The old knight stared a the painting for a long time.
“Do you like it?” The duke, who had commissioned the piece, asked. It showed his glorious victory against a ravening two-headed dragon.
In paint, the battle was scrubbed clean. He charged at a mighty beast breathing great gouts of flame. The reality was a quagmire of mud and blood. He had lost his horse hours before, and the dragon had been a stitched together monstrosity lashing out in pain.
He hated it. But a knight wasn’t what you were. It was what you did. He smiled. “It’s beautiful.”