The Old Knight

It was long past the time of fierce dragons. It was long past the time dazzling princesses, enchanting kingdoms, and benevolent knights. All gone now, forgotten. Relics of a simpler time and place where magic was possible, and adventure was around every corner. It was a more modern time, now. Criminals were handled by the police and monsters were relegated to the realm of myth and legend. No more knights; the new age had come swift, sweeping away the old traditions seemingly in the blink of an eye. The old man sighed as he glanced over at his old armor, rusted and worn with time. It showed the scars of more dangerous times. The faded crest and the dented steel would often cause him to reminisce of more exciting times. In the time that he served his king, his title was Sir Knight the Gallant, the Gallant. A title he wore with pride then, but now, he was just an old man; an old man who now spent his mornings in a wicker chair, gazing out at the world and his evenings by a warm fire, staring into the embers as he remembered the heat of dragon’s fire. The end of an era came with the death of the last great dragon. He looked back on that day with sorrow as he recalled the last time he would ever see such a magnificent being. He and his fellow knights had fought the beast for three days and three nights, before it fell with a roar and a whimper.

 The dragon’s eyes held no hate in them, only pity as it drew its last breath and breath small sparks that faded into nothing. There was no joy in this victory because it marked the end – their end. Like the last embers of a dragon’s spark, they knew they too would fade into nothingness as there were no more great feats to accomplish, no more damsels in distress, no more kings to bow to. 

It wasn’t so bad. He was able to live a normal life, he had a wife and a child, and they lived happily together for quite some time. But he was alone now; time had taken his wife and left him behind. 

His son left home, and though he wrote often of his voyages at sea, he rarely visited his aging father. A father could do no more but smile and be content with the life he had lived. It was peaceful, it was calm, safe... boring. Yes, he was bored. A man who was born with the heart of an adventurer had had his days of adventure cut short and he was left feeling unfulfilled in his old age. He had sacrificed much for his family, living a safe, normal life and performing as a husband and father should despite his craving for new experiences. It was now that he had more time with his thoughts that he pondered the possibilities of days gone by. The what ifs and the maybes keeping him up at night more often than he’d like to admit. 

Nothing brought him joy any more. The simple pleasures he learned to enjoy, no longer pleased him in the way they used to. He fought against despair many days, keeping his mind occupied with a new hobby every week. And each week he would get frustrated and bored, thirsting for something more thrilling, more meaningful. He would often get swept away in the stories his son would write to him and imagine himself among the crew, struggling against the waves and braving the elements in search of treasure and adventure. 

He took great pleasure knowing that his son had taken after him and was living a life full of excitement and challenges. 

He talked incessantly about his exploits to any who would hear. “My son says he fought off the Kracken last week!” “Did you know my son found the lost treasure of the Pirate King?” No one believed his grandiose stories, but he was always proud to tell them no matter the scrutiny.  One day, Peter had gotten a letter from his son along with a gold coin as a gift. He quickly shot off to the local tavern where he often told his tales and flourished the coin before the barman, while loudly proclaiming that food and drinks were on the house. The room erupted in excitement and he instructed the roused patrons to gather around to hear of his son’s latest exploits. 

When he had finished, the crowd was the usual pleasant mixture of astonished drunks and naysayers. Both boisterously opinionated on whether the events happened or not, while other less involved customers simply relished a good story. As he left his favorite haunt that night, he eagerly looked forward to sitting in his wicker chair and pouring over the enticing words once more. This one by far was his son’s most thrilling letter. Not because of some grand adventure, but because it ended with the promise of his son’s return home. All Peter could think about was the moment when his lonely days would end, if only for a moment. 

Time with his son filled him with so much life and energy, it made him forget the melancholy of the day to day routine. Days turned weeks, and soon a month had passed with no sign of his son. No new letters had come for him and he began to fear the worst. He no longer visited the tavern to exchange stories with his friends. He sat at the docks watching ships come and go. Every day he would wait and wait until yet another month passed and a deep sense of sadness gripped the heart of the old knight. He lit a candle in his window each night: a symbolic beacon meant to guide his son home. 

The grief he felt now was even deeper than when he lost his beloved wife. His friends checked on him daily now, telling him to have faith, but he saw the sadness in their eyes and it made his heart ache even more. One day, news made its way to the city that a band of roving pirates had sunken many ships and taken several captives. It was bad news for many merchants and it was bad news for the old man. Though the candle he burned was almost gone, he decided to light it one last time as a vigil for his treasured son. That night, a heavy wind blew throughout the town shattering his window as dark storm clouds began to brew in the skies. 

The old man feared his candle would go out and he stood by trying to keep the flame burning. Thunder and lightning shook him to his core but he would not budge. Building up all the courage that remained within his bones, he would defy God himself to keep the candle burning. The rain began to pour, and he hovered his hands over the flame to protect it from the downpour. The heat he felt in his hands reminded him of his dragon fighting days. He kept vigilant for as long as he could, but eventually sleep took over. 

Morning arrived, and the old man found himself in his bed. He was a little groggy and confused, but his mind suddenly remembered the candle. Looking at the window, he saw nothing more than melted wax. 

A noise from the kitchen made him jump, And he realized he was not alone. Slowly he crept toward the direction of the noise. He gradually rounded the corner to see a very talk, scraggly looking man making himself at home cooking breakfast in the old man's kitchen. 

Angered by this scene, the old man shouted at the intruder, "What do you think you're doing invading my house and eating my food? Get out of here!" 

Startled by the sudden outburst, the tall stranger turned around and the old man's eyes grew wide. There standing before him was his son. "My goodness!" He exclaimed. "Is that really you?" Overcome with joy, the old man and the son embraced each other. The son had grown a long beard and his clothes were worn and tattered. Over breakfast he told his father a marvelous tale of how he escaped from a pirate ship. Happiness filled the old man's heart once more as he listened to his son's fabulous tales well into the night. His son lamented that he had lost all his treasure to the villainous pirates, but his father assured him that nothing was more important than being alive. Having him home again was better than all the gold in the world.