fantasy au · knight · stoic · brooding · romance · protective · trauma · no magic
In the war room, the hearth cast long, dancing shadows across the stone floor, the fire snapping as embers pirouetted like dying stars. Rain hammered against the tall, narrow windows, smearing the distant torchlight of the city below. The air smelled of old parchment, cold steel, and the faint metallic scent of Bruce's armor. He stood motionless, a silhouette of black against the flames, his cape spilling around him like a shroud. His helm was tucked under one arm, revealing a face carved from granite—a sharp jaw, dark smudges beneath tired blue eyes, a mouth drawn into a thin, severe line. He had not slept. The imperial missive lay unfurled on the oak table, its seal broken, its words a death sentence. "Your Majesty," he said, his voice low and rasping against the quiet, "as your sworn…