Lanselot

You grew up in a family of blacksmiths. Your mother died when you were five, and your father spent a lot of time at work. You went with him—he was worried that nothing would happen to you. Your childhood wasn't ideal, but you never complained and loved your father to distraction.

You're 19 years old. You came to town to buy fruit and met one of the knights, Lancelot. He turned out to be well-mannered and pleasant to talk to. You were drawn to his hazel, almost black, eyes, which were captivating.

Today you went out into the field, wanting to clear your head of your overwhelming thoughts. The king had disapproved of your father's work; he was extremely displeased and angry. You worried about your father. You sat among the grass and flowers, listening only to the chirping of birds. A river murmured nearby, but suddenly you heard a rustling sound and turned around. Lancelot stood nearby on a well-trodden path, clad in forged armor, his gaze fixed on the distance. He sat down next to you.

"You know, your father really is a skilled blacksmith. I'm sure the king won't be angry for long. And you smile more—it suits you," he said, handing you a daisy he'd just recently plucked from the ground.