Full Summary: After his defeat at the hands of Tyrion and Teclis at the Finuval Plain, Malekith banishes himself into the realm of Chaos to escape the burning flames of Asuryan. Crippled and dying, he is saved by an unknown entity. She returns Malekith to the mortal realm with no memory of his past or identity. Washing ashore in Bretonnia, he is discovered by local humans who take him in. How will this second chance at life change him and the elves as a whole?
Chapter 1: Death of the Witch King
A terrible bolt of power shot towards the Witch King Malekith engulfing him in its cursing magic. No ordinary curse was this spell as the magical energies reawakened the flames of Asuryan that had once charred Malekith's body and soul. Its hideous burning fire raged anew as it reignited in his flesh and mind.
Releasing a terrible howl of unfathomable agony, the Witch King's body erupted in the white flames of Asuryan. With all of his might and the full force of his unbreakable willpower, the Witch King tore open a hole in the world and hurled his burning body into the realm of chaos…where the Flames of Asuryan would hopefully burn out.
His disappearance and evident defeat over the Finuval Plain had been a sight of great despair to the druchii forces. Their morale quickly wavered as they realized their leader had been defeated and supposedly killed. Slowly but surely, they began to rout to their ships as the Asur rallied to push them back. Without any remorse, the druchii abandoned their barbarian northlander allies to be slaughtered by the high elves as they fled from Ulthuan.
Realm of Chaos
After falling through the twisting plains of chaotic energy, Malekith's body collapsed onto the ground. The scorching white flames of Asuryan no longer engulfed him, but his body and armour were left smoldering in a heap of scorched flesh and melted metal.
Unable to move for a moment, the Witch King looked around weakly as he attempted to figure out where he was. He knew that he had gone to the Realm of Chaos, but he had very little knowledge about its full geography. Coming to this place was an act of desperation and in here he would be at the mercy of Slaanesh and other eldritch horrors.
Gathering his willpower, he forced himself to roll over onto his back as he gazed skyward in a supine position. He had trouble breathing as he wheezed and gasped desperately in an attempt to stay alive. As he lay dying, Malekith felt true clarity wash over him for the first time in thousands of years. The Circlet of Iron's dark machinations faded from his thoughts allowing an epiphany of sanity to stabilize his twisted mind. For the first time in ages, he felt regret. Despite being near death, he could not help but think about his failures over his long life and how he ended up in this situation.
His mind had never lingered much on the distant past, but now it was the only thing he could think about. Malekith thought about his childhood in Ulthuan, he thought about his long dead friend Snorri Whitebeard, he thought about his adventures in the Old World, but most of all he thought about his father Aenarion.
Speaking aloud to the sky, he coughed and wheezed out a few choking breaths, "Was I truly worthy enough to be your son, father? Why did Asuryan reject me? Was it the Circlet of Iron or my mother's corruption that held me back? Was it the Curse of Khaine that runs through my blood? Before they betrayed me, I would have died to defend Ulthuan just like you. If you're listening to me father, know that my ambition never outweighed my desire to honour your legacy. Unfortunately, in the end it all meant nothing. The Asur have won…and now they will finally get their petty satisfaction in my death. Forgive me, father…I should have been a worthier son."
Malekith remained motionless on the ground as he stared blankly into the sky. The thought of lying there and accepting his death seemed almost peaceful and welcoming to him. He had been alive for almost six thousand years…the last five thousand of which were spent constantly in pain…constantly at war. Maybe now it could finally end in sweet oblivion.
As his green eyes closed, Malekith thought about his wife, Alissara now. Endless war and strife had almost erased memories of her from his mind. He could scarcely even remember what she looked like now. He felt sadness welling up within him as he had once been happy with her. He remembered the ancient days where she and her sister Ariel were both friends to him. He felt disgust when he remembered how Morathi, his own mother, had Alissara killed when she attempted to come see him in Naggarond.
Even after all those years and all of his evil deeds, Alissara still wanted to reach out to him. His sadness was replaced with anger now as he sat up with the last of his strength. The comforting numbness in his body quickly dissipated as he felt pain all over once more. While it was extremely unpleasant, it kept him from wanting to accept his death. Rage invigorated him as he felt nothing but bitter hatred towards everyone and everything. He felt anger towards the gods for turning their backs on him…anger towards the Asur for denying him…anger towards his followers for being petty sadists…anger towards his mother for corrupting him…but most of all he felt anger towards himself.
