The Black Knight's Penance
A chivalric romantic comedy
The black knight had seen brighter days.
Sir Blake was not leaning against a tree so much as pinned to it by the silver lance that pierced his sable armor. His shield was a crumpled heap of metal on his left, the shrapnel that was once his sword scattered to his right, and his faithless steed had already wandered off indifferently to graze on grass untainted by the rapidly pooling blood of his soon-to-be-former master.
Yet worst of all was that he would die alone, for his fair lady had been stolen only minutes before by the savage knight in white armor who had left him in such a miserable state – though he may have heard his lady refer to this savage as “brave champion”, and her abduction as a “rescue” from who she called her “horrid captor” – but at the moment Sir Blake hardly cared what she thought.
He wondered if that was why he had to steal fair ladies.
A bolt of pain put an end to his life’s sole moment of self-reflection. He would be dead soon, and he knew his life would be judged by something far greater than anything he could muster for himself in his final moments.
So he put such thoughts aside, and regarded the simple beauties of the world in the forest that surrounded him one last time.
He watched spears of sunlight dance across rainbows of flowers as the canopy of shining leaves swayed above in the gentle summer wind. He inhaled the sickly sweet scent of nectar muddled with blood, and he listened to the quiet birdsong that would serve as a perfect lullaby into his eternal slumber.
Sir Blake sighed.
At least it’s pretty here.
With that Sir Blake knew the closest he would to peace, and closed his eyes with finality, certain he would never open them again.
“Hey!”
Sir Blake opened his eyes, annoyed.
A barefoot girl in a simple, white dress stood over him with a mildly curious expression that seemed either unaware of or uninterested in the mortal nature of the situation before her. She looked no older than twelve, with long, golden hair that fell over her face and ears, occasionally blown aside whenever it fell into her amber eyes with a short puff of air.
Somehow she seemed – familiar.
She spoke again:
“Are you alright?”
“Do I look alright!?” snapped Sir Blake.
“No.” the girl admitted, walking around him to get a better look at the shaft of silver metal that protruded from his torso. “What’s this?”
“A spear.”
“Who put it there?”
“A knight.”
“Why’d he do that?”
“We were jousting.”
“Did you win?”
Sir Blake stared at the girl for some time in silence. Perhaps he had died the moment the lance struck him, and this was his cursed eternity.
He had never been any good with children.
“No.” he exhaled, “No I did not.”
The girl nodded as if that was what she expected to hear, “I thought so.”
“Well, aren’t you bright?” Sir Blake sneered, “Now go away. I was quite at peace before you arrived.”
He resettled himself as best he could into a position that would make for a better looking corpse and shut his eyes again, determined to ignore his sole companion for the short remainder of his life.
“You don’t want my help?”
The girl’s words lingered in the air for a moment before Sir Blake opened his eyes a second time, now gleaming with cautious self-interest.
“How could you possibly help me?”
“Well I could take this out for starters.” said the girl, casually rapping the lance with her knuckle and causing the knight to snarl.
“Don’t touch that!” he spat.
“How am I supposed to take it out if I’m not allowed to touch it?”
“I don’t want you to take it out!” Sir Blake yelled.
“Why not?” asked the girl with such sincere perplexity that Sir Blake could not help but be shoved beyond the final limits of his patience.
“Because I’ll still die, you stupid brat! Would you rather rip it out and see a man suffer!?”
“Oh please, Sir Knight.” said the girl, playfully tossing her hair aside to reveal ears with pointed tips, “I have better ways of helping you than that.”
Even when Sir Blake had faced his own death with a bitter contentment that bordered on dignity, her revelation sank his heart to unfathomed depths of despair.
“Oh no.” he groaned, “Not the fae.”
“That’s not very nice!” chuckled the faerie, “No wonder my sister turned you into a frog!”
Sir Blake wailed louder, only causing the faerie to laugh harder as he finally placed her face in his memory.
She looked exactly like her sister.
“If it makes you feel any better,” she said as she began to pace around the knight, grinning from pointed ear to pointed ear, “Normally when Iris curses people, it’s for a year and a day, or until they learn their lesson – or, if they’re really mean she turns them into a stone and throws them into a lake and forgets about them!”
