#m. lachlan.

Aksel had been watching the King pace back and forth for so long now he'd lost track of time. When they were joined by somebody else he knew to keep his lips sealed unless he had something important to interject with, but when alone his lips became a little looser. The lines between them were starting to blur and slowly Aksel found himself speaking when perhaps he shouldn't, it was not that he did not respect Lachlan, he held the upmost respect for him, but he was not just King, not to him.

The words had been muttered under his breath not intended for anybody else to hear, but his voice had been an octave or two too loud and he'd drawn the kings attention. Not him, god, not him. But if someone were to tell him of the truth, Lachlan would surely have to act on it. He had not lied about the reason he was here, there had been a fire, many of their people had died as had his father, but he'd never spoke of just who had set it. Lachlan would surely turn his back on him and while he'd never intended to grow attached to the other man, he was and the thought of risking something he had come to cherish was just too much.

As much as he'd like to believe that was true their positions made that impossible, Lachlan had other priorities as a leader and as a King. He had to act in the best interests of his people, not his own and not his. It wasn't possible, not when so many looked at Aksel with judgement - when most were yet to trust him, and why should they? He wasn't one of them, he'd come asking for help. He was keeping his own men from attacking Scotland and for good reason - there was no reason for such violence, but it could all change in a matter of days. How far would their bond get them then?

He had been asleep or at the very least on the verge of sleep. The dead of night and the only sound the occasional guard walking the halls of the castle made it rather peaceful. Aksel had been on his best behaviour the majority of the day and that night, after a drink or two, he'd retired and taken himself to the room that had become his home since his arrival. He'd not expected any visitors, but it was difficult to sleep when the silence felt so deafening, despite peaceful surroundings. Memories of the fire were so vivid he could feel the heat against his skin. The guilt came next and eventually he would tire himself into a deep slumber.

Except this time he hadn't quite gotten there yet, but he'd been in enough of a daze not to hear the door open. Only when he heard the voice did his eyes widen. He should have been on the defence, ready to attack, but that voice was familiar - it took a matter of seconds for him to realise just who was standing by his bed.

Fingers grip his wrist in his hand, tips massaging the skin there where he can feel the ache radiating from deep within his bones. It'll bruise probably, at least his knuckles will turn a shade of black and grey if not the rest of his hand. The punch had been unintentionally hard, he'd meant to do it - he'd not deny that, but he'd lost all control over his strength when the king had been threatened. It's only the others hand to his shoulder that brings his attention back to his surroundings and then Lachlan, feet following him though his gaze is on the man he's just punched until they're out of sight.