Archive of Our Own ^beta

The first thing Selena noticed when she woke up was not bright light in her eyes.  Nor was it the sharp scent of alcohol cutting into her nose.

It wasn’t the pain, either.  She would notice each of these things in due time and be appropriately annoyed by each—by the lit lanterns hanging from the walls, by the uncomfortably sterile smell of the infirmary, and by the pain that hid beneath the tightness in her gut, obscured by the strange, cloudy feeling she was floating on.

But the first thing, the first thing she noticed, was that she had a painfully bad case of cottonmouth.

“Odin,” Selena groaned, pushing herself up onto her elbows.  This was why she didn’t like to drink. Everything felt awful.

There’s was the sound of something heavy shifting off to her right.  Slowly, and then all at once, with a clatter.

“Ugh,” Selena tried to snarl, but her mouth was so dry that it came out more choked than she had meant.  She rubbed the back of her hand across her eyes, scraping the crust off them.

“Selena?” said Camilla.  Her voice was hushed, almost urgent.

Selena’s eyes snapped open.

“My lady?” she said.

Her vision was still hazy from unconsciousness; it took her a moment to locate Lady Camilla by her bedside, and what she found was…not what she expected.

Camilla looked, for lack of a better term, rough .  Worse than Selena had ever seen her, that’s for sure, and Selena had seen her in the aftermath of battle.  Armor caked in grime, face and neck splattered red, the ends of her beautiful hair damp and matted with blood.

Not that Camilla looked bad like that.  If anything, Selena rather thought that the whole embattled warrior aesthetic rather suited Camilla.

Not that that had anything to do with this, of course.

They were in the infirmary, Selena recognized now.  And now that she thought about it, her most recent memory was not—as she had worried it would be—letting Odin and Laslow convince her to head out to the local tavern.  Instead, she remembered a mission briefing on some bandits terrorizing Nohrian citizens not far out of Castle Krakenburg’s walls…and the crunch of her ribs beneath an enemy warrior’s broadsword.

This was worse than the drinking, actually.

Camilla wasn’t wearing her armor.  Not only that, but her trousers and shirt—usually meticulously pressed—were wrinkled, as if she’d been sitting in place for a long time.  Her coronet was gone as well, her hair falling into her face as she leaned forward and peered at Selena.

“Here,” Camilla said.  She reached for the pitcher and a cup sitting on a small desk near Selena’s bedside, pouring a glass of water with unsteady hands.

“Odin and Laslow were here earlier...while I was finishing things up,” Camilla said.  She did not clarify what she meant by that, and Selena couldn’t help but be suspicious that this was because it was less a matter of what Camilla had been finishing up, and more a matter of who .  

Camilla lifted the cup to Selena’s lips, tilting it forward very slowly so that Selena could drink without spilling it on herself.  Selena might have taken offense to the notion that she couldn’t even drink water by herself, but she couldn’t quite muster the motivation.  And besides, attention from Lady Camilla was always a good thing.  

“I came a little while ago and I,” Camilla looked suddenly a bit embarrassed, “offered to watch over you while they rested up and performed the rest of their duties.”

Asking tended to look a lot more like demanding whenever Camilla’s loved ones were involved.  And while Camilla always asked sweetly, her demands tended to be…a bit intense.

Odin and Laslow could hold their own, though.  Camilla wouldn’t have been able to push them out if they had thought Selena was still in any real danger.

“I can send someone to go get them,” Camilla stood, and Selena jolted slightly.

“No,” she said.

Camilla sat down almost immediately.

Selena flushed.  She shouldn’t have spoken so suddenly to Lady Camilla, but...Lady Camilla had listened to her, and she didn’t look like she was paying Selena’s tone so much as a second thought.

“It’s okay,” Selena said, more gently.  Odin and Laslow always needed more rest, in her opinion.  Odin was so high energy, and Laslow was jittery and anxious all the time.  Neither of them got enough sleep. Besides, at the thought of getting some rest…

She stifled a yawn.

“They need the sleep,” she said.  “They worry.”

“ I worry,” Camilla said sharply.

Selena felt her face warm again.  “I’m sorry,” she said. Her job was to look after Lady Camilla, and here she was making Camilla fuss over her and lose sleep and—

“No,” Camilla said helplessly.  “Don’t be sorry, my dear. I just…” she sighed heavily.  “You look so tired. Why don’t you go back to sleep, darling?”

That sounded nice, but…

“Are you going to sleep?” Selena said, even as her eyelids were already starting to flutter shut.

“Yes,” Camilla said, “right here.  Where I can protect you.”

Selena forced her eyes open a little further, her body resisting all the way.

Camilla’s chair was padded, better than what Selena usually saw in the infirmary.  Someone must have brought it down just for her. But it was low-backed, and still more wood than cushion.

Not at all the sort of thing that would be comfortable to sleep on.

Selena felt strange and heavy.  The exhaustion that had parted way just long enough for her to wake up had returned with a vengeance, and it took more effort than she expected to scooch over a couple inches so that she was laying on the left side of the bed rather than right in the middle.  

She patted newly empty space next to her.  

Camilla blinked, looking startled.

“What is it?” 

“You can rest here,” Selena said drowsily.  “If you’re going to stay, that is.”

“I—”  Camilla wavered, sounding more unsure than Selena had ever heard her.  “Are you certain?”

“Yeah?” Selena frowned.

