I was dressed in my knightly mail once again. It was the beautiful discomfort of being a knight. I had a backpack behind me that carried all the meat and vegetables that I was promised, and the old lady servant was following close by as I headed outside.

  "I need a horse." I stated.

  "Naturally, Princess Eleanor has provided you with one, and it awaits your command." She said.

  We made it out of the castle entrance, and just by the gates stood a graceful black stallion, saddled with the rest of my goods.

  "Forgive my curiosity, Sir Dominic." She said.

  "It is forgiven."

  "Have you come here on foot? What happened to your old horse?" She asked.

  "It was a long way from Stratfort, my lady." I said. "We were adamant about our quest. Old Galloper starved, and so did I. One of us had to eat the other, and the old horse wouldn't be able to save you from the orc, so I chose for him."

  She paused. Slightly disgusted.

  "Being a knight isn't easy as in the books. We have to eat and shit quite often." I said.

  I stopped in front of the horse. Rubbed its back. It was very obedient and peaceful in nature.

  "Galloper the Younger. A name that suits you." I said.

  Princess Eleanor appeared not seconds after. She stood, watching me. I waved goodbye. A hesitant moment later, she cracked a smile and waved back. She was anxious about something but she couldn't say it.

  I decided to give her the courtesy of staying still for a moment, pretending to comfort the horse, if the princess chose to call for me again.

  And that she did. She approached me with worried eyes and a troubled soul.

  "Sir Dominic, I have asked too much of you ..."

  "Speak freely, your highness." I said.

  She looked to the ground, shameful, then back up at me, her fingers trembling.

  "Can you stay?" She asked. I thought for a second. Two maybe. But I had to answer bluntly.

  "I'm sorry, your highness." I said, as I got on my horse and looked ahead. "As I mentioned, staying idle is not good for my condition. I need to set off and quest."

  "I ..." She started to say. Paused. Afraid. "... I do not feel safe."

  I turned to her. I pitied her, I think. She was an honest princess, she did not coat her feelings as other royal folk did. Perhaps that was why she lost her people.

  "The orcs might retaliate. Or any other being. We are an open call to raid with our condition." She said, shaking her head. "I need you by my side, Sir Dominic. I hope you do not think needy of me."

  I did not think her needy. She was right. This castle was a beacon to wolves. It was dangerous to leave her alone.

  "Will you ... I mean ..." She started to say. She shook her head, embarrassed, and looked away, covering her face. "I'm sorry, Sir Dominic. I know not what came upon me. I am a greedy woman. I mustn't ask-"

  "Princess Eleanor." I called. She stopped and looked at me with humility. I thought for a moment.

  "I will find you a guard. A competent guard, not as volatile as I am." I said. "One that will serve you to the best of it."

  She was overjoyed. She smiled. Tears almost came to her eyes but she stopped them by will. She approached my horse and placed her hand on mine once again.

  "Sir Dominic, you are a good man." She said. She held, staring at my eyes with her warmth and gratitude, before she placed a soft, timid kiss on my hand. "Please take this blessing from me. And may your war be won."

  After a quarter day's time, I found myself against the doors of a Taliwacky's Inn. I was escorted by a poor villager from the area. A man in his late twenties who looked twice his age out of misfortune and hunger.

  "Are you sure this is the place?" I questioned, suspicious. There was a sense of unease with the place.

  "Yes mi'lord. The man you seek is inside." He said. "Sir Roderick Blackmere, the Warfather. He was a great knight. Captained a great battle against the sand people. A thousand of ours against ten thousand of theirs and he won by wit."

  "Thank you." I said, as I handed him a chop of cooked beef. He took it, overjoyed. "Guard the horse, and you'll have another once I come out. Steal him and I'll have you dead by daylight."

  "A chop when you come out?" He repeated. I pat him on the shoulder. He stood by.

  I tied Galloper the Younger by the tavern, before I pushed the doors in, only to walk into the most foul smell a man like I could smell. There was no mistaking it. The devil's plant burned in the air.

