A long time ago, there was a knight who had taken the hardest path to knighthood. What many people don’t understand about knights is that there are, fundamentally, two types of them. The first type was one who knew what they had and what they could accomplish. This was the most common sort of knight, and they were easy to spot by their words.
“I have a quick wit and keen eye, and I can win glory for my family.”
Or, “I have a swift horse and a sharp blade and I can gain accolades for my deeds.”
Or, “I have a steely resolve, and I can use my power to help others.”
These were the most numerous sort of knights because they are the most numerous sort of people, and they often accomplished all they set out to do and more.
But as I said, this knight was of the other type, and their knowledge was of a different kind altogether. This sort of knight knew what they *were*, and what they could *offer*. It is a kind of knowledge that is quiet, often wordless, and yet it’s demonstrated every day.
I am connected and true, and I offer an open heart.
I am passionate, and I offer my will to change the world.
I am solid and present, and I extend my hand in friendship.
So this knight became one of the latter sort – or perhaps they always were the latter sort – and no songs were sung of their exploits and no poems were written about their accomplishments and as far as I know, no rulers praised them at their funeral many years later. But somehow that didn’t seem to matter much, because the thing you need to remember about this sort of knight is that they make a song of what they are, a poem of what they offer, and if they have a ruler at all, it is service they provide.