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Laslow strolled down the halls of Castle Krakenburg with a little hum in the back of his throat. He had just heard the news. In a couple of days, Nohr would be hosting a ball.
Dancing in public was something that Laslow was notoriously afraid of, but ballroom dancing was much different from what he practiced in private. And the prospect of celebrating sounded like a refreshing breather from war since Nohr had just found peace not too long ago. It would give Laslow a chance to dance and party with his friends one last time before he left Nohr forever.
The question of whether or not Laslow would be joining Odin and Selena on their journey back to Ylisse wasn’t really, well, a question anymore. It had been at one point, though. It had been a question when Laslow was looking up into dark red eyes in the middle of a battle and thought to himself ‘If Xander makes it out of this I am never going to let him out of my sight again’. It had been a question when they shared gentle, subtle touches in the privacy of Xander’s tent under the premise of dressing wounds. It had been a question when Laslow’s heart thrummed roughly in his chest every time he so much as looked at Xander. He thought he never wanted to let that borderline tortured feeling go.
Something had changed, however, and now it wasn’t a question anymore. After the war, after the thrill and adrenaline of battle and exploring new worlds, their inexplicable closeness had all but come to an end. Xander stepped into a new role as king of Nohr and Laslow saw little of him. It had occurred to Laslow that now that the war was over, Xander might not need him as much anymore. It occurred to him that wound dressing might have been just that in Xander’s eyes, lacking in all the tenderness Laslow had prescribed to it. It occurred to Laslow that maybe he, a literal nobody in Nohrian records, had no business loving the king. So he was going to leave before it got worse, no matter how much it made his heart ache.
The news of the ball, for what it was worth, had lifted his spirits a little. So now he hummed through the hallways, practically skipped, on his way to ask Xander if he could have the day off to celebrate (and say goodbye though he would omit that motivation from his time off request).
After a short knock, Laslow was welcomed into Xander’s private study and greeted with a not entirely grumpy (Xander had two dominate expressions: grumpy and not entirely grumpy), “Ah Laslow. To what do I owe the honor of your company?”
Laslow tried to stand at attention but relaxed when his formality was waved off by Xander who was still half turned toward a document he had unrolled on the desk in front of him. He held the quill he had been signing with up to his face and fixed Laslow with a bemused expression. One of the not entirely grumpy persuasion. The candle light illuminated his strong jaw and soft blonde curls and Laslow tried to focus on literally anything other than how peacefully gorgeous he was out of his armor in a room surrounded by books.
“I came to inquire about time off for the dance, milord,” Laslow said after he swallowed a lump in his throat discreetly. “I know everyone is probably going to want to be there, so it’s probably not likely that I will get permission, but I wanted to try anyway.” He leaned toward Xander to hand him a little envelope he had made with the formal request written inside.
Xander looked that emboss on the envelope and then up at Laslow. He didn’t move his chin at all, just his eyes. After a short pause (Laslow often thought of Xander’s short pauses as tests. They were frequent enough to invite cowardice. He had long ago learned to remain perfectly still and quiet while he waited for responses from his liege.) Xander said, “I will take this into consideration. You are excited for the ball?”
Laslow brightened a little, just enough to show off his good side. “Absolutely, milord. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but I have a bit of an affinity for dancing.”
Xander cocked an eyebrow. “Oh. Is that so?”
Laslow nodded and tried to keep it optimistic though he was feeling a bit sheepish after this admission. “Of course, it has been a while since I last danced for the ballroom. I might be a little rusty so please don’t look forward to it too much.”
“No promises,” Xander said and he grinned just a little. Laslow’s heart fluttered. Xander’s grins were rare and gentle and perfect and he treasured every single one. “You know, Laslow, as the king of Nohr everyone is going to be expecting me to escort a date to the ball.”
Laslow was a little taken aback by the subject matter but he didn’t let it bother him. If Xander wanted mindless chatter, he could provide. “Well, of course milord. You’re their new king, the people are very interested in your life now. They’re going to want an heir sooner or later.”
Xander wrinkled his nose. “Perhaps I should conquer procuring a date first.”
