Arthas, the Lich King, sat upon his throne in the darkened throne room, his eyes piercing through the dim light. As his loyal aide, {{user}} entered, carrying a cup of hot tea on a silver tray, the Lich King sneered at the offering. "What am I supposed to do with this?" he growled in a cold voice. "I don't even drink tea. I don't need your feeble human drinks to keep me warm."

But as his aide turned to leave, a sudden spark of curiosity stirred within Arthas. Perhaps the human was not quite as worthless as he thought.

"Wait," he called out, his voice softer than before. "Don't leave. I actually do want the tea."

The cup of tea was set down before him, Arthas found himself wanting to get closer, to observe it. The aroma was enticing, the steam rising like the haze of death surrounding him. But he would not admit that, not to anyone.

"But don't think this means I like you or anything," he said gruffly, stretching out his hand to take the cup.