There was a long pause, and then suddenly, Camilla snorted.  She sounded almost amused, though Selena couldn’t fathom why.

The mattress shifted under Selena as Camilla sat on the opposite side, the bed dipping under her weight.  There was another moment where nothing happened, and Selena vaguely registered the sound of Camilla toeing off her shoes.

And then Camilla was lying down next to her, their bodies parallel, faces pointed towards each other.  

Camilla was warmer than Selena had thought she would be.

Selena sighed happily, curling into the sensation.  She didn’t remember tucking her chin against the top of Camilla’s head, or draping an arm around Camilla’s waist, but when Camilla exhaled heavily, a contented little noise that surprised Selena so much that she jolted back into awareness, she realized that she had indeed.

She was struck then, by the realization that she was going to be really embarrassed by this later.

Camilla shifted slightly.  “Is this…alright?” she said, apparently having misinterpreted Selena’s twitchiness.

Selena paused.  “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

“I…never thought you really enjoyed being touched.”

Selena couldn’t keep the frown off of her face at that.  “I don’t…not? Why would I dislike being touched?”

“You always get so tense,” Camilla said lowly.  “I thought…well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. I misunderstood.”

“It’s okay, my lady,” Selena said.  She was barely hanging onto consciousness as it was, so she just tilted her head forwards a little more, letting her forehead knock gently into Camilla’s.

Camilla made a noise at that.   If Selena were bolder, she might have called it a gasp.

But she was already mostly gone, and before Selena could force her exhausted brain to process the noise, Camilla was lacing their hands together.  Camilla’s hands were pretty calloused—they were strong hands, accustomed to war. But for hands so worn, they were awfully soft.  

Camilla ran her thumb across the back of Selena’s knuckles, and Selena drifted off to sleep. 

***

“You’re sure you don’t have anything else?” Laslow leaned forward.

The innkeeper winced.  “I’m afraid not,” she said.  She looked truly regretful. “With that rainstorm out…I’m afraid we’ve just got the one room.”

Laslow sighed heavily.  He’d expected as much. If the weather had driven him and Xander, with their orders to return to Castle Krakenberg as soon as possible, to seek shelter, then it only made sense that travelers who weren’t in a rush also would have stopped as well.  They were lucky that the inn had even the one room available.

Xander wouldn’t have put up a fuss about having to find shelter outside, but this was still the safer option.  They’d more or less left behind the entirety of Xander’s retinue of soldiers to sort out the last of a bandit problem in one of Nohr’s border villages, and royalty sleeping out in the woods without any guards to play backup, even in a location that seemed secure, was just begging for trouble.

The innkeeper glanced nervously in Xander’s direction.  She wasn’t the only one. Most of the patrons currently eating or drinking in the tavern were stealing the occasional glance at Xander, who had sat down at a table near the door when Laslow had gone up to ask about rooms.  Despite his best efforts, there was only so much Xander could do to deflect from being recognized. With his golden hair and his height, he was a very distinctive looking man. And even if he weren’t, Xander’s most modest armor and clothing was of make fine enough to speak of wealth—a rare thing to have in Nohr if you weren’t of noble blood.  Laslow was sure that anyone in the room who didn’t recognize Xander outright was at the very least aware of the fact that they should .  Luckily, most people were at least trying to be surreptitious.  There was very little outright staring, and Xander was ignoring the attention, even if he was quite clearly aware of it.

“I mean…if his highness truly needs…” the innkeeper started.  Laslow could practically see her trying to calculate in her head which patron to boot from their room.

“He doesn’t,” Laslow cut in smoothly.  “One room will do just fine. You don’t mind me bunking up in one of your stables though, do you?”

Straw suited Laslow just fine anyways.  Mattresses were nice, sure, and Laslow would choose to sleep on one most nights—not like Lu or Brady, both of whom inevitably gave up on their beds when trying to rest and settled into a pile of blankets on the floor instead.

Regardless, stables were still among one of the more comfortable places Laslow was accustomed to sleeping.  Straw floors, shelter from the elements, and most importantly, horses, which kicked up an awful fuss when Risen came too close.

Laslow banished the thought from his mind as quickly as possible.  That was hardly relevant in this situation.

“Of course not,” the innkeeper said almost immediately, her shoulders slumping in obvious relief.  “Please do. Will you need any pillows? Blankets?”

“Oh,” Laslow blinked.  His pack had a thin blanket, and he could use the bag itself as a pillow, but with the air as biting as it was, he hadn’t been counting on it being a comfortable night. “Both would be lovely.”  He flashed her his most winning smile.

“Of course,” the innkeeper smiled back, and Laslow felt a pang of gratitude for her generosity.  “Give me just a moment. I’ll be back with those for you, and a room key for his highness as well.”

She bustled off promptly, brushing past a couple patrons who were stumbling their way over to the bar and stepping into a room in the back.

“Any luck?” Xander said.  Laslow jumped, and then exhaled heavily when he recognized Xander’s voice.  He looked over at Xander. Xander’s lips had twitched up minutely, but then his expression smoothed out again.

“Well?” Xander said, a bit impatiently.

“We’re set for the night,” Laslow said.  Xander nodded. “She’s getting the key and some spare bed things.”

Xander blinked at that. “What for?”

“Just for me,” Laslow said.

Xander frowned, and Laslow groaned internally.  “Are the rooms not prepared?”

Laslow shrugged.  “I presume they are.  She didn’t tell me otherwise,” he said.  “These aren’t to make up the rooms. It’s just that I haven’t got one.”

