The Guard at the Window (Laurance x Reader)

The crevice that led into your circle of isolation had always been a dark, looming pathway. You had lost count of the amount of times you had stared out the window, fantasizing about crossing it. But now that you were standing in front of it with Laurance, you hesitated.

The crevice was hidden on the other side. If you blinked you missed it, and it was truly mind boggling that Laurance had managed to spot it. The barely noticeable crack in the stone opened up to a gaping hole on the other side.

Maybe it was the darkness that scared you. You knew the tunnel went on forever—at least that's what you remembered from the few times your mother had actually taken you out when you were a toddler. You were scared of it then, and it terrified you now.

Laurance raised his brow at you. He didn't miss the way your thumb ran over your nails or the stiffness of your shoulders. Those were the harder things to spot, but he would have been an idiot if he hadn't noticed your expression.

Your brows were drawn together, the smallest line forming between them. You bit the inside of your lip and your gaze flitted to all corners of the dark cavern in front of you.

"Are you alright?" Laurance asked. His hand remained on the hilt of his sword.

You nodded, though your mouth had gone dry. "Fine," you said, needing to peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth to speak. Another moment passed between the two of you. "You go first."

"Why?"

"Just go first." You didn't know why you wanted him to go first. You could have gone first and gotten it over with. Maybe you were scared he would stab you in the back if you walked in front of him.

No. If he were going to hurt you he would have done so. Irene knows he's already had hundreds of openings to do that in the half hour he'd known you. So what were you scared of?

Laurance seemed to sense your unease. It was obvious that he didn't want to go first either—though you weren't sure what his reasoning was—but he would for your sake. What kind of person would he be to help someone out of their own isolation and then leave them for the wolves?

With a sigh, Laurance stepped in front of you. You counted the number of steps it took him to reach the looming darkness (seven) and waited until he paused at the exit to catch up.

You followed close behind him in the tunnel. There was no light, so it was pitch black. You remembered traveling with a lantern when you were younger. The lantern had cast dark shadows across the walls and dramatized the silhouettes of you and your mother. Your mother had sung a soft tune to sooth you, and now you were singing the same beat in your head.

When you were small, your mother singing had illuminated your hair and acted as a light to fend off the dark. Once the two of you had cuddled together in the tower that night, safe from the darkness of the tunnel, she told you a tale of Irene. She'd told you your hair was a blessing from the deity herself, one meant to make you a light like the matron.

You weren't sure what it was, but something about the fear that slowly nipped at your being made you forget your magic hair and the hopeful take your mother had spun all those years ago. Instead, you found yourself reaching forward, needing to touch Laurance to make sure he was still there. Your fingertips brushed against the thick material of his overcoat until your palm lightly rested against what you assumed to be his shoulder. Barely a second had passed before his own hand enveloped yours, the callouses on it a stark contrast to your soft ones, and gently squeezed.

The pressure around your chest loosened slightly. You really didn't know what you were scared of, but having Laurance's warm hand in your own gave you a sense of comfort. There was no way you'd be separated from him and left behind. If that was even what you feared.