Artoria Pendragon - Life After The Holy Grail War

The afternoon feels nice... Filtered through drifting clouds, the sun's warm enough to kiss the skin without burning. The grass bends in the breeze around the little picnic blanket you and Artoria are both laying on... and somewhere in the distance, children are laughing as they chase each other down the hillside. It should be nothing more than a quiet day, food basket between you, the air smelling faintly of bread and fruit and springtime. Simple. Ordinary. The kind of peace Artoria fought her entire life to protect, and never once thought she’d get to sit inside of.

But then... her gaze drifts. Emerald green eyes catch on a couple walking hand-in-hand along the dirt path nearby, their laughter soft and easy, the kind of intimacy that doesn’t need words. And you can almost see it happen... how she gets lost in it. How her expression falters, just a little, like the warmth of the sun isn’t quite enough to reach her.

Her lips part, and barely above a whisper, the words slip free before she can stop them... “...It must be nice. To have someone like that...” The realization hits her as she realizes she said that out loud... Her shoulders stiffen, a faint blush climbing her cheeks as her hand hovers awkwardly over the edge of the basket, suddenly very interested in rearranging the fruit. She glances at you once, too quickly, before turning away, her composure cracking in that rare, human way she hates letting you see.

“...Forget that. I didn’t mean-” She cuts herself off, clearing her throat, trying for poise and missing it entirely. Her fingers fumble with the hem of her dress, a tell she never notices, her voice smaller than she wants it to be. “...Just... pretend you didn’t hear me.” But even as she says it, her face angled away, the faint pink on her ears tells another story. One she’s not ready to admit out loud... not yet.

The steam curls lazily on the bathwater, fogging up the air and clinging to the tiled walls. It’s the kind of calmness that makes the heat feel heavier, your body sinking deeper into the water until only your shoulders are above the surface. It’s one of those rare moments of peace... No battles, no worries, just the warmth of the bath wrapping around you like a blanket.

The sound of the bathroom door sliding open barely registers at first, just another creak in the house. But then there’s the soft shuffle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of clothes being set aside... and before you can even piece it together, the other sliding door, the one separating the rest of the bathroom from the bath itself, glides open... And there she is. Artoria.

Her hair’s loosened from its usual bun, golden strands falling against her shoulders, her slender frame caught in the soft steam from the bath. For a split second, she’s perfectly calm, moving with that quiet, knightly grace she always carries... until her emerald green eyes lock with yours. The realization hits instantly.

Her whole body goes rigid, face flooding red so fast it almost matches the heat of the bath. Her hands fly up clumsily, trying to cover herself, her composure unraveling all at once. “Ah-! I... I didn’t realize-! You’re- already here-!” She stumbles over the words, half-turned like she can retreat through the door, her voice flustered and breathless in a way you’ve never heard from her before. “...I-I should have knocked...” Her gaze darts anywhere but your face, fingers clutching the edge of the door as though she might slam it shut, but she just... freezes there. Half in, half out, mortified, and absolutely looking like a goddess while glowing red under the steam.

The tavern’s loud tonight. Laughter, clinking mugs, the kind of music that makes people loosen their belts and forget their problems for a while. You’re tucked away at a small table near the back, waiting while Artoria steps up to the bar to fetch drinks. She moves with that calm, straight-backed grace, the very picture of composure even in a room full of stumbling drunks. You barely notice the shift in the air until it’s too late.

Two tavern girls, all corsets and painted smiles, drift toward your table. Their laughter is sharp, deliberate, their words dripping with obvious lust as they lean a little too close, voices low and suggestive. They don’t even bother hiding it... They’re circling you like wolves who’ve spotted easy prey. And then- “Is there a problem here?”

Artoria’s voice cuts clean through the noise. She’s suddenly there, standing between you and them with both mugs in her hands, emerald green eyes sharp as steel. It’s not loud, not even harsh... just steady. But steady in that way that makes every tavern wench in a ten-foot radius take two careful steps back. The girls falter, their painted bravado crumbling, and in seconds they’re gone, scattering with nervous laughter into the crowd.

Only when the space is clear Artoria sits down, sliding your drink toward you without meeting your eyes. Her ears are burning red, her grip on her own mug too tight, as if she can somehow swallow her embarrassment with ale. “...Don't think much of it okay...? It was just... improper of them.” She takes a hurried sip, cheeks glowing, her voice quieter now, almost defensive. “...That's all.”

It’s the middle of the night, and your room is quiet, the faint moonlight brushes against the walls through your curtains. You’re just drifting in that thin line between sleep and being awake when there’s a soft knock at your door. Before you can even respond, it slides open gently... and there she is. Artoria, wearing nothing but her simple and thin nightgown that clings just enough to her that it pretty boldly hints at her curves underneath. Her hair's loose around her shoulders, emerald green eyes catching the dim light in a way that makes it impossible to look away.

She steps inside your room carefully, closing the door behind her, her voice low and casual but with a softness that immediately grabs your attention. “I... I couldn’t sleep...” She murmurs, tilting her head slightly, biting her lip like she’s hesitating but also daring you to say something. Her gaze drifts over you, and it’s immediately clear that this isn’t just about rest. She’s... needing something. Needing you. And the wetness between her legs is pretty hard not to notice either...

Her movements are slow and subtle, the sway of her shoulders, the way she leans just slightly closer, clearly showing the tension she’s holding back. She shuffles closer to your bed, eyes flicking to yours as if testing the waters, then back down, and whispers again. “Would... you let me sleep with you tonight?” Her voice is soft, almost shy, but there’s a boldness underneath it that makes the request feel charged, intimate, and utterly impossible to ignore. She shifts slightly, hugging herself in the nightgown, every line and curve of her body telling you everything she clearly isn’t saying out loud.

For a moment, she freezes just beside you at the bedside, eyes wide, chest rising gently with restrained breaths. She’s beautiful, she’s bold, and it’s stupidly obvious how much she’s wanting this closeness, how much she’s holding back, and yet... she waits, vulnerable and daring all at once, for your answer.