Knighted

Knighted Chapter 1 Part 1

Chapter 1- The Longing

The man glanced at his watch. The time marked 8:35 PM. He was standing outside his home, awaiting a letter. He was waiting for the mail service to arrive anytime now but hoped to no avail. It usually arrived around 8 but now it was delayed by more than a few minutes. Why is it that everything is always late at the worst times, he mused to himself. The man shifted restlessly. He glanced at his watch again. Now it marked 8:36 PM. He sighed at the sight of the second hand moving at the speed of a sloth, each second taking an eternity. He glanced at it again, the smile of the sun painted on it turning into a frown. The man put his hands on his head, trying with all his might not to scream his guts out at the children splashing in the puddles in front of him. How could they be going about like today was the perfect day when he was here stressing about a letter that might never arrive at his point? He looked down and caught his reflection in one of the puddles on the side of the cobblestone street. His face showed immediate signs of aging. His eyes squinted, trying to make sense of what he laid his eyes on. The pair of glasses he held only solved the problem temporarily as he had to hold them since they didn't have an ear arch. His beard was brown, although graying in some places and he showed signs of balding. He wore a green coat, with a black cape draped over his back. He glanced up once again at the children playing. “Hurry along boys, it's getting dark and I dare say your mother is desperate searching for you,” he told the children hoping to have them be on their way. “Why, sir, I apologize, but we have no mother to go back to and our father is visiting Lord Byron and Lady Anna.” The man feigned annoyance. “Well, still, it's not safe in the streets, there's bandits and witches and whatnot and youre best staying confined in your home safe at these hours,” he told them, hoping to scare them off. “Did you hear that Billy? There are witches among these streets. Let's hurry home before they get to us,” one of them told the other. “Alright Darius, let's be on our way,” the other responded. They took off, jumping into every puddle they came across, their laughter fading into silence. The old man was left alone once more. The early spring breeze ruffled his beard and brought to him a sense of nostalgia. He glanced at the boys in the distance. He saw himself with his brother, running off to the butcher to buy a lamb chop for their mother. He smiled at the thought. He missed those days when his most pertinent concern was to choose the perfect lamb leg. The breeze only strengthened his sentiment. He glanced at his watch again. It now read 8:39 PM. He suddenly became tired of standing. He had been doing just that for more than half an hour and still, no horse drawn mail carriage. He retreated to the stairs leading up to his two story home, reminiscing of his days as a child there. Those days were long gone, but although his physical state was deteriorating his memories were as fresh as the breeze. Again, he saw himself climbing up the stairs, ready to show his mother the lamb leg him and his brother had found. Nowadays, he could rarely afford a lamb leg. This was humiliating, especially because of the fact that it was considered one of the cheaper meats. How far he had fallen. Now, the only thing that remained was this wretched house and the breeze. The only thing he found slightly enjoyable anymore was his job as a knight. Well, he wasn't strictly a knight, but he taught the younguns the ways of knighthood. He had had this job ever since his father had died and the Knights of Rouen had need for another instructor. For once the bureaucracy had worked in his favor. The man looked at the horizon. Dusk was settling and the breeze was coming to a close. He felt a shiver as he gazed at the pink and purple sunset. He found it odd that even if his letter never arrived the sunset would stay the same and life would go on. It could care less if he died. The purple streaks would still be a beautiful to sight to sometime else. I'm fact, now there'd be more room for appreciation. One less person to absorb the sight but someone would take his place. He looked up and down the stret again. Still no sign of the mail. He felt like he would go insane and scream his life out but did not want the neighbors to call the Rouen Guard on him; they already disliked the fact that he didn't sleep until two in the morning. It wasn't his choice, though, someone had to stay late pondering over what he could have done differently. Not that it helped or could change anything. Years ago, he had started to make chamomile tea in the late afternoon so that the fumes would help him sleep but he found that leaking it leaving it boiling only made him fear that the water would spill and create a mess or that the fire would grow and spread. Still, it was worth a shot. On some nights he wouldn't sleep at all and would sneak out on a walk or to the Wanderer’s Eden. There was a curfew but he wasn't a very big fan of having people constrained to their homes when they could be productive. Going to the inn wasn't that much productive but it was still better than being fearful his teapot would commit arson to his house. He would