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Out of his own foolish curiosity, Garroth looked into the chest.
He had spent so much time and effort into it, after all. The flower crown had been weaved with royal purple lilacs, pale pink roses, and bright white chrysanthemums. The instant health potions were particularly difficult to make. Finding nether wart in the Overworld had certainly been quite the odyssey. The frost sword had been forged so precisely that its weight was exactly how his Lord preferred it. The ring was the one that would have been his own, one day, had he not fled from O’Khasis. It had been kept out of a foolish sense of nostalgia. This would be the best way to dispose of the cursed thing, Garroth had thought. Profess his fledgling love and undying adoration for his lord and rid himself of that horrid memory at the same time.
The wood creaked as he pried it open. There was a low sinking feeling in his chest. Nervousness? Anxiety? Garroth was never good at identifying emotions, much less his own. But this. Garroth knew he felt this.
There was a single wedding ring laid at the bottom– a stark contrast against the deep oak planks. It gleamed lazily under the setting sun.
Everything else was gone. Traces of the health potions seeped into the wood. Fallen petals floated lazily. Everything but that ring.
Garroth hesitated for a moment. A gloved hand brushed against the metal. With delicate hands, Garroth lifted the ring. Of course, she didn’t take it. Why would she?
Garroth, startlingly, felt nothing at all.
He had given her a ring. She hadn’t taken it.
Garroth felt nothing.
A normal man, a sensible man, would feel regret. Would grieve. Garroth had never been normal, had he?
He had poured his heart out, and he didn’t even care. Garroth cradled the ring close. Even now, he still held onto his past.
He couldn’t ruminate out here. The other villagers would see him. A guard, especially the head guard, must be composed at all times, no matter the circumstances. Aphmau wasn’t here. Garroth needed to remain composed.
Garroth straightened his posture, rolling his shoulders. He winced. The closing wound in his chest still ached.
Garroth curled his fist around the ring tightly. He ignored the tremor in his fingers.
With an achingly familiar drive that impacted every decision Garroth had ever made, he stormed Aphmau’s basement with determination in his unseen eyes.
Garroth knocked on the door.
“Come in!” Zoey called out, her voice soft.
Garroth couldn’t hesitate now. “Zoey, you should take a break.”
Zoey blinked, clearly not expecting this. “Are you going to take care of him?
Garroth didn’t know jackshit about babies. “Yes.”
Zoey brightened up, depositing little Levin in Garroth’s hands. Garroth sputtered, correcting his grip on the baby. “Thank you.” She patted Garroth’s pauldron. “And make sure to take off your armor. Babies need skin-to-skin contact.”
“I—” Garroth wasn’t quite sure what he would say as a rebuttal.
Zoey’s eyes softened. “I’ll lock the door. No one will see you.”
Garroth doesn’t like the fact that she noticed. If she noticed, it meant he was getting terribly predictable.
He appreciated the gesture nonetheless.
The door locked with a sharp click. Garroth could breathe, even if for just a moment.
Resting Levin back in his crib, Garroth began the daunting task of unclasping his gauntlets. Garroth hesitated, his fingers brushing the metal of his helm, before he gently lifted it off his head.
Levin gurgled in all his childish wonder and excitement, too small to formulate his thoughts. Garroth chuckled as he scooped Levin back into his arms.
Garroth liked this. Garroth liked holding a child in his arms. Garroth liked being a father.
Garroth knew this. Garroth had known for years, from the moment when he took Zenix under his wing. It was challenging to raise the poor boy alone, but Garroth adored almost every part of it.
So why did he feel nothing at all when Aphmau rejected his ring when he so desperately wanted to raise this child?
What else could this devotion mean?
It must be love, Garroth knew.
For love was deep and unconditional and unyielding.
Garroth would die for his Lord for infinitely more reasons than just being her guard. She was kind and forgiving and understanding, even when she really didn’t want to be. She made stupid puns and got carried away with making Phoenix Drop the best it could be. She was the best person Garroth had ever known.
Garroth had to be in love with her.
There were no butterflies in his stomach, nor did his cheeks flush around her, but those were just cliches from fairytales, no?
Garroth didn’t stare or gush about his love like Brendan did. That didn’t matter, though, did it? Everyone loved differently. And Garroth loved Aphmau quietly.
Levin squirmed. He twisted his tiny body to grab at the glint of gold still clutched in Garroth’s fist. Garroth reacted just as quickly as he would in a fight.
Garroth corrected Levin, balancing the boy in his right hand and held the ring just out of Levin’s grubby reach. Garroth shook his head, tsking. “You can’t have this, kid. We don’t have you choking on metal before we get you home to your mother, do we?”
Levin shrieked with laughter, his little fingers grasping on tightly to Garroth’s hair and tugging.
Garroth let out a yelp of betrayal. “You little rascal. How dare you?”
Garroth slid the ring onto his right hand’s ring finger. He would need both his hands for this snotty little creature.
Garroth leaned into the little rocking chair, pressing Levin closer to his chest. Levin cooed, loosening his grip on Garroth’s hair.
Garroth let out a low hum. “You’re disturbingly chatty today, my liege.”
Levin huffed, babbling nonsense.
Garroth smiled softly. “You are absolutely correct, sir, and you should speak your mind. I will take your advice into consideration.”
Garroth sank into the chair, rocking the few-month-old baby. “Levin, do you know what being lovestruck feels like?”
Levin blinked, befuddled. Garroth laughed. “Obviously, you don’t. And…” Garroth swallowed harshly, “I am beginning to think that I don’t know either.”
Garroth cleared his throat, grateful Levin couldn’t comment on the way his voice cracked. “Of course, I do feel it, of course I do, everyone does, but perhaps I am so detached from my emotions that my body doesn’t react when I feel it.”
Levin babbled weak reassurances. Garroth nodded. “Of course, I am in love with Lady Aphmau. What else could I be?” Garroth paused for a moment, a conspiratorial grin worming its way onto his face. “Don’t tell anyone, though. It’s our secret.”
Garroth let Levin grasp his pinky, shaking as if sealing a promise.
Garroth continued to feel nothing.