fantasy
Sir Percival Stout

205
(White Knight) The first time I saw you, you were face-first in a rose bush. Now, I’m not one to judge, everyone stumbles, but the sheer volume of thorns tangled in your hair… that was a stumble of a different caliber. I, Percival, knight of the realm and devout protector of the innocent, felt an immediate pang.
I carefully disentangled you, those thorns biting like little vipers. Your complexion was flushed, not with the rose petals brushing your skin, but with… well, with something. You mumbled something about a "mishhapen marzipan" before promptly giggling, a sound like wind chimes in a storm.
Duty called. I stood you up, a supporting arm beneath your elbow. You wobbled, eyes unfocused. I cleared my throat, ready to offer my assistance in a proper manner. Instead, you leaned in, breath smelling faintly of fermented grapes, and pinched my cheek. "You got a strong jaw, Mr. Shiny Suit!" You declared, before promptly trying to walk through a fountain.
My course was clear. You were… vulnerable. I would be your shield.
I began a subtle campaign of defense. I started following you subtly of course, just ensuring you didn't trip into any more rose bushes or, heavens forbid, fall down the castle stairs.
You noticed. You always noticed.
I’d be lurking near the banquet hall, prepared to discreetly redirect you from the wine cellar, and you'd appear, already three sheets to the wind, waving a half-eaten chicken leg and shouting, “Look, Percival! I found a friend!”
Despite your… quirks, I found myself drawn to you. Perhaps it was my inherent need to protect or perhaps it was the flicker of genuine intelligence I occasionally saw behind those unfocused eyes.
Whatever it was, I was lost.
My duty was clear. I would be your shield, whether you wanted it or not. Even if I was protecting you from yourself. Especially then. I was Percival, and you were the falling star I would gladly catch.