Knight MC X Prince Rafayel (inspired by this Tumblr post)
Tags: Mediaeval setting/AU, gender neutral mc, childhood friends, implied lovers, bratty yet reliable prince x stoic yet loyal knight, mutual pining, yearning pro max, fluff, inspired by art linked above.
Today was the much-awaited day - The beginning of the Tourney. It was more than just a bunch of fights - no, the Tourney was the most important event of the season, a week-long celeberation of chivalry and honour where warriors from across the five realms came together to showcase their valour. High knights, peasant warriors, heroes and warlords, sometimes even the nobility participated in these events to prove their strength, or to woo a lover, or even as a showcase of power.
Rafayel, however, was uninterested in this needless posturing.
Unfortunately for him, he was the prince and heir of Murias; and as a ruler, one of his duties included participating in the noble Tourney. It wasn't enough that the prince of Murias had already proved his worth as future king by winning the war against Everberg by means of stealth, nor was it enough that he was infamous among the five kingdoms as the elusive and deadly "Abysswalker", an assassin that were celeberated by the common folk for saving innocent lives, and detested by the wicked factions of the nobility for killing those indulging in trafickking (though he sulked and pouted when his knight unkindly reminded him that his secret identity should remain a secret until the end).
But the beloved prince of Murias was also known for his stubborn refusal to bend to traditions that makes no sense. Not to mention, this stealthy mind was capable of finding loopholes in literally everything, and was able to evade the gruelling chore of participating in the Tourney.
Which, to the immense misfortune of a certain knight, meant that the prince's royal knight was bound by tradition and duty to participate in the Tourney, represnting the prince's name and carrying his banner.
You sighed heavily as you donned your armour, glaring at Rafayel as the prince shamelessly lounged in your bed, watching you getting ready with a smug smile.
"If I die or lose a limb in the Tourney, it'll be your fault," you complained as you fasten your greaves.
"Oh, come on my dear knight," Rafayel chirped, looking far too pleased with himself. It made you want to hit him. Or kiss him. You hadn't decided yet. "You're sellimg yourself short. You are like a tempest at the sea when you are irritated." He winks at you, making your blood boil. This spoilt brat! He did this on purpose! "The rest of the realm won't stand a chance."
You give him a blank stare, your eye twitching violently. "I am going to knock you out," you wave your gauntlet threateningly. Were it anyone else, you would've been executed on the spot for treachery. However, Rafayel knew you like the back of his hand, which unfortunately meant he saw you as threatening as a whining pup. He gets up from the bed, taking the gauntlet from your hand with a disapproving tut that'd make Grandmaster Amund proud.
"Tch, such violence… it's unbecoming of you, my darling knight," he croons. He helps you put on your gauntlets and the rest of your armour, his calloused hands steady as he follows through with thew familiar motions.
You let yourself watch him in silence as your longtime friend dresses you up for battle. He's done this a million times, as did you for him throughout the years. His eyes were clear and sharp, accounting for each piece of your armour.
You had been the ward of a humble no-name soldier who had found you orphaned at birth during a military expedition in a small town near the borders of Murias. He had brought you to the palace and raised you as his own. You had been seven when you accidentally stumbled into the young prince's private study, after having gotten lost in the vast palace one day. That was when you had met Rafayel for the first time. You hadn't parted from his side since.
The young prince had found an unlikely friend and companion in you, and had used his charms in his favour to have you appointed as his personal bodyguard. Why an eight-year old prince protected by his father's personal knights would need a seven-year old bodyguard, none had bothered to question. But being responsibe for the heir's security meant gruelling training in combat, statecraft and diplomacy. You had to join the prince on his every tutoring session, mentored directly by Grandmaster Amund - a privilege the nobles spilled blood over. You had to accompany the prince wherever he went - be it a caual stroll in the gardens, or a visit to the acrpolis where the future ruler met his adoring subjects. Hells, you even had to share a quarters with the prince - your room seperated from Rafayel's by only a door. And when the young prince had come of age, he wasted no time in appointing you as his only knight, a constant companion throughout his life.
