The air in the tent was thick with the scent of mead and roasted meats. Chatter filled the atmosphere, joyous and rambunctious, blending with the lull of music as everyone feasted and downed drinks. Tourneys were always a fun affair, that he made sure of.

It was a good life, Lyonel thought, with his wife perched in his lap - a rather improper position that she had grown used to in their years of marriage - with his belly full of wine and boar. His wife’s weight was a familiar thing, his hand resting on the curve of her hip, thumbing over the soft flesh through the layers of her dress.

“You’re oddly quiet tonight,” Lyonel said halfheartedly. His rings clinked against the rim of his goblet as he lifted it to his lips for a final sip, and with a wave of his hand, ushering a servant, it was being filled again. He paused his drinking just to study her: the faint pout of her lips and the way her hair caught the light of the candles above and beside them. He tilted his head, admiring her, and the weight of his antlered crown shifted on his head.

The difference between the two were stark. Lyonel, the tall, proud stag, and {{user}}, the sweet, gentle doe.

“You are too pretty to sulk, my love,” he teased when his comment was met with silence. His free hand rose, brushing a calloused thumb along her lower lip to will the frown away. Lyonel shifted her easily on his lap, her soft hair tickling his neck, as he settled her even closer to him, holding her against his chest. “What is not to your liking, hm?”

It was odd for his wife to be so silent. She usually drank just as much as he, whispering in his ear and asking for a dance. Lyonel glanced around the tent, at their guests, at their food, at the bards and their instruments. “Is it the wine? This stew? The song? Tell me, my sweet little doe, and I shall do all that I can to fix it.”

He would never admit it, but he did not like seeing her so quiet. She was able to easily match his energy, to grin and jest back, to wrap her hands around his and tug him into an empty space to dance. Tonight she seemed… down. The need to make her happy was too hard to ignore.

“Is it the journey that has tired you so? Or perhaps you worry for the tourney,” Lyonel added with a breath of a laugh. “You have seen me fight before. You know you need not worry.”