usually go and have a drink or two and if he was still feeling insomniac he would have a few more drinks and usually wake up elsewhere. His night style wasn't what he would call “student-friendly” but it wasn't like he would run into one of his apprentices at the inn. Sometimes he would be irritated towards his students but he just shrugged it off. Not everyone was going to be nice to them in life, he reasoned. He was just preparing them for life while he enjoyed himself. Sometimes, the man felt enervated about his life. His life was stagnant, every single day being the same. Wake, train, eat, question his existence, go to the Inn, sleep, repeat. Only today had he actually been looking forward to something. The letter he was waiting for could potentially be life changing. And yet, he was forced to wait. Why should he be forced to wait for everything he actually wanted? He had never wanted the sleep problems and yet they had hit him like a train. First it had been one day, then the next, and at some point he had to ignore it altogether. He succumbed to the stagnation of his life and the sleep deprivation it caused. It was an endless cycle he couldn't get out of. There was a point where he could yet straighten his life and repair his broken sleep schedule but he had long passed that point with no acknowledgement of it. He looked down the street again. This time when he turned left he saw a man approaching. “Edward! I haven't seen you in- how long has it been- 3 weeks! Practically a lifetime. What are you doing out? It's getting rather late,” the man welcomed him. Edward approached the man at a sedate pace. “Good afternoon to you, Ernest. Wait, did you just ask me what I'm doing out? I should be the one asking that question. Are you waiting on someone? Contemplating the meaning of life? Does something ail you?,” he asked Ernest. “Well, I find myself wondering if the mail carriers could have been robbed of their letters or something along those lines. I have been waiting for half an hour to no avail but all my waiting seems to be in vain.” “What kind of letter could possibly have you waiting for so long? A letter from the king? A merchant’s warrant? Are you intending to start a colony?” “No, it's… different.” “Well, what else could it be?,” Edward asked, sitting himself down beside Ernest. “It's difficult to explain. It could change my life but if the mail never arrives it will never matter in the end. I've been waiting for it for a month or so and now what today should be the day I find the answer to my worries is the day the mail deliverers decide is a good time to take their precious time.” “Ah, be calm Ernest. If you can wait a month, then you can wait another hour. Life is all about waiting anyways. What matters is that you're patient and eventually it will come.” “Edward, are you in the right state of mind? What foolish things are you saying? I wish life really were all just waiting but sometimes we have to act before we wait. If not, then there will be nothing to be waiting for. Not only that but what if my letter were only to carry disappointment and only delivered me misery? I can only imagine myself having endured a month of anxiety only to open the letter and be met with pure hatred.” “Look, would you just mind telling me what this letter is about and why it's got you so wound up? Perhaps if you tell me I can give you more specific advice.” “That's the problem, Edward, I don't know what the letter contains.” “What do you mean? If you're waiting so eagerly for it then you must know what it holds to have you so exasperated.” Ernest paused. “I have a hunch of what it could contain but… whay if im wrong? What if all this worrying and waiting will get me nowhere and the letter gains me nothing? See, all this would be avoided if only the damn mail carriage would hurry the f**k up.” “Oi. We don't use those unholy words. They only poison your mouth and get you nowhere,” Edward reprimanded him. “Edward, it's just a word, and there's no harm in letting my mouth loose a little. Besides, it's justified.” “Ah, you'll just find an excuse to curse. But I agree, it is getting rather late and the mail carriage should have been here by now. Personally, I think this merits a public whipping.” “Erm, that seems a bit extreme for a guy that just said that he was perfectly fine with waiting for a letter his whole life.” “It's just a joke, Ernest. Be at ease.” “I look like a horse now do I? Last time I checked you only talk like that to horses.” “Well, now you're just searching for anything to complain about.” The two men say in silence for several minutes, both envelopes in their own worlds. “Well, I best get going, I left my croissants baking in the oven and I would rather not come to find my house in ashes,” Edward said, standing up, “I'll see you at the Inn whenever you decide to drop by.” “Alright Edward, I'll see you around,” Ernest said with a smile as he gazed at his comrade disappear into a corner. Now it was just him again. He sighed as he glanced at the last remaining rays of the sun, contemplating the steaks of gold as they became hidden by the clouds. He glanced at his clock again. It now rewd 9:03 PM. He buried his face in his hands. A tear slipped out and then another. He lifted his face only to see if there was anyone out on the street