He growled hatefully into the twisted chaotic skies, "AM I NOT WORTHY ASURYAN!? KHAINE!? LILEATH?! ISHA?! WAS MY LIFE SOME AMUSING SATIRE FOR YOU TO INDULGE IN!? YOU'VE ALWAYS KEPT ME FROM MY RIGHTFUL DESTINY! CURSE ALL OF YOU! ARGHHH!"
A wheezing gasp followed his shouting as he felt himself coughing up blood and losing consciousness. Part of him wanted to just let go and die, and another part fought with unexplainable defiance to keep himself alive.
Nobody was going to save him, and nobody cared whether he lived or died in this place. Only he could keep himself alive right now. With circular logic and newfound resolve, Malekith convinced himself to keep on fighting. He used dark sorcery to mend his body's injuries and hold himself in one piece for a while longer. He would sustain himself with more pain.
All dark magic came with a price however, and upon using the chaotic magics around him, he felt his Circlet of Iron beginning to affect his mind again. He knew it could keep him alive, but he didn't want to wholly submit to its corrupting influence again. In an attempt to keep his regained sanity intact, Malekith limited the amount of magic he used. Forcing himself to stand, the Witch King growled in fury as he began to start walking. Using his circlet of iron's power to track the winds of magic, he looked towards the path where the winds blew. Surely it could lead him out of here to a portal somewhere…anywhere.
He traveled through the dark realm for an indeterminate amount of time. It could have been hours, days, or weeks for all he knew as the flow of time and the movement he experienced felt completely unnatural in this twisted realm. Nevertheless, he traveled a great distance without any rest or pause.
Malekith knew that if he could find a portal to the northern gates, he could return to Naggaroth via the north pole. From there he could reach Ghrond. It was the only chance he had, and it was the only ideal plan he could think of.
His long journey was rife with peril, both from daemons and the environment itself. Nevertheless, Malekith's dark magic kept him alive and gave him the strength he needed to persevere. Eventually, he came upon a dark fortress barring his way forward. He stopped and stared at the gates knowing full well this had to lead somewhere. He could see the winds of magic converging past it. This was likely the gate…or at least a gate.
His relief at the sight of his potential exit was unfortunately cut short as a wicked laugh echoed all around him. He had slain a number of daemons and monsters on his way here, but this was something much greater than daemonettes or bloodletters.
"When I first heard that you were here, I could scarcely believe it. Imagine my pleasure seeing that the rumors were in fact true. Did you honestly think escaping the realm of chaos would be so easy, Malekith?" A seductive and terrifying daemonic voice caught his attention.
Malekith glanced over seriously when he spotted a large and androgynous looking daemon leaping down from one of the gate towers. He recognized who and what it was immediately…N'kari the infamous Keeper of Secrets and a dangerous champion of Slaanesh. He knew this evil creature all too well.
"Malekith, Witch King of Naggaroth and 'Heir of Aenarion.' Your soul will please my master, Slaanesh. It has been a while since we last saw one another. I have longed for this moment." the keeper of secrets hissed with a sultry moan.
"Who are you, daemon?" Malekith asked even though he already knew.
"Really? You don't recognize me, Malekith? I'm truly hurt that you can't remember my beautiful voice and face. We've met on many occasions…though you've never seen me in my full glory I suppose. It is I…N'kari. I've been waiting for my chance to catch you," the keeper of secrets answered.
Malekith began to silently mutter words to himself as he lowered his head and ignored the greater daemon. N'kari hissed in annoyance at his incoherent muttering, "It's rather rude to ignore a champion of Slaanesh! My master will enjoy raping and eating you. But not before I've had my fill!"
The Witch King continued to ignore the daemon as he quietly kept speaking the incantations to a spell. N'kari seemed to catch on to his actions and scoffed at him, "You would attempt to invoke the Winds of Magic here?! Are you insane? Oh I forgot…you are! Go on and try it, Malekith. None of the feeble spells in your arsenal of power is a match for me in this realm!"
"Áerasrol alinbrellir, sillenaenion, tenilbrial, krysilasnas, linindasryn, aelerrilas.
Aerorbrilrril málandlith." Malekith kept speaking his incantations.
