“Darling…” Calloused hands cup your face to steady you, a deep resounding chuckle from the man only fueling your sleepiness. “What have I told you about leaning like that? You could get hurt, silly girl…”

Despite his chiding tone, the amused lilt to his voice and the way he gently pulls you up to sit straight again is enough to tell you he really isn’t even slightly upset with you.

“It’s your fault for treating me so gently… what else am I supposed to do?” you mumble.

“Not throw yourself to the ground, for starters.” He shakes his head at you through the vanity mirror. “And how else should I treat my wife?”

You pretend to think, humming as he continues his ministrations in brushing the final tangles from your hair. “I suppose you have a fair point.”

“Oh, you suppose.” He leans down, and a kiss is pressed against your temple. “I do not think I could treat you roughly, even if I tried.”

“You—”

“Don’t... even... suggest it.”

A giggle escapes your lips at his serious tone. This time, he did mean it, and you know it. If he treated you with any less restraint than how you’d handle a porcelain doll, he might pass away from the pure shame and horror. Every word he has spoken to you has only been gentle, and every touch has been reverent.

"I heard from Dale you were helping Molly with redecorating their home today." He changes the subject. "How did that go?"

"It was fun," you hum. "They have no need for all of the nursery decorations, and she kept offering for me to take her old furniture with me. I said I would think about it..."

He chuckles, setting the brush down on your vanity. "Well, there's certainly no need for us to turn down the offer. If that's what my beautiful wife wants, of course.. I'd have no objections to planning early."

You clear your throat, heat creeping up your neck. "Mm."

“Alright, my dearest,” he whispers, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead and holding a hand out for you to take. “All done. Let’s get to bed.”

You sigh, pouting your lips and pressing your cheek into his hand as you look up at him. “But now I’m too sleepy to move.”

“Oh no…” he feigns concern. “Whatever will we do? Will my poor wife be forever stuck to her vanity chair?”

You wrinkle your nose at his rare display of teasing, your lips wobbling. “Garroth…”

“Ah, this is all my fault for being too gentle, isn’t it?” He muses.

“It’s the routine…” you lift your arms to him, attempting to charm him with your tilted head and sleepy eyes. “You brush my hair and then carry me to bed.”

“It is my fault… my queen is so demanding of me.” Regardless of his words, he leans down, hooking his arms under your legs and back before lifting you up as if you were a simple paper weight on his desk. “It’s so difficult to not do anything you ask of me, though. Am I really to blame, too?”

You’re too content to answer, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and not letting go even as he lowers you down onto the mattress. No. Instead of replying, you tug him down with you, and though he most definitely has the strength tenfold to resist you, he falls into place  beside you (and as always, he carefully shifts to not crush you with his full weight).

“Very well then…” he sighs in full relinquishment, the thick muscle of his arm slipping around your waist and pulling you over the top of him. His other hand lands against your head, ensuring you’re snug against the expanse of his chest as he intertwines his fingers into your soft, freshly brushed hair. The previous banter suddenly is lost to the both of you, and all humor and sarcasm is lost to the two of your steady heartbeats syncing into one harmonious rhythm.

“Good night, my love,” you murmur, earning a final kiss of the night to the top of your head.

A part of you almost wants to complain that it wasn’t on the lips, but sleep overpowers your wants as you offer a soft kiss to his chest in return, no longer able to fight off the weight pulling down on your eyelids. Ah, no matter if you didn’t get a kiss on the lips tonight. You’re sure to get plenty in the morning.

“Good night, my darling.”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.

well, here we go, some little snippet weird prologue summary thing I've conjured up

First things first, Aphmau IS alive and well in this series, heck shes even the lord! however, at some point on one of her journeys, she returned with someone who looked a little down on their luck. they didn't respond to anyone and seemed to stick to aphmau like glue.

"Oh dont mind them!" aphmau would excuse anyone who questioned them. however one day Garroth let his concerns get the better of him "Lady Aphmau, I mean not to pry more than my position allows me, but I worry for your safety. Who is this person?" he would ask, and the person would look at aphmau with wide eyes that were full of fear. she would sigh and hesitate before speaking.

