#foolknight

Full size canvas shown so you can see the change in scale I made when starting the finals

also rip to skintones here like jfc it really took a minute to figure that thwip out (though I will say I actually prefer the shading in that last one damn)

There is not, strictly speaking, a good reason for the Jester to be tagging along on the King’s Guard’s latest mission out of the city. He basically invited himself, pleading with the King for a week and a half—following him down the corridors or pestering him while he oversaw the knights sparring in the courtyard—before he agreed.

“I could boost morale!” the Jester insisted one sunny afternoon, eyes flicking quickly over to the knight closest to him, definitely within earshot. Even with all the identical sets of armor in the courtyard, the knight with the white feather in his helmet (the knight the Jester had subconsciously begun to think of as his), was easily recognizable. “You know,” the Jester continued, eyeing the Knight as he spoke, “I could… entertain the troops.”

The Jester swore the visor of the Knight’s helmet tilted ever-so-slightly towards him at that. He grinned, and the King rolled his eyes. 

“Why don’t you ask your knights if you’re not convinced?” the Jester suggested innocently, darting between his Knight and the squire he was sparring with. “He wants me to come,” he added, attempting to keep up with the Knight’s quick movements. “Don’t you?”

“Get out of the way before you get knocked out,” the Knight said ruefully. The Jester laughed, flitting around to the Knight’s opposite side—closer to the hand not holding a massive sword. 

“Tell the King you want me on your quest,” the Jester urged, smiling wickedly as the Knight’s guard dropped ever-so-slightly, his visor-covered-eyes fixing on the Jester. The squire he was sparring with got dangerously close to getting a blow in before the Knight blocked. “Come on, I know you do,” the Jester taunted. 

The Knight swapped his sword to his left hand, seamlessly blocking an attempted blow by the squire while not breaking eye contact (or, well, visor contact, really) with the Jester. The Jester made a mental note of the Knight’s apparent ambidexterity, which was ridiculously, unfairly attractive. As if the Knight wasn’t attractive enough already. 

“You really have no business anywhere near a battlefield,” the Knight said.

The Jester rolled his eyes, darting back to the Knight’s non-sword side. “I won’t be near the battlefield,” he insisted, “I’ll just stay in your chambers and patiently wait for you to get back. Polish your armor. Help you relax after your long day.” He gave a small smile, letting his voice trail off suggestively and looking up at the Knight through his lashes. 

The Knight stared at the Jester for a moment too long, and the squire’s practice-sword connected with his breastplate with a loud ding. 

The Knight swore under his breath, retaliating against the squire with perhaps slightly more aggression than was strictly necessary for a practice duel. 

The Jester looked back at the King, who was watching the events with a bemused smile. 

“I’m not convinced,” the King said. “Seems like you’re distracting him.”

“I’m motivating him!” the Jester insisted. “Look how well he’s doing!”

He gestured to the Knight, who was beating the squire back with renewed annoyance. 

“Hm,” the King said, watching the Knight for a moment. “I’ll consider.”

*****

Two days later, the Jester was packed and ready, sidling up to the departing group of Knights with his multi-colored carpetbag in one hand, and a snack for the road in the other. 

The Knight, his knight, was tacking up his horse, a huge chestnut colored stallion with a feather that matched the Knight’s decorating its bridal. 

“Go on,” the King said, nodding bemusedly towards the party of knights. “You can ride with Sir Augustine, he has the biggest horse.”

“Among other things, I’m sure,” the Jester said lowly. 

The Knight turned sharply to look at him. The Jester’s breath caught. The Knight’s visor was up, dark brown eyes locking on the Jester’s. 

The Jester might’ve actually said fuck out loud. He’s not sure. 

The Knight snapped his visor down, familiar metal obscuring the warmth of his gaze. 

“Jester is with you,” the King said, stepping between the Knight and the Jester, looking between them with an amused smile. 

“Surely we can spare a fifth horse,” the Knight said, sounding slightly choked. 

“I don’t know how to ride,” the Jester said innocently, having recovered quickly enough from his momentary loss of composure. “Horses, that is.”

The Knight inhaled audibly. The Jester smiled. 

“Godspeed,” the King said, his smile turning resigned as he started back towards the castle. 

The Knight just kept staring at the Jester, even as he looked around, scanning the other knights and squires on the journey with them. 