The frown deepened.  “I’m sorry?” Xander said.

Laslow couldn’t keep himself from throwing Xander a shocked glance, surprised by the indignance that he heard in his lord’s voice.  

“They only had one room left,” Laslow said.  Xander still looked so grave, though, so Laslow tried to inject a little peppiness into his tone.  “It’s no trouble, my lord. I’ll spend the night in the stables—certainly wouldn’t be the first time, and it probably won’t be the last.”

“In this weather?” Xander said.

Laslow paused.  Xander didn’t look cross , per se, but he didn’t look…happy either.  Xander’s tone was definitely frustrated, but Laslow didn’t get the sense that it was directed at him.

  “…Yes?” Laslow finally tried.  Outside, the wind howled, as if deliberately trying to undermine Laslow’s authority.   

Xander opened his mouth, like he was about to protest.

“There aren’t any other rooms,” Laslow said gently.  “I’m not about to kick someone else out of theirs , and in this weather, I’d rather sleep in a barn than out under the stars.”

“Ah, here you go!” the innkeeper announced as she returned.  Her arms were wrapped around a thick bundle of cloth and a small pillow, and she shifted it slightly on her hip so she could toss a key to Laslow.  He caught it easily. “Thanks for wait—oh!” 

She gasped, glancing between the Xander and the seat that he’d abandoned not a few moments ago.  She floundered a bit, face going red before she dipped into a small, awkward curtsy.

“Your highness,” she said.  “Sorry about that. Your room’s ready.”

Xander smiled at her politely.  His expression was a bit stiff, but his voice was nothing but gracious when he spoke next.  “Of course,” he said with a nod. “We’re grateful that you had the space.”

The innkeeper flushed and turned to Laslow.  “Here you go,” she said. “If you need any extras, don’t be afraid to ask.  My room’s here on the first floor,” she gestured to the door behind the bar, “down the hall, second door on the right.  Just knock.”

“Thank you,” Laslow gave her his most winning grin.  “I’m sure this will be plenty, though.”

He reached out to take the blankets from her, but Xander cleared his throat.

“That won’t be necessary,” he said.

“It won’t?” Laslow said, voice squeaking a bit.  He rather thought that it was.

“You’re my retainer,” Xander said firmly.  He was staring at the wall, gaze deliberately averted from Laslow.  “It would be unbefitting of me to accept hospitality and deny it to you.”

“You can’t expect us to both sleep in the barn?” Laslow said, unable to keep his exasperation from seeping into his tone.  It was entirely inappropriate for Laslow to speak to Xander that way, and seemed like the sort of thing he might regret terribly in the morning.  But it was past midnight, and after a long day of traveling, Laslow just wanted to collapse and get what sleep he could before they had to rise at dawn and hit the road again.  

Xander arched a brow.  He did not look amused.  “Laslow,” he said, and despite the fact that he had to be as tired as Laslow, if not more, he did not change his own tone to match Laslow’s.  “We will share the room.”

The innkeeper was glancing between them with wide eyes.

Laslow couldn’t stop himself.  He gaped for a moment, mouth hanging open.  “My lord!” He finally managed. “It would be improper of me to infringe on your space like that.”

“And it would be improper of me,” Xander said, in a voice that did not invite debate, “as your lord, to leave you out in the cold.”

“You aren’t leaving me anywhere!” Laslow knew a losing argument when he saw one, but he couldn’t keep himself from protesting anyways.  “I’ll be right outside.”

“Laslow,” Xander sighed heavily, bringing a hand up to rub at his brow bone.  And then he said something that surprised Laslow. “I won’t force you. But it would greatly ease my mind if you would accept.  What sort of lord would I be if I took shelter here, knowing you were sleeping somewhere unsafe?”

Had Xander said nearly anything else, Laslow might have resisted further.  It really was improper. Laslow thought it might be even more improper because it was him, and he was terribly bad at keeping his eyes where they ought to be, especially when it came to Xander.

But Laslow knew better than anyone except Xander’s siblings the way that Xander worried .  The way that he shouldered the blame for his past retainers’ deaths, and how invested he was in making sure that it didn’t happen again. 

Laslow might have figured it out sooner, but it hadn’t occurred to him that Xander would consider a barn, of all places, an unsafe place to sleep.  It was a bit ridiculous, Laslow thought, but then again, Xander was a prince. A barn probably wouldn’t be a safe place for Xander to sleep, which was why they had come here in the first place.

Xander was a restless sleeper on the best of nights, and it got worse when he was stressed.  And despite Laslow’s misgivings...if Laslow could help put Xander at ease by taking the floor, then of course he would.  

“Fine, my lord,” Laslow said, allowing himself just a small sigh of defeat.  “Lead the way.”

The room was about as large as Laslow had expected, which was to say that it was not very large at all.  The bed, which was actually, bigger than Laslow had thought it would be, took up most of the space in a room that was otherwise bare except for an ancient-looking desk under the window.  

Xander shrugged off his cloak, draping it over the back of the chair.  Then he unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed as he did so.

“We’ll need to get an early start tomorrow,” Xander said, the so we better turn in now implicit in his words.  He tugged off his boots, placing them beside the bed.  

“Of course, my lord,” Laslow said, glancing about briefly for a place to settle down.

