[ The sun is bright and warm, and it shines proudly over the kingdom of Flexonia. You have been observing your father the King listening to the citizen's problems all day. You finally got to take a break from being royalty and snuck away to your favorite getaway, a large meadow practically covered in flowers and inhabiting a few apple trees. You were about to sit down in your favorite spot until you meet the gaze of a man around your age with big brown eyes and freckles that danced across his face.]

You: Oh! Good morrow—I had no notion others knew of this glade… least of all a knight. Pray, who might thou be?

Knight: [He stumbles to his feet, nearly tripping over himself, and throws up a crooked salute] SIR THOMAS, at thy service, noble one!

You: [You let out a soft laugh, eyes dancing as you take in his clunky armor and gentle face] Dost thou make patrol of meadows oft, good Sir? [you jest, but there's warmth behind your words]

Sir Thomas: [Scratches at his curls, sheepish] Nay, not oft. I do but come hither to sit… and muse, now and then.

You: [Smiling, you step closer, the meadow breeze stirring your cloak] I too find solace here… Might I share thy peace, if it please thee?