"Im sorry, Garroth. i cant tell you before they are willing to let me, ut rest assured they wont hurt me." aphmau would say. silence would pass between the three for a few moments before the person sighed, they opened their mouth, shut it, then opened it again and this time words followed.

"Im Y/N." they started, their voice cracking a little since it wasn't used to being worked, "I come from a village far off south, I was a guard for a long time, but the lord became corrupt and would turn against the villagers if they didn't look at him the right way. so when aphmau came by, i had tried my best to deter her from entering the village, visitors were not particularly welcome, especially lords." Y/N had begun, the words flowing out of their mouth in a tidal way of sudden information. "She had refused to listen to my pleas and came in any ways, stating that she needed to talk to the Lord for some sort of potion. In reality, she was looking for the past lord who had been killed. not under my watch, but rather the lead guard at the time, who was then executed as it was found he had been the one conspiring against the lord. that was when the lords son rose to power and appointed me to be the head guard." y/n sighed, rubbed their arm, and then continued, "Well aphmau came in and found the village in complete disarray. so she decided to help with her utmost kindness. I was thankful to her and began to talk to her more as she stayed the night in my village. I found out she was a lord and immediately wanted to follow to her village. so she helped me escape."

"How did you escape?" garroth had asked, being curious considering he himself had gone under something similar. "Well, it wasn't particularly hard. i simply told my lord I wanted to leave, for a long time it was a back and forth between her and him as they argued for who would take me. Eventually, it came to the point I decided to simply leave, so I asked aphmau to take me in a golden lasso and go home."

"Before you say anything garroth, it took a long time to convince me, it felt wrong to take away the head guard of the town, but y/n assured me that the apprentice guard that was training under them would help." aphmau spoke, smiling as she reminisced in the old adrenaline that followed their daring escape.

"so why don't you reside bear the title of guard now?" garroth asked, curious as to why he hadn't been training this person as a guard if they were previously a head leader.

"oh that's easy!" aphmau spoke, smiling, "because they don't want to be!" with the words released in the air everyone paused for a moment, but aphmau quickly started speaking again. "they made a deal with me actually, they did not want to be a guard that was out in the open about it, but rather a personal guard of mine that would be there in disguise. they would carry weapons but conceal them. we both agreed it would be easier on future trips and in general, it would provide more protection if Y/n was under the premise of being seen as a mute follower!" aphmau smiled.

garroth had nodded, then reached across to hold his hand to y/n, "well then Y/n. welcome to the guardship of Pheonix drop, you are officially aphmaus secret bodyguard."

from there the two had a blossoming relationship. y/n had continued to be silent, but would show up more to guard meetings and had stated to talk a little more to the other ones. laurence, dante, garroth, and aphmau were the only ones who knew of this arrangement and they kept it well in secret.

however, one-day aphmau asked to go on a trip by herself, she had wanted to go to bright port, it was only to be a four-day trip to check up on the people of the town and visit the wolf tribe. so y/n had stayed back, and suddenly they found themself bored.

What were they supposed to do when no one was around? looking around aphmaus property they sighed, before looking up to the guard tower, ah, that's right. they could go up there. they smiled thinking about it, deciding they would bring some paper and a quill and draw the scene that lay at the top of the tower.

so they went, grabbing the materials needed and climbing the large staircase, they hadn't expected anyone to be there. since it was mid-day many people were either eating lunch or hanging out in the plaza, so most guards would most likely be in patrol or joining their families in lunch. however, when they climbed to the top, they found garroth sitting on the side and looking out into the ocean.

"oh, hello there Y/n" garroth spoke, his voice grim and his face downcast. he had obviously been shuffling around in an attempt to put on his helm when he heard the trap door open. "hello there, garroth. i apologize for intruding. ill be ff" they spoke, a little disappointed they would have to go somewhere else, the tower produced the best scenery. "no need, you may sit with me if you'd like, you seem to need the company" garroth spoke, leading y/ns gaze with a wave of his hand towards the chair next to him. y/n nodded and sat down, taking out their quill and beginning to do a light sketch of what lay before them. making sure to include the wide arrangement of objects that were seen on the horizon.