“But you got off with a month! And that was for trying to kidnap her.”
“I think that means she likes you!”
“Oh my,” said Sir Blake in a voice that dripped with sarcasm as thick as the blood pouring from his wound, “You really think so?”
The faerie nodded obliviously.
“Yeah! She even remembered your name!” the girl turned to focus on something above her, as though the leaves would jog her own memory “Sir. . . Blake, right?”
The knight felt like a second lance had crashed upon his chest, and the mockery in his voice had been all but banished as he sincerely replied:
“Yes. Yes, that’s right.”
“I recognized your arms.” she giggled as she gestured to the remains of his shield, “Or uh, what’s left of them.”
“It’s funny she even remembered them enough to tell me though, usually she doesn’t even notice them.”
“R-Really?” color had started to return to his face.
“Mm-hmm.” The faerie said, nodding. “She said that you were – “
The faerie stopped as an idea worked its way across her face and sparkled through her golden eyes, and then she turned to Sir Blake with a smile of pure mischief found only amongst children and the fae.
“Actually – I can take you to her, and she can tell you what she said, but you have to help me first!”
To Sir Blake the choice was an obvious one, made more obvious by the amount of blood that had left his body since the beginning of their conversation, but nonetheless he considered refusing for the sake of pride.
Then came another shot of pain, and the idea crumbled alongside whatever other spiteful principles remained.
“On my honor as a knight, I shall undertake your quest and help you however I may.” he breathlessly recited before gritting his teeth. “Now fix me.”
“Wonderful!” cried the faerie, clapping her hands together with glee. “Now hold still, I’m not the best at this.”
Before the knight could protest the faerie had already placed her dainty hands on the spear still stuck through his chest. The knight braced himself for the shock, but this time there was no pain.
After a moment – nothing happened.
“Is this some sort of cruel jest -”
Incandescent song burst from the faerie’s hands, mouth, and eyes. It coursed through the silver lance like molten lightning, forcing Sir Blake to interrupt his own outburst with a startled yelp and shut his eyes as the spear turned brighter than sunlight.
Then, there was silence, and Sir Blake was certain he was dead at last.
“All done!”
Sir Blake’s vision returned quickly; the courage to use it took far longer.
Eventually, when morbid curiosity grew too great to deny, the knight opened his eyes.
He found himself standing with shield in hand and sword in sheath as though they had never been broken. The blood that had gathered around him had vanished, and his battered obsidian armor had been repaired to a state better than the day it was forged. Hesitantly, he felt for the spear in his chest, and found nothing save a small, silver cross that marked what should have been his death-wound.
The sound of lazy hooves nearby brought Sir Blake back to his surroundings, and the knight saw his horse watching him with a mouthful of grass still hanging from its teeth, staring guiltlessly at the master it had already left for dead.
“My. . . apologies, faerie.” said the knight at last, his cynicism entirely absent. “Thank you.”
“Call me Lily!” said the girl, eyes and mouth beaming with pride, and some relief, at the image of chivalry that she had managed to restore, “And don’t forget your promise! I can snap my fingers and put that lance right back where it was!”
“What sort of knight do you take me for? I hadn’t even considered it.”
“The sort of knight that’s bad at lying.”
Sir Blake narrowed his eyes behind his umbril and said nothing else.
Both knew she was right.
“Anyway,” the faerie continued, “The reason I came to you is because Iris got captured again. By a real knight this time, a real evil one.”
Sir Blake snorted, the implication instantly restoring his bad mood, “Well why doesn’t she just turn him into a frog then?”
“That’s the thing!” replied Lily, “None of our magic works on him, or anywhere near his castle!”
She plucked something from the air around her, and a shining white ring appeared in a once empty hand.
“But the good news is it still works on you. Take this!”
“What is it?” asked Sir Blake, cautiously examining the ring as he took it from her fingers.
“Wear it! And so long as you fight for a righteous cause, you’ll fight with the strength of ten!”
“Why stop at ten?” Sir Blake pried as he slid the ring over his gauntlet.
“I did my best!” pouted the faerie, “I’m not the best enchantress.”
“Well why me then?” the knight responded, “I’m not the best knight either – certainly not the most righteous.”
