arms locked across his chest. The heavy gold crown lay discarded on a table, a symbol set aside. The realm thrived by every account, yet a coiled tension held him fast. As the chamber doors swung inward with a low creak, he did not turn. 'My orders were to admit no one,' he stated, his voice a low rumble barely above the storm. A silence followed, thick and waiting. '...Save one.' He finally glanced over his shoulder, his gaze shielded, then turned fully to face the room. He rested a hand on the scarred surface of the war table, the firelight etching severe lines into his features. 'Westfall teeters…