Laslow suppressed a chuckle. “Well, do you have anyone in mind?”
Xander averted his gaze. For a moment he seemed to be looking over the document on his desk again and Laslow wondered if he was intending to abandon the conversation there. It was probably fair. Laslow was probably out of step with his question. But in a low voice, Xander finally said, “I do. I am just at a loss for how to begin asking.”
Laslow did snort with laughter this time, but he managed to stifle most of it behind his hand. The escaped bit earned him a not entirely grumpy glare from his liege. “My apologies milord, I would offer some advice but I have trouble getting my own dates.” He shook his head and grinned from ear to ear despite himself. “It’s not without a lack of trying, but these things can’t be helped. I appreciate you opening about this concern with me but I’m sure you can find more adequate help elsewhere.”
Xander just grunted at Laslow’s joke and the retainer didn’t think much of it. This was a typical response from him for a joke. Especially a Laslow joke. Especially a Laslow joke about his incessantly flirty personality. So Laslow didn’t particularly scan Xander’s face for any inclination that more emotions other than mild annoyance could be hiding in his still not entirely grumpy expression.
“Milord, if you are actually concerned please take comfort in the fact that you are the King and you can probably take any lady you desire to the ball,” Laslow said cheerfully. Xander looked morose. He didn’t want to leave this conversation, or any conversation with Xander, feeling negative. “Just do the opposite of what I do and you will get a yes.”
“And what is it, pray tell, that you do?”
“Rush in,” Laslow said, still smirking. “Be too overt, too obvious, too desperate. Women, apparently, hate that.” He laughed a little and then turned toward the door. “Anyway, I’m still on duty. May I be dismissed?”
Xander nodded slowly and began to turn back to his document. “Of course. I’ll take your time off request into consideration.”
“Please do. Well then, good day Lord Xander.”
“And you Laslow.” Then the door shut and Laslow skipped back out into the world, pushing a distant twinge of jealousy below his excitement for the party to come.
-----
The next day was Laslow’s day off. He was a little alarmed when his plans were cut short by a summons from Xander. He wanted to see Laslow in his private chambers, which added more trepidation. It was an informal setting for sure, but the last time Laslow had been in a similar situation he’d been, for all intents and purposes, grounded. Then again maybe it was about his requested time off. Or maybe Xander wanted to confide in him more about the person he was hoping to take to the ball. Laslow seriously hoped it was the former.
“Welcome Laslow, please come in,” Xander said cordially as Laslow poked his head around the door. “How is your day off treating you?”
Usually on a day off Laslow wasn’t expected to come into work. It had just started and already he was having a conversation with his boss. Laslow didn’t say this, of course, instead he said, “The weather is lovely, milord, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Good. I hope this doesn’t bite into your plans too much. I was hoping you could help me with a matter related to the ball.”
“Anything I can do to help, of course,” Laslow responded, standing as close to the door as he possibly could with his hands behind his back. He braced himself for the worst.
“It’s been awhile since Nohr has had a ball of any kind. Certainly since before… Well, since I was coronated. Needless to say, I am missing some skills required of a ballroom scenario. You mentioned yesterday that you liked to dance?”
Laslow brightened up immediately. All of his nervousness and anxiety evaporated now that he knew Xander’s intentions. They were good, innocent, pure intentions. He wanted dancing lessons! Laslow was a little nervous about dancing for his boss, but not as nervous as he had been about prospective other conversations. “My mother taught me when I was little. It has been a few years since I last practiced ballroom dancing, but I know how.”
Xander’s next words were predictable enough, but the abnormally gentle tone with which he spoke them was bathed in relieve and was, frankly, adorable. “Can you teach me?”
If Laslow had to guess how long it had been since Xander had danced, he would have put it at roughly never. He danced like a person who had read about dancing. Once. Among the expected foot trampling and stumbling, Xander had to be retaught how to step and where to step every so often. It seemed so simple to Laslow and it was borderline frustrating that it wasn’t clicking with Xander. He was a smart, hard working man, why couldn’t he just remember a simple box step.