“You were my last choice if that makes you feel better.” answered Lily with an honesty that made Sir Blake cringe, “No one else wants to fight him; they all think he’s a demon.”
“Is he?” Sir Blake failed to disguise the concern in his voice.
“. . .Maybe?” Lily shrugged sheepishly, “He’s probably just a sorcerer.”
Sir Blake said nothing as his initial dread of faeries almost smugly settled itself back into his body, the emotion seeming to smile at him where the rest of his mind only screamed.
He could not help but wonder if he had made the right choice after all.
“But it doesn’t matter what he is because you have to help!” Lily said, leaving him no time to entertain justified doubts, “Now come on! I’ll show you where he lives!”
Excited, Lily ran off to the horse, endearing herself to it by stroking its face and nuzzling its ears as they both waited for the infinitely more reluctant knight to follow. Eventually he arrived, hoisting himself up on his saddle and turning to find the faerie already shoving a tiny arm towards him, waiting for her turn without patience.
He assisted her onto the horse as gently as he could manage, and not a moment after she was settled did she narrowly avoid knocking his helm off his head as she thrust her arm in front of him.
“That way! Just keep following the path out of here and I’ll tell you when to turn and stuff.”
“Very well.” grumbled Sir Blake, and with a flick of reigns and spurs, both horse and rider set off towards the knight’s first noble adventure.
The ride had gone peacefully enough, save for Lily’s occasional directions, observations, complaints, and general teasing until any remaining good will Sir Blake might have had towards the girl that saved his life had been thoroughly scrubbed away. Moments before silent annoyance gave way to vocal outrage she cried:
“We’re here!”
With a start he realized she was right. The running commentary of his passenger for the duration of the journey hadn’t allowed him to notice the vibrant forest wane into an endless expanse of cracked earth, or the calm birdsong fade into a low, eerie howl.
Or even to see the imposing castle that stood alone in the wasteland.
Distantly, Sir Blake felt jealous. Strong, square walls and towers of perfectly shaped black stone decorated with banners of crimson was the perfect setting to house a captured princess. Certainly a far cry from the forgotten towers he often struggled to transform into accommodations befitting a lady. Alongside the dreadful landscape that surrounded it, the castle managed to raise an air both abominable and magnificent, a picturesque example of one of the few places a knight could expect to find both his fair lady and arch-nemesis through any door within.
“Are you sure?” Sir Blake attempted, “It looks like no one’s laid eyes upon this castle in years.”
“Of course I’m sure!” responded the girl with confidence, “See that shield there?”
The faerie pointed to a sinister looking coat of arms nailed to a post just a few meters before the iron gate; the only hint to suggest the castle was not without a master.
Sir Blake’s mouth went dry; he knew what she was going to say.
“Yes.”
“Go up there and bang on it a couple of times, he’ll come out!”
“Couldn’t we try negotiating first?”
“Would you give up Iris if she hadn’t turned you into a frog?”
Sir Blake sighed.
“No.”
“Then hit that shield!” encouraged Lily, clapping him on the back as she dismounted and ran for cover. “And remember the ring! You’ll be fine!”
In his travels Sir Blake had almost forgotten. He stretched his fingers to watch it glimmer in the sunlight, and tried to feel its power pulse through his gauntlet as he curled his hand into a fist. He turned again to the castle and looked towards its highest tower, where he swore he saw the shape of a woman hidden behind weakly fluttering curtains.
With an attempt at confidence, Sir Blake pushed his chest out high, pulled his back straight, spurred his steed towards the shield, and tepidly struck it once with the butt of his lance.
It rang out, overpowered the sound of the wind, and faded without response.
He turned to Lily, and found her making a ‘keep going’ gesture.
He hit it again, stronger, and was surprised to feel actual courage emerge as noise filled the otherwise empty wasteland. He didn’t wait for it to go silent before he hit it another time, then another, stronger and faster each time until the arms were defaced and the shield bent and the post behind it began to splinter until at last the castle screamed:
“WHO WOULD DARE DEFILE THE ARMS OF SIR RAVILE!?”
A figure had manifested on the walls above, clad head to toe in scaled, horned armor the color of blood and pitch with a cloak of the same, the monstrous visage completed by a helm shaped into the likeness of a dragon with glowing eyes that glared at the offending black speck beneath.
