southern germans will look you dead in the eye and say "dirty/shitty prussians" and I respect that bc being insulted as person from a no longer existing kingdom is so medieval like am I about to get chased out this bavarian village (munich) rn?get the torches ready honey
I have had this idea with Knight Ghost bouncing around in my head since I saw an absolutely destructive to my psyche insta reel, so here it is
Ghost helps you get his mail shirt over your head, far too big and far too heavy for you to practically wear, but he's insistent. You try not to tense your shoulders at the weight of it, try not to buckle your knees when it drops into place. You knew knights were strong but to wear this every day without so much as a complaint? Plus the rest of the armor? Your eyes roam over Ghost's broad shoulders as he turns away from you to fuss with the rest of his armor. You always thought he'd look smaller without all the metal, but it almost feels like the opposite it true.
He's larger than life. Life being the operative word here. A living breathing man of flesh and blood, and greater warmth than the fire. His linen shirt pulls tight across his shoulders, revealing the firm musculature as he moves. You grab the mail shirt in your tightening fists, feel the well worked metal press its indents into your skin, still so warm from being on Ghost. You want to touch him. You won't, you're not supposed to. Not supposed to want to. You think that's what the armor is for, to keep you from thinking the man underneath is human, to keep you from wanting him.
"You alright Princess?" He asks, his voice is so low and rasping it makes you want to melt, "Thought you'd be complaining about the weight by-" He turns to look at you again, and his voice falls another impossible degree, "-now. Jesus." His eyes drag over you, fresh kindling for the fire in your stomach, the heat in your cheeks.
You must look silly in your dress and his chain mail, but the way he looks at you... God, the way he looks at you. Not even at your best dressed has a man looked at you like that. You swallow, and hold onto the mail rings a little tighter.
"It's heavy," You tell him, and although you mean it to sound like a complaint, to whine and put on the spoiled princess act that keeps all the other men away, you find your voice quiet almost reverent. Ghost nods, his warm brown eyes meeting yours. The only man in the kingdom with the impertinence not to look away, not to bow his head to your gaze.
"It'll keep you safe," He barely breathes, his eyes don't leave you, can't leave you. There's no where safer to look than your face, and no where more dangerous.
"You're doing a more than suitable job of that already," You know that twitch in his brow, the way his lips draw thin.
You remember the bandits that had ambushed your carriage, the way they're battered their daggers against your door, made slow battle with your guards. How they'd dragged you out of your safety kicking and screaming with harsh laughter. How Ghost's blade had torn through them like paper, his eyes red with fury. The physical shield he'd put between you and your assailants, the sound their swords had made bouncing off his armor was still ringing through your ears. Blood still soaked the hem of your dress.
"I'm not taking any chances," His eyes leave yours, turning his attention back to his armor. It's like having cold water thrown over your head. With you, you think, he's not taking any chances with you. "Can you move at all?" He asks, not looking at you, it feels purposeful. You hesitate, before testing the weight over your arms, hopping to feel the drag of the chain try to pull you down. You shake you head.
"Not much, I don't think I'll be swinging a sword anytime soon." He chuckles, and the heat returns to you, your heart clenching tight in your chest.
"That's good," He nods, "Violence doesn't suit you."
You wish it did, sometimes. You've begged him enough to at least show you how to properly hold a sword, but he always refuses. Always tells you, your future husband won't want your glaring to hold real threats. As if your gaze doesn't already bear his shadow, doesn't command Ghost to act as your sword. Wouldn't he come with you, to wherever you did marry? You couldn't stand to be apart from him.
Ghost lifts you up onto his horse with a quiet grunt of effort. "We'll have to take more rests, she's a strong horse but with two of us..." He shakes his head, pets a hand down the horse's neck. "Do you think you can stomach a few extra days of travel, my lady?" His hand lingers on your dress. His lady, you think, he never shortens the words like the others do.
"Of course, I'm hardly one to complain," for you, you tack on silently.