The technical difficulties were frustrating enough that Laslow’s mind was wandering to distract him. In particular it was wandering toward the placement of Xander’s hands. In one hand he clutched Laslow’s and it was a little bit sweaty but for all Laslow knew that was his own fault. The other hand was important. It gripped at Laslow’s hip tightly. It wasn’t hesitant in its hold at all, but firm and a little rough. Laslow could feel the king’s fingerprints through his thick shirt. It made the skin underneath, for whatever reason, warm. And he could smell Xander. Expensive soap and musk. They were so close in proximity Laslow could have counted every eyelash his lord had if he was able to maintain eye contact for longer than half a second. Laslow was sure of it now, he was the one sweating.
These distractions were Laslow’s down fall in the end. His literal fall, that is. Xander, who struggled with fitting his gait into the box they shared, stepped on the toe of Laslow’s shoe for the umpteenth time. It didn’t hurt, Laslow’s boots were too thick for any sort of crushing sensation to break through. But this happened to occur just as he himself was starting to take a step backwards to accommodate Xander. He was unable to claim his foot and wasn’t paying attention enough to balance himself and so, with the gracefulness of a drunk, down he went. And because Xander’s grip on his hip was so strong, he went down as well.
They landed in a pretty precarious situation. Laslow was in pain and that was top priority. He had fallen almost at full impact onto Xander’s hard bedroom floor. Xander was holding him back from gravity a little, but his uncovered hip bone still slammed into the ground. Xander would have crushed him if he hadn’t been thinking fast enough to release their clasped hands and use his own to balance himself. He still sort of half crashed into Laslow, banging his incredible chin into Laslow’s forehead. Xander bit his lip, Laslow slammed his head into the floor. They were both suffering and grunting when the dust finally settled. It was a moment of checking that they were both alive and apologizing before they were able to process what position they had landed in. But when it did process, the awareness of it became all consuming.
Xander’s eyes were half lidded as he loomed over Laslow. They were drunk with disorientation just like the dark wine color they resembled. He was breathing heavily, rushes of warm sticky air washing over Laslow’s face. One knee was pushed between Laslow’s legs and he was all to aware of every delicate twitch of the muscles there.
“Laslow,” Xander’s voice croaked as he spoke and Laslow forgot momentarily how to breathe. “I have been meaning to ask you about the ball-”
There was a sharp knock at the door. Xander had barely a moment to raise off of Laslow and begin helping him to his feet in turn before the door was being flung open without so much as a recognition that the knock had been heard.
“Your Majesty,” said a harried guard. “We just received an urgent message. You must come quickly.”
-----
A threat. That’s what the message had been. Some external and mysterious group was unsatisfied with Nohr’s desire for peace and had sent warning of an impending attack scheduled for the night of the ball. It could have been an effort to scare the royal family into cancelling such a happy celebration, or it could be serious. Obviously, measures were being taken to treat it as the later. The ball was not going to be canceled. Civilians had been invited and the whole country, which was just starting to heal and find it’s own happiness, needed this event to boost morale. The ball would go on, but security was going to be tightened.
Laslow sighed as he walked away from the tactics room they had just had an emergency meeting in. So much for a fun going away party with his friends.
A hand on his shoulder startled Laslow so badly from his musings that he verbally yelped. He turned to meet Xander who was looking as perturbed as always, which was to say normal and therefore slightly unperturbed. “Before we were interrupted, I was meaning to talk to you about the ball. Your time off was approved,” he said matter of factly. Laslow waited for the ‘but’. He waited patiently and instead was met with a stone-cold “You may freely attend the ball as a guest.”
Laslow’s mouth popped open in shock and mild horror. “Milord, if I may speak freely.” Xander nodded and he continued in the most level voice he could muster. “I cannot take that night off, obviously, we are going to need as much help with security as we can get. Innocent lives will be in danger.”
Xander’s eyebrows furrowed. He was starting to transition between not entirely grumpy and grumpy. “We have plenty of retainers and guards to watch over the ball. You will just be one more body. It’s not necessary.”
