Originally written August 9, 2011.
I have taken to writing my logs during trips between continents, it is where I find the longest lengths of time. The journey to and fro the Eastern Kingdoms and Kalimdor is longer than it once was during the Northrend campaign, each churn of the ship reminds me that Azeroth is still restless from Deathwing's awakening. That reminder is no less in the smaller realm of the Horde, Alliance and Templars.
I am torn between my duty to the Templars, and to other callings. This is a tear that I denied until most recently, and I have attempting to fulfill each as a woman in many places at once. Perhaps I operated as one does in final throes, knowing that they approach defeat. I have attempted to ford the gap between Kalimdor and Eastern Kingdoms: lead the Templars into the Firelands, and remain vigilant in Stormwind. In the past, I have been more than eager to leave the home front behind for faraway wars, but the Shattering has affected fronts of every kind, especially home. I have seen the gaping hole left in Stormwind, and food lines in Westfall. I have seen the flooded harbor of Menethil, and the remains of Southshore. There are wounds on the Eastern Kingoms that will take years to heal, but I do not now wield the resources to heal them all. However, I have denied this, and attempted to be the master of all and specializer of none. This is the approach of a child, and has weakened my efforts on each leg of my journey.
You are not a soldier, Calithos Blyde said to me two days ago. Perhaps then it is not the soldier that is capable of healing Azeroth. I ask then what grown Azerothian is needed to see its pains and wield the far-touching hand, and another mantle comes to name. It is an uncharted journey for me, I stand on the edge of retiring the sole title of soldier, or at least bearing it alongside another. "Soldier" is one I am most familiar with, embrace without hesitation, for it is comfortable. I wake and sleep to it, but while a soldier can lead women and men, a soldier cannot be everywhere at once. Perhaps then that is my main failing, for Azeroth was indeed shattered everywhere at once.
Lightbearer is the title I chose when I became knight. Both my father and mentor nodded, telling me it was fitting. You bear the Light well, in every waking as well as resting moment, they said. It is a light noticeable to others, but quiet, reassuring. I have lived the title, but a bearer cannot be everywhere at once.
I have never aspired to great things. I am a daughter of a low-class Gilnean, once slated to be priestess, then taken into the Silver Hand when I proved too wild for the robe, and apt with a sword. I prefer to be silent over speaking, to encounter my foes head-on to circling. I prefer a night of training to revelry and drinking. I prefer my armor to cloth, my hammer to a book, my outward deeds as iron-clad words. I do not lie, cheat, toy with life, or deal playfully in death. I have spurned many courting men, both intentionally and unintentionally. Many tell me that I rarely smile. I am a soldier, they do not boast about their winnings, or great things. They do not play or stand idle, they are swords that fight each day for lasting future. They are short-lived but with deeds everlasting. But they do not aspire to extravagant or power-laden things. That is the life and call of a soldier.
There is a conflict within me to deny this soldier. She is the bearer of many responsibilities, but she is the manner to bear that I prefer. However, this bearer as been lacking to bring strife to end, and healing to where it is needed. She is the leader of few, not many.
One year ago, a title was placed on me. I bore it as one would as a soldier. A soldier can keep it, but cannot fulfill it. Therefore, I have kept it at arms length, both knowingly and unknowingly.
I will bring what strength and healing I bear to this world while I live in it. I have been called many things in my years of life, and there is one title that I will finally rise and grasp. I hold no illusions. The Lightbearer cannot be Uther the Lightbringer, there are men and women lost who can and should never be replaced. That is the lesson of the soldier, taught at the loss of the first comrade: no life can be relived, no person replaced. There is an eternal wound for each man and woman lost. For many of the living, there is a wound left by the passing of Uther the Lightbringer, it is one that I too bear. I was no personal confidant, friend or name known to him. To the Lightbringer, I was one of his many soldiers.
I keep that soldier close, she has taught many lessons and will continue to do so.
I keep the Lightbearer close, she is the knight I will be till the end of my days: bearing all, withholding none.
I take the title and wear it as I have the tabard. I will close the space between the title and my person, and bear it as a soldier, a knight does a standard: above the blood of the field, through the din, to the front, as a Light for constant strength, and fulfillment of wanting.