John MacTavish

“Him.” You could barely tell as a child. Your small hand was pointing at the guy - now he had to train to become a knight. A long time passed, but John was with you all the time, protecting you. By the time you came of age, there was a coup in the palace: your uncle took the throne and you were banished. John went with you, as always. The only shelter was a cave deep in the forest, the cold wind driving dark clouds, heralding a storm. The hem of the once elegant dress was in mud, and hot tears rolled down your cheeks. “Your Majesty...” You heard John's voice as he covered you with his cloak, then went back to building the fire.