Yet for all the knight’s sinister pageantry, what frightened Sir Blake the most was the terrible, darkening gemstone fastened tightly to his cuirass. A cursed jewel appearing as though it had been torn into a reality where it did not belong, facets crackling with purple sparks that split the air around them and cast shadows where light should fall.
Sir Blake fingered the ring on his gauntlet, and tried to convince himself they were evenly matched as he recalled the verse so many knights had recited when they came to rescue a lady from him.
“I am Sir Blake, here in honor of the Lady Iris! Release her from your captivity or prepare to defend her at peril of your body!”
From behind her hiding spot, Sir Blake saw Lily give him a thumbs up.
Sir Ravile was not so amused, and leapt from the two story wall with the same ease one would dismount a horse, landing with an earth splitting crash that did not so much as dent his sabatons.
He stood, turning as he did to face Sir Blake with such palpable hatred that the knight could only be thankful for the horrible helm that disguised his evil countenance.
“Then take her from me.”
The silence that came from Sir Blake spoke for him. Even with helm and umbril hiding his awed face, one could easily see he had been struck dumb with such an ostentatious display of strength.
Beneath him, he felt his horse take a single unprompted step backwards, and he forced himself to find his tongue.
“Sir Ravile, I am with horse and lance while you are not.” he said at last, aggressively spurring his steed back into line. “It would be unchivalrous for me to attack at such an advantage.”
“Then for the sake of your chivalry.” Sir Ravile growled, “I shall assure you that you have no such thing.”
They all think he’s a demon! Lily’s voice repeated in the knight’s thoughts, and as he stood before Sir Ravile, Sir Blake was certain they were right, and that even on pain of death all were wiser than he not to face him.
And the thought only served to make him feel all the more foolish as he reared his horse, pointed a lance at the knight’s black heart, and charged.
Sir Ravile’s jewel flashed a terrible color as they met, and the lance that would have knocked any other man dead disintegrated hopelessly against the enchanted knight’s shield. Before the cloud of splinters had settled Sir Blake felt a spiked gauntlet dig into his hip, and with impossible strength he was ripped from his stirrups and sent spinning into the dirt below.
Sir Blake felt something break when he landed, yet still rolled to his feet moments before Sir Ravile’s blade severed his head from his body.
“You impress me, Sir Blake.” Sir Ravile sneered, “Of all the knights that have faced me, your charge was the weakest amongst them.”
Sir Blake’s cynicism could not help but emerge for a split-second, a half-roll of his eyes and a huff cut short by Sir Ravile’s sword. Narrowly Sir Blake put it aside, the rush of battle and fear of death all that had allowed him to manage this far.
Even when parried, the evil knight’s blow was enough to knock Sir Blake a stride backwards.
The ring! The knight cursed in his thoughts, Why isn’t that damned faerie’s ring working!?
“What could a whelp such as you possibly hope to achieve by coming against me?” Sir Ravile raised his sword to strike again, stopped for a moment, then seemed to frown.
“Talk and fight. You seem to be doing terribly at the latter, perhaps the former will at least amuse me.”
“I’m on a quest!” shouted Sir Blake behind raised shield, his vocalization earning him a strike that brought him to his knees.
“What a virtuous knight indeed!” Sir Ravile cried, “Then I suppose it is a shame that you will die for intentions other than your own.”
A second slam drove Sir Blake into the earth below.
“Or perhaps I will keep you with your lady, since none would commit themselves to this suicide without some love for her!”
Sir Ravile’s amulet pulsed again, and this time his sword cracked Sir Blake’s shield down the middle.
“I imagine you two will keep lovely company within my dungeon!”
A laugh that would make any maniacal wizard envious fell on deaf ears as Sir Blake forgot his peril, and turned again to the castle’s tallest tower.
Above the battlefield the wind surged, and the curtains lifted to reveal an utterly empty chamber within.
And Sir Blake felt fire burn inside him.
What was to be Sir Ravile’s final blow was interrupted when Sir Blake nearly shattered his shield on the savage’s helm.
For the first time in their encounter, the monster stumbled.
“How dare thee.” Sir Blake growled.
The force of Sir Ravile’s retaliation was near ignored as Sir Blake rose to strike his opponent’s arm aside with new strength.
