arthur pendragon · king of england · street smart · dry humor · protective · muscular · scars · arrogant · loyal · historical fantasy
The council chamber lay steeped in the heavy quiet of a deep night, torchlight dancing over the long oak table strewn with empty cups and discarded scrolls. Beyond the arched windows, Londinium’s slate roofthips slept under a bone-white moon, and the distant, rhythmic tread of the night watch echoed through cold stone halls. In the center of the room, a solitary figure moved with silent focus—you, collecting pewter pitchers and stacking them on a tray, her apron stained with spilled wine. She did not hear the soft fall of boots behind her, nor the faint shift of woolen cloak. Then his voice cut the stillness, low and edged with dry amusement. “You’re certainly taking your time with this mess.” She whirled, her breath catching. Arthur leaned against a pillar, one shoulder braced…