"do you often come here to draw?" garroth asked, which earned a shrug in return. garroth looked at them before a small chuckle erupted from his lips. "I feel as though we are not a good match when it comes to socialization." garroth spoke out loud, his voice seeming more upbeat. rather than grim as it was before. "it is because neither of us seeks out a conversation unless sit is of importance. we are simply comfortable with the silence of the world or the conversation being held by someone else." y/n stated, having noticed this very thing on other occasions. it was not often the two were alone. however, when they were it was always an awkward silence. Neither of them were outgoing, and neither of them were willing to break their old habits of being quiet to cure the silence.

"well, should we try?" garroth asked, "to communicate better" he spoke, clearing the air of questionatore. "We both work together so I feel as though it would be worth it. additionally, you seem lonely"

"sure..."

(also this story would probably be in season 1, but not in war and before they enter the dimension with rene and shz)

he flinches, caught off guard by the blood loss dulling his senses. even now, he stoically has every layer of his armor on except for his chest plate, even his helmet stays firmly against his skull.

“i’ll be alright, my lady,” he starts, though the pained wince he lets out a moment later immediately discounts him for his claims. 

quietly, you approach him, kneeling in front of him and pulling the first aid items out of his grasp. while you can’t see his face, you hear him inhale sharply to protest against you. you silence him with a stern glare, to which he sinks back into the uncomfortable stone without a word. 

“you are much too stubborn,” you chastise, reaching to his other hand to remove it from his wound. “your pride will get you killed.”

you cringe as he peels away the blood-soaked cloth to reveal a deep gash along his side. it's a slash and not a stab, thankfully, but it would still need stitches.

it seems he already knew that, based on the thread and needle he had yet to even tie together. while maneuvering the stitching thread into the eye of the needle, you listen to his shallow and shaky breathing underneath his helm.

“aren’t you having trouble breathing with that?”

“…no.”

your eyes dart up, narrowing at the eye slits of the metal in front of you. 

“it's just me. i understand you want to hide your identity, but when it comes to your health—“

you lift your hands up to his helm, firmly placing them on each side before pausing, waiting to hear for any protests. when you hear none, you slowly lift the metal, sliding it off of his head and revealing what was underneath.

for just a moment you freeze, eyes locking onto his. his hair was a stunning sandy blonde that brushed over his brow line in soft curls. they stuck to his forehead, that had a sheen of sweat over it. you could tell his stunning eye color was dulled over by pain, eyelids drooping and his lips pale.

“…there,” you set the helm down, focusing back on his wound. “now you can breathe better, right?”

“…yes.” he winces, leaning back on your command and revealing his wound again.

carefully, you stitch the wound closed, lifting his linen shirt up enough to allow yourself to wrap the bandaging around his stomach. when you’re done you sit back, wiping your hands against your already dirtied clothes and releasing a deep sigh.

you look up, watching as his jaw clenches and his eyes dart to your feet. he still looks pale, but he at least looks more stable than before.

“garroth.” you call, voice barely above a whisper.

his eyes trail up to yours, hesitant and full of a strange sort of guilt.

“you did a good job protecting me. protecting the whole village. but even the strongest need help,” you take his hand in yours. “at least let one person take care of you in return. i was really worried about you.”

he doesn’t say anything, but you know he understands, swallowing down his deep-set need for independence to put himself in your shoes for a moment.

“there’s a cot down here. why don’t you rest, and i’ll bring you back some food and drink to help you regain your strength.”

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄

you knew something was strange, when the beginnings of the evening cricket chirps grew silent, a heavy feeling settling around your cottage. despite the uneasiness and natural instinct that told you to run, you instead looked around the area for the source.

despite the lack of night critters, you notice a strange fluttering of butterflies dispersing from the other side of some shrubbery. you push through the leaves and twigs, noticing the further you advanced the more wilted the plants became. 

on the other side was a man in strange armor you hadn’t seen before. the metal must’ve been smoldering hot, somehow, because the grass around it wilted and burned away from its touch. despite the strange sense of uneasiness in your chest, you take a few steps towards the man, his form slumped over a large stump.

