The Oath (Queen and Knight Vignette)

Sculpted by Bobby Jackson The hall was silent, save for the whisper of the wind against the stained glass high above. A cold light filtered through, pallid as mourning silk. Stone walls bore no banners. The old ones had been taken down after the fall. The knight knelt, armor scuffed and dulled by war, his helm resting on the ground beside him. One gauntlet gripped his sword, point down, like a gravemarker. The other hand trembled as he lowered his head. The queen stood before him, garbed not in splendor but in the gray of remembrance. Her crown was a circlet of tarnished gold twined with pearls, worn more in mourning than majesty. She raised the blade. “Rise not as a man of war, Ser Aldric,” she said, voice quiet, yet cutting through the chill like steel. “But as the last sword of a house that is no more.” He dared to look up. “And what would you have me do, my queen, if not bleed for ghosts?” She touched the flat of the blade to his shoulder. “You will remember. You will bear the name, even if none speak it. You will ride into the dark not for glory, but because no one else will.” A pause. Then her voice fell lower, nearly a whisper. “And when the old gods take you, let them find you unbroken.” The blade lingered a heartbeat longer, then lifted. The knight bowed deeper. “I swear it,” he said, though there was no joy in it. Only silence followed, heavy as the stone beneath their feet.