In the cathedral of Stratholme, in the Kingdom of Lordaeron, praises and hymns echoed through the halls. Gentle yet dazzling Holy Light shone upon the young knight kneeling in the center of the sanctuary, as countless people watched the ceremony.
The elderly archbishop, Alonsus Faol, held a holy libram as he posed one final, solemn question to the young man before him, who had met every requirement of a paladin.
"Arthas, do you willingly join the Order of the Silver Hand? Will you follow the guidance of the Holy Light, uphold the eight virtues of a paladin, protect the elderly, the weak, women, children, and all innocents, fight for justice against injustice and evil, love your homeland, and safeguard your people and your loved ones?"
The young prince's eyes shone with a brilliance even brighter than the Holy Light around him. Without hesitation, he proclaimed his oath.
"Yes, I willingly join the Order of the Silver Hand. I swear to treat the weak with kindness and bravely oppose brutality; I swear to fight all evil and wrongdoing and protect unarmed innocents; I swear to love my homeland, safeguard my people, and remain faithful unto death to those I love; I swear to follow the path of the Holy Light and become a paladin of the Silver Hand!"
Hearing that ringing oath and seeing the Holy Light shine even brighter, Archbishop Faol said with deep satisfaction, "Your Highness, the Order of the Silver Hand welcomes you."
A few more ceremonial steps followed, and it was nearly dinnertime before Arthas's induction into the Silver Hand was finally more or less complete.
Ordinarily, the ceremony to invest a paladin of the Silver Hand was not so elaborate. But Arthas was Lordaeron's crown prince, and at King Terenas's behest, Stratholme Cathedral was more than happy to give the ceremony greater publicity.
"Congratulations, Arthas."
After the ceremony, Arthas's mentor, Uther the Lightbringer, came to congratulate his student. He was a powerful paladin, stern and earnest, yet even he found it difficult to fault this pupil of his.
"His Highness must be the finest paladin I will ever invest before I return to the Holy Light," Archbishop Faol said, full of praise for Arthas. He felt that his student's pupil was even more outstanding than the first paladins.
"Master, Your Grace, you flatter me. Without my title as prince, I'm just an ordinary member of the order."
Arthas showed not the slightest pride or complacency at having become a paladin at such a young age.
"You are too modest, Your Highness," the archbishop said gently. He was old, but far from senile. "I believe the Silver Hand will have a brighter future with you among its ranks. Hone yourself within the order. That is your father's wish as well."
Archbishop Faol was beginning to tire. He gave Arthas an apologetic smile. "Please forgive my absence from the banquet later. An old man like me won't intrude on you young people's merriment. I must return to the cathedral and continue my prayers."
"Please take care of yourself, Your Grace." Arthas knew Faol's state of health very well. Presiding over such a lengthy paladin investiture ceremony had already placed a considerable strain on him.
After he and his mentor Uther watched the archbishop return to the cathedral with an attendant's support, Arthas said to Uther with some concern, "His Grace's health is truly worrying."
"My teacher knows his own condition, Arthas," Uther said, watching the old man's retreating figure, his voice as steady as ever. "Every life must come to an end. The day will come when he returns to the Holy Light, and you and I are no exception. There is no need to be overly pessimistic."
Arthas shook his head helplessly. As he was now, there was truly nothing he could do about such things. Human lives seemed so brief even compared with those of the High Elves, whose lifespans easily ran to a thousand years or more, let alone the nearly immortal dragons and Night Elves.
Setting aside that heavy subject, Arthas smiled and extended an invitation to Uther. "Master, you missed my birthday banquet. You can't miss this one too."
A rare smile crossed Uther's solemn face. "Of course, lad. I had official duties last time. I'm truly sorry I missed your banquet."
With that, master and pupil lingered no longer outside the cathedral. They had to make their way to the Lord's Manor in Stratholme, where the city's ruler, Baron Rivendare, had prepared a grand banquet for them.
"Look who's here!" Baron Rivendare's eyes lit up as he held his wineglass and called out to the guests. "Ha! Lordaeron's shining star, Prince Arthas!"
"Good evening, Baron," Arthas greeted Rivendare. "It's a pleasure to see you. Our last meeting was three years ago, wasn't it?"
"Indeed, but you were already a fine young man then. His Majesty Terenas mentions you every time he summons me." Baron Rivendare was quite talkative. He, too, was a member of the Silver Hand, which was why Arthas had asked him to host their fellow members on his behalf.
Most paladins were serious, earnest people, but in private, each had a distinct personality. At the very least, a banquet like this felt pleasantly relaxed.
Once everyone had eaten and drunk their fill, the senior knights of the Silver Hand gathered and began to chat.
"Your Highness, you've become a full-fledged paladin at only nineteen. When I was nineteen, I was still a nobody somewhere or other," praised Gavinrad the Dire, one of the Silver Hand's first paladins.
Paladin was more than just a title. It truly signified someone with superb combat skills and mighty power drawn from the Holy Light. According to Arthas's mentor Uther, the prince was already no weaker than any of the original paladins.
Such talent was almost unimaginable. The five original paladins had been either warriors hardened by countless battles or devout priests who had studied the Holy Light for more than a decade, yet Arthas already possessed such formidable power at only nineteen.
What the members of the Silver Hand and Archbishop Faol loved even more, however, was Arthas's nearly flawless character.
He had never been arrogant or complacent. Arthas treated everyone around him with courtesy, and the conceit and recklessness so common among young people were entirely absent in him.
Even within the Silver Hand, knights as nearly faultless as he was could be counted on one hand.
"I'm not nearly as good as you make me out to be," Arthas said with a wry smile. Only he knew what truly lay behind it all.
Arthas Menethil, the only son of King Terenas Menethil and the future king of Lordaeron-in another possible future, the destiny his name represented was nothing short of a curse.
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