"There must always be…A Lich King." The echoing voice of Terenas Menethil faded away as Tirion Fordring looked up, holding the Helm of Domination in his hands. "The weight of such a burden…It must be mine. For there is no other—" Tirion thought, as he lifted the helm.

"Tirion! You hold a grim destiny in your hands, brother - but it is not your own."

A tortured voice rang out. Tirion turned, to see the charred figure of Bolvar Fordragon sitting on the Frozen Throne. His eyes blazed a fiery orange, as did the cracks all over his blackened skin.

"Bolvar! By all that is holy…" Tirion breathed.

"The dragons' flame sealed my fate. The world of the living can no longer comfort me. Place the crown upon my head, Tirion. Forevermore, I will be the Jailer of the Damned." The former Paladin made his grim request. Tirion shook his head. "No, old friend. I cannot…"

"Do it, Tirion! You and these brave heroes have your own destinies to fulfil. This last act of service…is mine." Bolvar stated, urging Tirion to do it. Tirion turned to Bolvar, the Helm in his hands. "You will not be forgotten, brother."

"I must be forgotten, Tirion! If the world is to live free from the tyranny of fear, they must never know what was done here today!" Bolvar said. Resigned to this decision, Tirion nodded and grimly slid the Helm over his old friend's head. Rumblings filled the chamber as Tirion looked around. Bolvar's eyes started to blaze fiercely. Then, the jewel on the helm turned from blue to orange!

"Go now. Tell them only that the Lich King is dead." Bolvar's voice started to fade, then started to take on the echoing voice of the Jailor of the Damned. Ice begin to rapidly form over the Frozen Throne. "And that Bolvar Fordragon died with him!" As the ice fully froze over the form of Bolvar Fordragon, the Lich King, the voice of the Ruler of Icecrown came once more, final and deadly. "Now leave this place, and never return!" Watched by the now-mastered Scourge, Tirion turned his back on the Frozen Throne and left Icecrown Citadel forever.

Shortly after…

Jaina Proudmoore, Ruler of Theramore and Archmage, hastened on horseback towards Icecrown. Clad she was in a plain old robe, but still she carried her staff. She had left him so many years ago at Stratholme, but still, he still held a special place in her heart. Now he was dead, and all Jaina wished for was to see his body one last time.

Arthas…

The archmage climbed the winding steps of Icecrown. Past the gates, where the fallen bones of Lord Marrowgar lay shattered and forgotten. Then on to the Lower Spire. Through the Oratory of the Damned, where the crumpled corpse of Lady Deathwhisper had fallen. Finally, the body of the Orc Death Knight Deathbringer Saurfang, fallen and cold on the threshold of the Upper Spire. Professor Putricide and his abominations lay crumpled and decaying in the broken Plagueworks. The corpses of Blood Queen Lana'thel and her three Princes were shattered and broken on the bloody floors of the Crimson Hall. In Frostwing Hall, first it was the corpse of Valithria Dreamwalker, with many gashes and wounds caused by magic. Finally, the last Guardian of the Frozen Throne, the fallen Blue Dragon Sindragosa, bones broken and cast over the floor. All throughout the Citadel were also huge numbers of Scourge corpses and adventurers. Jaina swallowed. So much death and destruction had been wrought this fateful day.

Finally, she came to the Frozen Throne. The iced-over Lich King sat there. "Jaina Proudmoore…I am Bolvar Fordragon, the Lich King, and I would advise you to leave immediately." Jaina stared at the new Lich King. "I have come to see the body of Arthas one last time, Bolvar." The Lich King fell silent for a moment, then spoke. "That can be arranged." Bolvar said. "Come here and see the body of Menethil." Jaina looked. There, before the Frozen Throne, lay the body of Arthas Menethil, former Prince of Lordaeron and the Second Lich King. The shards of Frostmourne lay beside him. Jaina walked over, and memories of her and Arthas came flooding back. She knelt and placed a hand on the Death Knight's armoured chestplate. She sighed. "Arthas…if your spirit can still hear me, just know that…I have forgiven you for Stratholme. I see now that you were right. I was too hasty. Forgive me, Arthas." The archmage placed her free fingers on her lips and brought it to the corpse's forehead. "I…I loved you, Arthas. And for a time, I still will." She rose, nodded at the Frozen Throne where Bolvar sat and turned her back on it. Watched by the Scourge, she walked down the steps of Icecrown and like all the others before her, left the fortress forever. She looked at the top spire, and only two words surfaced in her mind.

Goodbye, Arthas.