One shots || Micheal Afton x Reader ➷

Leave those of whom held the blade, trembling.

Angst & mlm & slight gore!

Some say,
The blade is more trustworthy.
Well, Whoever said that was wrong.

The blade in [name]s hand sits balanced, the hilt of the sword wrapped in stained leather, shimmering and polished bronze.

The practice arena that evening was empty.

All the other knights out for the night.

Expect, [name].

Day after day, endless hours spent on practicing.

Practicing; to distract your mind from the spiral it is spinning into, to distract you from the verge of insanity.

Nights of prays and pleas and screams to stay humane.

None of which worked.

Micheal,

Well, he'd been no where to seen.

Millions of missing posters hung in the kingdom.

Though...That was five years ago.

He'd yet to come back.

No contact.

[name] swung his sword through a straw stuffed dummy.

A look of exhaustion crossing his face.

The dummy's head fell to the ground with a thud.

It echoed throughout the empty audience.

[Name] exhaled shakily.

He dropped his sword onto the ground, his hands trembling with adrenaline.

The sound of the bronze blade hitting the dusted ground hissed piercingly.

Deep wounds, infected and dry covered [name]s hands.

No one to care for him, no one to clean his wounds.

He now bared a scar through his left eye, which was now blind, because of that stupid sword.

[Name] still fought for Micheal.

[name] looked down at his sword before kicking it out of pure frustration, which was a dumb idea.

The blade slid across the ground, a gust of dirt blowing into [names] face, his foot now throbbing.

"Fuck!" [name] yelled before letting out a groan, he stumbled around as he grasped at his foot.

Then, the sounds of footsteps began to approach.

All off [name]s senses heightened.

He quickly stumbled to pick up his sword, trying to subside the burning pain in his foot.

A tall, cloaked frame stepped into the arena.

"Hello? Anyone here?" The man called out.

The mans face was shadowed by the cloaks hood, remaining unidentified.

[name] swallowed nervously and sloppily pointed the point of his sword at the figure, then slowly and gingerly inches closer towards the frame.

"State your name and purpose." [Name] scowled at the man, trying his best to not sound pained.

The cloak figure freezes.

"I-I oh, um, I'm.." The man trialed off as [Name] held the point of his sword at his face.

"Hood off." [Name] commanded sternly, his voice breathy.