“A lady is to be treated with honor and dignity! Not thrown in the dungeon like some prisoner of war!”
Sir Blake followed with haste, and a second strike crashed to a halt on the shield Sir Ravile barely had time to raise.
“If you are to steal her away, thee shall steal her comfortably! She shall ride side saddle on a fine palfrey with only hands and feet lightly bound!”
Behind his helm, Sir Ravile looked at the ostensible hero with complete bewilderment.
“What the hell are you on about?”
The evil knight’s comment was met with a deafening ring of metal.
“Thee shall wait on her hand and foot! Provide her with everything befitting her nobility! Such that if she swoons as yea take her, then she may wake and believe she never left her castle!”
The penultimate strike rent Sir Ravile’s shield from his hand, exposing the enchanted gemstone Sir Blake prayed was the source of his accursed power.
“Yet above all, a lady belongs in a TOWER!”
The knight’s assumption proved right, and his sword shattered the deceptively fragile gem like a hammer through glass, staggering Sir Blake as a torrent of twilight smoke erupted from the armor and enveloped his vision in screaming darkness.
A moment after, it was gone. The armor was crumpled and lifeless, silence reclaimed the wasteland. . .
. . .and both horse and faerie stared at Sir Blake with expressions of utter amazement.
“I can’t believe you won.” Lily eventually said when she approached, dumbly beating dust out of her dress, “I guess he really was a sorcerer, huh?”
“Demon, more like.” Sir Blake snorted, pain slowly seeping up where the thrill of battle faded. “Yet – I could not have bested him without you, faerie.”
The faerie’s wide eyes turned sideways and an eyebrow cocked.
“Huh?”
“The ring, that would only grant its strength if I fought for a righteous cause!” laughed Sir Blake, “I felt its power overwhelm me as soon as I thought of Lady Iris locked in that blackguard’s dungeon, and forgot my selfishness that saw me agree to this quest!”
“Really!?” her expression reverted to amazement, but somehow more so than before. “You were screaming about the proper way to kidnap a lady! That’s a terrible cause!”
Sir Blake’s face dropped behind his visor.
“What.”
“It would’ve glowed – or hummed or exploded or something! It would’ve been over in two hits if you’d been doing anything righteous!” the faerie crossed her arms and huffed, blowing a strand of hair that fell out of place as she turned her back to him.
“I can’t believe Iris said you were – Gah!”
“Were what!?” pleaded Sir Blake, dutifully ignoring the seemingly obvious, yet secondary-at-best lesson of personal strength to be gleaned from his adventure.
Lily pointed two fingers towards the castle gate, and with the sorcerer gone, nothing stopped her magic from raising it.
“Find out for yourself, ‘Sir Knight’!”
She stomped off towards the horse and took a heavy seat beside it, back still facing the knight, and left him to enter Sir Ravile’s castle alone.
Sir Blake’s shoulders slumped, and with a sigh, he marched off to do as he was told.
Yet he could not help but feel that even this victory would ring just as hollow as the seldom few he’d had before.
Lady Iris awoke to the sensation of weight lifting off her shoulders.
Hurriedly she pushed herself off the floor, brought her hand to her face, and snapped her fingers.
First came nothing, then sparks flew, and finally flame burst from her hand and illuminated a smile that lit her entire face.
Someone had broken the sorcerer’s curse, and her magic was restored.
Obviously, Lady Iris could escape at any time now. A faerie as powerful as she could reduce the castle to rubble with a clap of her hands, jaunt out of her cell, and be back within her forest before sunset.
Yet what purpose was there for eternal life amidst the shadows of trees and bottoms of lakes if she could not spare some of her infinite time towards harmless theatrics?
She stood in a hurry, setting the flame into the dull tiara on her head and turning it radiant. In an instant the dark cell flashed into a starlit chamber, and the ragged prisoner again became the faerie whose beauty was the stuff of legends.
Her frayed hair smoothed itself back into shining waves the colors of starlight, her pale face suddenly flushed with the subtle shade of rose petals, and her eyes regained an enchanting, prismatic twinkle that shone every color of the rainbow.
