#knightly dedication

[aventurineswife]

SHADOWKNIGHT AGAIN!! THIS TIME WHOLESOME!!!

Argenti surprising Shadow with the new kitten he adopted on the first anniversary of their marriage <3

A Knight's Vow

Summary: On the first anniversary of their marriage, Argenti surprises Shadow with a thoughtful gift: a kitten. In his knightly manner, he explains that the kitten symbolizes the beauty and warmth he wishes to bring into her life. Shadow, touched by the gesture and the deep affection behind it, reflects on how far they've come together. The couple shares a tender moment of love and gratitude, with Argenti reaffirming his vow to always stand by her side, ensuring each day together is more beautiful than the last.

Tags: Argenti x Shadow (OC), Marriage Anniversary Romance, Fluff, Knightly Dedication, Emotional Growth, Pet Adoption, Domestic Bliss.

A/N: gosh... I want a relationship like theirs so bad ☹️❤️

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of their humble home, casting a warm golden glow on the room. Shadow, now dressed in a comfortable robe, was kneeling by the kitchen counter, expertly decorating a cake with delicate icing flowers. She hummed softly, the faint sound of her knife slicing through the cake’s smooth surface a gentle background to the peaceful morning.

Today was special. It marked one year since she and Argenti had pledged their lives to each other, a bond forged in the fires of past pain and healed by love.

As she finished the final touches on the cake, she paused to admire it. A small smile tugged at her lips. She didn’t need anything extravagant to mark the occasion—just a quiet day with Argenti, perhaps a walk through the garden, or a shared meal. That was enough.

The soft sound of footsteps echoed behind her, followed by a deep, soothing voice.

“My Lady Shadow,” Argenti’s tone was as noble as ever, each word dripping with the weight of his knightly dedication. “I bring you a gift.”

Shadow turned to face him, her brow furrowing slightly in playful confusion. Argenti stood there, his usual armor polished to a gleaming perfection, but there was something different this time. He cradled something small and wriggling in his arms.

“What is it, Argenti?” she asked, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“Behold,” Argenti said, as if unveiling a treasure. He carefully lowered the small bundle into her arms, revealing a tiny kitten with fluffy fur, big innocent eyes blinking up at her. The kitten let out a soft mew, nuzzling into her chest.

Shadow blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She hadn’t expected this, not in a thousand years.

“This is…” She trailed off, momentarily speechless. “A kitten? Argenti, why…?”

“My Lady,” he began, his voice growing more formal as he explained. “As knights dedicate themselves to upholding the ideals of honor and beauty, so too do we commit ourselves to nurturing life in its many forms. You, my beloved, have long known the weight of loneliness, and it is my desire to bring warmth and joy into your life, as you have so generously brought into mine. This kitten, humble as it may be, is but a small token of my love for you.”

Shadow’s fingers gently brushed the kitten’s fur, a soft gasp escaping her lips. She had spent so long burying the pain from her past, focused on protecting those she loved and trying to keep others at arm's length. But here, in this moment, her walls cracked slightly, the warmth of the kitten—and Argenti’s words—beginning to melt the frozen part of her heart she hadn’t even realized was still there.

“You’ve truly thought of everything, haven’t you?” she murmured, looking up at him, her voice tinged with both gratitude and wonder.

Argenti gave her a rare, gentle smile. “It is a knight's duty to bring beauty and joy into the lives of those he holds dear, my lady. And you, Shadow, are the truest embodiment of beauty I have ever known.”

Her heart swelled with affection as she looked at the kitten, then back up at her husband. It had been a long, challenging year—one filled with growth, healing, and many shared moments—but standing here with him now, she felt an overwhelming sense of peace.

“Thank you, Argenti,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with sincerity. “I never imagined someone would do something like this for me.”

He knelt before her, placing his hand over his chest in a gesture of deep reverence. “You are more than worthy of such gestures, Shadow. You deserve nothing less than the brightest of days, the softest of nights, and the most tender of love. I vow to continue to stand by your side, through all trials, as we walk together upon this path of beauty.”

Tears welled up in Shadow’s eyes as she gently cradled the kitten, her smile widening. She leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to Argenti’s forehead. “I love you, Argenti. You’ve made this year more beautiful than I ever could have imagined.”

Argenti stood, his hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “And I shall spend every day for the rest of my life ensuring that each day with you is more beautiful than the last, my lady.”

The kitten let out a soft meow, as if agreeing with Argenti’s words, and Shadow couldn’t help but laugh—a sound that was as rare and beautiful as the gift in her arms.

“Yes,” she whispered, her heart full of love for both Argenti and the tiny creature. “This is the most beautiful anniversary gift I could ever have hoped for.”

And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet warmth of their home, Shadow knew that no matter what trials the future held, she and Argenti would face them together.

[tarnishedxknight]

Taking Aim and Starting Over || closed reply with constellationcursed

{ @constellationcursed, continued from here. }

Basch and Soryn looked to the woman as she addressed them, with Basch maintaining his usual reserved demeanor and Soryn smiling at her comment. "There is training for the battlefield, and then there is training for the heart. For us, this is the latter," Soryn explained.

"In our time, these weapons were of great use on the battlefield," Basch added. "Remembering them and keeping our skills honed helps to keep sharp our minds as well."

"Aye. This time is... extremely foreign to us. 'Tis comforting to sometimes practice and return to what we know," Soryn said. "Though we do so at no order from Lord Stark. 'Tis merely recreation."

"Need you the range for you own training?" Basch asked. "We could relinquish it to you, if so." They could always return another time for their idle recreation if she needed to train for actual combat that could arise.

[camakkuma]

Can't stop thinking about Grels. There's just something so queer about devoting your life and skills to just some guy

[swordmaid]

I like imagining shri’iia in like a companion au because i am what? delusional! but anyway, I was thinking about her act 3 romance scene and — regardless of which route she goes (either oath breaker = her good end / reclaiming her oath = bad end) I was thinking of her kneeling in front of the pc either and in her oath breaker route it’s in resignation bc she’s so tired from the constant fear and paranoia and for once she’s allowing herself to rest and she lays her head on their lap it is a sign of trust …!! and her trust is her love bc it is something that she does not give easily… but in her reclaiming her oath route she kneels before them to pledge her oath to pc… a knight swearing her fealty to their most cherished person - the one they hold in the highest regard, but then that means she is back to square one again and seeing herself as a sword to be used than a person. but regardless of which route the composition, setting and lighting looks reminiscent of a pre-raphaelite painting

[solxamber]

Knights and Oaths - Leona Kingscholar x reader

You come from a long line of knights that have served the rulers of the Savannah. But sometimes traditions are meant to change and the second prince is looking like someone worth changing them for.

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting the Savannah in golden hues as you approach the ceremonial grounds. It’s been years leading up to this moment—years of training, discipline, and growing up side by side with royalty. Your mother serves Falena’s wife, and your father serves the king himself. By all accounts, it’s expected that you’ll follow suit and dedicate your knightly oath to Cheka, the five-year-old prince. That’s just how it’s always been—loyalty passed down through the generations, swearing fealty to the rightful heirs of the Sunset Savannah.

But you’ve never been one for following expectations.

Not when you’ve spent your childhood in the shadow of two princes, one of them your closest companion and sometimes, greatest annoyance. Leona Kingscholar—second prince of the Sunset Savannah, the man who always seemed just a step away from what he could have been. Too lazy to reach it. Too proud to admit it.

When you were kids, Leona’s idea of "training" usually involved you chasing him around, trying to get him to spar when he’d much rather nap beneath the acacia trees. "What’s the point?" he’d grumble, arms folded behind his head, the sun casting dappled shadows across his face. "No matter how hard I try, Falena's the one everyone cares about."

Yet somehow, despite his best efforts to seem indifferent, you always found yourself drawn into his orbit. There was something about Leona that you couldn’t ignore—a pull, a desire to prove himself despite his constant veneer of nonchalance. You saw him in a way others didn’t. And maybe, somewhere along the way, he saw you too.

That’s why today feels different. Your whole life, everyone assumed your path was already written. You’d swear your oath to Cheka, Falena’s son, just as your parents had sworn theirs to Falena and his wife. It was expected, anticipated. But they didn’t know the whole story. They didn’t know about you and Leona, the time spent laughing, bickering, and—more often than not—arguing over ridiculous things like who could run faster or who could climb the tallest tree.

Now here you are, stepping into the hunting grounds, your sword at your side, ready to make your choice.

