“-. RICHARD ANGEVIN, DUKE OF HILLSBRAD .-“
When he was young, Richard Angevin wanted to be a priest.
“The story of Odyn and Helya contradicts prior histories and even current events. For another, it contradicts itself. The tale supposedly goes that Odyn needed Helya to do literally everything for him. She ripped the Halls of Valor from Ulduar, she lifted them into the sky, she moved them half-way across the ocean, she was apparently capable of doing the reverse or even crash them into a volcano whenever she wanted. Helya also created the ritual that empowered Odyn to see and act in the spirit world, meaning she was the ultimate authority on death and shadow magic between them. Later, after they became enemies because she became the willing minion of the literal devil, she was apparently capable of trapping Odyn and his entire army of ascended warriors in his Halls for eternity, without any object of power or even access to the place.”
Richard had attended service, honoured all the holidays and read all the scriptures cover to cover.
“By any reading, she was always the one with the power advantage in that relationship. Yet we’re supposed to believe she was still somehow completely helpless when Odyn supposedly killed her, shattered her spirit and twisted her into the first val’kyr. Took away her free will too, apparently, like that wasn’t her specialty as the great sorceress capable of binding even the Loa of Death. All for the high crime of opposing Odyn’s supposed plan to turn some of his worshippers into ghostly guides of the dead against their will. Because none of them would volunteer, the chronicle goes, as if the valkyra don’t exist. We’re talking about the same people who are going to volunteer en masse to ‘live as phantoms for all eternity’ just because some up-jumped necromancer will tell them to. And worse.”
Richard had then gone to whatever lengths a child could think of to entreat his parents to procure whatever apocryphal writings they could find as well.
“That the valkyra order exists is enough on its own to indicate that the writings were tampered with. That Helya has spent the past few thousand years doing everything her side of the story accuses Odyn of doing reads like projection. That only Odyn’s side of the story is criticised in the chronicle reads like gaslighting. I’d have had an easier time not assuming slander if they just made Odyn the villain outright. And to truly put the last nail in the coffin of this bizarre story, Helya was apparently able to escape her fate because Loken, of all people, supposedly restored her free will.”
What Richard was hearing now wasn’t in any of the texts.
“Loken. The minion of Yogg’Saron, the grand brainwasher himself. The one who needed the Titans themselves to imprison him after corrupting and brainwashing the entire world at the beginning of history. The idea that those who brainwashed all the other keepers would turn around and restore the free will of anyone is absolutely laughable.”
What he was hearing now made shivers go down his spine at the mountain of history that dwarfed ancient human history outright.
“Thorim only escaped that fate because he’s been sitting in the Temple of Storms for ages, contemplating his navel over losing his wife and everything else that happened. I suppose being made of metal and stone could make you lot a tad slow at processing emotions. Or anything else. I admit that immortality is a good tradeoff, but it’s sure inconvenient for us normal people when we’re the ones who have to deal with all the cataclysms caused by your mistakes.”
These names. Some of them made Richard dream of glory while others made his heart squeeze in his chest.
“Now, it’s not impossible that Odyn was naive in the extreme – in which case I seriously have to wonder what the Titans were thinking making him Prime Designate – but I think it more likely that his relationship with Helya as surrogate father and daughter was no empty claim. In fact, I’m inclined to believe it was fully reciprocated. I’m not entirely sure that Odyn’s version of events is a perfect mirror of reality either. But I’m willing to exclude malice. I’m even willing to exclude knowing lies. With all the aforementioned as the only alternative, I’ll err on the side of an agent of the Light any day.”
… Why was Ferdinand saying all this? With them there? Why had he deliberately waited until they were there – until Richard himself was there to hear all of it?
“What I do question, however, is whether Odyn’s memory can itself be trusted, and if he is otherwise of sound judgment.”
The raven’s gaze was far too intense to belong on an animal.
“The simple fact of the matter is that the barrier is still there. The chronicle I’ve read says Helya used the same magic that was used to seal off the elemental planes, but that’s just it – you can’t just cast those things. For one, she didn’t separate any planes, it’s all still here, on this one, so that’s already a suspect claim. And secondly, even if she did, the Titans made wards, rites, entire facilities to anchor works like that, none of which she could have leveraged without being there. The only way her spell could work is if it draws power from the Halls of Valor themselves. Or, since this has no doubt been checked ad nauseam, from someone. I trust you see where I’m going with this?”