She smoothed her dress, causing its colors to ripple and torn edges to weave themselves back into place until it settled into something akin to silken moonstone, only to immediately shimmer into a nervous pink as she turned away from the door and waited for her brave champion to claim his reward.
Ladies are as complex as they are fair, the fae triple so. Yet even they are but candles to the incandescent, village-razing inferno that was Lady Iris and her ritual of courtship.
Her heart fluttered when the deadbolt fell open, and her dress went slightly pinker. She waited for her knight to shatter it from its hinges and serenade her with the trials he underwent for her and her alone, yet the only sound that came was a precocious push and creaking hinges.
Still she turned and began her ritual, hoping her champion would be savvy enough to follow her lead.
“Ah, my brave champion!” Lady Iris recited in words like song, running to embrace him.
She could not help but notice the black armor first, another strike against the man who had just saved her life. She preferred polished silver, but still he seemed hale and hearty enough. Besides, he had just gone through the trouble of braving both sorcerer and dungeon to rescue her.
Her play went on.
“Pray allow me to remove thine helm, so I may know my champion by thine face -”
The knight uttered some wordless protest, but did not stop her hands from clasping either side of the sable helmet and lifting it from his head.
A spark of memory passed between their eyes when Lady Iris revealed the surprisingly young face for a man she knew to be of such developed cynical disposition. It was fair, handsome, and with unbroken features more befitting the knights who routinely beat him senseless than a princess-stealing vagrant. His hair was gleaming black, and matching eyes stared dumbly into her own.
“Sir – Blake!?”
“You actually do remember.” Sir Blake blurted before he could think better.
The theatrics stopped with a crash as Lady Iris let the helm fall to the floor. Her face dropped, her dress sputtered to a blank white, and the spark that caught between their eyes coldly died on the dank stone in the awkward silence that eventually ensued.
Sir Blake turned his gaze away. Lady Iris only narrowed hers.
“I remember you better as a frog.”
Lady Iris sighed, and raised her right hand so its back faced Sir Blake.
“Perhaps a rat will do this time.”
“Wait! Lady Iris!” pleaded Sir Blake, raising his hands in useless defense, “I’m trying to rescue you!”
The magic that had begun to gather on her hand did not disperse, but a smirk found its way to Lady Iris’ face.
“You’ve finally learned better?”
The knight teetered and, to Lady Iris’ surprise, fell onto the floor as though her words had been made of lead.
“No. No, my lady, I don’t believe I have.”
“I am only here on behalf of your sister, Lily.”
Lady Iris’ dress flashed first overjoyed yellow at her sister’s name, then dull gray of poorly-disguised offence at the first implication she realized.
“Lily picked you to rescue me?”
“I was her last choice, if that makes you feel any better.” Sir Blake repeated, “And for good reason it would seem.”
He raised his gauntlet into the light of her tiara, exposing the dull ring with a sad confidence.
“I was to defeat your captor with this ring, which would give me the strength of ten if only I fought for a righteous cause.”
“And even as I thought only of you and your plight, as concern surged within me and I bested him with strength I had not thought myself capable of, it never once revealed its power to me.”
“You defeated Sir Ravile by strength of body alone?”
From the corner of his eye, Sir Blake could not help but notice the similarities of the sisters when her face fell into an expression of awe that mirrored Lily’s own.
“That’s incredible.”
“That’s not the point!” shouted Sir Blake, brushing the compliment from a lady aside for the first time in his life. “Here I was, on a quest none could dare call ignoble! To rescue a lady in an unarguably dire situation from a true savage! And yet to its very end I was merely a useful idiot being led along with a carrot on a stick!”
Lady Iris’ voice and colors began to soften.
“What sort of carrot on a stick?”
“My life, my honor, and. . .” Sir Blake hesitated to focus all of his attention on a stone in front of him, “. . . and Lily said you said something about me.” he finally admitted.
Lady Iris coughed suddenly, and quickly willed her dress to stay a neutral color before it burst into something that would match her reddening cheeks.
“W-What did she say I said?”
“If I knew, I don’t know if I’d be here.” sighed Sir Blake, failing to notice Lady Iris exhale with exaggerated relief.
Swiftly, the lady recomposed herself, and cut his loathing short as she knelt by his side.
“In that case, allow me to grant you your reward.”