The hunt is a time-honored tradition. Whoever brings back the most impressive game gets to make their dedication. You can almost hear the whispers as you prepare—"Cheka’s knight," they call you. It’s been assumed for years. But they don’t know what’s coming.

The ceremony itself is simple enough. Each knight pledges their loyalty by dedicating their game to the person they swear to serve. It’s a public declaration of fealty, one made before the entire royal court. But there’s more at stake than just loyalty. The knight who brings back the most impressive game is awarded a golden rose—a symbol of something far deeper than duty.

Love.

Hours later, when you emerge from the hunt with the largest bear the kingdom has seen in years, all eyes are on you. The whispers grow louder, anticipation thick in the air. Everyone knows you’ve won the rose, and with it, the right to swear your loyalty. They’re expecting you to kneel before Cheka, the adorable five-year-old prince bouncing with excitement. Even Leona’s lounging nearby, watching the whole affair with that bored, half-lidded gaze of his, looking as if he might fall asleep at any moment.

But you? You have different plans.

With the golden rose in hand and your bear presented, you walk right past Cheka—past the gasps of the court, the murmurs of confusion, the stunned faces of your parents. And you kneel before Leona.

Leona’s eyes snap open, and for the first time in ages, he looks genuinely surprised. His eyebrows raise, just the barest fraction. "What are you doing?" he asks, his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You grin, because of course he’s trying to play it off like this doesn’t matter. "Swearing my fealty, obviously," you say, loud enough for the court to hear. "I dedicate this hunt and the rose to Prince Leona Kingscholar."

The silence that follows is deafening. You can practically feel the jaws dropping across the Savannah. Even little Cheka’s mouth forms a perfect little "o" of shock.

For the first time all day, Leona stirs, the mask of indifference slipping just enough for you to catch the flicker of something beneath it—surprise, maybe, or something deeper. His eyes meet yours, sharper and more intense than ever, and for a moment, the world falls away.

Leona’s eyes narrow, a mixture of suspicion and amusement flickering across his face. "I thought you’d be on your knees for someone else," he drawls, his lips quirking up at the corners.

You shrug. "Everyone else may have decided my fate, but I make my own choices."

“For you, Leona,” you repeat, your voice steady and loud despite the pounding in your chest. “I dedicate my loyalty to you, and this rose... to the one who has always held my heart.”

He doesn’t say anything, just watches you, his expression unreadable. It’s Leona, after all. He doesn’t do grand gestures, never needed to. But you notice the way his fingers twitch, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out and take the rose immediately. When he finally speaks again, his voice is low, a bit rough around the edges, but there’s an unmistakable thread of satisfaction laced through it.

“You really know how to cause a scene, huh?”

There’s a grin tugging at the corner of his lips, and his gaze flicks down to the rose in your hand before meeting your eyes again. “A bear and a rose... For me?”

The teasing tone doesn’t hide the way his chest seems to expand just a little bit, like someone had finally acknowledged him for the first time in years. He reaches out and takes the rose from your hand, his fingers brushing yours in the briefest of touches. It feels electric, like every unspoken word between you is packed into that fleeting moment.

He twirls the rose once between his fingers, his smirk growing. “Guess I should thank you,” he says casually, though there’s a weight to his words, something you’ve rarely heard from him—appreciation. Real and tangible.

Leona stands up slowly, stretching as though this whole event is just another inconvenience, though the pride in his stance is unmistakable. He knows exactly what this means, both for you and for him. No one can dismiss him as just the second prince anymore, not after this. Not when someone like you, bound by honor and tradition, chose him. Over everyone else. Over Cheka. Over the kingdom’s expectations

He leans down, close enough that his breath is warm against your ear as he speaks softly, for you alone to hear. “I never thought you’d choose me. But I can’t say I’m not... pleased.”

Your heart does a strange, fluttering thing in your chest at his words, and you dare to meet his gaze, only to find a look there that you’ve never seen before. Something softer. Something real.

Before you can react, he tugs you in close, his arm settling around your waist in a way that feels both possessive and protective. The world narrows to just the two of you, the warmth of his body radiating through your armor. The smug grin he wears is softened by something deeper in his eyes—something that makes your heart skip a beat.

His hand lingers at your side, thumb brushing lightly against your hip, like he's claiming you just as much as you're dedicating yourself to him.

Before you can respond, he turns, still holding you close, and faces the crowd. The murmurs have turned to outright whispers of shock and disbelief, but Leona seems entirely unbothered by the spectacle you've made. In fact, he revels in it.

“This knight is mine,” he declares, his voice steady, ringing with finality. There’s no hesitation, no doubt—just that lazy confidence and a quiet triumph that says he’s more than pleased with your choice.

And in that moment, you know that, despite everything—his pride, his laziness, his gruff exterior—Leona Kingscholar is proud of you. Proud that you chose him, that you saw him, really saw him, when so many others didn’t. And as his arm tightens around you just a little, you can feel it too: the quiet, unspoken promise of what comes next.

A lifetime bound to the second prince—exactly the way you both want it.

Masterlist

he's so special to me :(((

[rayroseu]

OH SO IT WASNT ENOUGH TO DO IT ON PRE-GROOVY HE HAS TO DO IT ON HIS GROOVIFIED VERSION TOO AJFIWOFIOWJ!!!!!

HIS POSE IS LIKE MALLEUS ON HIS NORMAL SPRITE.... IM SOBBING AT THE MUSEUM SILVER ‼️‼️‼️😭😭😭🤍🤍🤍🤍

Never beating the Malleus' brother allegations, I think at this point he's just blatantly admitting it JDJKAJFJW !!

The profound contrast between Silver's love for Malleus and Lilia when almost the entirety of his "true nation" hated them, will always make me crash LILIA'S SON AND MALLEUS' BROTHER IS GROWING UP WELL 😭😭😭✨✨‼️‼️‼️

But isnt this a great card that showcases he's truly a "child of peace"?? The 3 good fairies spell on him was that he'll wake up on an era pf peace (and ofc when he meets someone that truly loves him), He is someone that carries "the face of Silver Owls (Knight of Dawn)" but his actions pays tribute to Briar Valley (to Malleus)

MIND YOU that this pose is almost exclusively to Malleus only yet they made Silver do it !! 😭😭JDJAJDJ And yk whats more profound about this pose is that in Silver's case.... his hand placed on the left side where the heart is KEJQKJRKWS !!!! Ohhh he's truly accepted that it can't be changed that hes from Silver Owls but he can always dedicate his actions to the ones that cares for him despite that (Lilia and I know Malleus as well (even if he finds out the truth(copium)💥💥💥)

AND I KNEW THAT OUTIFT SUITED HIM!!!! DO YOU SEE HOW SILVERS HAIR BLENDS SO WELL WITH THAT SUIT!!! LITERAL EYE CANDY, HE'S LIKE AN ANGEL HERE WITH HOW GLARING THE LIGHT SOURCE IS BUT ITS NOT A DEMURE TYPE OF ANGELIC LOOK, ITS A KNIGHTLY ONE!!! 🥲🥲💕💞✨✨✨

KFJQJRJW THIS IS PROBABLY MY FAVORITE PLATINUM CARD PLEASE... 😭🤍✨✨

Edit: Also PAUSEEE THE BOOK 7 FORESHADOW THIS CARD EXUDESSSSS SILVER CQLM DOWN AJFJAJE

The Knight of Dawn doomed to fight the Evil Princess.....

The Knight of Dreams doomed to fight the King of the Abyss

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭BUT BUT TRUE LOVE WILL END THE CYCLE RIGHT RIGHT... WJUTIQ😭😭😭😭

source

[vexwerewolf]

How would you add depth and complexity to the culture of the Purview?

Right now, the KTB gets way more attention both because of the two supplements dedicated to it and because the competing noble houses each with its different gimmick and political alignment make it so easy to come up with drama and intrigue.

Meanwhile the Purview seems, both in and out of fiction, flat and uniform. I'm sure its leadership would want to see it and have it seen that way, but given how much it keeps expanding, and therefore adding new cultures to itself, it would have to have a lot of diversity under the hood, even if it would like to pretend otherwise.

I definitely think the Purview has a harder time of it than the KTB, but that's largely because we have a Field Guide to the KTB, whereas the Field Guide to Harrison Armory never got published because of Miguel's non-compete.

There's also the problem that the KTB has this... glamour to it, in both the modern and traditional senses of the word. I've noticed this in a lot of sci-fi properties - that applying the veneer of nobility and monarchy to something can make people forget or forgive its transgressions more easily.

