Chapter 14: The Inn of Pride

The Inn of Pride; otherwise known as 'the local' for all the residents of the village. Situated deep within its centre, the boozy establishment served as a watering hole for all the village's residents. At the sundown of every day, it would fill with an amalgam of interesting people from all walks of life; workers coming in from a hard shift, families looking to have a social evening together, lovers chatting at the bar, and occasionally a couple of drunken, solitary figures leaning over the bar, fist firmly clamped upon the handles of their tankards, their heads bowed in a quiet misery.

I suppose that last person I described would be me tonight. The shunning I received from Shield Knight, as well as Black knight's crass, unkind words, had made me feel as blue as my helmet. I very rarely got the chance to grace the Inn of Pride during my days and nights of service, but this situation I found myself in granted me a rare opportunity. I would have a go at drinking my sorrows away and potentially lift this heavy heart. After all, if endless rumination wouldn't solve the conflicting and confusing emotions in my head, perhaps a few glasses of beer might.

So I put on my lightest set of armour and made the short trip down from the castle to the town.

The Inn of Pride was a low-lit, musty kind of area, with creaky wooden floors and pillars holding up it's two floors. The inn had rooms for those who wanted to stop in the village overnight (or enjoy the company of a lady. Not my bag personally, I'd rather spend the night with my shovel) and despite being lively, it wasn't loud enough that you couldn't hear yourself speak.

I made my way to the bar, at the one lonely seat left. A portly bartender with a great, twirled moustache approached me.

"Howdy" he spoke to me. "What'll you have?"

"House ale" I replied glumly. The atmosphere may have been lively, but I certainly was not. The ale and money exchanged hands, and soon I was sipping my ale through a straw fed into my visor (what, you think I'd remove my helmet in public? Nonsense!).

Minutes became hours, and one ale became three. I sat there at the bar, drinking and thinking. My mind ran its circles once again, and despite the buzz of the beer tingling my face, it didn't help. My heart still felt glum. My days started to feel numbered. I began to think that this was perhaps my fate; to sit here at this bar and drink my sorrows away. Before long, I thought, I'd have plenty to be sad about.

What if I did lose to Shield Knight?

What if I did have to face the painful humiliation of the De-Shovelling?

What if I would never be a knight again?

It always seemed to me that new, dangerous questions seemed to surface as the reality of my situation dawned on me. Clearing my third glass of ale, it just started to feel like too much. Perhaps I should just give up and walk out of town. This was never going to work.

I felt like a failure.

"…You look like you're havin' a rough time, my friend"

I looked up to the source of the voice. It was the bartender, his portly, well-dressed frame cleaning out one of the tankards. The bar had started to quiet down a bit, and I quickly realised I was the only person left sitting at the bar.

"...I suppose so" I murmured.

"Do you want another drink?" he asked me. "If you're willing to chat, I can make this one on the house; we pulled in a good profit today"

I didn't reply, and my reward was a free fourth ale. The bartender placed it down beside me and pulled up a chair on his side, quickly pouring himself a glass of bourbon in a clear, small glass. "Don't mind if I do…" he murmured to himself as he poured his beverage. I wasn't exactly sure why this bartender suddenly seemed to want to chat to me, but as he raised his glass to clink against mine, I returned the gesture almost instinctively. He sipped his drink while I started vacantly into the space next to him. I didn't really feel like saying anything. Just staring seemed to be enough for me in this moment. Eventually, the bartender started to speak to me.

"…I know who you are" he said. "You're…Shovel Knight, right?"

I nodded.

"And it's clear that something is wrong, isn't there?" he continued. "I don't believe I've seen you here in this ol' establishment before, but you're havin' quite a nice amount of drinks right about now"

I nodded again.

"…So what's up? You can tell me; we don't close until 3am"

I looked up to the man's face. His expression, one of content happiness, never seemed to change. His pudgy face seemed to keep his eyes almost permanently shut and his round cheeks were able to flourish behind the shield of his significant white, curly moustache.

It seemed like a face I could trust.

And little did I know, my story started to come out. I told him about my service to the Order of the Shovel and the pride that I took in fulfilling that service. I told him about the arrival of Shield Knight. I told him about the training session where she defeated me in one fell swoop. I told him of the feelings that I had started to feel for Shield Knight. I told him of the friendship that she and Black Knight seemed to share, especially in training. I told him of their epic, no-winners duel. I told him of the shame that I felt as I was forced to watch having just been beaten again so quickly. I told him of the developing feelings that I had for this woman who had entered my life. I told him of the pain that struck me deep in my chest whenever I saw both Black Knight and Shield Knight together.

I told him how stupid I felt whenever I felt those feelings upon seeing them together. I told him about the jealousy that I seemed to feel. I told him all about the sleepless nights and the lucid dreams where she would appear to me. I told him everything about her and everything I liked about her. I told him about the fear that I held deep within myself about ever wanting to try and pursue the matter any further. I told him that these feelings and this discussion logically led to that moment.

I told him of the moment. I told him of the moment I walked away from her. I told him about the moment I walked away from potentially everything. I told him of the whirlwind of emotions and thoughts that were swirling and turning inside of my head, the maelstrom of guilt, anger and sadness, the prevailing rebel that willed me to tale each and every step out of that courtyard that damned day. I told him of the consequences. I told him about the De-Shovelling. I told him about the ultimatum that had been laid upon me. I told him how much time I had left. I told him how I felt about this. I told him about the sessions I had been undertaking in the castle gym, and the encounters I had with both Black Knight and Shield Knight. I told him about everything.

And through it all, he listened intently. Every word, registered. Every thought, considered. Every emotion, administered.

Eventually, I ran out of words. My spiel had finished and I continued to stare into the same distance that I stared at in the beginning, even before the bartender had decided to talk to me. Throughout my speech, he seemed to have helped himself to three or four whiskeys, and we both seemed to be on the same plane of drunkenness. I had finished my fourth (free) ale.

Do you know what he said to me?

"That feeling you were telling me…sounds like you're in love, my friend"

Author's note: Funny little story: I almost uploaded one of my university essays as a chapter on accident. Wouldn't that have made for an interesting twist in the story?