So I've kinda been preoccupied with the idea of Knight!Killian ever since I saw him in the armour in The Jolly Roger (*swoon*). As a kid I loved the movie 'First Knight' and the camelot legend, so this is a little drabble losely based upon these.
I might turn this into a full fic, if there is interest. As you will see, I haven't given too much away in this extract, but hopefully it will whet your appetite for more...
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"The greatest privilege in life is to live - and die - with honor…"
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The late afternoon sunlight filtered lazily through the stained glass windows that ran just above head height along the grey stone walls of the small chapel. There was a stillness in the air - a solemnity almost - perhaps that came with it being a place or worship. Killian did not know: he had never been one to put much stock in religion.
His heavy wool doublet scratched at his neck as he made his way down the aisle between the rows of simple pews. Behind him, the thick velvet cloak that hung from his shoulders swung like a pendulum with every slow step he made - each one accompanied by the clipped sound of his leather boots against the floor, the noise echoing around the somewhat bare space.
Killian would have expected the private chapel of a king to be more ornate: perhaps with golden icons and intricate tapestries hung on the walls. But save for the colored glass of the windows the only decoration was a large cross hung above the altar made of a heavy stained wood. He had much to learn or courtly life, he conceded.
Normally, he had been told, such occasions were a far grander affair, with members of court present and all the pomp and circumstance that may be expected of a powerful kingdom. Perhaps the king had sensed his reluctance for such attentions - he had never been one to promote his own notice, preferring to live a simpler life. Alone. It was just easier.
When he reached the altar he kneeled. Before him, the king stood with his golden sword in hand, a small, yet welcoming, smile on his face. The only others in attendance were the clergyman and Sir David. He closed his eyes.
The king asked him if he were willing to swear his life to the crown. He nodded. Then from his lips fell the oath he had memorized the night before - swearing loyalty, bravery and the duty to protect a lady. The words were a blur, his mind unable to think of their meaning- instead he was trying to still the throbbing of his heart that played the tune of dishonesty.
This is lies, his heart beat, you are here for her…
The blade was slowly tipped against his shoulders.
"Arise, Sir Killian."
He hadn't realized he had been holding his breath. As he stood, he let out a light sigh.
It was done.
The king reached out both hands and clasped Killian's within it, a warm embrace matched by the expression of friendship on the king's face.
He wanted to pull back…
There was a sound to his right. He quickly turned his head, feeling his heart drop when he saw her.
Her. Emma.
Her highness…
She met his eyes quickly. He couldn't help but stare into her watery green gaze.
Her hair tumbled over her shoulder in a thick golden braid and her simple blue gown only enhanced her ethereal beauty.
God, he should look away…
He was roused from his thoughts by the deep, warm tones of the other knight, "Killian, welcome to the round table." David was by his side, embracing him. As if he were a brother, he supposed.
"Thank you," he replied, just barely above a whisper.
"And Killian, you must greet your lady, for she will be your queen to serve in due course."
He began to take a step in her direction, but she was before him in a second. Her intoxicating scent wrapped around him - lavender and lemon, twinned together in a sweet fresh smell that filled his nostrils and brought him back to their first meeting.
"Sir Killian," she murmured, bowing her head. Her blonde hair glimmered in the half light. How he wished to touch those golden strands; run his fingers through them.
"Milady," he replied, pausing a second before taking her outstretched hand. Tentatively, he pressed his lips against it. The skin was dewy soft and pleasantly warm. His lips tingled as they lingered perhaps a moment longer than necessary.
Killian looked up. Brow furrowed, he fixed once more on her emerald eyes. Her lips parted.
Then he saw it. The faint flush of pink on her cheeks. The staccato rhythm of her breathing. The way her hand was slightly trembling.
He broke away, fearful lest he betray himself.
She quickly turned away, moving back to the king's side. The flush of warmth she had bestowed upon his skin faded.
"Come Killian, we must prepare for tonight's feast, for it is in your honor."
He nodded at Sir David's words, peeling his vision away from her before anyone noticed how long his eyes remained on the princess's form.
"Aye," he nodded, giving the man a faint smile as they both turned to leave the chapel. David was talking - though he knew not what of - preoccupied as he was by green eyes and the faint scent of lavender.