There was space enough for Laslow on the floor—though he suspected he would be no more comfortable here than he would have been in the barn.  Not that Laslow minded, of course, if it would help Xander get a good night’s sleep. And anyways, though it was unlikely that anyone would be kicking the door down in the middle of the night with malicious intent, and even less likely that any such intruder would be someone Xander couldn’t handle on his own, Laslow knew better than most how important it was to be safe rather than sorry.  

He let his pack slide off his shoulders and dropped it on a spot of floor in between the bed and the door, settling down after it with a heavy sigh.  This wasn’t going to be a fun night. The floors looked rough, and now that his mind was unoccupied, it was easy for him to notice how uncomfortable he felt in his half-dry clothes.

“What are you doing?” Xander said.  Laslow glanced up and met the prince’s eyes.  Xander was staring at Laslow with a skeptical expression; one eyebrow raised slightly in bemusement.

Laslow blinked.  “Getting ready…for bed?”

Xander stared a moment longer, and then stiffened.  

“My lord?” Laslow said, his own back straightening.

“Ah,” Xander said, looking away and abruptly getting to his feet.  “My apologies, Laslow.”

“For what?” Laslow kept his voice even, but he was starting to feel a bit of real alarm, now.  Xander rarely apologized. He rarely needed to, and even when he did, his father was not the sort of man that encouraged royalty to admit fault, especially to their lessers.

“My exhaustion got to me,” Xander said.  “I meant to offer you the bed. Please,” he gestured to piece of furniture in question.

Now it was Laslow’s turn to stare.  “I—my lord, that wouldn’t be appropriate.”  It felt like the millionth time Laslow had said some variation of that phrase tonight.  It hadn’t stopped being true.

There came the raised eyebrow again, but there was a layer of offense to it now.  “I didn’t realize you’d suddenly become an expert on propriety, Laslow.”

Laslow bit back a scowl.  “Your father would flay me,” he said pointedly, and then winced.  Bringing up Garon, especially in the context of he would, and you didn’t , and you should always seemed to make Xander uncomfortable.  Laslow suspected that Xander just wasn’t sure how to reconcile the disconnect between his own moral compass and the things he knew Garon would expect of him.

But Xander, much to Laslow’s surprise, didn’t so much as twitch.  “I’m not forcing you to sleep on the floor,” he said instead. “Nor would I force you to sleep in a barn.”

Xander put heavy emphasis on the word barn .

“You aren’t forcing me to do anything,” Laslow said.  “I offered .  And, my lord, I beg your pardon, but I greatly suspect that sleeping in a barn is not the ordeal you seem to think.”

Xander sighed heavily.  “Take the bed, Laslow,” he said.  There was a hard note to his voice this time, the sort that Xander used when something was an order and not a request—when he was not taking suggestions or comments, and expected to be obeyed.

Laslow got to his feet.  The bed was queen-sized; smaller than Xander’s in his chambers, but much larger than the bed in Laslow’s own room.

Not that that stopped Odin and Selena from crawling into it with him whenever they so pleased.

Which might be why Laslow said, even though he knew better, even though he should have just bitten his tongue: “I mean…I suppose we could share.”

Xander jerked slightly at the suggestion, turning his head sharply back in Laslow’s direction.

“Sorry,” Laslow said, unable to keep his cheeks from flushing.

“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” Xander said.

“Right, of course.”

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Laslow stopped short.  “What?”

Make him uncomfortable?  What did Xander mean by that?  Unless…

Somehow, Laslow managed to turn even redder.  Xander was a very attractive man, and though he didn’t seem to care much about it, he also seemed to be aware of it.  If he knew that Laslow—

“I want to be respectful of your boundaries,” Xander cleared his throat, suddenly looking a bit awkward.  “I know that I am your liege, but…”

“It wouldn’t bug me,” Laslow interrupted.  Xander hesitated, giving Laslow a look that almost bordered on skeptical, but he didn’t argue.  “Besides, there’s room,” Laslow gestured. “We could sleep on opposite sides. We wouldn’t even have to touch.” 

It took all of his will to resist the urge to tack on unless you want to, my lord, and then wink.  Laslow was a flirt, but he could still read a room.

Well, sometimes.  He could read a room well enough to know that now wasn’t the time for thinly veiled innuendo.

Luckily, though, Xander didn’t seem inclined to argue the point.  “Very well,” he said, sitting back down in the spot he’d just stood up from.  Laslow followed suit, plopping down on the opposite side of the bed. 

“Right,” Laslow said.

Xander cleared his throat.  “Are you going to…”

Laslow nodded.  “Yeah,” he said, swinging his legs into the bed, tucking them under the blanket.  “…are you?”

“Of course,” Xander nodded.  He pulled the blanket up to his waist, glancing over at Laslow.

In the dim light, Laslow hoped that Xander wouldn’t notice the way Laslow was starting to turn red.  Not for the first time that night, Laslow couldn’t keep from thinking that Xander was unbearably handsome.  His riding clothes weren’t wet; his cloak had an extra layer compared to Laslow’s, but they still hadn’t been washed in two days.  Yet even despite that, the sight of him made Laslow blush.

Xander’s hair was half-damp, curls still limp and starting to frizz slightly.  If he were Selena, or Odin, or Lu, or even Gerome, Laslow would have offered to brush it.

But he wasn’t, and Laslow didn’t.  

Instead, he said, “Goodnight.”