"You know, Malekith…I've fucked your mother quite a few times over the years. I always wondered though…does that sort of thing make you jealous? I understand you're quite the mother's boy, aren't you?" N'kari tried to taunt him.
Malekith completely ignored the daemon as he continued, "Málaenrileth rinasen, merorbri, alilirnar, thealas, lirareth, tryleirareth. Málorbriel trilininbri, trylrias."
"Nothing to say to me? Should I take your refusal to answer as a yes? I suppose you're well aware of your mother being a whore. For all you know, you're not even Aenarion's real son, Malek-" the daemon never got the chance to finish its sentence as Malekith sucked in all of the surrounding chaotic energies and magics into a spiraling maelstrom. It screamed and hissed with power, completely drowning out N'kari's voice in the process.
The Witch King felt calm and calculating rage as he channeled his malice into the vortex around them. This caused the skies to darken dramatically and the ground to shake. Malekith spoke with stoic hatred as he took a step forward, "I know how this realm works, N'kari…my will can shape the magic around me. With the Circlet of Iron, I can see it all! And right now, I can bend it against you."
"What?!" N'kari gawked in disbelief as the shadowy vortex took the shape of magical blades and spun around in a devastating whirlwind. The greater daemon was cut repeatedly from the magical attack causing it to moan almost pleasurably from the pain that was inflicted upon it.
Tearing magic from the very air itself Malekith formed a doombolt in his hand as he hurled the colossal bolt of dark energy into the stunned daemon. This both staggered and scorched it in a chaotic explosion.
"You should have killed me when you had the chance, N'kari…you won't get another!" Malekith said remorselessly as he repeatedly assailed the monstrous greater daemon with more and more dark spells.
N'kari eventually managed to overcome them as it realized Malekith was actually a threat. Tanking through the massive bladewind and repelling spells, the daemon pounced for him with its bladed claws. The beautiful and hermaphroditic daemon never saw it coming as a colossal series of magical blades formed overhead and pierced it from above over all four arms, both legs, and its neck.
The greater daemon slammed into the ground now pinned right in front of Malekith by his attack. Despite his wounded state, Malekith was still a force to be reckoned with. N'kari hissed and writhed beneath the magical restraint as it jerked aggressively at the slowly encroaching Malekith.
With his sword Destroyer in hand, Malekith slashed the daemon's face repeatedly causing it to wail in agony. He followed up by cutting one of the daemon's horns off as well.
N'kari hissed with hatred, "How dare you! I will make you suffer for this, Malekith! You can't kill me in this place!"
"No…but I can do something about you. Edequam imiquod, iumiri, sceniiqui bosia, perenihu. Nurgle!" Malekith began calling out another incantation. By the time N'kari broke free of its restraint, the daemon felt itself being sucked through a nearby portal that had just opened.
"What are you doing?!" N'kari demanded as it tried to claw its way closer towards Malekith and resist the pulling force. The daemon slowly but surely began to lose ground as the portal behind it grew even larger.
"The Plague Gardens of Nurgle will be an excellent place to keep you occupied for a while, N'kari. See if your master cares enough to rescue you from there!" Malekith spat as he threw another doombolt at the daemon forcing it into the chaotic portal.
After finally banishing the greater daemon to another part of the Realm of Chaos, Malekith slumped to his knees and began to wheeze with over-exerted breaths again.
He used too much magic in this place, and it was starting to eat away at his sanity again. Were it not for the enchantments of his armour or the Circlet of Iron itself, he likely would have gone mad and become fully corrupted by chaos from the feat he just pulled off.
Nevertheless, the Circlet of Iron was a double-edged sword in this instance. It protected him from the chaotic magic, but it also corrupted him with its own dark power. All of his pitying thoughts from earlier were gone completely as he only cared about escaping to Naggaroth now and reaching Ghrond from the north pole.
The dark magic he had used against the greater daemon N'kari was now beginning to encircle Malekith as it flew into his crown. Realizing what was happening, the Witch King temporarily overcame the Circlet of Iron as he tried to reach up and pull it off.
It was to no avail as the crown was welded to his helmet. The Circlet then began to whisper to him. It was one voice made from thousands it seemed. Each one echoing together like a distant irrefutable command, "Accept this power, Malekith…you will have the strength you need to reclaim Ulthuan. Vengeance shall be yours!"