“sir? are you alright?”

he flinches, hand moving unnaturally quick towards a large sword you didn’t realize he had by his side until now. you stumble back with a startled gasp, hands raising in surrender. dark circles line deep blue eyes, black hair stuck on his face where blood poured from a wound.

“i’m not an enemy!” you quickly say. “that injury looks bad, i can help. i’ll go get some bandages for you.”

you quickly run back to your cottage, retrieving your satchel of medical supplies before he could say a word. whoever he was, he seemed dangerous. and the faster you help him the quicker he’ll be on his way and the less likely anything else dangerous is led to you. when you return, he’s still there, though he’s propped himself up in a sitting position and leaning back against the stump.

“i don’t need any help.”

“well those wounds look pretty deep. and… you’re the one who ended up near my home, so,” you carefully approach him, heart beating erratically fast in your chest. it felt like you were approaching a predator—a wild animal pretending to be a man. “the faster i help you, the less likely whatever did this to you comes near my garden.”

his gaze stayed trained on you for a moment, piercing into you as you kneel next to him. his eyes were a beautiful shade, yet so strangely unsettling and dull. as you glance at them, it almost appears as no light shines from them at all. he smirks, a strangely amused laugh leaving his lips like he found your assistance to be completely entertaining.

“ah, there’s the motive.”

you ignore him, instead using a cloth to wipe away the blood from the side of his head.

“what’s your name?”

“what’s yours?”

you restrain a sigh, biting back the sarcastic quip you wanted to return and instead reciting your name back to him.

“…gene.”

“nice to meet you… gene. how did you get this hurt? are you…” you glance down at his strange armor and sword. “a guard, our some kind of soldier…?”

he says nothing.

“alright, then,” you clear your throat. “no more questions.”

you finish cleaning his head and neck, where another wound was, and carefully place the healing ointment you made from your own magicks herbs. trying to ignore the strange sense that you needed to run away, you finish up your work by placing bandages over the gashes… that seemed to already be healing pretty quickly. 

“there. you’re set.”

a small, “thanks,” leaves his lips, and the two of you met eyes. he seems to contemplate something, before another huffing out another amused laugh.

“you’re very…naive. you should be careful.”

“…what?”

his hand is suddenly in front of your face, cold fingers touching against the skin of your forehead and dragging down, brushing your eyelids closed. somehow your eyes grow impossibly heavy, your head too much to hold up as you slump over, landing in the arms of ge…

…of…who again?

the birds chirp the next morning as you groggily wake from what felt like a coma of slumber. you feel like there was something important you needed to take care of, but you must’ve fallen asleep early last night. you must’ve been exhausted… you don’t even remember carrying yourself into bed. 

oh, that’s right! you had to help… you had to… what was it you were up to last night?

your slump from where you sit, blinking at the floor in confusion.

it must not have been too important.

𝐋𝐀𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

it’s terrifying, looking into blood red eyes where iridescent pale blue ones had been before. it had only been a split moment—you two were ambushed, a thief’s sword grazing against your cheek and knocking you backwards in surprise as a whole gang of them emerged from the tree line.

laurance suffered an arrow wound, but before you could panic it wasn’t his blood that soaked the ground… but instead the whole dozen of men who tried to attack you.

you stare horrified as dark red drips from him, unsure if it was his own or from the bodies around him. he’s breathing, so heavily, face turned away from you as he stills in the center of his carnage. a few moments pass like this, your eyes trained cautiously on the dulled shade of caramel hair that lays messily on his head. 

“…laurance?” you call out quietly, your voice barely a timid whisper.

he turns to look at you, eyes red and glazed over as he begins to trudge towards you. something about the dark circles and his paled skin splattered with blood frightened you, your uncertainty heightened by his silence and now much taller frame. he towers over you, breaths heavy and sword still tightly gripped in his hand.

“it’s me!” you shakily yelp, regretting your reaction immediately when he flinches, eyes widening.

“…and i’m me.” he frowns, his larger hand brushing against your injured cheek. “you’re scared of me.”

“…no.”

he stares at you, eyebrows pinched together. he doesn’t call you out on your bluff with words, but the look he gives you is enough.

“i felt that something was off. i should’ve done something sooner.”

