Staring at my own reflection in my Leige’s armor. Admiring how reflective and unblemished it gets to be. The gold inlay is bright and polished, the sword has never once known the taste of blood. I lovingly stare at his helm knowing it’s only ever been donned in jest and good spirits. I compare this to my armor, dented, beaten, scuffed. Where I had once had a polished gleam it is now a dull matte grey. My sword now carries with it a faint scent of copper and a brown sheen in the right lighting. I have many sleepless nights tossing and turning remembering all the lives shed and all the hardship wrought by my hand. But to maintain the sparkle in their eyes, and the gleam off their chest plate I would do it a million times over. Being their sword and their shield so as to never let even a speck of dust or drop of mud come near their countenance. I am a faithful knight, and I pick this burden up of my own volition. I do tho so that I may toil in the sun and break in the dark, while my liege may grace the world with their light