When Harrison Armory, the nationalist corprostate, does imperialist expansion, we can point at it and immediately say "that's a fascism" (even when it's actually... not? Imperialist expansion is always bad but it's not always necessarily fascistic). But somehow, when the KTB do the same or sometimes worse things, like using nanite terror weapons on Free Sanjak, I've noticed people are quicker to make excuses? Like, oh, yeah that's obviously bad but their society works different the KTB are a big place and like of course they're shitty traditionalists and that's really only the Hagiographs and at least the Karrakin have Republican elements who want change and reform and yeah it's bad but aren't Knightly Chivalrous Mechs Just So Gosh Darned Cool?!

I think the nuance of the KTB is also helped by the fact that they're explicitly depicted as non-monolithic. There are ten named Major Houses with their own distinct cultures, politics and homeworlds, and great pains are taken to ensure us that there's multifarious cultures and religions even on an individual world. HA suffers because to some extent it would be more monolithic - it's a nationalist corprostate with only 400 years of history, compared to the KTB's hybrid elective-monarchy neofeudal federation with 10,000.

HA is distinctly American in the way that the nation has become a brand, and a good citizen has to remain on-brand, so things would be more homogenized. To add to that, omninet and blinkgate technology has existed for the whole of HA's lifespan. The unique and distinct cultures of the KTB worlds came about largely because they spent millennia separated from one another by light years. HA has never had this issue, and likely never will. They have the option - and, more importantly, are motivated - to keep a homogenous culture across all of the Purview.

Lancer is fundamentally a game about examining and fighting against unjust structures of power that oppress people but also being larger-than-life heroes that have fun doing it, and the KTB has an innate leg up by virtue of the fact that it has what I'd call a really strong "initial sell:" YOU'RE A SPACE KNIGHT! SPACE KNIGHTS ARE COOL! (PLEASE DON'T EXAMINE SPACEE FEUDALISM!)

To make Harrison Armory compelling, you'd need a similarly strong initial sell for them. And I think I know just the thing.

FOR HUMANITY! FOR LIBERTY! FOR HARRISON! (Please don't examine space nationalism!)

If I were to write the Harrison Armory Field Guide (Tom and Miguel HMU - just kidding. Unless...?), I'd make it BIG and LOUD and OVER THE TOP and OBVIOUS PROPAGANDA with insertions of the actual truth from a HORUS hacker on the side. I'd put Harrison Armory's positioning as "liberators of the galaxy" front and center - "we dive feet-first into hell to save people from tyrants and slavers. We do the work even the UDoJ/HR won't do. Please do not examine our imperialism or social credit system."

[searchingforserendipity25]

felix knightly, julian's much-mentioned friend felix, comes to the station, and he's this dashing and effete and supremely successful older human man. he wears excellent fabrics and dedicates his life to constructing beautiful fictions.

he calls julian darling and sweetheart all the time. he speaks often of how they met - something about old hardcover books and competitive bidding in a san francisco auction house for history and literature lovers.

so it went: a long chat that turned to a long night haunting bars, showing this bright young thing the best old spots in the city, where real bands play real songs, history clings to the walls and a holoprogrammer could see nearly into the past, the future, the heart of things.

we walked the bridge with dawn on our shoulders, spent the night without losing reasons to keep talking together, and i knew this was a very special young man i had just befriended, he says.

and julian bashir, chief medical officer, war-tried and brave, looks at him through his lashes, a little bit twenty and awe-struck at being liked still.

felix speaks often about how so much of the reliable realism in his holonovels depends on having his own clever doctor to give him accurate medical information. how his gifts of custom-made programs are nothing, barely anything in comparison to the pleasure of making sweet julian enjoy himself in his intervals between wonderful adventures and admirable medical work.

he is flighty and shameless and self-satisfied and he never fails to make julian flush and brighten - something flickering open around his eyes.

he kisses the back of his hands, and plays with his hair. as if it easy and natural; as if he should be allowed always to lay a hand on julian's shoulder, and smile down at him with a conspiratorial look.

it would be easier, perhaps, if it were more sordid. but they tease each other endlessly, argue like old friends, there is history between them and not only old infatuation.

to watch him is to see an image repeated. there is the twist of the wrist doctor bashir does, the way he raises his chin and picks a glass with elegance and flirts relentlessly, as he himself had been flirted with until he relented.

it is clear enough that knightly has been a guiding figure to him, a teacher in some fashion in the arts of playing the gentleman.

a mildly chiding word from him in a specific tone, and julian straightens his back and pays attentions, rethinks his position, eases back the strain in his shoulders, lets himself be challenged, seduced into a proper debate. so perhaps he was the one who taught him that, too; to argue without spite, with wit, brash but not bull-headed.

it is clear enough julian bashir trusts him fully with his fantasies, and does not fear any mockery.

it is clear he is a weak man, a man of vice, an hedonist with no sense of responsibility, who cannot stand to live outside his programs. he drinks prodigiously and gambles recklessly, enjoys the sort of mind-whirling substances the federation permits only in careful dosages -

he is not the one to mention how it was that a medical student came to be well-versed in treating withdrawals, in dealing with hateful words said in dire states. doctor bashir himself, of course, would never breach patient confidentiality. but one may guess; one may assume.

his presence is temporary, he will go away to do research on another singular and distant place, he'll leave his friend behind for the hundredth time and send back a consolation game whenever he remembers he exists at all.

anyone can see it, in the doctor's eyes. he is has been wounded many times, he has been trained well to be expect to be liked but not wanted long.

in unrelated news, garak of garak's clothiers has had to cite complications to explain the delay of his present and forthcoming commissions. several of his needles and sewing machines have taken unexpected tumbles against the floor, and a remarkable amount of his fabric has appeared shredded to rags, almost as if a vole or beast of some sort had laid furious claws on them.

well, so it goes: life is not an holonovel. in real life, sometimes accidents can't be avoided, and mistakes have consequences.

someone ought to remind felix knightly of that, perhaps.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Hi again, i am in need of you help. How do you write a loyal knight character? A true devotee of their charge, but not so much it turns dog-like.

Writing Notes: Loyal Knight Characters

Hi, you can consider using some character tropes as a guide. Found a few examples for you:

"Knight in Shining Armor" Trope: The medieval knight who fights baddies, whether villains, knights, or dragons, and in The Tourney, charms ladies without deliberately seducing them, behaves honorably, and saves the day with his sword; but also, any hero who behaves similarly.

The "shining" originally referred to the way his armor and weapons were kept in good condition, as opposed to the rust that accumulated for less competent knights. Most knights will be depicted wearing plate armor, despite it appearing relatively late in the era of knights. Them using a Knightly Sword and Shield is also pretty likely, though the usage of plate armor with Knightly Sword and Shield is actually historically inaccurate since shields were considered redundant while wearing plate armor.

"Lady and Knight" Trope: The brave, chivalrous knight defends and falls in love with the fair lady.

"The Paladin" Trope: Paladins are warriors dedicated to furthering the cause of all that is good. Holy crusaders, they combat the forces of evil wherever they are found, and defend the helpless as much as possible. Above all else, paladins are good.

"Knight in Shining" Tropes

This is the set of tropes that cluster around Knight Templar: the forces of light in hardcore mode, excessively or otherwise.

This mentality is all the way over on the Idealistic side of the Sliding Scale of Idealism Versus Cynicism.

The Trope Codifiers are the Chivalric Romances of the medieval Matters of Britain (Arthurian Legend) and of France (Charlemagne) — especially the innumberable fantasy novels and verse epics of the 15th through 17th centuries which were based on, set in, or vaguely inspired by the older Carolingian myths.

The Arthurian myths have a less militantly idealistic style than the Carolingian ones; the Arthurian work most completely of this style is Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

This pattern is rarer outside of Europe (and before the Middle Ages) than within it.

The closest analogue to European chivalry was bushido, the code of the Japanese samurai, but the Japanese code emphasized loyalty to one's lord, even to the point of doing evil,

while the European one emphasized loyalty to one's conscience, even to the point of treachery.

Of course, that doesn't mean that non-European heroes can't act like this—and it doesn't mean that European heroes always do, either.

The Roman-derived tradition of "My Country, Right or Wrong" was always present in Europe.

Originally, the word knight was a job description with no connotation of high birth or status: it merely meant a warrior who was skilled and wealthy enough to fight on horseback, and owed their service to someone powerful.

The English word knight is derived from an Anglo-Saxon word for "servant", while most other European languages use a word meaning "horseman" (e.g. German Ritternote or French chevalier).

The word began to take on new meaning in response to social changes at the dawn of The High Middle Ages: the flourishing of merchants and cities gave them new wealth and power to compete with the nobility, while the increasingly independent Catholic Church became more assertive in trying to curb the misbehavior of the warrior class.

