Sleep, My Prince

Icecrown finally breathes; the blue fires fade, Frostmourne’s silence hums in shattered shade. I kneel, my staff laid down beside your hand, and brush the drifting snow from iron band. The bells of Dalaran are faint and thin— I kept their echo hidden in my skin. You chased a whisper buried in the north; I chose a door where mercy called me forth. Sleep now, Arthas, under falling snow; the road we severed still remembers where to go. No crown to bind you, no blade to command— only the boy who reached and took my hand. Sleep, my prince; the storm turns kind; let dawn speak soft of you, in time. I taste the cinder of a city spared by none, hear Stratholme’s bells that never would be rung. Your eyes were winter; mine refused to break— I walked away to save what you would take. Years of frost collected in my throat; I answered with a spell to cut your yoke. I kept your locket warm against the cold— a little summer I refused to let grow old. Sleep now, Arthas, where the dead winds cease; I could not bring you back; I only brought you peace. No choir of terror, no iron command— only a memory on Lordaeron land. Sleep, my prince; the storm turns kind; let dawn speak soft of you, in time. Uther’s grief, my father’s doubts, the lines we drew; I raised a ring of frost and still lost you. If there must be a warden for the burdened crown, let steady fire keep vigil while you lay it down. The world will mend in inches, not in haste; I’ll learn to love the boy beyond the waste. Sleep now, Arthas, be unmade of pain; I lay this sorrow down like steel in rain. No crown, no burden, no cold command— only the boy who reached and took my hand. Sleep, my prince; the storm is kind… beloved, hear me—I forgive you.