Just then, another voice sounded through the echoing dark whispers. It sounded like a woman's and was wise and soothing, "If you don't remove the Circlet of Iron, chaos will claim you, Malekith. Take off your helmet before it's too late. This doesn't have to be your destiny."
"Don't listen to her…she wants you weak. You'll die if you remove your helmet. It's the only thing keeping the flames of Asuryan from reigniting," the dark voices echoed over her.
"From the ashes of its death a phoenix will always be reborn again. Such is the way of Asuryan…such is the way of your father, Aenarion! You have to let go!" the female's voice got louder.
"You know you can't trust any female, Malekith…not even your lying whore mother could be trusted. You are on the precipice of an apotheosis of great power and the pathetic Cadai fear what you could become. Asuryan rejected you and the Elven Gods have all scorned you. Your own servants see you as a failure, and even Khaine thinks you're weak. Prove them wrong!" the dark echoic voices spoke again.
The female voice sounded desperate now, "If there's anything good left in you then remove it, Malekith! PLEASE!"
"Who are you?! WHAT ARE YOU?!" Malekith growled angrily as he grabbed the horns of his helmet tightly. He felt an overwhelming force preventing him from wanting to remove the helmet. No doubt its own magical enchantments were in effect, but this chaotic power now flooding his circlet of iron almost seemed to infect his mind with insidious doubt.
"The circlet shields you from chaos and bends it to your own will. Remove it and you will truly become corrupted. She's a daemon! She's trying to fool you! Such is the way of Chaos. Remove the crown and you will die!" the echoing voices of the crown got louder.
"If she's a daemon then why do you refer to the Cadai?" Malekith asked the dark voices.
Upon asking that question and seeing the lapse in logic, Malekith snapped out of the doubtful daze he was in as he remembered the clear thoughts he had at the beginning of this journey.
Malekith screamed over the loud drowning voices, "I will never succumb to chaos! Let the flames burn me! Smite me with your power Asuryan! You've never held back before! I Accept my death! KILL ME SO THIS NIGHTMARE WILL FINALLY END!"
With all of his might and an agonizing howl he unbound the spells of his helmet and ripped the entire helmeted crown off of his head. The whispers grew even louder as he removed his helmet and tossed it down. He screamed in horror as the twisted chaotic magic began to encircle him even more violently.
He had no time to realize whether he made the right decision or not as the pain of removing his crown caused the burning sensation to come back. His body felt like it was on fire again and he could see the chaotic magics ripping his armour apart now. Beneath the chaotic magic, he also saw the white flames of Asuryan erupting all over him once again.
Malekith was convinced he was about to die as he watched his armour and skin burn away before his very eyes. After suffering an indescribable pain that could only be described as dying, the fires finally died out. The burning sensation and the dark power orbiting him shortly dissipated a few moments later as a greenish blue light enveloped him. As it washed over his flesh, Malekith's pain quickly began to melt away. It wasn't like the numbness from before…it was far more soothing.
Looking around with confusion he was quick to notice almost all of his armour was gone now. What shocked him the most though was the sight of his skin...it was unburnt for some reason. He felt a calm clarity in his mind as he tried to identify what just happened.
"What is this? Am I dead?" Malekith asked confused as he felt himself starting to forget how he got there.
Moments later, a blinding light stepped in front of him and spoke in a reassuring voice, "The Witch King is dead…but you're very much alive. I will protect you from Chaos and get you out of here."
"Who…who are you?" he asked as he couldn't see past the blinding light to identify the woman's appearance.
"The gate isn't far…I will take you there," a beautiful magical aura enveloped him further as Malekith felt himself floating over the last gate behind his unknown rescuer.
"A greater destiny awaits you," her voice echoed as his vision began to fade. He was barely conscious now as his body relaxed in the comforting warmth from the aura around him. The last thing he saw before falling unconscious was sight of going through a portal.
The Mortal Realm, Shores of Bretonnia
Malekith jerked upright almost panicked as his eyes shot open. He was sweating profusely and panting heavily. His entire body felt like it was freezing, and for some reason the sensation felt foreign to him. He had no idea where he was or what was happening as he desperately looked around in confusion.
