the guard {h.s.}

8- meet me in the woods

Preternatural stillness was something that came naturally to Harry. If Harry had to think, he would attribute this particular skill to his upbringing; to the necessity of fishing. Had Harry not fished, there were many nights that there would have been nothing on the table at all. Part of being a successful fisher, Harry would tell anyone who asked, is the ability to be patient. To be so entirely still that the fish think you little more than a statue in the water. Otherwise, they won't come near you.

Such a skill was not entirely lost when he was enlisted in the royal guard, but instead redirected. Harry's commander did not like that Harry could stand still for hours without growing bored. He believed it to be antithetical to their purpose. He viewed it as a waste of time to stand utterly still for hours, taking up roots in the earth. Instead, he preferred for Harry to stalk and scope. To assess the area around for any potential threat. Harry, ever the good soldier, listened to his command, but never forgot his roots. Never forgot his propensity for standing on the earth and cementing himself there. Locking himself to the ground and refusing to even sway with the wind. This was where Harry felt the deepest level of comfort.

Still, Harry found it to be something of a new nervous habit to pace around aimlessly. A manifestation of his stress, his feet carried him in circles around the exterior of his cottage—only able to maintain a physical level of his peace because he knew his princess to be safely inside. He'd escorted her there himself after finally standing from the cliff. He'd been out there hours before her, his knees finally cracking from disuse when he stood. She'd stirred slightly, seeming to have almost forgotten he was there.

When she looked at him, Harry's heart stuttered in his chest. He had to fight to remain solid, like a tree, as he extended a hand to help her up. She blinked at him, blue eyes clearing of the storm that had been brewing there. Dangerously, Harry wished he could pick apart the interior of her brain. He wished her to share her woes, secrets, and fears. He wanted to know her aspirations, wanted to know intimately what her thoughts were about the different dresses that she had worn to balls. Dangerously, he became aware that when spoken from Gwen's lips, he viewed no detail as too trivial.

Almost timidly, she wrapped her hand around his. Harry frowned when he felt how cold her hand was in his. Internally, he warred for not having noticed her inevitable shivers, for having noticed that she was not properly dressed for the weather, wearing only one of his mother's old night gowns. Despite his stoic exterior, a string of curses so entirely vulgar circled his head.

Harry was aware, of course, that he was paying the princess more attention than he would pay anyone else in this situation. Certainly he could claim this to be because of her position as his princess and he as her guard. It would be only natural for him to pay such an intense level of attention to her that it bordered on obsession. He could list several guards who exhibited this level of care for the royals that they were set to watch. But, in his heart, Harry knew he had never been that type of a man.

For the briefest of moments, Harry wondered whether he could attribute this to his position as her host, she as his guest. It would be only natural for him to develop a level of care this deep. Ultimately, this was the answer he settled upon, if only because the alternative was unspeakable.

So he finds himself thankful now, knowing that she is inside. Knowing that he had built her a fire where she could warm her hands; knowing that he had given her a blanket that she could wrap around her shoulders. Moth-eaten as it had been, he knew it would be a comfort for her to at least have something. Something, he decided, was better than nothing.

Yet still, Harry cannot get the look in her eyes out of his mind. There had been a furrowing of her brow, and she had looked like she was trying to decide something. Without knowing the effect that it would have on her guard, she sucked her pink lower lip between her teeth and bit down gently, gnawing lightly on the lip. There was something she wasn't saying, and it grated Harry's nerves.