#kingthur

@ask-twoyearsafter

Arthur felt something behind him before it arrived. It felt-- warm like a hearth did, a respite from the cold. There was a fresh scent, a clean scent of something citrusy, with the sharp twang of copper underneath. It was a precursor to a hand on his shoulder tightly, and another that came out from behind him, catching the grey fae like an irksome fly. They held it still, before those fingers began to s q u e E Z E. Tighter and tighter until there was a crunch that he hated hearing, but not so much as he hated it being done to protect him.

Arthur twisted in that grip, twisted into gold locks of hair aglow and trying to surround him all around like ribbons of light flowing with an suspended, aquatic grace. He pushed through to see that face, and his hand came up, steady despite how unsteady he felt, all the words in his head and the death on the King’s hands. Again. Someone else protecting him. Always protecting him. Rising to the occasion to stop him from being hurt and hurting themselves in the process. It didn’t stain them-- it didn’t. But in their minds....