The knight awoke with his Lady moving slightly, a locke of her long, blonde hair tickling his nose. He brushes it off with a slight chuckle. A night without the uneasy sleep of the worry of him on the war path, not able to see the one he protects. With her in his arms, and in his own bed, the sleep is easier. He slowly slips from under her, gently lifting her head and placing it back on the pillow. He gets up, being very careful to not wake her. Once on his feet, he turns to make sure his Lady is still asleep. He gives his hands and bruised face a quick rub to get the blood flowing and the stiffness released. His knuckles crack against the pressure. Even though he’s only in his late twenties, he’s fought more battles and wars than your average grey bearded duke, and his body never hesitates to remind him of that.
He wanders about his keep, checking on the state of the battlements and the few posted sentries. As he wanders, he’s grabbing seemingly random items. An o ring from the hitching post in the marketplace, a few nails from the farrier, rope from the stables, a few arrow heads from the ramparts, a wooden peg from the gear of the portcullis, some leather strips from the tanner, a strip of old net from the fisherman, and a handful of feathers from the butcher.
As he walks about his keep, even with his upbeat demeanor, his subjects smile and give him a wide berth. The few subjects of his lady that have remained loyal love and respect him. His family were legends. His abilities on the battlefield did not originate with him. He is a Lord by birth and marriage, but his family prefers the knighthood over the lordship. His family is renowned for their martial skill, and it has led to them being hunted. Rival lords and kings claimed they were witches and werewolves, juggernauts and berserkers. The servants there of claim that was said because they were not soldiers for hire.
As he wanders back to the Lord’s house, he looks up at the mountain that the keep backs up to, and sees it splotched with white and he smiles. The daffodils are blooming. He binds the supplies that were the focus of this mornings wandering, and places them beneath a rock. He makes his ascent with his knife in his mouth, until he’s at the daffodil patch, and he picks a small bouquet. His lady’s favorite flower. Not set to bloom in the valley for a few more weeks. He makes his way back down the mountain and r returns to his chambers. His lady is not awake yet. He sets the bounds package on the bedside table, places all but two flowers in a vase, and grabs the chicken feather s before he disrobes. He takes those two flowers and removes the petals, sprinkling them around his beloved. He then grabs the handful of feathers, and positions his shoulders at her knees. He blows the feathers at her face. Payback for her hair tickling him awake earlier, and as she startles awake, he dives in face first.