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Garroth dragged himself inside the barracks, quite literally so as it was a struggle to pick his feet off the floor and instead took to pulling them along the ground, catching dirt and debris and tracking it inside as he did much of the same while forcing himself along into the armory. His fourth night shift in a row, he didn't plan for this to have happened like this where he's expected to wake up only a few hours later from his shift to attend to his afternoon duties as well. But with Dale's retiring and an unfortunate accident with Dante and one of Lord Aphmau's dogs had his ankle twisted and on strict bed rest on Donna's – and later Dr. Doctor's – orders and had royally screwed their schedule. It's not like they've never had only two guards before, they've had plenty of time with just himself and Dale as the guards of their small village, but Phoenix Drop had grown plentiful since then, no longer was it just friendly faces he knew by heart and remembered every name of, now it seemed as though there was always someone new in the village. A tradesman or just a wandering scholar, even a cartographer once showed at their gates – it was always someone new. Sometimes they stayed, sometimes they left, but it was always something new he has to get used to.
But it left him struggling with Laurance as the only Guards left while Brian accompanied Logan on a long trade haul for weapons and supplies, seeing as every day O'Khasis was getting closer and closer to their border and they could use every ounce of help they could get. It made him painfully aware of how lazy he's gotten with the ease of having a plentiful guard station, the leisure he selfishly allowed himself to take as he focused on taking Levin and Malachi out on walks and teaching the young blonde to read and write – he's fine quite far in his opinion, though his own handwriting could be seen rubbing off on the lad as he tried to use print font as opposed to his usual cursive writing just so he could have an easier time understanding it. Malachi, who would usually try to help where he can, was also foreign to the print font, cursive being what his parents had taught him some hundreds of years ago and never having the ability to put pen to paper since. He too was picking up on Garroth's chicken scratched letters, and it left him feeling a bit embarrassed. But it's better than the sore wrists and knuckles he was given in his youth for doing much the same, he'd take Emmalyn's insistence on teaching all three of them to write clean letters than the pain of his past any day.
And now he was stuck with his armor on, trying to messily paw it off of his body but the buckle eluded him and seemed to grow stuck in place. He could fit his hands beneath the frame and the prong felt glued in place— his gloves. His gauntlets, yes, he should take those off first, tossing them messily onto the table besides the armor stand he was leaning against for support as he continued to struggle with undoing his iron armor. When he got to his cuisses he gave up and just decided to leave them on – he could always deal with it later. Today, though, is the first day Dante returns back to work and he's taking it for all it's worth. He's going to sleep in until the sun rises for the second time and Dante can have his night shifts for the next week for all he cares. It's times like these where he himself wondering about it his bed at home was just as soft as he'd left it, if the handmaids still prepared it for him, or if his room had gone into a storage closet like Vylad's eventually had. He remembers going blind with rage at that, watching his bed be taken out it separate parts while boxes upon boxes of their trinkets and replaced the once warm and comforting room. He remembers only stopping once his mother's hand shakily pressed against his back – he'd grown taller than her at this point and could see it in her eyes the way she looked at him. The same way she looked at him. Another reminder to swallow his anger.
He finally made it to the bedding quarters, not before having nearly tripped three separate times up the stairs as he forgot just how tall the steps were and how heavy his feet felt, letting gravity finally take him as he collapsed onto the bed. There was an annoyed grunt and stirring against his body, and what usually would've been a sharp yelp and jump out of the bed was instead turned into his hand grabbing onto the squirming thing to hold it still.
"Q'it movin'..." He slurred, gravity also taking a toll on his eyelids as they slid shut. He didn't even try to fight it.
"Mm... Garroth?" A voice responded – not sure what Garroth was expecting when he told them to quit moving, but Laurance's morning voice was a pleasant sound in his ears he's realizing.
"Mm'you need'a work... Up." Garroth took to shaking him with the grasp he still had on his side.
Laurance just gave a tch through his teeth but started waking himself up anyway.
"Yeah yeah, I'm getting there." He stretched in bed, knocking Garroth's jaw but the Head Guard didn't even react to it, hand idly rubbing the fabric of Laurance's sleep shirt between his fingers. "You could stand to get out of my bed, though."
"'m not e'en 'sleep..." He mumbled, as if that were any sort of rebuttal.
"Well good because you have your own bed perfectly available for you when you do sleep." It was hard to want to sit up when Garroth's hand began to trace shapes against his side, instead taking to leaning deeper against Garroth's chest. It's his fault, really, shouldn't have his arm trapping him in place.
"Mmm...mhmm... 'm there..."
"Oh graces, Garroth." Just how tired was this man? He knew he should've fought with him harder on the splitting of their schedules, but the man insisted he'd grow used to it easier if it was consistent and not randomly split between them, sure that he would have an easier time with it.
