In the grand cathedral of Stratholme, within the Kingdom of Lordaeron, praises and hymns filled the air. A soft, yet brilliant, Holy Light enveloped the young knight kneeling in the center of the hall, as countless eyes watched the sacred ceremony unfold.
The venerable Archbishop Alonsus Faol, clutching the Holy Tome, posed the final and most profound question to the young man who had met all the requirements to become a paladin.
"Arthas, do you willingly join the Knights of the Silver Hand? Are you prepared to follow the Holy Light's guidance, uphold the Eight Virtues of a paladin, protect the elderly, the weak, women, children, and all innocents, champion justice against injustice and evil, love your homeland, and safeguard your compatriots and loved ones?"
The young Prince's eyes shone with a brilliance that surpassed even the Holy Light surrounding him, and he swore loudly, without a moment's hesitation.
"Yes, I willingly join the Knights of the Silver Hand! I swear to treat the weak with kindness and bravely resist tyranny; I swear to fight all evil and injustice, protecting defenseless innocents. I pledge to love my homeland, guard my people, and remain faithful to my beloved until death. I swear to follow the path of the Holy Light and become a Paladin of the Silver Hand!"
Archbishop Faol, hearing Arthas's powerful vow and witnessing the intensified Holy Light around him, spoke with immense satisfaction, "Prince, the Knights of the Silver Hand welcome their ranks."
After several more ceremonial steps, which stretched almost until dinner time, the entire process of Arthas joining the Silver Hand was finally nearing its completion.
The consecration ceremony for a Paladin of the Silver Hand was not typically this elaborate. However, as the Crown Prince of Lordaeron, King Terenas had instructed the Stratholme Cathedral to make this event a widely publicized affair, which they were more than happy to do.
"Congratulations, Arthas."
Following the ceremony, Arthas's mentor, Uther the Lightbringer, approached to congratulate his student. Uther was a stern, serious, and formidable paladin, yet even he found it difficult to find any fault in his diligent pupil.
"Arthas is destined to be the most excellent paladin I will ever consecrate before I return to the Holy Light," Archbishop Faol lauded Arthas, truly believing his grand-disciple surpassed even the very first Paladins.
"Teacher, your Holyness, you flatter me. Beyond my title as Prince, I am merely an ordinary member of the Knights."
Arthas displayed neither pride nor complacency, despite achieving paladinhood at such a young age.
"You are far too modest, my Prince," the Archbishop said gently. Though aged, he was far from senile. "I believe the Silver Hand faces a brighter future with your addition. Work diligently and temper yourself within the Knights; this is also your father's, the King's, wish."
Archbishop Faol seemed a bit weary at this point. He offered Arthas an apologetic smile. "Please forgive my absence from the banquet later. I am an old man, won't be joining your youthful revelry. I must return to the cathedral to continue my prayers."
"Please take care, Your Holyness," Arthas said, well aware of Faol's frail condition. Presiding over such a lengthy paladin consecration ceremony was undoubtedly a significant burden for him.
After he and his mentor, Uther, watched the Archbishop depart, supported by his attendants, Arthas turned to Uther with a hint of worry. "Your Holyness' physical condition is truly concerning."
"The Archbishop knows his limits, Arthas," Uther replied, watching the old man's retreating back, his voice unwavering. "Everyone's life has an end; Archbishop Faol will eventually return to the Holy Light, and you and I are no exception. There's no need to be overly pessimistic."
Arthas shook his head, a sense of helplessness washing over him. At present, he truly had no solution to such matters. The human lifespan seemed so tragically brief, even when compared to High Elves, who often lived for thousands of years, let alone the nearly immortal Dragons and Night Elves.
Setting aside the somber topic, Arthas smiled and extended an invitation to Uther. "Teacher, you missed my birthday banquet. You absolutely can't miss this one."
The typically solemn Uther rarely smiled, but a small one touched his lips. "Of course, my child. Last time, official duties called, and I'm truly sorry I missed your banquet."
After their conversation, master and disciple didn't linger at the cathedral entrance. They had to hasten to the Lord's Manor in Stratholme, where Baron Rivendare, the city's ruler, had prepared a grand banquet in their honor.
"Look who's here!" Baron Rivendare exclaimed, his eyes lighting up as he raised his wine glass. "Ha! The star of Lordaeron, Prince Arthas!"
"Good evening, Baron," Arthas greeted Rivendare warmly. "It's good to see you. Was our last meeting three years ago?"
"That's right, but even back then, you were a fine young man. King Terenas always spoke highly of you whenever he summoned me," Baron Rivendare replied, ever loquacious. He, too, was a member of the Silver Hand, which was why Arthas had invited him to host a banquet for his fellow paladins.
Paladins were generally serious and devout individuals, but in private, each possessed a distinct personality. At least, banquets such as this one certainly made everyone feel at ease.
After eating and drinking their fill, the esteemed Knights of the Silver Hand gathered, their conversations flowing freely.
"Prince, you've become a formal paladin at just nineteen. When I was nineteen, I was still an unknown nobody," praised Gavinrad the Dire, one of the original Paladins of the Silver Hand.
A paladin was more than just a title; it signified a formidable individual possessing exquisite combat skills and potent Holy Light power. According to Arthas's mentor, Uther, the Prince's strength was already on par with any of the original Paladins.
This was truly an unimaginable talent. The five original Paladins were either battle-hardened warriors or devout priests who had spent over a decade studying the Holy Light, yet Arthas, at nineteen, already wielded such immense strength.
What the members of the Silver Hand and Archbishop Faol admired even more was Arthas's nearly perfect virtue.
He had never shown arrogance or complacency. Arthas was unfailingly polite to everyone, and the typical youthful arrogance and impulsiveness were entirely absent in his demeanor.
Such an almost flawless Knight was a rarity, even within the esteemed ranks of the Silver Hand.
"I'm not as good as you say," Arthas replied with a wry smile. Only he truly understood the complexities of his situation.
Arthas Menethil, the only son of King Terenas Menethil and the future King of Lordaeron, held a name that, in another possible reality, foreshadowed a complete curse.