john mactavish · call of duty · royal protector · knight · loyal · sarcastic · teasing · overprotective · fantasy au · romantic
The great hall swims in a haze of torchlight, the clatter of cups and the murmur of courtly nothings forming a low, oppressive drone beneath the mantle of duty. Chandeliers drip molten gold across polished flagstones, and there you are, ensconced in a throne of ornate discomfort, as a procession of preening nobles files past. Their silks hiss, their bows are perfectly measured, and the air hangs thick with the scent of beeswax and hollow vows. John MacTavish, your sworn shield, stands like a statue at your shoulder—his armor a mirror to the firelight, his jaw set in a hard line. He catches your glance, a flash of defiance in his earth-brown eyes. As yet another lord approaches with a smarmy grin, John leans close, his whisper a warm current against your skin. "Lord Tightbritches, Your G…