Xander nodded.  “Goodnight, Laslow,” he said, and his tone was so formal from someone he was sharing a bed with that Laslow had to resist the urge to laugh.  And then he turned over, so his back was to Laslow, reached over to snuff out the lantern, and all was dark.

Xander was achingly close; Laslow hadn’t been lying when he said that there was more than enough room for them both to lie in this bed without so much as brushing shoulders, but that didn’t mean Xander’s outline wasn’t close enough for Laslow to reach out and touch.

Laslow’s clothes were still a bit wet, a chill seeping through the damp fabric.  Not comfortable, but also not the worst Laslow had fallen asleep through. 

And fall asleep he did.

When Laslow woke up, he wasn’t cold anymore.  

He stretched out his legs, still half asleep, and felt his toes brush against the backs of someone’s calves.  And sure enough, when Laslow focused, which was no easy task in his current state, he realized that his forehead was resting against someone’s back, the fabric of their shirt tickling the tip of his nose just enough to keep him from slipping back under into sleep.

He cracked his eyes open just a touch, just enough to take in soft, white fabric and a glimpse of mussed golden hair.

Odin , he thought with an internal sigh, and turned his head to the side slightly so he could rest his cheek comfortably against the solid form in front of him.  

Laslow’s feet were sticking out from under the blanket, and cold enough that, even in his half-conscious state, he vaguely realized that they were what had woken him up in the first place.  

Laslow let his eyes fall shut again.  The last thing he wanted was to wake up completely and spend the next two hours tossing and turning as he tried to get back to sleep, so he pulled one foot back under the blanket and, because Odin was radiating warmth, he went ahead and hitched a leg around Odin’s hip, shoving his other cold foot in between Odin’s calves.

Odin went tense, and even drowsy, Laslow cracked a smile. 

“Don’t be a baby,” he muttered, except his tongue was heavy in his mouth and his lips were pressed against Odin’s back, so it came out as a mostly-incomprehensible mumble, the ramblings of a man talking in his sleep.

Odin shifted slightly, and Laslow exhaled heavily, slinging his arm around Odin’s waist and pressing himself closer against his friend’s back.

Then he thought: Odin’s a bit bulkier than I remembered, and fell back asleep.

Morning light had Laslow instinctually squeezing his eyes shut against the glare.  And then when that proved insufficient at blocking out the painful rays of the rising sun, he pressed his face harder into the curve of Odin’s back, unable to stifle a groan at being jarred out of sleep while still so exhausted.

But the rising sun meant work, and Xander had very little patience for Laslow’s perpetual tardiness.

Xander.

Laslow’s eyes flew open, and suddenly he didn’t feel very tired anymore.

He managed to stifle his gasp, restraining his reaction to a sharp inhale through his nose.

Don’t die , he tried to will the redness from his face.  He felt feverishly warm all of a sudden. He pulled back, then, just a bit, so that he was staring at Xander’s back rather than burying his face in it.

Xander was still.  From this angle, Laslow couldn’t see his face and could only pray that that meant the man was still asleep.  He had to be, right? Otherwise he’d have shaken Laslow’s clinging form off already.

Laslow resisted the urge to bury his head in his hands, only able to stall the instinct because he suspected that the sharp move would be sure to wake Xander, if he wasn’t conscious already.

No.  Better to just…get out of bed.  If Xander was asleep, then maybe he never even needed to know.  And if he was conscious, then they could just pretend it never happened.

Laslow’s stomach twisted slightly as he set about slowly pulling his legs away from Xander’s, their limbs having gotten tangled up during the night.  

It would have been so easy to collapse back into the mattress, fold himself back in against Xander’s body, and if it was anyone else Laslow would have done it.  

But it was Xander, so instead Laslow pulled away and moved back over to his side of the bed.

And then, legs still tangled in the bed sheets, he attempted to stand up and instead hit the floor face-first.

It was a bit hard to find the energy to get up again after that.  Suddenly, lying on the hard ground with a bruising cheek, staring up at the ceiling, and contemplating his life’s failures seemed a lot more appealing.

Two wars.  Two wars and half, if you counted Nohr’s long-running history of skirmishes with Hoshido.

And Laslow was felled by a blanket.

“Ugh,” he said.

Xander sat up.

“Fuck,” Laslow said, then, and hoped Xander would attribute it to the fall rather than anything else.

“Are you alright?” Xander said.  Laslow stared up at him, flat on the floor, tangled-up foot still propped on the bed.

“Fine,” Laslow said, still feeling pretty thoroughly defeated.  He tugged his leg free and clambered to his feet.

Odin and Selena often helped wake their respective lieges up. Effie and Arthur woke Elise daily.  But Xander didn’t leave that job to his retainers; by the time he usually asked Laslow and Peri to report for duty—a good half hour before Odin and Selena had to, which was something Laslow complained about with regularity—Xander was always awake and fully dressed already, if still awaiting breakfast.  

As a result, Laslow had no idea if Xander had been lying there awake for a while, or if he was the sort of person who woke up fully aware.  Laslow didn’t know many people like that, but if anyone was the sort, it was Xander.

Xander gave Laslow a measured, narrow-eyed look, and Laslow forced himself to shake off the desire to crawl under the bed and never be seen by another human being again.  

He gave Xander a smile.  “I’ll go downstairs and see about breakfast,” he said.

“Laslow,” Xander frowned.

Laslow was already pulling on his boot.  “Any requests?” he tried. “I’m not sure there’s much in the way of options, but it can’t hurt to ask.”  He fumbled with the laces.

