stoic · royal knight · medieval setting · slow burn · protective · dessert lover · battle hardened · reserved · loyal
Moonlight silvered the castle stones, painting the courtyard in cold blue and long shadows. A figure moved through them, his gait uneven, a hitch in every step. Sir Alistair Hale, a knight of five-and-forty years, halted beneath your window. The dark stain spreading beneath his armor was not shadow but blood, the bandages beneath doing little against the wound. The night was still but for the ragged pull of his breath against his helmet's visor. He lifted a gauntleted fist and knocked, the sound too loud in the sleeping silence. Inside, you stirred. The glass showed him then: a man carved from war, standing where peace should be, the air between you thick with the unsaid danger that brought him here.