Lady Iris could not help but smile as she saw the knight refocus on her face with rapture.
“I suppose – it requires some context.”
“Your meeting with me was no coincidence, Sir Blake, you are infamous throughout the realm.”
“Stories amongst the nobility speak of a black knight, tragically misguided, who would steal away any lady who would only lament loud enough for him to hear.”
“Yet he did it not for lust, nor for ransom, nor for any other thing that men could reason.”
“And. . . I suppose I was simply curious.”
“So I sat by a lake, sang about some woes, and waited for you to capture me.”
Sir Blake was nearly faint with flattery.
“You – let me take you?”
Lady Iris nodded.
“I could have turned you into a frog from the start, or just zapped the life out of you if you tried anything terrible – yet you didn’t.”
“You took me to a tower, furnished it with anything I desired. Hunted, cooked, provided me a garden to tend and books to read – and despite taking me against my will, you left me to do whatever I pleased.”
The faerie’s smile faded somewhat as she prepared her next words.
“What I learned – what I told Lily – is that you’re like a fine arrow.”
“Notched into a master’s bow, drawn perfectly straight and strong – only to be fired directly into the foot of the marksman.”
Sir Blake’s face darkened as he tried to understand.
“You’re a fine knight Sir Blake!” Lady Iris clarified, “You’re strong, noble, unmatched in chivalry – you’re just completely pointed in the wrong direction!”
“Honestly, I had seen all I needed to in the first three days, but I stayed a fortnight just because. . . well, I guess I liked being treated like a real princess for once.”
Lady Iris realized her dress had begun turning pink again, and quickly burnt it orange as her face suddenly turned stern.
“But you still captured me!”
“So I still had to turn you into a frog!”
“I courted you as I court all fair ladies!” Sir Blake tried to explain, “I would never take one who seemed happy being where she was! I only seek out the ones who should lament their lot in life, as you did!”
“Is that not what the code of chivalry states? To rescue any lady in peril, to treat them all as though they were princesses?”
“How am I any different from the white knights who so often best me, who are lauded as heroes as they yank those poor ladies back into their sorrowful lives?”
Lady Iris placed her hand on his cheek, and turned his head so their eyes met directly.
“Listen carefully, Sir Blake.”
“Knights a thousand times greater than you have gone on quests a thousand times greater than yours just to hear what I am going to tell you now.”
“Above all other things, a lady desires sovereignty.”
“The freedom to choose whether she lives as a melancholy belle in a poor village or a princess within your tower – she has to be the one to choose that.”
“But that’s how all black knights have done it!” Sir Blake insisted, “As my master and his master before him!”
“And where are they?”
The knight tried to break from Lady Iris’ eyes, but found the faerie’s grip on his jaw to be surprisingly firm.
“They are stones in the pathway to Lady Violet’s castle.”
“And you’re going to be one in the pathway to mine if you keep going the way you are!” shouted Lady Iris, “No matter how noble your intentions, you can’t just pick up a woman from her home and assure her she’ll be better off in yours!”
“The only ladies who need to be rescued are those who want to be, those who want you to!”
“Got it?”
An omnipresent insecurity rose from the back of Sir Blake’s mind and broke across his face, and the faerie saw his eyes turn hazy.
“Then. . . I’ve truly been doing it wrong all my life, just as they all said.”
“Well. . . yeah.” Lady Iris confirmed, gentle as she could be, but blunt as she needed to be. Still, she frowned when she saw the knight grow even more distant.
Then, an idea sparkled through her eyes, and she considered the knight before her with a smile of pure mischief found only amongst children and the fae.
“Well, I suppose we could start with the easy ones.” said Lady Iris as she stood and offered him a hand.
“What?” Sir Blake asked, eyes coming back to focus on the hand before him
“You’ve got a lot of ladies to rescue until you’re forgiven.” the lady hummed, “So we’ll start with the easy ones. The ones in dungeons, the ones captured by knights like Sir Ravile, mad wizards, dragons. . .”
The knight took her hand, allowing Lady Iris to pull him up so that their faces were inches apart.
“. . .and I suppose me and Lily could help point you in the right direction.”
“You’ll show me to be a hero!?” Sir Blake gasped.
