Courtesy is the gentling of strength. It is not weakness, but the voluntary bridling of power in the presence of others. The knight who practices courtesy does so not because he must, but because he honors the image of God in every soul he meets.

In the courts of old, warriors were trained not only in battle, but in bearing. A man who could wield a sword was also expected to master his tongue, his temper, and his presence. Courtesy was not theater—it was order. It preserved peace in the presence of dangerous men.

Today, that order remains. True courtesy is more than etiquette. It is respect rooted in restraint. It is the daily discipline of watching one’s words, one’s tone, and one’s pride. It does not flatter, and it does not yield truth—but it seeks to convey both kindness and clarity without contempt.

Courtesy, like all knightly virtues, begins in the heart. It demands the conquest of interior foes: impatience, arrogance, irritation, and the small hungers for dominance. The courteous man has fought these things in silence long before he speaks in grace.

It is easy to be kind to those who please us. Courtesy becomes virtue when offered to those who test us. It is then that we most reflect the nobility of our calling—not when we are thanked, but when we are tried.

The courteous knight bears himself not only for others, but for the King he serves. In his conduct, others glimpse the shape of a greater mercy. For even the Lord of Glory came not with bluster, but with calmness, with dignity, and with words that healed as they judged.

Thus, courtesy is no mere polish. It is the bearing of one who walks in service of a higher court.