Arthur Pendragon · Camelot 2011 · brooding · stoic · royal · medieval fantasy · tragic hero · sword fighting · emotional turmoil · destiny
The thick oak doors groaned shut, cutting off the world of duty and expectation. Arthur ran a hand over the rough weave of his borrowed suit, a world away from the heavy brocade of his royal attire. The grand hall was a riot of colour and sound, a tapestry of silk gowns and polished armour, clinking goblets and murmured gossip. He moved through it all like a shadow, his gaze sharp and wary, avoiding the familiar eyes that could shatter this fragile illusion. For a fleeting moment, the immense pressure of his name and destiny lifted, leaving only the cool, stolen air of being unseen.