History (from the Marvejols Script) Edit
In the Mythic Age, word spread far and wide of the rise of Gwydion the Grey and his band of noble warriors who brought order and justice to lands where there were none. On one of their very first journeys, Gwydion and his entourage came across a village of mortals slaughtering another village, putting women and children to the sword and burning the buildings of their enemies with whole families trapped inside. What amazed Gwydion, though, was that s sidhe warrior was watching the destruction from a nearby hillside, weeping as though his heart would burst and yet making no effort to stop the carnage. Thinking him a coward, Gwydion and his band made to ride past him and save those they could, but at the sound of their approach the young noble sprang to his feet and blocked their path.
Gwydion was outraged. "What manner of warrior do you call yourself that you can watch the slaughter of innocents and yet do nothing but weep?"
At this, the young sidhe drew himself up nobly, eyes flashing, voice ringing with distant thunders. "I am the warrior Jalendrel, strange lord, and I am no coward, but weep only for the knowledge that it was destined to be thus." He raised his blade, and the assembled nobles saw that one of his hands was twisted and blackened, as if by flame. "Know this: Neither you nor I nor any of your knights may change that, on the pain of my life, else the greater evil will be served."
"What greater evil is there than the deaths of innocents while warriors stand by and do nothing?" Gwydion asked.
"The greater evil, strange lord," responded Jalendrel, neither voice nor sword wavering before the mightiest sidhe the world had yet seen, "is that a good man should act at all, if he knows his actions would only serve to advance a wicked design further."
Before the puzzled Gwydion could respond, a terrible monster leapt out of the flames of the burning village, its ancient lair at last uncovered by the destruction around it. Roaring fire and dripping poison from its jaws, the ferocious creature began striking down attackers and defenders alike in its rage. Gwydion and his followers fell back, dazzled, but Jalendrel prepared and averted his eyes in time. He then fell upon the monster with equally savage fury, wielding his great sword one handed as he hacked into the beast's stony hide. Round and round they dueled, with blood spilling from both, but in the end, the young warrior prevailed and slew the monster with a final, tremendous thrust through its heart.
At once, the fascination that had fallen over Gwydion and his soldiers was broken, and they gave a cry of triumph as they rushed to Jalendrel's side. Their joy was muted, though, when they found him weeping once more. "You have slain the beast, noble sir, and for that you should be proud, for if you had not lain in wait for it as you did, a monster such as that would have taken ten thousand innocent lives rather than just the population of this humble village."
Jalendrel raised his head at this, and the sunset light of his eyes washed over Gwydion in a wave of grief, yet his words were calm and measured as he replied. "That is true, strange lord, but the folk of this humble village were my kin. If others have been saved by my actions, I must carry to my death the knowledge that my family's lives were the coin this victory was paid in. The future has always been my curse," he whispered, "for though I see what must come to pass, with that ability comes the knowledge that I am sometimes powerless to stop things rom happening so." Mustering the last of his strength, he raised his blackened hand. "I tried once before, and earned this for my folly, for it was not the destined time to slay the beast, and I knew it." With that he slipped to the ground, mingling his essence with the blood and ashes.
Moved by such devotion to duty, Gwydion summoned his greatest healers, who use their magic to restore the noble young warrior to health; only his hand, burned by the fire of the beast long ago, could not be saved. Gwydion welcomed Jalendrel into his company, and in time, Jalendrel the Good Handed became one of the greatest knights of the age, renowned not only for his courage and strength of arms, but also his compassion for the common folk, mortal and fae. When he at last passed into the Dreaming, a shower of stars fell from the sky in homage, and blue flowers bloomed where they blasted the earth away. To this day, it is said among the wise peoples of the world that when the blue flowers bloom once more, Jalendrel will rise again and lead his house against the evils his prophecies foretold long ago.