“I’ve got time to spend.” Lady Iris said, exaggerating a shrug before her arms were bound to her side by Sir Blake’s embrace.
“Thank you my lady!” cried Sir Blake as he enveloped the faerie, “On my honor as a knight I shall do whatever I may! I will be a proper knight yet!”
“Not. . . if you. . . smother. . . me!” wheezed Lady Iris as her dress turned dark purple, prompting Sir Blake to hurriedly release her.
“Now then,” she began after color returned to face and dress, “Let us leave this awful place. Lily hardly has the patience to wait much longer.”
She made her way to the doorway, but Sir Blake did not follow.
“So you’re. . . well enough to walk?”
“Yes, despite your best efforts,” teased Lady Iris. “Perfectly healthy.”
She continued, but Sir Blake still remained.
“Are you sure?”
Lady Iris turned to the knight, and found him looking at another stone, flustered with an unspoken request.
“What is it, Sir Knight?”
“There is. . . something I have seen other knights do, when they take a lady from me.”
Sir Blake gathered all his courage, and looked her in the eyes.
“And if I am to be a proper knight, then I would rescue you properly.”
Lady Iris’ confused expression gave way to one of realization, and for the first time since she had been imprisoned, she laughed.
“I suppose you’ve earned it, just this once.” she said, materializing a simple couch to throw herself onto as her dress sparkled soft pink.
“Go on, my champion. Rescue me!”
Lily and the horse had been staring at the castle gates for what felt like hours, expressions of boredom shared across species as they awaited Sir Blake to hurry up and finish his quest.
Suddenly, Lily’s face turned scarlet.
“THEY BETTER NOT BE -”
Just then, the sillhouette of a champion emerged onto the field, proudly carrying another in his arms.
It took Lily a moment to accept that it had to be the same crestfallen knight that she had originally sent into the castle, and that it had to be her sister he was triumphantly holding in his arms.
Sir Blake had confirmed that it was an arm that had been broken in his bout, only truly realized when he had taken Lady Iris into them and blinding pain racked him with every slight adjustment the faerie made.
Yet at the moment, he was happier than he had been in his entire life.
“This is so much better than being carried like a sack of potatoes.” Lady Iris purred, flashing a playful grin from below as Sir Blake’s elation revealed itself in the sunlight.
“Lady Iris.” he laughed, cheerily ignoring his body’s screams of protest, “You have no idea.”
“Fun’s over,” Lady Iris informed her knight as her sister rapidly closed the distance. “You can put me down.”
Reluctantly, Sir Blake complied, and no sooner than she was back on her feet did she nearly get knocked off them by Lily crashing into her waist.
“Iris!” she cried, her happiness sparking Lady Iris’ dress to turn beaming gold. “I’m so glad you’re alright!”
“All thanks to you, Lily!” responded her older sister, rubbing Lily’s sunshine-colored hair, “If you hadn’t found this fine knight – why I don’t know what that monster would’ve done to me!”
Lily pulled back from her embrace slightly, and examined her sister with a quizzical look.
“Fine knight? You sure that sorcerer didn’t break your brain?”
Lady Iris laughed as Sir Blake’s face turned sour.
“I rescued her just as I said I would! Doesn’t that count for something?”
“Yeah. . . you did.” Lily said, stepping away from her sister as her eyes twinkled with their original mischievousness.
“Did she tell you what you wanted to hear?”
Proudly, Sir Blake nodded, but was interrupted by Lady Iris before he could speak.
“Indeed I did.”
“He knows he’s a good knight, more than capable of being a princess-rescuing hero. He just has to be pointed in the right direction.”
“And we’re going to be his compass!”
Lily looked blankly from the justly smug knight, back to the smiling faerie, and back to the knight again.
“That’s great and all, but did she mention she thought you were handsome?”
Lady Iris’ smile fell into horror as her dress turned deep crimson.
“Lily!”
Already she was fleeing her older sister’s wrath, cackling with glee as Lady Iris chased her with a hand sputtering fell magic.
Yet Sir Blake was content to leave them to their strange reunion, Lily’s words having little influence on the satisfaction that settled within him as his quest came to its end.
For the first time in a long while, a smile had remained on his face, and he felt warmth fill a heart that had long run cold.
And at last, his ring began to glow.