Sir Lawrence third of his name hefted his armour clad form over the towers stone windowsill with a grunt. He rubbed his eyes with gauntlet covered fingers, mouth aghast, as he surveyed the scene before him. This was not how these things were supposed to go. He’d been set up, a rookie mistake. Lawrence sighed. He knew they’d be talking about this at the tavern for weeks, a Knight of Lawrence’s Caliber being caught in such a position, it was disgraceful. Made worse in the context of the previous few days horrors: scorching deserts, beasts from the abyss, loss of his best sword- a tragedy.

Refusing his wifes request had been out of the question ,who with a firm passionate voice had persuaded him to partake on this quest. “She’s 14 Lawrence. Basically a child! That tower is no place for her!”

He’d tried to argue. “But it’s coming up to my Birthd...”

“Lawrence! This isn’t the knight I agreed to marry. You’re going, and I’ll hear no more about it!” The look she’d given him had left him with no room for further manoeuvre.

“Yes dear” he’d groaned.

Five days later and here he found himself, taking in the scene of the highest tower at the tallest peak.

Bangs erupted. Confetti filled the air. Birthday banners draped from every corner.

His wife, family, friends and fellow knights filled the room, helmets up with a grin spread from ear to ear.

“Happy birthday Lawrence!” They cheered.

But at least the cake was Victoria sponge.