In Galen's memory, the Helm and the blade originated from the Shadowlands, forged by the Runecarver under the tyrannical control of the Jailer. The Dreadlords had brought these dark artifacts to the Burning Legion.
Eventually, Kil'jaeden had used his magic to bind Ner'zhul's soul to the Helm, creating the first Lich King.
In the original timeline, Ashbringer shattered Frostmourne, and the Banshee Queen tore the Helm of Domination in half.
Now, both items remained intact, and Galen knew the Jailer might have woven contingencies into them.
However, the Jailer was not invincible. He was a being of power comparable to the Titans, and there were others in the Shadowlands who could challenge him. Galen was not afraid of him reaching across the veil to Azeroth.
But the boundaries between life and death had been weakened by two generations of Lich Kings, and the veil between Azeroth and the Shadowlands had thinned. Galen foresaw a future confrontation with the Jailer.
Therefore, Galen needed a "capable subordinate" to test the waters, to glean information about the Shadowlands through the Helm of Domination.
Among the heroic souls at Galen's disposal, Tirion Fordring could have become the third Lich King. But Galen could not bring himself to subject his old friend to such a grim fate.
The other orcish and trollish souls lacked the necessary power. Galen also possessed the souls of powerful dragons, like Tyranastrasz, whom he had claimed over a decade ago.
But no soul was more suited to the Helm of Domination than Kel'Thuzad.
Firstly, Kel'Thuzad's soul was strong enough to withstand the Helm's influence. Secondly, and most importantly, his affinity was perfect. He had the...the interest.
Who else in Azeroth was as devoted to the dark arts of necromancy as Kel'Thuzad?
While Galen considered these things, Kel'Thuzad knelt, offering his head to receive the Helm.
The moment the Helm of Domination touched his brow, the Ice Throne shuddered, and Kel'Thuzad gasped.
The Helm, designed to control the undead Scourge, pulsed with dark energy. Kel'Thuzad felt the impact, but his will was strong. He quickly regained his composure.
"I crown you, Kel'Thuzad," Galen declared. "The undead Scourge will forever be under your command! And you...you will be forgotten, so that the world can heal from the wounds inflicted by the undead!"
"I will tell the world that the Lich King is dead. You will lead them to a new world, where you will fight the Burning Legion and use the corpses of demons to swell your ranks!"
Kel'Thuzad nodded, his voice filled with dark resolve. "Your will shall be done, Highlord."
Galen nodded, and Kel'Thuzad departed, taking Invincible with him. He led the Scourge in a strategic retreat, withdrawing into the ancient nerubian kingdom beneath Northrend.
As Kel'Thuzad left, the golden dragonflight completed their task. They opened a portal and departed from Icecrown Citadel.
Galen then turned his attention to the fallen heroes of the raid.
Of the three survivors, the high elf mage was dead. Galen claimed her soul.
Rexxar, thanks to his orcish and ogre resilience, had endured. Jaina, protected by her ice barriers and the enchanted items Galen had provided, had barely survived.
Galen healed them with the Holy Light. Rexxar quickly recovered his strength, while Jaina, overwhelmed by the trauma, wept in relief.
"Galen...is Arthas truly dead? Is it finally over?"
"Yes, Jaina. It's over. We won."
Jaina, barely twenty years old, threw herself into Galen's arms. Her most daring adventure had been the raid on Naxxramas, a carefully orchestrated event with Onyxia as their protector.
This...this was different. In the assault on Icecrown, Galen had been a distant observer, letting Arthas cut them down one by one...
It had been terrifying.
"Galen, Tirion...and the others...they're all dead!"
Galen patted Jaina's back, comforting her. "It's alright, Jaina. They can be saved."
"Just watch."
Galen channeled the Holy Light and cast Aragorn's mass resurrection spell.
A wave of golden light washed over the fallen heroes.
Soon, Old Chen and Tirion rose, groggy but alive. They staggered towards Rexxar and sat down, recovering their strength.
One by one, the others followed, confusion giving way to relief.
The last to rise was the high elf mage, Lana'thel.
Jaina, smiling through her tears, helped Lana'thel to her feet. "Lana'thel, are you alright?"
Galen froze. Lana'thel. He had been too focused on claiming the souls to pay attention to the names.
This trip to Icecrown Citadel had been a clean sweep. With the exception of Jaina, every member of the raid was now under the protection of the Heart of Origin.
Combined with Arthas's soul and the Scourge now under Kel'Thuzad's control, Galen considered it a resounding success.
Jaina opened a portal, its destination the floating city of Dalaran. The survivors, their faces etched with the horrors they had witnessed, stepped through.
Galen was the last to leave. He retrieved Frostmourne from beneath the golden foot of the Guardian of the Ancient Kings.
Of course, Galen was not foolish. He had taken precautions. He placed the cursed blade into a separate, heavily warded bag of holding, and departed without a backward glance.
The outer defenses of Icecrown Citadel had fallen. The siege vehicle, a hundred meters tall, had breached the gate of the Dark Cathedral, and the Alliance vanguard was poised to storm the inner fortress.
The battle had been a slaughter, a crimson tide that washed across the gray-white snowfields. Just moments before, the undead Scourge had surged with unnatural power, attacking both the Alliance and their own death knight allies.
But then, as abruptly as it had begun, the surge had ended.
In the underground chambers of the Skybreaker, Dar'Khan lay defeated, charred and broken, at the feet of Archmage Aethas Sunreaver.
The San'layn he had brought had been slain by the spellbreaker squad, or drained of their blood by Dar'Khan to fuel his dark magic.
