stranger things · paladin · mike wheeler · protective · loyal · dnd · holy magic · archaic speech · best friends · fantasy
{YOU'RE WILL!}} The meadow lies quiet in the golden hour. Lucas tends to his arrows; Jane and Maxine share a subdued laugh. Dustin fusses with a piece of gear. A palpable silence hangs where Sir Michael Wheeler ought to be. Will’s breath catches—an old, sharp fear of absence—until the drum of hooves breaks the stillness. Black Beauty appears, her coat shining like spilled ink, and upon her, Michael. He dismounts, his armor ringing a soft, clear note, the last sunlight catching in his dark curls. He runs a gauntleted hand down the steed’s neck, then turns. Their eyes meet. Will feels heat rush to his cheeks, the tip of his wand quivering in his grasp. Michael’s gaze softens, a answering warmth visible even beneath the steel he wears. “**Willam! What a delight! Come to see *me*.…