Defender of the Light

When I first met Lord Valorsworn, we spoke of Death Knights, and their sacrifice in standing up against the tyrant Lich King Arthas.  Lord Valorsworn had told me that, yes, their existence was anathema to the Light, and, yes, nearly (if not) every single one we met had some personal hand in the slaughter of Lordaeron–but they deserved the mercy and love of the Light no less.  No matter their deeds, and even no matter that they personally stood up against Arthas, they existed, and that was enough to earn them mercy and kindness.

I did not believe him, as I had seen too many families fall to the Dark Knights when I was younger.  I argued against our having anything, at all, to do with the Bringers of Death.  My arguments fell on deaf, though kind, ears.

Today marked the day I was supposed to advance, from Page of the Knights of Lordaeron, to Squire.  I say supposed to because I was asked to have a certain level of experience, both in combat and without, that I had failed to achieve.  I still hurried to the Abbey in Northshire at the appointed time, to take whatever just punishment I was due.  I was asked to do something, and I failed.  I was saddened, but I did not let that dissuade me.

I happened to be passing through Stormwind on an errand, a few hours before the appointed time, when a Gnome Death Knight approached me.  It was–difficult to speak with him.  His armor, the look in his glowing eyes, my own memories–they all conspired to make me fear and, yes, even hate this man that stood before me.  Out of courtesy, I stayed and spoke with him, trying to ignore the stitches that criss-crossed every visible piece of his skin.  I found that he reminded me of old “uncle” Fizzletink, the Gnome who was such a good, dear friend to my family throughout my childhood.

The more we talked, the more I came to feel that this man, who- and whatever he was, did not have the soul for continued hatred and violence.  After a few hours spent merely talking, I found myself inviting him to Northshire for the advancement ceremony.  I–surprised myself.  But to a larger degree, he surprised me.  Not necessarily by being something other than what I had expected, but by making me realize that I had these preconceived notions in the first, and held them so strongly I let myself be blinded by memories, by hate.

We spent many more hours talking, in the Abbey, and the more we did, the more I found myself liking him as a man, as a friend.  I was shamed, then, when I realized the extent of my bias, and I also more fully understood the depth of wisdom in Lord Valosworn’s words that day.

When Lord Valorsworn and Borrodin arrived, I expected to simply stand back and congratulate Borrodin on living up to what was asked of him–but Lord Valorsworn told me that my admission of failure, showing my honesty, and my earnest words of thanks for what he tried to tell me those days ago, showed that I had, in a fashion, earned the title of Squire after all.  To say I was surprised, and pleased, would both be extreme understatements.

Arthy, my Gnome friend, looked on as Borrodin and I were officially made Squires to the Knights of Lordaeron.  He has such a kind heart–even if he doesn’t know it.  After the ceremony, Lord Valorsworn spoke with people who came up to him to ask general questions or to ask to be inducted into the Knights of Lordaeron, and Borrodin, Arthy, and I sat off to the side, talking quietly.

I can only imagine how difficult it was for Borrodin, sitting not three feet from Arthy.  Borrodin’s family was murdered by the Death Knights–but he sat there anyway, and at least tried to make conversation.  That’s more than I would have done even yesterday.

Lord Valorsworn inducted new members into the Order, then departed, along with Borrodin.  Arthy and I stayed and talked some more.  More and more, he showed me what, by rights, I should be showing others–the Light touches us all, and grants us all mercy equally.  We are all–all–worthy of that love.  He showed me this without even knowing it, and that only made it more profound.  Because I refused to accept this, because I refused to grant those who rose against Arthas respect, I did not, then, deserve their respect.

A Darnassian woman came in, and threatened Arthy.  He called her his “sort’a-wife”, though she seemed to be anything but pleasantly disposed toward him.  She threatened him, and told him to meet her later so she could kill him, over some gold she left in his possession.  I found out, a little later, that they were both “made” beings.  They were put together by pieces of others, using the arts of science and magic together.  She was “made” to be his wife, though it would be better to say she wanted to be his widow, if anything.

We spoke at length of love, and what it means, what it offers.  I think, at the end, he realized she didn’t love him.  He spoke of “knowing what he had to do” before rushing off–and I admit I was sad.  I–I actually don’t want him hurt.  I want him whole (or as whole as he gets).  I found that I enjoyed his presence, that speaking with him was like speaking with an old friend, someone who was a symbol of the Light without trying to.  He showed me what friendship was.

I hope he comes back unhurt.  I’ll look for him tomorrow, maybe send a few paid runners around the kingdom.  It would be worth the silver to make sure he’s alright.  As for the Darnassian–if he is hurt, she will soon be as well.  To be a Paladin is to be the Light’s mercy and love, yes.  But that does not mean we never raise our swords and hammers against an enemy.

If she kills or even hurts Arthy, she will be my enemy.

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