In order to maintain their distinction from the class of people who worked, and to reconcile the violent nature of war with the ideals of courtesy and piety, the nobility and gentry absorbed the military role of knighthood while turning it into a more exclusive and regulated order.

A noble child would usually start as a page in order to learn discipline and manners, spend their teenage years as an arming squire taking care of a master's horse and equipment, and when they had grown into a fine warrior, they would be recognized as having earned their spurs. Not everyone became a knight through such careful grooming, though.

Commoners could be rewarded with knighthood for exceptional service, and rulers facing a shortfall of heavy cavalry would sometimes make laws requiring anyone who possessed a certain amount of property to present themselves to be knighted whether they liked it or not.

Sources: 1 2 3 4 ⚜ More: Writing Notes & References

Hope this helps with your writing! More research might be needed for literary/historical accuracy.

[solarissttee]

⸻ OUT OF MY LEAGUE .ᐟ

₊ ⊹ SYNOPSIS : when lancelot returns from his month long mission, he’s made aware of the change in his girlfriend’s behaviour; isolation, eating a lot less, amongst other things. he grows concerned. but, when he learns the reason for the way she’s been acting, he’s immediately out to spill blood.

CONTAINS . . . (3.8k+ words of . . .) lancelot x fem!reader (black & chubby coded) ; fluff, angst, established relationship, use of pet names (baby, pretty girl, etc), protective boyfriend!lancelot, verbal and physical harassment / bullying, violence, implications of torture, and use of terms of degradation.

WRITER'S NOTE! ✘ : here’s something dedicated to my fellow chubby girls / people. i hope you enjoy !

something’s wrong. something is very, very wrong and lancelot couldn’t shake it off. he didn’t know what it was but it looked over him like a foreboding rain cloud.

from what he’s heard, his girlfriend has been acting off. the townspeople tell him that they aren’t sure when it started but they just know that something must be wrong with her since she hasn’t been seen for a long while.

hendrickson was the first person to tell him about this, explaining how she hadn’t shown up to her apprenticeship in weeks now and that he’s growing worried about her.

it’s bizarre, really. neither he nor anyone else has a clear grasp of what the situation is looking like on her end, and he’s not quite sure about how to approach this, but he figures he should go see her now that he has the chance to before his knightly duties get in the way.

the young prince strolls down the familiar streets of liones’ capital, taking in the scenery. it’s dreary out today, he notes; the sky is overcast and the clouds are heavy with the threat of a particularly bad thunderstorm. there’s a bit of wind, too. the strong breeze messes with the tresses of his blond hair, making it more unruly that it usually is, but he couldn’t be bothered to tame it.

‘she likes the rain. i wonder if she’s cuddled up reading right now,’ lancelot thinks fondly to himself, a slight smile on his lips as he stares up at the clouds.

he’s on his way to your home; a grocery bag of your favourite sweets cradled securely in one arm and a bouquet of flowers, a mixture of baby’s breath and red chrysanthemums (meaning everlasting love and i love you respectively) in the other.

he must look ridiculous — who would expect to see someone as imposing as the prince of benwick bringing gifts like those to his girlfriend? who would even expect him to have a girlfriend in the first place? he’s been so uninterested in women and relationships for as long as anyone can remember to the point that his parents thought he might like boys. not that they would mind, of course! they love their little boy no matter what!

but he does know that it makes him look a little too sappy despite his whole tough guy persona, but he can’t deny the fact that he likes giving you gifts and surprising you with the things that you like. his parents constantly shower each other with thoughtful gifts, whether they’re purchased or handmade, and it quickly became his way of showing affection as well.

you want that book series that’s all the rave right now? he’s going to be the first one to the library and get his hands on it. you want a bit of a sweet treat from that one bakery you really like? be prepared for a tummy ache, because he’s buying out their entire store. you’re eying up a nice dress or a much too pricey jewelry set? don’t worry, he’ll make sure to get it for you in every colour it comes in and and every coin spent is worth it. that’s how infatuated he is with you.

lancelot finally stops in front of your house, moving the flowers into his other arm and fishing into his pockets to pull out the spare key he’d been given by your parents. he was over so often that they’d just decided to let him have access whenever he wanted. it was better than him climbing in through the window — which he’s done on various occasions much to your parent’s (father’s) chagrin. (your mother actually finds it quite cute. it often reminds about her and your father’s young days in love).

he unlocks the door and steps inside, slipping out of his shoes and leaving them by the door. he knows how much you and your folks hate shoes in their living space. speaking of which, he doesn’t really expect to meet a quiet house. even though your parents are probably still at work, and your older brother is nowhere to be found — he’s probably at his apprenticeship with that giant tailor down the road — what is unusual, however, is the absence of his girlfriend.

usually, at this time you’d be home and humming a soft tune while you fixed yourself something to eat or tended to your pet dove. sighing uneasily, he ventures into the house and passes by the bird cage on his way to the kitchen, stopping to pet the ivory feathered bird, smiling when she coos in delight.

he sets the bag of sweets down and busies himself with putting the flowers in a vase and discarding the old, withering ones he'd gifted you before he became swamped with endless missions left and right.

while he does that, he picks up soft sniffling coming from your bedroom upstairs. his body stills momentarily as he focuses his hearing. a sob and an unintelligible mutter follows soon after and lancelot feels his heart drop.

“what the hell?” he mutters, abandoning the flowers and quickly ascending the stairs, keeping his footsteps light against the wooden floorboards so as to not startle you as he makes his way down the corridor until he stops at your bedroom.

the soft sobs are a lot more clear now and lancelot feels an ache in his heart. he’s been gone for at least a little over a month now. what on earth could have happened in that time period to cause you to be in such a state?

he raises his arm, fist curled and poised to knock. he raps his knuckles against the door once. then twice.

the sobbing and sniffling on the other side of the door immediately stop. he hears the faint ruffling of fabric and the quiet muttering of curses.

when there isn’t any answer after waiting a few moments, lancelot knocks for a third time. “hey, it’s me. open up, princess.”

there’s a loud silence, and it’s far too loud. he can’t hear what you’re thinking and it bothers him. did you get a magical artifact that blocks his heart reading? he’ll ask about that later, for now he needs to make sure that you’re okay.

“open up the door f’me, pretty girl. i know you’re in there.”

you’re frozen on your bed, feeling like a deer caught in a trap. you didn’t expect him to be here. he’s supposed to be on a month long mission, and that’s at the very least! had he already completed his tasks?

swallowing thickly, you work up some courage and roll out of bed. you catch a glimpse of yourself in your full body mirror and grimace at what you see staring back at you. your hair’s a mess, there’s bags underneath your eyes and it’s quite obvious that you’ve been crying and also not eating well. in short, you look terrible, and you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to face him in a state like this, so you take a step back from the door and find yourself back in your bed, hiding underneath the covers whilst curled up in the fetal position.

lancelot sighs gently when you don’t answer and takes it upon himself to make the first move. “i’m coming in, princess.”

pushing open your bedroom door, he steps inside and immediately heads straight for your bed and sits next to you. he makes an attempt to pull the covers off of you, but you resist adamantly, and so he settles for just stroking your skin through the fabric.

“hey, pretty girl,” he greets softly. “you alright?”

you don’t say anything but you do let out a soft grunt. he couldn’t tell if it was in affirmation or not, but he doesn’t press the matter.

“i’ve been gone for a little, hm? must’ve been lonely, huh? i’ll take you out to that new restaurant that opened up or we can go on a picnic and sit under our tree. whatever you want to make you feel better. how about it?”

“…no…”

lancelot cocks a brow at your answer. “no?”

what do you mean no?! you have never in your life said no to a date! now he’s certain that whatever must be bothering you isn’t just bad, it’s dreadful.

“(y/n), baby, look at me. please, let me see you.”

you’re begrudging to show yourself to him, considering that you feel and look like absolute shit. nevertheless, you couldn’t deny your boyfriend if you wanted to; especially not when he speaks to you so gently.

you peek at him through a tiny gap from underneath your covers before revealing yourself to his gaze.

lancelot’s breath hitched in his throat. you looked wrecked. your eyes are puffy and red rimmed, your face is a little flushed and there are tear streaks on your cheeks. he reaches out to wipe them off your face, his touch soothing and gentle.

“what’s wrong, hm? why’re you so upset, pretty?” he asks softly, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek and over your eyes. he leaves soft pecks over the expanse of your face and ends it off with a gentle kiss to the lips.

