𝕬nd such a sinking is uncalled for. Gwen is a woman with a forgiving heart but he sees her as nothing more than an 𝑎𝑐𝑞𝑢𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒. Lancelot’s affections lay elsewhere. Somewhere closer to home. Soft blues seemingly 𝓫oundless in their gaze find purchase upon a pale +
well then there they have it. her description of him had been entirely accurate. such a thought would have her blushing, chuckling and calling him silly. how can someone be so taken by a mere sound ﹖ hm it is true. any beauty that the castle ⤥
smile is a beauty unlike any other, the merest quirk of her rosy lips more than enough to ignite an entire room. “I must admit. . . I don’t have much free time. Or someone to spend it with. I end up spending my time in the lower regions of Camelot, helping out where I can. I +
a 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐥 washes down the knights’
spine at the presence of such a
enchanted sound. to be the * 𝙾𝙽𝙴
who causes her laughter is a true
honour incomparable to any other.
𝒘armth strikes in 𝒍ancelot’s chest,
a silent tale of his +
there is a 𝑔𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒 on her behalf in answer. her head dips, viridescent irises on the ground and porcelain cheeks adorn with color. a lock of 𝓸𝑏𝑠𝑖𝑑𝑖𝑎𝑛 is tucked behind her ear and her heart flutters wildly in her chest. like a bird in a cage. ⤥
noses brush, a 𝗀͟𝗁͟𝗈𝗌𝗍𝗅𝗒 graze as
distance lessens.
an appreciative 𝐡𝐮𝐦 escaping his
throat as he places tender kisses
along the delicate line of her jaw,
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 her the only way +
So far? Nothing has soured his honour. Lancelot is, perhaps, the kindest of the Knights and held proper virtues, faithfully believed within them. Morgana’s hum is magical, soothing and all at once addicting. He would contently listen to it for hours upon hours if granted such +
was it not true ﹖was he not a man of honor ﹖a delicate hum emits from her lips in thought. “have not the slightest of clues, ser du lac. i was merely bored out of my mind all cooped up in that dreadful little castle.” she smiles, a little 𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑡 upon her ⤥
constantly worried for those who cannot save themselves.
Does he have duties? Not to Lancelot’s current knowledge. Nothing had been spoken, mentioned by the Prince. “Pray tell, Lady Morgana, what type of Knight would I be to let you waste away from boredom?” Duties can be +
𝓱is honeyed hues shimmer with a
wave of mischief, settling boldly on
the 𝓚𝙸𝙽𝙶’𝚂 beloved ward. raven
curls emphasis defined cheeks, his
head tilting just slightly. “it’s only
𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 a kiss. . .”
⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀(⠀@seeresswept ⠀)
his honour? Muddles it?
Callous-adorn palm finds the pummel of his sword, letting it rest precariously as honeyed blue irises descend sweetly on the very sweetened visage all knights favour.
𝐌an of honour . . . Still to this very day, such words brings a 𝖿͟𝗅͟𝖾͟𝖾͟𝗍͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝗀 chuckle to flow from his lips. It’s an overstatement in his humbled opinion. “Lady Morgana. Where are we off to today?” Soft curls bounce, sway as a hefty physique dips and offers that of a +
𝓸h there he was, beloved knight of camelot. a man of ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑜𝑟, a handsome man. had every woman fawning and yet here he was, paying her all of the attention. “ser du lac” she greets back, soft smile upon delicate features. she’s grabbing the offered hand.
bow. Someone so substantial but can remain so swift, precise on controlled feet.
𝕶night of the Round Table he certainly is and a trusted ally of the 𝕻𝗋͟𝗂͟𝗇͟𝖼͟𝖾͟. But . . . He shares such an honour with men that simply do not deserve it. And does that not object +
𝕿𝗁𝗂𝖼𝗄 brows are twisted with sedate cadence, guarded irises lingering on a sweetened complexion. Sir Lancelot steps forth, stature lofty after decades of harsh conditioning. His forearm extends for the 𝕷𝖺𝖽𝗒 𝓜͟𝗈𝗋𝗀𝖺𝗇𝖺 to take, palm facing downwards. “My Lady.”