The Day the Knights Rode In

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The Day the Knights Rode In

At just fourteen summers old, Jared learned the worth of a day before the sun cleared the hills. He rose early to set snares and check the river’s edge, hoping luck would fill the pot where coin could not. It had been a week since the bandits tore through the village, a week of counting losses and mending what could be mended. The King’s word arrived on tired horses: knights and soldiers would patrol the borders more. It wasn’t much, but it was something to believe in.

When the first patrol rode in, armor bright against the soot stained homes, the village children swarmed like sparrows. Jared felt it too, the spark, the dream. Squires were made from boys like him, weren’t they? Boys with quick hands and quicker hearts. He watched the knights with careful eyes, memorizing how they moved, how they spoke.

One knight noticed him watching back, and dismounted with a creak of leather and steel, his helm tucked under his arm. Sir Godfrey Rowland knelt slightly to Jared’s height and asked, “What is your name?”

“Jared Martigan, sir,” he answered, standing straighter than he ever had.

Sir Godfrey then asked, "What do you do to help your family?

Jared spoke plainly, about work, hunger, and trying his best. The knight studied him for a moment, then nodded.

“Come along,” Sir Godfrey said. “If you wish to be useful, prove it.”

Jared followed the patrol beyond the village edge, carrying messages, fetching water, and keeping his eyes open as instructed. Sir Godfrey taught him small things, how to watch the road, how to listen when the world went quiet.

When Jared returned home that evening, he carried bread earned with effort and a new fire in his chest. He wasn’t a squire. Not yet, but soon.

Word Count: 299
Written for: "Daily Flash Fiction Challenge"
Prompt: Write a story that includes the line: “What is your name?”
Previous: "Jared"

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