“talk to me, baby..” he murmurs as he pulls away, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

you melt at the feel of his lips on your skin. you’ve missed him so much, but you’re still reluctant to tell him what was going on with you.

“i can’t help you if i don’t know what the issue is.”

you bite your bottom lip in contemplation before deciding to come clean. with a shaky breath, you begin to narrate the story.

it had all started about a month ago, back when he was away in the southern region of the country tending to some trouble that had been rising between the inhabitants there; the threat of a civil war was prominent but the king had believed lancelot was up to the task.

roughly two hours after his departure to the south, you’d been on your way back to hendrickson’s lab with an armful of herbs and magical ingredients that he needed for something he was working on. he’d been enthusiastic about it all week and as his student, you often ran errands for him.

the issue arose shortly after taking the shortcut through an alley that you normally did, humming lightly to yourself. it’s not like there was anyone lingering around the path, but you still somehow ended up getting shoved roughly to the ground.

the suddenness of the action caught you off guard as you tumbled to the floor, your knees and elbows scraping against the rough cobblestone. a groan is ripped from your throat as you push yourself onto your knees. your curse, noticing the bag of things that you’d retrieved for hendrickson scattered onto the dirty ground.

that’s when two shadows cast over you. looking up, you’re met with two guys, both of which are unfamiliar to you. they’re smirking a little, and you catch feminine snickers a little ways behind them and see three other girls standing at the entrance to the alley, whispering and pointing at you while they laugh.

you were floored. you don’t know these people. hell, you’ve never even seen them around, so what the hell is their problem with you?

“um, can i help you..?” you ask nervously, your eyes darting back and forth between the guys and the girls, pushing yourself back onto your feet.

the guys smirk at each other before one of them shoves you again, much harder this time. you’re back on the floor again, rubbing your right arm in pain; it had taken the damage when you fell and would most definitely be bruised after this.

“ouch! what was that for?!” you glare up at him, cradling your throbbing hand to your chest.

“heh. look at that, the cow’s getting mad. careful, man, she might run ya over!”

the five of them laugh as if that was the funniest thing they’d ever heard and your heart dropped. you know what this is now. you know who they are now.

without giving you time to get your bearings straight, the two guys grab both of your arms and hold you down to the floor, not letting you get up. the struggle against them as the three girls step forward.

one of them, undoubtedly the ringleader, looks down at you with a sneer, a condescending glint reflecting in her eyes. she walks around you, taking in your appearance before stopping in your line of sight once more.

“wow, you sure are ugly. it should be a crime for someone as hideous as you to go strutting about like you own the place.”

you’re taken aback by her rudeness, and stunned by her audacity. “excuse me?”

“oh, are you hard of hearing, too?” she scoffs, leaning down to stare at your face properly before clicking her tongue.

“it’s a wonder, really. how on earth did someone like you manage to charm sir lancelot? did you place him under some kind of spell? i wouldn’t put it past you since you’re studying all that magic crap with sir hendrickson. i mean, really, he could do so much better than you! i’m right here so what exactly makes you so special that he’d turn me down for you?” she rants, getting nods of agreements from her gaggle of friends.

your eyebrows furrow at her words. so that’s what this whole thing is about? she got her feelings hurt by lancelot’s rejection and now she’s taking the embarrassment out on you to make herself feel better? her head is so far up her ass that it’s actually laughable.

“let me get this straight. the five of you are seriously ganging up on me because my boyfriend turned down your advances? just how pathetic are you?” you cock a brow at her and feel satisfaction bloom in your chest at the way her face flushed and contorts into a mixture of embarrassment and anger.

one of the guys takes it upon himself to smack you hard across the face to defend her honour. “shut it, tramp. you don’t get to speak to her like that!”

your cheek stings from the impact, and you have to blink to comprehend what had just happened. these random people that you do not know are actively harassing you because their ringleader was turned down by lancelot.

“now, now. it’s quite unchivalrous to hit a woman, bart.”

“a woman? don’t disrespect women by associating this cow with them. she’s an animal that needs to be reared!”

your eye twitched in irritation at his insult. you go to defend yourself, but are rudely cut off by the ringleader.

“you’re quite audacious, i’ll give you that. however, i don’t take kindly to people taking what’s supposed to be rightfully mine. you see, my father is a well known knight of liones, naturally it makes sense for his daughter to form a relationship with someone in the knightage or of a higher standing,” the ringleader, whose name you still do not know, states matter-of-factly.

“sir lancelot isn’t just any ordinary knight, he’s one of the four prophesied knights of the apocalypse and also the prince of benwick! i don’t know why he chose you as his partner when he could have someone far better! it’s simply mind boggling!”

‘oh, my god… does she ever shut up..?’ you think to yourself, rolling your eyes with a scoff.

“since i’m a kind and gracious person, here are the options i’ll be giving you so that we can all get along and come to a consensus; either you break up with sir lancelot and let me become his girlfriend, or bart and nathaniel here will take their leisure in beating you to a pulp,” she says with a smile, her voice sickeningly sweet as she towers over you.

you feel yourself stiffen, but your resolve doesn’t waver. “are you joking? is this a joke? you know it doesn’t work like that, right?”

she scoffs. “what do you mean by that?”

you deadpan at her. was she genuinely stupid or just so entitled that she had no clue of how things worked in the world.

“if lancelot rejected you the first time, that meant he wasn’t interested in you. i doubt that he’ll suddenly fall head over heels for you if i were to break up with him — which i won’t be doing by the way.”

“so? i’ll just make him love me. it’s not that hard.”

you release a tired sigh, feeling a migraine in the back of your head. “lord give me the strength..”

the girl chuckles. “that’s right, you should be praying right now. since you refused to cooperate when i’ve given you an option, i’ll let these two do as they wish to you.”

with that, she and the other three girls turned and walked off, leaving you alone with the two guys who smirked down at you, cracking their knuckles. it’s safe to say that that night was one of the most gruelling experiences you’ve ever had to face. by the end of it, you were left slumped against the ground, bruised and bleeding in pain.

they’d roughed you up with no remorse, leaving you with a split lip, a lot of bruises, possible head injury and other minor things. you honestly don’t know how you made it home that night or how you managed to evade your family members for so long without them getting too suspicious of you.

and things only got worse from there. those five would often ambush you on your way to run errands or head to hendrickson’s lab, and sometimes, you’d catch them lingering a little too close to your family’s bakery.

it’s been relentless bullying for weeks now, and it’s so bad to the point that you don’t leave your house anymore. you get paranoid every night when getting into bed, wondering if they would go as far as breaking and entering in order to torment you further, which thankfully hasn’t come to pass. yet.

during that period of constant misery, the seed of insecurity was sowed deep into you. you started eating less and less to the point where you didn’t do it at all. you couldn’t bring yourself to face anyone and nearly smashed the mirror in your bedroom but refrained from doing so because you knew that if any of this were to come to light, things would spiral out of control quickly.

and it’s not like you didn’t try to tell an adult what was happening, it’s just that every time you attempted to, the beatings became even worse; you eventually just accepted it and kept your mouth shut.

lancelot sits in silence for a moment, her hands clenched into tight fists as his entire body vibrated with a rage so powerful that his mana was making the atmosphere grow heavy.

midway through the story, you’d broken down into a fit of heavy sobs, incoherent words and more than two times you’d hyperventilated. lancelot feels a vein bulging from his forehead and he desperately tries to rein in his anger in order to provide you with a space that’s a little easier to express your emotions.

wordlessly, he brings you into his embrace, his calloused palms, dedicated to bringing justice, rub your back soothingly whilst he comforts you with sweet words and gentle kisses.