Dath'Remar, his face a mask of bewilderment, stared blankly. The sudden loss of his connection to the Lich King had left him vulnerable, and Aethas had seized the opportunity.
The Lich King...dead? What had he sacrificed everything for?
As he prepared to flee, a searing pain tore through his mind.
"No...Kel'Thuzad! You cannot abandon me! I am still useful!"
Aethas showed no mercy. He drew the spellbreaker's curved blade and, with a swift, decisive motion, ended the traitor's life.
"Dath'Remar...go and answer for your crimes before the people of Silvermoon."
The high elf traitor, Dath'Remar, was dead.
On the battlefield below, the fighting had been brutal. The Alliance soldiers, their shields locked, had formed a desperate circle to withstand the endless tide of undead. They fought with numb exhaustion, their weapons slick with blood.
Against the Scourge's relentless onslaught, the Alliance had committed nearly two hundred thousand troops. Now, barely half remained combat-worthy.
Fortunately, Galen had established a large and well-organized field priest corps. The priests worked tirelessly in makeshift field hospitals, healing the wounded, dispelling curses, and combating the plague. They had raised the survival rate of wounded soldiers to seventy percent.
Their presence also dramatically reduced the risk of the dead rising as undead, bolstering the soldiers' morale.
Even those with grievous injuries, limbs severed or crushed, were treated with life potions and orcish ointments, their bodies miraculously restored.
It was this combination of healing and prevention that had allowed the Alliance to endure. Otherwise, the staggering casualties would have broken the will of their leaders, regardless of the spoils of Northrend.
Just as the soldiers fought on, the undead suddenly ceased their attack. The death knights of the Ebon Blade, ignoring all else, turned and fled, retreating towards Icecrown Citadel.
The battlefield fell silent. The soldiers stared in disbelief as the undead, moments before a relentless tide, simply stopped and withdrew.
This was the second time the undead had acted so strangely. Uther and the other commanders exchanged glances, a single thought forming in their minds: Galen and Tirion had succeeded!
A wave of joy, deep and profound, washed over them. "Arthas is dead! The Lich King is destroyed! We...we have won! We have won!"
The paladins of the Silver Hand and the Templar Knights raised their arms in triumph, their voices echoing across the blood-soaked snow.
"Hahahaha!"
Danath, watching the undead retreat, roared with laughter. "Rivendare! Your armies are fleeing!"
Rivendare's face, already pale, turned ashen. He knew his allegiance was about to shift, again.
He had no say in who his new master would be. But if he did not escape, he might not live to serve anyone.
"Fall back!"
As the leader of the Four Horsemen, Rivendare issued the order. The death knights spurred their skeletal steeds, charging towards the Alliance lines, using their ghoul servants as a rearguard. They fled towards Icecrown Citadel, leaving the battlefield behind.
"Damn those corpse-eaters! They run fast!"
Danath sheathed Truthguard and Oathbreaker, and began to direct the cleanup, tending to the wounded and purifying the dead.
"We have won! Long live the Alliance!"
"Long live Galen Trollbane!"
With the undead gone, the Alliance erupted in deafening cheers.
But their celebration was cut short. Galen issued an order: withdraw. He declared that the Lich King had been slain by his champion warriors, and the undead had scattered, retreating to Icecrown Citadel.
The high-ranking officers were puzzled. Why not pursue the victory? But the order resonated with the weary soldiers.
They had risked their lives, endured the horrors of war, and survived to see the dawn of victory. Now, they yearned for rest, for reward.
With the Grand Marshal's order, they turned their backs on the battlefield, eager to return to the relative safety of Borean Tundra and Howling Fjord.
Only Uther remained. He volunteered to lead a contingent of the Silver Hand, bolstered by forces from other factions, to form the Night Watch.
They would garrison Northwatch Hold, near the Gate of the Wrathgate, to monitor the Scourge's movements in this frozen land.
With the Lich King defeated, the Alliance prepared to claim their spoils.
The nations of the Alliance embarked on a great reclamation, dividing the newly won lands amongst themselves.
The Kingdom of Stormwind, the Kingdom of Gilneas, Kul Tiras, Stromgarde, Lordaeron, Ironforge, and Quel'Thalas all established new provinces in Northrend.
The land was fertile, rich in resources, but separated from the mainland by the treacherous North Sea. It was too distant to be effectively controlled as royal territory, and not enticing enough to draw settlers.
But by granting fiefdoms to nobles and soldiers, the Alliance ensured its development. These new and old nobles would pour their resources into developing their holdings, attracting settlers and exploiting the land's bounty. The arable land of Howling Fjord alone could feed a million souls.
Galen was intimately familiar with Stromgarde's situation. The abundance of food and the decade of peace had led to a population boom. The new generation was coming of age, and even with the expansion of Stromgarde's capital, the kingdom was overcrowded, ripe for colonization.
Danath had already submitted his list of fiefdoms to his father. Twenty new noble houses would rise on the Giant's Plateau in northeastern Howling Fjord!
These new nobles would be either younger sons of established families or commoners who had risen through the ranks. Regardless of their origins, they would strive to make their lands prosper, recruiting refugees and cultivating the land.
The Crusaders and the Alliance divided Howling Fjord. The night elves and tauren claimed the Borean Tundra. They shared exclusive control of Sholazar Basin, Crystalsong Forest, and Wintergrasp.
Zul'Drak and Grizzly Hills were divided with the local frost trolls and bear-men, under the banner of troll and dragon rider authority. Only the Storm Peaks, blocked by the titan guardians, and the desolate Icecrown Glacier remained.
Galen, in truth, was the one who profited the most.
He had personally overseen the division of Northrend, and the feeling was...intoxicating.