Thanks for reading this. I know it's short, but please don't disregard it because of that.

He sat on the throne, the throne that was as cold as his heart, and stared down from his pinnacle of ice. He stared past the land, past his milling army of undead warriors, past the horizon. He stared further than the human eye can, he stared with his mind's eye and he stared unseeingly, for, again, the thoughts were welling up in his mind. Thoughts of Uther, though these brought about a forgotten feeling. What is it? He mused silently. Is it sorrow? Impossible. I feel nothing. I only feel the power...the strength...the emptiness...the cold.
"Well, old man. Look at what you've achieved." He muttered to the freezing air.
The king fell silent again.

But perhaps it is sorrow. I suppose it is not unknown to me...The king gave a mirthless laugh. I...remember. When I was young. When I was human. I had...a pet. Yes. A...dog, was it not? Yes...that was it. It died one night, and I wept. He laughed again. Such foolishness. Everything dies eventually. Except...him.

"My lord." Rasped an acolyte, bowing before the king.
"What is it?"
"Humans, my liege. We have spotted an army marching towards us."
Humans! But who would be bold enough to lead them? The king's eyes glazed as he looked into the past. Jaina! I know of no other who would be willing to fight us. Jaina...I loved her once. When I was but a mere prince. I hoped that perhaps she would one day be my queen. But she turned away from me. She could not accept what I was doing. She could not accept the death.
Death...my whole world has become a world of death now. First, the purging of Stratholme. Then the death of Muradin as I claimed Frostmorne. I had said I was willing to make any sacrifice. And I was. I sacrificed my friend and my soul for this sword. For this power. And driven by the sword itself, by my master's words, I killed my own father. And still I felt nothing. And even now, I have become the lord of the dead. And so all who stand against me must die...
The king became aware that the acolyte was talking again.
"What would you have us do, lord?"
The king cocked his head, as though listening to an inner voice. Then he stood, Frostmorne in hand.
"Kill them. All of them."