First Knight Drabbles

The two Bound were bidden to face each other while the Master of Ceremonies recited prayers to the Gods. Thankfully, Griffith only needed to stand there and be blessed. He tuned out the Master’s voice, able to fully appraise the man in front of him.

Thurn was looking over his head, gazing boredly at the wall behind. For that, Griffith was grateful; he didn’t notice Griffith’s eyes lingering on the exposed torso. It was hard not to look.

The man was so broad he was all Griffith could see. The coils of rope illuminated just how broad he was, drawing the eye to the curves of his biceps and the thickness of his waist. He was solid and powerful, but not entirely terrifying, and the dark black hair that covered his chest and tapered down to his waistband looked soft to the touch.

A twinge of heat blossomed in Griffith’s groin and he forced himself to focus on Thurn’s face, flushing once more. It was easier to remind himself of just who he was Binding himself to that way. The Orc’s face was much more alien, difficult to parse. His low-set, thick eyebrows and tusks gave him a bestial look; his lips were made for rending flesh and grinding up bones, not for kissing or whispering in one’s ear.

The end of the Ceremony was marked with a literal binding. The two were tied wrist-to-wrist with rope blessed by the priests. A difficult endeavour when one was so much larger than the other. Griffith shivered as their marks touched; Thurn burned hot.

There was a final prayer, recited by the entire congregation, while they were bound, and it was during this that Thurn finally made eye contact. Griffith was sure Thurn felt his near flinch, but he did not look away. His heart pounded, but he set his jaw, and tried his best to communicate using only his eyes: “prove me right”.