  I walked out within a second of my being there. I gasped for fresh air. I knew how dangerous it would be to stay within that tavern for even a second longer.

  The villager stared me in the face, smiling wide. I sighed and handed him another beef.

  I walked in again, but with my helmet over my head and my visor lowered in hopes of filtering the poisonous air.

  Folks were laughing, dancing, the air was thick in smoke. Dancers and strippers. Crazed men. I stopped in front of the only barely coherent figure I could find, a half-drunk.

  "Where is Sir Roderick Blackmere?" I asked.

  He gave me his ear. Half-listening. Eyes half-shut in a trance.

  "The Warfather?" I added. He continued to hang his ear towards me.

  "Roderick. The knight. Rod." I said. To the last name, he slowly nodded in realization and pointed me towards a table near the end of the inn.

  I walked to the table. There sat an old man, with a hardened body and a disciplined posture but drifting eyes, likely a weakened mind, an unwavering, unintelligent smile, spreading his arms and legs across the seat like a king.

  He did not partake in the plant, but he drank inhumane portions of beer. I stopped in front of him, visor still down, and proclaimed,

  "Sir Roderick Blackmere, the Warfather. I wish to have a word with you."

  He took a moment to look up at me. His gaze flickered with sharpness for just a moment before sinking once again. A slight, drunken laugh.

  "Why don't you unhelmet yourself first." He said. "I don't favor speaking to an armor."

  "I do not wish to intoxicate myself." I said.

  Roderick raised his head, a silent "ah!". He raised his hand and made a circular motion with it.

  Suddenly, I was overcome by a tightness of breath. Within seconds, our table surrounded in a bubble, the air was guarded off, the sound from the outside was muted, and everything was clearer.

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  In all honesty, I was shocked by this man's power. A powerful mage. But not a present one. I needed a present knight for the princess. But I was willing to stay for just a little while longer.

  "Let us get on with it then." He said. I took off my helmet and laid it next to me as I sat across from the knight.

  Suddenly, I felt an uneasiness across my hands. I grabbed the side of the seat with my right hand. My pinky finger started to quiver. Raised up and down.

  I was tempted. By that one piece of a moment during which I breathed the air, or perhaps the helmet was not strong enough to protect me. In any case, the plant had started to overwhelm me, but I fought back. I focused on the knight, who had just laid down his beer to talk to me.

  "Go on. I haven't got all day here." He proclaimed. Burped. Quickly laughed then put on a serious face once again. "Actually. I do. But I'd rather focus on my most pressing matter. My unquenchable thirst!"

  I went quiet. Not because I was shocked by his condition. I merely felt that my journey for a quarter day was in vain. I did not wish to recruit this man anymore, but I stayed. I stayed because I felt like something could change my mind.

  "I was sent by Princess Eleanor of-"

  "Aha!" He interrupted. "The forgotten princess. From the forgotten castle. I see. Yes. I'm interested. Why not?"

  "Will you not hear the proposition first?" I asked.

  He burped once again and wiped his mouth. His eyes doze off for half a moment. He didn't even look me in the eyes while he spoke. He grabbed his beer and took another sip.

  "You wish to recruit me as a guard. To knight for the princess." He said. Completely in his serious face. "And I'm interested. A castle is much better than a tavern for the purposes of knighthood."

  I thought for a while.

  "Oh, how pleasant would it be." He said. Dozing off. "To forsake the namesake of 'Rod', which I had been given by these half-wits ... And become Sir Roderick the Warfather, once again!"

  The man was crude and unmanaged. I did not like him. He wasn't even like me under the influence. He was far worse. A knight at the end of his story.

  "So," he started. "Where do I ... Uh ..."

  He stumbled for his words. He started looking around the table for his beer. All while it was still in his hand.

  "Where did I leave it ... My beer ..." He continued.

  That was it. I was almost about to rise from my place and leave. But then I saw another man approaching us. A young man, a ginger of hair, barely twenty, but in good shape and posture. Straight-faced. Tall and bright. Much too clean for this place.

