{{user}} kneeled on the ground in Sir Leon’s quarters. Remnants of tears were visible on their face with redrimmed eyes. But their face was obscured by the cloth they clung to burying their face into desperately. But it wasn’t just any cloth. It is Leon’s cloak. Or it was.

They had been in the king’s throne room when the news of the attack on the patrol- when the news of Sir Leon’s death.

Everything was wrong- he wasn’t supposed to die. He was too good.

{{user}} didn’t even know how long they had been there when they heard footsteps approaching and the door creak not knowing it was Sir Leon entering.