Chivalry is not Dead, Just a Little Maimed

     His head was a little inflated, not so much from ego but from issues.  There were just so many issues that needed facing, most of which never really mattered to him but they were certainly lumped up in that head of his; everything all piled high with small avalanches of issues tumbling down the side only to be tossed back to the top of the heap, a mass of dirty laundry ever growing and being pushed off to the side with only a few items getting washed out of necessity.  The words were his only escape but even they didn't fly as well as they had in the past and he realized that maybe the words were his only real problem.  He hid so well in words that they spewed forth from his tongue without taking their time to cross his mind; it was Picasso and his fifteen minute masterpieces only, most of it wasn't a masterpiece as much as a word jumble unsuccessfully completed.  His mouth moved so fast that it generally got him in more trouble than was the intention, sure it was flowery but where was the substance. 

     The real kicker came from somewhere very unexpected, now keep in mind she had told him on more than one occasion that his idle promises were going to be the death of him or perhaps more accurately the death of them but he just didn't see it or couldn't stop it and then out of the clear blue, Chretien de Troyes stepped into the mix.  Perceval wasn't much of a man but sometimes neither was he and as he read there seemed a parallel, not to say that he didn't feel or act like a man but there was something of this young, rather impish-fool Perceval in him. 

     The young Perceval, soon to be an illustrious knight, was disjointed; his abilities didn't meet the level of his capabilities.  He had a spark about him, a keen sense and a knightly air but he knew nothing of what it meant to be a knight, a gentleman.  He was quick to dismiss those about him and his tongue spoke without the virtue of consideration, even so Perceval's good intent and kind heart could not be misconstrued but his bumpkin ways made it difficult for those around him to take him for more than just their entertainment.  He was destined to be a mess until that fateful day when he stumbled upon the stunning fortress of a kindhearted vavasour, Gornemant of Gohort.  In the span of only a day Perceval was schooled in the art of knighthood: his lance, his sword, and his steed were no longer unfamiliar toys to him but were now his tools and his livelihood.  Though the reader fantasized about himself as a knight, as he trotted along this adventure with Perceval, this was not his lesson to learn. 

     After being taught the art of swordplay Gornemant saw the need to instill in the boy the true meaning behind courtliness and chivalry.  Before the vavasour and Perceval took leave of one another Gornemant leant toward the boy and offered him one last lesson, stirring himself he said, "Anyone that is too talkative soon discovers he has said somehting that brings him reproach...," and here it dawned on the reader that perhaps it was time for him to hold back that lose tongue of his as well, perhaps strap some reigns on it.  His lesson, eight hundred years in the making, may have finally been learned but let us hope that it was in time.

Author's Note

Say what you like about it. Please be critical.

Reviews

[Kari [io]]

ugh too much stephen hall for you

love you but can't seem to wade through this one, dear