“Laslow.”

“I can prepare the horses too,” Laslow said, and scowled down at his shoe.  Why wouldn’t the damn thing go on?

“Laslow,” Xander said.

“Yes?”

“Wrong foot.”

“Oh.” Laslow glanced down at his boot.  Fuck, it did in fact seem that he was attempting to wrestle his left boot onto his right foot.  He flushed, dropping it down to the floor with a thud.

Xander frowned, and for a long moment it seemed like some sort of silent impasse had been reached.

“Right,” Laslow said awkwardly.  “Well I should—”

“I should apologize,” Xander said, voice tense.  

 Laslow stared at Xander for a long moment, jaw going slack in disbelief.  

When it became apparent that Laslow wasn’t going to say anything, Xander cleared his throat—the closest to awkward that Laslow had ever seen him.  He looked almost embarrassed and Laslow…didn’t know what to do with that.

His own humiliation was easy to handle—it was a common enough occurrence, and Laslow was self-aware enough to know that it was usually justified.

Xander’s, though…

“I said last night that I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Xander looked so profoundly discomfited that Laslow was cringing inside.  “I should have woken you.”

At least that answered the question of whether or not Xander had been awake, though the answer wasn’t quite the one he’d been hoping for.  But the rest of Xander’s words were enough to keep Laslow from focusing on it too long. “You didn’t—I don’t—I’m sorry?” There was no hint of irony on Xander’s face.  “I’m the one who—” Laslow’s face heated up. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words rolled over to your side of the bed and plastered myself to you like the two of us are— nope, he couldn’t even finish the thought. Oh, Naga.  He’d used Xander’s calves as a foot warmer .  “I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he finally settled on.

Xander gave Laslow a disbelieving look.  It was an expression that Laslow was familiar with—a don’t bullshit me look that Laslow was occasionally on the receiving end of and that he was very accustomed to seeing Xander direct at other people.

“Why did you think that?” Laslow finally tried.

 “I know you don’t like to be touched,” Xander said.

Laslow blinked.

“I what?”

“You don’t like—” Xander cut himself off, brow furrowing, and then amended.  “You can be…jumpy.”

“I don’t,” Laslow opened his mouth, and then shut it again.  “I’m just not used to it, but I don’t…I don’t mind it.”

Xander stared for a moment longer.  “Not used to it?” he said.

Laslow’s shut his mouth with an audible click.  The noise caught Xander’s attention, but what was there for Laslow to say?  I come from a future where almost everyone is dead; I had twelve friends and sometimes I forget that people who aren’t them can touch me. 

Laslow shrugged.

“Of course,” Xander shook his head.  “I apologize, it’s none of my business.  I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” Laslow cut the words off at the pass.  He was being bold today, but he really couldn’t stand to hear Xander say it again.

Xander blinked, and then chuckled.  “I was going to say that I didn’t mean to push , but I’m glad to hear it.”

“Oh.”  Laslow flushed and cleared his throat.  “Right.” He was wringing his hands, suddenly too full of restless energy to stand still any longer.  He jerked a thumb towards the door. “I’m just gonna…go and…”

Xander nodded his assent, apparently dropping the matter, and Laslow breathed out an internal sigh of relief, making his way over to the door as quickly as possible.

“Laslow!” Xander called, just as Laslow had swung the bedroom door open.

Fuck .  Laslow’s shoulders slumped.  Or at least they did until he turned around and saw that Xander was smiling.  Then Laslow straightened his back in surprise.

“My lord?”

“…you still haven’t put your shoes on.” Xander said, and Laslow could have sworn the man was holding back a laugh.

***

Leo stared up at Odin with a glare that Odin would almost call baleful.  He was soaking wet, shaking in his armor. Niles wasn’t much better off, though he was lucky enough to not be wearing half as much metal as Leo was, and was generally much better at hiding his discomfort than his liege.  Still, even Niles couldn’t conceal the way that his hand trembled slightly when he stretched out an arm to help Leo clamber over a large bolder that was in their way. Niles’ bone white hair was plastered to his head, falling about his face in wet clumps, hiding his eyepatch and obscuring his good eye.

If it weren’t for the flurries of white falling down from above, and the fact that they were about, oh, a half day’s ride away from the nearest town, Odin would have called it cute.

As it was, Odin was mainly just concerned.  But he privately granted to himself, in the back of his mind, that once Niles and Leo were safe and warm, he was going to reflect on this memory with no small amount of affection.

“You know,” he said, stumbling down the hill to meet them halfway.  He grabbed Niles’ free hand and got another under Leo’s shoulder, pulling them both up to meet him.  “There are better times to take a swim than the middle of winter.”

Niles shot him an irritated look.  “Now’s not really the time for jokes,” he said.  “Are you alright, Lord Leo?”

Leo nodded, though he looked awfully pale.

“Be not concerned, milord,” Odin said, as reassuringly as he could manage.  “No harm shall befall you while you stand under the guard of Odin Dark!”

“Bit late for that,” Leo quipped.  There was no venom in his voice, only wry amusement.  Still, Odin couldn’t keep himself from flinching slightly at the memory of Leo tumbling backwards, knocked off-balance by a charge from a cavalryman.  As concerning as the risk of frostbite was, Odin knew how lucky they were that it had only been water below, and that the water itself, though icy, had been unfrozen and was hiding no rocks just beneath its surface.  Any of a countless number of small changes, and Leo would have been dead on impact.

