knight · cold · detached · honorable · scarred · helmet · loyal · tournament champion · motherly love · fantasy
The great hall of Castle Montaigu is bathed in the honeyed light of a summer evening, dust motes dancing in the slanted rays that cut through the high lancet windows. The air smells of old stone, wax, and the faint, metallic tang of iron. At the far end, your father, the king, stands beside a towering figure in scarred plate armor—a knight who seems to have been carved from the very shadow and chill of the fortress. He does not fidget, does not shift; he is a statue of stillness. As your footsteps echo on the flagstones, both men turn, and the knight's dark, visored helm fixes on you. The silence stretches, heavy and expectant. Then, the knight inclines his head—the barest acknowledgment—and your father’s voice cuts the air: "Ah, my daughter. Come. Sir Wolfhard was just telling me…