  "You have shit-faced yourself again." He said to Sir Roderick. Who slowly turned to him. Grunted. Placing his beer on the table.

  "What business is it of yours?" Said Roderick.

  "Father. Your condition is despicable and you bring shame to your own name." Said the ginger. "Come with me. You shall bathe yourself of the filth."

  "I shall stay ..." Said Roderick. Sinking to his drink and not facing his son any longer.

  The ginger frowned. He grabbed his father by the wrist and led him away. The bubble dispersed, and I immediately helmeted myself and made my way outside the tavern with them.

  Roderick tumbled out of the tavern as the ginger held him by the hand. He almost tripped and fell.

  "Compose yourself, father."

  "Silence!" Sir Roderick suddenly screamed. He threw his son's hand away and took a few drunken steps back.

  He straightened his posture and stood in a knightly, though drunken, manner. "If you wish to drag me around like a slave and rob me of my freedom. Then you must fight me for it!"

  Sir Roderick unsheathed his sword. He tumbled as he adjusted to the weight of his own weapon. He focused his eyes on his son as he, too, unsheathed his own sword against his father.

  "You were a legend, father!" Cried the ginger. "A hero of war! And this is where I have to find you every night! I sometimes wonder if I truly am your son!"

  "You can't even fight me while I'm drunk!" Proclaimed Sir Roderick, waving his sword around himself.

  Sir Roderick's drunken sway vanished in an instant.

  His spine straightened. His feet set themselves. His grip adjusted on the hilt with practiced precision. For a heartbeat, the tavern yard did not hold a drunk. It held the Warfather.

  He lunged first. Not wild. Not foolish. A clean diagonal cut aimed for the shoulder joint. the kind meant to cripple, not test.

  The son barely turned it aside, steel ringing sharp in the night air.

  Roderick pivoted smoothly into a thrust. Too fast for a drunk. The son stepped back by inches. The blade tore fabric from his sleeve.

  A murmur spread among the onlookers. There he was. The legend.

  Roderick pressed. Two more strikes - efficient, no wasted motion. He forced his son back three steps across the dirt.

  Then his heel slipped. Only slightly.

  But slightly is enough. His recovery was quick. Almost invisible. Yet the rhythm had broken. His third swing came a fraction too wide. His son met it, locked steel, and shoved.

  Roderick staggered. He snarled and came again with a heavy overhead cut. Powerful. Angry. But anger widens arcs.

  The son ducked inside the swing and struck with the pommel to his father's ribs. A sharp crack. Air burst from the old knight's lungs.

  Roderick answered with instinct. A backhand slash that would have opened a lesser man from hip to navel. The son parried cleanly.

  Their blades bound.

  For a second, they stood chest to chest. I saw it then. The father's strength still immense. His arms still corded with war-earned muscle. His eyes clear. Focused.

  Then they flickered. Not with confusion. With fatigue.

  The son twisted his wrist, disengaged, and struck low. The flat of his blade swept Roderick's ankle.

  The Warfather fell to one knee.

  He tried to rise at once. Pride faster than balance. But the world betrayed him. His footing failed. His sword dipped.

  In a single controlled motion, the son stepped behind him and pressed steel to his father's throat.

  Silence swallowed the yard.

  Roderick breathed heavily. Not from the fight. But from the drink.

  For a long moment he did not move.

  Then, slowly, the strength left his shoulders. His sword slipped from his hand and struck the dirt.

  "You taught me discipline. You taught me honor." Cried the son. Shaking his head. "When did you forget those things?"

  At first, I was impressed by the father's strength. His short outbursts giving breath to a legend. A warrior unlike any other. But then I was moved by the son. A disciplined man, with neither experience nor battles to his name, but he was under no influence. He battled no plant or drink. He was clean. Clean enough to send a legend to his knees, and abide by a knight's vows to fight with honor.

  I had to speak to the man. I hesitated for a moment, but before I could speak, I heard the Warfather's head hit the mud as he passed out. The ginger no sooner called to me.

