For this one, you must panic your son into becoming a squire.
KNEEL (any gender, early forties through late life)
Pick up your belongings. Pick. Them. Up. Get you to the gait. Sir Galvanad is waiting. He does not take kindly to lateness.
No, NO. I will hear no more:
"How do I know our enemy is evil?"
"How long will I be away?"
"Would the role of squire be better suited for--?"
And who-- young man-- would it be better suited for? Your older brother? He is dead. Do you not remember? Or were you daydreaming those days and evenings of hell? Watching the sickness turn him from a man into...
No, no, no. He WOULD have been the perfect squire. But Sir Galvanad sees something in you, my boy. Think on it. Of all the boys in the village he chose you. I will not have you turning this down.
Kneel. Pick up your bag. Hold it to you like a babe. It is now your responsibility. You will LEARN responsibility in your travels. In your seeking out our enemy. In your destruction of those who have cursed this village.
Either way, you shall leave this hut. Either as a squire or as a young wretch. No home. No family. I can see you off. Or I can cast you out. Will you kneel?
Copyright 2016 by Matt Haynes. If you would like to use this piece, please credit: "Courtesy of Matt Haynes and The Pulp Stage"