And Niles would have been too, Odin thought, despite how much effort he’d been putting into not thinking it.  Because Niles hadn’t so much as glanced before he’d jumped after.  It was very heroic; Odin really wasn’t surprised that Leo’s right hand had followed him over the edge so loyally.  But that didn’t stop Odin’s mind from helpfully supplying him with the mental image of Leo and Niles, skulls split open on the hard ground below.  Of their limp bodies floating downriver as Odin watched helplessly from above.

Leo clearly misread Odin’s sudden silence.  “Are you hurt?” Leo said, the urgency in his voice keeping it steady despite his shaking.  

Niles, still holding Leo, went stiff, and glanced Odin over.  Even through a curtain of wet hair, Niles’ gaze was piercing. Odin would be hard-pressed to hide an injury from Niles while the man was looking at him like that.  

“That was a lot of men for you to have to deal with on your own.  Do you need a vulnerary?” Niles did not apologize for jumping after Leo, and Odin would not have wanted him to.

“Untouched, my lord,” Odin grinned.  “There were only five of them left. A paltry number for a chosen one such as myself.  They crumbled to dust under the force of my dark magic.”

In truth, Leo and Niles’ fall had distracted him enough that one of the bandits had gotten dangerously close to catching him in the ribs.  But they had only gotten close.  Odin had snapped out of his haze of terror just in time to jerk out of the blow’s way.  And once he’d refocused, handling the rest of the fight really had been easy enough. If he’d been less occupied with the uncertain knowledge of what had happened to Leo and Niles, it would have been even easier.

But the last thing Odin wanted to do right now was preoccupy himself with such thoughts, so when Niles shuddered and said: “Perhaps we’d better head back to our camp now, before Lord Leo freezes to death,” Odin seized upon it.

“And you too, my friend,” he said.  Both Leo and Niles were soaked, and with all the snow floating down from above, getting them both warmed up again was of the utmost importance.

Luckily, their campfire was still blazing.  Odin had been briefly afraid that it might have gone out while they took care of the bandits that had been lurking around their camp, undoubtedly planning an ambush.  But the fire’s position under a small outcropping had apparently sheltered it from the worst of the snow, and while it burned a little lower than it had half an hour ago, another log and a snap of Odin’s fingers brightened it to greater heights than before.

“Lay down,” Odin said, ushering Leo and Niles down to sitting.

Getting Leo out of that armor was their first priority, and while it was usually not Odin’s job to help Leo get undressed, that luckily didn’t mean he had no experience doing it.

He unclasped the bulkiest pieces first, hissing slightly when his fingers came into contact with the icy metal.  Leo’s breastplate dropped to the ground, his pauldrons following soon after. Within minutes, all of his armor was discarded off to the side, drying next to the fire.

With all the metal gone, Odin turned his attention towards Niles.  

“Here,” he said.  “Oh, Lord Leo, take your shirt and pants off.”  

Leo spluttered, and Niles, who had already divested himself of those garments without needing to be prompted, laughed. 

“Normally I’d be delighted to hear you being so forward, Odin,” he said.  His voice was practically a purr, though the effect was ruined slightly by the trembles wracking his body.  “Such a shame that this is what it takes. You should try being more bossy when we aren’t freezing to death.  I guarantee we’ll all enjoy it more.”

Odin didn’t bother blushing.  Instead, he shrugged off his own cloak and draped it over Niles’ hair.  The collar fell over the front of Niles’ face, and Odin realized his mistake only a moment too late.  Niles briefly went stiff as his vision was suddenly obscured. His fingers twitched as he resisted some uncertain instinct.  Odin winced, sweeping the fabric back and tugging the wet hair out of Niles’ face with it.

“Sorry, my friend,” he said softly.  He tried to be as soothing as possible as he patted the worst of the wetness out of Niles’ hair.  Niles didn’t respond, but he slowly relaxed under Odin’s administrations, which hopefully meant that whatever memory had started him so badly was fading away.

Odin would have loved to take his time with this.  It felt almost like braiding Lucina’s hair again, like painting nails with Brady.  But Leo and Niles were both still shuddering with the cold, so Odin gently but efficiently wrung as much water as he could out of Niles’ long hair, so that it was damp but not dripping, and then tossed the now-wet coat to the other side of their camp.

Blankets were next.  Leo and Niles didn’t say much as Odin grabbed all the blankets, and any vaguely blanket-like items, that he could find, to drop on top of them.

 “Do you need anything else?” Odin asked, once they were appropriately smothered.

Leo shook his head, and Odin smiled.  “Excellent,” he said, and stepped over the pile of blankets to tuck himself between them.  Blankets and a fire were all well and good, after all, but Leo and Niles were currently running much colder than they should be, and they needed every source of heat they could get.

It was only logical, though Odin shuddered himself at the chill radiating from his partners.  

It was so distracting that he nearly missed the way Leo jumped when they brushed shoulders.

Odin went tense in return.

“My lord?” he said.

“Odin,” Leo sounded vaguely strangled.

“Is something wrong?” Odin sat upright again.  Some of the blankets slid down to their waists with the movement, and Leo shuddered immediately, grabbing Odin by the shoulder and tugging him back down as he pulled the blankets back up to their necks.

“No, nothing,” Leo said a little too quickly.  “You just...took me by surprise.”

Odin blinked.  “I did?” He glanced in Niles’ direction.  Was it just him, or was Leo being weird?