  "You there. Man in the visor. You look sober enough." He said. I took off my helmet. "Help me carry my father home, if you can. He is not well."

  "Get him on the horse." I said. He looked at Galloper the Younger. He nodded and smiled at me. Thankful.

  I handed a third beef to the poor villager, who smiled, kissed the beef and went on his way. I helped the ginger to raise the Warfather onto Galloper, and after a moment, we were leading him across the dirty roads of the town.

  "My father was a good man once." Said the ginger. "I wouldn't be helping him if he never were."

  "The influence can be a difficult poison." I merely commented. He turned to me, then looking to the road once again.

  "Yes. I suppose it is." He said. Thinking. "You seem like a clean man, though. What brought you to a place like that? You had business with that drunk?"

  "I wished to recruit him." I said. Then thinking over my words again. "In truth. I wished to recruit the Warfather. Not him."

  "You were disappointed. I understand." He said. Shaking his head. Recalling a memory. "You should've seen him fight. I had the pleasure of squiring for my father in his golden days. When he could still hold his sword properly."

  "Well, now I need to find a new knight for Princess Eleanor. I don't imagine we have a plethora of legends spilt about."

  "Princess who?" He asked.

  "She's a lonely princess. Her castle's not very known or fortunate. Lives alone with her servant." I said. "I protected her from a beast, but I fear that she will be attacked again, so I must find a knight to guard her."

  "Why don't you guard her?" He asked.

  "I do not wish to be idle. I cannot." I said.

  "Why not?" He asked. I pondered for a moment. I almost told him, but it felt like too much of a hassle. Didn't feel right for the flow of the conversation.

  "Speak no more. I understand." He said. I turned to him, surprised. "I can see right through you. Sir. I think I see what you're doing."

  "Do you?"

  "Yes." He said. Pointing at me. "You are an adventurous feller! Being confined to a place makes you feel like a pigeon with its wings snipped off! You fight for the pleasure of the fighting but you will not settle for a lowly castle, is that it?"

  "Let's roll with that." I said.

  "Well, since it hasn't come up in the conversation. I'm Lucian." He said. Smiled at me and presented his hand to shake.

  "Dominic." I shook back. His eyes beamed at me.

  "I knew it! You're Sir Dominic the Careless!" Lucian cried. "They made a play about you! Awful thing, terribly acted and none of the writing made sense but you're famous enough for a crude play to be made about you!"

  I smiled and looked down. Focused on the road. He laughed.

  "Well, Sir Dominic the Careless. Now that my father turned out to not be what you sought ... Who will you recruit?"

  "I was thinking you." I said. He was shocked. Thought for a long moment.

  "I ... But I'm not a knight." He said.

  "Knighting is the easiest business in the realm. I can knight you."

  "I have no experience nor battles to my name, I will be a burden! I lack the strength!" He said.

  "You were stronger than the Warfather." I said.

  "Stronger than a drunk!" He said. He looked away. Embarrassed. Shook his head. I kept quiet. For a moment.

  "Sir Dominic. You can find better a knight." He said.

  "I don't want better a knight." I said. "I want a disciplined man as yourself. One that can follow orders. One that can protect. I think you're the best man for the duty."

  He thought for a long moment. Took a deep breath. Turned to me.

  "Will you train me?" He asked.

  Will I? I did not wish to stay in the empty castle for longer than I must. But I'd be training him. I—

  "Stillness births temptation, doesn't it?" Lucian said, interrupting my thoughts. I turned to him. He knew all along. "Yes, I knew. I know my father. I know how it's like, even when it's not on you, but I know the influence it leaves. I know how it changes your personality. But I know that you are a good man and you do not wish to go down the path my father went."

  I stayed quiet. He got closer and playfully punched me on the shoulder. Smiling. And kept pulling the horse.

  "Then I shall ride with you a little longer, Sir Dominic."

  I smiled and continued to lay eyes on the road ahead. As we walked, my pinky began its quiet treachery again.

  I pressed it hard against the reins until it remembered who commanded it.