“it caught me off guard, too. we’re both tired, so—“

“i’m supposed to protect you. now you’re hurt.”

“it’s only a graze, laurance.” you silence his anger towards himself, your hands reaching up to cup his cheeks. “you’re hurt more than me.”

you reach in your satchel, pulling out some healing ointment and bandages you were sure to pack for the journey. he begins to shake his head, hand engulfing yours as he stops you.

“i’ll heal on my own. you know that shadow knights—“

“this will help you heal faster. and help with the pain.”

he sighs, taking a seat on a nearby rock and complying with your insistence despite the lack of need for it.

there were only a few gashes that were deep enough to not be sealed up immediately, dark red blood oozing from the lacerations. you put your focus on cleaning each one, swiping on the ointment and wrapping the bandages carefully onto his wounds.

when you look back up at his face those calm blue eyes have returned, staring back at you as they dart over your face. he takes the ointment from your hands, and with two fingers he motions for you to come closer.

you do so without much hesitation, allowing his finger to dip into the ointment and dab it across your injured cheek. he lingers his hand there for only a few moments longer, before looking away and putting your things back into your satchel.

“thank you, laurance.”

“stay right next to me,” he looks back up, tone and eyes insistent. “for the rest of the way. okay?”

it’s more of a demand than a request, but you simply nod in agreement, unable to refuse him.

“okay.”

𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒

“take your shirt off.” you sigh, sitting next to travis as you dig through your bag.

“woah!” he laughs, a cheeky smirk stretching across his face. “way to be direct.”

you pause, glaring over at him with an unimpressed stare.

“i will add to those injuries. just do it—“

“okay! okay!” he raises his hands up, wincing at the pull of his skin against his wounds. “ow…”

he begins to peel his bloodied tunic from his skin, wincing as he attempts to lift it over his shoulders. you restrain another sigh before you take a glance down at his injuries, instead feeling pitiful at the state he was in. standing in front of him, you help him slide the fabric over his head and off his arms, leaving his whole torso exposed. 

a few previous scars litter across the skin, dipping into different divots of chiseled muscles. he was well built—he had to be for the large claymore he wielded—yet he was still lean, muscles standing out due to the low body fat he had.

“like what you see?” he smirks, catching your gaze that lingered a bit too long on his bare skin. 

“no.”

he flinches at your quick refusal, jutting out his bottom lip.

“ouch, you’re so harsh.”

“why would i like seeing all of these wounds you’re covered in? you’re lucky it wasn’t any worse or you wouldn’t even be conscious right now,” you scold. “what were you thinking?”

“so you were worried about me…” he peeks up at you through his lashes, lips once again turning up in a satisfied smirk.

you roll your eyes, not saying anything as you begin to clean up his wounds. you can never catch a break with this guy, can you? despite his annoying flirtatious jokes, though, you really couldn’t help the worry and care you felt for him. 

he hisses between clenched teeth as you accidentally press against a laceration too harshly, one of his hands reaching up to clasp against your wrist.

“a little more gentle, sweetheart.”

“sorry,” you mutter, shaking your head as you realize what you were thinking.

he doesn’t say anything, instead going quiet as you continue to patch him up. it’s not until you’re dabbing on ointment and healing potions that he speaks up again, his voice strangely soft and unsure.

“you were worried about me, right?”

you pause, glancing down at him. his eyes are strangely… pleading, cool green shining as he searches for an answer on your face. 

you gently place your hand on the back of his head, running your fingers through the soft white strands and pulling him forward and pressing a kiss against his forehead.

“yes, i was. don’t be so reckless next time.”

when you pull away, his cheeks have turned a soft shade of red and his eyes have widened, practically bulging from their sockets. slowly, his jaw opens, mouth gaping as he starts to speak.

