As an honorable death to a captured Knight , traitorous chaperons gave him the chance for a last statement. Not a sweat of fear on the cheek, Standing up as a knight suppose to be , He conquered the people's hearth by warning off the Ruthless :

"Daydreamers,Sleepers on the silence of ears stuffed with wax...can't you hear whispers nor shouts naming you timid?
Seeds you planted , grows nothing but anger and as it arrives to the harvest season, it'll tip and it'll rend.
Be bashed , terrified and ashamed that the time will come for men of honors and men of revolt to take out their glamor , their fists,their swords out of darkest and deepest of their homes and in the name of justice...and be fearful of shepherds trading their sheeps with sickles...
Undaunted of Gods and fearless of justice...be horrified of horror."

They took his head and they rip out his heart ...and promised time ...the season for harvest ...never arrived.

P.S: men's heart poured with the warmth of his speech ,spent nights after night as delighted as it could be ...and as aforesaid warmth cooled off ,so did the Knight's name ,glory and memory.