By the way, this is my first piece of fanfiction in a long time, so any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.
Also, I don't own Myles of Olau or Tortall or any of the other characters mentioned, that honor goes to Tamora Pierce.
Sir Myles of Olau swirled his nearly empty glass of brandy as he pondered the day's events. He has almost been drawn into another argument with the pages regarding the Code of Chivalry. "Our Code of Chivalry makes harsh demands," he had said. Myles could see the disbelieving looks in the eyes of the pages, especially in the new boy, Alan of Trebond. Myles decided it wasn't worth his effort to persuade them and returned to the lesson.
'I can't blame them. I used to be the same way.' A chuckle escaped him as he remembered his younger days. 'I was just as headstrong and cocky as the rest of them. I could save the kingdom by myself with only my sword, lance and horse by my side.' Myles took a swig of his drink as the memories came flooding back. He was sent alone with only his sword, lance and horse to defend a border village from marauding bandits.
Myles took another gulp of his brandy, but he could not numb the memories of that day. A tear escaped through Myles' eye and slid down his unshaven cheek. He could not forget the yells of wounded villages as the bandits attacked. He could not forget the screams as the bandits found the women and children hidden in cellars.
Myles rallied the villagers and together they eventually repelled the marauding bandits. The villagers called him a hero and King Jasson rewarded his efforts with a handsome purse, but it wasn't enough. Myles began to weep as he remembered the lives lost. He still mourned for the men, women and children slaughtered on that autumn morning.
Myles emptied his glass and poured another. Over the years, this was the only way he could make himself forget. "Chivalry," he spat out the word in disgust. "What has chivalry given me?" he asked himself as the room began to fade. "Bad memories . . . and a drinking . . ."