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The Elfin Knight
There once was a Knight who could not remember his name. It was not because he was forgetful or that he had received a severe blow to the head. No, he could not remember his name because he could not die. Or more rightly, he had lived for so long that such a thing at one point became a memory and then faded into nothingness.
When did he forget his name? He could not tell you for it were an age ago or more. In time he was merely known as the Elfin Knight. Like the mythical creature of his namesake, it was said that he would live forever, and this made him very sad.
His story begins like many have, as a knight of the realm in the nameless Kingdom. He fought in many battles and killed many men all in the name of King, selflessly serving his land. He married a beautiful lady, had a lovely daughter, and a strong son. He was a pillar of his community and rose through the ranks until the King named him Captain of the Guard. All who knew him vouched for his generosity, his kindness, and his passion, but he had one great fault, his love of battle.
Wounded countless times in countless places, it was not until the campaign against the Dreadlords of Com’Lin, that a sword was driven to the hilt through his chest. Under most circumstances, that would be the end of his story, but the Knight was special. The blade pierced his heart, there was no doubt about that, and the pain was great, but he did not die. As he stood, and with great effort, pulled the blade from his own chest, his faithful squire who had given him up for dead, perished from shock.
He was distressed to be sure, but then grateful to be alive. Blowing his famous horn, he rallied his troops, and won the day. When the King discovered what had happened it was declared a miracle and he was given the rank of Commander General of the Armies of the West. Soon the Knight found that, though he suffered pain from the blows, nothing could fatally harm him. He reveled in the power, charging the armies of the North and striking fear into the barbarian hordes. He was sent on peaceful missions where his presence alone pacified entire nations; for surely, if they had one knight who could not die, they must have others. But they did not.
In time there was no one left to fight and the Knight became an ambassador for the great Kingdom to which he belonged. As the years slid by and he grew no older he was dismayed. His children had grown up and his wife had grown old. Then, very suddenly, he received news that his only son had been killed by Saenor, the ancient boar of the Perilous Woods. Grief stricken and full of anger he ventured into the forest and sought out the animal.
He found him in a hovel, nursing a broken leg and unable to fight.
“Foul beast you have killed my only son and now I have come to kill you.”
Saenor laughed and in doing so the Knight lifted his sword to strike. “Fool of a mortal, you have been cursed. I have given your son a just reward for seeking my death, but I see you have already been rewarded for your sins, and so I laugh at you and await the death you shall never have.”
Not heeding the prophetic words the Knight struck the boar through the head and it died instantly.
He returned triumphantly to his Kingdom, blowing a heroic tune on his horn so that all might know of his victory, only to find his wife suffering through her last moments. Speaking to her of his deed and the vengeance he inflicted upon the Great Boar, she began to weep.
“All your life has been murder, when will it end?” And she died.
Shaken by her words and in despair, the Knight went to his daughter. She was now married to a generous man of good standing and expecting her first child. But, upon arriving to his son-in-law’s manor, he found that she had given birth to a stillborn child.
Mourning a dead son, a dead wife, and a stillborn grandson, the Knight went to his daughter for comfort. She gave him none, repeating only, “He is lost because of you.” Soon thereafter, she too died.
The Knight disappeared from the Kingdom after that dreadful day. Though the aging King sent out search party after search party, only whispers of great and terrible deeds returned. Legendary beasts slain by a Knight that could suffer the most horrendous injury and still live, was on every tongue in every land. As the years multiplied, the tales of the Knight were forgotten, faded into obscurity, a fairy tale to tell children of a sad Knight who could not die.
In truth, the Knight continued on, felling beast after beast trying to decipher the meaning of the words spoken to him by the boar, his wife, and his daughter. That is until one day when his fate crossed paths with the terrible dragon, Fafnir.
Fafnir was as old as time but his legend had not yet begun. So it was with little knowledge that the Knight drew near to his cave and cried out, as he often did in such circumstances, “Beast of fell origin, I have come to ask you a question. If you cannot answer I will kill you as I have killed those before you.”
“Speak, Knight. And I will do my best. But you cannot kill me. I am not fated to die by your hand.”
“Many have said so and all have been wrong.”
“Ask your question and you will see. I am no Fay or ancient troll. I am a dragon with an appointed beginning and an appointed end.”
“Very well.” The Knight paused, considering the creature hidden deep within the darkness. “Why can I not die?”
A great bellow of laughter issued from the mouth of the cave, sweeping the Knight off his feet, and burning him to his bones. “Die? You are dead little Knight. You have been so for quite some time.”
Thinking the dragon had made a jest at his misery, the Knight entered the cave, his sword drawn from its sheath, ready to end another life. Aiming at the great beast’s belly he struck into the darkness, straight and true. But Fafnir did not die. The blade, fashioned by the dwarves and thought to be unbreakable, shattered on the dragon’s hot skin.
“You see little human, you are not fated to end me, though I wish it were so. I have grown weary beyond measure.”
“We share that in common then,” the Knight said, taking a seat on a nearby boulder, tossing the hilt of his ruined sword into the rocks like so much refuse.
“Yes, we share many things in common.” Fafnir receded further into the cave, only his yellow cat-like eyes visible in the pitch. “I tell you this not as your friend but as one monster to another. Seek out the Stag; he will answer your question with more truth than I have left in me. Find him in the Perilous Woods.” The Knight nodded his head and went to leave. “But Knight, you will not like what he has to say. None of us that find him ever do.”
How long it took to find the Stag of the Perilous Woods, none can say. Certainly not the Knight, for it was during this time that he forgot many things; his name, his kingdom, his past. One thing he did not forget was the words of the dragon, and he did not kill another living thing, preferring rather to go hungry. And so it was, during the first true sleep the Knight had taken in over a thousand years that the Stag finally appeared.
“Why have you been searching for me, Knight?” His voice was deep and unsettling, like an avalanche in a snowstorm or an earthquake under a mountain.
“A dragon once told me that you had the answer I seek.”
“Did he? And what question would you have for me?”
“Why can I not die?”
The Stag bowed his head as he spoke. “You are a great warrior, and you have fought in many battles, and you have killed many things. Your life will extend until you have lived every moment of the lives that your victims were meant to live, nothing more and nothing less.”
The Knight was startled awake by the truth of the dream and he began to weep.
Millenniums have come and gone, the face of the world has changed, and the Elfin Knight still roams the land waiting for his world to end.
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