“You really don’t know how to ride a horse?” the Knight said finally, his voice sounding ridiculously soft considering the battle armor it was coming out of.

“Never learned,” the Jester said truthfully. “My carriage rides are always paid for.”

“Of course,” the Knight said, a familiar note of bitter professionalism sliding back into his voice. “Well, right foot in the stirrup.”

“Er, right,” the Jester said, hesitating. “Which one is the stirrup?”

“Gods’ sakes,” the Knight muttered, and with absolutely no warning or preamble, brought his hands to either side of the Jester’s waist and lifted him off his feet as if he weighed nothing. 

It would’ve been infuriating if it wasn’t so enchanting. 

“Excuse me—” the Jester began, but the Knight set him onto the horse before he could finish his sentence. 

“No time to teach you,” the Knight said, stepping into what the Jester now, belatedly, recognized as a stirrup and mounting the horse behind where the Jester was sitting. He reached around the Jester on either side, taking up the reins and silently nudging the horse into motion. 

“We ride North until dawn,” the Knight said to the other riders behind them. “Then we break for the night and bear south in the morning.”

The Jester smiled to himself slightly as he realized the Knight was sitting up pin straight, leaning slightly back, avoiding all physical contact with him. A challenge. 

“You can’t sit like that all day,” he whispered, turning his head to lean closer to the Knight’s helmet-covered ear.

“This is how I always sit,” the Knight said. 

“Is it really?” the Jester asked, leaning back ever-so-slightly. Enough to brush against the Knight’s chest. 

The Knight inhaled again, that soft, sharp sound that the Jester was beginning to strive for. He arched his back slightly, wiggling his hips. 

“Stop that,” the Knight said.

“Stop what?” the Jester asked. 

“You’re— you know what,” the Knight hissed. 

“Honestly, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Jester said innocently, pushing his hips back once more. 

In a singular, fluid movement, the Knight took one hand off the reins and brought it to the Jester’s waist, squeezing slightly, though not hard enough to be anywhere near uncomfortable. Warmth bloomed beneath the touch, and the Jester grinned. 

“Stop moving,” the Knight said, lowly, close to his ear. 

“Just relax,” the Jester said. “Stop sitting like you’re scared you’ll catch something if you touch me.”

“I’m not scared,” the Knight said crossly. His hand was still on the Jester’s waist, squeezing slightly as he spoke. 

“If you’d rather I ride with someone else,” the Jester said, “I’d be happy to take my chances finding another knight.”

“No,” the Knight said immediately, too quickly, hand tightening on the Jester’s waist. 

The Jester felt himself blush, and bit back a smile. “Fine,” he said, “if you insist.”

The Knight sighed in what sounded like annoyance, then shifted in the saddle slightly, pressing his chest to the Jester’s back and winding one arm fully around his waist. 

“Happy?” he asked.

“Yes, actually,” the Jester said, definitely blushing now at the feeling of the Knight’s arm around him, and the faint smell of saddle leather and sweat in the air around them. 

“Good,” the Knight said contentedly, settling into the saddle slightly more. 

As they rode through the day, he would occasionally tighten his arm around the Jester’s waist, pulling him into his chest protectively in what the Jester was almost certain was a subconscious move. Not that he was complaining. The Knight’s chest was ridiculously comfortable, despite the armor separating them. Comfortable enough to lull the Jester into a trace, nearer and nearer to sleep the more miles they covered.  

As the sky darkened, the Jester felt his eyes drifting shut, head falling backwards onto the Knight’s shoulder. He snapped back awake, stopping himself before he could truly fall asleep.

“Go ahead,” the Knight said. 

“What, so I can fall off the horse and you can laugh at me?” the Jester asked, raising an eyebrow. “I think I’ll stay awake.”

“You won’t fall,” the Knight said. And then quickly, into the silence, “I’ve got you, don’t worry.”

It was the Jester’s turn to exhale in surprise. He leaned back hesitantly, exhaustion pulling at him. Since when was riding horses so tiring?

“That’s it,” the Knight murmured, a self-satisfied smile evident in his voice, the thumb of the hand resting on the curve of the Jester’s waist rubbing absently over the thin fabric of his traveling shirt. 

The Jester’s stomach swooped. He was blushing, he knew, again.