“it’s okay, pretty girl.. i’m right here and i swear to you that i’ll make sure they pay for this. they’ll never hurt you for as long as i’m alive.” he cups your face, tilting your head up to look you in the eye.

his reddish-magenta eyes peer into your darker coloured ones, affection and reassurance swimming in their depths. slowly and gently, he eases you into a deep kiss, one of his hands rubbing at the small of you back while the other carefully angles your face. he takes care to not turn it heated. usually, he’d kiss you with the intention of leaving you breathless, but right now he’s kissing you with the intention of calming you down.

when he pulls away after a few moments, he gets into the bed with you, letting you snuggle into his chest and relax. his natural lemony scent is like a warm, spring day, and instantly lulls you into a deep, restful slumber. lancelot kisses your hair, his arms tightening around you as he watches you sleep.

he’s angry. livid, even.

how dare those five imbeciles raise their hands against you, his darling, sweet girlfriend? how dare they mare your soft, supple skin with bruises and cuts? how dare they cause you so much stress that the thickness of your body, the cute chub that you have has waned significantly due to you not eating? how dare they cause you so much pain and torment that your radiant complexion looks dull? how dare they strip the life from your eyes? how dare they make you miserable? how dare they?

lancelot grinds his teeth, and finds himself planning out his next course of action, because if there’s one thing about lancelot, it’s that he does not play about his loved ones, his girlfriend most especially. and now, he’s ready to show them just why his catastrophe is war.

when the sun sets finally upon liones, lancelot carefully pulls away from your embrace, shushing you gently when you begin to stir, murmuring a soft “i’ll be back, my love,” before slipping into the dark of night.

the air is cold and the streets are wet. rain pits heavily from the darkened sky, a testament to your anguish and his rage.

and like the saying goes, revenge is a dish best served cold. therefore, lancelot unapologetically gets blood on his hands. unapologetically, he hits a woman— three women— despite his chivalrous upbringing. unapologetically, he tortures for your sake. he swore to you that they’d never be able to harm you if he had any say in it.

i mean, what damage would they possibly be able to do if they no longer had their fingers intact?

and who would even believe them if they were to accuse him of doing something so horrid? after all, he’s an honourable knight of the apocalypse, the first born son of the king and queen of benwick, so why on earth would he do such a thing? they’d have to out themselves first before laying their accusations, and he knows they won’t do that. therefore, his crime won’t be revealed.

once satisfied with how the events of the night turned out, lancelot returns to your home and holds you through the night. comforting you whenever you got restless from nightmares and when the sun comes up the next day, he spoils you in every way imaginable. because you’re his girl and he’ll do anything to keep a smile on your beautiful face.

© solarissttee all rights reserved. do not repost, edit, copy, translate or plagiarise my works.

[mothiepixie]

Been thinkin about fae Boysen and now i have questions. He lives in autumn so does he run the guard there? I don’t see Boysen being just a simple guard, he’d be a man of higher status. Right? That’s why Nightmare calls him as one of his “finest knights”. Or does he work months in winter then take breaks to return home in autumn?

I guess I’m just curious about what his routine is like and how that leads into him meeting Motti.

I need some Boysen lore to stop by brain from rotting into oblivion. He’s so elusive and mysterious, I need to know more! (If you’d like to share that is) >w<

Boysen spends some time in Winter depending on the type of duties that are required of him, but often going between Seasons for business and personal reasons. He will take the place of Nightmare (Hiemal)’s other knights or guards, either standing by his King’s side while Nightmare's other subordinates are tasked with other duties.

 He is also Commander and often busy training, or overseeing branches. He can also be delegated with the task of collecting taxes or managing landholders. Other times he’s doing damage control on the outskirts of Autumn and Winter from dragons, rogue faes, etc. There are even occasions where he is trusted with more…darker tasks. Boysen will do anything that is required of him per his King’s orders. 

In Autumn, he chose to reside there because that is his birthplace and he does run several businesses and owns some land there. He will spend a few months, or however long he can, in Autumn to attend to his personal duties (and to make sure Crust hasn’t burned down their manor). While he would like to keep his Knightly duties strictly when he is serving in Winter, he does have to oversee and uphold his duties in Autumn as well. 

“Finest Knight” is because of his dedication and hardwork, but more so Boysen was around for the tail end of the war, and showed a great amount of bravery and loyalty towards Nightmare. Boysen suffered a great deal in the war and Nightmare showed his gratitude and sympathy by bestowing Boysen with land and small wealth. 

While also Boysen being tasked to be Motti’s guide on the occasional, Motti does travel between the seasons for her own business. She even provides the fabric for some of the shops that Boysen owns. Lots of opportunities to run into each other….teehee

[thaliajoy-blog]

Honestly becoming a bit obsessed with the secondary animal association of some ASOIAF girls this Brienne symbolism has made me spiral...

Like level one you've got Sansa who's associated to several bird species - she's a little bird (evoking a sparrow or a dove), she's compared to an exotic talking bird (so a parrot or a parakeet), her false father Littlefinger has a mockingbird as a symbol, & she takes refuge in the Vale, home of the Arryn falcon. Bran wishes he was associated to so many birds...

Then you've got Brienne, who is associated to the bear and to the lion indirectly with Jaime. From there there's the whole maiden & the wild beasts dynamic to consider, this magical connection virgin women have to nature & wild animals (like the unicorn for one), how they "tame" them with their innocence and purity. Brienne "tames" Jaime physically, same with the bear, but she also most importantly does with her purity of heart & dedication to knightly values (and once "tamed" he fights to protect her). You could say Brienne has to deal with a lot of human beasts - like Vargo Hoat, "the Goat", or Rorge & Biter, who are each acting or described as animalistic men, & she fights or kill most of them.

And then you've got Arya - I found it interesting that outside of her wolf self she's associated with either much smaller & tamer animals. She's a grey mouse in Harrenhal, or a weasel & a squirrel... she's also a horse as Arya Horseface (plus association to her aunt Lyanna, the "centaur"), and a cat as Cat of the Cannals.

[tarnishedxknight]

Taking Aim and Staring Over || open to mutuals

{ This is for Basch and Soryn's MCU verses. These two were close in Dalmasca, before Basch was supposedly executed for killing their king and Soryn was wounded and captured by Archadia. Since then, Soryn has become an Archadian Judge Magister, which to some in Dalmasca, might have seemed like a defection or a betrayal. Basch would have spoken at length with Soryn and he understands what he was trying to do, but Ashelia would feel betrayed and wouldn't be talking to Soryn at this point. I just need these two to bond a bit, but also I've never had a thread with both of them unless it was a sandbox situation with many muses at once. So... yeah, if anyone wants to talk to them together and/or get involved in all the drama of Soryn being rejected by his former princess but accepted by his former knight captain, go for it. Or they could not know anything about them and be meeting them for the first time. Whatever you like! =)}

Soryn lifted the bow, took aim, and fired at the target. It found its mark, striking the bullseye well enough, if perhaps to the left side of it. He smiled and looked to Basch. The two men were out on the grounds, on a traditional archery range added specifically for them. Archery was a skill essential for the Knights of Dalmasca, and so the two former knights enjoyed indulging in it.

"I think you have improved since last I saw you shoot," Basch said, now knocking his own arrow.

"Was I so terrible before?" Soryn asked, his eyebrow rising in amusement.

"Terrible... is not the word," Basch said with a fleeting smirk. "Suffice it to say that swords have always been your strength."

Soryn laughed aloud at that as Basch loosed his arrow. "I never knew you to have a strength. You always seemed equally proficient in everything you took up."

"That is because you did not know me back when I was not," Basch said.

They walked out to the target to retrieve their arrows. Bows like this, and this sort of archaic shooting style, was really not needed in this time. At least, it was not needed for the work they did. With Barton around, it was not as if the Avengers needed another archer. Instead, things like this were done more for the Ivalicians to keep up skills they did not wish to lose, or ones they felt affection for. What was once essential in battle was now merely a hobby, a throwback to another time. It felt good for each of them to share these sorts of things together, however. It felt more like home to keep these antiquated forms of weaponry alive.

"It is odd to have so much time to practice now, yet no real reason to, other than nostalgia," Soryn said, gripping his arrows and drawing them out of the target.

"Did you not train in Archadia?" Basch asked, waiting for Soryn to finish.

"Aye, certainly. But... bows were not a Judge Magister's weapon. I wielded dual swords," he explained.

"Did they join together as Noah's did?" Basch asked, now retrieving his own arrows.

"Nay," Soryn replied. "They were of equal size, and remained separate."

"Lord Stark seems to think he may be able to recreate our armor and weapons for us to... indulge in," Basch shared.

"Does he want us to try to kill each other?" Soryn asked with a chuckle.

Basch chuckled in return. "I would not be surprised if he did."

As they walked back to the shooting line, they noticed that they were no longer alone and now had a bit of an audience...

