Menethil

"So, Alvin, you've reached an agreement with those gnolls from the Maw-Claw Clan?"

In the courtyard that afternoon, fresh green shoots swayed in the breeze, and the golden sun shone brightly overhead. The silver-haired archbishop reclined beneath the trees in a soft chair piled with thick cushions. He fixed his eyes on the boy standing before him, as if trying to see what was going on inside the head of his pupil, who had always borne the name of a genius.

The archbishop had devoted his entire life to spreading the Holy Light among commoners and held no prejudice over social class. The coin he had tossed into Dalaran's wishing well was the truest reflection of his life's purpose: "I hope that one day I can spread the teachings of the Holy Light among the common people and teach them the meaning of the Three Virtues."

Even so, having lived in Lordaeron since childhood and understanding the deep-rooted conflict between gnolls and humans, he couldn't help but feel wary and distrustful of this savage species. The usually composed old man didn't want such an unpredictable change added to the original plan, nor did he want his pupil to bear the burden of a dishonorable reputation because of it.

"You should know what it would mean if you, as a prince, accepted the allegiance of those gnolls. Once word spread throughout Lordaeron, what would happen?"

"I understand!"

The prince stood in the sunlight, his small face taut as he answered loudly. With a serious expression and solemn tone, the boy told the archbishop of the conviction in his heart: "In the name of Menethil, I believe this will be a choice that benefits the Kingdom of Lordaeron."

The sunlight glinted off the boy's golden hair. The old man narrowed his eyes and shook his head, seemingly chiding him for his impulsiveness and recklessness. He sighed softly. "Here's what we'll do. I'll send word to your father and leave this matter to His Majesty the King. I'm sure your father will make the most suitable choice."

"As you wish, Teacher."

Alvin bowed to the old man and accepted the archbishop's suggestion. After all, whether to accept the gnolls as vassals of Lordaeron wasn't something a child like him could decide. The archbishop had not reprimanded him, and had agreed to convey his proposal to his father—that was already a great deal of leniency.

Besides, he trusted his father, King Terenas, and believed he would be interested in a plan that could genuinely strengthen the Kingdom of Lordaeron. Now, all he had to do was wait. Compared with the simple idea he had proposed, the clever people at the top of the kingdom, long immersed in political intrigue, would surely come up with a more suitable plan.

Waiting always seemed to make time drag. During the days he awaited a reply from the capital, Alvin put the gnolls housed at the guard station completely out of his mind and devoted himself to prayer and sword practice.

On this trip to Stratholme, the prince's guards consisted of Abberton, who had always stayed by his side, and a single squad of more than twenty knights. The royal instructor who had always taught him and Arthas martial arts hadn't come along, either, so Abberton had to take over their daily sparring.

Perhaps because of the gnoll affair, the loyal knight seemed unable to wrap his head around it. For days, he had kept a stern expression and remained silent as a statue. Even so, the young knight was flawless during their sparring sessions, defending himself against the boy's attacks without leaving a single opening.

"I can't do it anymore!"

After his latest attack was blocked by the wooden shield in the young man's hand, Alvin carelessly tossed his practice shortsword to the ground, bent over, and panted heavily.

Bracing both hands on his thighs, the boy tilted his head toward the young man, who still held his defensive stance, and wheezed, "Hey, Abberton, can't you go easy on me?"

The boy's childish, complaining tone left the young man momentarily dazed. It was the first time he had seen His Highness act like an ordinary child.

The young man had joined the royal guard at eighteen and had followed this extraordinary prince for nearly three years. Yet all he had ever seen in the prince was exceptional talent and an almost self-punishing work ethic. Though he was a prince of noble birth, he worked harder than children born to commoners.

For more than eight hundred days and nights, he had stayed by the prince's side. Whether in the royal library or the training yard, whether praying or studying, His Highness's diligence had filled the young man, who had once been rather lazy, with profound feelings of inferiority.

Everyone in Lordaeron knew that Prince Arthas's younger brother was a genius, but no one knew how much sweat and effort this boy had put in to earn that name. His success rested not only on talent, but also on an unmatched focus and unrelenting effort!

The title of genius alone was far too cheap for a boy who worked himself to the bone. In the young man's eyes, compared with Arthas, who was always skipping history lessons and had no outstanding abilities, the prince before him was the one truly fit to become Lordaeron's next king. It was just a shame that...

Now, the prince was even risking the king's anger and the ruin of his reputation to explore a new possibility for the kingdom with his own unsteady hands. The decision made the young man feel, from the bottom of his heart, that the boy was being treated unfairly.

The young man felt something churning inside him. At last, he asked the boy a question that had puzzled him for days. "Your Highness, is all this really worth it, just for those gnolls?"

Hearing Abberton's question, Alvin's smile faded. He straightened and asked something the young man found utterly baffling. "Abberton, what's my name?"

Fortunately, Alvin hadn't actually expected him to answer. He looked calmly at the young man a few steps away and spoke with solemn conviction. "I'm the prince of Lordaeron. My name is Alvin Menethil, and I'm proud of my surname."

In the quiet afternoon, a breeze drifted through the seemingly empty courtyard. The boy's youthful voice carried an irresistible authority. In that moment, Abberton felt the aging figure of the king he had admired since childhood merge with the young prince standing before him.

The young knight let go of his sword and shield and dropped abruptly to one knee. Bowing his head deeply and pressing a hand to his chest, he swore with fervent passion, "Prince Alvin, please allow me to follow you. I'll use my sword to clear away every obstacle in your path."

"You have my permission."

The boy reached out his right hand and gently rested it on the knight's shoulder. Beneath the bright sunlight, the great holly tree in the courtyard rustled in the breeze, bearing witness to the knight's oath.