The Knight

The Knight walks slowly to the fire, his armor clanking and shining in the quiet burning light. The darkness around him seems to press inward, filling his eyes with inky tar. He stumbles over cobbled stone and gnarled roots, towards the inviting flame.
An Old Man sits by the blazing coals, stoking it gently with an ashen and stubbed stick. He raises his tired eyes to greet the weary Knight. The Knight bows respectfully, taking account of the Old Man's ragged appearance; His eyes tired and red, his skin thin and wrinkled. His hands are clasped on the stick, gouged, scarred and knobbled. The Old Man's frail body is wrapped in dirty and frayed blankets, crusty and mossy it seems, as if from lack of use.
This intrigues the Knight, who clears his throat and asks, voice reverberating in his steel helm, "Pardon me elder, but may I sit and rest these weary bones?"
The Old Man stares at the Knight unwaveringly, and smiles grimly and nods his head. The Knight walks over to a nearby stump and slowly eases himself onto it. He looks into the fire, mesmerized by the dancing flames.
But it appears something else is resting on the coals and ashes. The Knight leans forward, watched carefully by the Old Man, and reaches into the flames, pulling out a metal object of some sort. The Knight examines the trinket, and upon closer observation sees that it is a metal cross, much like the one he carries on his waist. In fact, almost identical, other than the ashen state and warped figure. The Knight casts his eyes back into the fire, and sees more crosses, each one scraped, damaged, and bent. He tosses the cross back into the fire, and looks up at the Old Man.

"Might I ask, elder, what it is exactly that you are doing here, in this most unfavorable ruin?"
The Old Man blinks slowly, and straightens, setting his stick on the ground,
"I am but guidance for those lost and weary," his voice is raspy and quiet, so much so the Knight leans in to hear him better,
"I have seen men like you before, Knights, set on killing the beast. No doubt that is your goal, young one?"
The Old Man's voice has a threatening tone to it, almost as if daring the Knight to say yes. The young Knight is suddenly nervous, but he is too determined to be scared of this elder.
"Yes, elder," the young Knight replies, "I seek to kill the beast. For too long I have been in this hellish place. I seek humanity, so that maybe I may find solace in a better world, a better life."
The Old Man sighs, "Of course, that is what you say. All of you. Kill the beast, and claim its soul." He seems to be speaking to himself at this point, "You all say that. And then you go, and get yourselves killed."
The Knight smiles under his helm, "I am different, elder. I have trained my whole life for this sort of thing." He grasps
his sword at his side, its familiar grip fits comfortably in his hand.
The Old Man stares at the Knight, his hands shaking and his eyes watery, "Please boy, do not go. The beast has claimed many. You come, you stay and talk, and leave to kill the beast, but you die. You all die."
The Old Man reaches out, grabbing the Knights steel plated arm, "Please, do not go."

The Knight is taken aback by this sudden change of attitude. Shaken, but not deterred, he stands, taking the Old Man's hand and pressing into it his cross he carries.
"Take this," The Knight says, "It will keep you safe, as it has kept me. I cannot take it from this world."
He turns and walks off slowly. He pauses and faces the Old Man, his helmet shimmering in the soft firelight, "I will win, elder. You can be sure of that."
The armoured figure disappears into the darkness, armour ringing and shifting, quieter and quieter. Until it is silent.
The fire crackles almost noiselessly.
The Old Man gazes sadly at the cross in his hand. The cross, the very same one, he has seen time and time again. He sobs and casts it into the fire, where it lies, glinting and shining in the coals.
The Old Man buries his face in his hands, shaking uncontrollably, as the roar of the beast echoes around him, yet again. He lowers his head and waits, as he has for days, years, eons. How long has it been? He does not know.
The night goes on, endless.
And he waits.

The Knight will come again.