The room was silent, save for the murmurs of those who had gathered in the large space. The softer their whispers, the more anxious I became. The time was drawing near. Move, feet. Remember to bow, waist. Cease your quaking, legs. Subtle 'tinks' and 'clanks' stirred up from the crowd as His Knights formed two lines leading down the grand aisle. The floors were filled with golden, swirled designs that snaked around people’s feet like painted vines. The tiling was so pristine and cream-colored the anticipating faces of the crowd were reflected in detail on each tile.
A young aide, clothed in a brown tunic with matching slippers and dark colored tights held the ends of His cape. It was made of glorious, blue velvet, the collar and bottom lined with snow white fur. His advisor stood before Him, a satin pillow in hand; its blue and gold, jewel-encrusted edges caught the light reflected off of the large chandeliers hanging down from the high ceiling. Everyone’s attention soon turned to the dozen or so musicians that had their instruments in position. The small group of stringed instruments began first: a large, golden harp with strings delicate as a feather rang out its sweet notes; the mandolin players plucked with such finesse that there were some who began to nod their heads in the crowd of witnesses and spectators. The music--every aching chord, every vibratory pluck-- I could feel it all.
A metal hand on my shoulder pushed me forward, making my presence all the more known. Soon, the brass instruments sounded their cue and a choir of angels seemed to sing to the glory of all that was good, all that was right. Somehow, my legs continued to move forward, my feet in a slight shuffling motion. All eyes, both pleased and angered, were on me. In this moment, I am loved. I am hated. Perhaps, I am pitied. Just as my negative thoughts began to take over, His voice beckoned for me to move swiftly. I quickened my walk, trying to match up to the confidence of those around me. This is my moment. At long last, what I have dreamed of for years has arrived. I feel one with the knights around me, one with the Court. Most of all: one with Him.
He seemed to tower over me almost when I arrived to the front of the room. I ascended the four steps that led to being on the same level as Him, for a moment above His advisor, whose scowl seemed permanently plastered on his face. I glanced a moment to see that I was several feet from His throne. I had always heard rumors of it being a more modern silver as opposed to traditional gold. In fact, much of His castle’s decor leaned toward cool silver, not warm gold. I stood back, trying not to appear to be sizing up the room and those around me. His advisor stood by His side, glancing at me from an obscured view from golden, circular spectacles. He leaned close and whispered something to me, something I did not quite hear. Rather, something I did not want to hear. Once I hear it, Once it enters my thoughts, Once it consumes my actions, I will no longer be all that I can be for Him. I will doubt my strength, my power, my worthiness.
“He will never see you as nothing more than a pawn,” His advisor had spewed.
He has hand picked me. I am here for a reason. He personally chose me to be with Him, to be by His side. He has already seen me as more than a common peasant, more than a forgettable servant. I have become. . .
“I knight thee. . .Sir Worcestershire!”
His cool blade touched my shoulder and for a moment all seemed to vanish; my legs became numb, I forgot how to properly stand after kneeling, and a queasiness began to overcome me.
His arms embraced me, smells of wine filling my nose. Sweet wine. The weight of His World already hurt my shoulders, masked with the sweetness of His scent. The cold returned as he pulled away from me and placed his sword back on its pillow, unsheathed. Sharp daggers from His advisor’s eyes nearly penetrated the heavy suit of armor that I wore as he placed the sword back inside of its black, leather scabbard. But his glare was powerless against the King’s Smile. The warmth returned when His multi-ringed hand rested upon my steel-plated shoulder pad. Suddenly, He was closer to me, our eyes almost meeting, but I refused to break my honor code. I am not of greater or equal value to Him. He is above me. I understood that long ago, so direct eye contact was out of the question. It was almost equal to treason. Nevertheless, I felt that seeing His eyes firsthand, their crystalline sparkle almost blinding to those who dared to observe such beauty too closely, would be a priceless gift.
The crowd had already begun to disperse, the musicians already packing away their various instruments and bidding farewell. The moment I had longed for all of my life was now over. His attention was focused on me as He spoke, telling me of my duties as a knight. As His knight. My duties are to be by His side and shield His life with my own, so that He may live on and flourish. I feel my head nod at His words. He mentioned “duties” several times, it seemed, to ensure that I understood clearly what this all meant. How serious all of this was-- the years of training, the countless battles in foreign lands, the knighting ceremony at last--was now sinking into my mind.
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