Laurance could smell it from a mile away, the real reason he'd insisted on taking night watch. He's noticed how he takes every chance he gets to be alone, especially recently knowing O'Khasis not only is hot on Phoenix Drop's heels, but his own as well. Their precious heir was found still alive, and if his brother's reaction is anything to go by he can only imagine how his father must've reacted to the news. If it's even returned to him, knowing how shifty Zane is.
He wants to be the one to catch Zane with his hand in the cookie jar, it's obvious.
“I thought I told you not to sleep with your helmet on anymore.” Laurance light-heartedly chastised, awkwardly turning around in place on his now crowded bed to push the piece of metal off, reaching over to place it on the nightstand nearby.
Garroth didn’t even try to fight it, or the fact that his arm was sliding off Laurance’s side despite how he could feel his skin growing achingly cold without the contact. In an attempt to bring back that comfort his fingers found their way to where the other guard’s sleep wear parted, his top riding up on his upper half in his slumber and not having been bothered to fix it as he was rudely awoken. Laurance glanced down at the thick fingers inching their way into his shirt, just enough so their tips could press against his abs, before he looked back up at Garroth who’s jaw was beginning to go slack as the sweet promises of sleep whispered in his ear.
“You really don’t need to push yourself so much, Gar. It’s really not healthy to run yourself into the ground like this.” He huffed, eyeing the way his hand was slowly trying to press his palm flat against his stomach.
When he decided it wasn’t a mistake, he returned the sentiment by carefully trailing his own hand down to Garroth’s thigh, beginning to undo what armor he still had left on him.
“’m not pushin’ no’hin’…” He mumbled, lips barely parting as he spoke. It was more like humming in the vague sounds of words than it was actually speaking.
“Mmm, you are.” Laurance cooed back softly, earning a low rumble from Garroth’s chest in what he can only assume to be some eloquently thought out rebuttal that he could not be bothered to articulate in his sleepy state.
“Mm-mm…” He didn’t even jerk at the loud clattering of cuisses and greaves fell to the floor – not what Laurance wanted to happen, but he couldn’t find it in himself pull away from the warm hand on his belly.
“You treat it like your job to make me worry over you, you know.” The Shadow Knight softly sighed, settling back down in bed once the chainmail was also pulled off, this time sat at the foot of his bed. “You’ve got no reason to be putting yourself through hell. Everyone here would drop anything to help you, you know.”
“Don’ ‘eed it…” He insisted, nose finding it’s place against Laurance’s cheek as he subtly shifted closer to the warm body on the bed. His hand found itself higher along his abdomen.
“Don’t be an ass.” Laurance sneered, keeping down his urge to pinch and shove him for that, instead settling for his hands finding a place on his body in return. Once was loosely holding his hip while they other slipped under Garroth’s head, propping it up from it’s awkward angle from his uncaring dropping onto his mattress, trying to help his neck not grow sore at the odd position. “Everyone needs help from time to time, you’re no different.”
Garroth didn’t respond to that comment, instead just finally falling asleep with soft snores, only so quiet from the position his head was in. Which Laurance was somewhat grateful for – he found it infuriating to be in the same bed chamber as him when all he could hear is him sawing logs. It was made so much worse when he would insist on wearing his helmet to bed, the resonating sound and echoing of it through the metal being enough to drive him mad. Many a night has he found himself sleeping outside or in their Lord’s house just to escape it.
No matter how frustrating that was, though, he couldn’t help but admire how peaceful he looked when sleeping like this. Usually he would be scowling in his sleep, or straight faced as ever. But whenever he’s had a particularly long day or tiresome routine and needed a good nap, Laurance would be delighted to catch him pouting in his sleep or watching his face finally soften and allow himself to look as gentle as he knew he was. Strong jaw he compared to his father’s now unclenched to show the rounded edges that resembled his mother’s, large eyes closed to show off his long eyelashes, hard to see in the night but now caught in the morning sun rising in the window as it allowed a shadow to cast over his high cheekbones and soft eyelids. Another hand-me-down from his mother. He couldn’t see it in himself but from the portraits he’s seen of her Lady Zianna shows up obviously in Garroth’s features, no matter how often he laments about how he truly is the spitting image of his father. It takes a lot of will power to not shower him in notes he’s taken on every part of his feature that’s uniquely him, that doesn’t quite resemble one of the other parent, that should be hung in museums for all to see and honor for all of eternity.
But that would only be met with an odd glance and passive aggressive comment from the man, and so he bites his tongue until it bleeds. This, however, is nice. A moment of peace where he can feel Garroth’s hand still roaming around his body in his sleep, finally settling over his heart – or what was left of it, anyway. He could feel the blonde’s body still as for a moment he could feel no rhythm, almost stirring awake until. The faintest bump vibrates against his fingers and he exhales again, breath tickling the Shadow Knight’s skin. To which only made him hold his fellow guard tighter, resting his head to keep Garroth’s face nestled into the crook of his neck while he kept them close together. And if he was a few minutes late to his post in the afternoon, Dante would just have to learn to forgive him for it.