The Princess and The Reluctant Knight

Episode 26

In the fickle light of the Not So Enchanted Forest, where the trees were known to be less magical and more inclined to harbor the type of squirrels that aggressively second-guessed your life choices, Sir Alvin and Princess Brittany found themselves amid an inconvenient situation.

"Stand and deliver!" a voice demanded, as a motley crew of forest outlaws emerged from the underbrush like a rash that had decided now was the time to flare up.

"Oh, splendid," Alvin muttered, his hand going to the hilt of his sword - a blade that had yet to see battle.

Princess Brittany raised an eyebrow and placed a protective hand on Alvin's trembling arm. "Deliver what, precisely?" she inquired, her tone suggesting she was asking about the weather rather than addressing a band of thieves. "If it is fashion advice, I am afraid you are beyond help."

The outlaws, a collection of individuals whose collective ugliness could curdle fresh cream, shared confused glances, clearly unaccustomed to their victims quibbling over the quality of their threats.

Alvin felt Brittany's reassuring hand squeezing his and worked to swallow his nervousness. "Maybe they would be okay with just a complaint letter?" he half-joked, trying to seem as brave as Brittany. But she was already moving forward, her eyes sharp and ready.

"Gentlemen," she said, her voice sweet but mocking, "before you try to take what is ours, let us see what we have. Alvin is still learning how to fight with a sword. And honestly, what we value most is his eagerness to get better."

The outlaws exchanged wary looks, their grips tightening on weapons that looked like they had been chosen by closing one's eyes and picking at random from the armory bargain bin.

Alvin, inspired by Brittany's bravado, managed a step forward. "Yes, and if it is a fight you seek," he said, his voice cracking like a pubescent choirboy, "be warned. I am... in the process of learning some quite devastating moves."

Brittany looked at Alvin with a warm, affectionate smile. She felt a strong urge to look after him, not caring that he was not the strongest fighter. "He can scare you with a butter knife," she said, her hand moving from Alvin's arm to touch her sword's hilt.

Stepping closer, the leader of the outlaws, a man with a nose that could have been generously described as 'structurally adventurous', narrowed his eyes. "Enough games," he growled. "Your coin or your life."

Negotiations reached an impasse. So, with a sigh that carried all the weight of impending disappointment, Brittany drew her sword - a blade that sang through the air like a soprano hitting the high notes on a closing performance.

Sir Alvin drew his sword, its unblemished surface reflecting his wide-eyed panic.

The clash of metal rang out, the symphony of a skirmish underscored by the thuds and grunts of bodies in motion.

Brittany was a whirlwind, her blade an extension of her will, dispatching the outlaws with the efficiency of a librarian organizing books.

And there, in the eye of the storm, stood Sir Alvin, his sword swaying with the uncertainty of a sapling in a gale. Yet, when an outlaw lunged toward him, something within Alvin sparked. Perhaps it was the sight of Brittany, fierce and formidable. Perhaps not. Maybe it was the primal instinct to protect not just himself but the depth of their shared bond. Maybe not. But his sword met his challenger's with a clang that surprised both parties. And for a moment, Alvin's eyes blazed with courage.

"Ah-ha!" he cried, the word escaping him like a secret he could no longer keep. His arms, guided by sheer terror and newfound determination, parried and thrust with an unexpected grace.