[juttytaylorsmustache]

PREQUELLE VOCABULARY

1. Feudalism – A hierarchical system where land was exchanged for military service and labor.

2. Serf – A peasant bound to a lord’s land, providing labor in exchange for protection.

3. Manor – A self-sufficient estate controlled by a lord in medieval Europe.

4. Chivalry – A medieval knightly code of conduct emphasizing honor and bravery.

5. Guild – A medieval association of craftsmen or merchants controlling trade standards.

6. Bubonic Plague – A deadly bacterial infection spread by fleas, causing the Black Death.

7. Flagellants – Religious zealots who self-punished to atone for sins during the plague.

8. Pneumonic Plague – A form of the Black Death that infected the lungs and spread via air.

9. Pandemic – A widespread outbreak of a disease across multiple regions or continents.

10. Quarantine – Isolation of individuals to prevent the spread of disease.

11. Inquisition – A Church-led tribunal that investigated and punished heresy.

12. Heresy – Beliefs or practices that went against official Church doctrine.

13. Auto-da-fé – A public ceremony where heretics were punished, often by execution.

14. Torture – The use of pain to extract confessions or punish accused heretics.

15. Excommunication – Official expulsion from the Church, cutting off religious rights.

16. Dominican Order – A Catholic order heavily involved in the Inquisition’s trials.

17. Reconquista – The Christian effort to reclaim Spain from Muslim rule.

18. Papal Bull – An official decree issued by the Pope.

19. Moors – Muslim inhabitants of medieval Spain and North Africa.

20. Doom Painting – Medieval artwork depicting the Last Judgment and the fate of sinners.

21. Monastery – A religious community where monks lived, worked, and prayed.

22. Abbey – A monastery or convent under the authority of an abbot or abbess.

23. Clergy – The body of people ordained for religious duties, including priests and bishops.

24. Pope – The leader of the Roman Catholic Church and the Bishop of Rome.

25. Cardinal – A high-ranking church official who advises the Pope and elects new Popes.

26. Bishop – A church official who oversees a diocese and has authority over priests.

27. Priest – A church leader who conducts religious services and administers sacraments.

28. Cathedral – A large, important church that serves as a bishop’s seat.

29. Gothic Architecture – A medieval style of church building featuring pointed arches and stained glass.

30. Tithe – A mandatory church tax, typically 10% of a person’s income.

31. Papal States – Territories in Italy controlled directly by the Pope.

32. Indulgence – A pardon sold by the Church to reduce punishment for sins.

33. Relic – A sacred object, often associated with saints, believed to have holy power.

34. Mass – The central worship service of the Catholic Church.

35. Sacrament – A religious rite, such as baptism or communion, considered sacred.

36. Monasticism – A way of life in which individuals dedicate themselves to religious service.

37. Holy Roman Empire – A multi-territorial empire in medieval Europe closely tied to the Church.

38. Canon Law – The legal system governing the Catholic Church.

39. Crusades – A series of religious wars sanctioned by the Pope to reclaim the Holy Land.

40. Simony – The buying or selling of church positions, a common practice in medieval times.

41. Yersinia pestis – The bacterium responsible for the Black Plague.

42. Plague Doctor – A physician who treated plague victims, often wearing a beaked mask.

43. Miasma Theory – The belief that diseases spread through “bad air” rather than germs.

44. Pestilence – A term for a deadly and widespread disease, often used for the plague.

45. Death Cart – A wagon used to collect and transport plague victims to mass graves.

46. Mass Grave – A large burial site for multiple plague victims.

47. Ring Around the Rosie – A nursery rhyme believed to reference the Black Plague.

48. Contagion – The transmission of disease through direct or indirect contact.

49. Plague Pit – A deep trench where bodies of plague victims were buried.

50. Hygiene – Poor sanitation in medieval cities contributed to the rapid spread of disease.

51. Trial by Ordeal – A medieval practice where accused heretics underwent painful tests to prove innocence.

52. Witch Hunt – The pursuit and persecution of individuals accused of heresy or witchcraft.

53. Edict of Faith – A public announcement by the Inquisition urging people to report heretics.

54. Relapsed Heretic – Someone accused of heresy more than once, often punished by execution.

55. Grand Inquisitor – The head of the Inquisition in a given region, overseeing trials and punishments.

56. Iron Maiden – A spiked coffin-like torture device used to impale victims.

57. Rack – A device that stretched the body, dislocating joints as a form of torture.

58. Thumbscrew – A device that crushed fingers or toes to extract confessions.

59. Heretic’s Fork – A metal rod placed between the chin and chest to prevent speech or rest.

60. The Pit – A deep, dark hole where prisoners were left to starve in isolation and despair.

[jon-sedai]

Something rubbed against his leg beneath the table. Jon saw red eyes staring up at him. “Hungry again?” he asked. There was still half a honeyed chicken in the center of the table. Jon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs. Ghost ripped into it in savage silence. His brothers and sisters had not been permitted to bring their wolves to the banquet, but there were more curs than Jon could count at this end of the hall, and no one had said a word about his pup. He told himself he was fortunate in that too. His eyes stung. Jon rubbed at them savagely, cursing the smoke. He swallowed another gulp of wine and watched his direwolf devour the chicken. Dogs moved between the tables, trailing after the serving girls. One of them, a black mongrel bitch with long yellow eyes, caught a scent of the chicken. She stopped and edged under the bench to get a share. Jon watched the confrontation. The bitch growled low in her throat and moved closer. Ghost looked up, silent, and fixed the dog with those hot red eyes. The bitch snapped an angry challenge. She was three times the size of the direwolf pup. Ghost did not move. He stood over his prize and opened his mouth, baring his fangs. The bitch tensed, barked again, then thought better of this fight. She turned and slunk away, with one last defiant snap to save her pride. Ghost went back to his meal. Jon grinned and reached under the table to ruffle the shaggy white fur. The direwolf looked up at him, nipped gently at his hand, then went back to eating.

Jon I, AGOT

It's interesting that GRRM would dedicate several paragraphs to a seemingly unimportant exchange between a boy, his wolf, and an unfriendly third party. But there's just something about this passage that has continued to nag at me for years since I first read it because, considering how heavy handed GRRM was with the foreshadowing in AGOT, this feels important.

Jon is sitting at table full of squires - aka would be knights. We don't really know who they are or what families they belong to, but it's safe to assume that they come from a certain level of privilege; this is considering the fact that it cannot be financially easy to be a squire. And these boys already have a slew of tales detailing all their previous knightly exploits regarding "battle and bedding and the hunt" which suggests that they have some capital. So you have boys who will soon be men. And they will, presumably, become men of some power.

These lads eat their fill of the chicken until only half remains, which Jon then gives to Ghost. The direwolf's name is not so important here but what he represents is. Throughout the series, we're told that Ghost is reminiscent of the weirwood trees (because of his red eyes and white fur). He's stated to be of and from the Old Gods and since he's a personification of the weirwoods, he might as well be one of them. It's almost as if Jon is presenting whatever is left on the table to the Old Gods (Ghost). He lets them devour his offerings while he silently watches. And the motif of watching is so interesting here because it's kind of like Jon takes on a stewardship role - to watch over land/people/etc. He oversees Ghost eating the chicken, so he's overseeing whatever has been given to the Old Gods. This is not new imagery to his arc. As a brother of the Night's Watch and eventually its leader, we have several instances where he leads people to adopting the Old Gods in some fashion. In ADWD, several recruits swear their vows to the Old Gods while he watches on as their Lord Commander. The Old Gods are also primarily of the North and we're told that Jon has more of the north in him than his brothers; interesting that this also includes Bran. So perhaps whatever is being offered to the Old Gods relates to the North.

We must also note that Jon initially thinks to give only a small portion, a leg, before pivoting and providing the entire thing. It feels to me a bit like the process of carving up a kingdom or something similar. The lords (represented by the squires) take what they want and leave aside what they don't; or perhaps they have eaten to their fill and can take no more. Then when his time comes, Jon first considers a small piece of land/group of people before eventually absorbing all of whatever is left behind. The concept of carving up a kingdom rings harder considering that we have several callbacks to the ideals of kingship in this chapter. Robert, Jaime, Tyrion, and even Mance though we don't know it yet, all play into this. And then there's the aspect of Jon letting the chicken slip between his legs which evokes birth/fatherhood, a very curious choice when GRRM could've just had Jon place the chicken on the floor. So land/people are carved up and Jon then uses whatever is left to birth his own type of kingdom. And this kingdom is one for the Old Gods.

This also touches on something that has been quite prevalent throughout Jon's arc. It's the concept of accepting the "others" or "those left over" who live apart from the accepted social norms. Arya (a tomboy), Sam (a gender non-confirming boy), the Night's Watch (criminals, extra sons, and men who have no future left or place to go), and even the wildlings are all examples of this. And Jon takes on a leadership/paternal role to every single one of them. He looks after them as a leader would/should. Sometimes, in the case of Arya and the wildlings, he's equated to a king. He's a steward/shepherd/king. There's messianic undertones to this:

Come unto me, all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." (Matthew 11:28-30).