Richard suddenly wished he could dismiss everything as the ramblings of a boy given to fancies.
“Flaming beards aren’t scars, and the taint that the molluscs of yore infested the elementals with is transmissible.” What did beards have to do with anything, and molluscs of what? What taint? “More than that, history is rife with champions of the Light and Order being fooled and warped just through proximity to them or their agents until they become slavish minions. The Light works intuitively, so what happens when the intuition itself is impaired? If the Spirit is what nourishes all parts of the self not sustained by the physical form, what happens when it’s bled? Poisoned, maybe? Strategically trimmed, perhaps? Could just parts of the mind or memory be deprived of sustenance until they just…. wither and fade so slowly that their passing goes unnoticed? The ritual that empowered you to see into the Otherworld by ripping out your eye was Helya’s. Her power has been part of you all this time. What are the odds she even bound the same wraith to help her strike at you after her turn?”
… Richard wished he knew why this had anything to do with them. Should he step in and ask him? Ask something? Stop him? Could he even move if he wanted. The raven… Ferdinand was no longer talking to him like it was some intelligent beast, no, he wasn’t talking to the raven at all.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“It’s admittedly just a theory, but either you’ve already investigated it, or it never occurred to you and that says all there needs to be said.”
The pressure in the air seemed to spike as if… as if Richard was being stepped on by a giant that had only now put all his weight on the same foot.
Ferdinand regarded the bird. “I’ve been initiated in Alchemy recently.” He did not seem to be tense at all, even as the air grew more and more severe with every word he spoke. “I’m not any good, but the Great Work apparently involves the essences of the ego and the shadow being reabsorbed, unifying the parts of the self. Sounds to me like you and Helya underwent the opposite. Maybe she’s not the only one fallen. Or falling.”
The sun seemed to dim. Richard’s breath stalled. The air filled with wrath.
Ferdinand began ripping pages out of his pocketbook. “You probably know all these staves already but-“
The bird swallowed the pages fast as lightning and then the notebook itself was disappearing down its gullet-
SQUAWK
Ferdinand suddenly had the bird by the throat. “Your pardon but-“
A sword of shadow struck the Light with a gong.
The dimming world came alight. The mountain pass shook with the force of a death knell. The sound rattled Richard’s bones. He fell to one knee with a gasp as the voices of his wife and sister and men rose in shock far behind him, the pressure in the air suddenly lifted – no, diverted-
The sword came down a second time. Light met shadow with the ringing of thunder.
Shadow lost.
The Light cascaded outwards across the earth, into the air, over him to soothe his aching lungs, calm his frantic mind, give strength back to his limbs and clarity to his sight and then he could see…
“- I simply had to know if you’ve a teleportation device or a proper pocket dimension in that craw of yours.”
Richard saw…
The Light reveals.
He saw an angel.
“Impudence, indiscretion, hubris, and now you dare even maltreat my Lord’s own familiar, how much further will you overstep, boy?”
The Light outlined the shimmering form of an angel glaring down the length of her sword at the back of Ferdinand’s head while he was peering down the raven’s beak he forcefully held open.
Ferdinand let the raven go. His protective field caused the sword to scrape away from him as he rose. “Indiscretion, bloodthirst, sentimentality, and now you infringe on the realm of the living despite the very strict precepts of your office, should I throw your words back in your face, val’kyr?”
Val’kyr. Slain. To choose. Richard drew his sword before he could think better of it, but didn’t know who to aim it between the angel and their guest – he’d given him guest right only for him to… But did that count with angels? Should it? She was a giant, how would a mere man even fight something like that, could mortal weapons even touch her, she was see-through, a spectre of gold and deep sea hues. Choice of the slain? Or was she here to choose who would be slain, who to slay-?
“Stand back, brave men,” the woman commanded, though she didn’t look away from the boy. “This need not concern you.”
“Says the angel of death to the man she’s been stalking.”
“What?” Richard balked before he could think twice. “She’s-you’re here for me?”
“She’s-“
“Still your tongue, insolent whelp-“
Ferdinand turned and met her eyes.
