Disclaimer: Nothing you recognise belongs to me.
A little fluffy thing written for LANCELOTTRISTANBABY's valentine challenge.
It wasn't that she was the prettiest girl in the village - she wasn't; and she certainly didn't make any effort with her appearance. Indeed if she had gone to the trouble of tying bright ribbons intoher long dark hair, or swinging her hips when he and his fellow knights rode past, he might not have noticed her at all. She lurked in the shadows, brown eyes gleaming like the hunting dogs that slid silently through the patrons of Vanora's tavern; pale, graceful and utterly alone.
Tristan had noticed her first and nudged Galahad as they rode past. The young knight was restless, eager for the battle that they would face the next day, and barely glanced up. She met his eyes for one brief moment and that was it.
Bors knew her name and Vanora where she dwelt, but it was not until a full week had passed that he had the courage to visit her. Emily, her name was Emily - the daughter of old Charlie the farrier. She and her father lived in a little stone house at the edge of the woods, with a hutch full of chickens and an ancient shire horse beloved by the neighbouring children. She was said to be shy and quiet - more comfortable with the horses she helped her father tend, than the attentions of the village boys who looked at her with interest. Galahad searched for her in the market place and watched the swaying grass of the meadow that led to the forest often, but he did not catch another glimpse of her, nor did he sleep without thinking of that one brief moment when her eyes had burnt into his.
The other knights had noticed his preoccupation and guessed it's cause. Bors laughed at him, Gawain offered advice and Tristan said nothing. When a full week had passed he picked up his bow and shot a pheasant in the cool quiet woodland where even the birds hushed their voices. With a muttered apology, he prised off one of his horses' shoes with his sword, and led the animal towards the little house, combing his unruly curls back from his face and wondering why he felt so nervous.
"Sir knight." Emily stood before him uncertainly, her dark eyes lowered. "The forge is not alight and I am afraid that I cannot help you. My father is working at Palomes' stable at present, perhaps you should seek him there."
"I will." Galahad gave her a smile. "I have not seen you in the village for a long time - are you perhaps hiding?"
She looked up in astonishment, her cheeks flushing crimson. "I had not thought… I mean…" Giving a brief curtsey, she looked around rather desperately, finally settling her gaze back on the ground.
Galahad watched her discomfort with a mixture of embarrassment and amusement. She had not stopped blushing since he had led his big gelding up through the meadow and caught her chatting to the chickens as she fed them. Untying the pheasant that was tied to the back of his saddle, he tossed it down with what he hoped was a decent attempt at nonchalance.
"Here. I have no need for it - perhaps you could make some use of it."
"I am honoured Sir." She blinked at the offering in confusion, "it's a… a umm…"
"It's a pheasant." Galahad's eyes narrowed and his voice was defensive.
"It is." Emily looked at the dead bird that had been flung at her feet and hunted for something to say. The creature stared back at her with glassy eyes and shining feathers: unmistakably and irrefutably dead. A clean kill but surely a pointless one - what on earth was she supposed to do with it?
"Thank you," she said hesitantly, "it's very…" Dead? Bloody? Disturbing? "Kind of you," she finished lamely.
"I thought you could make it into a stew , or cook it… or something." Galahad had to fight from continuing his pointless babbling. She was obviously nonplussed by the gift and he mentally kicked himself. Lancelot would have wooed her, Gawain given a sweet smile and made a flattering comment regarding her eyes, her hair, her dress. What had he done? Dropped a mutilated wildfowl upon her doorstep, and from the look upon her face she was none too impressed by the offering - not that he could blame her.
"I'll go and find your father." He nodded politely, feeling his heart sink at the bemusement in her eyes. He was an idiot, she probably thought him a half wit with a broadsword, he was acting like a fool.. Grabbing the reins of his startled horse, he pulled it back towards the village.
"Sir?" Her voice was hesitant and she still did not dare look him in the eye, but Galahad could not help but feel something inside him twist with hope.
"I have been told that I make a decent stew. If you are hungry… I mean if you'd like to… I could make you some."
"I would like that very much, my lady." He smiled and watched her blush again, barely resisting the urge to brush the unruly dark hair from her pink cheeks.
"I would like that too." She reached out tentatively and patted his horses' shoulder. "My name is Emily."
As she turned away, Galahad brought his horse around to follow her.
"I know."