If you're familiar with Judeo-Christian tradition, you'll know that Jesus is often personified as one who spent the majority his time among the outcasts. The idea is that he came to save them too and that anew kingdom (or new earth depending on your translation) would spring up after the end of the world where he would forever rule as king; which presents the idea of a final king after the earthly ones are done away with. Now GRRM isn't so heavy handed with Christian allusions as other authors out there, but he does have a Catholic background and Jon is so overtly a Jesus figure. And in Revelation, Jesus is king and god at the very end....

One last thing: the mention of the mongrel who challenges Jon has always been rather interesting but confusing to me. A mongrel doesn't really relate to one specific type of dog. But it's interesting that Jon notes several roaming about where he is. They follow the serving girls who carry the food to be offered. Mongrels are used to describe antagonist/villainous groups in ASOIAF. Sometimes, they're used to describe slavers in Essos. But what's interesting is that most of the time, they're used to describe Euron's Ironborn especially in Victorian's POV. So I don't think the mongrel who challenges Ghost is a supernatural threat of death (i.e., the Others) but rather a human one. They represent those who are called to the scene once the lords have finished playing their games. It almost feels like a feast for (carrion) crows....

But it doesn't really matter because this mongrel isn't much of a challenge for Ghost. Though the mongrel is much larger, the direwolf is able to fend her off very effortlessly. Given that "mongrel" is used to describe Ironborn raiders, could this exchange between Ghost and the mongrel point to reavers or sea raiders who rise and fail challenge Jon kingdom? There is a historical King Jon Stark who did this....

When sea raiders landed in the east, Jon drove them out and built a castle, the Wolf's Den, at the mouth of the White Knife, so as to be able to defend the mouth of the river.[1][2] His son, Rickard, followed him on the throne and annexed the Neck to the north.

ref.

So this might shed some light not only on Jon's already published arc, but also on what we can expect in the future. We have some foreshadowing through Jon's ADWD dream that he will not only rise with the dawn (thereby live through the Long Night), but will be in a position to lead people (wildings in that chapter) to a new peace after a hard fought war. Also remember that the wildlings, rather enthusiastically, swear oaths to him as if swearing oaths to their king. In this instance, the supernatural (a dream of the war for the dawn) is followed by the natural/human. So perhaps this particular passage (and Jon's dream) can be used to predict that Jon comes out on top, and quite effortlessly too, as a leader. And he becomes a leader who rules by association with the Old Gods; or rules a kingdom for them.

To end, I think it's of note that this passage immediately precedes Jon's conversation with Benjen where he voices his desire to go out on his own - the hero's call to action. This is the adventure that's going to kickstart his growth as a man, warrior and most importantly, a leader. So it looks like before we even began, GRRM telegraphed how it would all end in just three short paragraphs.

[dullyn]

The Knight

This is for the third prompt of @mordredpendragon 's Maydred. It is set in the cult horror universe, which is also the reason why some of the details are a bit odd and unexplained.

--537 AD--

Never has he wished to be back in his body more than when he leaves the menacing stone walls of Camelot. Everything is just so fascinating. Golden rows of grain stretch across the land surrounding the castle and the lower town. He wants to run to them and hold the strands in his hands. Are they as soft as they look or stiff like the straw in the stables? He doesn't know, and he never will. The closest he ever got to reaching the endless fields was when he was younger and smaller; he snuck his way out of the gates and made a break for the lower town. He only made it halfway down the road before he was plucked from the ground by Sir Lucan. All he could do was stare as the gold got further and further away. He was locked in his room for a full moon as punishment, only allowed to eat, sleep, and do his letters.

Agravaine had snuck him a wooden sword for his eleventh birthday, and they would practice fighting. As good of a teacher as he was, Agravaine was nowhere near as good as their eldest brother, but he was still leagues better than Mordred. Eventually Mordred learned, he learned enough to beat Agravaine, to dream of beating even the best of knights. The legend of Lancelot gnawed at the edge of his mind, the same as it did with every boy his age, the stuff that bards sing of, the quests that can never be matched. Mordred used to ask Gawain for stories, but Gawain never told him a single one.

That didn’t matter. He was going to be the greatest knight in the land, even without his eldest brother’s help. In his sleep, he saw dragons and maidens and the promise of glory, of the satisfaction of a deed well done. If only he could see such things now, if only he could sleep.

Things seemed so easy back then, he thought that the only thing keeping him from his knightly destiny was his father’s overbearing nature, that if he left Camelot, he could achieve his dreams. A child’s folly. There was never a future like that for him to achieve; he would never don mail, never wear a scabbard, never even get to wield a sword made of anything but wood. If he had any bodily sensation left other than that of lamb’s blood, his teeth would be aching with how much he wanted it, how much the path of being a knight has scarred his very soul.

Now he is cursed to follow along on the knightly quest he used to see in his sleep, only this time he cannot do anything. He is not the leader, not the best of the gathered knights; he is but a shadow following the steps of a man made of light. 

All of his brothers follow behind, their faces holding darkened expressions. None of them wants to be on the quest, that much is clear, yet all of them volunteered for it. The jealousy that used to grow in his chest when they would leave without him and return with gifts has increased tenfold. For now, he gets to watch them in action, and he cannot contribute at all. Solemnly, he runs his hand along the edge of Gawain’s sword, no cut forms on his hand, no blood drips down the blade. He almost wishes it would.

-

It has been days of traveling on this quest for the Grail that will provide them with the final piece of the ultimate ritual, and every day is the same. Galahad rides at the front of the formation, his horse is a fleabitten grey except its speckles are so small it looks almost solid white, his armor is also white, apparently it is the suit that Lancelot used to wear back in his questing days. Mordred only knows this because Galahad told him, the knight is fond of talking incessantly about God and himself. Almost everything that comes out of his mouth sounds like a speech at mass that Arthur would give about the dedication they must give to God so as to carry out his work. It is painstaking to listen and respond only with nods or words of biblical glory. 

Behind him are Percival and Elyan, they form a triangle in their positioning, something not lost on Mordred as he knows about Galahad’s obsession with the Trinity. Everything he does is a sort of biblical reference, just as his birth was and his life has been. Only Mordred and Elyan could ever begin to understand it; their childhoods were all identical in intensity and discipline. 

All of them are split now, though, in this new phase they have found themselves in. Elyan and his body are something wholly different from the boy that Mordred once knew; he still can feel the sting of shame whenever he clenches his hands; it was his fault after all. Often, Elyan seeks him out. Mordred had not expected it when he first learned that all of the other sacrifices could see him. He asks Mordred about the future and whether he will ever be well again; no answer could be given that would be truthful. His questions are always full of a certain desperation that Mordred himself has never experienced; he doesn’t understand how one could kneel at the feet of someone else and beg them to guide them. Free will exists for a reason, and it is not right to give it up for blind faith, be it in a deity or a person; that is something he always struggled with when he was stuck in Camelot.

Now he is free of the walls; they are all free, and yet they are still stuck on a predetermined path. He wants to scream, they have their place in the world, they could go be knights and become someone. They all could go live out his childhood dream and bear their arms and fight for honor and battle scars. Knighthood is forever out of his grasp, but they could do it. All of their lives have been a torment of authority and religious promises that have brought nothing but blood and suffering.

Percival could never truly know what it was like; his place in their trio is a sham, one not born of religious torment but of human greed. It makes Mordred’s blood boil if he thinks about it too long, for what does the boy have that he didn’t?

It is a tragedy that it is hard to let the rage take full control. The moment he feels he is about to snap at someone, Percival looks at him with something akin to an abandoned dog, shaking and fearful. It serves as a reminder that Percival didn’t ask for this, none of them did, and that he knows even less about what is happening than Mordred, Galahad, and Elyan. If he were an ounce crueler, he would take the young knight’s fear and turn it against him, torment him away from going on this quest. 

He doesn’t, though; instead, he acts as a friend. Advice spills from his lips over the days, nights spent teaching him how to swing a sword and telling him of the rituals and the holy words of Uther’s book. Things that are like a well-worn coat to Mordred, yet Percival listens to him with rapt attention as if they are the most fascinating stories he has ever heard.

He feels that for Percival he is a companion, Galahad a believer, and Elyan a reassurance. An odd combination of roles that has him feeling off-kilter as he speaks with them, as he tries to keep up his different appearances. It is a long way away from what he thought he would be when he went on the quest for the Grail, back when he thought that he would be the one to get it; now he just finds himself as a cursed witness to it all.

He thinks he has accepted it, that this is all his existence ever will be, but deep down inside, he can feel his soul mourning for the knight who will never be.