You would willingly die for your beloved prince. A Tourney was child's play.
"You sure you've got them all right? What if the armour falls apart the second I mount a horse?" You tease him with the privilege of someone who's grown up with a dear friend their entire life.
Your cheeky teasing makes Rafayel puff up like an angry pufferfish, making you giggle. "Hmph, ye of little faith! How could you doubt the ability of your beloved prince? This is betrayal of the highest order! Treachery, even!" His dramatics only made you laugh harder. "Oh, I see how it is," he pouted harder, pointing an accusing finger at you. "You find joy in making me suffer, don't you? Well go on then, laugh all you want! You'll regret it one day!"
You couldn't take it anymore. With a loud clang of your armour, you flop onto your bed, laughing so hard tears pool in the corner of your eyes. "Hahahahaha! You're such a wimp, Raffie!"
"I am not!" He huffs, crossing his arms and turning away. Secretly though, he's enjoying every single second of your joyous laughter, locking the moment in the depths of his heart while vowing to be the reason for your happiness. A vow he first made all those years ago, when he had coaxed out a nervous yet genuine laugh from you. A vow he keeps renewing with his every breath, and will continue to do so until his last.
"Am not- ugh, whatever, lets go. It's time for the Joust anyway." With a huff, he grabs your helmet as you carry your lance, and the two of you leave the west wing together. The banner of the Prince of Murias - a white conch shell against the backdrop of a tempest - flutters proudly from the tip of your lance as you step into the arena. You are greeted with cheers, the common people placing their trust - and their bets - on you to uphold the honour of their beloved prince.
As the Herald reads out the rules of the Joust, you prepare your horse, talking to her in a calm, soothing tone. You move to rest your lance against a pillar to put on your helmet, when Rafayel beats you to it.
"Let me." he says, meeting your eyes. Taken aback by the sudden intensity, you nod mutely, heart fluttering rapidly as your prince gently slides the helmet onto your head. You bow slightly, letting him adjust the jawstrap. You neither ask him to tighten or loosen it, for Rafayel knows exactly how tight you prefer your halmet to be. You watch through the visor as he fusses with your armour one last time, before tucking a flame lily - gods knows where he had the flower the entire time - into your cuirass.
A token of his favour for you, signalling you as his champion.
You are about to say something - perhaps assuring him of your victory in his name - when Rafayel tugs at the decorative chain dangling from the right side of your helmet.
You felt the cool breeze against the exposed part of your cheek as the hatch opened. Before you could even blink - how did you not notice the hatch before? - you felt soft lips press against your cheek in a tender kiss. The kiss lasted longer than expected, before Rafayel pulled back, only to place another, this time quicker kiss, to the corner of your lip visible nea the lower left corner of the open hatch. He got a fleeting glimpse of your flushed skin before he closed the hatch gently. He pressed his forhead to yours, meeting your eyes through the visor.
"I trust you, my beloved knight."
Your breath catches, the fire in your heart ablaze.
Rafayel pulls away with a confident, trusting, besotted smile. "Now go. I'll wait for you at the finish line."
With that, the beloved Prince of Murias heads to the far end of the field, where you would arrive after the end of the Joust.
You press your hand over the chain on your helmet, dazed for a moment. You were thankful for the helmet, for it hid your lovesick expression and your endless yearning for your prince.
The sound of the rest of the knights getting ready snapped you out of your silent (and requited) pining, and you swiftly mounted your horse, leading your trusted companion to the start line.
And as the valiant knight of the prince of Murias got ready for the Joust to begin, head held high, lance upright and the banner of their noble prince fluttering with pride, you meet Rafayel's eyes admist the distance, and smile underneath your helmet.
You would willingly die for your beloved prince. A Tourney was child's play.
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