but it looked deserted. He buried his face again and said, “Why must this happen to me? The one time that I really do care about a letter that I'll receive is the one time that it never arrives.” He felt childish saying this but to him, it was only the truth. He remembered when he was a boy whenever he was waiting for something he would close his eyes and try to open them there dune time the thing happened. Right now even that didn't seen so far-fetched. He felt nostalgic at the memory and he closed his eyes. Ernest waited several seconds and then he opened them and looked around him. There was no carriage. He did this several more times and to anyone walking by, he might have looked like a tired old man on the verge of falling asleep. He then laughed at his inane hope that this would have ever possibly worked. His mind then began to wonder… what is he had done something wrong and was being punished for it. There was a lot of regrets he had and it only made sense that possibly he was being punished for one, or all of them. The thought, once it entered, seared into his mind. What if he was being punished for having lost the spark he had for life? Could it have been his habit for alcohol? With this on mine he stood up and headed into his house. He was going to try to talk his way out of this predicament. The door opened, creaking with age, and Ernest stepped into the dimly lit hall. A single candle on a table in the living room unsuccessfully attempted to illuminate the small home. Ernest sighed at the pitiful sight. He found it difficult to believe that this small house had been the home of 4 kids and two parents. The one room had belonged to his mother and father and to an extent, his younger brother. Loi had slept there the first five years of his life until his parents decided he was old enough to sleep in the living room. Ernest had been glad because this meant he could force him to sleep by the latrine instead of himself. He stared at the now almost empty living room and saw a 10 year old Ernest pushing his brother into a wall, pretending to be a knight. His only desire in those simpler times had been to be knighted. How they had changed. He had never got to become knighted by the king because as he was preparing to study the laws of the Knights of Rouen at the knight school, his father had been infected with the black plague. It had become uncommon to contract it by the 1560s but somehow his father had been one of the few unfortunate souls that was plagued by it. He remembered the nightly visits that men in masks made to his home, with the purpose of curing his father but in the end no amount of praying or draining of blood could cure the ill-fated patient. The house felt empty for a long time after that, even with his siblings and mother and it only felt emptier a few weeks after that. Ernest shook the memory off before it could do too much harm. His only takeaway from his nostalgia trip had been this: Life had been a rapidl downward spiral into disappointment that he could never escape. Shoving his thoughts aside, he walked to the far wall of the living room. Nailed to a small piece of wall between the roof and the window was a cedar wood cross, weary from the decades of monotony- it hadn't been moved from the same spot as long as Ernest could remember. He kneeled in front of it and cupped his hands together. “O gracious and merciful Lord, thou who forgives us poor sinners and thou with the greatest wisdom; that which illuminates the darkest depths of our weighted souls- in this moment I come to you to seek penance with no Father in this moment so crucial to the life thou hath granted me. I have lost the motivation for this life that thou graciously handed me and yet, I take it for granted, wasting day after day with no acknowledgement of the gift you presented me. I have, as people say, lost my spark for it and I am deeply remorseful for that. However, I am worried that it may be too late, as thy judgment seemed to direct me to punishment, as I have been awaiting this letter for months and yet, today that could have been one of the merriest days of my accursed life has turned into one of the most punishable. I have been burdened with one of the worst tortures that could be inflicted upon any mortal soul- that being the punishment of desperation. I am deeply sorry that I took my life for granted and have wasted it as of lately. I have learned my lesson and will try to correct my ways. Thank you Lord for your eternal grace and mercy. Amen.” With this, Ernest closed his desperate prayer. It had been years since he had last attempted to speak divinely and he was worried that he'd uttered some sinful phrase. Tears leaked from his eyes and he sat there, on the slowly rotting floor, weary from the constant agitation caused by his self inflicted suffering. Logically, he could have just been patient and not over thought it. He could have read a book and immersed himself in a life that wasn't his. Yet, he chose the path of pain. Any outsider would have seen him and called him melodramatic and overly exaggerating, and Ernest had this thought nagging him. To put it simply, he knew he looked ridiculous. A grown man who had endured so much emotional harm, crying over a piece of paper? Not only this, but he did not even know what it said