He flinched and fell to a knee, holding his head as his Shield of Light burst in a wave of sunspray.
The angel reeled back and fell down from the sky with a crash.
Richard stared at the rising dust cloud, blinking rapidly as the light motes cascaded over him, they felt like… not enough to count next to the Light that was already in him from the wave before, blessing him with strength beyond strength and sight beyond the unseen. His sword moved from one figure to the other, not knowing what- who-
“Sir,” Mercad rasped at his side, his own sword pointing at the angel without hesitation. “I know you like to extol the ineffable virtues of the Light and its all-pervasiveness, but this is a bit on the nose, isn’t it?”
“Nngh…” Ahead of them, Ferdinand grunted. “That’s… quite a bit…” The boy climbed unsteadily to his feet with bleary eyes. “Geirrvif. The Watcher. Judge of Valhalas.”
“I am not that creature.” Across from the boy, the angel woman rose to stand somewhat more gracefully, but her wings stayed lowered and there was no lustre on her spectral skin. “I don’t know what you saw or how, Prophet, but I would never be caught presiding over such a poor excuse of an imitation of my Lord’s Trials, either alive or dead.”
Prophet-Angel-Prophet-Angel-Prophet the world felt strangely thin around Richard Angevin as the only wrath in the air was suddenly his own. “That’s it! Enough! What is happening here?” His grip went so tight on his sword hilt that his whole arm shook as he finally found himself at the end of his patience. There was a heat in his breast, a beating in his temples, his lungs felt thick and thin at the same time, and the colours of the world – they were changing, brighter, brilliant like the glory of divinity manifest, how could it be brought so low so easily? Why? “I will no longer be treated as a bystander in my own encampment! Explain yourselves! Both of you!” The world grew gold and bright at the edges and then further inward as he-
“She’s-“
“Do not speak of things you have no-“
The raven flew up to caw in the angel’s face and she stopped. “Lord Odyn, why would-?“ The world rippled around the bird like a veil and Richard couldn’t understand her words anymore, he could still hear them but for some reason couldn’t comprehend, yet it wasn’t a different tongue and he felt instinctively like he should still – the Light reveals – as long as he believed that, he should be able to-
“She’s a val’kyr. A chooser of the slain. Her purpose is to reap the souls of those fallen in battle and ascend the worthiest to the Halls of Valor.” Finally getting an answer to one of his many questions was enough – barely – to derail Richard’s train of thought. “There they will become val’kyr themselves or join Odyn’s army of heroes in golden stormforged bodies.”
The realisation came over Richard like a splash of ice water. “I was supposed to die today.” The warm pulse within him scattered but did not dissipate, coursing instead through him, uneven and raw, unrealised.
Ferdinand was watching him intently now, but did not deny it. “The number of val’kyr is limited, being there for the death of valorous souls would literally have to rely on some form of foresight. Light visions don’t necessarily lend themselves to the most accurate coordinates of space and time, but they are very good at leading people to people, down the best path to their ultimate purpose by their own reckoning. If anyone in this benighted land is worthy of ascension to Valholl it could only be you, Duke Lionheart.”
Richard Angevin stared at the child. He’d never been called by that moniker in his life. He’d never been called by any moniker. His grip on his sword had not slackened in the least but it was no longer painful, his arm didn’t shake anymore as if he’d been brought to the very edges of his strength, he felt brave and mighty but he wasn’t – he was barely eighteen, he hadn’t been tested yet, in any capacity.
“… My lord.”
Richard turned his head to look at his captain. The man was looking down at him with a bizarre mix of consternation and what might have been wonder on literally anyone else.
Away from him, the angel spoke. “… My lord vows He will repay this favour, Prophet, and I will pay mine.”
Richard didn’t turn. His gaze was stuck on his reflection in Mercad’s cuirass.
“I’ve more to convey to him. Another day. We shall see on which side the debt lies then.”
It was cloudy and dull, barely more than a foggy image, but the enamel gleamed with all the fastidiousness of a man who never failed to maintain his equipment.
“Another day, then.”
Out of his line of sight, the angel of death took to the sky and finally disappeared from his senses.
On the gleaming face of castle-forged steel, Richard Angevin’s own eyes looked back at him shining gold.