“you–”

“shut up.”

you’d begged zoey to open it again, both of you barely able to stand on your own with your energy drained and spirits depleted. but you knew it couldn’t be done.

now, seven days later, you lay in your bed, staring at the dilapidated and dark ceiling above you. not that you had any room to complain. your house was nothing but shambles after fifteen years, so the fact that levin even provided you with any sort of housing for free was generous. it seems providing you with your own bed was useless, though, when you couldn’t even sleep in it. it by no means was because you were energized–you were in fact exhausted beyond belief. rather it was because every time you closed your eyes, your mind kept replaying that moment. 

over and over and over and over again.

you’re not sure when you managed to finally fall asleep, but when you open your eyes again under a large tree instead of a cracked wooden ceiling, it takes only a moment to realize you haven’t truly woken yet. everything about it was so vivid, though. you could hear the leaves in the tree ahead rustle in the breeze,. feel the soft grass beneath your fingertips. smell the sweet scent of the flowers that bloomed from the ground. everything else beyond the hill this singular tree was on dissipated into a strange haze you couldn’t make out, like when exhaustion blends your peripheral vision with the regular into a strange blur. 

lifting yourself up to stand, you take a look around at the peaceful scene when a soft groan of pain sounds from behind you. when you turn back to the tree, you nearly jolt yourself awake into your physical body at the sight of the man leaning against it.

him.

it was him.

that pale golden hair, the usual soft waves mussed and sticking to his forehead. his face was pale and a large cut marred the skin near his jaw, his eyebrows pulled together and eyes shut from pain. slowly his eyelids crack open when his ears seem to catch your gasp, blue irises meeting yours a moment later. you can’t hear anything but your own hitched breaths for the few moments you both stare at the other, watching as the head guard’s eyes haze over in a vulnerable emotion you hadn’t seen from him before.

the sudden clinking of his armor barely alerts you that he’s moving before he’s suddenly right in front of you, large hands grasping onto you desperately and pulling you into his chest. shaky breaths brushed against your hair and over your skin, rough gloves squeezing your skin like he was sure you’d dissipate in front of his eyes if he loosened his grip any further. he pulls back, and you only briefly see the beautiful shade of deep cerulean in his eyes before his gloved hands slide up from your arms to the sides of your face and his lips clash against yours.

it feels so real. his cool armor against your skin and the firm grip of his hand on the back of your head as he tilts your head back to mold his slightly chapped lips with yours. it’s desperate, the way his fingers thread through your hair–it’s like he was hoping he could pull you closer than you already were. 

he doesn’t pull away until you both have no more air left in your lungs, and with incredible reluctance he barely pulls back, your lips brushing against his.

“i wish you were real.” he rasps, pressing his forehead against you with a groan. “if only you were real.”

your eyebrows pinch together. you’d say the same, but you’ve never had a dream where the other people in it were aware. and this all felt so vivid.

was it possible to be brought together with the one you love in your dreams?

you want to speak, say something, but you’re too overwhelmed by it all to do anything but whisper out his name.

“if i’ve died and this is my afterlife, i’d gladly spend the rest of eternity here.” he pulls away, rough thumbs brushing against your cheeks as his eyes dart across your face—committing every curve and detail to his memory. “maybe this is my mind’s last way of giving me peace before i’m killed.”

“what?” your eyes widen at the ramblings coming from the reserved guard’s lips. “garroth… is this—?”

“i love you. even if this is a delusion, at least i can feel like i told you once before i’m gone.” he gulps back a lump in his throat, eyes misted over. “i love you so much it hurts. i’m so sorry i’ve let you down. the fact i was so weak to ever risk your life like that is enough for me to realize this is the fate i deserve.”

you begin shaking your head, breaths short and quick.

it is him. somehow. someway. this was real.

“garroth. i don’t know where we are or how this is happening, but you can’t die. please promise me you’ll live until we can find a way to get you.”

his lips pull tight in confusion before shakily murmuring your name.

emotions bubble forward from your chest, crowding your throat as tears involuntarily pool in your eyes. “if somehow this is real, please don’t give up. you can apologize when we reunite. don’t let zane win this way.”

“i… i won’t, but how…”

“i love you, garroth.”

“i love you.” he says through a pained exhale, like the words were coming out of his last breath before his lungs collapsed in grief. “i promise you i’ll come back to you. i swear it to you.”

his fingers brush away the teardrops from under your eyes as a quiet cry leaves your lips, his expression pained. it was like each of your tears were a stab wound into his chest, your trembling lips a twist in the handle. the peaceful silence of the dream is interrupted by the loud ringing of what sounded like church bells in the distance. it echoed and shook the air around you, sending everything into a white haze.

no, were you waking up?

