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He'd come back just in time to hear the screaming. Rushing through the halls, he searched for her, for them, because he was sure the cur had not left her alone for one single second while he was gone. He stormed past the rush of people running towards the battle, but his eyes scanned each face, in the hopes of recognition.

He was doing it again.

He turned around, his rushed footsteps stilling to stare instead at the looming exit that all of the knights were headed towards. They were off to battle, armed and prepared for glory and honor, and possibly for death. They were doing what he'd been meant to do, and he was chasing after a girl.

This was absurd.

Robert growled, possessed by a sudden ferocious need to prove himself, and brandished his sword (nearly decapitating a knight who ran by in the process). He had a job to do. He had a job to do. It was high time he went and did it.

He'd joined the flow of movement, and felt his old self begin to emerge again. He knew exactly who he was, and how impressive of a person he could be. This was his moment! He was going to carve up the enemy into little pieces and cut a righteous path through until there was nothing left but -

"Mildred."

He saw her hiding in the niche as he passed, and the sight of her knocked him clear out of the delusion he'd been loftily daydreaming about, but the flow of movement was unstoppable, and they carried him several feet past her niche until he was out of sight.

Several moments later, he fought through until he was back to where she'd hidden, and he wedged himself awkwardly in to a spot where his body refused to actually fit. He looked awkward and unseemly, shoved there between her and the crowd. It had been a bad idea.

"I've found you." He informed her, his voice strained from the lack of breath he was able to take. He pushed himself back out again out of sheer necessity, and flattened himself against the wall instead, hiding her from view. This time, when he said it, he could at least sound a little more familiarly arrogant about it.

"Found you."

She was angry at him. For leaving. He should have been worried, or fearful, or perhaps angry himself. Not fluttering with excitement over the fact that he'd been missed.

"Because," He whined. "You and the boy had succeeded where I had failed. Don't you see? I had to make up for what I had lacked. And sure, I had to try a little harder. Sure, I had to work a little more than the adolescent. But lo, feast your eyes!" He pulled back just enough to flourish his arms at the leggings he was wearing, partially covered by the rest of his armor.

"I am successful, as I am in all things! Now we match!"

Not that he needed proof of such a thing. He simply assumed.

But the fact was, she was still angry at him for leaving. It was a necessary excursion, and he knew he'd do it again if it meant dominance over the whelp who sought the jewel just as he did, but it was easier to ask for forgiveness, than permission. So he got down on one knee in front of her, and held out his hand.

"My jewel. Please, forgive this lowly soul. My every action is done with you in mind, even those that take me far from your shining, brilliant presence. Will you ease my guilty burden with your favor?"

Nailed it.

He was knelt down in a position that made lifting of skirts all the more embarrassing, and when she did it - albeit in the most unromantic and innocent of ways - he stumbled so quickly up to his feet that he fell back onto his a** in surprise. He scrambled back to his feet and turned around, keeping his body ram straight in order to fight the urge to turn and look at the pristine stretch of skin she'd exposed to show him. He was no pervert! It was against everything he stood for to look! He simply couldn't!

"My dear lady." His voice cracked in a pre-pubescent manner as he spoke, red faced and flushed with heat. "Please, I am not worthy to see such things. You must save the sight of the body for the wedding chambers, surely." Was his heart actually exploding? This was cause for concern, as he did not want his last legacy to be a death by perversion. He was better than that!

He almost turned around when she inquired about the quest, but stopped himself a moment later. He wasn't ready to look at her - even the sight of her face was still going to make him blush as red as roses for a few minutes more. "You are a jewel. You're my jewel." He practically growled out, adamant and stubborn about the nickname. "Precious and lovely, and worth more than all the treasure in the world combined. Save your words - you will not convince me otherwise. I am a connoisseur of beauty, and yours is unmatched." Of course, this was an exaggeration - he couldn't remember most of the women he'd met in his life. This was only how he felt, even if it was filled with flowery, ridiculous prose.

"The quests are dangerous! Do you think me a monster, that I would ask you to accompany me where there is danger and sickness and death, just so that I could have your company soothe my ails with each step? You would think me that selfish? I am offended, my lady. You think so little of me. I would not put you in danger for my own lowly needs."

Every word spoken was like a dagger straight into his heart, shattering every notion he held dear with the sharp talon tips her anger wielded against him. She was demanding that he treat her with the same respect he would a fellow knight, but she was a lady, and a frail, darling one at that. How could she expect him to hold the same standards to her as she would with a man of his size and stature? Was she mad?