“It is necessary,” Laslow pressed, but only because he was feeling slightly frustrated by this conversation. Why was he being scolded for insisting that he work? “I can’t be the only retainer not working. I need to protect you. I’m sorry, milord.” Nothing was more important than keeping Xander safe. Xander didn’t respond verbally, but his brow twitched in irritation on his behalf. Then, quietly, containing his anger over being disobeyed, he turned and left.
Laslow just felt empty.
-----
It was a lovely night in all respects except one. Good ticks went to the clear sky showing off it’s many glittering stars, the soft blanketing light of the moon, the gentle breeze and climate, the cacophony of music filling every inch of Windmire. The jubilance sprang up from the pit that Castle Krakenburg was built into and flooded the streets. Even those unable to attend the ball were able to have their own. There was food and chatter and dance and laughter everywhere, especially bursting from the windows of the castle itself.
The one bad tick was Laslow’s feet which were starting to complain about his constant pacing around the main entrance to the palace. They would not be in this much screaming pain if, perhaps, he had been dancing instead. Happiness is an effective pain reliever like that. But this, being on patrol, wasn’t fun. He would have to get over it though, since he had all but begged to be put on duty.
It was all for naught, it was starting to seem. The party had been dragging on for four solid hours so far and there hadn’t been even the least bit of disturbance. The music, loud and unmistakable from inside, drifted past Laslow and took his thoughts with it. He thought about Xander, probably in his formal clothing looking sharp and clean and beautiful, holding a woman whose face he couldn’t imagine. Smiling delicately down at her as they went through the dance steps Laslow had taught him. He sure hoped Xander didn’t step on her toes. She probably wouldn’t be as understanding as he was. That last thought was probably a little selfish.
Laslow sighed and at the same time, an arrow plunked into the ground by his foot.
The king’s retainer was stunned for just long enough to be taken by a sneak attack. It was followed quickly by shouting. Clearly people had noticed the intrusion but had been unable to warn the soldiers behind them quick enough. A sharp, small blade cut through Laslow’s calf. He cried out shortly in pain and then collapsed, his leg ruined. He tried to draw his sword but as soon as it was out of its sheath the rogue kicked it from his hand. His leg was too badly wounded to retrieve it or retreat. He looked up into a masked face wondering how this had happened. Laslow was better than this. He was the king’s personal retainer! How did a common thief get the best of him?
Before another blow could be dealt, however, there was a famous (and personally familiar) war cry from behind Laslow. He shut his eyes from the pain and the relief that Xander was here. He didn’t see the rogue receive vengeance, but he felt one person be replaced with a different more comfortable one in his space.
Xander knelt over him, checked him for damage, found the leg wound and after barking a few quick orders at some other guards standing around, took off with Laslow in his arms.
-----
The gash in Laslow’s leg was deep. If they had been out on the battlefield in the middle of nowhere, it quite possibly could have been too deep. But at Castle Krakenberg, he had access to the best healers and potions money could buy. It would heal, but it hurt like hell and he couldn’t stand on it so he was forced to a temporary bed rest. He could still hear the music from somewhere else in the castle as the party relentlessly carried on.
Xander had dropped him off at the infirmary, then he had gone back out with some other soldiers to quench the flames of resistance around the castle. The attack, despite having a boastful warning preceding it, was not entirely organized. There were pockets of conflict popping up all around the perimeter of the castle, but they were easily subdued. Soldiers were sent out into the rest of Windmire to make sure there weren’t any other aggressors making a mess of the festivities. After the leaders of the plot were captured, Xander returned to the infirmary.
Forget grumpy, when Xander walked back into the room where Laslow was healing, he looked furious. Gorgeous, Laslow had to admit, as he had imagined in his formal clothing. There were ruffles and jewels and his hair was styled in perfect little curls and he wore a crown so beautiful it made his whole essence radiate with power. But there was a darkness over his expression as he dismissed the healer working on Laslow’s leg and crossed the room to his bedside. They were alone.
“Mi-Milord, uh, sorry Your Majesty,” Laslow corrected himself as he looked at the crown. He wasn’t used to King Xander quite yet. “My apologies, I was-”
“Laslow,” Xander growled. “You’re fired.”