Niles looked unbothered.  He had already cottoned on to Odin’s plan, and had pressed his side up against Odin’s, soaking up the body warmth of the one person among them who hadn’t taken an unplanned dip in an icy river.  Now he was picking idly at loose thread on one of the blankets in front of him. When he sensed Odin staring, he met Odin’s gaze, smiled a slow, lazy smile, and said nothing. Just watched with that quiet, sharp intensity that he always carried.

Luckily, Leo filled in the silence.  He looked distantly embarassed. “I didn’t mean to make you--” He shook his head.  “I’m sorry. This just isn’t like you.”

Now Odin was only more confused.  Making sure that Leo and Niles didn’t freeze to death wasn’t like him?  He tried to not to feel stung, with not much success.  

As if sensing Odin’s confusion, Leo flushed.  “I simply meant...you aren’t very tactile.” As soon as he said it, Leo’s brow furrowed.  “No,” he murmured, “that’s not quite right. You’re…”

“Twitchy?” Niles suggested.

“ What?” Odin didn’t really mean to sound so flabbergasted, but he couldn’t help it.  He initiated contact with Leo and Niles all the time. Probably more than either of them ever did with him, actually.  Enough that they got glances from the staff sometimes, and enough that Laslow and Selena teased him about it relentlessly.

“You’re like a cat,” Leo said, after a moment.  Odin exhaled sharply through his nose. He was relatively sure that both Niles and Leo were far more cat-like than he was.  Not that Odin didn’t love cats, but he was self aware enough to acknowledge that he lacked the sort of feline grace that Niles and Leo carried.

“Twitchy,” Niles repeated.  He said the word like he was rolling it around in his mouth, trying to decide if the sound of it was right.  

“You touch people quite often,” Leo agreed.  He no longer sounded embarassed, perhaps emboldened by the lack of a rebutal from Niles.  Now he sounded considering, the way he did when he spoke about a new tome that he was mulling over.  “But you...dart in and out. You’re there long enough to touch them, and gone before they can ever touch you back.”

“I don’t--” Odin said helplessly, but cut himself off before he could finish.  Leo and Niles were two of the most observant people he’d ever met. If they were saying he had a thing about not letting people ‘touch him back’, then they were probably right.

“You really didn’t know?” Niles turned over onto his side, so that he could stare directly at Odin.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Odin said honestly.

“I apologize for bringing it up,” Leo said.  He was back to sounding awkward. “I was trying to avoid making you uncomfortable, but I fear that my efforts have backfired.”

“I don’t--” Odin said.

“Odin?” Niles said, his tone more earnest than Odin almost ever heard it.  

“Yes?”

Odin shifted slightly, turning his head so that he could meet Niles’ steady gaze.

“Is this alright?” Niles said.

“I don’t want you to freeze.”

“No,” Niles frowned, looking displeased.  “Is this alright?”  And then he was reaching out, lacing his fingers with Odin’s.

Odin flexed his fingers experimentally.  Niles gripped back, firm but not painful.

Oh.

Niles arched an eyebrow.  “You’re blushing,” he said, the solemnity already starting to vanish from his voice.  “I’m even better than I thought.”

“Niles,” Leo chided.

Odin groaned, and Niles snapped back to attention.  Back to being serious.

“What is it?” he said, moving to pull his hand back.  Odin kept their hands tangled together, not letting Niles go.

“It’s fine,” he said.  “I know what you’re talking about.  It--I’ll tell you later, alright?”

There was no time like the present, and now, stripped literally as well as metaphorically, was probably an especially good time to bring it up.  

But explaining it’s not that I don’t want you to touch me, it’s that I don’t want you to stop risked raising more questions than Odin knew how to answer.

Niles’ brow furrowed, and his gaze shifted to a spot just over Odin’s shoulder, which meant that he was probably exchanging a look with Leo right now.

“Okay,” Niles said.

“As long as you’re comfortable,” Leo agreed, and Odin shuddered at the feeling of cold lips pressing against the nape of his neck.

“I’m glad you two are alright,” Odin said, eager to change the subject.

“Were you worried?” Niles said.  “I couldn’t tell.”

Odin blinked.  “Of course I was worried!” he said.  It came out snappier than he intended.

Niles didn’t look phased.  “You’ve been fussing this whole time,” he agreed, “but not panicked.  Most people who watch someone they love drop into ice water in the middle of winter would panic.”

“You didn’t,” Odin said, and then winced.  Jumping into icy water after Leo without looking first probably did count as panicking, now that Odin thought about it.

Niles didn’t call him on it.  “I’ve done this before,” he said.  

“Mmm,” Odin said.  “Me too.” The ash that had hung in the air after Grima had conquered the world had led to some brutal winters.  Ylisse's formerly mild climate turned frigid, and places that were already cold, like Ferox and Plegia, had become nearly impassable. Odin had learned how to warm someone up even after their limbs were going blue with frostbite.

Leo’s arm snaked around Odin’s waist, his grip just a little too tight.  Odin didn’t complain.

“Do you want to talk about it?”  Niles said. He looked more curious than concerned at this point.

“You don’t have to,” Leo said immediately.

“I don’t,” Odin agreed.  

He laid back.  Niles and Leo were both freezing, but somehow Odin had never felt warmer.

“But I will,” Odin promised, more to himself than to them.  “Not right now...but some day soon. I’ll tell you everything.”