He finally turned around, because the embarrassment was gone, and he needed to look at her when he spoke. Even now, full of fire and brimstone, she looked like she could break at the gentlest touch. He pursed his lips in confusion, and shook his head slowly at her.

And yet, what of the fact that he considered her a jewel, and nothing more? These words held a fair bit more understanding for him than the idea of putting her in danger; because he knew nothing about her, save that she had captured his heart with nothing more than a look. That was how it was supposed to be, and yet - the more she spoke, the more he realized that getting to know her would have been far more efficient at recognizing her positive attributes.

The woman had a lot to say, which was odd, but not necessarily bad. It drew him in, made him thoughtful, and equally confused. But the truth was, she did not want to waste her value on him because he'd never thought to discover it. And that, above all, was fair.

"Then you are not mine." He agreed, acquiescing only partially to her angry demands. "Forgive me, Mildred. Your anger is righteous and true. Perhaps I think less of you than I should, but I just - I simply - I don't know how to think otherwise." His brow furrowed, and he slumped with dismay. "Your point is well made. I deserve nothing of your time. I have done nothing to deserve it."

He moved away from the niche, backing away into the hall - which had all but emptied now that the crowds had made their way outside.

"You've given me much to think about." He admitted. "But I daresay, when all of my contemplations are over, you may still not like what I am." And oh, the first pang of actual, physical pain clenched his heart as he realized that truth. There was a chance, a heavy, honest chance, that he did not deserve her. He had to find a way to accept that, instead of barging past it as he'd been doing. He had to find a way to accept that he could not always have his way.

And that did not feel like it would come easy.

When he thought of marriage, he was shocked to realize that her words - however negative - sounded exactly like what he'd assumed was supposed to happen. She, the doting wife, would strip herself of all that made her unique and solitary, in order to cleave to her husband's life. She would become his, in all things, because love was greater than personal achievement. That made sense.

She spoke of things he'd considered common sense as if they were vile poison, and in doing so she poisoned his thoughts on the matter. They shriveled and blackened into words of disdain, uttered only under extreme insult. That was everything he'd come to believe - an insult. To her. To womankind.

So, too, was he an insult.

"I would like to." He began, hesitant even now. "But what you ask of me will not come easy. I still find it hard to accept that I am not giving you everything a woman could ever ask for. But I know I'm not giving you anything you are asking for. I accept that. I need more time to think things through."

He risked losing her to a man who did understand the values she needed respected. That familiar old competitiveness rose up inside of him, urging him to lie and tell her sweet lies that spoke of everything she desired, in order to win her favor.

He tamped the urge down, and looked away.

"I am not that man yet." He muttered, resting his back against the wall beside her niche, and slumping down to the ground. "I may never be. I can only promise to try."

She spoke with an intelligence and subtle grace previously unheard of, and he found himself sinking into a lull of just listening, instead of letting her words sink in. Frail though she may be, there were qualities about her that exceeded his own in so many ways, and he'd never even considered them. It thrilled him to finally realize that he could appreciate these - but then he realized that he was more thrilled by his ability to appreciate. Less so was his appreciation of her actual intelligence.

So far, the experiment was a failure.

"What you ask. What you want." He pushed himself up off of the ground, his hand resting against hers so that it never lifted off of his shoulder. "It is fair, but what if I cannot help you achieve it? What if I am not the one that would lift you to your greatest achievements? What if all I do is hold you back?"

His hand intertwined with hers, as it dropped back down to his side. He frowned, hating the sound of his words even as he spoke them. They were bitter on his tongue.

"Give me time with my thoughts. Let me try to uncover the answers before I pledge myself to your side. Because I fear, my - " He bit his tongue before he called her his again, and stopped himself. "I fear, Mildred, that once I promise this, even if I am a poison to your goals, I will never again be able to give you up."

He bent in, and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I will consider. If the answer is yes, I will find you. But if I cannot, I will endeavor to save you the trouble of seeing my wretched face again."

Her vision was impaired? She couldn't even see him? She had been missing out on his glorious perfection this entire time?!

Why did she even want him around in the first place? What possible reason could she have had for -

Heaven help him, he could feel something change in that moment. Something irrevocable. To know that she had considered him worth the time to adventure with based on something other than looks was soul shattering, because Robert did not think there was anything else as important. He was gorgeous.

And she didn't care.

He bent down until his forehead pressed firmly against hers, and their noses touched. He widened his eyes curiously, and breathed out an almost impatient;

"And now?"