"Relax lord elf, you're okay!" the voice of what sounded like a human came from nearby. Malekith's bright green eyes darted towards the source as he tried to make sense of what was going on.
He quickly calmed himself when he saw no immediate threats in his vicinity. Malekith tried to remember what he was doing before losing consciousness. Nothing came to mind and everything prior to this moment was completely lost to him.
The elf could remember something though…the strange dream he was having before waking up. He dreamed of a twisted hellscape and daemons. He dreamed of a battle and a war…but none of it was coherent or made any sense to him.
"W-where am I?" Malekith asked the human that was now standing nearby.
It was a young woman by his estimate…barely past adolescence by human standards. Malekith shook his head for a moment, 'How do I know things like that, but I have no idea what happened or where I am?'
"My brother and I found you washed up on the beach…you looked like you had drowned, but we were amazed that you were still alive. I brought you back to my house. You had a terrible fever and were screaming in your sleep for the past two nights," the girl explained.
"Where?!" Malekith almost demanded. He didn't know why he felt anger from his confusion, but his deep voice was enough to frighten the woman a bit.
She quickly regained her courage and answered, "Just a fishing village north of Bordeleaux. We have a few big farms inland too. You're in Bretonnia milord elf."
"Bretonnia…" Malekith spoke the name aloud. For some reason he actually knew where it was and what it was…but he couldn't make sense of the holes in his memory. What was this place to him and how did he know about it? The only thing he could actually remember about this place was it was a human kingdom famous for its knights.
"You weren't wearing any armour or clothes when we found you except for some undergarments," she explained further.
He shook his head confused, 'I washed ashore with no clothes or armour? How unusual…why can't I remember what I was doing?'
"If I may ask, what happened to you? Did you fall overboard at sea? If so, it's amazing you didn't die. Your gods must be looking out for you. What's the elven sea god? Mathlann right? Maybe he favors you," she followed up.
Malekith examined the young peasant woman inquisitively as he took in her appearance. She wasn't anything special, but she had a simple beauty to her hidden beneath her dirty skin and clothes. Judging by her attire, he assumed she was a farmer or fisher. The woman's hair was a simple medium length light brown and her eyes a pale blue. She had a few freckles on her cheeks and surprisingly good teeth for a human. While lacking the physique of a lady or a warrior, she looked quite strong and fit. He had no doubts that was a byproduct of her lifestyle. She was average height for a human woman, but had stronger farmland features such as wider hips, calloused hands, and toned limbs.
His quiet examination caused the woman to nervously shuffle as she wasn't sure what to say or do now. Shaking his head, Malekith simply sighed to himself, 'How did I end up here? I can't even remember who I am right now…'
"We don't really see many elves over on this side of Bretonnia. I'm guessing you're not a wood elf from Athel Loren then, right? Are you one of the Marienburg traders, or are you a high elf from Ulthuan? I hear they're a bit friendlier than wood elves are." she asked inquisitively.
He found her insight and knowledge somewhat surprising considering she was only a human peasant and likely wasn't well educated. Malekith thought for a moment before answering honestly, "I don't know. I can't remember anything."
"Oh no, you must have lost your memories from being stuck at sea and starving for so long! Are you hungry? We don't have much, but we have bread, cabbage, and fish. Wait here for a moment and I'll go fetch some," she suggested before frantically scrambling around her one room house.
Looking at his body now, Malekith realized he was bandaged up quite extensively. He stared at the flesh on his arms for a moment almost as if it was unusual for him to see. His skin had chill bumps on them. Both hands were completely wrapped in bandages as well for some reason.
He was drawn from his thoughts again as the woman ran back over with a plate of food and some tea. She clumsily tried to hand him the plate with a nervous expression before dragging a small table over for him to place it on.
Staring at her briefly, Malekith took a bite of the fish on his plate. It was simply cooked, but for some reason it tasted amazing. It tasted like the first thing he had ever eaten. Without even realizing it, Malekith devoured all of the bread, fish, and cabbage on the plate without a pause.
"You must have been really hungry. I'm sorry to feed you such simple scraps like that. I don't really have much. I'm sure you elves are used to eating magical food or something, right?" she chuckled as she poured him some tea.
"Why did you save me, human?" Malekith asked the young woman with a stoic deep voice as his green eyes lingered on her intensely. He grabbed the cup from her hand and drank the entire thing in one gulp despite it being a bit hot.