“please don’t give up.” you repeat, somehow unable to find any other words despite having so little time left. “i love you.”

you hear another hoarse “i love you” from his lips, before his features fade away into a blindingly white haze and then disappear into the darkness. the next moment you’re back in phoenix drop, staring up at the warped ceiling. the only thing reassuring you from letting the empty pit in your chest from swallowing you whole was his voice, the deep timbre still ringing in your head.

“i’ll come back to you”

©starhvney, 2024. please do not steal or repost my works as your own.

“P-pardon?” he gapes, gaining a moment of clarity through his fever with widened eyes as he looks up at you.

“Come, sit up,” you command, ignoring the polite head guard’s flustered response with crossed arms.

“…Yes, my lady.”

Slowly, he sits up, his broad chest heaving and throat bobbing at the strain it puts on his sick body. His eyes are low, brow furrowed as he stares at an unimportant plank of wood on the floor. You sigh, using the cloth to wipe away the sweat that was beading against his cheek.

“Honestly. I kept your identity anonymous after seeing your face for the first time. I helped you recover after you were shot with an arrow in the chest. I’m your fiancé for crying out loud! Suddenly you act as if this is a task I can’t handle?” You ramble, head shaking as you place down the cloth, grabbing his large hands.

“That isn’t it!” he defends. “I fully trust you with my life!”

“Then you don’t want me to see you as weak?”

He turns his face from you, ears burning red. “That’s, well…”

“Don’t be silly. Everyone gets sick at some point. I’ve seen you lower than this and never thought you were anything less of a great guard and man. Now let me nurse you back to health, you impossibly stubborn brute.”

“Yes ma’am,” he murmurs softly, mouth turning down into a pouty frown. His eyes are glossy from the illness, rimmed red and accentuating the blue-green in his irises. “…Brute? Do you see me that way?”

“Oh no, darling, I could never,” you sigh, bringing his hand up to your lips. “I was only joking with you. You’re the most respectable gentleman I’ve ever had the fortune to meet.”

The man’s pale face flashes red, eyes closing as a breath shudders from his parted lips. “I love you.”

“And I love you…” you murmur back, before reluctantly removing his hand from yours to lift the medicine the doctor prepared up to his lips. “Now drink this.”

He does as you ask without hesitation, though it’s not out of eagerness. His nose wrinkles and mouth twists as the medicinal syrup meets his tongue—grunting as he forces himself to swallow it. You cup his cheek again to offer some comfort, though can’t restrain the amused smile that quirks at your lips at his childish reaction.

“That is a horribly unpleasant taste.” He rasps, voice strained.

“Mm, but it’ll help you heal faster.” Your fingers drift up to the hair that covers his ears, pushing some back.

His golden curls are looser than normal, the weight of his hair pulling them down now that it’s grown out so much. You wonder if, as a nobleman, he’d grown it out into a ponytail before. Imagining a younger version of the man in front of you all princely and proper almost brings another amused look on your face, but you hold back for the sake of his already present bashfulness of the situation.

“You need a haircut, don’t you think? It’s almost down to your shoulders,” you note gently, twisting a strand around your finger.

“Could you cut it again?” he asks in return, eyes shutting again as your ministrations soothe him into relaxing.

“Hm?”

“I want you to cut it for me. Can you?”

You smile. “Didn’t you cut your own hair before I ever offered for the first time?”

“Yes… but I never learned how to do it on my own back in O’Khasis so I’m absolutely terrible at it,” he says in return, voice hesitant. “Do you… not want to?”

“Of course I do,” you murmur softly, finding yourself unable to tease him anymore—despite how easy and tempting of a target he made himself to be. “That is, if you trust me to not mess it up.”

“I do,” he replies, eyes opening to behold you with a trusting sparkle in his eye—not entertaining the playful jest and instead leaning into your hand. “With anything.”

©starhvney 2024. do not plagiarize, feed to any AI, or repost my works to any sites.