[Yandere Knight] Renaissance (Af)Fairs (Patreon)

content: gender neutral reader, more time travel tomfoolery

“What’s this?”

The armored man handed you a poster he seemed to have ripped off someone’s fence. It advertised a Renaissance Fair happening outside of town, donning a big picture of knights atop of their horses.

Damn it. You were hoping to avoid this scenario. Bringing a genuine knight from the past to a modern recreation of those times felt like a recipe for disaster, yet now the cat was out of the bag. You should’ve supervised his daily walks before he could find any hints of such event happening nearby. It was too late for regrets.

Consequently, you’re sitting under some shade, chewing your scotch eggs, and praying your guest will behave. You’re observing him from a distance as he tries out some of the activities.

“That’s some crazy strength, man,” someone points out with a whistle. “You move like you’ve been handling that sword your whole life.”

The authentic knight stares in confusion.

“Almost,” he approximates thoughtfully. “I became a page at 7.”

“You’re in character, I love that.”

A few more agile moves, and the knight lowers the heavy blade into the sand.

“How long am I to swing this sword? When does the melee or jousting happen?”

He turns and scans the area until he finds you, then raises his hand reassuringly. Don’t worry, whatever this tournament brings, he will demolish his opponents. You shall leave victorious as his one and only, beloved Patron. You notice his intense gaze and shake your head nervously.

“If you mean the mock fights, we have actors for that. You can grab yourself a seat over there,” the well-intentioned stranger explains, pointing to the stage.

“Are you mocking me? What’s this playhouse foolery, I asked for the actual challenges,” your dutiful servant barks, visibly outraged.

You hear the shouts and scramble to stop the other person from inviting him to any endangering game.

“Well, we do have some competitions, I can help you sign up,” the stranger responds enthusiastically as you nearly collapse before them.

Your knight helps you out of your stumble and carefully smoothens your clothes. There, there, do you not have faith in his abilities? Now that he thinks about it, he’s never had the opportunity to prove himself to you. This would be the perfect way to remind you of his title – to your terror.

Since your attempts to stop him have failed miserably, you return to your bench and prepare for the worst. You watch as he effortlessly wins his way through various little trials, breaking bones and destroying flimsy equipment that was not built for real life maneuvering. After each success, he ceremoniously hands you the prize before the curious eyes of the audience. You squirm in your seat.

“Can’t wait to see you next year,” a bystander says with beaming admiration, “you’re a beast.”

“Hopefully he’ll be home by then,” you muse, bagging all the awards.

“What? I’m already home,” your knight argues proudly. "You're my home."