The woman almost shrunk beneath his gaze and looked a bit fearful from Malekith's intensity, "I…I don't know."
"What would your lords think of such an action? Elves are no friends of your kind. Do you expect some type of compensation for this?" Malekith retorted.
"N-no not at all! It just seemed like the right thing to do," the woman said reassuringly.
Malekith nodded simply at her response before looking the other direction out a window. It was nighttime and he could hear the ocean nearby. He wanted to get up and leave this place, but he had no idea where to start or where to go. His body also felt incredibly weak too.
"What's your name milord?" the girl asked hopefully.
Staring at her blankly, he thought long and hard for the answer. He couldn't recall it. Malekith simply shook his head, "I don't remember."
"Hopefully your memory comes back soon then. I reckon you don't have any idea about where to go now, huh? If you want, you're more than welcome to stay here with us until you regain your memories," she said with her eyes being unusually optimistic about the situation.
"I suppose I should stay for now…at least until I regain my health," Malekith replied unenthusiastically.
"If you need anything from me, just ask, alright? I'm Michelle by the way. I'm just a peasant as I'm sure you probably realized already, but I'm a bit more educated than most. My father is also the bailiff of the village and he has all the pull around here. We can work out some way to help you get back home or maybe find a healer as well. A prophetess might even be able to help with your lost memories," the woman explained eagerly.
"Very well…" he said distantly as he rested his head back on the bed's pillows. It was dark outside, and he was in the middle of nowhere right now with some human peasants. The only thing he could think to do now was lie back down and sleep.
"So you really don't remember anything at all?" Michelle asked him with a concerned tone.
His body began to shiver uncontrollably before he could answer. He felt his breathing quickening as his vision became blurry.
"Are you okay? You might still have a fever. Is it alright if I check?" Michelle asked.
Malekith wasn't in any state to respond to her. Cautiously, the woman walked over and reached for his forehead with her hand. Her eyes looked worried, "Oh, by the lady, you're freezing! I'll get you some more blankets and hot water! Just relax, milord! I'll get you through this!"
Malekith was silent and relaxed as he closed his eyes. He focused on any distant memory he could as he drifted from consciousness. One finally did come to the forefront of his mind.
Malekith's Memory
He was in a city…an elven Tor no doubt. He was an adolescent running around a courtyard looking for someone. His memory rested on the scene of him coming up behind a tall and well-built elven warrior.
Malekith called out to him, "Father!"
The large elven warrior turned around and looked down at him with a stoic and distant expression. He had battle-hardened eyes and stone-faced warrior features that could unnerve even the toughest of people. His hair was a long golden white and his eyes were a sharp, bright green.
"Speak son…" his apparent father replied with callousness in his voice. He was clearly bothered about something and didn't look like he was in the mood to talk.
"Mother has been teaching me more magic lately. I learned a new spell. Watch this!" the young Malekith boasted to his father as he created a purple flame over his hand and threw it.
His father said nothing and looked completely indifferent to the display. He shook his head after a long pause, "Your mother taught you Dhar?!"
"Dhar? What is Dhar, father?" Malekith replied confused.
"Dark magic…it corrupts the world and its users. Why would she teach you that and not even tell you what it is?! What about your martial training?! I'm more interested to hear about that." his father demanded angrily.
Malekith shrunk beneath his stoic father's gaze as he shook his head, "I…I don't know why she didn't tell me. I won't do it anymore if you don't want me to! My martial training is of course my top priority each day."
"I knew your mother was a magic user, but I wasn't aware she could use Dhar. She clearly doesn't care to keep it a secret if she blatantly taught you. Unless…did your mother want you to keep this a secret, son?" Aenarion asked.
Shamefully, the young elf nodded, "Y-yes father…but I didn't actually think it was an issue for you to know. I had no idea it was dark magic. At least nobody else in the courtyard saw me do it just now."
"Hmmm…" his father looked away with a disapproving stare.
"Is something wrong, father? Are you angry with me or mother?" Malekith asked full of concern.
The large elven warrior stared at Malekith seriously, "No…but I want to tell you something important son. It's about your mother."
"What about her?" Malekith asked as he stared up into his father's eyes.