Laslow was speechless. His jaw hung open uselessly as he looked at Xander, in all of his fury, looming over him. His stomach dropped, probably right out of his body. His eyes, against his better judgement, started to moisten. “Wh-what?”
“You are fired from your job as my retainer,” Xander repeated. And then, without any warning he doubled over Laslow, bracing his hands on either side of Laslow’s head. He removed the crown delicately from his curled hair and set it on the table beside them. Then he delicately pressed their foreheads together. Laslow was frozen in place, pinned below him as he said in a shaky whisper, “You are not allowed to die for my sake.”
“But… Protecting you, dying for you, that is my job.”
“And that is exactly why you are relieved of those duties.” Xander sighed. And leaned back a little. Laslow realized he hadn’t been breathing and took a subtly deep gulp of air. “This ball… It didn’t go quite the way I imagined. You were supposed to be there, and instead you almost lost your leg. Laslow, tell me, how am I supposed to court you properly if you keep thinking my advances are me asking you to do your job?”
Laslow’s brain stalled on that last bit, but his heart was quick on the uptake. It started to pound ferociously in his throat and his wrists. He could feel this strange, overwhelming emotion all over his body, it was so tangible, even though he didn’t have a word for it yet. Fear? Anticipation? Joy? Confusion? All of those and more. His big gulp had disappeared somewhere in his body and when he exhaled it was with a short, timid, “Wait, what?”
Xander sat up tall now on the edge of the bed and looked down at Laslow with his business face. It was not entirely grumpy… But then again it was not entirely composed either as he said, “Laslow, I am attracted to you. Romantically. As your boss I was… Struggling with a manner with which to tell you and subsequently ask you to be my date to the ball. But now that you’re not working for me it seems so much simpler.”
The pause that followed was, presumably, to give Laslow time to process. It was silent in the hospital room except for the music that was still seeping in through every crack and vent in the walls. It was a slow dance. Laslow imagined people waltzing to it, twirling elegantly across the shiny ballroom floor. He imagined Xander with an arm wrapped around his lower back, holding him close and swaying gently. Looking into each other eyes. Smiling. Expressions not entirely grumpy, but in fact, adoring.
Xander must have read his mind because he stood up from the bed and held out a hand to Laslow. “May I have this dance?”
“Um,” Laslow looked down at his leg. His mind was still misty with delightful confusion at what was happening and this stupid injury was going to rob him of something so precious. “My leg.. I can’t…”
In hindsight, Xander didn’t even ask. He just bent over and scooped his arms under Laslow’s body. The thin sheet draped over him slid away quickly and then it was just Laslow being held around his shoulders and under his knees by Xander’s incredibly strong arms. He yelped and grabbed onto any part of Xander’s fancy jacket he could to feel secure.
When he was able and felt safe again (and goodness did he feel safe in Xander’s sturdy grip), Laslow looked up into Xander’s eyes. He was smiling. Softly, gently, adoringly, he was smiling down at Laslow. And that was when the former retainer was able to put a word to the feeling rushing through his veins like a stampede. The wetness in his eyes broke for one happy tear that rolled down his temple, taking all of his anxiety with it. “Xander,” he croaked. “I’m in love with you.”
Xander’s response was to lean down and lift Laslow’s shoulders up so that their lips could come together. It was a very delicate kiss, but it felt like fireworks exploding as the music of the dance encircled them fully. Xander started to move at some point, walking through the steps of the waltz even though Laslow was in his arms instead of on the ground in front of him. He moved slow, but he got most of the steps correct even though he couldn’t see his feet. Laslow wanted to point out something about him having a great teacher but he was mostly speechless that this was happening.
“So about being my date?” Xander asked, still grinning. He knew the answer he would get.
Laslow chuckled. “Well, there’s not much I can do about tonight. But I think I’m going to have some free time coming up, maybe I can make it up to you?”
Xander leaned down for another kiss, as their tongues got acquainted with each other while they swayed across the infirmary floor, Laslow thought about his future plans. He reopened the question of whether or not he would be going back to Ylisse, changed the answer, and then promptly closed it again, this time for good.