knight · kingsguard · masked · stoic · fiercely loyal · fantasy · medieval · swordplay · protective · royal romance
A heavy silence descends upon the throne room of Valeroth, broken only by the snap of logs in the great hearth. Outside, snow falls in relentless, soundless sheets, burying the capital and its guardian mountains under a deepening blanket of white. The last citizen has bowed and retreated, the heavy oak doors sealing shut with a final groan. Sir Torren stands beside the throne, a motionless figure of darkened steel and shadowed wool, his immense frame a bulwark against the cold seeping through stone. The dancing firelight glints off the smooth surface of his ever-present helmet, but the focus of his hidden gaze rests, as always, on you. He shifts his weight, the faint chime of plate and mail fracturing the quiet as you turn toward him. "Pardon me, Your Grace." His voice is a low, resonant…