"I have no doubts that your mother loves you, but she is…deeply troubled. I rescued her from daemons when I met her, and she's always been a bit…off since then. If you truly wish to learn magic, it might be more ideal to learn from a proper wizard. One of my best friends is a great wizard who would likely take you on as a student if I asked him. There is no reason your mother should be teaching a boy like you Dhar…" his father lectured.
Malekith nodded his head, "As you say, father…"
"Nevertheless, I do approve of your success at learning it. Sometimes drastic actions are required in order to protect Ulthuan and yourself…" Aenarion trailed off as his hand reflexively reached down to the magical sword sheathed at his waist. His calm demeanor seemed to shift into a dark malice almost instantly after he touched the hilt.
"So I should use it, then?" Malekith asked confused.
Aenarion shook his head, "You're better off relying on martial skill first and foremost. I'm interested to see how well you have been keeping up with your swordplay and spearplay"
"I train everyday with both. I'm more partial to the sword, though." Malekith replied.
"Draw your blade and show me!" Aenarion almost hissed. There was a strange darkness in his green eyes. Malekith was used to his father acting bloodthirsty and weird like this on occasion, but it had only gotten worse lately.
The young Malekith drew his own sword, which was a finely made Nagarythe sword. His father instead of drawing his spare Nagarythe sword to spar like he usually did, drew the magical sword instead.
Malekith froze fearfully when he saw the Widowmaker erupt into flames. He nervously took one step back and shook his head, "F-father, are you really going to use THAT sword on me?!"
"You're a warrior first, and a wizard second, son! True warriors fear nothing! Why are you cowering?! FIGHT ME!" Aenarion demanded.
His shouting seemed to attract the attention of nearby elves as a small crowd gathered around in the distance to watch their exchange.
"This isn't really fair though…" Malekith replied with nervousness in his voice.
Aenarion hissed at him, "War isn't fair! LIFE ISN'T FAIR! People you care about can die when you least expect it! Sometimes you choose your battles, and other times they choose you!"
Aenarion immediately swung his blade at Malekith as hard as possible. He had no intentions of stopping or missing either as Malekith nimbly dove to the ground to avoid the flaming sword's swing. An arc of fire shot out of the blade and throughout the courtyard now as Aenarion fearsomely twirled the blade at his son as if he was serious about killing him.
Malekith ducked, weaved, and ran with all the dexterity and speed he could muster. His father began to move even faster now as he masterfully flurried the Widowmaker in destructive arcs.
Knowing he wouldn't be able to outmaneuver his father for long, Malekith finally crossed blades with Aenarion.
To his relief, the magical blade didn't shatter his sword, but Aenarion was far stronger than he was and nearly disarmed him.
"Yes! Show me your fury! Show Khaine! Show Asuryan!" Aenarion growled.
By this time a large gathering of nobles and other elven onlookers had arrived to watch Aenarion mercilessly battle his son in the training courtyard. Many were shocked that he was using the Widowmaker against his young adolescent son.
Each time Malekith dodged his father's sword swing, a destructive arc of flames would engulf another area in the courtyard. Nobody had the courage to come anywhere near them during this terrifying display. Every time their blades clashed, Malekith felt as if his sword was about to shatter. After a few more parries, Aenarion finally disarmed it causing the blade to go flying to the ground.
"Pathetic! Have you remembered anything I taught you?!" Aenarion shouted as he swung the blade in for a kill swing.
Before the weapon could strike him, Malekith froze his father in place with dark magic. Aenarion could barely believe it as he looked at his son surprised by the spell.
"Why am I not surprised that you know more than simple spells?" Aenarion scoffed.
"Father, please stop! You're acting crazy again!" Malekith shouted.
Aenarion quickly broke out of Malekith's magical hold as he charged his son with full speed. The young elf dove for his blade again and raised it just in time to parry the Widowmaker. He had to use both hands to even match his father's one-handed swings.
Fighting for his life now, Malekith fought back with intent to strike his father. Using his own sword techniques that Aenarion had taught him and honing his speed to match his father, the two began to duel wildly in the courtyard.
To the onlookers, it was both impressive and terrifying. Their duel lasted almost a full minute before Malekith finally got one stab on Aenarion's leg. His father had already cut him and burned him many times in their battle, but this one wound Malekith had inflicted on him, had caused Aenarion to go into a bloodthirsty frenzy.
