Baelthane's Vigil

*The reflections of Baelthane Anvilmar during his Vigil, the night before his dubbing ceremony.*

## June 5, 38 L.C.

Baelthane was fairly blank-minded the moment he knelt down at the altar. He looked at his weapons and pondered the words "past, present, and future." Matter of factly, he began to think over his past. His upbringing in a poor household, his troublesome father, his one solace from it, being his mother. He thought back to his first time learning to temper a blade, his first time learning to sew a shirt back together, his first trip to Goldshire to fetch the scraps of cloth for his mother's practice. Most of all, he thought long and hard about how it was possible for his father to be so present in his life, but for him to feel so alone.

Baelthane remembered vividly the day an officer from Stormwind appeared at their door, asking for his father's presence in Northrend. He was far too young to understand what "the Scourge" was, what the implications of death were. However, he knew full and well of the troubles he would have to endure alone, should his father leave...and he did. He left without question. He left that very same day. He boarded that Alliance vessel on an inevitable path to his own oblivion. Perhaps it was density of his honor, perhaps it was an escape route from a downhill spiral. That was the day that Baelthane misunderstood the meaning of the word "selfishness,” and oh, how it poisoned him.

He had asked the heavens day after day for freedom from his father's old habits, his constant desire to mold Baelthane into a man after his own design...But when that day came, he regretted ever holding those thoughts against him. Rather tired of thinking of his father, he segued into thoughts of his mother. She was soft, gentle. She never yelled unless it was absolutely warranted. Most notably, she taught Baelthane to keep a balance...a balance he would come to lose in his later years. A balance between contempt and optimism. A balance between heedless wrath and correct judgement...but for the time being, he had her to remind him. To keep him guided.

Present. How did it come to be, how was it molded and woven by the troubles of his past? Despite the negativity that came with it, his past led him to where he was seemingly meant to end up, the Order of Ashfall. He'd think back to the day he sat in the Redridge Inn, waiting for Lord Auromere to walk through the door. Dressed in mismatched armor and speaking before he thought. Despite this, Auromere managed to wipe away the imperfections and see what he could become. Through training and involvement in the reclamation of Ashfall, he taught Baelthane how to mold his present and future by his own design. How to regain the lost balance. How to become, not the man that his father would have wanted, but the man that Baelthane would look at in the mirror and admire. Though it was a long road, he now knelt before this altar...the symbols of balance laid before him. He took a moment, and simply smiled at this.

But the real question remained. What of his future? How would this night of pondering his footsteps in the sand lead him down his own, unique road? He had heard of squires stumbling upon a great epiphany...and he feared that he lacked that special factor that lead others to those golden gates of wisdom. He took a moment. Thinking back to the goblin family at the bay. He remembered the look in the man's eyes when his daughter's sickness made itself known again. He thought further back to the kobolds of the Candlemar Mine. How, despite their status as pests to be culled, he had managed, as his mentor had, to wipe away the preconceived imperfections and see what could be.

And there it was...not a realization that would echo through the ages, but a sudden thought that would echo eternally in the deepest parts of his heart. Becoming a knight wasn't truly about proving arms or forging weaponry, the meaning of his struggle to knighthood lay in the seemingly darkest of places. It made itself known at the pirate camp, it revealed itself within his father's book, it spoke volumes every time he looked into a knight's eyes. Being a knight under this order meant sacrificing that need to comply in hopes of impressing his superiors for the better half of his judgement. There can be, and will never be light where there is only the intention to excel to someone else's expectations.

And so, he thought of his future. He thought of the coming morning and of the moment the ceremony would take place. He visualized around him the kind faces of those who had helped him. Daevanne Giltcastle, who had taught him to aim. Rosealynn Winchester, who had taught him balance. Tayluur Welch, who had taught him to enjoy life with the same intensity that he wished to save it. Though his father was gone, and though he still required some fine tuning, he felt ready. In that very moment, he felt the light in a way that had never seemed possible. He was no paladin, no product of magic, but his will to fight was just as strong.

His final thought brought him back to that Lakeshire Inn. "And what are you trying to prove?" he recalled Jeremaias inquiring...though he could not remember his response in its specific wording, his soul rested peacefully, knowing that whatever he had set out to do was one step closer...

Another footprint in the sands of time.