Charles
*To say Rikard's pride was a little hurt was an understatement. He felt the shame of a small boy being scolded for the actions he had undertaken - like being caught with his hand in the cookie jar, but with additional repercussions. His face flushed the shade of a pomegranate, and his jaw clenched together silently as he folded his arms and decided to leave the bitter man to his own devices. 

Although...*

"So, what did you have in mind? What *Should* I be doing, sir? Sitting on a stool feeling superior to everyone around me? Is that knightly to you?" *He asked, half out of curiosity, half out of frustration. The man had clearly been around much longer than he had.*
Kendra
*Edvard stared towards Rikard before breaking his sightline, clearly in thought. He stood dead still for just a moment, pondering his response. He wasn't a robot or some charismatic actor. He had to think before he spoke. His first reaction was to strike Rikard down with the back of his armored glove, casting him to the floor in an act of anger and disgust. He hated the idea that he thought of himself highly, or better than anyone else. In full truth, Edvard was full of self-hatred. He thought of himself as the worst living example of a knight in all of the world. A man not even deserving of pity. He couldn't even bear to look in the mirror anymore, as shown by the scragginess of his beard and wretched styling of his hair. But he held himself back, not even lifting a finger. Instead, he placed a hand on the pommel of his sword, and another on Rikard's shoulder. It was awkward staring up towards the monstrous man, but Edvard didn't quite care.*

"I am not better than anyone. I am a knight." *Edvard began, sighing slightly.* "You have the makings of a knight, but your motivations are skewed. You'd stop at nothing to beat the life out of a thief, but you aren't doing it for the victim. A true knight would rather fall on his sword than see a crime go unpunished. But they do it for the sake of the victim. We cut down the murderer for the sake of the dead, not because we hate the criminal. You catch the thief to return goods to their rightful owner, not because you hate the thief. What we think and what we feel is irrelevant. The knight is not a man. The knight is a masked helm and a sharp sword. Stand up for those who cannot defend themselves not because you hate the strong, but because you love the weak." *Edvard's hand slowly slipped from Rikard's shoulder and fell to his side. He softly fell back against the wall, clearly now disconnected from the conversation but willing to hear more. Rikard had found the more serious side of Edvard, much to Ed's dismay.*
Charles
*Slowly, he nodded and took in the information at hand. Fall on his sword rather than see a crime unpunished, check. Motivations skewed... That meant they were twisted. Cut down the murderer not because you hate murderers, but because the victim was wronged? Wasn't that the reason to hate murderers? Or thieves, for that matter. Because they took what was rightfully other people's - their lives and property.*

"So, I don't know, what you've said... I figure the way you're putting it, I should be focusing on what to do to make their crimes better or right the wrong. But isn't that why I already have an issue with them? Because they steal, because they mug people, because they kill people without proper cause? I mean, is it wrong to hate people like that?" *He asked, raising an eyebrow.*
Kendra
*Edvard shook his head, frustrated with the boy. It felt almost wrong, thinking of him as a boy. The man was a 7ft thug in steel armor, yet he presented himself as a petulant child. It seemed they granted knighthood to anyone with a sword nowadays. Edvard thought back to Ser Hastings, and the gallant life he led. It felt unfair for him, the noble hedge knight, to be laying in his grave with this boy in his stead. Knighthood was a sham. Once again caught in a spiral of grief and remorse, Edvard continued to think of his late master. All the battles he had fought, all the lessons he had taught Edvard, instructing him to be a warrior of justice and morality, a shining pillar of hope and inspiration. Now look at him. A sad man hiding under plate armor in a feeble attempt to run from the gods that punished his every step. Ed felt hypocritical instructing the boy. He didn't follow the rules he laid out so carefully to Rikard. Only Ser Hastings did. And Ser Hastings was long, long dead. The last remnant of a dying age of valor and honor. A true shame.*

"It is." *Edvard choked, casting his eyes to the cold dirt below. The skies grew dark above the two as clouds blocked the sun, replacing it's rays with dark patterns of rain in an instant. Edvard refused to move, letting the water smash against his breast-plate and pauldrons with a stoic silence.* "The knight is not a man. The knight is a masked helm and a sharp sword. Your emotions play no part in your duty. You are a weapon of justice, not a tool of your own personal desires. You were not given that sword and armor so you could batter those you hate and gorge yourself on the gluttony of self-fulfillment. You are not to hate. You are not to love. You are to do what is right, and only what is right." *He sighed softly, casting his head towards the heavens as they cried above.* "But, when one is taken by emotion, tis better to love than to hate. Until you learn the ways of stoicism, practice compassion, not hatred."