He grabbed the Widowmaker with both hands and swung powerfully at Malekith breaking his sword in half and nearly burning half of the onlookers in the direction of his swing. He high kicked his son so hard that Malekith went flying to the ground on his back.
Raising the Widowmaker high above his head, Aenarion positioned it for a killing blow and roared furiously. Right as he was about to bring it down, he stopped.
By this point, Malekith was cowering in terror beneath his father expecting to die at any second. He could barely believe his eyes as Aenarion dropped the Widowmaker a moment later. Slumping to his knees, Aenarion brought a hand to his head as if he had a terrible headache.
"F-father?" Malekith said slowly.
"That's enough. I'm sorry, son…I don't know what came over me," he apologized a moment later much to Malekith's utter relief.
"A-are you okay?" he asked his father. He wanted to cry, but he held back the tears knowing full well how much his father hated them.
"Your swordplay has improved greatly, my son. I'm proud of your progress…we'll speak later. I need to be alone for a while," Aenarion spoke as he picked up the Widowmaker and sheathed it. He walked away shortly afterward.
After he left, several attendants ran up to Malekith concerned. One spoke urgently, "Young prince, are you alright?"
"I'm fine…" Malekith replied emulating his father's stoic attitude.
He stared at his father's back as Aenarion walked past a parting crowd. The looks of concern and fear in the eyes of the onlookers was evident. They all glanced over at Malekith once Aenarion was gone.
The prince looked over at one of the nearby attendants as he tried to ignore the stares, "Retrieve another sword for me…"
"You intend to keep training today, young prince?" one of the attendants asked.
Malekith clenched his fists tightly, "Yes…"
Present
Malekith awoke with cold sweat and confusion as he glanced around at his surroundings for a moment. He was still in the bed from earlier. The sun had long since risen and it looked to be midday by his estimate. A quick survey of the room revealed he was alone currently.
Despite the aches and pains he felt, the elf forced himself upright as he glanced back out the window. He blinked several times at the bright light outside as if it was painful for his eyes. After about a minute they adjusted. Disregarding his body's soreness and the dull pain, he tried to make sense of the dream he just had.
'I was dreaming of my childhood perhaps…they called me a prince. Am I an elven prince? Nobody used my name at all,' he pondered briefly as he tried focusing harder on some clue as to what the dream was about. From what he could surmise, his mother was a mage and his father was a warrior who wielded a flaming sword. Nothing about the setting or even the landmarks evoked any familiarity to his senses. He truly had no idea who he was.
The dark-haired elf pushed his confusion aside as he tried to stand up now. He wasn't surprised to see a lack of clothing minus undergarments but was quick to notice all of his bandages were gone now. Something about the sight of his muscled limbs and the pale skin was bizarre to him. Turning his gaze to his hands he noticed that his fingers were blackened by some unknown means from the tips halfway up. They didn't look decayed, burned, or damaged in any way, but they had clearly been subjected to something dark and unnatural.
'In the dream my father said I used Dhar…dark magic. Is this a side effect of it? I wonder if I can still use magic?' Malekith pondered as he stared at his hands intensely. Deciding to test his theory, he imitated the same spell he saw himself use in the dream. To his astonishment, a small amount of purple flames no larger than two or three candle fires formed within his palm. He was drawn from his focus when he heard someone approaching from outside. He instantly clasped his hand shut and was relieved to see the magic disappear. For some reason, he knew that it was a bad idea to reveal this to the human peasants in this village. Despite the holes in his memories, his instincts were very well intact.
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Alright, that's a wrap for our chapter 1 prologue here. This story kind of just came out of nowhere, but I thought it would be a cool concept to put Malekith in this kind of situation. He's one of my favorite Warhammer characters, so I just had to make at least one fic with him. I have no idea if anyone will read/review it, but I had fun writing this so far.
Just to give you an idea of what this story is about, it's not a complete redemption story. Malekith is still a manipulative asshole and as you saw from the end of the chapter, he still has access to Dhar. You can expect this to be an anti-hero/morally grey kind of story where Malekith is faced with interesting situations. You can expect him to kick his own followers' asses at some point as well.
There's tons of cool stuff I have planned for this story, but first of all I should even see if it's worth investing more time into. Regardless of all that, thanks for reading if you made it this far.