AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is based in part on a dream I had. If Valkyrie Profile: The Accused One really turned out like this, I would be very upset. But based on what little I know of the game, the portrayal of Wylfred is probably accurate. This is not meant to be taken seriously, although I have tried to give it some semblance of a plot. You have been warned.


"Arngrim!" Jelanda threw her arms around her huge friend. "Thank the gods you are here! We are in grave danger! I beseech you, please help us!"

"What brought this on?" asked Arngrim, because Jelanda was acting all cute and feminine.

"We have to leave the castle castle before it's destroyed," she said, suddenly speaking in her normal voice again.

"Um...Couldn't you do that yourself? Why did you need to call me here?"

"I need you to carry me!" the princess answered, as if it were obvious. "I sprained my ankle!"

"Oh, okay." Arngrim picked up Jelanda and carried her out of the castle, glad she hadn't undergone some horrifying personality change.

Wylfred stood on the balcony, looking out over the small country of Artolia as the castle began to crumble, his two ponytails blowing in the wind. This made it dramatic, in spite of the fact that it looked ridiculous. He wore his hair this way because it was EDGY and COOL.

"We must stay here, Ansel," he told his close friend, Ansel. "Or rather, I must stay here. You, Ansel, have been a loyal friend to me until now, and if you wish to save yourself, I will raise no objec—"

Wylfred's proclamation of generosity was cut short when the balcony collapsed under them. Neither Wylfred nor Ansel screamed, for they had each prepared for death. Manly heroes knew better than to cry or complain when faced with death.

But something terrible happened. Somehow, when Wylfred and Ansel hit the ground, they were both alive.

"Maybe the balcony wasn't high enough?" Ansel suggested. "And since we were so close to the edge of the castle, it didn't fall on us and kill us."

"Another failure. Dammit!" Wylfred threw his sword on the ground, then picked it up again. "How can we become einherjar if we don't die first? And if we don't become einherjar, I can't get revenge on the Battle-maiden!" He sighed and shook his head, covering his eyes with his hand while his other hand rested on his hip. I can still remember that day, Ansel…"


"I must get the Sword of Heracles!" shouted Thyodor, Wylfred's father.

"All right," agreed the king of some small, nameless country. "I'll give it to you if you'll perform the completely meaningless task of moving this giant boulder!"

So Thyodor set out to attempt the completely meaningless task. He knew which boulder the king was talking about, for it was as big as he was. He grunted as he pushed against it, first with his arms, then with his back, as most people do, but he realized it wouldn't budge if he did that. So he decided to lift it and then tip it over. He squatted down and dug at the bottom until his fingers were under the rock.

"Hey!" someone yelled. "That's not how you lift things!"

But Thyodor ignored him. After all, heroes did things their own way.

Unfortunately, Thyodor was not meant to be a hero, for when his stance wavered, the rock fell. He managed to withdraw his left hand quickly enough, but his dominant hand was too slow and got crushed.

"DAMMIT!" Thyodor cried as he yanked his right hand out from under the rock. But when he did, all the flesh was torn off with a sickening sound. "Now I won't be able to pleasure my wife!" And he realized that he couldn't use the Sword of Heracles now.

Meanwhile, the king, feeling bad that Thyodor could no longer pleasure his wife, gave him the Sword of Heracles as compensation. The now one-handed mercenary, in turn, gave it to Wylfred.

This event had absolutely nothing to do with Thyodor's death.


"You understand me, Ansel," Wylfred said to his companion. "You know that I must become an einherjar, get close to the Battle-maiden, and exact revenge upon her."

"But maybe suicide isn't the way to go?" suggested Ansel. "Maybe we should engage in a battle or something. I mean, she is called the Battle-maiden after all, and we're probably more likely to get killed on the battlefield."

Wylfred spun around and pointed his finger at Ansel's face. "THAT! Is a very good idea."