A post with a medieval perspective in the second round of Sheryl Gwyther's 52-Week Flash Fiction Challenge on Facebook.
The Accolade (185 words)
The day had finally come and he was to be become a Knight.
A journey that had commenced at the age of seven when he began his service as a Page and continued when he became a Squire at fourteen, was finally complete at just nineteen years.
His equestrian skills were flawless, his loyalty proven. Built like a God he was blessed with a mind so astute to strategy and warfare that he had been granted rare exception to join the knighthood early.
He knelt proudly on the kneeling-stool before his King who proceeded to tap his right shoulder then his left. He stood and received his insignia, awash with pride.
His fellow Knights, brothers in arms, took him to the ale house where they swore a blood oath to one another.
He clutched the blade of the dagger and felt the warm liquid bleed from his hand.
“Fie!’ he was heard to mutter under his breath as his body slackened inside his armour and he fell to the earthen floor.
For all his preparedness, he still could not stand the sight of his own blood.