The morning of the ceremony, Ethyn was up bright and early. When soldiers had not come to apprehend him after the king's banquet or the following day, the young man decided he would relax a little. The danger, for now, had passed.
The day between his arrival and the knighting was spent pleasantly enough with the other squires who would soon become fellow protectors of the realm. The group was teeming with excitement and energy.
As a result, the young men had even held a little tournament amongst themselves in the area where the market had been on the day of their arrival. To his dismay, Nuall had been prevented from attending by his sponsor in punishment for his actions against Ethyn, which significantly lightened the mood of the rest of the group.
The men moved about in their makeshift arena with practice swords and padding on their arms, not wanting to damage their armor or themselves before the big event.
When it was all said and done, Ethyn had come in second in the competition. With his ability, the redhead easily could have come in first if he had put his full effort into the match, but he did not want to draw too much attention to himself.
There was good, and then there was too good. He had training both from Sir Cyneheard and Silver, which made him both capable of fighting with a sword, and also innovative enough to use other resources to his advantage.
It was a winning, though unconventional, combination.
The princess and her lady-in-waiting had stopped in briefly to watch the competition. Ethyn was very glad it had not been during one of his matches. Or was he disappointed?
Rose had barely glanced his way before curtsying to the gentlemen and excusing herself. It was just as well, though Ethyn had wished the glance had not been so dismissive. He rejected the fact that he could not both be ignored and noticed at the same time. For that is exactly what he desired.
But today was a new day and the knight aspirant awoke refreshed and ready to face whatever came. He spent hours polishing his armor until it shone brightly.
Sir Cyneheard had offered to have one of his servants do it for him, but Ethyn needed to get out his nervous energy. And after today, he would no longer have the luxury of servants, so it was just as well that he get used to doing it himself. Finally the peace of a job well done overtook him and he set down his cloth.
Staring down at the polished metal, Ethyn ran his fingers along the crest which was painted onto the shield. When Silver had presented him with the gift, the Guardian had claimed it was the Samberg crest.
Ethyn knew he was just being kind. His little landowning family likely had no crest as he was unaware of a knight in his lineage.
His parents had not talked about their families at all as far as he could remember. The young man only knew that his mother was a peasant and his father was not. It was why the servants had treated the 'half-breed' with such contempt when his father had abandoned him.
But this crest emblazoned on his shield, it was the beginning of a new life for him. The bright yellow and dark black checkers represented the light of being a valiant knight and the darkness of combat. The two trees intertwined in the center supposedly stood for justice and mercy, but Ethyn believed they represented his life before and after coming to Rynnlee.
"Sir Ethyn of Rynnlee," he said affectionately.
"Is that what you want to be called?" Cyneheard startled the young man by his question.
The redhead looked to see the older man standing with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised. Ethyn hadn't even heard the older man enter.
"I did knock," Cyneheard defended himself against the boy's shocked look. "You were a little preoccupied with that shield of yours."
"I won't even be taking it, but I thought it should look as nice as the rest of me." Ethyn stood from his cushioned chair and laid the shield on his bed. "Is it time?"
"It is getting close. Let me help you get ready." Cynheard picked up the polished breastplate from the floor, reflecting the morning sun from the window.
"You don't need to do that!" Ethyn tried to take the armor from the old knight.
Cyneheard clicked his tongue dismissively and held his grip. "Don't you think I know that? I want to! My boy, I have trained a few knights over the years, but you have by far been my favorite. After today, I will only have my memories to look back on and the occasional tournament, which I better see you win! Let me have the honor of helping you prepare."
Ethyn pushed back the tears that threatened the corner of his eyes. "It has been an honor to train under you, Sir Cyneheard. I will forever be in your debt."
"The honor is mine." Cyneheard seemed to be pushing back tears of his own. His voice was strained.
Looking far too decidedly at the breastplate, the older man lifted over the younger's head and lowered it into place. With a tug, he cinched the two solid plates together and lashed them in place. Ethyn pulled the chainmail hood up over his head, obscuring his dark red hair and protecting his skull.
Though he hoped not to need protection today.
When each piece of armor was put in place, and the young man transformed from an amiable friend to a fearsome warrior. Stepping back to look at his handiwork, Cyneheard wiped his brow dramatically.
"I would not want to come up against you in battle. That helmet alone makes me shiver in fear. Don't forget to take it off when you kneel before King Rhodri." The wizened knight sounded like mother hen clucking at her chick, but Ethyn did not mind.
He removed his head covering for a moment and took a deep breath. He looked at how the helmet came to a dramatic point on the top like an ominous spire. It was not really his taste, but it gave him extra height and a menacing look. Overall, he could not complain.
"I appreciate the advice, I shall do my best to do everything perfectly," he assured his sponsor.
"You will be amazing," Cyneheard answered without a shadow of a doubt.
A short while later, members of Cynheard's retinue entered the suite of rooms with light refreshments. The food was merely to hold them over to the evening's feast. It would not go well to faint from hunger in front of the monarch and his court.
The servants then helped their master get on the armor of his own. It went much faster because there were far more hands at work to aid the old gentleman.
There were only a few moments to spare when the two men sat reclining on a couch before being summoned to the throne room. Cyneheard looked at his apprentice and smiled mischievously.
"Just wait until the princess sees you in that armor of yours. She will be unable to keep her eyes off of you!" He chuckled as he slapped his knee.
"Unless it is in order to slap me, I do not share your sentiment," Ethyn tried hide his discomfort at the mention of the princess. The peace he had been feeling shattered.
"Why would she want to slap you?" Cyneheard leaned in, feeling a hint of juicy gossip about to come his way.
"I told you about Nuall and the washroom, what I left out was a few important details..." the young man braced himself for the story when the herald knocked on the suite.
"Sir Cyneheard and Aspirant Ethyn are requested in the throne room," he announced through the door.
"Thank you!" Cyneheard responded loudly as he stood. "I want this story, but we cannot keep the king and Her Highness waiting." The knight sighed but then winked. "On a bright note, if Princess Rose does slap you, I can claim innocence still."
"...great..." Ethyn gulped.
As the young man walked down the halls accompanied by his auspicious sponsor, he calmed his nerves, trying to return to the equanimity he had felt before Cyneheard's unsettling comment.
'Just act natural.' Ethyn comforted himself. 'It's been two days and nothing has happened. She probably doesn't even remember everything you've done.'
Obviously, he was wrong....