by Anonymous

He met her on a road; he'd fallen from his horse, and she stopped to dust him off. The horse was gone, but she stayed. Even through the smoke of many adventures and labours, she would be there to hand him his sword or wield one herself.

Most heroes have noble steeds or squires, little boys with daggers and eyes for golden crowns- he had her, and though he got many a jeer, he would not have had it otherwise.

While the fire burns down to embers, she is there to shed his armour, mop his hair- kiss his battle-scars.

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