Malekith

For years after the death of Snorri Whitebeard, the thought of the human servant that followed his band around was largely driven from his mind. Ugly and simple like all its kind, there was something different about it. More so, in that it did not seem to age with the passing of the years. A part of the prince resented the human for it, but the... well, he was more than a pet. He cooked, he made healing draughts and could even use some of that strange energy to mend clothes and do repairs in the field. He was useful, and could defend himself. If not with grace, then with brutality and experience.

In any case, he was largely silent, save when some fool or another would prompt him to speak his dooms. Little prophecies for the most part, the words echoing with traces of something, something that spoke of times past and future. A part of him wondered why the human stayed, why the creature remained. A black mood struck the prince, and so? He spoke to the man, voice sharp. "You have told others your little prophecies, and yet not once have you spoken of what you see of my fate. Why is that?"

Oh, there was an edge to his words, as the human stirred the stew pot, getting the nights meal ready. The hairy brute seemed to weigh the words before speaking. "You will have five dooms spoken to you in time. For that is the nature of it." The human looked up, and there was a weight to his gaze, a weariness that stretched and weighed across a greater gulf of time than even the elves could stand. "Some can be spoken at any time. Others, even when you know the words long in advance can only be spoken when the time and conditions are right, as much a part of it as the words."

Malekith would admit to some unease, as he pondered that, wondering. "Are the fates so determined, that nothing I accomplish can change them, is my story already written and all the remains is going through the motions?"

He wanted to spit, to curse, as the human snorted. "You are in a dark room. Someone drops something. There is a flash of light and noise and you are able to, even as your senses reel from it all, glean some details,. as small as they may be.": And then the human snorted. "But, which of us again has a seeress for a mother and was actually trained?"

A flash of annoyance as he remembered his mothers lessons, forgotten in a maudlin fit only to be reminded by an untrained and largely uneducated servant born from a lesser race. The indignity of it, even as no mind was paid to it. "That, and a lot of the time? Boss, you have been leading people for how long now? Sometimes it is less about what is said, than when it is said."

That raised as many questions as it did answers, his eyes narrowed as he spoke. "And what then, is it you or whatever god is speaking through you hope to accomplish, by only telling me of these dooms at the right times?"

His tone was cold and deadly, like his blades, the human obviously considering his words. "One way or another? You will be king." The words rocked him, as the human spoke. Nor for their content, for he knew it would be so, but the reluctance and unease with how it was said. "But, one path is much better for the world and all within it that are not sworn to dark and ruinous powers." The human paused, and filled a bowl with stew, opening the box next to him and taking out fresh loaves of bread, steam still coming off. "But, dinner time your highness. And here, some butter for the bread."

The first doom came as they sailed by the Blighted Isle, as Morathi looked on with annoyance. A simple thing. A simple warning that he had not thought much of. But he did not find his father there, and the sword. Across the waves and the years, the sword called to him! How much better to have left it be, partially asleep inside the altar!

But he woke it, as his blood sang, as he sailed into the cold north. Fear gripped him in colder talons than the air itself, than any horror born of chaos. Because the blade could offer him power yes, but the cost of it all? And worst of all, how appealing that cost looked, as he would try and slake the bloodlust of the god of murder. A maw open to devour the world, just as dangerous in its own right as the powers he was contesting in the wastes.

The second doom came as he looked on the crown that seemed an omen. "Aye, power and rule will be yours if you take up this crown oh prince. But ask yourself this. Long have you sought your fathers crown. Would you take up this other crown in its place?"

A question that burned as he placed the circlet on his head, and as the truth of the world was revealed to him. As he dared the realms of the chaos gods themselves and his destiny became clear, and not in the ramblings of a self trained seer whose only accomplishment was his unnatural longevity. But ultimately, of the race of man, who served the powers to the north. But at the same time, a loyal servant, and so, generously, he would allow the human to live a while longer, to keep an eye on him.

After all, best to keep a probable traitor where he can be watched, as he looked on the power needed to save the elves from the dooms to come with sadness, and not joy!

He was reeling, as he looked at his mother, the high priestess behind the pleasure cults as the third doom came. "The path she offers is one of ashes and poison. Follow it and a throne you will win for all the joy and solace it will win you. For she never escaped the claws of chaos, not in truth."

His mother snarled for silence, as he looked at the human seer, the doomspeaker. But, something compelled him to listen. "Ask her yourself prince, of the bargains and deals struck. And once you let the dark in..." The human could not speak, blood bubbling from his lips, the princes blade coming from his chest, as he looks on. Perhaps most troubling, is that there is no surprise in the mans face as he dies... and as his soul slips away, vanishing to some place far away as he turns to his grinning mother.

There was no need for any further dooms doom, for he had a throne to claim. And he remembered well that one way or another, he would be king.

He could not muster surprise, that that human lived again, despite being killed, inclining this head, as the gathered princes looked at the human which had appeared in their midst, even as scant moments before they had been declaring him a traitor and murderer due to his bid in reclaiming the throne stolen from him. But the human seemed more, as he spoke and all froze, their blood chilled. "I speak the fourth doom of Malekith and the one I least wished to give. Once, oh prince, Asuryan would have judged you worthy. Once, you were Asuryan's choice for the throne, not Bel Shanaar. But you have forsaken your claim to your fathers crown and claimed yourself a new one. You have spilled the blood of your own people out of greed and lust for power, staining your soul black with their blood."

The human snorts, and life and flame raises around him. "Know this Witch King. You may still submit yourself to the judgement of the princes of the realm. You will most likely die. Or submit yourself to the judgement of the gods and know that you will survive. But never will you wear the crown of the phoenix king."

And with the final words, as his forces entered the temple, the human vanished, as if he never was.

Centuries later, the human appeared once more before him. "King. Your final doom." In truth, Malekith wondered when the fifth doom would arrive, and it had nearly passed from his mind. "Remember in your cold throne, that you swore an oath. And nothing, oh great king, is accursed as an oath breaker."

And with that, the human faded away, as the Witch King began the events that would become known as The War of the Beard.